#because i don’t want them in my post so better to filter them out

[azaharinflames]

Today on reasons why I am mad:

“Oh my God just let it go”

And also: “We know this comment isn’t from a real person”

To all the buddies making these type of comments (because we all know it’s them): I hope you lick a rock and your tongue gets stuck.

(I want to say so much worse, but. I’m trying to be nice)

Because: No. We are not letting it go.

But also - who the hell are you to policy how people are feeling? How they react to things? Who the hell are you to decide if something should bother us, or if something is completely fine?

Also - have you let go of Gay Eddie yet? Of Buddie? No, right? So why should we let go of our indignation at the poor way 911 dealt with a queer storyline and the apparent exit of a queer man?

You don’t like Tommy, we get it, we do not give a single fuck about it. The fact is that, despite what you try to deny by claiming comments made by the GA are BTs in disguise, BuckTommy’s been a generally well liked couple for the viewers. And I know they ignore that because God forbid the viewers like BT and don’t see or like the idea of Buddie.

It’s also incredibly easy to se these are GA members, especially when you only need to click on their profiles to see they are normal people who, for once, are going to the official account to show disappointment.

(Also very telling most of the people buddie comments are made with fan accounts, but I digress here)

I do think they don’t want comments like the ones we’ve seen to be liked, or to grow, because they are scared of the consequences of them. They are more scared than us, actually. We know the comments won’t necessarily do a thing, we just want to express our disappointment at anger at how they played their audience and mistreated it, especially their queer audience. We know that bringing Tommy back isn’t gonna be magically done by our comments. But they are scared about them. They thought their voice was the biggest and the loudest and every time they try to speak over us in the comments, they drown.

Anyway. Just needed to get that off my chest.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 25: June 2024 - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet. Soft. Safe.

It always felt that way here — a small haven away from the noise of circuits and media storms, from the sharp edges of being forgotten and the new weight of suddenly being seen. The window let in filtered afternoon light, and Simone’s office smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

Belle sat curled in her usual corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t yet touched.

Simone sat across from her with her notebook closed, eyes kind, waiting.

“I think the worst part,” Belle said softly, after a long pause, “is that I didn’t expect it to feel so loud.”

Simone tilted her head slightly. “The public knowing?”

Belle nodded. “It was quiet for so long. Just ours. Just… safe. But now—one photo, and suddenly everyone’s watching.”

“Does it feel like a loss of control?” Simone asked gently.

“Yes. And no.” Belle looked down at her mug. “I wanted people to know. Eventually. I chose to walk into the paddock. I chose to kiss him. I posted the photo. It wasn’t an accident. But now everyone has an opinion. People I’ve never met are dissecting my life like it’s a press release.”

Simone let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, “What grounded you when it started to feel overwhelming?”

Belle smiled faintly. “Max. He always knows when I’m spiraling — even before I do. He’ll just take my hand or touch my back and everything feels quieter.”

There was a pause.

“I told Arthur,” Belle said, voice softer now.

Simone’s brows lifted slightly. “How did that feel?”

“Better than I expected,” Belle admitted. “He didn’t defend Charles. He didn’t make excuses. He just showed up. And he listened.”

“That’s progress,” Simone said gently.

Belle nodded. “But it’s only him. I haven’t spoken to anyone else.”

“Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet for a long time. Then: “I don’t know.”

Simone didn’t press her. Just waited.

“I think part of me still wants them to reach out. To say sorry without being prompted. To see me on their own. Not because they’re embarrassed or because the media caught on. Just… because they miss me.” Her voice cracked just slightly on that last word.

Simone’s tone was careful, but warm. “It’s okay to want that.”

“I know. I just don’t know if they’re capable of it.”

“And if they’re not?” Simone asked gently.

Belle looked up. “Then I move forward without them.”

Another pause.

“Can I offer a thought?” Simone asked.

Belle nodded.

“If you do choose to let them in again — not now, not even soon, but eventually — it might be helpful to bring those conversations into a neutral space. Somewhere safe.”

Belle’s gaze flicked toward her. “Like here?”

Simone gave a small smile. “Like family therapy. With boundaries. With someone to help hold the structure while you explore whether rebuilding is even possible.”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t want to excuse what they did,” she said. “Or pretend everything’s fine because I married someone famous and suddenly they care.”

“I would never ask you to,” Simone replied gently. “You’ve already built a life. A marriage. Soon a family of your own. The question is whether you want to let them try to earn a place in it.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked them clear. “I think I might be open to the idea.”

“That’s enough for today.”

Belle let out a slow breath.

And for the first time since the Parc Fermé kiss and the global chaos that followed, the silence in her chest didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like peace.

***

It started with a dress.

Just a simple, pale blue linen one — a favorite of hers. Soft. Easy. Forgiving in the waist. She’d worn it to coffee with Emilie two weeks ago and felt fine in it. Pretty, even.

Now, it wouldn’t zip.

Belle stood in the center of the bedroom, barefoot on the rug, hair still damp from the shower, the zipper stuck halfway up her back as she twisted and strained and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a flood of hormones and tears and shouting. It was quiet.

A soft, sharp ache of realization.

Her body had changed overnight.

She turned slowly toward the mirror. Pressed a hand to her stomach. What had once been the faintest suggestion now had shape. Curve. Weight. Not enough to scream pregnant to the world, but more than enough to make her clothes sit wrong. To make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

The zipper finally gave up entirely, and Belle stepped out of the dress with more frustration than grace.

She tried another — a black cotton shift. Still no. Then a flowy skirt — fine at the hips, but suddenly too snug at the waist. A button-down she’d always liked? The buttons across her chest strained so badly it looked like they were preparing for launch.

One by one, the pieces fell to the floor around her.

When she finally dropped into the edge of the bed, she was surrounded by the soft wreckage of what used to fit. A fabric battlefield. Her hands rested on her knees, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

She hadn’t expected to feel sad.

This was supposed to be beautiful — the beginning of something. The miracle. The glow.

But all she could think was: Nothing fits anymore.

And Max wasn’t there.

He’d left for the race two days ago — a back-to-back weekend with media, meetings, track walks. He’d kissed her forehead before leaving, pressed a palm gently over her belly, whispered something about texting her after every session.

But he wasn’t here.

Not now, when her body had changed without warning and she didn’t know how to dress it. Not now, when she just wanted someone to look at her and say, you’re still you.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it without hope — then saw his name.

Max: Morning, Schatje. I just got out of briefing. I miss you. How’s our co-pilot today?

Belle’s throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she typed back.

Belle: I miss you too. Co-Pilot seems to be growing faster than expected. Nothing fits. At all. It’s ridiculous. I feel like a puffed pastry with a heart rate.

The reply came almost instantly.

Max: That is the most adorable description of pregnancy I’ve ever heard. And also: please stop being mean to my wife. You’re beautiful. You’re growing our baby. I’m buying you stretchy things. All the stretchy things.

Belle let out a quiet, helpless laugh — one that cracked right through the tightness in her chest.

Another message came in:

Max: Also I demand a photo. Even if you’re in my hoodie with no pants. Especially then, actually.

Belle shook her head, smiling through the sting in her eyes.

She stood, padded over to the wardrobe again, and pulled out one of Max’s hoodies. It swallowed her whole, but it didn’t pinch. It didn’t judge. It just fit — in the way that mattered.

She took the photo. Hair damp. No makeup. Hoodie halfway down her thighs. The bump was there. Soft. Round. Theirs.

She sent it to him with one line:

Belle: This is what “nothing fits” looks like.

A minute passed.

Then Max replied:

Max: That’s my favorite person with my favorite future inside her. Perfect. P.S. I’m coming home the second this race is over.

And somehow, in that moment, even with her body unfamiliar and her closet defeated…

Belle didn’t feel alone anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Slightly odd question. Do you remember what you wore when you were trying to hide your pregnancies?

Victoria: Hahaha Has the bump arrived?

Belle: It ambushed me. Overnight. I woke up and suddenly nothing zips and my jeans are threatening to report me to the authorities.

Victoria: God, I remember that phase. I once cried in a Zara changing room because a wrap dress betrayed me. So yes. I remember it well.

Victoria: Okay. Hiding-the-bump tips from a three-time pro:

Flowy dresses

Button-downs + high-waisted trousers unbuttoned and safety pinned

Distracting accessories (big earrings = nobody’s looking at your belly)

Never underestimate a good scarf

Belle: You’re terrifyingly prepared. I love you.

Victoria: We all cope in our own ways. Mine is emotional support designer handbag. Also. You’re glowing.

Belle: I’m sweating and panicked.

Victoria: That’s pregnancy, darling. And when in doubt, steal Max’s clothes, throw on lipstick, and pretend you’re doing it on purpose.

Belle: I’m texting you before every outfit now.

Victoria: I expect nothing less.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Everything I own has turned against me. I just tried on five dresses. None of them fit. One popped a button and hit me in the face.

Emilie: i’m sorry but this is the funniest tragedy i’ve ever read

Belle: I’m going to have to start wearing Max’s hoodies exclusively. Like some sort of tiny, emotionally unstable Formula 1 driver.

Emilie: you say that like it’s not THE aesthetic of the season also: pls send a pic immediately

Belle: No makeup. Wet hair. Hoodie down to my knees. I look like if depression bought a scented candle.

Emilie: okay that’s going in your baby book "week 16: mother described herself as a sad candle in sportswear" you’re glowing, aren't you?

Belle: No. I’m sweating and mildly offended by cotton. But thank you.

Emilie: you are perfect and your body is doing literal magic and i will be there tomorrow with snacks, tissues, and an emergency haul of ethically-sourced maternity leggings

Belle: I don’t deserve you.

Emilie: no but you’re stuck with me anyway

***

The house was glowing.

Not literally — though the late afternoon sun poured golden light through the open shutters like a blessing — but in the way old homes do when they’ve been cared for. When someone’s loved them back into themselves.

Belle stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear, as Daniel and Jules stepped inside.

“Mon Dieu,” Daniel breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Jules let out a soft, stunned sound and turned in a slow circle, eyes catching every detail — the reclaimed beams overhead, the soft plaster walls in a mineral-washed hue, the original tile floor gently cleaned and sealed instead of replaced.

“I can’t believe this is the same house,” Jules said.

“I can,” Daniel murmured. “Because she did it.”

Belle smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s almost done. A few details left — hardware, window treatments, the stone for the kitchen counters is coming Tuesday.”

“Don’t rush,” Jules said. “We’d sleep on the floor if we had to.”

“No need,” Belle said, leading them deeper into the space. “The guest room is fully dressed. Just in case.”

They passed through the arch into the main living room. The old fireplace had been restored, the stone gently cleaned but still mottled with history. Belle had designed built-in shelves on either side — painted in a soft green-grey that picked up the light without swallowing it — and filled them with old books and ceramics she’d sourced from local artisans.

“Belle,” Daniel said softly. “This is… art.”

She smiled at that. Not flustered. Just pleased.

They moved into the kitchen, where Belle had reimagined the space entirely without losing a single antique tile. A large farmhouse sink had been inset into a custom cabinet she’d designed herself, and the walls were finished in limewash — textured, tactile, alive.

The wide French doors at the back opened onto the courtyard. Once crumbling, it was now a soft, green heart of the home. The old fig tree remained, but Belle had added lavender, herbs, and climbing jasmine that was already threatening to devour the wall.

Jules stepped outside. “You saved the soul of this place.”

“I didn’t want to change it,” Belle said. “Just… listen to it.”

Daniel glanced over at her, smiling. “It’s rare. What you do. Most people walk into old houses and want to erase the past. You made it feel like time had layered into the house instead of over it.”

Belle blinked. Something caught behind her ribs — not pride, exactly, but something deeper. Recognition.

“It’s the first full project I did under my name,” she said quietly. “No firm. No partners. Just me.”

“And it shows,” Daniel said. “There’s nothing generic here. Every choice feels personal. Considered.”

“There are still a few finishing touches. Light fixtures in the guest room, and one of the shutters needs repair. But everything else is… as planned,” Belle explained.

Jules looked around again — eyes slightly glassy now. “It’s more than we imagined.”

Daniel stepped beside Belle and nudged her gently. “You didn’t just design this. You gave it a soul.”

Belle swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat.

“I just listened,” she said. “To what the house wanted to be. And to what you needed it to hold.”

“You do realize this is what great designers say when they’re being modest,” Daniel said dryly.

But Jules only smiled and took Belle’s hands in his. “You made us a home.”

And somehow, that landed more than any award ever could.

As they sat down at the table with lemonade and cheese and fresh bread Jules had insisted on bringing from their favorite bakery, Belle let herself relax into the moment.

The laughter was easy. The compliments genuine. There was no shadow of someone else’s name over her work, no sense of borrowed validation.

Just sunlight, and two clients-turned-friends, and a house that now breathed.

And for the first time in her career, Belle didn’t feel like she was working to prove anything.

She had already done it.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: wanna tell me what the actual FUCK that was between max and lando????

Belle: Define “that.”

Emilie: THE AGGRESSIVE WHEEL-TO-WHEEL “ARE WE ENEMIES NOW” SLAP FIGHT THE DEATH STARES THE POST-RACE NON-HANDSHAKE I’M SORRY, IS THE BRO MANCE DEAD??

Belle: Ah. That.

Emilie: YES. THAT. YOUR HUSBAND WENT FULL FINAL BOSS MODE AND LANDO LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO BITE HIM

Belle: They’ll talk. Eventually.

Emilie: ARE THEY BREAKING UP DO I NEED TO GET THE DIVORCE LAWYERS DO I GET YOU IN THE CUSTODY BATTLE DOES LANDO GET VISITATION WITH THE BABY

Belle: 😂 You are so dramatic. And yes, obviously. 

Emilie: you joke but i’m FUMING i just spent six months convincing myself they were soft-launch brothers-in-arms and now max overtakes like that and lando’s giving “you were supposed to love me” after the race

Belle: It’s called racing, Em.

Emilie: it’s called betrayal he made him crash he gave him a puncture he RUINED HIM i’ve read enemies-to-lovers with less sexual tension than that post-race stare

Belle: Do you want me to ask Max for his side?

Emilie: no

Belle:For the record: Max says he “defended hard” And Lando “should’ve backed out sooner.” He also muttered something about “this is why I don’t have friends.”

Emilie: tell him that’s the most dramatic thing he’s said since “I’m not here to make friends” in 2015

Belle: He is the drama

Emilie: and you married him god i’m proud of you

Belle: Would you and Lando like to come for dinner tomorrow?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME??

Belle: Max is sulking. Lando is brooding. You’re screaming in all caps. I’m fixing it.

Emilie: YOU THINK A CHICKEN PARM IS GONNA FIX A BROKEN BROMANCE

Belle: Yes. That and a homemade lemon tart. Also, you’re bringing wine.

Emilie: oh my god you’re staging a peace summit this is monaco-based diplomacy you’re literally brokering a ceasefire

Belle: We’ve avoided a Red Bull–McLaren cold war so far. I’d like to keep it that way. Also Max gets weird when Lando’s mad at him.

Emilie: i’m bringing rosé and a truce playlist

Belle: Perfect. Tomorrow. 7 PM. We’re serving forgiveness with a side of grilled vegetables.

Emilie: you’re a queen a legend a domestic diplomat

Belle: Good. See you tomorrow. Also, if they refuse to make eye contact, we’re putting on a two-player Mario Kart match and leaving the room.

Emilie: excellent. passive-aggressive gaming therapy. you’re a genius

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Congratulations on the podium 🧡 You were phenomenal today. Clean, calm, clinical. (And you looked very smug on the podium. It suited you.)

Oscar: Thank you 😊 It’s always nice when Max and Lando are too busy crashing into each other to notice I exist.

Belle: Speaking of which... Care to tell me what that was?

Oscar: Which part? The wheel-to-wheel drama? The parc ferme tension? The complete emotional collapse of an F1 friendship?

Belle: All of it. I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s “spaghetti and feelings” dinner.

Oscar: I’d recommend garlic bread. And helmets.

Belle: Are they talking?

Oscar: Define “talking.” Max said “he’ll get over it.” Lando said “he can bite me.” So, no.

Belle: Excellent. Nothing like emotional maturity from two men who drive at 300km/h for a living.

Oscar: Incredible athletes. Emotionally 14.

Belle: We’ve having dinner tomorrow. I’m staging a ceasefire over lemon tart.

Oscar: Bold of you Godspeed Let me know if I need to be on standby for emotional support 

Belle: You might. If they refuse to speak, they’re playing Mario Kart until one of them cries.

Oscar: So, normal Verstappen conflict resolution. Got it 👍

Belle: Exactly.

***

Belle pulled the lemon tart out of the fridge at exactly 6:58 PM.

It was perfect. Glazed, golden, topped with thin slices of candied lemon and just enough powdered sugar to look effortless without trying too hard. Not unlike her strategy for this entire dinner.

She heard Max pacing somewhere near the front hallway again. That made lap four. Five, if she counted the loop past the cat bowls.

“Max,” she called gently. “It’s dinner. Not an FIA hearing.”

“They’re late,” he muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“They’re two minutes late.”

Max crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “Maybe we should cancel.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Because Lando didn’t arrive early to apologize like a teenager with flowers and a mixtape?”

Max looked away. Belle handed him the salad tongs.

“Go toss the greens and remember you’re a grown man with three world championship titles and a mortgage,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something in Dutch and obeyed.

The buzzer rang at 7:03.

Belle opened the door to find Emilie in her best peacekeeping sundress, holding a bottle of rosé in one hand and a smug smile on her face. Lando trailed behind her, suspiciously quiet, clutching a bakery box like it was a bomb.

“We brought peach galette,” Emilie announced. “And emotional tension.”

Belle stepped aside. “We already have both.”

Dinner began civilly enough.

The pasta was well-timed. The wine poured freely. The cats were temporarily bribed into not launching themselves onto the table.

Max and Lando, however, exchanged exactly four words in the first twenty minutes:

“Hi.” “Hi.” “Water?” “Sure.”

The eye contact was brief. The fork clinking was aggressive.

Belle and Emilie carried the conversation like diplomats on a sinking cruise ship. They talked about weather, Monaco construction permits, the absurdity of a $400 baby monitor Belle had returned on principle. They laughed. They smiled.

The boys sulked.

At one point, Max stabbed a roasted carrot like it had insulted his ancestors. Lando sighed in a way that could've shattered glass.

Belle met Emilie’s gaze across the table.

Time for the nuclear option.

“Okay,” Belle said, standing up. “Dessert in a bit. But first—living room.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Belle said, already walking, “I’m not hosting a three-course cold war.”

Emilie followed with the wine glasses. “We’re resolving this like adults.”

“In Mario Kart,” Belle added.

Max groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m married to you. I’ve never been more serious.”

Lando slumped onto the couch. “This is ridiculous.”

Belle handed him a controller. “And yet you’re already holding the remote.”

Max hesitated—just long enough for Belle to raise an eyebrow. “Afraid to lose?”

He sat down next to Lando like she’d physically shoved him. “I’ve beaten him in real life. I’ll survive Rainbow Road.”

“Your funeral,” Lando muttered.

By the second race, Max had stopped muttering under his breath.

By the fourth, he and Lando were arguing about blue shell etiquette.

By the sixth, Belle and Emilie had abandoned the couch entirely and were watching from the kitchen doorway, with Emilie sipping rosé and Belle snacking on lemon tart, like it was theatre.

“I give it ten more minutes before they forget they were mad,” Emilie whispered.

“Seven,” Belle said, just as Lando shouted, “That’s what you get for punting me off in Austria!”

Max howled. “YOU STARTED IT.”

Belle smiled. “And… there it is.”

By the time dessert hit the table, Lando was retelling the story of Max drunk in a night club and accidentally running into a wall while sneezing. Max was defending himself with increasing indignation. Emilie was crying with laughter. And Belle?

Belle sat back in her chair, hand resting gently over her stomach, watching her husband finally laugh again.

And she thought — this is what peacekeeping looks like.

A lemon tart. A glass of wine. A video game and a well-timed eye roll.

And love.

Always, love.

***

Max hadn’t meant to wake up early.

The apartment was still hushed in the pale-blue light of morning, curtains shifting faintly with the breeze from the balcony doors. Monaco always felt quieter before eight — like even the yachts were still asleep.

He stretched, one arm blindly reaching for Belle’s side of the bed.

Empty.

The faint sound of running water met his ears, and then the rustle of a drawer, a closet door sliding open.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

What he saw stopped him completely.

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the closet, turned slightly sideways, her back to the door. She was barefoot, her hair in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts and one of his white tank tops — the thin kind she always stole from his drawer without asking.

And her bump — their bump — was there. Real. Rounded. Glowing in the soft morning light.

Max felt something in his chest shift.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Watched the way she ran her fingers over her stomach, gently, reverently, like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Like it had finally hit her, too.

Belle caught his reflection in the mirror and startled. “God, Max—say something before you scare me to death.”

But she didn’t move to hide.

Didn’t reach for a robe or yank down the hem of the tank top.

And Max… Max couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t know it was like this already,” he said quietly.

Belle turned toward him, one hand resting low on her belly. “It kind of… popped overnight.”

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When he stopped in front of her, his hands came up automatically — one to her cheek, the other hovering just above her bump.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Belle nodded, her eyes warm.

He placed his hand against her skin. Warm. Soft. Alive.

A small intake of breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but softer. “You’re really in there,” he murmured.

Belle smiled, tired and radiant all at once. “Surprise.”

He kissed her, slow and steady, his hand never leaving her stomach.

When he pulled back, his voice was a little rougher. “How long until you can’t hide it anymore?”

She exhaled. “A few weeks, maybe. Less if they keeps growing like this.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Do you want to keep hiding it?”

Belle leaned into his chest, resting her forehead there. “I don’t know. Part of me likes having it just for us. But… part of me wants to stop hiding. Stop pretending nothing’s changed when everything has.”

Max nodded slowly. “We don’t have to post anything. Not unless you want to.”

She looked up at him. “Would you be okay with the media knowing? With the fans knowing?”

“I’m okay with them knowing we’re building a life together,” he said simply. “They’ll say things. They always do. But they don’t get to have this. Only see it. And only what we give them.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “What if they say I’m just—what if they think this is why we got married? That it wasn’t about us?”

“They can think whatever they want,” Max said firmly. “But I know. You know. And this baby—” he pressed his hand gently to her stomach again, “—will grow up knowing they were born from love. Not gossip.”

Belle nodded, slow and quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think…” She paused. “I think when it feels right, I want to share it. I just want to do it our way. Not through a headline. Not through some PR leak. Just… something honest. Something small.”

Max smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned into him again, and he held her there — the two of them wrapped in early morning quiet, one heartbeat becoming three.

***

He didn’t mean to play for hours.

But his hands moved without thought, without permission — soft notes tumbling out one after another, half-finished melodies bleeding into each other, no structure, no rhythm. Just the ache in his chest, transposed into minor keys.

Charles stared at the keys without really seeing them.

Everything since the Spanish Grand Prix had felt like that. Blurred. Half-lit. Shame washing over him in waves until it was hard to tell what day it was.

Fred’s voice still rang in his head.

"He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters."

It should’ve made him angry. Months ago, maybe it would have. But now?

Now it just made him tired.

The front door clicked open quietly.

Charles didn’t stop playing.

Alexandra stepped into the room, keys in hand, sunglasses pushed into her hair. She paused just beyond the piano, watching him. Listening.

He shifted into something sadder without realizing it.

She said nothing for a long time. Just let him play.

Finally: “That’s new.”

Charles nodded, fingers barely brushing the keys. “I didn’t write it down. I won’t remember it.”

Alexandra sat on the armrest of the couch across from him. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

Alexandra watched him a beat longer. Then: “You haven’t said anything since Fred tore into you.”

“He was right.”

That surprised her.

Charles didn’t look up. “He was right about everything. About Belle. About Max. About me.”

Alexandra folded her arms, softening slightly. “Charles—”

“I forgot her birthday,” he said, voice flat. “I forgot where she lived. I didn’t know she moved. I didn’t know she quit her job. And I found out she was married with the rest of the world.”

A pause.

“I used to be the person she told everything to.”

His voice cracked on used to.

Alexandra shifted closer. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” His hands stilled. “And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s your sister.”

“I forgot how to act like her brother.”

It wasn’t said for sympathy. It was just… fact.

He pressed a key. Dissonant. Hollow.

Alexandra exhaled. “You know what I think?”

Charles didn’t answer, but his silence invited it.

“I think you’re not upset she married Max,” she said gently. “You’re upset she didn’t tell you. Because it forced you to realize how far away you let her drift.”

That landed deep.

Charles looked at the keys like they might offer him absolution.

“She stopped waiting for me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“She had to stop,” Alexandra replied. “You never showed up.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Charles admitted.

“You can’t,” Alexandra said, standing. “Not completely. But you can start by owning that it’s not about you. Not her silence. Not her love. Not Max. You don’t get to demand a place in her life just because you regret not earning it before.”

That hurt more than Fred’s words.

Because it was the truth.

Alexandra stepped forward and kissed the top of his head, just briefly.

“Let her choose if you belong,” she said softly. “But maybe, for once, don’t try to race your way back in.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply.

Charles sat at the piano, still and quiet, and let the silence press in around him like a tide.

He looked down at his hands.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure they knew how to fix anything anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Arthur Leclerc

Arthur: hey just wanted to check in how are you?

Belle: Hi That’s a surprise A nice one

Arthur: yeah well i figured it was my turn to show up you always did that for me even when i didn’t deserve it

Arthur: so you okay?

Belle: I’m good. Quiet days. Work. Sleep. Max. He’s home this week, which helps. I’ve been reading again.

Arthur: you always read when you feel safe i remember that

Belle: I do. Books are still better than people sometimes.

Arthur: not going to argue there i just wanted you to know i think about you a lot even when i don’t say anything

Belle: I know. I think about you too.

Arthur: and I’m sorry for forgetting the little things for thinking you’d always be there whether I showed up or not I hate that it took losing you to notice how much I missed

Belle: You didn’t lose me. You just stopped looking. But you’re here now. That counts for something.

Arthur: thanks for giving me the chance to do better i won’t waste it

Belle: I hope you don’t. Because I missed my little brother.

Arthur: still here still annoying just a bit slower to grow up

Belle: You’re getting there One awkward text at a time

Arthur: baby steps

Belle: 😉

***

They were sitting at the dining table, Belle with her laptop open and a very stubborn government website loading at glacial speed. The overhead lights were low, the cats were asleep on the windowsill, and the apple tart from dinner was reduced to a pair of crumbs and a fork that Max kept stealing bites with.

“I need to go to the town hall next week,” Belle said, frowning at her screen. “It’s ridiculous how many steps it takes to change a last name. I have to book an appointment just to show them I’m legally married.”

Max looked up from where he was balancing a spoon on his finger. “Want me to come with you?”

She smiled. “I think I can survive bureaucracy alone.”

“I don’t know,” he said, mock-serious. “You’re pregnant and emotionally allergic to slow websites.”

“Barely showing and mildly inconvenienced is not the same thing,” Belle replied, nudging his foot under the table.

He grinned, then leaned back in his chair. “We should change your credit card too. It still says Leclerc.”

She groaned. “One paperwork nightmare at a time.”

Max tilted his head, thoughtful now. “And we should probably set up a meeting with our lawyers.”

Belle paused mid-keystroke. “Why?”

He shrugged, casual. “Just to go over everything.”

“Max,” she said gently. “What kind of everything?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still playing with the fork, but his gaze had drifted — focused, serious in that quiet way he got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“I want to make sure things are in place,” he said eventually. “For you. For the baby. If something happens to me.”

Belle’s heart pulled.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said softly.

“If something happens to me — if I crash or something stupid happens off-track — I want everything set up. No grey areas. No questions.”

Belle set the mug she was holding down carefully on the table and turned fully toward him.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” Max said, managing a half-smile. “But I also know how this works. I’ve seen it happen to other drivers. One second, you’re invincible. The next…” He trailed off. “I don’t want you or the baby in limbo if the worst happens.”

She reached out slowly, threading her fingers through his. “You think about that?”

“Every time I get in the car now,” he admitted. “Not in a panicked way. But it’s there. You changed the way I calculate risk.”

“I’m not planning to die,” he added, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just planning in case. I want to make sure you’re protected. That the house is in your name too. That there’s no confusion. That if I can’t speak for myself, you can. Not my father. Not my mother. You.”

Belle sat very still.

Not because she was scared. But because it hit her, suddenly and all at once, how much he was already carrying — not just the weight of fame and expectation and fatherhood, but this fierce, unspoken drive to shield her from the storm.

“I married you because I love you,” Max said. “But I also married you because you’re my person. And I want to make sure you’re not left sorting through a legal mess if the worst ever happens.”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Let’s make the appointment.”

Max exhaled — a little like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

And Belle, looking at the man who had been so many things to the world — champion, rival, myth — realized that this version of him, the one quietly planning a will while stealing bites of lemon tart, was the one she loved most.

The one who knew the risks. And stayed anyway.

The one who chose her. And kept choosing her.

Even in the fine print.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Lorenzo: We need to get ahead of this before she cuts us out completely. We’ve let it go on too long.

Charles: What do you want me to do, Lorenzo? I said I wanted to talk to her. She doesn’t answer.

Arthur: Because she’s not ready. You don’t get to demand a timeline for forgiveness.

Pascale: I sent her a long message last week. I said I missed her. She didn’t even react to it.

Arthur: Because she’s hurt. Because for years, we made her feel like she didn’t matter until she disappeared.

Charles: I’m trying to make it right.

Arthur: You’re trying to make it comfortable for you. Not better for her.

Lorenzo: Okay, enough. We need to approach this like adults. Arthur, you said she talked to you?

Arthur: Yeah. Because I apologized without making excuses. Because I didn’t act like she owed me anything.

Charles: So what, we just do nothing? Sit around and hope she decides to forgive us?

Arthur: Or we ask her what she needs instead of assuming we know best. Maybe try that.

Pascale: If she’d just sit down with us—if we could talk properly—I know we could fix it.

Charles: She won’t even look at me in the paddock.

Arthur: You yelled about her being married like the whole grid personally betrayed you.

Charles: Well it felt like that.

Pascale: Can we not assign blame? We all made mistakes. I sent a message. She didn’t respond.

Lorenzo: Because your message said, “I meant to text you, but I sent it to Charles instead.” Which we all know is a lie.

Pascale: It was a white lie. I didn’t want her to feel worse.

Lorenzo: She didn’t need you to protect her feelings, Maman. She needed you to show up. That’s what none of us did.

Charles: I’m trying. But every time I think about texting her, I hear Fred’s voice telling me I don’t deserve to.

Arthur: That’s because he’s right.

Pascale: So what do we do? Invite her to dinner? Send another letter?

Charles: I could try calling again.

Lorenzo: No. No more performing care. She’s not stupid. She sees through all of it.

Pascale: We have to fix this. She’s our family.

Isabelle:  You could start by remembering I’m in this group chat.

Isabelle:  I’ve seen every message. Every strategy. Every “how do we make her forgive us” as if forgiveness is a button to push, not something earned.

Isabelle: Arthur apologized. He listened. He didn’t make excuses. That’s why I’m speaking to him. Not because he said the right thing. Because he meant it.

Isabelle: The rest of you? You keep asking how to fix me. You never once asked what I need.

Isabelle: So here it is: If you want a relationship with me again, we start with family therapy. With a neutral third party. No justifications. No guilt-tripping. No “but we’re your family.” Just honesty. Hard conversations. Boundaries.

Isabelle: You want me back? You come sit in a room and prove it. Not with flowers or dinners. With work.

Isabelle: I am not your emotional support sibling. I’m not your afterthought. And I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt just because it’s inconvenient for you.

Isabelle: Therapy. Or nothing.

Arthur: …I told you.

Lorenzo: Family therapy it is.

***

[cottonlemonade]

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 1]

word count: 1705 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That’s why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

The honey drizzled in deep golden ribbons onto the still warm buttered toast. The first signs of spring were in the air and the thickly plumed sparrows chattering on your balcony outside the kitchen window, hopping from railing to empty plant pots, almost drowned out the noise from the busy road down below. In typical Monday morning fashion, you only half-paid attention to your breakfast while you scrolled through your emails, picking out the important from the irrelevant and barely took note of the front door opening. Shuffling footsteps hurried along the short hallway. A few moments later, Tetsuro plopped down across from you, snatching a grape from your plate.

You looked up from your phone with a cocked brow when he took a second one, and he held your eyes questioningly, the grapes still bulging out his cheeks like a hamster, “What? You want them back?”

With pursed lips, you pushed your plate to the middle of the table and bit off a corner of toast, still scrolling.

“Did you see the email from Mr Maeda?”

Testuro nodded, “That guy really has nothing better to do on a Sunday than count coffee filters and complain about the office’s excessive caffeine consumption.”

You got up to quickly reheat the kettle for a second cup of tea, “I’ll have to go to the downtown office this morning, but I should be done by lunch. Wanna meet up at that new sushi place?”

“Sure thing. - Oh! Also, I went down quite the rabbit hole last night and I wanted to run something by you.”

“Is this a “I can’t believe pandas ever made it this far” or more a “we should totally start our own quilting business” kind of rabbit hole?”

Steam rose from the spout of the kettle, and you began pouring it over the loose green tea you knew was his favorite.

“How would you feel about getting married?”

You almost broke your neck, snapping your head around to look at him, “What?”

“It’s not weird, I promise. I saw this video of a couple yesterday who talked about how they were tired of dating and annoyed that they were getting overlooked on apartment hunts, perks at work, always being hounded by their families about when they’d finally find someone etc. and so just decided to marry their best friend. And I looked into it, they’re completely right! The amount of benefits married couples get is insane! And don’t even get me started on taxes.”

The cup was by now overflowing, and hot water trickled steadily from your kitchen counter onto your house slipper. You didn’t notice it because you were still staring at him.

“You’re dripping.”, he informed you, helpfully.

With a little shake of your head, you returned to reality in which Kuroo Tetsuro, local office dork, just casually suggested marrying him over a half-eaten slice of toast and remnants of grape stalks.

He went and grabbed the dish towel from the hook by your sink and crouched down to wipe up the small puddle. As he did, he looked up at you, continuing, “Anyway, I figured since I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re also nowhere near close to marriage-”

“Hey!”

“I thought I’d ask.”

“Are you gonna randomly propose to other people if I don’t say yes?”

“I dunno, actually. - Don’t think so. Why?”

You took a deep breath and accepted the wet towel he held out to mop up the rest from the counter.

“Alright. I’m not saying yes, yet!”, you clarified quickly as he was about to raise his hand for a high five, “I’m saying: bring me some actual facts about this, not just social media hearsay, and then I’ll decide.”

“You got it. I’ll present my findings to you by tomorrow night.” He ended with his most professional nod, then smiled and began clearing your table so you could head to work together.

After the morning meeting, you heavily neglected your tasks to sort your thoughts. A spreadsheet was made and pros and cons began slowly filling in either side of the neat list.

Pros:

> Tax deductions (!)

> he knows how to do laundry and picks up after himself

> Respectful, most of the time

> fun and comfortable to be around

> I’d not be offended if people assumed we’re married

You paused and looked at a small plant pot on your desk, deep in further consideration. Then you took to your keyboard again.

Cons:

> might have to pretend like all of his jokes are suddenly funny

> having to explain the situation to everyone

Your fingers stopped typing and after a heartbeat or two you deleted the last line, writing instead:

> having to pretend to be married in front of everyone

Much to your surprise, he didn‘t address the elephant in the room over lunch right away. Instead, you talked as per usual about this, that and everything, pulling small plates with bites of sushi from the conveyor belt in front of you. He had his tie flipped over his shoulder and the JVA lanyard was safely tucked in the breast pocket of his shirt to not accidentally dunk it in the little dish of wasabi and soy sauce in front of you. In your mind, you quietly added “good table manners” to the pro list.

“What’s up?”, he asked as he stacked an empty plate onto the ever-growing dish tower.

“Nothing.��

“Yes, there is.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, I might be your husband soon, we should be able to tell each other everything.”, he grinned.

“You’re very on board with this whole idea.”, you noted after a short pause.

Tetsuro made that smile he always did when he was about to deliver an awful pun, “One could say I’m pretty married to it, yes.”

You continued, unperturbed, “What about your dad? What would you tell him?”

“He likes you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s gonna be fine as long as I am.” Tetsuro dipped the salmon of a nigiri in soy sauce and held it out to feed you - a poor attempt to distract.

“Don’t worry so much about it.”, he said to his very worried friend with a reassuring shrug when you took the bite, “He knows you make me happy. And that’s all there is to it.”

“I make you happy, do I?”

“Yeah, of course. What - don’t I make you happy?”, he grinned.

“Well.” With a raised brow, you pulled out your phone and, after a bit of tapping, turned the screen to show him your list.

Squinting a little, he produced his glasses from his pocket and put your phone on the table to scroll through the bullet points.

“Okay, first of all, I can’t see anything on here about my looks. That should be a major pro. Just look at these glasses.”, he gestured to the dark frames, “Don’t they scream office siren? That should definitely go into the pro column. You should write that not only am I gonna be an amazing husband but also some real eye candy”, under his breath he added, “which one might argue is the healthiest kind of candy.” He smirked at his own joke.

“That’s not relevant, though.”, you countered.

He disagreed, “It’s very relevant for bragging rights. I know, I’ll brag about you non-stop. Just look at how you did this Excel spreadsheet. Dream girl right there.”

“I know you’re joking, but I’m actually very proud of my skills, thank you very much.” You snatched the phone away again and answered his smile with your own. Maybe it really wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The following night, you settled in on his couch waiting for him to make his case, although, if you were honest, in your mind you were already picturing what life with him as a glorified roommate would be like. Tetsuro tipped on his laptop for about a minute, then rolled up his sleeves and turned on the TV. It showed the title card to a PowerPoint presentation by the name of Why You Should Marry Me. The next slide, reached by the click of a button from the little black remote in his hand, let you know that it was sub-sectioned into Perks, More Perks, Possible Issues and Even More Perks.

“Do you have any questions?”, he asked once the final slide read Thank you for your attention.

You took a deep, quiet breath, looking down at the empty notepad in your lap and back up at him.

“Nope. Let’s do it.”

He beamed and clicked the remote again. It jumped to a new title card: Guidelines For Our Happy Marriage.

Thanks to Tetsuro’s extensive research you had a list of needed paperwork ready to go and after a quick trip to your country’s embassy you soon stood in line at City Hall on Friday afternoon, both still in your office clothes, to get married. It felt much more like an errand than anything else, like popping into a convenience store on your way home from work because you forgot the milk on your last trip to the supermarket. Stacks of documents were signed and stamped, and once you were done, you received a coupon for a nearby restaurant as a gift. When you stepped out of the tall unassuming building, the last slivers of sunbeams peeked through the alleys and the streets were bathed in a subtle golden-gray glow. You came to a halt at the bottom of the steps.

“How do you feel?”, you asked.

He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders as if looking for a crank somewhere. “No different. You?”

You shook out your body as well, more so to make fun of him than anything else, and shrugged, “Nope. All good.”

On your walk to the restaurant for your discount wedding dinner, you simply carried on your usual conversations about a book you were currently reading and thought out loud about what you would pick off the menu.

The only indication that anything had changed was that when you reached your table, he pulled up the chair with a slight bow saying, “Mrs Tax Deduction.” and you played coy and did a small curtsy before sitting down with the reply of, “Too kind, Mr Tax Deduction.”

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

a/n: sooo, here we are. I really hope you’ll enjoy this one ✨

Huge thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me ramble about this incessantly and for brainstorming and for helping me edit.

[Part 2]

[eddiernunson]

I Can Do it With a Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

NOW POSTED

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Excerpt here:

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be this gorgeous, it’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.” 

He dusts the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.” 

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?” 

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.” 

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.” 

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to class its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will. 

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?” 

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?” 

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tilted floors and fall into the depths of hell. 

“She asked you out?” 

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!” 

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per say. But a sweet girl like Chrissy, one that bore pretty blonde curls, a sweet smile and a sweet disposition, this is like your worst nightmare come true. 

Thanks to the notion of living in a small town, you could recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out. 

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing. 

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, watching in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.” 

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?”

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.” 

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this isn’t a new habit of his. 

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?” 

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you tried to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing. 

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what is probably another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed. 

You smoked more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself. 

-

Final word count is about 24k so I think I'll post on the 15 to give my editor a fighting chance. If you want to be tagged let me know <3

[the-xolotl]

Morning Kisses

Alastor x gn!Reader

ღ Itty bitty snip !

ღ a/n: this was originally only a warm-up posted to a discord server but a comment from @theradioshusband made me want to post it as well, so thank him :33

summary: Sometimes it’s nice waking up before Alastor because you get some extra cuddles.

ღ TAGS: sfw, just kisses and fluff

It’s rare to ever wake up before he does, the man seems to either never sleep or a perfectly attuned internal clock for dawn. But there are days like today when you rise from your own slumber with his warm body next to you, even with an arm wrapped protectively around your middle. Alastor has you pressed up against his chest, nose firmly pressed against your neck around your pulse point area, he looked peaceful while he slept, almost innocent with relaxed features with a soft smile.

Slowly and gently, you turned over to face him. You didn’t want to wake him just yet. Wanting to admire the cute sight that you’ve been gifted with. However, once you had made the 180° turn his arms tightened around you and he buried his face into your chest. You had to bite your lip to get a giggle. Not very long ago Alastor himself had protested having shared living spaces, trying to convince you that having independence from one another would be better, except now even when he doesn’t admit it he enjoyed these opportunities to hold you. Show you some affection behind closed doors and away from prying eyes.

The deer demon isn’t much for PDA, public or otherwise. He showed affection in different ways, his own ways. But there came reserved moments like these where he indulged you, and himself, in sweet touches and whispered nothings. The moments you could live in your own bubble together and ironically made your own little piece of heaven here in hell. You could stay like this forever if you could, but alas, there are duties and responsibilities that you know Alastor is nothing less than punctual to.

With a gentle hand, you run your fingers through his currently messy red hair. Your nails traced the back of his ears making them unconsciously twitch. It’s then you hear a soft groan.

“Good morning, deerling,” you whisper, leaning down to deliver soft kisses to his cheek. This is your favorite way to wake him up; peppering him with kisses while he’s still sleepy enough to not stop you from smothering him. “You were slow to rise today,” chuckling lowly your lips travel down to his to peck him, “You have to get up.”

Alastor blinked the sleep out of his eyes searching for the clock. “Good morning, darling,” the low reverb of his morning voice seemed to echo in your own chest. His radio filter is usually off until he’s fully awake. A little treat you learned about when you started waking up with him. “Seems I’ve overslept today. You’re getting me into bad habits.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it made you giggle. “What do I have to do you waking up late?” you brush a stray strand of hair from his face, “It’s not my fault I’m comfortable to sleep with, silly.”

And yet despite his remark, he still hasn’t unwrapped from you. Alastor wasn’t that complicated of a creature, one just needed to learn to read him. He’s used to hiding or lying about his own emotions, it came as natural as breathing and that included his feelings about you. It took a lot of effort to get him to his point but there was still a lot of work to do in the spoken honesty department. For now, you didn’t quite mind it.

He hummed dismissively at your words pulling you into an actual kiss. Tender, warm. A gentleness he’s reserved for you and you alone. It’s slow, with purpose and his hand is now cradling your cheek. His thumb caresses the skin of your face, the very tip of his talon gracing it sending a shiver down your back. But the kiss doesn’t deepen or become heated. It stays just as it is; innocent and soft. The kind of kiss that has you smiling against his lips and don’t want to pull away until you need air.

“Simply starting the day off the right way, dear.” And with a last kiss to your forehead, he untangles himself from you to get out of bed. You almost want to groan at the loss of contact but you know there wouldn’t be any convincing him to stay any little longer. He already woke up “late” by his standards. So instead you watch him as he dresses and fixes himself up in his usual dapper attire ready to go about the hotel as per usual.

“You can sleep in here longer if you wish, sweetheart. It’s still pretty early for you,” he offered coming up to the foot of the bed, his hand coming to rest atop your head, patting you. “But don’t sleep for too long. It’s not good for you to be in bed for so long.”

With that, he vanishes into the void. Not without his shadow lingering behind for a second longer, he grabbed the shadow of your hand that dangled off the edge of the bed kissing your knuckles before also scurrying away. You giggled to yourself thinking, progress.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

—

word dividers were done by ME with @ cafekitsune template — give proper credit if you use it.

[cheynovak]

TikTok Trouble

Jensen Ackles x Y/N f/reader girlfriend

English isn't my first language.

Did not proof read, mistakes are possible

This amazing idea/ request is from @deanwinchestersgirl8734

'Hi do you think when you get time you could do a story about Jensen finding out his wife or girlfriend reader was making secret TikTok videos about him and his characters and liking others videos on TikTok lol"

Please do not copy my work. likes/sharing/comments are appreciated

The roaring energy of the convention was intoxicating. Jensen was seated on stage alongside Jared, basking in the enthusiastic chatter of their fans. As the Q&A portion unfolded, Jensen caught snippets of laughter and whispers among the audience that left him curious.

A fan with a devilish grin stepped up to the mic, clutching their phone.

“Hi Jensen, hi Jared!” they beamed. “Okay, this is a little different. So Jensen, have you seen Y/N’s TikToks?"

The question hit Jensen like a freight train. His brows knitted together in confusion, his lips parting slightly. “Her TikToks?" he repeated. "Wait…she’s on TikTok? What…what kind of TikToks?"

Jared burst into laughter beside him, throwing his head back as if he’d been holding in the knowledge for weeks. "Oh, man, you haven’t seen them? Dude, they’re hilarious!"

Jensen’s ears flushed a faint shade of red as the fan’s grin widened.

“Um, so Y/N has been making these really fun videos about you and your characters. And also…she, uh, likes edits and stuff that people make of you. She even…” The fan trailed off with a giggle, holding their phone up. “Want me to show you one?”

Jensen leaned forward with intrigue. “You better show me now, because clearly, I’m the last to know!”

The fan swiped through their phone and played a video. On the screen, there was Y/N, subtly filming from the corner of the makeup trailer. Jensen was seated in the chair, half in-character, as the crew styled his hair.

The camera then panned dramatically to him. She overlaid a dog ear and tongue filter and captioned it with: “Who's mommy's good boy, you are! Yeah you are!"

Followed by a video of him in a hydrating mask. "Babe... What are you doing." Jensen asks jokingly "I'm batman."

"Of course babe... I support you!"

The crowd roared with laughter while Jensen’s jaw dropped. He let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my God, that woman! That…that sneaky…”

Jared, not helping in the slightest, chimed in. “Oh, wait, the best one's coming. Show him the Walker one!”

The fan gleefully skipped to another video. It was Y/N’s most recent post: on the set of Walker, where Jensen had been directing. The video began with a close-up of Jared leaning casually against a truck, all smoldering Texan charm.

“Hot damn!" Y/N narrated jokingly. Jared turned his head, raising an eyebrow, clearly aware of the filming. With a playful grin and exaggerated Texan drawl, he said, “Want to hop in my truck for a ride, sugar?”

Y/N’s laugh echoed through the video as she turned the camera so she could join in. “Hmm, I don’t know, Jared," she teased, tilting her phone to capture more of his smirk. “Think your truck can handle all this?”

Jared leaned closer to her and the camera, his grin widening. “Darlin’, my truck’s seen plenty of rough rides, but you might just be the challenge it’s been waiting for.”

The audience erupted in cheers and laughter, completely eating up the playful banter. Y/N’s laugh rang out in the video again as she panned the camera away from Jared, who was still smirking behind her.

“Nah, I’m saving my ride for that man," she quipped, and the camera panned dramatically over to Jensen, looking sharp as ever in his cowboy attire. As she got closer to him, she joked, “Save a horse, I’ll ride that cowboy," and winked at the camera.

Jensen groaned, burying his face in his hands as Jared cackled beside him. The audience was in hysterics.

“Oh my God, she’s going to be the death of me,” Jensen said, voice muffled from his hands.

“Nah, you love it,” Jared teased, clapping his shoulder. “Just admit it—she’s out there making sure you’re appreciated by the entire internet.”

Jensen straightened, his eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and faux indignation. “Yeah, well, I guess I need to have a talk with my girlfriend about sneaking around on set with her phone.”

The fan couldn’t resist adding, "She’s basically your biggest fan, though! You can’t be mad!"

Jensen smirked, folding his arms. “Oh, I’m not mad. But let’s just say, if she’s going to film me…she better be ready for some payback.”

The fans erupted in cheers, already anticipating the behind-the-scenes TikTok war that was bound to ensue.

--

Taglist -> Click here to add

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla

@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss

@muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy

@livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never

@ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf

[signanothername]

How do you feel about the fandom?

I’m assuming you mean Ut/utmv?

How can I say this in the most gentle way possible hmm..

I genuinely do love the creativity within the fandom, the beautiful art and stories and ideas people come up with, the different interpretations of these characters even when i don’t agree with them or have my own thoughts/opinions, cause that’s what fandoms are supposed to, it’s all of us showing our love for these lil blorbos of ours in each of our own unique different ways

Of course, each fandom has its good and bad side, but to say the ut/utmv fandom is so damn negative to the point it’s suffocating is an understatement

I’m especially weirded out by the pro harassment behavior within this fandom, like, a mf would say “i’m anti harassment!!!!” Then turn around and post/reblog a post with +20 people name dropped to “raise awareness” for whatever little that is worth, you can “raise awareness” by messaging people privately, not make a list where an asshole can easily use it to harass people, and no, saying shit like “don’t harass these people!!!” Does not alleviate any responsibility from you if they do get harassed because of your post

That’s why messages are a thing, and only messaging those who explicitly state they want to be messaged, not jump in into people’s inboxes or messages and telling them shit out of the blue

So many people within this fandom need to learn fandom etiquette, how to mind their own business, and to use the damn block button, you’re uncomfortable with a certain subject? Tumblr has the most handy filtering system, don’t like a person/find them uncomfortable? Block them, blocking them isn’t enough and want to complain? That is what you can use your blog for, feel free to complain on your own blog to your heart’s content (not on other people’s blogs or under their posts if it’s not the subject for it) that’s what friends are for too, go to their DMs and complain till the end of time

Being just a bit bigger of an artist follower wise in comparison to other artists means that I deal with very special cases sometimes, because I’m also puzzled by the way people can get super comfortable with commanding strangers to do things they want or to break basic respectful boundaries like not getting people involved in drama even when they specifically state not to include them (me, I’m starngers, every time I reblog my boundaries post, it’s me implying that I got something that broke my very basic bitch boundaries that day, which says a lot about the fandom, cause i literally only got 4 boundaries stated damn)

That’s why I opt to not get too close to people within the fandom, and am generally careful as to who I let close to me, I’m very certain people might think I somehow have my own social circle within the fandom or have some wide connections they can never get, when in reality I’m isolated af

That being said, idk if it’s young people not knowing any better, or adults who act like children, but the fact harassment is very prominent and also very normalized within the fandom is something that definitely made me seriously think of just getting back to the Transformers fandom (one of the most chill fandoms i’ve ever been part of)

Fandom is fandom, keep it for rambling about blorbos, and learn to mind your own business <3

[mint-yooxgi]

Dreamer - Yandere!Vampire!Yeosang

Yandere AU & Vampire AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Yeosang X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,771

Warnings: Hunter/Prey dynamics, Invasion of dreams mentioned multiple times, Possessive and sexual thoughts, violence and blood mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It's been a while... sorry for the delay in posting things, like I said, life has been crazy! I hope you all enjoy this one, something short and sweet for you all. Dedicating this one to @anyamaris hehehe... As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

The Sixteenth and Final of The Feral Drabbles

The loud chiming of the clock tower rings through my ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. Golden light filters in through the widows, filling the stone walls with the last rays of the setting sun. If I listen closely, I can still make out the faint sounds of your heavy breaths. You cannot escape me, Starling. No matter where you hide, no matter how far you run, I will always find you.

I don’t know how many times I have told you how futile it is to try and get away from me, but you never seen to want to listen. I’m starting to think you rather enjoy the chase. Something about the imminent danger I pose simply gets your blood thrumming with excitement. I can just tell.

Of course, I could end this all in an instant. I could appear beside you at any given moment. My speed and tracking abilities are unmatched, especially when I have what I want in my sights. Yet, where would the fun be in that? I love listening to your heart race because of me. I love knowing I can make your scent spike suddenly with the slightest of sounds. You can sense me getting closer, can’t you? You know that I always get what I want, and what I want is you.

You smell amazing… Have I said that already? That pungent aroma of fear, permeated with the slightest thrill of excitement. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. After all, I know you better than you know yourself. In time, I’ll show you just how perfect I am for you, just as I know how perfect you are for me.

For months I’ve been studying you. The shadows have always been my friends, but when it comes to you, I am the shadows. All those dark and lonely nights I watched you, longing to be beside you, and finally be able to hold you in my arms. I longed to be able to brush my fingertips over your face, tracing loving patterns into your skin that only I can see. I wish to be there for you, and I so badly want you to be there for me.

Your soul called to me. The scent of your blood intoxicates me. Your laugh enchants me, and your smile sets my long dead heart aflutter. Just the sight of you has brought me back to life in ways I never thought possible, and I will cling to that essence of vitality for as long as we both shall live.

There is no me if there is no you.

Now, if only you could see that.

I’ll admit, knocking you out and bringing you to an unknown location was probably not the best way to properly introduce myself. In my defence though, I did overhear you talking to that one friend of yours about certain particular fantasies you’ve always had. You’ll have to excuse me for jumping the gun. I got too excited, and besides, it’s not like you don’t know me.

For months I’ve been appearing in your dreams. It started out small, just in passing at first. A glance of my face here. A hint of my voice there. You seemed to be reacting positively to me, too! I noticed a few times you seemed to be looking forward to my slight visits. Sometimes, you’d even go so far as to continue searching for me in your mind when I passed by. A fact of which made me happy beyond doubt.

Then came the nightmares.

You’re prone to them, aren’t you? The darkest recesses of your mind which you hide away in the light come creeping out of the shadows to torture you while in your most vulnerable state. They’re relentless, and unforgiving. A hindrance to your livelihood which dulls your shine, and petrifies your strength.

You can see why I couldn’t have that. I vowed to keep you safe, and that will always include keeping you safe from yourself.

Which is why I had to step in. I couldn’t leave you to suffer all alone. Not only could I prove to you how valuable I could be to you in your dreams, but it let me interact with you. Even on a subconscious level, I could tell it was going to benefit me greatly. I could talk to you, protect you, keep you interested…

And interested you were! I can still recall the way your eyes felt raking over my full visage for the first time. I could tell that you liked me, and that only made me know stepping into your subconscious mind was the right thing to do. 

We were finally making progress! You could see me for who I was, and I could finally see you without hiding myself away. I could interact with you on a more personal level, even within a dream. 

Everything I said, everything I did, was real. There’s no question about it. I would never deceive you like that, anyways. You deserve my truth, for it will soon become yours as well.

Those nightmares, though recurring, also let me understand you better. Those monsters stalking your dreams will never be able to hurt you again. I made sure of it. I showed them what a true beast looked like. Though, I will say, feeling their blood drip from my hands after rendering them limb from limb is immensely more satisfying in real life than within any dream your mind can conjure. I only wish I could have inflicted more damage on them while they were still alive…

They didn’t suffer enough. Not after what they all did to you. Nobody hurts you, cheats you, lies to you and gets away with it. No one.

I’ll tear them all to shreds. I’ll rip their pathetic flesh from their bones and feed their mangled corpses to the sea. Hell is a blessing compared to what I have prepared for anyone that crosses you. After all, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you…

Oh, look at me… getting so caught up in my thoughts of you again that I nearly missed the sound of you changing your hiding place. It’s adorable how you think you can get away from me. As if you really want to. Why else would you have ran up the clocktower rather than out into the streets the first chance you got?

What will I get once I finally catch my prize? I’ll finally be able to properly feel your skin beneath my touch. Will you hold onto me as tightly as I’ll be holding onto you? Will you whisper my name so sweetly, granting me a long since desired wish? Or maybe, just maybe…a kiss? 

Oh, how I’ve longed to feel your lips pressed against my own, My Sweet Starling. Ever since that one fateful night, that glorious dream we shared, I’ve been longing to know what you taste like in real life. You’ve already let me touch you once before, now all there’s left to do is make your whole body shake in ecstasy in real life.

I know it was simply a dream, but fuck- I can still hear the way you cried out for me. The way your thighs wrapped around my head as I worshipped you between your legs… as I buried myself deep inside of you… I want to feel it again. This time, I want it to be real.

I want to hear those sinful lips of yours crying out my name. I want to hear you gasp as I sink my fangs into your flesh, and drink my fill of you. I want to feel your nails cutting into my back and pulling me closer because you cannot get enough of me. You already know that I can never get enough of you, and I will always prove that my love for you is true.

Oh, Starling… you’re going to make me moan if you keep smelling like that…

Delectable. Sinful.

…Mine.

Already I can feel my mouth salivating at the thought of catching you. My fangs are nearly pricking my lips. Starling, I don’t know if I can hold myself back for much longer…

I can hear your heart racing nearly in time with mine.

Tell me… are you as excited as I am right now? There’s something about the thrill of the chase, isn’t there? Knowing that I’m hunting you, wanting to catch you and finally make you mine. I swore to you that I meant you no harm, and that fact will always hold true. I will never hurt you. You are mine, and I am yours. That’s how it should be. That’s how it shall always be.

See! I knew you wouldn’t be able to deny me! We’re meant to be!

Look at you trying to be quiet after purposely giving away your location. It’s extremely endearing, you know. Try to hide all you want, but you can never escape the inevitable.

You may be able to lie to yourself, My Glorious Starling, but you cannot lie to me. Like I said before, I know you better than you know yourself. I can smell the excitement pouring off of you. You want me to catch you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to forget all that I’ve done for you in your dreams so easily. After all, my actions have always been, and will always be, as real as I am.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

The longer I let this go on, the more excited you seem to get. Just listen to your heart racing for me! It’s getting louder with each step, and this time, there’s nowhere you can run. This will be the last place you can ever hide from me. Or rather, should I say, the last place I’ll let you hide from me.

From now on, you’re mine.

Fuck- I haven’t felt this excited in centuries. Do you realize how special you are? My blood feels like it’s lighting a fire within my veins, and my hands are shaking. Do you see the effect you have on me?

And, oh, when I finally get my hands on you…

There will be no part of you untouched - unloved - by me. I plan to spend however long it takes worshipping you and showing you just how loved you are by me. Mentally, physically, spiritually… Nothing is too much for you. You deserve nothing but my best, and my best is what you’ve always deserved. Nothing less.

Tick tock, My Glorious Starling… Your time is up.

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓮𝔃𝓮

Description: Reader and Tom enjoy a day reading by the Black Lake shortly after they've gotten together. (Reader x Tom, established relationship, fluff)

A/N: Guess who's finally finished with her exams! I'm very excited because now I get to write and post here more (and you know, no more studying). Anyway, this is just a short lil oneshot but I thought it was pretty cute. :)

--

A gentle breeze blew over the castle grounds, taking with it a clump of fallen blossoms and the scent of honeysuckle. It lightly ruffled the bright green leaves, causing a few to break off and spiral lazily down. The Black Lake sparkled in the sun, reflecting the few clouds that drifted through the sky. 

It was a gorgeous early summer day, with perfect weather and even better company. 

“Your face will get stuck like that if you keep smiling at me for much longer,” Tom drawled from his place next to you, turning a page in his book. The two of you were leaned up against a tree, reading together outside as you enjoyed the sun. 

Well, Tom was reading. You were too busy admiring him to be interested in your book. 

“Oh, don’t spoil my fun,” you rolled your eyes fondly, tilting your head against the tree trunk.

“I’m not spoiling anything, darling,” he hummed, and your smile widened at the nickname. It had only been a couple of weeks since you and Tom had gotten together, and every new thing he did made your heart leap with happiness. Calling you nicknames was one of them. 

“‘Darling,’ now that’s a new one,” you remarked, tapping your fingers against your book. 

“What do you mean?” Tom asked curiously, though he didn’t remove his eyes from his page. 

“Well, so far you’ve referred to me as ‘doll’ and ‘sweetheart’. ‘Darling’ is a new one, and I quite like it.” You explained, nodding your head wisely. “I think it’s my favourite.” Tom looked up, a slight smirk on his face. 

“I’m glad you do,” he said quietly, meeting your eyes with a soft intensity that had your stomach fluttering. You scooched closer to him, resting your chin on his shoulder and enjoying how warm he felt. You were elated you got to do that now, since before you’d had to hold yourself back every time you wanted to take a hold of his hand, or kiss his cheek, or just be close to him. 

He turned the page again, but you didn’t move your head. Instead, you just admired the dark brown waves of his hair and how they glinted copper in the sunlight filtering in through the leaves above you.

You tilted your head further against him, pressing it into the warm slope of his neck. Just barely, he leaned his head back against yours. Merlin, he was wonderful. 

After a while of sitting there and simply enjoying being next to him on this beautiful day, you became slightly restless, wanting to go do something. You’d sit and read with Tom for hours, but the weather was so nice and you couldn’t help it.

“Do you want to go swim in the Black Lake?” You asked suddenly, sitting back and crossing your legs. Tom looked out towards the lake, observing a few students who were sunbathing near it and those in the water. 

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head and you furrowed your brow. Catching your slightly disappointed look, he added quietly: “I’d much rather stay here where it’s just the two of us.” 

You laughed, turning around and leaning back against his legs with your head in his lap. He looked down at you, feigning annoyance, but you spotted the curve of his lips in a smirk. 

“Put your book down, Tommy, and pay attention to me,” you said, causing him to roll his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he warned with a hint of irritation in his tone, though the fond glint in eye said otherwise. 

“Yes, yes, I know.” You waved your hand in mock dismissal. “But it’s so cute.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said wryly, switching his book to his right hand so you could absentmindedly play with his left. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to swim in the lake?” You tried again after a minute and he sighed, looking down at you with a smirk.

“If I give you a new nickname, will you let me go back to reading my book?” He bargained, raising an eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, and he let out another sigh. “Thank you, love.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face at that. 

“Alright, I changed my mind. That’s my favourite.” 

--

I hope everyone enjoyed!

Partially inspired by @anawritez-posts and how her Tom always gives the reader adorable nicknames... ugh I love her fics so much!!!

[novlr]

How do I strengthen my writing? I tend to fall back on bad habits because I can't find good habits to replace them.

Building sustainable writing habits that really help you improve can be really difficult. Especially if you don't know where to look. So, here are 10 tips for building good writing habits that can help strengthen your writing!

1. Clear out your creative faucets

Step away from your project and do something else! Write something different. Let yourself write badly. Or just plain old take a break. Your writing will suffer if you're constantly forcing yourself to work on something that isn't bringing you joy.

2. Read voraciously

In the immortal words of Stephen King: “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write.” 

Read widely in your own genre and outside of it. Take inspiration from other authors, and read critically to see what they do well and what they could do better.

3. Read some bad writing, too

Breaking down exactly why a piece of writing doesn't work for you can be super helpful for understanding what to avoid in your own work. 

4. Try on different writing styles

Try out different approaches to storytelling to find the voice that feels most like yours. You might find yourself attracted to descriptive, sensory prose, or more to austere and pointed prose. Your writing will be strongest when you're the most authentic self you can be.

5. Explore characterisation 

People are messy. Accurately and compellingly conveying this innate messiness is essential to creating a powerful story. Explore your characters and who they are, and if it's a character-driven story, don't be afraid to let them drive.

6. Make friends with your thesaurus 

A great way to make a piece of prose shine even brighter is to expand your vocabulary. There are a lot of words in the English language that mean similar things but have slightly different moods and tones. Finding the exact right word to convey what you’re trying to say will help your writing land more emphatically with your reader. 

7. Banish filtering words

Filtering is one of the most common mistakes new writers make. It involves describing a character’s sensations or feelings with filtering words like felt, saw, heard, knew, watched, or realised. This holds the reader at a distance and makes them feel like they’re hearing a story, rather than living it.

An example of filtering would be, “She watched the sun rise majestically over the mountains”. It would feel more immediate to simply say, “The sun rose majestically over the mountains”. The reader already knows your point-of-view character is watching; now, the reader can watch it with them. 

8. Glare disapprovingly at the passive voice

Passive voice isn’t necessarily wrong all the time, but nine times out of ten, it will slow down the pace of your story and encourage the reader to lose interest in your characters. Passive voice means having something done to a character — “John was punched in the face by Nick” — instead of a character actively doing something: “Nick punched John in the face”.

9. Familiarise yourself with story structure

The best stories follow an established plot structure, and follow it so smoothly that the reader doesn’t even realise there’s an ancient storytelling template behind it. These structures are designed to introduce just the right amount of tension and suspense and to give the reader the ideal payoff by the end. Rather than being formulaic, they help with pacing and plot development.

10. Get peer feedback

Finally, the best way to make your work as strong as it can be is to get some feedback from other writers. This can be from a professional editor, a beta reader, or a collaborative writing group. Getting a second pair of eyes can help you catch plot holes or inconsistencies before you send your story out into the world.

Want to know more? Read the full post at the link below!

[lovingdynamight]

This dumb quirk

Summary: You and Bakugo had a routine. A perfectly balanced, highly competitive, painfully frustrating routine. You pushed his buttons, he pushed yours, and the class just accepted it as the natural order of things. You weren’t enemies, but you sure as hell weren’t friends either. You were rivals—constantly bickering, constantly toeing the line of something else neither of you dared acknowledge.So when you got hit by a “Personality Opposite” quirk during training, Bakugo knew something was wrong before you even spoke.

A/n:this isn’t one of my best I definitely think that my others are better but I did need something to post

One second, you were standing next to him, dusting yourself off with your usual annoyed scowl. The next, your entire body relaxed, your expression going soft in a way he had never seen before.

Then you turned to him—eyes bright, lips curled into a warm smile—and said:

“Katsuki.”

What the hell.

The class collectively froze, the air buzzing with anticipation. No one had ever heard you call him by his first name before. Not even as a joke.

Bakugo took a wary step back, eyeing you like you’d grown a second head. “The hell did you just call me?”

Instead of snapping at him like usual, you giggled. Actually giggled.

His stomach flipped.

“You’re so serious all the time,” you said, tilting your head. “It’s kinda cute.”

Bakugo’s brain short-circuited.

Mina slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Denki was already grinning like an idiot. Kirishima looked deeply, personally betrayed.

“…What.” Bakugo blinked, his entire system failing to process the situation. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” you sighed, stepping closer. “You’re not as mean as you pretend to be. You’re actually really—”

Your hand landed on his forearm.

Bakugo stopped breathing.

It wasn’t even a big gesture. Just your fingers, curling lightly around the sleeve of his uniform. But it was casual, effortless, like touching him was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you wanted to.

Bakugo knew he should shake you off. Say something. Anything. But his body locked up, his traitorous brain focusing on the warmth of your hand instead of figuring out what the fuck was going on.

“Kaminari,” he gritted out, barely holding his composure, “what kind of stupid-ass quirk is this?”

“Personality Opposite,” Midoriya answered instead, looking between you both with wide eyes. “It flips a person’s natural disposition.”

Bakugo felt something cold settle in his stomach. That meant—

“Ohhh,” Kirishima’s grin widened. “So this is how Y/N really feels.”

Bakugo’s face ignited. “Shut the hell up, Shitty hair!”

“Why?” Mina smirked. “Afraid of a little honesty?”

“This isn’t honesty,” Bakugo snapped, glaring at them like he could explode the smugness off their faces. “It’s a damn quirk.”

“Hmm.” Mina gave you a once-over, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They seem really happy to be around you, though.”

“That’s because Bakugo’s actually really great,” you said easily, squeezing his arm before lacing your fingers with his. “He just doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Bakugo glitched.

You were holding his hand.

In front of people.

Voluntarily.

He didn’t even know where to start—how to untangle the complete mess of emotions slamming into him all at once. The only thing he did know was that his heart was pounding, his palms were sweating, and if he didn’t get out of this situation soon, his friends were never going to let him live it down.

“Alright, that’s it—fix this!”

Mina just grinned. “Nah. This is fun.”

Bakugo saw red. “I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”

________________________________

Bakugo had been in hell before. Grueling training sessions, brutal fights, the occasional near-death experience—but nothing compared to the absolute torture of dealing with you under this damn quirk’s influence.

Because you?

You had no filter.

As the class walked back to the dorms, you stuck to his side, eyes practically sparkling like some lovesick extra. It was disturbing.

“You’re so warm,” you sighed, nudging his arm.

Bakugo flinched.

You’d been touching him—light brushes, fingers lingering—since the quirk hit, and he did not know what to do with himself. His brain was malfunctioning, running hot, trying to make sense of how easily you closed the distance between you two.

And the worst part?

He didn’t hate it.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t let anyone see him react.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, scowling. “Tch. The hell are you goin’ on about?”

You blinked up at him, completely unfazed by his gruff tone. In fact, you seemed to deliberately ignore it, because instead of backing off like you normally would, you giggled.

Giggled.

Bakugo nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Oh, you’re so grumpy,” you teased, poking at his bicep. “It’s cute.”

Denki audibly choked from somewhere behind him.

Kirishima coughed to cover a laugh.

Bakugo’s eye twitched dangerously. “Shut the hell up, Shitty hair.”

“I didn’t even say anything—”

You suddenly looped your arms around Bakugo’s, effectively silencing everyone. He stiffened like you’d just dumped ice water down his back.

“Y’know,” you continued, your voice unnervingly soft, “you’re kinda hot too.”

Oh, hell no.

Bakugo felt every single pair of eyes burning into him. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay cool, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He hissed, glaring at you.

Your smile didn’t even falter. If anything, you leaned closer.

“You tell me~”

And that was it. That was his breaking point.

With a frustrated growl, Bakugo grabbed you by the waist, hoisted you over his shoulder, and started marching toward the dorms.

The others barely had time to react.

“Dude-“

“Where are you taking them?!”

“The hell does it look like? I’m lockin’ them in their damn room until this stupid quirk wears off!”

You kicked your legs, though there was no real struggle in it. If anything, you seemed delighted by the sudden turn of events.

“Wow, Bakugo~ if you wanted me in your room so bad, you could’ve just asked.”

Kirishima wheezed.

Denki nearly collapsed.

Bakugo swore his soul left his body.

“SHUT UP!”

_______________________

Once the quirk finally wore off, you spent the rest of the night avoiding everyone, especially Bakugo. The embarrassment of everything you had said and done hit you like a truck the second you snapped back to normal.

The others wouldn’t let you live it down, either.

Denki had been relentless with the teasing. Kirishima kept shooting you and Bakugo knowing looks. Mina, of course, had immediately demanded details, and you were one more comment away from locking yourself in your room forever.

But Bakugo?

He’d barely said a word.

Which should’ve been a good thing, except you could still feel the weight of his stare, the way his eyes lingered whenever you entered the room.

So when you found yourself alone in the kitchen later that night, desperately trying to avoid everyone, you weren’t completely surprised when he showed up.

Still, you stiffened when his voice broke the silence.

“The hell are you doin’ in here?”

You turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Uh…existing?” you muttered, focusing very intently on your glass of water.

Tch. Of course you were being weird about this.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and walked further inside. He stopped just a step too close, and you really wished your face didn’t heat up at the proximity.

“…You really don’t remember anything, huh?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I remember most of it, but—”

“So you remember callin’ me cute, then?”

You choked.

Bakugo smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. “I hate you.”

“Tch. No, you don’t.”

There was a beat of silence.

Slowly, you lowered your hands. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bakugo huffed, looking away, like the words physically pained him. “It means you were actin’ weird, yeah, but… not that different from how you always are.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think I don’t notice? The way you always stay close, even when you’re pissin’ me off? Or how you argue with me, but never actually go too far?”

You swallowed. Your heart pounded.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, still avoiding your gaze. “Tch. Dumbass. I like you too.”

The words hit you like a punch.

Your brain short-circuited.

“…What.”

His face twisted like he immediately regretted saying it. “Don’t make me say it again, idiot.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No words came out.

Then, before you could even process it, Bakugo was suddenly right there, his hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a kiss.

It was rough, almost frustrated, like he was annoyed with himself for even doing it. But you melted into it anyway, gripping his shirt to pull him closer.

When he finally pulled back, his scowl deepened. “…There. Happy?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. Then, you smirked. “So you think I’m cute too, huh?”

His entire face turned red. “I WILL THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW.”

Thanks for reading. All works done by me. Reblogs comments and likes are encouraged and appreciated. Make sure to leave request in my inbox.

[kingofthering-two]

Hi guys, Maïna / kingofthering here. You might have heard or noticed that I got my account terminated yesterday (and had the joy to discover you don’t just lose your sideblog but all the blogs associated with your account).

What happened? As I mentioned last week, I received my 2nd strike for copyright infringement on the 11th of December and I protested it (sent a DMCA counter notice) on the 12th. Tumblr forwarded the counter notice to the claimant on the 16th, leaving them 10 business days to answer before I could get the strike taken away and the content restored. Unfortunately, yesterday, on the 19th, I received my third strike and it came with the termination of my account. 

How is it fair that tumblr lets you receive a new strike so soon after the precedent one, when you couldn’t even have the time to finish fighting the first one? I legitimately don’t know. I’ve tried to contact them about this but they don’t treat the messages since it’s coming from a terminated account. I think I need to send the message with another email address, which I might do later.

Could my account come back? In theory, from what I’ve read online, yes, but that remains to be seen from my end for me to be completely sure of that. My only current hope is for the blog to reappear when I get my first and second strikes removed (the first is from January but I never thought of fighting it before because it was videos so I thought they didn’t stand a chance but now I genuinely believe the type of content doesn’t matter). 

In September, there were 14 days between the counter notice being sent and me getting my content back (10 business days + weekends) and I suppose we might have to take into account Christmas here. I think that in the best case scenario, I might hear from tumblr on the 30th of December, maybe the 31st.

What now? I briefly considered using this as a (forced) break from tumblr. I tried to have one earlier this year and failed miserably. I think that the older I get, the less patience and tolerance I have for things that annoy me (and get past the filtering system) (but also things outside of tumblr, seeing my gifs get reposted to twitter, something that happened again recently, really annoys the fuck out of me). But, at the end of the day, the good outweighs the bad (annoying) far much, when it comes to this website and this community. If I check my tumblr app screentime on my phone, I might cry at how bad it is. I do want to finish the projects I have ongoing (the RPF survey answers will be studied and treated and shared) and keep in touch with everything happening on here.

I’m going to use this current account to browse tumblr at least until the end of the year. I’ve already seen glimpses of stories that I need to catch up on and I’ve seen you guys being very supportive already (thank you) so I felt like making myself reachable here was better. Posting wise, I’ll probably post about things that I know are safe i.e. things of my own (stats, my progress on the 2025 journals) and gifs of things not coming from Dorna (e.g. reels/tiktoks, podcast videos).

What then? The only thing I can tell you for sure is that no matter what happens next, I’m going to create an archive blog on a separate account (with a dedicated email address). This blog will not have posts of its own but only reblogs of content I originally posted on kingofthering. If I can have my old account back, the job will be made much easier (and will obviously be more complete). If not, I’ll have to rely on a lot of research to get things back as best as I can. Don’t worry about this for now, I’m going to wait until I know for sure about my old account to start the process (since the method will be very different depending on the answer on that).

For 2025, we will see. The thing is, even if I get my account back, I know that I will keep getting strikes (even if I’m not posting anything because old posts of mine have been targeted as well) and honestly, even if fighting them works, it’s both stressful and exhausting. Also, people have been winning the battles against the strikes for now but who knows how long that will last.

And like I mentioned, it’s a sideblog connected to all my other blogs which also depend on kingofthering’s faith. That includes my main blog that I’ve had since 2011 (I don’t use it much but I use it to keep all the useful stuff like the photoshop tutorials, writing prompts, etc), my hockey sideblog (not been using it much either lately but it does have some history I’d like to keep) and a bunch of others.

A solution to keep those other accounts safe would probably be to move everything motorsports related to a new account (maybe this one if I can get my main back) and delete the original kingofthering. It would pain me because of the history of this blog and what I would lose in the process (mostly the asks I haven’t gotten to answer and obviously the following that I had grown but I suppose that I can grow back little by little). It would also mean I couldn’t see anymore the posts in my notes and the tags people add to their reblogs (which is like half the purpose of posting in the first place) and that’s annoying as well but I suppose I could grieve that too, in theory.

If I don’t even get the account back, well. I talk about creating a new dedicated account but if it also gets striked (which I suppose will happen), it will be equally exhausting to fight fo it so, I don’t even know if I want to do that.

At this point, I know which content is safe for sure (or what has been safe so far for me) and there are still a lot of stuff that I enjoy sharing with you and getting your opinion on but giffing race weekends was the major part of my blog and I don’t know how I feel about giving that up. Anyway, much thoughts to have still.

Can you do something to help? I don’t think so. Or, well, not with recuperating my account. In regards with the copyright issue as a whole, though? I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what’s the best course of action there. I’ve seen some discussions around about emails and a petition and involving other social media and bigger people but I genuinely don’t know what’s the best thing to do. I’ve personally always considered tumblr as this little (safe for everything) bubble and I don’t exactly feel comfortable “exposing” some of my content here to the rest of the world (some people on tumblr are already mean enough about RPF, I don’t need to see what people not on here have to say about it). That’s obviously just me and I’m not going to keep anyone from doing what they think is right. Part of me wants to believe that things will fix themselves once Liberty Media take over but that’s not a sure thing and the frequency of strikes lately has been quite worrying so I understand the need to do something. Some thinking over to do there too.

Where can you find me? For tumblr, on here for now. I’m going to post this on the motogp tag and I’ll try to follow my mutuals (from memory so, going to miss a lot of people for sure, sorry in advance). I might appreciate a reblog of this post to spread the word. I still have my twitter (mostly talking stats), the blog and my tiktok (barely being used but still in existence).

If I do the set ups correctly I’ll have my DMs open here and askbox open to anons. I am still bad at answering those, though, so apologies in advance there as well.

(Also, I just got home for the holidays and literally learned about the news when I was in the train yesterday afternoon, so, worst timing ever.)

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Okay, so, I see a lot of people talk about “stats” on fics. Here, Reddit, other social media…often in a way that suggests one can gauge quality of a fanwork based on those metrics. Writers using them to try and determine if their work is “good.” Readers using them to filter fics for just the “best” ones. So let’s talk about stats.

And yeah, this is going to be long, so let’s have a cut, but TL;DR:

AO3 stats numbers can, in the aggregate, tell us some things but they cannot tell us the quality of a piece. Authors, stats don’t mean that your writing isn’t good, no matter what the “ratios” are. Readers, stats are poor indicators of fic quality, but you should know that writers are using those numbers as indicators of engagement with and enjoyment of their work; engagement is the encouragement writers use to keep writing.

I’ve read so many posts — on Tumblr, on the AO3 subreddit, fanfiction and writing subreddits, in other social media arenas — by both authors and readers talking about the stats on fics. Wondering if they’re good, or if they aren’t. Lamenting or judging a writer’s skill based purely on those numbers. Using those numbers as a way to filter fics to find the “best” ones. Wondering if writing is even worth doing in the writer’s fandom.

Usually, because of where I hang out, they’re talking about AO3 stats, but I occasionally see stuff about Wattpad in a similar vein. I don’t know Wattpad; I’ve never used it. So I’ll just focus on AO3 here.

So, first things first, I’m not going to tell a fanfic author that they should just not care about their stats. Not because I think stats matter, really, but because I know that’s an impossible ask. If we didn’t want people to read and enjoy our stuff, we wouldn’t post it. I can read my own writing with way less work and effort if I don’t post it, honestly. I post it to share it. So I get that saying “who cares what the stats are” is actively not helpful advice for a demoralized writer and doesn’t encourage participation for readers. So here’s what I’ll say instead about what we can, and more importantly can’t glean, from AO3’s stats as writers, and try to put those AO3 stats in perspective for writers and readers of fanfic alike:

AS A WRITER:

1) Comparison is the thief of joy. If you’re getting engagement with your fic and it makes you happy, try not to dwell on whether other authors are getting more engagement. I know this is a tough one to implement.

2) If you’re going to compare, it needs to be apples to apples, and I see a lot of folks comparing apples to oranges and then feeling let down by that comparison.

2A) Someone writing for the most popular ship in your fandom while you write a rare pair is probably going to get more engagement; not because it’s better, but because more people are going to see it. They will get more hits because more people are filtering for that pairing. That doesn’t mean what you wrote isn’t good or compelling.

2B) This goes even more granular: someone who is in the Neve/Rook tag on AO3 and either excludes M/F or filters for F/F isn’t going to see my fic. And that’s okay; they’re looking for something specific and I’m not writing it. I’m writing M/F Neve/Rook at the moment. The longer a fic is up, the more engagement it’s likely to have gotten, so I need to look at dates. If I were going to compare - and I don’t and shouldn’t for my own sake - M/F Neve/Rook posted within a few days of my post would be what I should compare myself to.

And even then, given that different fics tackle different subjects, have different OCs, etc., it’s still not likely to be truly 1:1.

2C) Multi-chapter fics and long fics get different numbers and ratios of hits/kudos/comments than one-shots. The engagement pattern is different.

2D) Smut/NSFW/Archive Warning fics also tend to get different engagement patterns than fics that don’t have those markers. Some people are concerned about their usernames being linked to those themes/plots/topics. Some readers are smut fiends (and we love that for them). Both these things can skew numbers here.

3) A registered user who is logged in can only kudo once, even if the fic has multiple chapters. Someone can read an entire 27-chapter 200k word novel and love it and only be able to leave a single kudo. Guest users are tracked by IP address, so if their IP address hasn’t changed they too can only kudo a fic one time.

4) The above means that re-readers are often not getting seen in kudo numbers even if they’re your biggest fans.

5) “Hits” counts individual views, but only if outside certain timeframes. If someone reads your fic 5 times in 24 hours it won’t count as 5 hits. However, outside that time box it will register as multiple hits, which may mean you’re getting more hits and no kudos because of re-reads.

6) Engagement from readers is lower across the board. There’s been entire articles about it. It’s not just you, I promise.

7) There is no “hits to kudos” or “kudos to comments” or “hits to comments” ratio that can reliably tell if something is good or not for all the reasons above.

AS A READER:

1) Writers want engagement. Crave it. If an author didn’t want engagement, they wouldn’t post their fanfic. It’s not like they’re getting paid. And it can be incredibly discouraging not to receive any. Writers use those stats numbers - hits, kudos - and those comments to determine if people are looking at and, more importantly, enjoying their work. It’s a way of gauging engagement.

Does that mean a writer is entitled to engagement? No. But if you want an author to keep posting fic, engagement is the way to encourage that. Like I said, I can read my own stuff with much less work if I don’t post.

2) As I said above, a registered user that is logged in (or a guest still on the same IP address) can only kudo a fic once, no matter how many chapters it has or how many times they’ve read it. If you want to show you like a new chapter after you’ve dropped that initial kudo, or show a re-read, you’ll need to comment. Even if it’s just a “❤️” or “have another kudo!”

3) You aren’t bothering writers by commenting on something; really, you’re not. I see so many readers worried that they’ll come across as weird by engaging.

Friend, we’re all weird here. Go for it.

I love when people send me a multi-paragraph comment or kudo 7 of my fics in a single night. (I also love all comments, to be clear. An “OMG” or keysmash is also great. So’s a random one-off kudo.) Don’t worry you’ll annoy the writer. We can turn comments off if we don’t want them.

4) Writing and posting fic is time consuming. There’s the writing itself (already a major labor of love) and, even if there’s no editing or beta-reading, formatting and summarizing and rating and all that. Bare minimum. If there’s editing or beta-reading, now there’s an additional (and often lengthy) part of the process that has very likely meant a time investment not only from the authors but the folks that helped them. Engagement is the only pay they get.

5) To put a finer point on topic 1: Yes, lack of engagement has absolutely ended fics people loved or led writers to stop writing/sharing fanfic at all. I don’t say that to insinuate you owe a writer your engagement, but no one wants to shout into an empty room; if fanfic doesn’t involve participation from both sides, the system does eventually break down.

If you read a fic and don’t kudo or comment, the author has no way to know if you liked it or if you accidentally clicked the wrong link and immediately fled. Writers aren’t mind readers.

If you’re someone who reads a rare pair, this is doubly true. Authors of rare pairs can face a lonely existence in fandom spaces if the readers that read rare pairs don’t engage.

6) Please read the writer’s list to understand why kudos/hits/comments numbers are poor indicators of fic quality.

In Conclusion:

I don’t say all of this to suggest that someone’s feelings about fic stats and engagement levels aren’t valid. Writers, you’re allowed to be frustrated or let down by engagement levels; I’ve been there, and I see you. Readers, I have absolutely been the person that read an author’s entire catalogue of fics and didn’t comment because I didn’t know what to say or if I should (though I’m working on that). Like many people, my earliest days in fandom were spent lurking with the lurkiest among us. I’m not judging. But I think some of this stuff is helpful to remember.

You all make fandom better by your presence. No matter what the numbers are. Be kind to yourselves. And, if you’re ready, maybe throw your writers a kudo or comment. It’ll make their day.

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ” | ᴀᴅᴀᴍ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.5ᴋ

warnings: suggestive, profanity, pda (?), adam is an asshole but so are you, established relationship

a/n: felt bad cause I haven’t posted some proper fic in a while that isn’t father forgive me, so take this fellas

You watched as Adam slid the plate of ribs towards you, wearing that signature grin you’d grown to hate yet still love. “Y’know, these are my personal favourite,” he drawled, snatching one out of your own plate.

The lights of the diner flickered slightly and you could feel eyes on you, ignoring them. People always stared at you whenever you went out with Adam- it pissed you off, but, again, you’d learned to ignore it. 

“Hey, fuck you! That’s rude, you know.” You snapped, but he just rolled his eyes, continuing to munch on the meat. Your eyes fell back down to the plate, then sighed. “Plus, I uh… don’t really eat meat that much.” 

He quirked an eyebrow. “What, you one of those vegans or somethin’?” You could hear the slight disdain in his voice as he said it. “You eat grass?”

You wrinkled your nose. “I- no- what? I don’t eat grass. And I’m not a veg-“ you sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just don’t eat meat that often.”

“Well, here’s your chance,” he sang, waving a rib into your face. 

You sighed, taking it and biting into it. It was… surprisingly good. You chewed thoughtfully, letting Adam rant on about whatever he felt like- that was what he liked about you, you listened. That and your awesome pair of-

“Hey, you’re staring,” you said, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes, ignoring you as he shamelessly stared at your chest. “You really have no filter, huh? You’re gonna get fucking cancelled or something one of these days.”

“Cancelling people’s for pussies.” He took a savage bite of meat. “Just admit I’m that fuckin’ cool at that point, Y’know?”

“Suuuure,” you said dryly, dragging out the vowel. “So cool.”

He dissolved into another rant about whatever, ignoring your sarcastic comments in between. But the conversation began fizzling down to Lute. A muscle in your jaw twitched as you frowned, irked, as he rambled on about his best friend.

I get it. They’re best friends. But does he really have to fucking worship her in front of me?

“You can stop talking about Lute now,” you snarked. He froze, then raised an eyebrow, a slowly spreading grin appearing on his face, 

Oh, God, no. 

“Why? You jealous?”

What have I done?

“…No.”

He leaned closer to you across the table, resting his head on his fist. “You sure, sweetie?” His eyes narrowed as he eyed you up and down, and your shoulders tensed as you pressed your back into the leather behind you. 

“Y-yeah.”

He rolled his shoulders back. “Well, you seem pretty defensive.” He smirked. “It’s okay to be jealous, babe,” he laughed slightly, a small breathless huff that sent your heart racing. “I know you want me all to yourself.”

You frowned, and held up a finger. “One: in your fucking dreams, dipshit. Two-“ another finger. “-do I have a reason to be jealous of Lute?” Your expression darkened, and you raised an eyebrow. Adam, however, just let out an amused grin.

“Maybe.” He paused, eyeing you. “You worried I might like Lute more than you, or something?”

Sliding around the booth to sit and your side, he grinned. You glared at him. “Do you?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “Hmm. I mean, she is way hotter than you.” He grinned, it was clearly bait just to see you pissed off- but you bit on anyway, because the mere act of being around him was enough to get your blood sizzling.

You almost blanched, clenching your fists with irritation. “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughed. “No need for profanity, sweetie.” Hypocrite. “Plus, Lute’s a fuckin’ badass. She takes down demons for a living. Does it really get any better?”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” you snapped, getting up to leave, done with his bullshit. 

You felt a hand close around your wrist, tugging you back. “Hey hey hey! It was just a joke, babe. Come sit back down.” You twisted your neck around to stare at him, deadpan. “C’mon babe, don’t be like that,” he pleaded, but he still sounded like he was trying to keep the laughter at bay. 

“I will. If you like Lute so much, go talk to her.” You kicked his shin under the table, and he yelped. 

He rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’m just messing with you.” He grabbed your waist, dragging you towards him and pushing him flush up against you. “Plus, Lute ain’t got what you got.”

You hmphed, unconvinced. “Which is?”

“That bitchy attitude of yours. I like it.” His hand trailed down from your waist to your hip, giving a subtle squeeze. You glared at him as he looked you up and down, tone changing ever so slightly. “And you’re way more fun to rile up than Lute.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not a real answer. You’re so fucking annoying.” 

He grinned, pleased at your reaction as his grip on you tightened slightly, before loosening as his hand wandered down to rest at your thigh. “Yet here you are, letting me touch you like this.” His finger brushed your inner thigh, making a heat pool in between your legs, which squeezed together. 

Your eyes widened with outrage as you smacked his hand away, shifting glancing around the diner to see if anyone was paying any attention. “Well, let go of me then!” You hissed, face burning. 

“Hmm.” He pretended to think about it. “No, I don’t think I will.” His hand closed around you again, pulling you flush against him roughly, and he grinned.

“Well maybe you should! Before I scream!”

He laughed, amused at your threat. “Why don’t you?” He lifted his free hand to thread through your hair, leaning in closer so his breath was hot on the dip of your neck. “I’d love to hear you scream.”

Your mind almost went blank with shock. “Y-you…” you couldn’t finish the sentence, trailing off as his hand in your hair tightened, yanking your head back to expose your neck to him. His other hand still on your hip traced circles into the skin. 

“I what, sweetie?” He asked, tone seductive yet arrogant at the same time. You snapped back to your senses, and you looked away sharply.

“Nothing.”

He laughed slightly, the short huff of breath skimming across your neck. “No no, sweetheart. You don’t get to be silent now. Tell me what you were gonna say.”

“Adam, we’re in public,” you hissed, skirting around the question. “Get off of me.”

He laughed softly into your neck, hand going back to rest on your thigh and squeezing softly. “Why should I? You seem to be enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

“Off! Off, now!” You pushed him back, scrambling away from him. He snickered. 

“You sure you wanna do that? You seemed pretty comfortable.”

“Whatever,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Can we leave now?”

His eyes roamed over your form one more time, absolutely shameless, before grabbing your chin and tilting it towards him. “Fine, we can leave. On one condition.”

“What?” You asked, miffed. 

“You gotta admit you were having fun,” he teased. You blinked.

You quickly averted your eyes, trying to pull away but finding yourself unable to move. He grinned at you, tilting his head. “You’re not denying it.”

“Look, let’s just go.” You ripped his hand away from your chin and turned around, stalking out of the diner, not waiting to check whether he followed you or not. 

He laughed at your reaction, following you out. He jammed his hands in his pockets, catching up with your brisk steps, and tried to get you to look at him. “Hey, wait up!” He waved his hand in front of your face. “You always walk this fast?” His tone was joking, but fell silent as you continued to power walk. He sighed heavily. “C’mon, you can’t be that mad at me for a little joke, right?”

You stopped abruptly, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “Well maybe learn not to take it too far?”

He rolled his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?” He groaned, then grinned, clearly unrepentant. “Plus, I can’t help it if you’re so cute and easy to fuck with.”

“Well, maybe I’ll-“ you stopped, the threat dying on your lips as you looked at him. You stepped forward, subtly pressing your hips against his, the touch feather light. “You know I can’t help it if you rile me up like that,” you pouted innocently, glancing around to check if the streets were empty. “Right?”

He grinned at your change of tone, hand going back to your hip and pressing you against him harder, making your breath hitch. “‘’Course not, babe. It’s all my fault, I know. But shit-“ his grip tightened. “-If it makes you feel better, you rile me up too.” He looked down at you with a smug smile, gaze suggestive. 

You roll your eyes. “Wanna go to your place?”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” 

[autisticfaun420]

More on HSN autism and poop I guess

My most popular post by far is my one about my struggle with fecal smearing not sure why. I guess I’ll give you guys a follow up cause I want to talk more about incontinence and how it has affected my life. Sorry new to tumblr and I don’t remember what tags to use so OCD people can filter so I hope this intro is enough of a trigger warning.

I’m gonna be blunt about it, what’s worse then smearing though is just being in public stuck in a shitty diaper really for a couple reasons. I can’t stop myself from having bowel accidents in public, and when I’m having them too I *look* like I’m having one, I can’t stop my legs from squatting like a little kid and there’s often an accompanying sound to go with it. I wish I could say this in a nicer way but I basically go from the tolerable quirky R word to the ew so disgusting R word real fast. People go from smiling at me at least to going to openly degrading me and making comments like I’m not in the room. People get bothered real fast, I can’t blame them it smells bad but it doesn’t change the fact on how I feel inside once I became old enough to realize this was going on. It’s hard for my parents and caregivers to find a place in public to change me and it’s often impossible. The restaurants I eat at, the places so visit, are all dependent on me having a single room bathroom because a proper adult changing station is a pipe dream.

God forbid I have a diaper blowout (where poop goes up the back and out the diaper), then whatever small amount empathy people have goes quickly out the window. I used to like taking the bus with my dad, I can’t do it anymore. I had one blowout on the bus and people acted like their life was in danger “ew ew ew oh my god the r word shit everywhere ew” from someone not even close to where I was sitting, people telling my dad how my mom should of handled her pregnancy, I learned what an abortion was that day. People become blunt when they are mildly inconvenienced with a bad smell and they think it gives them a right to dehumanize someone. I know it’s disgusting but maybe there’s something wrong with me but I don’t think the reaction warrants it. Not when I’ve been at people’s houses and the dog shits everywhere and people go aww he’s just a little guy to the dog. I wish I got that kind of reaction as an autistic child, infantilization is at least better then telling me I should have never been born.

I wanted to write more but sorry I’m crying now. I guess I’ll end it on a positive note. I mentioned in a previous post how one of my high school friends, who grew up with little brothers and cousins, had no problems changing me so we could hang out. I’m not saying that’s an accommodation I expect anyone at all to make for me who’s not a parent or a caregiver getting paid for it, but the fact that he never acted grossed out when cleaning me healed something in me. I would be so embarrassed shitting myself in front of my “cool” neurotypical friends, I would be tearing up and I opened up about it and how embarrassing it is and he basically told me fuck the haters and it’s not something I can control. I didn’t ask for it. A part of me believed I was doing on purpose and carried guilt and guilt leads to meltdowns and smearing incidents. “What do you mean all the cool kids poop their pants” he would say sometimes to make me laugh. During our hangout sessions I would whisper to him “cool pants” or text him that so he could discreetly take me to the bathroom. He’d do it wether he was drunk, stoned, or sober. And like I said in the other post, he was the only reason I was able to have the freedom to hang out without a caretaker or parent in high school and we could all smoke weed together without my parents knowing. I think they did know what I was doing and just let me have my teenage fun, I think my parents thought the weed chilled me out too, which is true, so they let me do it but my cannabis use is a topic for another day.

[amiableness]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ READERS ETIQUETTE

making this post to explain some ways readers can support their writers, so if you’re new to tumblr or are curious, here you go <3

𐙚 i understand that sometimes as a reader you can feel nervous about interacting (i was once that way) but i promise you it means everything to writers. this is free and our hobby, support is very much appreciated and keeps writers motivated!

𐙚 please interact! a while back someone let me know they save my works, but don’t interact. i don’t know if it’s because they don’t want it on their blog or what. but please do NOT do this. it’s so discouraging to write something and hear that someone liked your works enough to save them but didn’t bother interacting

𐙚 while likes are greatly appreciated, they don’t do anything for writers besides giving them notes

𐙚 reblogs give us notes, but spread our work which is huge! you can reblog with comments or just leave it blank. i promise you we get so excited to see someone reblogged our works

𐙚 comments, whether under the post or on a reblog, are really appreciated! we love reading your thoughts on our work!

𐙚 if you don’t like something, don’t interact! not everyone will like the same thing and that’s okay. better yet, block someone or filter them out

𐙚 do not comment ‘tag me for the next part’ or ‘i need the next part!’ if you have not interacted with a reblog or like. it’s rude!

that’s all i have for now! i’ll add more as i need!