#because no one ever said it would be easy

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 28: July 2024 - Part 3

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 second session did not magically become easier than the first.

If anything, it felt heavier — not with tension, but with the weight of everything unspoken that now hovered in the room like fog. The kind that settled into your bones.

Belle sat stiffly on the couch, her posture a little too perfect, the line of her spine drawn taut like a string pulled too tight. One hand curled around a mug of herbal tea Camille had handed her the moment she walked in — chamomile, the kind that was supposed to soothe. Her other hand rested on her thigh, fingers loose until Max’s slid between them. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t press. Just... anchored.

Silent. Solid. Always there.

Across from them, Camille offered her usual soft, steady smile, pen poised but barely moving. “Thank you all for coming back,” she said. “I know this isn’t easy.”

Arthur gave a quiet nod. Lorenzo sat with his hands clasped, his expression drawn and unreadable, like he was still bracing for impact. Pascale held her handbag on her lap like armor — her nails tapping absently against the clasp. And Charles… Charles looked wrecked. Hair rumpled, shadows under his eyes, like sleep had been a stranger all week.

Belle didn’t look at him long.

“Let’s talk about the foal,” Camille said gently. “Galahad.”

The name alone sent a ripple through the room.

Belle blinked. She hadn’t expected that to come up so soon. Her thumb brushed the rim of her cup.

“He’s Blanche’s grandson,” she said quietly.

Pascale inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that sounded like it had edges. Arthur went still. Lorenzo’s brows pulled together, low and pained, as if he was trying to fold the memory of Blanche into something less sharp.

Charles frowned, his confusion too genuine to be faked. “I—wait. That’s real? It’s not just… people online guessing?”

Belle didn’t answer him at first. She just looked down into her tea — then lifted her eyes, cool and clear, to her brother.

“Max gave me Fleur,” she said, voice steady. “Blanche’s last foal. He found her. Bought her. For my birthday.”

Max didn’t flinch when every pair of Leclerc eyes snapped toward him. He didn’t even blink. He just slid his thumb gently over Belle’s knuckles, grounding her again — like a lighthouse in a storm he wasn’t afraid to weather.

“Blanche was sold when I was thirteen,” Belle continued. “She was the one thing in the world that was mine. And Papa sold her to pay for Charles’ karting season.”

Charles flinched visibly. Arthur looked like he was trying not to speak.

“We didn’t realize,” Pascale said quietly, voice barely above a breath. “That it hurt so much. You were so quiet about it…”

“I stopped talking about it,” Belle said, turning to her mother now — not cold, but calm in a way that made Max’s grip on her hand tighten slightly. “Because I learned not to ask for anything I loved. Because if I did, it would be taken away.”

The room went still.

Dead quiet.

“I didn’t know,” Charles said. “I mean— I knew Blanche was important, but I didn’t know it broke you like that.”

Belle didn’t blink. “Because no one ever asked if I wanted to ride again. Not once. You just assumed I was fine.”

“I thought you’d outgrown it,” Charles said weakly. 

“I didn’t,” Belle said. Her voice cracked for the first time, but she cleared it and went on. “I missed her every day. I used to dream she’d be there when I got home. I’d walk past the stables and think maybe… maybe someone changed their mind.”

Arthur’s voice was rough. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She looked at him. And for the first time, it wasn’t hurt in her eyes — it was exhaustion.

“Because you took away what I loved once,” Belle said. “What reason did I have to believe anyone would give it back?”

Camille sat forward slightly. “Belle, you mentioned working at a stable during university?”

Belle nodded. “It was the only way I could be near horses again. I mucked stalls, fed foals, groomed show ponies. I worked before and after classes just to pay for riding lessons.”

“And you never told anyone?” Lorenzo asked softly.

Belle gave him a thin smile. “Charles was already making F1 money. You were all busy celebrating. Why would I ruin it by saying I still missed something you decided didn’t matter?”

Max let go of her hand just long enough to rest his palm over her thigh, his thumb rubbing small, grounding circles there.

Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I was so focused on not letting anyone down—on winning. I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask,” Belle said.

And this time, it landed.

The silence afterward was raw. Heavy. Pascale dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her coat pocket.

“I thought you were so strong,” she whispered. “I thought if I didn’t ask, you wouldn’t hurt.”

“I still hurt,” Belle said, gentler this time. “I just stopped hoping you’d notice.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said suddenly, voice thick. “I’m so— I was selfish. I didn’t see what I cost you. I didn’t know how much we hurt you. That we took something from you and never even tried to give it back. That we just… assumed you didn’t need it anymore.”

Belle blinked hard. Max squeezed her hand tighter.

“I remember when they sold Blanche,” Charles said. “You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stopped. And I told myself that meant you were okay. But you weren’t. You were never okay. And I never asked why.”

Camille nodded. “Belle, how does that feel to hear?”

“I don’t want apologies because people feel guilty,” Belle said. “I want them because they finally see me. All of me.”

She looked at Charles again. “Do you?”

“I’m trying,” he said, voice shaking. “I promise—I’m really, really trying.”

Max finally spoke, low and firm. “Trying is good. But it’s only the beginning.”

Charles met Max’s eyes. For once, there was no defensiveness. Just shame.

Camille let the silence stretch before speaking again, her voice soft.

“Grief doesn’t always come from loss,” she said. “Sometimes it comes from being forgotten. From knowing that what matters most to you… didn’t matter to someone else.”

Belle closed her eyes, just for a moment.

And Max held her hand, the only thing that didn’t tremble.

The silence stretched again, heavier this time.

Charles had leaned back, hands clasped between his knees, shame carved deep into the lines of his face. Arthur sat rigid beside him, like he was holding his breath through the weight of it all.

And Lorenzo… Lorenzo hadn’t spoken in a while.

Not because he had nothing to say.

But because he had too much.

“I should’ve known,” he said finally.

His voice was rough — unused, too tight, like every word scraped its way out.

Belle looked at him, but didn’t speak. Just watched. Quiet. Braced.

Lorenzo’s hands flexed in his lap before he went still again.

“I was the oldest,” he said, not to anyone in particular. “I was supposed to look after everyone. Especially after Papa died. And I didn’t. Not really.”

He looked up at her then, and the regret in his expression nearly knocked the wind from her lungs.

“I thought… if you weren’t complaining, if you weren’t fighting… that meant you were fine.” A pause. “But you weren’t. And I should’ve seen that.”

Belle’s throat worked. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just waited.

“I saw you working during uni,” Lorenzo added, softer now. “I knew you were doing too much. But I told myself it was just who you were — that you liked being independent. I didn’t think to ask why. I didn’t think to ask if it was because we hadn’t given you anything to rely on.”

He looked down, thumb rubbing over a faded scar on his knuckle.

“I didn’t know you were still riding,” he said. “I didn’t know you were still hurting. And that’s not on you. That’s on me.”

Belle’s breath hitched — and she looked away, blinking fast.

“I thought I was doing enough by staying out of your way,” Lorenzo said, quieter still. “But all I did was stay out of your life.”

Across the room, Pascale was quietly crying.

Camille sat back, letting the silence do what it needed.

Max gently squeezed Belle’s hand.

And finally — finally — she found her voice again.

“I never stopped waiting for someone to ask,” she whispered. “Just once. Just one of you.”

Her voice didn’t waver, even though her eyes were glassy.

“You all knew how much I loved Blanche. You all knew what it meant when she was gone. And then you just… never asked again. All I ever wanted,” she said, “was to matter to you the way racing mattered. The way Charles mattered. The way Arthur’s comeback mattered. I didn’t need a podium. I just needed to be enough without earning it.”

Lorenzo wiped his face with a shaking hand.

Pascale looked like her heart was breaking in slow motion.

Lorenzo looked like he’d been punched.

“I care,” he said hoarsely. “I care, Belle. I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Belle didn’t nod.

Didn’t forgive.

But her hand curled tighter around Max’s.

And she didn’t look away.

Which was, for now, more than she’d ever given them before.

Camille’s voice was soft, guiding. “Maybe the next step isn’t trying to fix the past all at once. Maybe it’s about listening better. Starting now.”

***

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the occasional flick of Max’s thumb as he scrolled through his phone. Belle sat at the island, legs curled up on the stool, her chin resting on her palm as she nursed a glass of iced tea.

It had been a long day. The kind that didn’t hurt exactly, but left her feeling stretched thin.

Max looked up from his phone. “So, I was thinking,” he said, tone light, joking, “the summer break is coming up… we could actually take a holiday this time.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “A real one? No media, no Red Bull calls, no pretending we’re just ‘close friends’ in public?”

Max grinned. “Full honeymoon energy. Just with slightly more sunscreen and probably less champagne.”

She smiled faintly, but the curve of it faltered after a second.

“I don’t want to plan anything that’s meant to include them,” Belle said quietly, fingers tightening around her glass. “Not this time.”

Max didn’t ask who them was.

He didn’t have to.

She pressed on, voice steady but tired. “Every family trip, every holiday, every break… it was always about accommodating them. Maman’s preferences, Charles’ schedule, Lorenzo’s mood. I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to spend my vacation hoping someone remembers I’m there.”

Max’s gaze softened. He reached out, tugging gently on her hand until she let go of the glass and laced her fingers through his instead.

“Then we don’t,” he said simply. “We make it ours. No apologies.”

Belle exhaled, slow and shaky. “I don’t want to spend this summer proving I’m fine without them. I want to actually be fine.”

Max brushed his thumb along her knuckles. “What if we invited my family instead?”

Belle blinked.

He continued, tone still light but thoughtful. “Ma has been asking to see you. We could rent a little villa — bring Victoria, Tom, the boys. Just family, but the kind that… makes you feel safe.”

Belle’s lips parted like she was going to argue — reflex, habit — but then she stopped.

Because that didn’t sound exhausting.

It didn’t sound like pressure.

It sounded like warm breakfasts and sleepy mornings and Lio climbing into her lap with sticky fingers, and Sophie giving her that kind, knowing smile that never made her feel small.

It sounded like a life she didn’t have to fight for every second.

She swallowed. “That actually… sounds really nice.”

Max leaned over, kissed her temple, and said, “Good. Because I already looked at places in the South of France.”

Belle let out a soft laugh, the tension finally beginning to slide from her shoulders. “Of course you did.”

Max smirked. “I have taste. And a wife with excellent boundaries.”

Belle squeezed his hand. “Getting there.”

“You’re already doing better than most,” he said, kissing her again. “And this summer? It’s going to be about you. Us. The people who show up.”

***

Group Chat: Summer Escape ☀️🐚

 (Members: Max, Belle, Victoria, Sophie, Tom)

Max: Found a villa in the South of France. Private beach, lots of space, kid-friendly. Sent you all the link.

Tom: Already sold by private beach tbh.

Victoria: Oh my god this place looks like a dream. Maxie, you’ve outdone yourself.

Sophie: It’s beautiful. And it looks peaceful, too — no paparazzi hiding in the bushes, I hope?

Belle: It’s gated and secluded. Max made sure.

Max: Called ahead. They’ve hosted high-profile guests before. We’ll be safe.

Victoria: Bless you. I love you both but I’m not spending my vacation ducking from long lenses while trying to wrangle Luka and Lio into sunscreen.

Tom: I can already feel the sunburn happening anyway.

Belle: I’ve got a whole itinerary if anyone’s interested 📝 Markets, coastal trails, a boat rental option, a local cooking class, and yes, Vic — I found a day spa.

Victoria: I LOVE YOU.

Sophie: That sounds like heaven. I’ll bake if someone else drives.

Max: Tom and I will handle the cars.

Tom: I’ll drive if Max promises not to play Dutch rap the entire way.

Max: Absolutely not. 

Belle: Compromise: Max gets aux on the way there, Tom gets it on the way back.

Tom: Deal.

Victoria: What dates are we looking at?

Max:Early August. I double-checked the F1 calendar. I’m free, and Belle will be far enough along to enjoy the trip but still comfortable.

Belle: I’ve already blocked off the week. Booked the villa this morning 🐚

Sophie: My bags are already mentally packed.

Victoria: Do you think Luka will cry if I tell him Auntie Belle is bringing board games?

Victoria: Okay but I’m bringing floaties for everyone. Even the adults.

Tom: I am NOT wearing a flamingo floatie, Vic.

Victoria: You will if you love me.

Sophie: I’ll bring sunscreen.

Max: Confirmed: easiest vacation planning ever.

***

The villa confirmation email had just come through when Max padded into the living room, two mugs of tea in hand and Jimmy winding lazily around his ankles.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, her laptop balanced on her knees, the faintest smile on her face — the kind she wore when something felt right.

Max handed her the mug, kissed her forehead, then dropped beside her with a contented sigh.

“All set?” he asked, glancing at the screen.

Belle nodded. “Dates confirmed, boat booked, and Victoria has already texted me a list of pool floaties shaped like sea creatures.”

Max huffed a soft laugh. “She really took the flamingo comment personally.”

“She said if Tom doesn’t wear the inflatable crab, she’s revoking his beach privileges.”

“Fair.”

Belle smiled again, soft and genuine — no tightness behind it, no edge of exhaustion. Just ease.

Max studied her for a moment. The light was hitting her just right — golden and gentle, casting little halos in her hair and warming the faint curve at the base of her belly.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Planning things with them. With us.”

Belle didn’t answer at first. She just wrapped both hands around the mug and stared at the steam rising gently from it.

Then: “It doesn’t feel like walking on eggshells.”

Her voice was calm, but Max heard the weight beneath it. The quiet ache of comparison.

“With them, it was always…” She hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Careful. Strategic. Making sure everyone’s feelings were considered, even if it meant mine weren’t. And still, it always felt like I was asking for too much.”

Max leaned forward, resting his elbow on the back of the couch so he could face her properly.

“And now?” he asked.

Belle looked at him then, eyes warm. “Now it just feels like family.”

He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. Reached for her hand. Held it.

“You are family,” he said softly.

Before she could reply — her breath caught.

Max’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

Then she grabbed his hand and moved it — lower, gently, carefully — to rest on the curve of her belly.

“There,” she whispered. “Right there.”

Max held still.

For a heartbeat, he wasn’t sure.

Then —

A flutter. A ripple. The tiniest thud beneath his palm. Like a secret knock from inside her.

His breath hitched.

“Oh,” he breathed, stunned.

Belle was already crying — silently, the kind of overwhelmed joy that needed no sound to carry its weight.

Max stared at her stomach like it held the universe.

“That was… That was the baby,” he said dumbly, his voice cracking halfway through. “That was our baby.”

She nodded, a laugh escaping through her tears.

He pressed his palm firmer, trying to coax another one — another flutter, another sign.

And there it was. Stronger this time.

A tiny kick.

A hello.

Max didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just leaned forward and pressed his lips reverently to the curve of her belly, hands still cupping her like she might float away.

When he looked up at Belle, there were tears in her eyes too — but not the kind that broke. The kind that healed.

And Max — F1 World Champion, man of speed and fire — sat there quietly, completely undone by the smallest movement he’d ever felt.

Together, they stayed like that — no more talking, no more planning — just stillness, warmth, and the tiniest heartbeat between them.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: em

Emilie: 👀 what happened are you okay is max okay did you post a horse again

Belle: 😂 no. Everyone’s fine, everything’s fine but the baby kicked for the first time. 

Emilie: WAIT WHAT BELLE ARE YOU SERIOUS AS IN REAL KICK LIKE A HELLO-I’M-HERE KICK???

Belle: Yes.  Like a real, actual kick Max felt it too I think he forgot how to breathe for a second

Emilie:I’m crying in the wine aisle A toddler just asked me if i’m okay

Belle:I wasn’t expecting it. We were just talking and then—boom… a little thump like "Hi mama, I exist"

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 this baby already has dramatic timing just like their parents

Belle:You should’ve seen Max. He looked like he’d been hit by lightning Then he kissed my belly and just… stayed there Like he was listening for more

Emilie: STOP YOU’RE KILLING ME I already love this child more than life itself

Belle: me too and they haven’t even arrived yet

Emilie:You’re going to be such a good mom they’re already so, so loved

Belle:They really are (and so are you)

Emilie: don’t do this i’m already emotional enough also do i get godmother rights or what

Belle: first dibs obviously

Emilie: 💅 as it should be

***

The race had started with cautious optimism.

Emilie had brought pastries. Belle had made tea. The cats were napping peacefully on the windowsill, and the entire living room smelled faintly of lavender and lemon from the candle burning on the side table.

It should have been a peaceful Sunday.

It was not.

It was a catastrophe. 

From start to finish. 

"Did they just—" Emilie’s voice cut off as she sat bolt upright on the couch, nearly spilling her tea. "Did McLaren really just tell Lando to stop pushing when he was gaining seconds a lap?!"

Belle didn’t answer. Her eyes were glued to the screen, mouth open in disbelief. She looked pale beneath the soft blanket pulled over her lap — a protective hand resting unconsciously on the slight curve of her belly.

"He's faster," Emilie growled. "They’re emotionally blackmailing him with Oscar’s first win. This is what we’re doing now?"

"This is going to break him," Emilie whispered. "You can hear it. You can hear the leash snap."

Belle flinched as Red Bull’s pit wall came into focus next. She could hear Max tightly banked fury in every single radio message. 

It was absolute chaos. 

Meanwhile Oscar Piastri — calm, clinical, precise — was slowly edging toward his maiden win.

Emilie had gone from angry muttering to full shouting.

"WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?" she demanded, half-standing, waving a croissant like a weapon. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH MCLAREN’S PIT WALL?!?! AND MAX?!? HE’S MAX. HOW DO YOU MESS UP MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

Belle didn’t move. She just sat there, clenching her teeth as she watched Max fight for a P5 finish by the skin of his teeth. 

On the screen, Oscar crossed the line — P1. His first win. A historic moment. And the cameras panned to the McLaren garage erupting in joy.

Emilie sat back down, quieter now. "That was a nightmare," she murmured. "Nobody’s walking away from this clean."

Belle nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"No," she said. "They're not."

Emilie threw her hands up. "Oscar just won his first race, and I still want to punch someone."

Belle nodded slowly. "Because the entire grid is on fire."

"Because they sabotaged Lando, emotionally and strategically," Emilie fumed. "Because Red Bull turned Max into a sacrificial lamb. And because poor Oscar isn’t even going to get his proper moment."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

On the screen, Oscar climbed from the car, waving to the crowd. The cheers were loud. But Belle could already see it happening — the press would spin it into "Verstappen furious at Red Bull failure" instead of "Piastri’s first victory."

Belle leaned her head back against the couch. “This was supposed to be a normal weekend.”

Emilie snorted. “Have you met Formula 1?”

Belle sighed. “Max is going to be impossible to calm down after this.”

"You’re the only one who can," Emilie said. "And maybe the baby, if they kick him in the kidney hard enough."

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: Hey. You want to talk about it?

Max: … No.

Max: Just Tell me about your day. Please.

Belle: Okay. Let’s see. Emilie came over and brought croissants. Then she spent the race shouting at the tv.  I made tea. The cats staged a nap-time rebellion. And our baby — who is currently the size of a sweet potato, apparently — kicked me when I sat down wrong.

Max:Already dramatic. That’s on you.

Belle: Excuse me?? I am elegance and grace.

Max: You are. But also a little terrifying. I love you.

Belle: I love you too. I’m proud of you, you know. Even when the car lets you down. Even when the whole race is a disaster. You still came home.

Max: That’s all I ever want. To come home to you.

Belle: Always. No matter what happens on track — I’m here. You, me, and a very kicky sweet potato. 🧡

Max: That made me smile. Thank you, Schatje. I’ll be home soon.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Lily Zneimer

Belle: Hey What’s Oscar thinking for the celebration?

Lily: Honestly? He’s feeling kind of… underwhelmed.

Belle: God. That makes me so sad. He deserved the whole fireworks-and-cake treatment.

Lily: He keeps saying “a win’s a win,” but it’s like… even he knows they tainted it. He’s proud. He is. But he feels like everything around it fell apart. Like he won, but at what cost, you know?

Belle: Because they used Lando’s loyalty against him. All the headlines are about Max. Or Lando. Or McLaren strategy. Not about how brilliant he drove. He was flawless. Cool under pressure. Calm. Surgical. He deserved the world for that drive.

Lily: I told him that. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Belle: The entire race was a masterclass in emotional sabotage.

Lily: Exactly. He hasn’t said it, but I think he feels like he stole something. And it wasn’t his fault. But he still feels it.

Belle: That’s the worst part. He should be celebrating. But instead he’s probably thinking about Lando’s face on the podium and Max’s radio messages.

Lily: He keeps saying Lando didn’t even try to smile.

Belle: …Oscar and Lando are going to trauma-bond over this, aren’t they?

Lily: 100%. I’m pretty sure we’re about three days away from a “we’re not mad at each other, just mad at the world” emotionally repressed heart-to-heart.

Belle: They’re going to cry into Monster Energy Drinks and protein bars and swear they’re never letting a pit wall gaslight them again.

Belle: You know what? Screw it. Let’s throw a pool party at ours. Oscar deserves joy. Lando deserves relaxation. Max needs sunlight and distraction. And I’m pregnant. I can make it about me if I need to.

Lily: OH MY GOD YES. YES TO EVERYTHING. You say when and I’ll bring snacks and inflatable flamingos.

Belle: Done. I’ll talk to Max. Let’s give Oscar the celebration McLaren should have.

Lily: You’re the best. Seriously. He’s going to cry.

Belle: He can cry into the pool float shaped like a trophy. I’ll allow it. 😌

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Hey you 🧡 I know the last 24 hours have been a mess. But I also know something else. You won that race. Not McLaren. Not the strategists. You.

Oscar: Thanks, Belle. I’m trying to focus on that. It just feels… weird.

Belle: Of course it does. You were brilliant. But the world got loud about everything else. That doesn’t take away from what you did.

Oscar: It’s hard to feel like it’s mine, I guess. I don’t want Lando to think I didn’t notice how much he gave up. And Max… he deserved better too. Everyone’s mad. It’s hard to celebrate when it feels like I’m the reason for the wreckage.

Belle: Oscar. You are not the wreckage.

Oscar: That’s… Thank you. Really.

Belle: So. Here’s what’s going to happen. This weekend, you’re coming over. We’re throwing a pool party.

Oscar: A what?? 😳

Belle: A celebration. For you. No media. No drama. Just people who love you, a barbecue, flamingos, probably cats, and a really smug Red Bull driver pretending he isn’t excited to man the grill.

Oscar: Is this a trap?

Belle: Only if you hate joy and inflatable pool floaties. Which would be tragic.

Oscar: You don’t have to do that, Belle.

Belle: I want to. Because you should’ve had fireworks. So we’ll give you laughter instead. You earned your moment, Oscar. Let us give it to you.

Oscar: …Okay. Okay, yeah. I think I’d like that.

Belle: Good. And you’re bringing Lily. I’ll blackmail Lando into bringing a playlist and making mocktails. 

Oscar: Thank you, Belle. Really.

Belle: Always. Now go pick your favorite sunglasses. You’re getting a party.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: He’s not answering. Belle, he’s not answering any of my texts. Or calls. Since last night.

Belle: Lando?

Emilie: Yes. He read my message at like 2am and didn’t reply. And now he’s gone dark. I’m trying not to freak out but— Okay I’m freaking out.

Belle: Deep breath. He’s probably just trying to decompress. Hungary was a disaster and you know how he gets when he feels like he failed everyone.

Emilie: But he didn’t fail. McLaren failed him. And they made him watch it happen in real-time.

Belle: I know. But Lando’s the kind of person who carries blame even when it’s not his to carry. Especially if it’s Oscar on the other side of it.

Emilie: God. I just want to drag him out of whatever cave he’s sulking in and make him eat something. I keep checking Twitter like a lunatic.

Emilie: Belle— He looked wrecked on the podium. And McLaren acted like everything was fine. Like they didn’t just emotionally ransom him in real time.

Belle: Let me text him.

Emilie: You sure? I don’t want to overstep—

Belle: Em, it’s not overstepping when you care. And Lando cares about you. That’s why he’s hiding. But he’ll talk to me. He always does when he thinks no one else should worry.

Emilie: Please let me know if he answers. I’m just… worried.

Belle: I’ll text him. Promise.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Belle: Hey. I’m not here to push. Just letting you know I’m here when you’re ready.

Belle: Emilie’s worried. (So am I. But I won’t crowd you about it.) Just… maybe don’t go full ghost. You don’t have to be okay. But you don’t have to be alone either.

Belle: I watched the race. Every second. And I know what they did.

Belle: You didn’t lose.

You were put into an impossible situation by your team. You gave up a win so your teammate could have his moment. You drove with loyalty, with grace, with more heart than that entire pit wall put together. And it wasn’t fair.

Belle: I also know you’re probably thinking you don’t deserve comfort right now. That you let everyone down. You didn’t. You held the whole damn thing together until it cracked around you.

Lando: I’m here. Just didn’t know what to say. Still don’t, really.

Belle: You don’t have to say anything profound. Just… let someone know you’re breathing.

Lando: Barely. Feels like I’m stuck under it. The weight. The noise. Everyone has a take. And it’s all just too much.

Belle: Then let me be quiet with you. Or loud, if that helps. Whichever you need.

Lando: Oscar deserved the win. He did. But I hate how it happened.

Lando: And I hate that part of me is still wishing they’d let me have it. That feels… selfish.

Belle: It’s not selfish. It’s human. You fought like hell. You were brilliant. And you were betrayed by the people who were supposed to have your back. You’re allowed to grieve that.

Lando: I just keep thinking… if I had pushed anyway. If I’d ignored the call. If I’d just been selfish for once.

Belle: Then they would’ve crucified you. Turned you into the villain. You did the right thing. And they still broke your heart.

Lando: Yeah. That’s what it feels like.

Lando: Like I’m grieving something nobody else even noticed was lost.

Belle: I noticed. So did Max. So did Emilie. So did Oscar.

Lando: Oscar texted. I couldn’t answer. Emilie too. I couldn’t… I didn’t want them to think I blamed them.

Belle: They don’t. But they miss you. Especially Emilie. She’s halfway to turning up at your door with a backpack and emotional snacks. Text her. She’s losing her mind a little. Probably cried into a baguette this morning.

Lando: I don’t know what to say to her.

Belle: Try: “Hi, I’m alive. Sorry for being a dumb ghost boy. Miss you.” Bonus points if you throw in an emoji.

Lando: … Fine. I’ll text her. But only because you bullied me and I don’t want her to throw a baguette at my head.

Belle: Good.

Belle: Also. There’s a pool party at ours this weekend.

Lando: Is this a threat or an invitation

Belle: Yes.

Belle: Come. Max is barbecuing. Oscar’s being emotionally blackmailed into smiling. Emilie’s already picked out her floatie. I have lemon iced tea and three cats who miss you.

Lando: …Is it weird if I say I miss the cats too?

Belle: Deeply normal. One of them climbed into Max’s suitcase today like he was personally offended he wasn’t invited to the garage.

Lando: Okay. I’ll come. Just don’t… expect me to be the life of the party.

Belle: I don’t need you to be anything but you. Messy. Sad. Recovering. You’re allowed to take up space exactly as you are.

Lando: Thanks, Belle. Really.

***

Belle had always believed healing didn’t happen in grand gestures. It happened in the quiet.

It happened in things like grilled corn on a sunny patio. In the sound of Lando’s laugh — rusty, but real — echoing from the pool deck. In the way Oscar kept checking that Lily had enough sunscreen on, even though she was already under a parasol. In Emilie wearing sunglasses far too big for her face while floating across the water in a neon flamingo, sipping mocktail number three and pretending she wasn’t sneaking glances at Lando every five seconds.

It was in the smallness of it all. That’s where the cracks began to mend.

Belle sat on a lounger in the shade, legs curled under her, a book in her lap that she hadn’t turned a page of in at least twenty minutes. Her free hand rested absentmindedly over the curve of her belly. 

Max was at the grill with a look of serious concentration that made him look more like he was engineering a pit stop than flipping burgers. He’d already threatened to throw anyone who messed with his skewers into the pool.

The air smelled like coconut sunscreen, charcoal smoke, and fresh lemonade. A slow breeze ruffled the ivy growing along the stone wall. Everything was soft, warm, safe.

Lando was perched on the edge of a lounge chair near the shallow end, hair still wet, swim trunks clinging awkwardly to his legs after a stealth dunk by Oscar.

Belle had watched the shift in him happen slowly over the last hour. The way his shoulders dropped an inch. The way he let himself speak without weighing every syllable. The way Emilie, now dried off and sitting beside him with her towel around her shoulders, kept brushing her pinky against his like she was asking: Here? Can I meet you here?

And Lando — for once — didn’t flinch.

Oscar and Lily were sitting on the pool steps, water up to their waists, sharing a bag of chips like they were teenagers again. Belle caught Oscar watching Lando once, his face carefully unreadable, before he turned and whispered something to Lily that made her laugh and splash him.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was healing.

“Need anything?” Max asked, suddenly beside her, handing her a cold glass of lemon soda like he knew she was about to ask without having said a word.

Belle smiled up at him. “No. Just this.”

He sat down on the lounger beside her, his hand settling instinctively on the spot where their baby had kicked earlier that week. She leaned into him, and for a moment, there was no chaos, no paddock, no headlines — just Max and Belle and the quiet miracle they were building between them.

Across the patio, Lando called out, “Max! Your burger’s on fire!”

Max stood, dramatically offended. “It’s charred for flavor!”

Emilie snorted. “It’s charcoal, Verstappen.”

“Don’t insult the chef,” Belle murmured into her glass.

Lando grinned faintly. It didn’t reach all the way to his eyes — but it got closer.

Belle caught his gaze and lifted her glass in a silent toast.

To survival. To found families. To the summer that might finally give them all a little peace.

Lando nodded once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. He got it.

And Belle — finally, fully — let herself exhale.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat 

 Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale. 

Pascale: I was thinking we should start planning the summer holiday. Maybe the coast? That little hotel in Antibes with the good croissants?

Arthur: Can we not do the same hotel again? Last time we went there the air conditioning broke and Charles nearly started a war with the concierge.

Charles: That’s because it was 40 degrees and they offered me a fan the size of a desert plate.

Lorenzo: Still better than the year we tried that cabin in the Alps and you forgot you hate nature.

Charles: There were bugs. I make no apologies.

Pascale: Anyway—Isabelle, chérie, can you look into accommodations again? You always find the nicest ones. ❤️

Belle: I won’t be joining this year.

Arthur: Wait, what?

Charles: You’re not coming?

Pascale: What do you mean?

Belle: Max and I already made plans with his family. We’re spending two weeks in the South of France — a villa by the coast. Just us and them.

Lorenzo: So you’re skipping the family holiday?

Belle: I’m not skipping. I’m just not the one planning it this time. If you want to go somewhere, you’ll have to coordinate it yourselves.

Pascale: Isabelle, I just thought— You’ve always been the one who organizes things. It’s tradition.

Belle: It’s also exhausting. I’d like a summer where I don’t feel invisible while trying to make everyone else comfortable.

Lorenzo: Belle… we didn’t mean to take that for granted.

Belle: I know. But you did. And this year? I’m choosing peace.

Charles: So we’re just… not doing anything all together?

Belle: You’re welcome to. But not with me trying to hold it all together. Not this time.

***

Instagram Stories: @/belleverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwitches: belle verstappen really said “our love is loud even when it’s quiet” and now i have to lie down in traffic 🫠

@/formulagenz: “You don’t have to earn love by disappearing.” i’m crying in the work bathroom. this woman deserves the world.

@/paddocktea:  her saying “we weren’t ready for the noise” while still radiating the kind of peace most people spend years searching for??? iconic. queen energy. verstappen-level PR mastery without saying a single messy thing.

@/mclarendrama:  also @LandoNorris being outed as the unofficial wedding photographer?? please god let him have used portrait mode.

@/babyverstappenupdates baby verstappen is the size of a carrot, has an entire f1 grid of honorary uncles, a red bull onesie in production, and a mother who is effortlessly poetic even in a Q&A. i’m already obsessed with this child.

@/f1softies: can’t stop thinking about: – “he always makes sure I know I’m loved, even when no one else remembered.” – “the bump. and the dad.” – “don’t sell your riding boots. they’ll matter again.” this isn’t just a q&a. it’s a novel.

@/charlesupdates:  shoutout to belle for asking people not to send hate to her brothers. even after everything, she’s still trying to hold the peace. grace personified.

@/wagsupreme:  it’s the way belle confirmed her entire love story, baby, and career in one story drop and still managed to say “let us be a family, privately.” she’s the blueprint.

@/oscarstan03:  her being like “our baby is healthy, i’m grateful, lilly the cat is fierce” like girl you are the voice of a generation.

@/gridgirlie:  BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID “LOVE LIKE THIS IS LOUD EVEN WHEN IT’S QUIET” AND I NEED A MINUTE TO SOB IN MY CAR

@/f1nosyparkers:  “Because I wanted to be someone’s first thought, not a footnote.” THIS IS WHY I WILL DIE FOR HER

@/lanflorals: Lando Norris was the wedding photographer??? I’m sorry??? HE’S BEEN SITTING ON THESE PHOTOS LIKE A FERAL LITTLE SECRET KEEPER

@/redbullhoneybadger:  not belle casually saying she met max because he tried a bad pickup line on her I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE LINE WAS WAS IT ABOUT TIRES? WAS IT “I’D PIT FOR YOU”?

@/paddockwives: “She doesn’t have to earn love by disappearing” “She visits Fleur every week” “She calls the baby a little Verstappen” “She’s still working” “She’s exactly where she’s meant to be” NO BUT I AM A BELLE GIRL FOREVER

@/belleleclercupdates:  belle: please don’t send hate to my brothers she’s class. she’s grace. she’s emotionally destroying them without raising her voice.

@/sunnyforoscar:  “don’t harass them. we’re family. a fractured one, but still family.” she’s giving boundaries AND compassion how is she this composed???

@/babyverstappenfanclub:  THE BABY IS THE SIZE OF A CARROT. I REPEAT. THE BABY IS A CARROT. I love them already.

@/leclercguiltposting:  Belle: asks people not to send hate Also Belle: answers every question with poise, kindness, and veiled emotional warfare I see why Charles is in shambles.

@/paddocktea:  Belle asking people not to send hate to her brothers???? A better person than me tbh Because if my family forgot my birthday and I was pregnant and GLOWING like that??? They’d be BLOCKED 💅

@/emotionaldnf:  “don’t sell your riding boots. they’ll matter again.” BELLE??? STOP??? I CAN’T BREATHE????

@/lanverstappensimp:   i’m sorry but imagine max taking a pickup line shot in a bar and it ended with marriage and a baby he WINS. he WINS AT LIFE.

@/danielricciardosburner: imagine going to a Q&A for fun and getting:

therapy

a life lesson

cat pics

baby updates

confirmation that Max Verstappen is completely whipped i need to lie down.

@/gridwivesupreme: i keep thinking about “don’t harass my brothers. that doesn’t help anyone.” like… she’s STILL trying to shield them from the fallout. even now.

that’s not just grace — that’s trauma reflex.

@/gridsleuths:  no bc the entire tone of her answers is so quiet but final “we’re still family, but let us do this privately” babe. that’s a boundary forged from burn scars

@/charlesgirlfail: idk how to explain it but belle’s entire vibe is

“i don’t hate you, i just finally stopped needing you to care”

which is somehow 1000x more devastating

@/emotionaldnf:  i’m convinced belle spent years showing up for people who never remembered her coffee order and max took one look and said: not on my watch

@/sunflowersoftgrid

her talking about her old riding boots and how she thought she had to earn love by disappearing…

you could feel the silence she grew up in

you could feel how loud max’s love must’ve been by comparison

@/underratedwags: 

the Q&A was soft and graceful but like… the subtext??

– never mentions a Leclerc attending the wedding

– references her husband and her baby and her horses before her family

the silence is screaming

@/f1sleuths: 📌 Thread: How bad is Belle Verstappen’s relationship with her family, really? Because after that Q&A… yeah. Let’s unpack. 🧵

@/f1sleuths: 1.  First of all, the line “I wanted to be someone’s first thought, not a footnote”??? That’s not shade. That’s a funeral for unmet needs. That’s someone who’s been sidelined for years.

@/f1sleuths: 2. She said:

“We weren’t ready for the noise.” And then: “For once, I wanted to be someone’s first thought.” And then: “You don’t have to earn love by disappearing.” Tell me that woman hasn’t been begging to be seen her entire life.

@/f1sleuths: 3. Also let’s talk about how she didn’t deny anything. She didn’t say “my family and I are fine.”  She said:

“We are family — a fractured one, maybe, but still family.” That “maybe” is loud. That “still” is tired. That whole line is someone choosing compassion without pretending everything’s okay.

@/f1sleuths: 4. She also said “don’t send my brothers hate,” which is usually something people only have to say when… people are sending hate. And why are people sending hate? Because this family ignored her for so long that people noticed.

5. Let’s not forget:

The birthday her family forgot

The wedding they didn’t attend. (Because they were not on that wedding picture she posted.)

The horse story (I’m still crying over Blanche) This isn’t a one-time fight. This is a pattern.

@/f1sleuths: 6.  Meanwhile, the Verstappens have:

Flew in for the wedding

Max got her a horse she lost in childhood

Victoria posted a photo of Belle organizing the baby’s nursery

I’m sorry but the contrast is BLINDING.

@/f1sleuths: 7. “Love like this is loud even when it’s quiet.” = I didn’t grow up with this kind of love. And I don’t know how anyone reads it differently.

@/f1sleuths: 8. This is not about drama. It’s about a girl who spent years being told (implicitly or otherwise) that she didn’t matter as much as the rest of them. And now? She’s with someone who shows her every day that she does.

@/f1sleuths: 9. Final thought: Belle didn’t air her family’s dirty laundry. She didn’t name names. She didn’t point fingers. She just told the truth — hers — quietly. And somehow it was louder than anything they’ve ever said.@/f1sleuths: 10. Anyway. I hope Belle gets everything she never thought she could have. And I hope the Leclercs are listening. Because the rest of us? We hear her loud and clear.

[hattersrabbit]

LOVE, ME NORMALLY

yandere batfamily x neglected! rogue! reader | sfw

CW! female reader, meta reader, hurt comfort, manipulation, hurt no comfort, overprotective batfam, misunderstandings, miscommunication, Timothy 'Stalker' Drake, all PLATONIC relationships, reader is described with having hair, yandere aspects near the end (srry possibly part 2 lol)

Summary! You were always the normal one. Another one of Bruce's flings children, who hid you from him and he was distant despite grabbing you the moment you were known. You were normal until this terrifying power appeared. And now their acting like your loved when you finally leave.

You had a relatively normal childhood. Just you and your hard working mother. A woman of high standing who would bring you to fancy balls and such.

Never had a father you realized at some point. You asked and never got an answer. Then death struck and your mother was gone.

Dead in the bed beside you. The one time you slept with her and hugged her because of a nightmare.

The media going wild when it was revealed that Bruce Wayne; the prince of Gotham had another child.

The man seemed to rush to your side. Icy blue eyes that were cold and dark as they laid eyes on your. Holding a kind hand out to you which you took hesitantly.

You had a father.

And when you arrived at the manor you lost your father once again. You showed your normalcy, and your siblings shared that same thought.

Normal is what you were. Too normal.

Duke, albeit the most sane of them all was distant. Holding a secret, and in fact they all were. Duke running out in the morning was suspicious to you.

Even in the mornings he seemingly ignored you. A quick wave of the hand that deemed to dismiss you than a greeting.

Your father was distant. He didn't come up really in the morning, and when you got home from school he wasn't around. At night he completely distant.

Duke was already in bed after dinner most times.

The entire family, your siblings were distant. Most turning a blind eye to you. There was always some kind of awareness to you guys. Almost like they didn't know how to talk to you.

It took some detective work but you grew to understand the secret that they held. The secret Alfred didn't share with you. A man who was kind but was just as distant.

Never in your god damn life ever expect everyone in the damn family to be Batman and Robin and former Robins.

Dick as the older brother was warm in the beginning. It almost seemed fake, and he was nice to you. He still is but once again; that theme of distance. He was always busy, and especially most of his attention stayed on Damian.

Robin as he was called was always irrational about your appearance at the manor. After all, he was supposed to be the only blood son. It was extremely hard talking to him, and he didn't make it easy with his hard attitude.

You'll give him that you guys shared a bright conversations about animals. He caught you sketching one time and he observed it. He hadnt said anything.

You have no idea if he liked it. He made no indication he liked it, so you only hoped.

Jason Todd seemed indifferent. He was rugged and beaten down by the Joker. You two were the farthest when it came to normalcy. You grew up in some luxury and new happiness. The Red Hood; him grew up in Crime Alley and died a violent death.

This disconnection proved to be both on your sides. Neither of you knew how to talk to one another.

Tim was...Weird. He observed you creepily, while nice and he was busy. He kept a sort of distance to not let you be suspicious which you did. Sometimes you would catch him swiftly walking past your room.

Odd, but you left it alone. Once again distance and wouldn't really allow you to ask him why he was being so weird with you.

Stephanie was some you found you could easily talk to, but there was unwillingness to share. She too grew up with a hard family life, while you had something good. If there's one thing you guys shared it was daddy issues, but that was all.

You were a simple girl that was a little in high standing thanks to your mother's job. Once again the distance to share was limited. Once more there wasn't anything to share.

She and Tim were close. So she too was looking at you albeit a little different now.

Cassandra was...you didn't know how to talk to her. She stare at you with blank eyes. Observing you in a less creepy way than Tim and annoying way (Steph).

Observing and seeing how uncomfortable she made you. Making an effort but once again there was a semblance to hide things from you. Like the past she's killed people before, and that scared you. She turned a new leaf and she was strong.

Her and Bruce's relationship in particular sparked a jealous mark in your chest. The want to be held and spoke to soft. Instead you got a father who didn't speak to you and was too busy too.

Everyone, even Alfred who cleaned up their messes, was too busy for you.

To you, no one noticed your sadness and eventual departure emotionally. No more tries in talking to them, or hanging out in the living room. No more trying to help out Alfred, and no more waves to Duke who was once again rushing to the basement.

You had no idea if they knew you knew. Did Alfred know that you knew? To you it wouldn't have made a difference because you'd only get in the way.

And this power you had was scary.

You're first kiss with a boy and you could have killed him.

In the hallway of the school. With no cameras and skipping class. With the one person you understood you; that being your boyfriend.

A man that didn't neglect you. Treated you like it was normal to be normal. Who wasn't a vigilante fighting people in the streets.

Hands on your hips and pulling you close. With a smile on your face you kissed him sweetly.

And then he went rigid. You couldn't pull away from him. Opening yours eyes you could seeing his skin becoming paler and sickly. Blue veins driving up his skin.

Almost as if glue was sticking you guys together. A rushing of power going through you and you couldn't stop it. It was nice being touched like this; but no. Not this way.

You pushed him away. Your back slamming into locker and he dropping to the floor. His expression blank and close to death. You couldn't help but scream.

Just as teachers were looking what happened you ran out of the school and to somewhere else entirely. You're whole body felt different. Faster and stronger than ever.

Using your sweater you tried to cover your body in the winter weather. Tears falling down your cheeks. Pulsing lips that ached with need.

You didn't know what would happen when you got home. What would they think? If they even cared? Duke was a meta, but he knew how to use your powers. This ability appeared out of nowhere.

If you touched them then you could kill them. You didn't want that at all even if your relationships were strained.

Using your phone you could see a white stream in your hair. Touching it you felt disoriented. Confused because what the hell was even happening to you.

A ding alerted you. A text from your father asking if you were at school. Missing from the school premise. Your blood ran cold at the reveal because what could you say.

You didn't answer and only made your way home.

A home that never really was a home to you.

You would leave because how else could you live. It was obvious touch was a no no. You could kill people and you didn't want that. You only hoped your boyfriend was alive.

God you pleaded that he lived.

You didn't go through the front door. Climbing in through the window was quite easy.

Grabbing gloves, and every piece of clothing that would cover you foot to toe. You felt hot and horrible. The breeze on your skin to never touch, nor would you touch anyone ever again.

No bare skin against anyone ever.

You heard the voices of Tim and Bruce talking frantically. Your heart shook wildly. Eyes looking between the door and the windows.

"He was found gasping for life! And she was missing from class." Tim's voice wasn't quiet. You held your breath trying to stabilize it. You didn't want to be caught.

You wondered why they suddenly cared.

Of course the first time you skip class is the moment their alarmed. Not sticking to your normalcy wasn't normal for you. You were supposed to be normal.

"You think she's a meta?" Bruce asked behind your door.

"More and more people are meta. Born to normal parents but end up having powers. I always felt an inkling about her, and her mother."

"Her mother?"

"She said she died beside her. Hugged her when they fell asleep, and in the morning she was dead. That's what [ ] reported. It's why I told everyone to keep sort of a distance. It could affect us, and her too."

You gasped and back on your mouth you clamped your hand down.

Tim knew?

He figured it out before you even knew. Looking at your hands you realized in horror that you killed your beloved mother. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Sure your power was terrifying but neglecting you in a way. Starved of connection and touch from your own family. It was bitter but you couldn't blame Tim from saying such a thing.

"They haven't found her. She read my text but hasn't texted back."

That's when you knew you needed to leave. Damn footsteps rang hard on the wood. Just as you swung a bag on your shoulder and out the window the door slammed open.

Tim and Bruce calling your name as you dropped from the windows. Tears in your eyes as you dropped to the ground and ran. Running far and away from this place.

They were right to stay away from you. It made so much sense. Waking up that morning feeling more refreshed than ever and then she was dead in the bed.

It was you that killed her. You could have killed your boyfriend that most likely didn't want you anymore. You could have killed all of them.

You didn't blame them.

Not at all.

You understood why.

School was over and the day was setting. Vigilantes were out and bout soon. The Batman would be upon you and you knew it.

They knew it.

They must have.

You were going to hide, even if it got you killed. A being of an ability that only killed people around you.

Never to touch anyone ever again.

The large screens in Gotham already altering of what happened at the school. Your face plastered on it along with your boyfriend.

He survived.

Feeling betrayed he said. Scared of you, and yet saying you were the sweetest girl ever to exist.

The entire Wayne Family underfire and continous questions about you. People calling for your arrest for almost killing an innocent boy. You didn't blame them, but the feel of a cold prison isn't something you wanted.

The manor was a cold prison. No love and affection from them. Afraid of you and this power.

You wondered what Duke felt about you. He was just as distant, yet being like you. However, his power wasn't destructive like you. The slightest touch from you would cause death.

You couldn't pull away anytime it happened.

Your strive for touch was a disease, and needed to be exempt from having such a luxury.

It was night.

You made yourself scarce. At least tried too, especially when your family were vigilantes; for the night belong to them.

"There she is!" You huffed as another goon from the Penguin tried to snuff you out. You knew it was a matter of time until they found you. No doubt Barbara was on top of making sure you were found.

Tim surely wasn't.

"Come quietly." The man spoke lowly. Catching sight how all of you was basically covered. Not a lick of skin other than your face. You're also toxic too. A mocking reminder of what led to this.

"You'll die if you touch me!" You scrambled to get away. Tears flowing out of your eyes. Anxiously looking around for your siblings, or your father.

"That's what we're counting on. Not me of course; but that you have the ability to destroy anyone. Poor girl, everyone's after you."

It was true. There was no one for you and no body to save you. You weren't to be cared for. In reality, you weren't supposed to have existed. Your mother having hid your existence from your father. Then this power appeared, and then he was the Batman.

There were plenty of reasons to not want you. A monster, and a weapon as this man said.

A tranquilizer gun in his hand. A foot on your stomach and holding you down. You struggled.

If you touched him then he'd go down. But you wouldn't be able to pull away and he would die. You didn't want him to die. Surely, yes using for you reasons that were dark, but you shared your father's beliefs in a way.

This power made you dangerous.

You couldn't go killing people.

Society of Gotham already didn't like you. Wishing for you to be taken away, probably Black Gate, and held prison. Such a dangerous simply by touch was horrifying for the public.

And you caused your family pain. They were being asked questions about you. Surely they knew nothing about you because of this power.

Maybe it would be better to end it here. Get the needle of the tranq deep in your neck. Maybe then you'll die and bleed out.

However, the goddess of life and or god of death weren't on your side. Light broke up the darkness. The foot crushing your stomach was gone.

The slam of metal meeting flesh was loud. Bright lights lowered and suddenly gloved hands were holding you. Immediately however your pushed them away. Rolling onto your stomach and on your feet.

Horror in your gut.

Signal and Black Bat right in front of you. Both eyes covered, and no mouth for Black Bat.

"[ ]." Signal, no, Duke spoke to you. A trembling voice. Watching how you backed yourself in the corner of the alley.

"Go away!" You pleaded. Pulling the scarf to cover your face more. Everything to cover you more. Feeling so claustrophobic in these clothes but people would die.

Cassandra and Duke would die if they touched you.

"We found her." Black Bat, or Cassandra. Her voice proved it. It was slightly shaky as she relayed that they have had you.

You were a danger, but the tone didn't make sense to you. Why? Why was it sad and concerned.

Why did Duke step forward without a care in the world. A bright light twinkling at his fingertips. Showing you, and yet you looked away.

"Get away from me-"

"I'm just like you, and I treated you terribly. Ignoring your waves, and above all not meeting you in solidarity." His voice was shaky. You didn't want to listen, because why did he care now.

There was a reason for the neglect, and it was because you were a monster. The slightest of touch could kill him. You didn't wish for that.

"Come home." A hand pulled at your jacket. Covered arms hugging you tightly. In horror, Damian hugging you. "Stop-"

"Never. Not until your home." Nightwing, Dick was smiling. You didn't like that smile. It was something else. "No one else will get you if you don't come home, now." You shook despite the fact his haunting eyes were covered by white lenses.

"Come home?! Why would I after all-"

"I'm sorry for that. I should have been more understanding. We all should have." Along side Red Hood was Red Robin. Jason and Tim looking at you. Feeling a stare.

"We all do, cutie." You jumped in Damian's tight hold. Spoiler, Stephanie poking your cheek with her gloved finger. "Oh, don't run away from us." She giggled behind her mask.

"The old man would be sad." Jason spoke lowly. "You wouldn't want that?"

"Yes exactly." Stephanie agreed. A sly look in those eyes of her. Sickeningly sweet, and toxic.

You blinked.

Yes, you would make Bruce sad. After all, he was your father that you longed to meet. He enthusiasticly picked you up, and then pulled away because of Tim's suggestion.

"It's Red Robin's fault." Damian own hands moving and playing with a strand of your hair. The white part of your hair. "How elegant, sister."

"Stop-"

"Stop what?" Dick giggled. "We're completely sorry for how we've treated you. Tim didn't expect you to find out so soon."

"Or the fact that your power manifested like that. Who knew some teenage hormones flared like that." Tim looked at you. It was familiar and it was still that creepy look. "I'm so sorry. I should have been more forceful with the research, but i couldn't defile your body by taking DNA. I couldn't do that while you were unconscious, especially when I wasn't exactly sure how your powers worked."

Dick's covered hands moved towards your face. You shook to get away but Damian, and Stephanie kept you close. Keeping you from getting away. The strength of yours that you newly gained made you able to twist your body.

"Oh no no. Don't run away from us." Your oldest brother cupped your face. "We're family, dear sister. I've lost too many of them to the darkness. We've all bounced back, and B would cry if you left."

"So come home." Cassandra begged quietly.

"Don't make Father wait, sister."

[mushyposts]

OKAY I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.

MY BEST FRIEND FUCKING HATES THIS HANSTER. Or more specifically, she hates ME and this hamster happens to be in the crossfire.

I sent this to her for the first time at LEAST three years ago. I don’t even remember the original context, I was having a phase of sending unrelated images as reaction photos and that last one in the thread got me so bad. I spammed her saying it was important, and then sent the hamster. She got so mad at it that I made it a point to send it whenever I could just because I couldn’t understand WHY she had such a deep hatred for this lil guy who’s just cheeked up!!

Her hatred for this image has led to her having to go on actual, honest to god walks because I’d just send it for NO reason. It’s a sticker on my iPhone, it’s saved to my phone and my laptop in a special folder for easy access, I have it open on a tab at all times. I am always ready, and the rage this mad her feel was unmatched.

Now. Important thing about me. I am VERY good at the long-con. Sort of ridiculously good, actually. I have “hamstered” her three times since the time I got temporarily blocked for it. It’s important to also note that aside from me sending it nonsensically, she has 0 reason to be so knee-jerk aggressive around the hamster. Anyway. Onto the three times I’ve hamstered her in the most BRILLIANT ways.

1- I did not use the hamster for over a year. I had moments I could have, but I didn’t. She even pointed this out!! Saying “I expected hamster ass.” But I did not rise to the bait, for I knew if I waited, the result would be oh so sweet.

I travelled HOURS to meet her, I took a plane, I used a train for the first time, I LABOURED!! And finally the moment was upon us. We met for the first time in person, we hugged, we exchanged thoughtful gifts, we went back to her house so I could force her to watch the hunger games, and then my time to strike came. I said “oh I have an edit to show you!” And I brought up an edit I had made using a capcut template, the “say yes to heaven, say yes to me. I’ve got my eye on you.” And then at the “you”, hamster ass flew across the screen.

The betrayal. The rage. The horror. It was cinematic. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was beyond anything I had ever seen before in my life. I played the long con, and it paid off. “In my own house?? Under my roof??” Yes, Soap. In your home. Under your roof. My hubris is unmatched and you consistently let it go unchecked. This is a saw trap you designed, enjoy the hamster.

2- I had just gotten back into contact with a mutual friend of ours who I hadn’t spoken to in years! It had been around eight months since the amazing first-meet-hamster-ass, and I once again hadn’t used it since then. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

I sent a photo of the hamster ass to our friend and asked him to use it when he felt the time was right, and I wish I could have seen it when the time was right. Out on the beach, I think, and he goes “hey, look at this!” And shows her the hamster ass. The confusion, the betrayal, the shock. I would give my afterlife to be a fly on a rock observing that interaction. The rage in the message she sent me was beautiful.

At some point it becomes something she brings unto herself. I don’t gain anything from the hamster but her reaction, and yet even though she fully understands this, her rage for the hamster out matches her understanding that if she stopped reacting, I’d stop hamstering.

3- now. This one took prep, and I can’t take all the credit. I got my friends sibling in on this one and we planned it for MANY weeks before. I sent a document with ten hamster asses on it, and they cut each one out, numbering them 1-10, with little witty remarks on the back of them to keep things interesting.

I distracted my friend with our homestuck re-read, such perfect planning, and her sibling hid the hamster asses around their home. Coming to the end of the call while we discussed how wild everything was, and how we always forget the crazy little details, sibling walks in.

“I got some chocolate!” “Oh! Thank you-“ the pause. The silence. THE ERUPTION OF CHAOS AND RAGE. “THERE IS SOMETHING SICK AND WRONG WITH YOU!!” The HORROR!! Shakespeare could only ever HOPE to get to the level of drama and chaos exhibited in that discord call.

Nothing, however, could match when I went, “enjoy the hamsters!” And she goes “… hamsters? Plural?” And realises that yes, indeed, the hamsters are numbered. One to ten. She had number one handed to her, and yet nine more await her, hidden in her own home.

Has she found them all, you ask?? No. No she has not. How do I know for a fact that she hasn’t? Because if she had found number 10, I would know within on second of her realising, because the shock and horror when she finds it will be completely unmatched to any horror film identity reveal. No plot twist will ever compare to how she will react to number ten.

Anyway, that’s the very brief story of cheeked up hamster. I could add some screenshots of her reactions to being hamstered but it’s also late at night and I can’t be bothered. Just wanted to share with the world that sometimes the most fun pranks are the completely harmless ones.

Breaking your friends shit is out, sending them a cheeked up hamster is in.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hello dear. Can you write yandere Robert Reynold/(Void/Bob/Senrty) and female reader ? Thanks 💞

Void/Bob/Sentry – As a Yandere

Void/Bob/Sentry x female reader

warning: Yandere behavior, obsession, confinement, blackmail/manipulation, kissing, cuddling, power imbalance

Summary: As Bob, he was simple; as Sentry, he was a god; and as Void, he was a monster. But all three personalities would stop at nothing, not even murder, to get what they wanted when it came to her. She never leaves any of us, and none of us would ever let her go... she belongs to us.

info: Hi, sweetie! Thank you so much for your request, it means so much to me and I'm so happy to get a Thunderbolts request. I hope you enjoy reading it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Bob, he was just a former addict, he was nice and friendly to those he knew and recognized.

He did his best for the team he now belonged to, but above all, he did everything for his love, “My Fairy” as he called her, because she helped him with everything like a fairy and every day with her seemed incredible.

As unbelievable as it is for any drug addict, Bob found something to occupy himself with.

However, neither she nor anyone else ever thought that someone as nice as Bob could become someone who would become everyone's nightmare.

It started small, with her having to lie next to him until he fell asleep, holding his hand, “Can you tell me a story?” he asked tiredly, and her movement prompted her to hold him tighter.

In the dark, she could only see him dimly, but she saw how he was looking at her...she would do what he asked, otherwise she would have to deal with Sentry or Void.

“Of course, Bob, I'll tell you a fairy tale,” she replied, holding him as the dark-haired man laid his head on her chest so he could hear her better, so he could be with her, so she could hold him.

His quiet “Thank you” seemed to dispel her doubts again. He just needed someone; he would never go that far... he was just Bob.

He was just Bob, he was everyone's friend, and maybe she had feelings for him after meeting him back then.

She had taken care of him and been there for him, but she never thought he could change so much, that behind every gentle smile and joyful expression there was always a threat. “I want you to stay with me and not go on the mission,” he said, immediately reaching for her hand and holding it.

The agent glanced at the others, and the Thunderbolts looked at each other uncertainly. “If that's okay, stay with Bob until he's feeling better. A relapse wouldn't be good,” Yelena said, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder and squeezing it gently.

They all knew it was only a matter of time before Bob gave in and one of them would show up, which meant the mission would have to go on without the agent.

“Thanks, guys, really, that means a lot to me...especially coming from you, my fairy,” he said, and his embarrassingly grateful smile sent a shiver down her spine.

Bob took advantage of it, forcing her to spend every free minute with him, sleeping next to him every night and cuddling up to him, helping him with everything during the day, even though they both knew how meaningless it was, but she did it anyway.

Why?

Because she and the others knew exactly why: one mistake and they would be facing God and the monster. “You have no idea how grateful I am to you for everything,” he said one day as they were cleaning up in the kitchen and cutting berries and fruit for the others who would soon be back.

This made her look up from the cutting board where she was cutting kiwi fruit that her friend Ava liked so much. She had only been watching Bob out of the corner of her eye as he washed the dishes and tried to strike up a conversation every now and then.

Now, when she looked up, he was suddenly standing next to her, an almost excited look in his eyes. “Thank you, Bob, it's not always easy, but it helps us all, and I'm happy to do it,” she replied and was about to turn away, her heart beating a little faster because she couldn't figure out why he seemed so excited.

She grabbed the knife more tightly as his hands rested on her arms and he turned her toward him.

Perhaps she would have returned the kiss he initiated if he hadn't ruined it. “I'm so incredibly grateful, my darling,” she heard, and the slight change in his voice made her push him away...at least that's what she tried to do.

When she looked at Bob now, she saw the gold in his eyes, saw how his demeanor had changed from awkward and gentle to triumphant and proud.

As Sentry, he was a god, and her attempted attack as an agent would have hit him, would have gotten rid of her enemy. But he didn't even flinch and didn't have a single cut on his face, even though the knife shattered against him and Sentry was still holding her.

The weaker one couldn't free herself, she couldn't get him off her, she couldn't hurt him, and she couldn't do anything when he kissed her as he took what he wanted. “Bob just has to learn who's better for you,” the gold-eyed one said, giving her an amused smile as he slowly let her go.

She could have run, she could have called Yelena and told her what had happened, but he saw everything she did.

Her steps backward only made him follow her, watching her like something to look at, like a pet he wanted to touch, while her heart, beating with fear and uncertainty, didn't know what to do.

She tried to convince him, “Let Bob come back, Sentry, please-please, before the others return” she tried to argue, to reason, tried to avoid damage. Yet the more she talked, the more amused he seemed to become, the more his eyes seemed to glow.

The distance she put between them was a human attempt not to panic, her arms held defensively in front of her, a foolish attempt to convince herself that she had a chance against him. “You are truly an interesting pet,” he said, and her scream echoed through the tower as he grabbed her and lifted her into his arms.

She had to hold on to him as he flew out of the building with her, the living room far below them, the entire city beneath them as the wind swirled around them, her fingers clawing at him as she saw, despite his amusement, that he knew what he wanted. He was in control, he was her god, he was more than that, and she belonged to him.

His pet, that's what she was to him as he flew with her over the city, he liked her enough that Sentry didn't let her fall. Her fear and feelings seemed little more than a distant thought to him.

He had her with him, pressed against him, and like a pet, she would go wherever he went. “Sentry, if you would be so kind as to fly back, I don't feel very well,” she told him, looking at him and seeing that he seemed a little confused before he noticed the slight trembling of her body, the tears in her eyes, and how she clung to him.

He may have wanted to be more than a god, but in doing so, he overlooked her as an individual. “Oh, of course, my dear, forgive me, I forget how simple you humans are,” he smiled and covered her lightly with his cloak as he flew back to the building.

When she felt the ground beneath her again, it was Sentry who was holding her, giving her a moment before she sat down on the couch and tried to pull herself together. “I know the others will appreciate this, your care and caution,” she murmured, running her hands over her face so he wouldn't see how tearful she was.

How could she be of interest to a god? How could she let Sentry become Bob again? What did she have to do?

Questions swirled around in her head and she took her hands away from her face when the darkness that had disappeared turned into something else.

When only the god's glowing eyes remained in front of her, when the room was plunged into blackness, she swore she saw his satisfied gaze as she was swallowed up by nothingness.

The Void was a monster, a nothing and a someone at the same time, a state that could not be touched without being pulled in. But for her, he created what he had always wanted, in his infinite darkness.

In the blink of an eye, everything around her had disappeared, and now, when she opened her eyes again, the agent was surrounded by a cell.

Iron bars in nothingness, surrounded only by blackness, she stood there with nothing but him. “It's better this way, less fear, less pain, less discomfort in front of the other two,” he smiled at his other selves, and she felt like she wanted to hit him.

Sentry might have been one thing, but Bob, Bob was kind and nice, and there was an explanation for all of this. There had to be, none of this would have happened if something hadn't happened before. “Leave the other two alone, Void. You were pushed back, we can do it again,” she argued, taking a demonstrative step toward him.

Void wanted to hurt her, wanted to show her his fears and his past, but she knew that the others would help her, that she would help Bob.

Her attempt left him unimpressed, but his approach made her tremble when she saw only those golden eyes as his jet-black hand reached out for her.

Her scream was barely audible in the nothingness as she felt a sense of heaviness and emptiness, the pain she felt and Bob had ever felt when Void let her go of his own accord and she staggered back.

It made her cry, and she didn't know why. Her heart ached like never before, and she felt empty. But worse than that was when she saw the other two next to Void.

All three of them, Bob, Sentry, and Void, reached out their hands to her, after what she had been to each of them.

She was Bob's love, Sentry's pet, and Void's warmth, and none of the three would ever let her go again.

She would stay with them because she had never had a choice; they had belonged to them forever and ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@crimsonkingart

[sailorsoons]

Cherry Sours Teaser (l.c)

PAIRING: Mafia!Chan x f. reader

SUMMARY: Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy is the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenience store at the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day you run into him where you're not supposed to, and everything changes.

FINAL WC: TBD

AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers

GENRE: Romance, hint of angst, smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

TEASER WARNINGS: Chan is clearly panicking at an event, so mild depictions of anxiety and fear, implied illegal activities, Jeonghan is kind of mean but you'll get it, recreational drinking, implied women being used as paif company.

A/N: This is the third installment of The Syndicates Collection that will be telling the story of Chan and our first reader who exists outside of the Syndicate. I am so excited to tell their story and show more of the world when a character is outside the bubble of the Choi family!

 MASTERLIST | ASK | THE SYNDICATES COLLECTION | ▷NOW PLAYING: OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

COMING SATURDAY, MAY 17 | REQUEST TO BE TAGGED

Girls circulate with silver trays carrying glasses of scotch, whiskey, and champagne. Some settle in men’s laps, some whisper into their ears, all of them part of the illusion of wealth, comfort, control. Chan steps forward, eyes adjusting to the dim glow- 

He sees you and he nearly goes catatonic. 

You’re dressed like the other women, but somehow even more out of place. Not because you don’t belong, but because he doesn’t expect to see you here, couldn’t even have imagined it. Not in a thousand years would he have made this gamble. You were never even in his odds of being here. 

You’re standing near the far end of the room, your lips parted slightly in what looks to be mid-laughter in response to something the man talking to you has said. Chan’s chest tightens so sharp and sudden that he staggers, wondering if he’s having a heart attack. 

You are painfully beautiful, dressed in a sapphire gown that ripples like water when you walk. He barely has time to register how perfect the cut of it is, the way it hugs your waist, the way you turn and it undulates like a living thing, turning you into a goddess of the sea. Maybe in another life he would appreciate how beautiful you are, but right now, he can’t. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to be here - weren’t ever supposed to cross his path outside of that goddamn convenience store. He had prepared for tonight for days, planning everything perfectly, scripting each gamble and risk, calculating it to the fucking detail and it’s all for nothing, because you standing there in that fucking dress ruins it all. 

Chan’s thoughts scatter like dropped cards. Jeonghan has already started the evening without missing a beat, greeting someone sitting at the table with a handshake dripping with charm. Chan tries to follow suit. His body moves, just barely, but his mind doesn’t, still stuck on you. 

You laugh again and it feels like Chan has been stabbed. 

What are you doing here? And worse, what does it mean that you are? Is this some intricate play by the Yong family? Are you here because you’re in trouble? Both are equally likely and send Chan down a violent rabbit hole of thoughts, chasing all of the possibilities. He suddenly doesn’t know if you’re a threat or someone who needs saving, and it rattles him to the core.

Chan finally starts to collect himself, dragging his eyes away from you, trying to calm himself. It’s too late. You turn to look at him, a fleeting glance that turns to shock. Recognition blooms across your face and if Chan wasn’t in such panic, he might grin at how cute you look when you’re surprised. 

When you don’t smile at him, Chan cracks. He forces himself into a mask, but the damage is done. There’s already a hitch in his step, a breath he can’t seem to take. His hands twitch toward his chest as though he needs to search for a physical wound there, a gunshot he can’t see. 

Chan is thrown off. Confused. Out of balance. Exposed. 

The woman who took his drink order appears just as Chan siddles up next to Jeonghan. He can hardly hear what she says to him. Everything feels second hand, the dissociation hitting him as he tries to shield himself from his own panic. 

He accepts the drink and knocks it back before shoving the glass back in her hand and ordering another. He’s not even sure he says anything, just staring at the men surrounding the poker table, unfeeling and unseeing. 

Jeonghan doesn’t look up at Chan right away. He’s mid-handshake with someone else, voice low and pleasant as he exchanges pleasantries. Every word from Jeonghan is barbed silk, and Chan should be at his side, watching and backing him up with easy charm, matching volley for volley. 

When Jeonghan finishes his greetings, he sits in a high-backed velvet chair. His sharp eyes find Chan and narrow before they dart at the open chair next to him. Chan nearlys trips over his own feet as he scrambles to sit down. 

Jeonghan watches him, his eyes sharpening like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “What,” Jeonghan growls lowly as he flashes someone’s wife a smile, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Chan blinks. His heart’s been pounding for minutes, making him feel sick with adrenaline. “The girl from the convenience store is here.” 

Jeonghan’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice is flat when he asks, “Who?”

“Cherry Sours.” 

There’s a tick in Jeonghan’s jaw before he turns his head a fraction, gazing in your direction. It takes Jeonghan only a second to find you across the room where you’re struggling to keep up with the conversation the man at your side is having with you. 

When Jeonghan turns back to Chan, his eyes are flint. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Chan doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. Jeonghan leans closer, his voice sharper than any blade Chan has ever known. “Why the fuck is someone you know here? Is she with the Yong family? Do you think we’re being set up?”

“I- fuck - I don’t know,” Chan admits. “I don’t know why she’s here. She’s only ever worked at the convenience store. I’ve never- Jeonghan I don’t know.” 

“Stop.” Chan shuts up. Jeonghan’s voice has the hard edge of the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate right now. “You have ten seconds to get your head out of your ass. Or leave if you know you can’t do this. Now.” 

Chan doesn’t move. His eyes flicker to you. You’re not looking at him but he can feel your panic from where he sits, matching his own. Can Chan do this? He doesn’t know, but he can’t leave you here. Not in this pit of vipers. Jeonghan leans back slightly, drinking in Chan’s deliberation. 

“Decide,” he warns, voice like velvet. “If you fuck this up, I will remove you as Chariot myself, no matter the years between us, Lee Chan.”

REQUEST TO BE TAGGED

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

���It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

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[your-resident-boat-person]

... huh?! I was born in 2001, and I understood most of this perfectly fine. I have a bachelors degree in criminology, so I like to think i have a pretty good idea of how academic studies work, as well as how to spot a bad/flawed one. Initially, I was a bit suspect of the study for 2 reasons. 1) they specifically singled out English majors in college, and 2) they picked a passage from a book that dates back pretty far compared to what most people read nowadays. The problem with 1 is that in a study, generally, an important aspect is being able to generalize to a larger population. For example, if you interview 20 fishermen and ask them if they can identify a largemouth bass, it's likely that 100% of them will be able to. However, if you did that same study but with 20 random people off the street in a location that largemouth bass arent native, that number is likely to be significantly lower. This is why it's important to get both a very large and very diverse sample. But maybe they have a reason to SPECIFICALLY study college English majors. If I was conducting a study on reading comprehension, I would think that people who specify in the study of English literature would give obviously biased results, so maybe if I read the study, their reason for doing so would make sense. So, for the time being, my first problem was being ignored. My second problem, however, was bigger. The way people talk and write in 1853 London is VERY different from how people talk and write in 2015 America. It's still definitely the English language, but it's still very different from what most people are commonly exposed to. I study a lot of maritime history from roughly 1840 to 1970, and there have been some times when the things people have said have either made little sense to me, or, if I was unable to remember the exact wording, I wouldn't be able to recount what the meaning of the quote was. These things became less of a problem as I studied more and more history, and I became more accustomed to the way people talked back then. Again, maybe if i read the study itself instead of a Tumblr post summarizing it, I would suddenly understand something that makes these choices make more sense. But then both of these concerns went completely out the window when I actually read the excerpt from Bleak House. Now, again, I have a better grasp on how people talked 170 years ago than your average Joe shmoe, but I can't imagine that even without that knowledge that after reading those first few paragraphs, I would EVER imagine Dickens was trying to literally say "a dinosaur was walking down the street". Like has been said before, I don't think that this is a particularly easy read, especially the latter half, and there were definitely parts I didn't quite get, but remember that this study was performed on English majors. I feel like if there is any group of people that are equipped to read something difficult and understand it, it would be English Majors. I don't know. Maybe I'm just really, really good at this. At one point, a professor was actually so impressed by my literary analysis that he suggested I switch to an English major. So maybe my super-human understanding of history and god-like powers of literary analysis makes this passage child's play for a level 100 mafia boss like myself, but the fact that the results were THIS BAD is to me, indicative of a problem. I'd need a more generalized study to say that definitively, because maybe there's some strange reason that English Majors can't read that the rest of the population is immune to. I obviously can't speak for the rest of my graduating class, but I, at the very least, understood the passage relatively competently, and again, I was born in 2001.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[smutmind]

Caught Pink Handed

IVE Wonyoung X Male Reader

“Oppa?”

You froze mid-stroke, heart stalling. Her voice wasn’t surprised. Just curious. You turned slowly—hand still half-wrapped around yourself—and there she was.

Wonyoung. Nineteen. All legs, lush hair, candy-colored top riding high on her ribs. That denim skirt brushed her ankles as she stepped inside like she owned the place.

"Didn’t your mom teach you to lock doors?" she asked, one brow raised.

You fumbled for your blanket, too slow. Her eyes were already on the laptop screen—your folder open. Her photos. Her in that low-cut tank last summer, the bikini on your roof deck, the mirror selfie she’d posted and deleted in under five minutes.

“Seriously?”

She laughed. Not cruel—worse. It was soft. Disbelieving. Almost flattered.

“Holy shit,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You were actually jerking off to me.”

You couldn’t speak. She tilted her head, watching your shame crawl over you.

“That’s what you do when we hang out? Sneak photos? Save them for later?”

Her tone was sugar-laced poison. She came closer, the heat of her body brushing yours without touch.

“I come over all the time,” she whispered. “Your sister trusts me. And you’re just here, like some sad little perv, getting off in your gamer chair.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands stayed limp at your sides.

She leaned in. The scent of her was everywhere—floral shampoo, warm skin, something bubble-sweet under it all.

“Did you ever think what would happen if she found out?”

You shook your head, throat dry.

Wonyoung smiled, slow and terrible. “No, you didn’t. Because all you were thinking about was my tits, right? My ass in this skirt?”

She stepped between your knees. Her hand landed on your thigh, fingers feather-light.

“Look at you,” she said. “Still hard.”

She leaned closer until her lips hovered beside your ear.

“You don’t deserve this,” she said. “But maybe I’ll let you have it anyway.”

You stared at her, stunned. She stepped back.

“Clean up. Sit down. Don’t say a word.”

And then she curled onto your bed like it was hers, phone in hand, not even glancing at you.

The silence stretched like wire.

You knew this wasn’t over.

She lay sideways on your bed, scrolling like nothing happened. One knee bent, heel bouncing. That skirt rode up her thigh just enough to torment.

You sat in your chair, half-hard, half-humiliated.

Then came her voice. Casual. Sharp.

"Come here."

You stood, slow, still not meeting her eyes. She patted the mattress beside her.

"Closer."

You knelt on the floor. Her gaze flicked down.

“Good boy.”

Wonyoung shifted, planting both feet flat, spreading her knees just a little. The hem of her skirt drew tight. You tried not to look. Failed.

She smirked. "You really couldn’t help yourself, huh? All those times I bent over in front of you. All the outfits I wore just to mess with you…”

You blinked. “Wait—”

“Oh please,” she said, eyes gleaming. “You think I didn’t know? You’re so easy to tease, oppa. That little twitch you get when I suck on a straw? The way you stare at my legs when I kick my shoes off?”

She ran a hand down her own thigh. “You don’t hide it well.”

Then she paused. Her smile dropped, just enough.

"But this?" she said, nodding toward your desk. "This was pathetic.”

Silence.

Her voice softened. “You wanted me without asking. Like I was just a thing you could play with when you’re lonely.”

That landed hard.

She leaned forward, touched your cheek.

“I should be pissed,” she whispered. “I should tell your sister.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But I won’t.”

Relief. A breath caught in your throat.

“Not if you listen,” she added, sitting back, legs spreading wider. “Not if you do everything I say.”

You nodded. Too fast. Too eager.

She laughed.

“Strip.”

You hesitated.

“Now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You obeyed—shirt, pants, everything. She watched like it was a show she’d paid for.

Then she lifted her foot and tapped your chest with her toes. “On your back. Floor.”

Cool wood against your skin. You lay there, exposed. Waiting.

She stepped over you. That skirt hovered above your face as she straddled you, her panties damp, pressed against the fabric.

She crouched lower, letting her heat ghost over your lips.

"You want to taste what you've been jerking off to?"

You nodded.

“Then beg.”

“Please,” you breathed.

“Please what?”

“Please let me taste you, Wonyoung.”

She smiled. “No.”

She stood, turned, dropped onto all fours above you. Her ass now hovered over your chest, the cotton clinging wet between her cheeks.

“Here’s what you get,” she said, yanking her panties aside. “You make me cum. I decide if you get anything.”

You grabbed her hips. She slapped your hand.

“No touching. You work with your mouth only.”

Then she lowered herself. You moaned against her—she was soaked, warm, slick and tangy. You licked, desperate, your tongue exploring every fold, flicking her clit until she twitched.

“Fuck, oppa,” she gasped. “You eat pussy better than I thought.”

She rocked against your face. Hair fell like a curtain around your head. Her moans came sharper now, louder.

“Keep going—don’t you dare stop—"

She stiffened, thighs clamping, then shuddered hard. A whimper escaped her lips.

She didn’t move right away. Just breathed heavy, panting above you. Then she sat up and twisted to face your flushed, aching cock.

“Now you get your reward,” she said, grinning like a devil.

She straddled your thighs, hair falling around her face as she dipped her head low. Her lips found you, slow at first—tongue teasing under the crown, then sliding down, swallowing you whole with a messy, greedy hum.

You groaned, fists bunching the sheets.

She came up for air, her chin glistening. “You moan so pretty, oppa.”

Then she leaned in, her chest brushing your lips.

“You want these too?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She reached down and slapped your cock lightly.

“Say it.”

“Yes—please.”

She smirked and pulled her shirt up, baring soft, full breasts tipped in pink. You sucked one into your mouth, her skin warm and flushed, her nipple hardening instantly.

“Good boy,” she whispered, grinding down onto your cock with her soaked panties still between you.

She rocked against you like that, hips rolling, nipples in your mouth, her breath catching every time your teeth grazed. Then she lifted, reached back, tugged the fabric aside.

“Condom?”

You shook your head, dazed. She laughed.

“Course not.”

She sank onto you bare—tight, dripping, so warm it made your back arch. Her hands found your chest as she bounced in slow, deliberate thrusts.

“God,” she panted, “you’re so fucking deep—”

Your hands gripped her waist. Her tits bounced with every movement, your mouth catching them when you could. She leaned in, kissing you wet and fast, tongues tangling.

A sudden beep—she glanced at the digital clock on your shelf.

“Five minutes,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “Let’s make them count.”

She climbed off and flipped forward onto all fours, looking back over her shoulder, hair falling in waves.

“Come get what you’ve been dreaming about.”

You knelt behind her, drove into her hard. She yelped, then pushed back into you with every thrust.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back, oppa—fuck me like you mean it.”

Your hands gripped her hips. The slap of skin echoed, loud and obscene, her moans rising higher, then breaking into whimpers.

“I’m gonna cum again—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

She spasmed around you, mouth open in a silent cry as her body jerked. You barely held it together. She collapsed forward, then twisted onto her back, eyes wild.

“Finish on my face,” she demanded. “Do it now.”

You knelt over her. She opened her mouth, tongue out, eyes locked to yours.

You groaned, cock twitching, and came hard—ropes of white striping her lips, chin, cheeks, even her collarbone.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Just in time.”

She grabbed her panties from the floor and wiped her face quickly, licking her fingers clean between swipes. Then she pulled her shirt down, smoothed her skirt, and darted into the bathroom.

You barely had time to tuck yourself back in before the doorbell rang.

Wonyoung peeked out, cheeks flushed but clean.

She mouthed one word before she opened the door:

“Oppa.”

[helen-with-an-a]

would you ever write a smut about lena trying to bottom with R it doesn’t necessarily have to work out (she might not be into it in the end or she is either way 🤷‍♀️) but i could see her being open to trying with R because it’s a representation of how intimate her trust and love with R is ❤️

Hello, lovely anon. So, I decided to do this as a smutty one hehe (😈) and have decided to split this into two parts (they're kind of linked but not a direct part two if that makes sense). The second part will be out in a couple weeks, I think. I hope you enjoy it.

The Dream (18+) // The Reality (18+)

The Dream (18+)

Lena Oberdorf x reader

Description: Lena had a very good dream and is now in her head about it.

TW: Smut, 18+, Cunnilingus (R giving), Fingering (R giving), Thigh Riding (R receiving), Lena being a bit of an idiot.

A/N: The text that is in Bold Italics is Lena's dream ; the normal text is present-day

It had started as a dream. A happy dream. A very happy dream.

It was late summer; the stress of the Euros had melted away, but the pressures of pre-season were yet to start. It was that perfect moment in time, where nothing mattered, and time was told by the length of shadows. It was wonderful and perfect and peaceful.

Lena was sure that the dream had come from your teasing, you had spent the day wondering around Munich, hand-in-hand and sharing sweet kisses. You were wearing that top she loved on you so much, the one that rose up ever so slightly when you lifted your arms. It had been a day full of sunshine and kisses and laughter and it was bliss.

You weren’t wearing much, just your bra and a pair of shorts. Her shorts. The ones that were a little too big on you so you ‘just had to roll the waistband’ (your words, not hers, accompanied by a not-so-innocent smile and a cheeky wink). It wasn’t your fault that the more you rolled them, the lower they sat on your hips and more the excess material bunched around your arse.

The day had been filled with easy touches that drove Lena wild – a barely-there-squeeze to her hip as you made her her morning coffee, a trail of fingertips over her abdomen as you gave her a sweet kiss when she grabbed something off the top of shelf for you, a featherlight kiss to her jaw as she threw her arm around you, keeping you close. All of it just enough to leave her wanting more.

You were standing at the counter, half an eye on your phone as you scrolled, the other half on espresso you were attempting to pull through the fancy machine. You had never looked so stunning. Not when you were celebrating the highs of football with her, not when you got all dressed up for a date night, not when you wore her jersey and only her jersey.

“You’re staring.” You didn’t flinch, not a singular muscle moving.

“I’m admiring,” Lena corrected, her smile widening as you finally turned to face her.

“You’re staring,” you said again, turning around and leaning back against the counter, forgetting about the coffee entirely. “Luckily, for you … I happen to like it when you stare at me.” You shrugged casually.

“Oh really,” she teased, coming to stand in front of you, caging in you.

“Really.” You took her jaw gently in your hand, the perfect amount of pressure to tilt her head just the way you wanted. “But I’ve got a secret,” you whispered. “I like to stare at you too.” You surged forward, kissing her slowly, languidly, dominating the kiss.

Lena wasn’t too sure how to broach the conversation with you. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that Lena liked to be … in charge … in control. You weren’t too upset with the dynamic either. You had been together for so long at this point that she wasn’t sure you wanted a change. You had never asked for anything else. You and Lena had been together since you were teenagers. Growing up together, moving around Germany to help her live her dreams. All of her first had been you. First crush, First kiss, First girlfriend, First love, First time. It was all you. Only you. It was awkward and messy and honest and raw and beautiful. She wasn’t sure you would want what she was asking for.

“Relax,” You mumbled into her neck, teeth scraping against her skin as she arched into you.

This wasn’t entirely foreign to either of you. You had sucked plenty of hickeys into her skin before. But this time felt different. This time, you were calling the shots. The fingers tangled in your hair weren’t directing you, they weren’t tugging you to a different spot or guiding you further down her body. This time, Lena’s fingers scratched at your scalp purely in pleasure, her whimpers and moans the only sound in the room as you took your time nipping and kissing your way across her body.

Lena had been acting odd for days now. Like she was trying to psych herself up to say something big. You weren’t sure what, but it was definitely something. You could see it as she stared into space, a frown etched on her face. You could see it in the way she bit her lip as she pushed her food around the plate. You could see it in the way she tossed and turned at night, unable to fall asleep and stay peaceful.

“Please,” Lena cried out in frustration, bucking her hips up as you refused to touch her where she really wanted.

“Relax,” you said again, pinching at her nipple.

“Angel, please,” she tried again, forcing herself to take a steadying breath.

You traced along her hip and down to the top of her thigh with your nose, inhaling as you went. She smelled like cherries and desire.

“I said … relax.” You teased again, nibbling at her inner thigh, refusing to touch her in the way you knew she wanted.

“I’m trying, baby. I-” Lena’s breath hitched as you skimmed lightly just above where she needed to most. “Please.” She was desperate now, one hand tangling in your hair, the other fisting the sheets. She was close to tears with how badly she wanted you. She had never felt like this before, in out of control yet so fiercely empowered. She was so safe with you, even through your teasing, your denial, she felt so loved, so protected, so honoured.

“Giuli, please. What do I do?” You begged your best friend.

“Calm down,” She laughed, taking a sip of her coffee. She was entirely too nonchalant about this – cool, calm and collected as she sank into the sofa.

You on the other hand, were a nervous wreck. You couldn’t sit still – you had tried, but then your leg shook so hard you almost spilled your drink. Instead, you had taken to pacing around the room, biting your lip as you tried to get your best friends advice.

“Calm down?” You scoffed. How could she tell you to calm down? “Lena is about to break up with me, and you’re telling me to calm down?”

This could not be happening. Not only was Lena your person – the only one you wanted when things got hard, the first person you wanted to talk to when life was going well, the love of your life, your everything – she was the reason for most of your friends in Munich. You worked from home most of the time, in the tiny shoebox of an office you had insisted remained a football-free zone. You weren’t that sociable; you found it hard to meet strangers and were a total homebody. Lena had introduced you to the girls, volunteering to host one of the team bonding sessions when she first arrived in Munich. You knew most of them through the national team, having heard stories and met Guilia, Lea, Sydney, Klara, and the others many times. But it all boiled down to her. If she left … if she realised she didn’t want you anymore … they would all go with her.

“Obi isn’t going to break up with you,” Guilia said emphatically, rolling her eyes at your dramatics.

“Then why is she acting so weird?” You huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She isn’t talking to me, always staring off into the distance, she isn’t sleeping well, she barely does anything more than kiss me good morning and good night. Even that’s just a peck. And it’s never just a peck.” You were close to tears. “She only acts like this when she’s stressed out, and from what I’ve heard everything’s going pretty well at Bayern, all of her family are ok. So that just leaves me.” You bit your lip hard, trying to force the stinging in your eyes to go away.

Guilia looked up, fulling taking in how nervous you were about this. Your hair was a mess – a sign that you had been running your hands through it in stress – and your lips were red and cracked where you had bitten them to pieces. You were almost vibrating with anxious energy, utterly convinced that Lena was going to be waiting for you at home with a sad smile and instructions to be gone by the weekend.

“Just … take a seat, okay? You’re stressing me out with your nervousness.” You did as she asked, perching on edge of the seat. “Listen to me when I tell you this … Obi is 100% not going to break up with you.” Guilia thought back to the ring Lena had shown a few of the girls a couple of weeks ago, stashed away in the locker room at the Bayern campus. “That girl is head over heels for you. I don’t know why she’s so weird right now, but I promise you, hand on my heart and hope to die, on my mother’s life, that girl isn’t breaking up with you.”

Lena jumped a mile when you blew gently, the cold air hitting her clit perfectly. “Hmmm,” you smirked up at her from in between her thighs. “You’re wet.” You ran on finger across her slit, making her moan at the feeling of finally being touched. “I think you liked it.” You slowly gathered some of the wetness before drawing teasing, lazy shapes across her skin.

Lena couldn’t deny it, she most definitely liked the slow, agonising, electrifying torture.

Without warning, you swatted her pussy lightly. The contact making her squeal in surprise that gave way to a wanton moan. You watched in awe as she squeezed around nothing, the way she squirmed, desperate for some kind of friction. “Did you like it?”

Lena gulped, pushing her head back against the pillows as she felt every nerve in her system tingle with a lust-filled haze. When no answer was coming, you brought your hand down again, relishing in the squeaky whimper that she let out. “Answer me,” you demanded, smiling softly and pressing a quick kiss to the pinkish bruises scattering her inner thighs.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She sighed, her hand tightening in your hair. “I liked it.”

“I know,” you quirked an eyebrow teasingly, waiting until she made eye contact before licking a broad stripe up her cunt.

“Lea, what do I do?” Lena begged, flopping down on the sofa, phone resting on her chest.

“Obi, I-” Lea’s voice rattled through the speaker.

“I need to tell her, right? Obviously, I do.” Lena answered her own question, her mind already working a million miles a minute. “It’s just … how do I bring it up?” Lena bit her lip, ignoring the advice Lea was trying to give her.

“-need to talk to her, what’s the wors-”

“I’ll make her favourite dinner; that’s a good place to start right? It can be an ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so weird’ dinner but also like the start of a date? We haven’t had one of those in a while. That’s probably why I’m so in my head about this.” Lena sat up again, moving into the kitchen to check the fridge.

“Obi” Lea tried, knowing that her attempt was useless. She knew her best friend was only on the phone to talk through her idea and not because she actually wanted advice.

“No, yeah, I’m listening, I just … we’re out of some of the ingredients, so I’ll have to go to the shops. But how should I bring it up? Start with an apology, I guess. That’s where I’d want her to start if it was the other way around. An apology and an explanation, not an excuse. So, dinner, romance, apology, explanation, and then ask. That’s easy enough.”

Lea hummed, switching to speaker and started to make her own plans for this afternoon, knowing Lena wouldn’t need any contribution on her part.

“Ok, so just something like, hi my lovely, wonderful, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous girlfriend that I love above all else, here’s your favourite food. I’m sorry I fucked up this weekend, I know I’m acting weird. It’s just I had a really good sex dream, and I can’t stop thinking about it and it made me freak out a little. Anyways, it’s not an excuse but yeah, I’m so sorry. So, care to know about the details?”

“No.” Lea screeched, concerned that she may be privy to information she really didn’t want to know. “Ew, no.” Sure Lea and Lena were close … but they weren’t that close.

“Not you, spoonhead. I’ll ask her if she wants to know the details.” Lena rolled her eyes, picking up her car keys from the bowl on the table. “Anyways, I’ve got to go, big plans and all that. Thanks for the chat, love ya.”

“Love yo-”.

The dial tone cut her off.

“Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, shit.” Lena arched off the bed, totally lost in pleasure. You hummed throatily at her taste, lapping at her clit as your fingers worked against her.

“Fuck, shit, oh god, fuck.” She was so close she could taste her orgasm. Her toes curled and mouth fell open in a silent scream. Just one, two, thre-

You pulled your fingers out of her, watching in awe as she quivered around nothing. “Wh-no, oh my god, no, no, no, I was so close.” Lena writhed, feeling the bubble shrink again.

“I know,” you smirked that beautiful, disarming, wicked grin as you kissed your way up her body, relishing in the thin sheen of sweat and the way her chest rose with every laboured breath.

“That was mean,” Lena complied, pouty and making herself look shockingly adorable.

“I know,” you winked, bringing her in for a messy kiss. She gasped as she tasted herself on your lips, the sound turning into a melodic moan as your thigh slipped between hers, giving her something to rock against. “That’s it, baby. There were go, use me.” You mumbled against her lips, smiling into another kiss as she tried to find her rhythm.

You hid at Guilia’s all afternoon, refusing to go home until you were physically dragged to the door. If you weren’t home, Lena couldn’t break up with you.

“For the love of god, she is not going to break up with you. Just grow a pair and ask her for fuck sakes. You’ve been together since you were 14, Christ on a bike. Just talk. To. Her.”

You were shoved through the door and her the click behind you.

The walk back to yours was long enough for you to figure out what you were going to say. If when she broke up with you, you would be devastated, you knew that much. She was the light of your life, the only thing that made sense, your first thought of the day and the last idea before you went to sleep. Loving Lena was the only thing you had ever known. You would go with as much grace as you could, accepting her words and waiting until you were in private to break down.

You trudged up the stairs, desperately not wanting to do this. But needs must as they say.

Lena must have been waiting for you, watching through the camera on the doorbell for you to appear. You hadn’t even fished your keys out of your pocket and the door was being wrenched open.

“Hi,” Lena smiled, that lovesick smile that you knew so well.

Maybe … you weren’t being dumped tonight.

“Hi?”

“More,” Lena gasped, her nails digging into your back, leaving red marks you would complain about later in their wake. Lena could feel the bubble in her belly growing again, slower this time but just as strong.

“More?” You asked, giving her another kiss as you drew your own hips along her thigh.

“More,” she panted, nodding as your fingers trailed across her chest. “Please, need more.”

“Stop moving for a minute, baby,” You mumbled pulling away to look where your fingers were. She whimpered pitifully, but did as you asked, pressing her forehead against your temple as you eased your fingers back inside.

“There we go,” you smiled, turning back to look at her, studying her face with reverence.

She looked phenomenal; the way her eyebrows crinkled as she focused on the pleasure building, the way her eyes were screwed tightly shut, the way her mouth hung open, soft puffs of air coming out with every exhale. You started to move your hips against her thigh again, matching your speed with your fingers.

“Shit,” she whispered softly, opening her eyes to lock gazes with you.

“Feel good?” you asked pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Gone was the teasing tone and playful bravado. Your whole being was focussed on her and her pleasure.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, the noise giving way to another moan as you brushed her clit with your thumb.

“Gonna cum?” You could tell she was close again – she was tightening around your fingers so deliciously, her hips matched your thrusts perfectly, the air getting caught in her lungs just like it always did before she fell over the edge.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, g-gonna cum, fuck,” she babbled.

“Who are you cumming for, my love? Who’s making you feel this good?” You rocked against her harsher now, your own fire growing in your belly.

“You, you, oh my god, you.” She was louder now, her hand gripping the back of your neck almost painfully. “Shit, I’m cumming.”

“W-wait, wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight. You ignored more for days, acted so weird it was untrue, and was so stressed out that I thought you were going to break up with me because of a fucking sex dream?” You were incredulous.

“Well, when you said it like that, it sounds stupid.” Lena huffed, looking down at the table.

“It is stupid,” you said bluntly.

You were beyond grateful that there wasn’t anything serious going on, that it was just Lena being her typical self and overthinking things. But you couldn’t help the bubble of hurt that welled in your chest; did she not trust you? Did she not trust you enough to just talk it through?

“Did I … did I do something that made you not want to talk about this?” you asked quietly, scared of what she might say.

“What?” Lena was shocked, out of all the things she thought you might say, she never, ever, in a million years, thought you would blame yourself for this.

“You seemed pretty stressed out about this, and it’s not like we haven’t had conversations about sex and our sex life before, so, I don’t know, did I … do something, make you feel like you couldn’t come to me about this? If I did, I’m so sorry, baby, I-”

“No, angel, no. Never. Oh my god, no.” Lena rushed out, surging forward and cupping you cheeks as if you were the most delicate thing on earth. “I just … got in my head. I promise you, you did nothing wrong at all. I’m just an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.” You smiled, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“But I’m your idiot.” Lena smiled back, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, you are.” You pulled her into a proper kiss. “So, tell me about this dream.”

[ohtobeleah]

I bet chameleon!reader gives Abbot the biggest glares whenever they pass each other. Its a true “Are you sure she doesn't hate him?” conversation starter.

Chameleon //

Previous Concept

The biggest. But it goes against every fibre of your being. You try your best to convey a sense of disdain for your husb–ex, ex-husband. But its hard to give off that vibe when you really, really fucking love the shit out of him. 

“Hi.” Jack coos. He knows he shouldn't be bothering you. He has no reason to be talking to you right now. But when he saw you down in the Emergency Room, body encapsulated with those bright pink scrubs you so desperately defended, he couldn't help but naturally gravitate towards you. “How’re you today?” 

“Small talk?” You reply over your shoulder with a sigh, and not a second passes where you take your eyes off the screen in front of you. “Least you recognised me this time.” The dig struck a nerve inside Jack. If he had rolled his eyes any harder at you, he might have fallen over. Which didn't bode well for him in his old age. 

“Ouch.” Jack looks over at Shen, he's already looking away from the car wreck that was any interaction between the two of you. No one wanted a bar of your relationship problems, but everyone wanted the winning pool of cash that had been piling up since August. “You’re gonna make me do some serious damage control over that, aren't you?” 

“Because you aren't doing damage control already?” It was another low blow, but a blow Jack Abbot deserved. He’d been missing in action inside your marriage for far too long. You knew what you deserved. So did he. Something had to give. “Do you have something you wanna talk about, or are you gonna suck the joy out of one of my free time too?” You hissed. It was like venom against Jack's skin. 

There are a lot of complex things and nuances that make Jack Abbot, well, Jack Abbot. Ex-Military trauma surgeon turned Pittsburgh Emergency room attending physician. He carried a lot of weight on his shoulders. Night often scares him. So much so, he prefers to work the night shift. 

Love never came easy. It was hard to love when you didn't know how to. It's made even more perplexing when you believe you aren't worthy of love. Jack was that classic, rugged, ‘I’m fine, it's everyone else who has a problem.’ He never knew how to ask for help when he needed it. 

But through all the therapy, through all the work he’s done to get back to a place where he could have you in his life again, he was still scared to admit you scared the ever living crap put of him. It was your eyes. They were the entrance to the soul.

Seeing what Jack had done to your soul. How he watched the light fade from your normally bright, bubbly personality. He hated himself for killing a part of you that just wanted to love him. A part that still loved him. A part that entertained his gestures in a way that still made him work for you, every day. 

“I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to get breakfast with me sometime soon?” He said nervously. You knew asking that would have been something he was thinking about doing for his entire shift. 

“Define soon?” You couldn't say no straight away. You also couldn't laugh at how silly this was. Jack was still your husband at the end of the day. By law. On paper. In any court of law. Jack Abbot was your husband…Yet here the two of you were. You’d let your marriage crumble into a wasteland of hopes of dreams. 

“When you get off?” Jack added quickly. He shrugged it off nonchalantly like it was just another day for him. Like his heart wasn't beating inside his chest cavity. If you took his blood pressure right now? He’d be heading right for cardiac arrest. 

“You’re asking me, your ex-wife, out for breakfast?” You were starting to forget what you were doing on the screen before you. You had been writing up some patient notes. Now? You were just pressing the ‘P’ button over and over again. 

“Would you rather me ask one of the residents?” Jack teased. He knew that would get you going. Put a little heat under your seat. Even though you were standing. 

“You wouldn't do that, the residents don't like you, and they would probably say no too.” For a split second, Jack’s heart sank. You were turning him down. You were really over him. Maybe divorce was on the cards? Maybe you were ready to move on from him and his inability to express his love and thankfulness. 

“Is that your way of turning me down?” Jack asked softly, like he was begging you not to. It was a different octave than you were used to. There was a worry evident in his tone. An expression of sadness was written in the lines on his face. Suddenly? Jack wasn’t feeling all too confident about this date idea Robby had put in his head at changeover last night. 

You let him sit in it a bit. Tried to make Jack squirm under his own company. Then, over the left shoulder of your ex-husband, you saw Dr. Ellis…

“Fuck him!” She mouthed. It was your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Suppose we get breakfast,” You entertained the idea for a split second. You finally paused what you were doing as you turned into Jack. The two of you were probably standing a little too close for two people who didn't even live together right now. “Then what? Do I end up back at your apartment?” 

Jack caught the subtle glint in your eye. Were you flirting with him? Or was he reading into this too much? Did you just say yes to breakfast? Or were you patronising him? 

“Only if you can stand to be around me for more than twenty minutes.” He replied. Looking down at you as he raised his chin slightly. The pink scrubs did look fucking good on you. But Jack had an idea, perhaps they would look better on the floor in the bathroom? 

“Last time I checked, you only needed five.” You smiled wickedly. It felt good. This felt good. But you still had your walls up. You weren’t stupid…

“Now, who's flirting with who?” Jack raised his eyebrows in shock. This was new. This was good. This was more like it. You actually gave him the time of day. 

“What can I say, old and deprate and slightly geriatric, looks good on you.”

[thecurioustale]

To go off on a tangent of my own...

In my college years I performed Extensive Research on how a nobody can get their fiction published, and consequently I was Ready to Go on that count for a while, "merely" pending the completion of said fiction...

In the centuries that followed, something strange happened to me. I began to suspect that no traditional publishing house would ever want to touch my work without Extensive Edits, and, concomitantly, having precise control over my fiction was becoming more and more important to me. I was becoming less willing to accept Extensive Edits even as I was becoming convinced that there could be no other path to success with a traditional publisher.

In time this decision made itself, not all at once but gradually, the old traditional model spalling away and finally disintegrating entirely. When faced with the dilemma of choosing the integrity of my work or choosing better access to an audience, it was no choice at all.

Meanwhile, self-publishing was becoming more sophisticated. A family friend had been publishing some of her work for years on one of the early-era Internet-based self-publishers, Xlibris. Perhaps not fully comprehending what exactly a traditional publisher does, I started to think that independent publication might just be the way for me.

By the time mountain ranges had risen and fallen, and I completed my first novel, Amazon had come along and taken away all of the up-front capital costs required. There was no longer any barrier to entry! So I published it online and got probably a couple dozen readers! (One order of magnitude higher than I'd have gotten were it not for the OP posting about it on Tumblr.)

But this anodyne anecdote isn't why I'm posting this; it's just the setup:

When the Prelude to After The Hero came out, it occurred to me that I was a Published Author now. I already had a Patreon, and, small though it was, I was technically being paid to write. So I was also a Professional Author, if not financially self-sufficient about it. These were strange hats to wear, as I'd always associated "professional authors" and "published authors" (I'll just combine those two into the latter now) with the people whose books show up in all the bookstores and whose works audiences are large enough to sustain ongoing fan communities. I was obviously nowhere in that realm, yet I was technically allowed to wear their hats now, and I had to think about What That Meant.

I realized I had come to associate being a professional author with fame and fortune. Not a state of A-list celebrity, necessarily, but fame and fortune all the same. And that's not really what authorship is. Authorship is in the word; it is no more and no less than writing works and, at least sometimes, finishing them.

But there is a deeply unsatisfying side to this. It's like being sold on Disneyland and arriving only to find you're in a regular old park with a short slide and a couple of those cute animals on giant springs. Something's missing, and it is both easy to see what that is and hard to articulate how the discrepancy matters.

What does it matter, really? Are the comforts of money and the intrigue of attention more important than the art itself? Not really. But then why do they hold such sway? And I think it's because of a quirk of my psyche that probably doesn't impact most people quite as forcefully: There is an issue of acceptance and belonging at work here.

I have many ways of talking about this, both in my fiction and nonfiction. I like to use the metaphor of the horizon most of all: beautiful landscapes and cityscapes, which disappear when you enter into them. They seem to exist in this place where others are allowed to dwell but you yourself are not. And, having dealt with a lot of rejection in both my child and adult lives, it's no surprise that I would be highly compelled by the allure of belonging.

There's an episode of The Simpsons where Homer discovers a secret society called The Stonecutters whose members include practically all of Springfield's well-known faces other than Homer himself. The Stonecutters are played up as being this mysterious, wonderful thing, with fantastic food, great parties, even private roads with chandeliers. And by the end of the episode Homer has become its leader! But, in so doing, everything about The Stonecutters that gave this exquisite secret society its potency vanishes. It stops being fun or interesting, and everyone else leaves the society and forms the No Homers Club. The magic is lost.

We have brains that are evolved to compose narratives where none exist, and build legends out of mundane facts. Our cities upon the horizon, and their glorious ways, sparkle magnificently. But rarely, if ever, do we ourselves seem to be able to step inside such places and dwell there without them disappearing around us—even when our lives are going very well, let alone when they're not.

I think a lot of Tumblrinos would just look at all of the above and say "tldr impostor syndrome," but I would not agree with that. For one thing, I have become increasingly opposed over the past ten years to the rampancy of biomedicalization of our identities and bodies. I don't like deploying biomedical frameworks as a cultural affiliation marker or as a form of expression. I've heard people claim that "everyone has impostor syndrome." Maybe in your worldview, buddy, but not in mine. To me that's a misuse of psychological nomenclature. But even if that objection weren't in effect—let's say I conceded it for the sake of conversation—the bigger reason that I don't agree with boiling down what I've written here to "impostor syndrome" is that it isn't accurate. I don't have any real doubts about the artistic wholeness and high quality of the Prelude, or of any of the novels I am presently writing. I know I'm a good author. I don't feel like I don't belong in the secret club of Professional Authors. I think I do! Rather, I feel that it is closed off to me by powers outside my control for reasons having little or nothing to do with me. I'm not saying that I see the world as being "against me." Nothing so dramatic or self-centered! I see the world as being cold and unthinking in many respects, and me being a poor fit for it on top of that, and, thus, mainly by circumstance, me not fitting into it. And, like a cosmic rounding error, there seems to be no fixing this. I've never fit in, and I probably never will. I'm not an impostor. I'm an outsider.

A Guru of Horizons, they called me once...

Long ago I used to fantasize that completing my books would lead to fame and fortune. But what I really wanted was to be accepted for who I am, in the context of doing the things I love. That, too, is an illusion of the horizon. No one will ever know you well enough for that. And fame and admiration are a sword because of it. For you will be misunderstood, and, to people like me at least, that makes all the difference. It will slice into you. At best, you will only be accepted as a "close enough" by dear friends. But, mostly, in the words of my star-captain Cherry Ilyapa, people will wrap your skin around their own dreams and thoughts, and sink your eyes into its sockets, never thinking how garish it might be.

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Romance Tropes

The one where you fall in love for real

Other members

Genres and warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, fake relationship, wedding guests, mature language, some angst, suggestive content, happy ending

Word count: 4.9k

When you tell a lie to save yourself from the judgement of your family, you need Yunho to play the part of the perfect boyfriend. For some reason, he does it so effortlessly you wonder if there is something more underneath.

"I did a thing."

"I'll go find a shovel, but tell me who it is? It's your ex, right?"

Your mouth dropped, going over to punch your best friend in the guts.

"You idiot! Why would that be your first thought?"

Yunho laughed, rubbing at his stomach.

"Because you really hate the dude? Come on, lighten up."

"I can't, I really can't."

You sighed, throwing yourself on the couch and pushing your head into a pillow. Yunho ran over to you, kneeling down and placing his hand on top of your head.

"Hey, honey, what's going on? You only get this depressed when they don't have your favourite cookies in the store. And... What did you do?"

There was no easy way to explain your poor decision making to him, but you knew he'd understand. He may not like it much, but he'd follow along. Or at least you hoped he would. Sighing again, you turned your head to look at him.

"You know how my cousin is getting married in two weeks?"

He nodded. "Yeah, the one you don't like, but your parents do. Why?"

"Well... She made fun of me when I went to dinner with her and our families. She said how I'm going to be single forever, and I don't have a date for the wedding."

You paused, not able to look Yunho in the eyes. He urged you to continue.

"So? Come on, Y/N, spill it."

"I told them you were my boyfriend and I'm bringing you as a plus one."

After rushing the sentence out, you smashed your face into the cushion again, not wanting to see his face. His chuckle made you lift your head again.

"Is that it? Oh, honey, that's cute. We're going to a wedding!"

You shot up, scaring him slightly.

"Cute? Do you know what I've done? My mother won't leave us alone, my cousin as well, because they don't believe me! I had to convince them for half an hour before they stopped laughing straight at my face. They'll make us... I don't know, do couple shit."

"Okay, breathe! Slow down, chill out and just breathe."

You rubbed your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. Yunho took this all way too lightly that he was supposed to, but that was his nature. He was always the casual one in your friendship.

The friendship that you two built over the years, going strong after so many ups and downs in college to adulthood. At twenty six, you were sharing an apartment and trying to tackle everyday obstacles. You wouldn't do this with just anyone.

"Why are you not mad? You know how my family is, and you know they'll be annoying us the whole time. We'll have to be all lovey dovey."

He smiled, plopping down on the couch and throwing an arm around you. You naturally gravitated into his embrace, letting him run his fingers through your hair.

"Why would I be mad? I love you, and I'd do anything for you. Nothing will change after one or two days pretending to be your boyfriend. You're still my Y/N, my best friend, right?"

You turned your head to look into his eyes, a bit confused by his expression. Yunho was always the fun one, the free spirited one, but why did he look so serious now? It almost felt like he was hiding something, but you didn't want to make this situation even more complicated.

"I love you too, Yun. Thank you, you're a lifesaver."

Ah, there it was, the face of your goofy friend. His grin was wider than ever, and before you knew it, his arms were strongly wrapped around you in a soul crushing hug.

"You love me? My, my honey, I haven't heard you say that since I got you two boxes of those cookies you like and couldn't find for a whole week!"

"Oh, shut up."

.

.

"You cannot wear that, absolutely not."

"But Y/N it's-"

"Bright green and ugly! Stop messing around, we have a family to impress - my family."

Yunho pouted, taking off the vomit coloured blazer and reaching into his closet for something else.

"I don't know why you're so obsessed with what I'm wearing to that shit show."

You sighed, feeling guilty about antagonizing your best friend when he was blindsided with your poor attempt at salvaging yourself.

"Look, all I'm trying to do is save us from any heavy judgement, you know how my mother gets. Lisa is even worse."

At the mention of your cousin's name, he shivered, making a sour face.

"Okay, okay. I'll look for something normal."

Yunho rummaged through his closet some more, before gasping excitedly.

"This is it! My 'boyfriend' armour! Yeah!"

"Whatever do you mean?" You questioned, already afraid it might be something ridiculous. But you were stopped in your tracks when he pulled out a sleek black suit. The one he wore on your graduation day.

Or as you remember it - The day you officially fell in love with Jeong Yunho.

"It's perfect, isn't it? You can't say no because you already complimented me when I wore it, if you weren't lying."

Even if you hated it, you couldn't say no to that happy expression of his. You just nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

"Y-Yeah, I think that will do."

"Oh, by the way, what are you wearing?"

You were quickly snapped back to reality with his question.

"Don't. Just don't ask me that. I'm a bridesmaid, per my cousin's request. The dress she chose... I'd rather not look at it until I really have to."

He winced.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Okay, but knowing you, you'll manage to pull it off. You're just..." He stopped, suddenly averting his eyes from you.

"What? I'm just, what?" You urged him to continue, but he turned away to place the suit back into his wardrobe.

"You're just that beautiful."

For a moment, the world stopped. Yunho has always been the more affectionate one in your friendship, but you've never heard him sound so sincere. Without a word, you stood up from his bed and went over to where he was standing. He still hasn't turned around, rummaging mindlessly through the closet. You put your hand on his shoulder, standing on your tip toes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Instantly, his ears turned bright red, and he looked at you with wide eyes. You only smiled in return.

"Thank you, Yunho."

He shrugged, trying to brush you off like it wasn't a big deal.

"Yeah, yeah... So, what's for dinner tonight?"

.

.

"Y/N, dear! What on earth are you wearing?"

"We've been travelling for three hours mom, I just wanted to be comfortable."

Your mother made a disappointed face, and you could feel the judgement oozing out of her. Suddenly, her whole face lit up.

"Oh! Yunho! What a surprise!"

Yunho, ever the polite gentleman, offered your mother a handshake before placing his arm so casually over your shoulders.

"Hello. Sorry we're a bit late, traffic was terrible."

She waved him off. "Don't be silly, you're right on time! The rehearsal dinner doesn't start for another two hours, Y/N will have enough time to be presentable. I'm quite surprised by the sudden turn of events, I must say."

You sighed. "What do you mean?"

She gestured between the two of you.

"Well, this. The relationship. I thought you were just friends? You've known each other, what, over five years?"

Oh. Maybe you hadn't really thought everything through, like explaining how you got into this supposed relationship. Luckily, Yunho's brain always worked overtime, and he was quick to answer.

"Well, it took a lot of courage for me to confess my true feelings to Y/N. But I did it. This girl here... I'm a lucky guy. I still can't believe she's finally mine."

Your head snapped towards him, surprised by how casually he came up with an explanation. One you almost believed as well. It seemed like your mother bought it without trouble.

"Isn't that wonderful! Maybe you'll finally be able to tame that little firecracker. Please, go unpack your bags in the guestroom, and try to be ready on time Y/N."

"Yes, mother."

Anxious to run away from your judgmental family, you took Yunho by the hand and led him towards the guest bedroom on the third floor of your house. The only good thing about the situation was the fact that you had the whole floor to yourselves. You don't want to hear your mother's shrill voice first thing in the morning.

"Your mom's as fun as I remember her."

"Shut up. She couldn't wait to criticize me. I'm so glad I'm not alone in this."

Yunho closed the door behind you, throwing himself on the queen sized bed. The only bed in the room.

"Oh God, how are we going to sleep? We can be in two rooms, they'll immediately figure us out."

"Don't be dramatic, the bed is big enough for both of us. You won't even feel me beside you."

You watched as he rolled around the mattress, almost purring like a cat.

"How are you this calm about... All of this? And what was that before with the speech? You really gave your everything."

He froze, leaning up on his elbows, but you could tell he was a bit more apprehensive now.

"I had to be convincing, don't read too much into it."

"Right..."

Silence overcame you, so you decided to unpack your things to keep yourself busy.

"Do we really need to go to that dinner?"

You sighed, feeling sorry about putting him through the whole ordeal.

"We do. It's the big rehearsal before the wedding, and I'm a bridesmaid. Although, I don't know why Lisa chose me in the first place. We've never been particularly close."

"Maybe she had a change of heart?"

You chuckled, glancing at him, seeing he was now in his stomach staring at you.

"Yeah, no. That evil spawn has had it put for me since we were kids. Do you know she chopped off my hair when we were seven? I had to get a bob. A bob! I looked like a sauce pan. Don't laugh!"

You threw a shirt at his head, but his laughing only got louder.

"Cut it out!"

Before you knew it, you were headed towards him, trying to silence him. Yunho grabbed your hands, and you toppled over him. In a mess of limbs, you somehow landed on top of him.

His laughing was cut off sharply, the grip he had on you tightening slightly. Your eyes met, and you were confused by the way he was gazing up at you.

Almost as if... No, no way. Yunho was your friend, and this was an awkward situation.

"Yunho?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to get up now."

"Oh!"

He let go of you, trying to sit up himself. You were now next to him, staring off in front of you. No words were said by either, so you slowly got up and continued rummaging through your things.

"I'm.. I'm gonna go take a shower and get ready. You... I don't know, do something. We need to be there in less than two hours, so don't fall asleep."

He nodded, avoiding your gaze.

"Got it. No sleeping. Off you go."

Leaving him be, you rushed out of the room and into the bathroom, all of your clothes in hand. You'd rather eat mud than have to walk into the room in just a towel. No way.

It took you an hour to get ready completely, and by the time you re-entered, Yunho was fast asleep.

"Silly boy."

You reached over to pat him on the back since he was sleeping on his stomach.

"Yunho? What did I tell you about falling asleep?"

The tall man jolted up, eyes still closed.

"I'm awake! I was just resting my eyelids. Yes, just resting."

"Well you have under an hour to get ready so I'd suggest you hurry it up."

He saluted you, eyes shut, and saluted you.

It took him a minute, but once he finally came to, he let out a gasp. His eyes were wide as you turned to look at him, mouth open.

"You... Wow."

This was the second time you found yourself questioning Yunho's expressions aimed at you. His eyes, usually full of joy, had a different glint in them.

"Oh? This? It's just an old dress I've never bothered to wear before."

"I can see why. You can kill a man with your looks honey. It's dangerous."

The blush on your cheeks was instantaneous.

"Stop that. What's going on with you?"

He laughed, grabbing his things to head out and get ready.

"I'm only speaking the truth. I think your cousin won't be happy when you outshine her tonight."

Yunho didn't give you a chance to reply because he was out the door in a second. You chuckled, going over to the floor length mirror in the corner of the room.

Your reflection was never something you appreciated enough, but Yunho always managed to make you feel special. Right now, you were gazing at yourself with another set of eyes, a set you were so familiar with. His words made you fall in love with the way you looked tonight. He just had that kind of charm.

You lounged around and waited for Yunho to get ready, your nerves starting to get the best of you, again. The door opened, and in came your best friend, dressed to the nines. Yunho somehow pulled off the checkered blazer and causal jeans combo like he got straight off the runway.

"What do you think? Too plain, or too weird? I really can't be bothered to wear slacks tonight."

Your heels made you a couple inches taller, but he still towered over you as you stood in front of him. No words were said from your end, and you grabbed the lapels of his jacket to straighten them out.

"It's crazy, you know?" You whisper.

"What?" Yunho looked confused, trying to decipher what you meant.

"How handsome you are, but you don't even realize it. You just make it all look so... Easy. So casual."

His eyes softened, placing his large palms over your shaking hands. The touch grounded you, making you aware of how close you were. If you just stood on your tip toes, if he just bent down a bit more...

"Y/N! I told you to get ready on time, we're going to be late!"

Your mother's shrill voice pulled both of you out of the trance you were in, separating like you were caught doing something naughty.

"Let's go. I can't stand her nagging me the whole night about not being on time."

He only nodded, following after you like a lost puppy.

"Oh just look at you two! Yunho, I'm impressed! You could pass as a model. How did my daughter get herself such a handsome man?"

Of course she would try to put you down in any way she could. You were about to burst, but Yunho beat you to it.

"I'd have to disagree with you. I think I'm the lucky man who got to have this beauty by his side. I'm still wondering how I managed to do that."

Your mother looked taken aback, not used to people taking your side. She quickly pulled herself together, and a smile appeared on her face.

"Well then... Both of you can consider yourselves lucky. Come on now, let's get going."

You just mouthed a silent thank you in his direction, and he winked before taking your hand in his and walking out of the house.

It wasn't a weird gesture, you two always held hands, but your brain was too jumbled to notice the tingly feeling you got in the moment.

"I think you should take up acting, you know?"

Yunho chuckled, buckling up and starting the car.

"And why is that?"

"Come on, my mother is smitten by you. I'm sure the rest of my family will be, too. You just saved my sorry ass from explaining why I've been single for so long."

He was silent for a while, and you thought you might have said something wrong, but then he reached over to take your hand again.

"You know, it's not all acting."

"What do you mean?"

"The things I say about you... I really mean them. You're special, Y/N, and I'm angry when I hear other people brushing you off."

"Yunho..."

You squeezed his palm tighter, not believing how you managed to get yourself a man like him. The little crush you had only grew bigger every time he opened his mouth in the past week. Something was up, but you didn't want to get your hopes up too much. This was still your best friend, doing you a major favour.

"I'm just being honest. This isn't as difficult as you made it out to be. I'm just being myself, and everything I say is completely honest."

He glanced at you briefly, giving you one of his smiles that made your knees weak.

"You're going to make a girl so lucky one day, I'm actually jealous."

You said it fleetingly, trying to sound casual.

"Oh..."

"But not like that! No, hey. You're my man. I mean, not mine, but you know? My best man! My friend! Yeah..."

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes to stop rambling. Yunho chuckled, raising your intertwined hands and placing a light kiss on yours. You froze, looking over at him. His eyes were on the road, but his ears were now bright red.

"You're my woman, too. Best one."

The rest of the ride was mainly silent, both of you blushing like crazy after the confessions. The restaurant your cousin chose for the rehearsal soon came into view, and you took a deep breath to prepare yourself.

Yunho parked the car before getting out and walking over to open your door. You just smiled, used to it by now. Ever since you became friends, you haven't opened a single door by yourself.

You said hi to a few people out front before entering the restaurant. From your left, someone shrieked.

"There you are! You're late! We have to start, come on, move it!"

"Hi Lisa, good to see you too."

Your cousin Lisa was in a short white dress, heels higher than you ever dared to wear, but she looked like she was about to have a break down.

"No time for that! Is this your boyfriend? He seems strong, he can help the others to rearrange the tables. Let's go."

You glanced at Yunho, ready to apologise, but he only shook his head and went over to the group of men in the corner.

"You got yourself a hotte Y/N. Who would have thought? Honestly, is it the sex? You must be good at it if he's still around."

"You're as classy as ever."

Lisa scoffed, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the buffet.

"I'm just curious. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you have your qualities, but him? How did you manage to snag that?"

Honestly, sometimes you wondered how you did that as well. Yunho was charismatic, friendly, and not to mention drop dead gorgeous. You were... You. That's why you made peace with the fact that he would always be your friend, nothing more.

"I'd rather not talk about my relationship right now. It's your day, isn't it?"

Your cousin smiled, nodding immediately.

"You're right! We'll talk about it some other time. Now, I don't like how they placed the flowers, so do something about it."

"You know this is just a rehearsal, right?"

Lisa gave you a look, making you cower slightly.

"It has to be perfect. Now, do as I say."

She turned around and stalked off to yell at someone else, and you sighed in relief. Glancing over, you saw the men in your family talking to Yunho. They seemed to be having a good time, regardless of the fact that they had to move ten tables around. He just had that kind of charm, you thought.

As if sensing your gaze, he turned around and winked. You smiled, knowing this whole event would be slightly more bearable with him by your side. With another sigh, you made your hands busy with the roses and carnations in front of you.

.

.

"And she had the audacity to mention my failed science project! I know I may have ruined our kitchen table, but I was proud of that volcano, you know?"

"What a jerk!"

"And then, she said how she couldn't believe I had a boyfriend because I was "too plain". Plain? Is she serious?"

"Y/N, I was there, I heard her."

You huffed, crossing your arms and leaning into the passenger's seat. The rehearsal was over, and you couldn't wait to get home. Yunho was the main attraction, and everybody loved him. You knew it would be like that, but you hoped your cousins would leave you alone for once.

Instead, she threw jabbs at you throughout the whole dinner, but you ignored her for the sake of your peace and sanity.

"Honey, whatever she said, and she talked a lot, wasn't true. Sure, you may be clumsy and sometimes awkward, but that's you. I love the way you are, and I'd never change your personality."

You glanced at Yunho, surprised by his sudden confession.

"You really mean that?"

"I really do."

You reached your home, noticing your parents' car wasn't there. Your mother mentioned going over to Lisa's house to sleep there before the big day so that she could be available for her at any second.

For some reason, you felt a bit sad. Yunho noticed how your mood changed, but he didn't want to make it worse by questioning you, so he just followed you to the shared room.

You took off your heels, sitting on the bed and holding back your tears.

"Hey, are you okay? I know tonight was crazy, but you seem so... Devastated."

He knelt on the floor in front of you, grabbing both of your hands. With him looking at you with those big eyes, full of concern, you broke down.

"I just can't take it anymore."

The first tear fell, but the second couldn't follow because Yunho instantly reached for your cheeks to wipe them away.

"Oh honey... Don't waste your tears on them. I know you love your family, you're just that kind of person, but I can't stand the way they treat you."

"It didn't bother me before, you know? But my mom never talked about how she couldn't wait to see me get married, it was always about Lisa. Am I that bad? Is it so impossible to imagine me in a wedding dress?"

Yunho stood up, crowding you in his embrace. He gently lifted your legs to place you into his lap, squeezing you to his chest.

"You want to know something?" He whispered.

"What?"

"I always think about how you would look in a wedding dress."

Your head snapped up to look at him, and his eyes were already on yours.

"You?"

He nodded, placing his forehead on yours. His gaze was now darker, and you noticed how his hands trembled while holding you.

"Me. You know what else? The person you are walking towards is always me. Standing there at the end of the altar, waiting patiently for you to come."

"Yunho... What are you..."

His hands cupped your cheeks again, face so close you could count his eyelashes.

"Those people... They don't know how much you are worth. You're the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. You're funny, so smart and witty it's not even real. You..."

His lips, the ones you've been dreaming about for a while now, were a breath away from yours. He hesitated, trying to decipher your emotions. You didn't want to let him get too into his head, so you grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in.

Your lips smashed together, and Yunho finally let go.

The kiss was different from any other you've ever had. After all, it was Yunho kissing you instead of someone random. Yunho, the man who stood by you through thick and thin.

Yunho, the person you turned to when your bad thoughts took over.

Yunho, messy, lovable Yunho, who talked about you like you were his lifeline.

Your lips danced together, his hands squeezing your cheeks as if you would disappear at any moment. Yours were placed on his sturdy chest. The chest you loved cuddling to when you watched sappy movies.

The air grew hotter in seconds, and you had to stop for a second to take a breath. As you detached yourself from him, you were surprised how natural everything felt.

There was no awkwardness, no doubt.

You just kissed Yunho, your best friend, and it felt as natural as breathing.

"Now that... That was super hot."

It took you a second before you burst out into laughter. Leave it to Yunho to say something a frat boy would in a moment like this.

"Yeah, it was. You're such a dork, oh my God."

"But I'm your dork, right?"

You looked into his eyes, seeing how serious he actually was.

"Do you... Want to be?"

"I thought I already was, but let's make it official."

Before you could respond, Yunho got down on one knee in front of you. Your eyes widened, and you panicked slightly when he reached into his pocket.

You soon realised there was no need, because he only took out his wallet. Strange, but okay.

"I know this is so sudden, but I always knew we'd end up together. I was just too shy to do anything because I'm me, and you are incredible. And so sexy it's not even real."

You gasped, knowing there was no chance Yunho could do a standard, normal, romantic confession.

For some reason, you loved him even more for that.

"Look at this."

He took out a piece of paper from his wallet, giving it to you.

There, on a random sticky note, was your writing. It only said "gone out, eat breakfast you idiot!!! love you"

"It's funny, but when I looked at the note you wrote about six months ago, I couldn't help but wonder. Do you love me in the same way I love you, or was it just something you said because we've known each other for so long. I realised I had to step up my game, so I tried to be obvious. But you... You are as dense as honey sometimes."

Your eyes widened.

"Is that why you..."

"Call you honey? Part of the reason. You're just the sweetest person I've ever met, so it fits. Do you get it now?"

You nodded, realising he was still down on one knee. You pointed at his position, raising your brow.

"If you propose to me on my cousin's wedding day we might as well be exiled from planet earth afterwards."

Yunho gasped, seemingly realising himself how this might look to you.

"No, no! Don't worry, I plan on proposing, but not today. I need to figure out where I can rent a unicorn."

"You do know those aren't real? And why the hell would you need a unicorn?"

"Doesn't matter. Let me get back to my point. I love you, and I want you. Do you want me?"

The two of you looked into each other's eyes, not knowing whose smile was bigger.

"I love you, and I want you. Come and kiss me again."

"Yes ma'am!"

.

.

"We totally broke your bed."

"Let's hope we did not, because my mother would freak out."

Your back was pressed against Yunho's front, his arms wrapped securely around you. The position wasn't foreign to you, but the state of undress you were in was.

After his grand confession, Yunho couldn't keep his hands off of you. Soon enough, you were tangled in the sheets of your old bed, your moans making the sweetest melodies.

"You know, we can skip the wedding if you want to."

You turned to glance at him, totally unprepared for the suggestion.

"We can't do that. My family would... You know, I don't think my family would mind much."

"Do you want to go?"

"No! No, I don't! You're a genius."

He laughed, placing a kiss on your hair.

"I pride myself in having a big brain. I don't think that's the only thing that is big abo-"

"Okay! We get it."

You turned around in his arms, placing your hands on his cheeks.

"I love you. Thank you for going through this hell with me. And thank you for pushing me to do something I want, but don't have the courage to."

He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your lips, his arms strengthening their hold on you.

"You can always count on me. You deserve to be surrounded by people who worship the ground you walk on."

"There aren't that many."

Yunho smiled, chuckling afterwards.

"There's me. I will be there, for as long as you want me."

"Somehow, I think that will be more than enough."

The two of you enjoyed the feeling of finally being together for some more, before you silently packed up your things and headed out to the car.

Finally, you were able to escape the horrible behaviour you'd been exposed to since you were little.

Your heart didn't feel so heavy anymore, and with Yunho's hand covering yours, you knew it never will.

.

.

.

[kallmemeimei]

Moments I can see happens in Deadtired’s life: Before they dated

It’s a bit more descriptive from the previous one idk why

—————

Those neon green eyes which were usually cheerful and bright, now held inexplicable darkness. Phantom’s usual easy-going character was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man who reminded Tim of an icy jagged mountain peak, cold, sharp and unfathomable, stood in his place.

“You keep provoking me again and again… Hey, Tim, I know I’m usually too lazy to bother with things but i’m still a man.”

Perhaps because Phantom usually either had a lazy or cheerful smile on his face, which made him look easy to get along with, Tim only found out now that when Phantom puts away the smile on his face and stared at Tim expressionlessly, the hair-raising feeling that made him tense immediately prevailed.

The slightly heavier breath swept across his cheek and neck, and lowered, raspy voice was filled with intimidation. The young CEO who always had plans and schemes in his head was put in a rare position where his mind was coming in blank and stood frozen against the wall, even holding his breath unconsciously due to nervousness.

Confident azure blue eyes no longer held the daringness it had before, but was replaced by a cute and docile look, reminding others of a cute deer. Phantom seemed to be quite satisfied with the current Tim, and despite being expressionless still, Phantom returned to his previously friendly demeanour. The previously ice melted to show warmth again.

“Don’t challenge my patience with yourself again, okay?”

“……Yeah.”

Completely suppressed by the other party’s momentum, Tim subconsciously nodded, only breathing a sigh of relief once Phantom phased out of the room.

“What’s up with him?”

Tim’s back that was still pressed up against the wall, gradually slid down until he reached the carpeted floor due to his weak legs. He covered his face with his hands, but through the gaps between his fingers and his exposed ears, it’s still obvious that his face was bright red.

“He usually acts so silly and dumb... Why is he being handsome all of the sudden…”

Meanwhile, as the target of Tim’s criticisms, Danny just casually nodded and greeted the other members of the Wayne family whenever he came across them. Except for noticing the fact that Phantom’s ears were slightly green, no one would have ever thought what this ghost had done before.

Danny, who maxed out his acting talent stat for a short moment, returned to the guest room he was staying in for now and closed the door. Then he instantly squatted down and suddenly covered his face with his hands, his whole body exuding the feeling of, “it’s over, it’s over,””the bats are going to kill me,””i’m so embarrassed,””please let me permanently die now.”

“Holy shit. I actually said that??? Ancients, what gave me the guts to say that??? Fuck. Does Tim hate me now??? I think I just unconsciously used my aura as king… No, no, no, I should go find Clockwork and convince him to let me travel to the past so I can punch myself!!!”

The coward who had completely entered self-destructive mode had already started blabbing nonsensical things, but just when his shame was starting to overwhelm him, the expression of Tim, who had pinned against the wall by him before, began to unconsciously emerge from his mind.

Blue eyes, widened by shock, looked like a calm lake that suddenly had stones thrown into it under a clear sky. His slightly trembling lashes made him appear fragile, and it made Danny feel like a small, soft animal’s fur was brushing itself against his heart. His pale lips were reddened by how much he was pressing them tightly, subconsciously catching Danny’s attention.

And... remembering the heat from the feeling of his ear being gently bitten by Tim earlier, which hadn't completely dissipated yet.

—Ahhh, you can't escape, Danny.

——Just admit it, Tim.

The fingers covering their faces almost sunk into their skin, but this action didn't help reduce the blush on their faces. Although they were in two completely different places, Tim and Danny surprisingly had the same actions, both covered their reddened cheeks with their hands, squatted on the ground and tried to curl up.

——You've fallen for him! (x2)

[monstergili]

When you really think about the whole universal translator in speculative fiction, it doesn't really work considering all the questions you've brought up. It feels like there is this expectation that it should be just translated easily into one language; often in English for a person with no hearing disabilities and no problems during the process. Compared to how real languages work, it can be so complicated; some languages are not commonly spoken, with some languages being quite hard to translate. A few languages are rare due to how few people speak the language fluently. Even if you managed to have a large library of languages available, how easy is it to translate one into another? I'm no linguist, but even I know that not every word can be easy translated into another language. Translations can lacks the nuance of a particular word or phrase because the translation tries simplifying it to be more understandable, losing that nuance in the process. That's not even covering the ever changing use of slang; with words changing meaning, new ones being invented or phased out for new ones. Would you have a big enough library for the various slang used across the world and beyond?

I don't think I've really seen anyone even take into consideration how sign language would be used for the universal translator. Sign Language differs across the world, use different signs for particular words, which could have different meaning in another sign language if applicable at all. Some verbal languages might not even have their own sign language available so it might be even harder to translate because you could be jumping through two other languages first before being translated into a language you know. If they tried making you still see the speaker when you're looking away, it would likely be disorienting, possibly leading to headaches from the sensation. It could possibly lead to minor accidents from the different inputs given to the user. Never mind if the sign language of another species requires more than one pair of hands; how do translate THAT?!

The Universal Translator usually doesn't take non-humanoid anatomy into consideration on how it would impact language. In most mainstream Sci-Fi settings, humanoid aliens are the norm for sapient species. In the Mass Effect games, I know one alien species had to verbalize what they're feeling when talking because their use of pheromones couldn't be translated for the other inhabitants. Another species were basically space jellyfish that used a translator to verbalize language, based on their bioluminesce. (Looking back, I think there was a missed to opportunity to use chromatophores to create a complex language that was also hard to translate.)

I know that not everyone is interested in conlanging or trying to write multiple IRL languages. It's hard to conlang or translate languages, especially if said language is notoriously difficult to speak/read. I don't blame people using universal translators as an easy workaround for plot convenience. Yet I do feel like that it can be a little too easy to use for every setting you make. This is why I like how @jayrockin handles languages in their Runaway To The Stars universe. I'd recommend checking out their work if you want more interesting and grounded way of handling alien languages. It even includes sign language.

how do science fiction real-time universal translators (the type where people automatically perceive everything as being in their native language as it's being spoken) handle sign languages. does it alter the perception of native sign language speakers so it looks to them like people using spoken language are actually signing? for that matter, would it "translate" written language into a spoken form for someone who natively speaks a spoken-only language?

[milomelts]

Rooftop High

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader (she/her/fab)

Word Count: 2k just a quickie

Warnings: 18+, weed, car accident detailed (but nothing like gore-y cuz ew), age gap 🤭

Note: just a little something fun while i finish other requests and stuff lol

————————————

Today was shit. There was no other way to describe it. No “look at the bright side” or “finding joy in the little things”, just an absolute disaster. There had been a massive crash and pile up of cars on the interstate, a semi-truck had flipped over just on the other side of a hill, in turn causing dozens of cars to crash into him as they couldn’t see him till it was too late -and then more cars crashed into the crashed cars.

You weren’t even sure how many people you had seen come through, but it was the waves in which they came that was particularly brutal. First wave was almost all causalities, or people with less than an hour left, those who had slammed into the semi right when it flipped. Then there was people who crashed into the immediate cars, not as badly hurt intially, but then the semi had caught fire meaning several of them then came with burn wounds. Then finally the third wave, people who had narrowly missed crashing or were able to slightly break before crashing, consisting of mostly surface wounds. Shattered glass in hands, whiplash, pretty much standard accident injures.

By that time however, it was three hours past when your shift was supposed to end, and you were far too tired to even try to shake off the horrors you had seen. There were other ways to forget though. After listening to Robby’s “at least we did it” speech, you finished handing off your tablet to one of the nightshift residents and your feet were hitting the stairwell before you crashed from fatigue.

The last time you had come up here had been a similar day, a rather rough night shift that had you seeing ghosts, sometimes you just needed to chill on the roof to be able to leave work at work -and by chill on the roof, you really mean smoke enough weed that by the time you’re leaving all you can think about is snacks and a drink instead of death. Maybe you needed a better coping mechanism. Maybe.

You scanned in and threw open the door to the roof, letting your eyes close as you finally took a breath, listening to the peaceful quiet as the door clicked closed behind you. Your eyes flutter open and you go to take a step but your eyes catch on a certain someone. A certain someone who was in your spot, and looking right at you.

“Hey,” Abbot’s voice fits right in with the peaceful night air. He had come in the help, despite having the night off, and you couldn’t deny that his help made things run hell of a lot smoother.

“Shit, sorry!” You stutter out as he continues to just stare right through you. It wasn’t like it was the first time you both had been on the roof at the same time, but you had always caught the door and ran away before it had time to close before. “I can go!”

“No!” His voice goes high for just a second, clearing his throat and patting the ground next to him while giving you a soft smile. “Plenty of space and I could use the company.”

You fight against the pit in your stomach telling your legs to run and instead move to sit next to him on the ledge. Part of you always thought it was rather humorous that there were rails up here because they were so easy to go around, you weren’t sure anyone ever really stayed behind them. You settle into the space beside him, careful to not sit too close, but your knees brush his as you cross your legs and tuck your bag beside you. As much as you enjoyed the night air, you would enjoy it a hell of a lot more with your before mentioned plans.

“Uhm, do you mind if I smoke?” you voice is meek, meeting Abbot’s eyes and he scoffs at the ask.

“Cigarettes are bad for your health you know?” He teases, eyes filling with a playful glimmer.

“Oh nobody said anything bout cigarettes,” you retort. Scrambling through your bag you quickly find your pre-rolled blunt, digging around the various wrappers till your fingers finally landed on your hot pink lighter.

Abbot lets out a low whistle when his eyes catch the contents of your bag, almost like a disapproving parent, but the giddy smile that still lingers on his face tells you he doesn’t actually mind -and more importantly has no intention of snitching on you.

You light the end of the blunt, letting it burn for a second as you breath in your hit. It burns at the back of your throat and deep in your lungs, probably shouldve brought a water up with you, but it was much too late for that.

You try to make some casual conversation, avoiding talking about the crash, but still asking him about how his day was before work. Conversation always seemed to flow so easy with him, like he completely understood and knew all the things you were feeling, probably because he was much older and had experienced everything you were feeling. “An experienced man to take care of you”, Dana would always tease when you brought up your crush on him.

You tried to ignore the way Abbot’s eyes lingered on you, tracing up and down your body, following the blunt as you brought it up to your lips again, and then catching your eyes as you breathed out.

“Do you wanna hit?” you offer, resting your head on your knees as you look over at him. You can tell he’s considering it by the way he keeps flittering back and forth between your eyes and the blunt, but you dont wanna push anything.

“I’ve never really, uhm, really done something like that,” He rushes out, rambling on about how he’s smoked before, but maybe he was too old-fashioned for the things kids are into now days.

“Alright old man,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him when he gently pushes your shoulder laughing with you. You could feel the effects already flooding your system and relaxing you before you could even stop yourself your voice is speaking for you, “We could shotgun?”

You dont know where the bold statement had come from, but when Abbot leans in closer you cant help the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“What do I need to do,” he murmurs, face inches from yours as he scoots closer and you turn to face him. He’s sitting with his legs spread flat against the ground, and he tugs you closer pulling your legs overtop his thighs and around his waist till you’re practically seated in his lap and eagerly waits for your next instruction.

“All you gotta do is breathe okay?” He nods in response, waiting for you to bring the blunt up to your lips again.

You bring the lighter up, hands shaking as you try to re-spark the flame. It feels like the world was practically tilting at this point, how did you get here? Abbot gently cups his hands around yours and your eyes snap up to him. He nods to you, taking the lighter and lighting the blunt for you as you take another deep hit, letting the smoke collect in your mouth and lungs before moving close to him again.

He parts his lips, eyes catching yours as you breathe the smoke into his. His hands travel up your arms causing you to shudder as they trace back and forth along your shoulders.

“Can I try?” His voice is hoarse as his fingers prod at the blunt in your hand, gingerly taking it between his two fingers and you let him, watching him bring it up to his lips. He takes a deep breath, hazel eyes never breaking from yours as he drops the last of the blunt to the ground and pulls you in with both his hands cradling your face. You gasp as he tugs you to fully sit on his lap, quickly blowing the smoke out into your mouth as you greedily inhale it.

Before you get the chance to pull back his hands pull you in closer, lips locking with yours as you both moan into the kiss, your hands coming up to tangle with his greying curls. It’s all so dizzying, the weed, the frantic kisses, the way Abbot holds onto you like if he lets go he’ll lose you. He’s got his hands on your hips, rolling you over his hard on again and again as his tongue slips into your mouth, eager to tie itself up with yours causing you to let out a high pitched whine.

“Jack,” you whimper out his name and he pulls back for just a moment to make eye contact with you. His pupils are blown wide and he’s panting, your fingers trail down from his hair and land on either side of his face pulling him back into another searing kiss.

“I’ve seen how you look at me,” his accusation causes you to whimper, bucking your hips against his as he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, hushed voice ringing in your ear, “Heard what you’ve said to the others about me.”

“What’s that?” Your voice comes out broken, breath hitching as he sucks and bites into the crook of your neck.

“Oh you know,” He murmurs, hands pulling your hips to roll against him again and again, until he’s locking eyes with you again. “Something about needing an older man to fuck you right.”

The cocky smirk thats plastered against his face should not be as hot as it is, but you can’t help but nod, admitting that you did want this as bad as he thought. He snakes a hand down into your scrub pants, a groan ripping through him when he’s feels how wet you are for him. You roll your hips against his hand, writhing as his fingers work against your clit rubbing in quick figure eights as he grinds his cock up against you.

“Fuck, Jack please,” You beg, trying to somehow get even closer to him. He pulls his fingers out, wrapping his lips around them and moaning at the taste of you causing you to whimper as you hold eye contact with him. He pulls you flush against him, both hot and sticky as he desperately ruts against you and you against him. Your fingers drag underneath his shirt along his back and he tugs at the hair at the base of your skull, holding you tightly as you both grind against one another.

“Cum for me baby,” His voice is strained, almost whining, and from the way his hips stutter you can tell he’s close. “Be a good girl.”

You throw your head back, the thread within you snapping as his spits on his fingers and brings them back down to your clit, dragging fast circles around and around. He’s holding you up at this point, body relaxing against his as you lazily kiss at his neck drooling while your orgasm rakes through you.

You can feel his hard on press against your over-sensitive core once, twice more before his hips are stuttering and Abbot’s cumming in his cargo pants, streaming out whiney praises about how good you were for him and how pretty you were as you came. His breath slowly comes down and he presses his head against yours, soft kisses placed against your temple and you whine as he pulls his fingers away from your quivering pussy.

He lays back on the roof, pulling you down with him as he cards fingers through your hair. You two stay like that for a while, just breathing and looking at the stars, a wave of comfort washing over both of you. He felt like maybe the comfort he had found in the dark was actually from you all along. He could actually just stay here and go to sleep-

“Who did you hear that from?” Your voice breaks him from his peaceful trance and his eyes flitter down to yours, watching the lazy smile crack across your face as you break out into a fit of giggles.

“I cannot give up my informant,” he chuckles as you dramatically sigh, laying back down for just a split second before your back up again. With the amount of energy you had compared to him, he just knew you were gonna be a handful.

“Okay, but was it Dana because I swear to god-“

[nats-w1fe]

Choose

Shauna Shipman x Reader/Lottie Mathews x Reader

Summary: Winter started to creep up, and you all realized it was time. Time for another hunt.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Not accurate to how the actual scene went!!, Betrayal, major character death, angst, bad writing tbh

A/n: working on a Shaunahat piss kink request atm (I say as casually as I can)! For now you guys can have this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew food was starting to become harder to come by, and you knew soon winter would come and those cards would soon too come out. But for now, till the snow fell—you salvaged any moment of peace you could get.

You’d been dating Shauna and Lottie since way before the crash, the three of you kept your relationship a secret until doomcoming. Everyone was surprisingly very supportive.

To say you were happy together would be an understatement, even in such a cruel place you knew you had each other. And those girls protected you like it was the most important thing in the world. Because, to them, you were the most important thing in the world.

They were the first ones that you told about your autism, but of course they could already tell. You had always been different You got overwhelmed easily, certain textures made you uncomfortable and could even make you cry. You were sensitive, very sensitive.

They never made fun of you for the way you were though, no, they helped you in any way they could. The favoritism was evident.

If there was spare food, it was yours. If there were spare blankets, they were yours. Someone built the best hut? That hut was now yours. Nobody seemed to care much for the favoritism though, which confused you. When you brought it up to Van all she said was, “well your Y/n, so y’know” she smiled at you as if the answer was obvious and made any sense.

Everyone was kind to you, you never argued with people. Even if people hated Shauna, they never hated you. Which made life easy for you.

But as happy as you may have been, you still missed home. You missed the warm embrace from your mother and father, you missed your little brother Jake who would force you to play cars with him. You regretted all the times that you turned down that offer.

But when the chance to go home finally came. You were stopped. Stopped by the two people you least expected, yet at the same time, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Lottie was first to refuse, then Shauna joined her. You could only stare in shock as Natalie scolded them. You tried to argue, to reason. But Shauna shut you down with a quick glare. Lottie comforted you that night as you cried in her arms, crying harder than you ever had before. She whispered to you about the wilderness needing you to stay here.

Specific words of hers caught your attention though, “It’s not done with you Y/n, I’ve seen the vision, of what it needs from you, don’t worry, only a few more days” you didn’t understand what she meant by that, you didn’t think you’d ever understand.

And on that night, when the snow fell, all your hope had faded away. You finally gave up. You were stuck here, for life, no matter how much you tried to deny it. The wilderness was too rooted deep inside you to leave anyway.

--

The sound of screaming was what woke you up. You rose from your bed that you shared with Shauna and Lottie.

Lottie groaned and gripped your waist, not wanting to let go, “Lot, we have to go look” you told her in a quiet whisper, “Shauna’s already gone”. She grumbled something under her breath before getting up and walking out with you.

You held her hand as the two of you walked together, the cold breeze shot a chill down your spine and you instinctively moved closer to Lottie.

When you arrived at the animal pen, where the scream came from, your eyes widened at the sight and you felt your stomach drop. The animals laid on the floor, dead.

You quickly covered your mouth with your hand, holding back bile that tried to force its way out your throat. “What happened…” Shauna muttered looking around at the state of the place. You looked over at Akilah who was knelt on the floor, clutching the body of a goat.

Your heart broke out the sight and you slowly made your way over to her. You crouched beside her and pulled her into a hug. "It's just like in my vision. They're gone, my babies, they..." she muttered frantically.

"How?" you asked, looking at the bodies that surrounded all of you, it was a horrid sight that made your stomach churn. "Maybe it wants us to leave" Natalie said. You all turned to her.

Maybe she was right.

"We got too arrogant. It's unhappy with us. We have to prove our faithfulness. It wants blood" Lottie announced, looking at you. You turned to Lottie. She stood next to Shauna. The two of them looked so powerful, yet terrifying. You hesitantly stood up and walked over to them. "We've done nothing but spill blood. Coach, the scientist, the... the guide." you listed off to them.

"But they were all our enemies." Mari spoke up. You quickly turned to her, furrowing your brows. Why was she agreeing with them? Mari of all people. "Mari what are you talking about?" Natalie asked her.

"Mari's right. We haven't offered it ourselves. It's not a real sacrifice unless we cherish it. We have to have another hunt." Lottie suddenly said. Your heart dropped. Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to her and Shauna. Your voice lowered to a whisper. "Lot, are you sure this is a good idea?" you asked her, putting your hand on her arm.

She gave you a gentle smile, but it only unsettled you more. She took your hand and held it in hers. "Baby, it’s what it wants, trust me" she laid a gentle kiss on your hand.

"I agree. And we have to do it right this time. We have to show the Wilderness our respect." Shauna said, mostly to you. You looked down at the ground, your mind reeling and heart racing. Shauna put her arm around your waist and pulled you close to her. "Nothing will happen to you, baby" she whispered, "I'll make sure".

--

That morning came quicker than you had hoped it would. When you finally woke up you were greeted by the bright sun shining through the cracks of the hut. Your brows furrowed and you reached for Shauna who laid beside you.

You practically climbed on top of her, burying your face in her neck to hide your eyes from the sun. Shauna chuckled and gently rubbed your back in slow, gentle circles.

"Morning" she whispered to you. You lifted your head and looked at her with a small smile. The sun reflected onto you perfectly. Shauna thought. You looked beautiful, angelic even. "Morning babe" you replied, your voice quiet.

"can we sleep in?" you asked her. One good thing that came out of Shauna becoming the antler queen was that you got to sleep in. She was in charge so you wouldn't get told off. Shauna shook her head, "Not today doll, sorry" she gave you a gentle kiss. You returned it eagerly and when she pulled away you sat up with an exaggerated groan.

"Once your dressed go help Lottie with her chores" Shauna told you as she stood up. She leaned forward and gently tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You stood up and gave her another kiss. She chuckled slightly into the kiss but made no move to pull away.

Once you pulled away you smiled up at her, "I love you" you said. You had said it a million times before. It was nothing new. Yet, this time, it had so much more meaning. She kept her smile, but it altered to a bit of a more confused smile. "You okay?" she asked you, gently cupping your face in her hands. You nodded, "I'm fine" you gave her one last peck on the lips before getting changed and walking out of the hut.

You found Lottie standing out in the snow, she was staring up at the trees and seemed to be muttering something. You walked over to her, she turned around, probably hearing your incoming steps. “Hiya” you smiled at her

She smiled too, but you knew Lottie, you knew when something was wrong. Your brows furrowed and you stepped closer to her. “Whats wrong?” you asked her, putting a hand on her arm. She hesitated for a moment.

“I feel, weird, about this hunt” she admitted. Your eyes widened slightly. Lottie never usually felt anything that went against the wilderness and her usual beliefs, so now you were concerned. “Lot, you know we don’t have to do this? I’m sure everyone would much prefer to not do it anyway” you said with a chuckle, but she shook her head. “No, it has to be done, I just…a vision I had, I’m scared it’ll come true” she admitted to you.

Before you could even begin to ask her to elaborate, the others started walking out of their huts. Shauna began instructing them all to stand in a circle and they did as they were told without question. Yet, you could see the hesitation in their eyes, the fear, the regret.

You made your way over, standing beside Hannah. You took a deep breath and watched as Van shuffled the cards. She glanced at Taissa then to Natalie. Your brows furrowed, wondering what was going on. “Sh-Should I…?” Van asked, her voice was shaky. Shauna gave a rough nod, “You can start”.

Van picked a card off of the deck, you couldn’t see what it was, but it wasn’t the queen and that’s what mattered. The cards continued their way around the group. You noticed the continuous glances between Van and Taissa but you said nothing. Then all of a sudden, Shauna moved, she stood beside you. You looked slightly confused. “Shauna, what... You don't need to take any extra risk. You can go back to your spot.” Taissa told her, holding her hand out.

Shauna cocked a brow and tilted her head, “How'd you get into AP Stats? It doesn't change the odds. Besides, I trust whatever It wills. Misty, keep going.” She insisted. Misty did as she said, continuing to hand the cards out to everyone. Then she got to Shauna. You looked at her as she pulled the card off of the deck. It wasn’t the queen. You let out a sigh of relief. She smiled at you and then it was your turn.

You didn’t realise your hand was shaking until you reached out and took the card. All eyes were on you. Your heart raced. You turned the card around and your heart dropped. Tears filled your eyes almost instantly. You showed the card to the group. “No…redraw! We’re doing it again!” Shauna yelled, grabbing the cards roughly from Misty’s hands. “No! It chose…” Lottie told you all, she stepped forward, clutching an axe in her hand.

You looked at Lottie, “One…” she started to count. You felt your heart break into a million pieces. “Shauna” you called to her, your voice shaking. She couldn’t even look at you.

You looked at the others, Van, crying and avoiding your gaze. Taissa stared at you, too shocked to speak. That was the same for the others. You quickly took the cloak off of yourself.

You stumbled backwards, Lottie continued to count and as she got to four you sprinted off as fast as she could. The wind blew through your face, the sharp stabs of snowflakes slapped your face as you ran but you tried to ignore them.

Your heart was in your throat, fear pumped adrenaline threw your body and you ran faster than you had ever run before. Then you heard the howling, they were coming. They were hunting you like an animal. You fell to the floor, cutting your foot on a branch.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, clutching your foot. You sobbed, looking around to see if anyone had gotten close. You then saw Van, Natalie, Mari and Melissa approach. You quickly tried to get up to your feet. “No, no, no, no” you muttered, trying to run but you fell over.

Van rushed to your side, she brought you up to your feet, you screamed. “Please don’t! Van please!” you cried. “Y/n! Look at me!” she exclaimed, you looked at her, sniffling.

“We’re not going to kill you, we’ve got a plan to get home, we need you to be a decoy, to divert Shauna, Lottie and a few of the others away, can you do that?” she asked you, speaking slowly and kindly for you.

You shook your head frantically, “I can’t, I can’t” you sobbed, “I wanna go home” your flexed and unflexed your hands repeatedly, stimming. Natalie come over to you, taking your hand in hers. “Hey, hey, Y/n look at me” she spoke calmly but you could still hear the fear in her voice. You looked at her, “I know this is stressful and scary, but this is how we can go home okay? Take deep breaths and try your best okay?” she asked you, gently rubbing your arm to try and soothe you.

You nodded and finally managed to calm yourself as much as you could though your heart still pounded in your chest. “I’ll try” you assured them, Van suddenly lunged at you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Be safe Y/n” Van asked you.

Once she pulled away you ran off in the direction you heard the howling coming from. You turned to look behind you but just as you did you ran straight into someone. You grunted and fell to the floor. Your eyes widened but you physically relaxed when you realised it was just Lottie. You quickly stood up. “Lottie, you’ve gotta help me” you asked her, grabbing her hand. You noticed the way her eyes filled with guilt, you looked confused, “Lot?” you asked. “I’m sorry baby, its what it wants” she grabbed you by the back of your neck and lifted a knife. You screamed and tried to shove her hand away, “I’m so sorry baby” she muttered.

Just as she was about to bring the knife down, Mari shoved her away. You looked at her, “Run!” she yelled to you. You turned on your heels and sprinted off.

Lottie was going to kill you. Your Lottie. She was really going to kill you.

You stopped in your tracks when you noticed some others, including Shauna, starting to approach, they were at all angles. There was no where you could go now.

You choked out a sob, standing in the middle of them all as they slowly approached, “Shauna” you called to her, sniffling. She looked at you through her mask, she tightened her grip on the handle of her knife. “Please..” you muttered, knowing she could hear still, “I’m scared”. You heard someone running up behind you, you quickly turned and stumbled back.

Then all of a sudden, the sound of twigs snapping came from underneath you. and you dropped. You didn’t know how long you fell for, but when you felt the spikes impale you, you knew it was over.

--

“NO!” Shauna screamed, she dropped her knife, running over to the pit. She looked down and saw your body laying there. Spikes stuck through your body in numerous places. She fell to her knees beside the pit, crying out. Lottie came up behind her, “It’s what it wanted Shauna, I saw the vision, its why we had to stay, it was so desperate for her…she was different, she was struggling and it freed her”