#but all of the connections in the different musical pieces in the series that i never knew about (some i did. but most i didn't) are so

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I'm having so much fun watching Green Requiem on YouTube's series about the music in Kingdom Hearts. I'm learning so much, as well:)

[earth4angels]

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

modern!jacaerys x ballerina reader ─── first clumsy kisses on the bleachers, fluff, MAJOR FLUFF, jace is a little piece of shit in the beginning, aegon is the best friend we all need sometimes, blind date, jace acts possessive - major simp too.

summary: it takes a very braggy best friend who says he is the best cupid to ever exist for you to finally accept a blind date. however, you did not expect to cross paths with the one male who everyone wanted, a reputation of a lady-man but what could be worse? right?

a/n: this one i do want to make a series but i'll see how it's treated first so pls lemme know. listen to lovesick by laufey as you read (trust me)

jace tag list: @jacaerysgf @star611, @jules420, @gracexthoughts, @astrxq, @reyndaisy , @hxtd , @smurfelle , @nanaldy @valdezthg @littleblackcatinwonderland @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @canyonmoon-2 @ambrosia-v-black

"Y/n, again. You are not lifting your leg high enough!"

You turned your head to look at your dance teacher who stood behind you, with a scolding face. You sighed, already irritated that you had to skip your friend's home welcoming party for practice.

As the music started playing again, you twirled. Your feet glided through the marble floor, the music becoming you, and for a while, you created a storyline with every bounce, and twirl you made. The final note was played as your body twirled then bent upward with your hands elegantly stretched outwards.

You looked like a painting and the few lookers that were in the room with you stared in awe. You breathed heavily through your nose as you remained in the final position until your instructor spoke.

"Amazing y/n! I feel like you hit the emotion straight in the face! I think we're done here," your instructor said, "Get out of here, enjoy the weekend off, I will see you Tuesday morning for the last rehearsals. Your audition will be on Saturday, do not forget!"

You smiled giddy that you could go early as you missed your best friend. He was finally home after visiting his grandparents, and though you and he stayed connected through Facetime, you longed to hug him.

"Thank you, Miss Royce, I will be there!" You scrambled to grab your bag; you bounced in your ballet shoes as you fell onto the floor untying the laces at a rapid pace. Your phone rang then, and you sighed in annoyance yet still picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I cannot believe the one person that I wanted to see the most is not here. What do you take me as?" Aegon whined making you smile widely.

"Aegon!!!! I promise! I finished practice early! I'm heading over to you as fast as I can!" You slipped on your ballet slippers moaning softly at the difference between your pointe shoes and your soft slippers that relieved the pain on your feet.

"You better! Helaena and Aemond are bitching off my ear how you're not here!"

At that, you heard the voices of his siblings yelling over the phone asking about your whereabouts. You laughed at Aegon yelling, "that's MY best friend you idiots! Quit bothering!"

"Hurry! You don't have to call or anything when you arrive, the door is opened, just come to the back!"

You laughed again, hanging up after saying your goodbyes. Your velvety nude sling bag bounced with every running step you took as you ran to your car.

The house was lit up in pretty lights, you figured it was Helaena's doing along with Rhaena's, they were always the decorators when it came to parties. As you parked your car in front, you moved towards the door finding yourself hit with strong alcohol and loud music.

A scream was heard and then you were suddenly surrounded by long limbs. You huffed as the breath was taken from you, "Ooof!"

"I can't believe you are here! I have missed you so much!"

You moved your head back to see who had hugged you and when you saw their face you squealed. Both of you now bouncing, squealing together like young girls.

"Oh my gosh! Hels! You look so beautiful!"

Helaena rolled her eyes, "You are so much more beautiful! I have missed you so much, I will never leave longer than 2 months I promise!"

You hugged her tightly again muttering into her chest as she was taller than you were - how much you missed her.

"Come, the boys would want to see you!"

As you were taken to the backyard of the house you found yourself with a large crowd of people, you realized this was no longer a small gathering but rather a party. You scoffed, ah Aegon. You arrived at a ping pong table where Aegon was playing against Aemond, cheers were thrown left and right every single time they landed a shot.

You quietly stood in the middle of the table, eyeing the brothers' match, grinning softly at them throwing insults at each other. You knew it was all child's play as you knew they loved each other, but they were competitive.

"Fuck! Seven hells! You cheated!" Aegon exclaimed as he missed the shot, Aemond smirked shrugging his shoulders.

"Tough luck brother, now are you taking the shots or are you too wuss to?"

Aegon sneered, yet he never backed down, he leaned forward and grabbed all six shots, one by one they went down his throat. He shook his head and lifted his arms up as the crowd went wild. Aegon screamed with them as he was smiling boastfully.

You cleared your throat, "It's come to my attention that the jackass has not left you."

Aegon turned towards you, his soft uniquely lilac, with green-tinted eyes glimmered with joy, "Oh how much I missed you!"

You laughed as he swung you around in a tight hug, Aemond ran towards you as you were now wrapped in a group hug.

"I missed both of you idiots."

Aemond clicked his tongue, "You missed me more though, right?"

Aegon scoffed, "Shut your big chin up, again, she is MY best friend."

Your head moved from his face to Aemond as they bickered, your smile never faltering, "I missed both of you, I can't believe you guys left me for so long... I hate your mom for sending you to Oldtown."

Aegon huffed as he stuck a tongue out to his brother who did it back, "Careful babe, mom will punish you by denying you any sweet treats she bought you from home."

You gasped, "No way?" Aegon smiled as he nodded, "She bought me back treats? Why!? She didn't have to!"

Helaena who snuck her way into the group with a shot glass in her hand shoving it to your hand and nudging you to drink, "Mom loves you. I think she still wants to hook you up with Aegon."

You swallowed the tequila down, feeling the burning sensation for a few seconds before you and Aegon exclaimed together, "EW."

"She's like my sister."

"He's like my gay best friend I can never!"

Aegon stopped, before he looked at you in shock, "WHAT?"

You smiled teasingly, "Kidding," you whispered to Helaena who was grinning from the playful jabs both of you were making at each other, "Maybe."

"Okay, enough of that, let's have fun and we will catch up later, y/n sweetie, you will stay over tonight! No exceptions!"

You groaned as you got pulled into the crowd towards the homemade bar by Helaena. You did not remember much from that night besides maybe dancing too much, and accepting a body shot from some guy named Jake, or perhaps it was Jace? All you remember was how soft his lips were and how his arms held your thighs as he held you against the ping-pong table.

You groaned sitting up from the soft pillows, your head spinning in endless swirls, "Oh god... I am never drinking again."

"Sure, you're not."

You blinked, your head in your hands as you spotted Helaena next to you smiling at you teasingly. You groaned again falling back into the softness of the bed, scooting closer to her, making yourself in a small ball.

"Tell me how much of an idiot I was last night."

Helaena softly patted your hair, her finger combing through the rough tangles of your hair, "Ay. You didn't do much, you kind of deserved to have some fun. You are always practicing or studying."

"You know how badly I want to be a professional ballet dancer, I can't be a complete mess," you muttered into her chest where she continued combing your hair.

"You are perfect, not being a biased person here because you know, we're almost like sisters but I think you will be the best ballerina to ever exist, everyone will love you."

You kissed her cheek, muttering a soft thank you as you groaned again, hot flashes appearing, "Really though... how much of a clown was I?"

Helaena laughed then, "You practically made out with my nephew."

You shot up from her hold, your head spun again but paid no mind to the swirls, "Huh?! When?! I don't remember..." You trailed off mid-sentence as you forced your brain to remember said situation. You scrambled your hazy memories until it finally hit you.

You moaned in embarrassment as your hand gathered your forehead, "Oh... I remember... this is so embarrassing..."

Helaena laughed, "Relax, I think he won't remember either, both of you were pretty locked in though, until you..." She started laughing harder, "You vomited on his shoes."

You stared at her as she laughed, she was clutching her stomach from the ache that began to grow from the hard laughter she released. You sat in embarrassment, all the while you moaned from the pain and the shame that came to you.

You slapped your friend on the shoulder as she was heaving from laughing too much, "Hels! That's not funny!"

Wheezing she replied, "Relaaaax. I don't think you will ever see him again; my sister does not come around too much, she's busy running the family's business. So, chances of you ever crossing his path are 1 out of 10."

You hid in the pillow as the moaning came from the headache you were going through. What you did not expect was how quick you saw him again.

The library was calming, if there was any other place anyone would find you that was not the dance studio, you would be found in the library, reading. You slurped on your smoothie silently as your eyes scanned the words of the book, intrigued.

A rough bounce beside you made you gasp out loud, dropping your book onto the floor, your interruption grinning at you teasingly.

"Call me the best cupid to ever exist, I just got you a date!"

You rolled your eyes, picking up your book and settling back into the couch, your legs tucking under your behind, "No one asked, and no I am not going."

Aegon clicked his tongue, "I was not asking, I was informing you."

You looked up from your book, finding your best friend looking at you with mischief in his eyes, "Why would I do that? I am too busy anyways."

Aegon removed your book from your hands, putting it up in the air out of reach from your grabby hands that began to fight him.

"Exactly why! You are always practicing! You need a little spice, some drama in your life!"

You huffed as you gave up trying to get your book back, falling back to the couch and crossing your arms, "I am fine, thank you very much! I am fine being on my own, it does not interfere with my dance rehearsals, you know how much I need to nail this audition to be accepted to the ballet academy."

Aegon smiled softly, his blonde curls falling over his hazel, lilac eyes.

"I love you, y/n, I really do. But you need to get out there, you never know what you can come across with. Maybe it will be the best decision, maybe it will not. But the fact that you went through something new, is exciting. So please, enlighten yourself, go on one date."

Both of you stared at each other before you sighed, "Just one date? Then you'll leave me alone?"

He nodded rapidly, "Just one. Promise."

You leaned your head back, closing your eyes in thought, you figured, it wouldn't hurt to try having fun.

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay as in I will do it?"

You peeked an eye open finding Aegon bouncing on the couch in excitement, "Yes. I will do it."

He did a fist bump in the air as he cheered quietly, "I promise you won't regret it."

"Hopefully so."

Maybe it was a bad idea. The person who sat in the booth was in fact the person who you thought you were never going to see again. He sat with a sly smile. You were clenching your hands together in irritation, you found him incredibly annoying, yet he was so beautiful.

"Ah. I am so glad I came instead of Cregan."

You snapped your eyes up in anger, "What?!"

"Cregan was your blind date. Not me. He was just occupied sucking face with his ex-girl again that he did not come here, so I came. I wanted to see what prize I would get for being a best friend. I admit it is quite a treat for me."

Your hands itched to slap him but held back the anger that was filling your stomach, you almost wanted to cry but again, you held back. The male sitting in front of you crossed his arms, he was lean but muscular at the same time, he had very nice curls, and small but bright brown eyes that were easy to get lost in.

You were too into the drinks the night of Aegon's party to remember him but his lips... that you did remember. You blushed.

"Well," you cleared your throat, your eyes darting to the exit door of the restaurant, "this was fun, but I got to go for practice." You stood up, grabbing your bag and phone before a hand stopped you.

"Don't go. Look, I am sorry for being an ass. We can make use of the time and chat a little. If you don't want to stay after 10 minutes, I won't hold it against you. But I want to know you, I have seen you around."

You had two choices. Stay and get to know this guy or leave and swim in the shame of being stood up. You decided to hell with it, as you sat back down the booth slowly.

He smiled widely, his slight bunny teeth showing making you grin.

"My name is Jacaerys Velaryon, but you can call me Jace, everyone does anyways," he rambled, your lips quirked at the personality seeping out of him slowly. You introduced yourself, feeling a little flutter when he repeated your name softly.

The waiter came by to take your orders, Jacaerys was kind to ask what you wanted, recommending you the best choices. You felt more relaxed in his presence, he made it easy for you to open up. The food came in then, but the conversation never stopped.

He talked to you about his games, and his connection to your best friend. You found out he was in fact the co-captain of the soccer team. You heard a lot about the soccer team, how they hosted parties just to hook up with girls, or the famous captains that every girl wanted to make their boyfriends.

You grimaced at the thought you were now on the list of girls who he had dated. Shaking your head you continued to listen as you took small bites into your food, replying when asked a question.

"I have seen you. You dance very... pretty."

You choked on your pasta. His eyes widened as he reached out with a napkin whispering 'Oh shit, are you okay?' Your eyes watered but you gave a thumbs up.

"You've seen me dance?" You asked shyly.

"Have I seen you? Y/n, you are all they talk about in the halls. The next big performer of Westeros? You do not realize how much popularity you actually have do you? I have seen you once, practicing. You quite literally took my breath away."

Jacaerys muttered the last bit, he scratched his neck in shyness. You were practically red-faced; you did not dare to face him. His hand was placed on your right hand that was placed on the table, "I believe it though. You will make it big."

The flutters in your stomach made your toes curl, you wanted to hide and scream by the way he was staring at you. Jacaerys was grinning, his dimples showing slightly. He was beautiful.

"Thank... you?" you whispered, holding his hand now, watching him smile his hand now holding yours fully.

"You're welcome."

You did not want to admit it, but the date was in fact fun. You got to know him better as did he, you. You laughed at his attempt at making a whipped cream beard only for it to fall into his shirt and as he groaned, your heart fluttered. Jace, like he begged you to call him, was in fact the prime example of not judging a book by its cover.

When the check came, he quickly paid offering to take you home. In the car you sat listening to the radio in comfortable silence, you did not realize how much his hand twitched to hold yours.

"Well, we're here now."

You glanced at your home, silently cursing the time for going too quick. "Thank you for the ride, Jace. I had a lot of fun."

He smiled before it started to fade, you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly hoping that maybe... he would beg you to stay longer. He hesitated, your hand going for the door handle losing hope he was going to say something.

"Wait... y/n."

You reacted too fast for your liking, "Yes?"

"Meet me after the game? I'd like to take you somewhere."

You sat stunned before you stuttered, "As in... another date?"

His lips quirked to the side, the frat boy side slipping, "No. Just to hook up." That caused you to open your mouth to tell him off when he rolled his eyes, "Yes a date y/n."

You blushed; you did not know how much of his teasing you could take, "okay." You giggled into your hands as you closed your door, your cheek on fire holding a soft kiss made by the guy you never expected to make you feel so giddy inside. You hoped to see him again soon, and as you slept you dreamt of a curly, tall male with pretty freckles and brown eyes that looked like gems in the light.

You found yourself sitting in the bleachers surrounded by hordes of people. You had your ballet slippers on, your silk ballerina jumpsuit being covered by a skirt and a hoodie. You rushed after practice, sighing in relief when you only missed the first twenty minutes of the game.

Your classmates began looking at you not expecting to see you at a game. You never did come, Aegon begged you many times to go, to support Daeron who was also on the team. You always put practice as an excuse, but this time was different, Jace was playing, and he invited you.

You cheered whenever Jace scored, and as if he heard you, he would always throw his celebratory victories to you. Whether it was a wink or lame gun fingers. You jumped up and down as the team won their home game.

You waited by the bleachers, your feet dangling enjoying the chill of the night until you felt a jacket be dropped onto your shoulders. Jace sat next to you, his hair damped indicating his rushed shower. You sat in silence, his hands holding yours, with his thumbs caressing the front of your hands.

"Did you enjoy the game?"

You nodded, feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

"Let's make a deal yeah?" He leaned forward bending his head to face you clearly, your face growing hot when you spotted his bright brown eyes, from this angle you saw his freckles more clearly.

"Come to every single game of mine, and I will come to every dance recital, and rehearsal of yours. We will be each other's cheer squad."

Your heart grew warm, the appreciation and growing adoration for him becoming more intense. You only nodded, muttering a sincere promise as your hand reached towards his curls, brushing it to the side to avoid the droplets of water from his hair falling into his eyes. He grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him, your noses brushing.

You did not move as you did not want to seem desperate. You felt the minty breath of his, his hand holding yours as the other reached to cradle your face. You closed your eyes the moment you felt him move, your lips were wrapped with warmth, melting away every worry, growing the mass of butterflies that flew in your stomach. You met every movement of his lips, pressing yourself closer to him.

"Yo Jace! Quit making out! Are you coming to the party or not?" Cregan yelled from beneath the bleachers

You felt mutter a curse as you giggled. He pulled away still holding your hand, now intertwined with his. "Not tonight, I will be with my girl."

Cregan stopped, his jaw slacking, "Wh-at?" You even looked at him shocked. Jace only shrugged when he faced you before he looked towards his best friend, "Oh, and tell jack-ass Lannister that if I catch him sexualizing Y/n, I will beat his ass so bad he won't be able to play the playoffs."

Cregan only stood with his mouth open, shocked to see the one playboy who never wanted to commit to serious relationships in a deep make-out with a girl who he was serious about. Jace pulled you who was also stunned to his car, as both of you passed the still shocked Cregan, Jace patted him on the shoulder.

"Thanks man."

That night you sat in the back seat of his car, deep in make-out sessions, going over ice cream cones and listening to both of your favorite bands. As you sat wrapped in his strong arms you decided to question him your doubts.

"Why did you tell Cregan that?"

Jace hummed and if like he said nothing wrong, he responded lightly, "That we were together?"

You nodded, "And Lannister? What's that about?"

You felt him tense before he let out a big breath, "I plan to make you, my girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about you since I've met you. Lannister..." he huffed, "... is a jackass. A douche with no respect for anyone, if you ever cross paths with him or any of his goonies, turn the other way, and let me know if he ever does anything, promise me."

You swore you felt your heart wanting to explode, you wanted to confess your true feelings as well but felt too cowardly to do so, you only responded with a soft 'okay.' He pressed a kiss on your head, pressing you closer to his chest, you closed your eyes, hearing the soft thumps of his heart.

You fell harder for Jacaerys Velaryon that night, but you will never know how much he already loved you from afar. How when he saw you the night of Aegon's party he was shocked to see you there with a pretty light floral dress - he just did not expect to get so hammered like you were. And you definitely will never find out how Aegon texted Cregan the night after to meet you for a date when Jacaerys himself was using Cregan's phone.

You will never find out how quickly he deleted the message and went to meet you instead because this was finally his chance to talk to you, since you never turned your eye to him every time, he tried on purposely to catch your eye. You will not find out how he always stood by the door of your dance rehearsals seeing you twirl, and bounce as if you were flying in the air so prettily.

Jacaerys Velaryon has loved you deeply for a long time and he planned to love you always, you were the person he wanted to take to his mother and proudly say he wanted to marry you.

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

✧♬•¨a.k.a. What Getting Wasted with GRUNGE BOYFRIEND!CHOSO feels like✧♬• (PT2)

Pt1 here. Inspired Moodboard here

Warning tags: suggestive, mentions of alcohol and weed, nsfw (pin, receiving f!oral)

♬ Inspired by 'I like the way you kiss me' by Artemas ♬

Pt 3?? (I feel like the last? part of this series will be the smuttiest one, already got ideas😏)

✧Grunge! Choso who became Grunge Boyfriend! Choso after you two spent the rest of the night together, wandering around the city. As the sun was about to rise, you were seated on a swing, in the middle of a deserted playground of a local park, talking about your personal stories and venting about how being different by showing your authenticity automathically makes you a weirdo in this fucked up society... Lulled by the lazy back and forth of the swing, you smiled at the sight of your matching platform Doc Martens. Shortly after enjoying the sunrise together, he walked you back home. Standing outside your door, his brows furrowed as you start rummaging through your bag, in search of your dark lipstick.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who looked like about to pass out as you grabbed his wrist and started writing your phone number on his forearm with your matte lipstick, along with a clear invitation: text me if you wanna be my boyfriend. "Don't worry it will last enough 'till you make it home...it should be long lasting..." You giggled to yourself and placed a final peck on his pale lips, making sure to leave a stain.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who did text you back as soon as he calmed down his nerves, but still couldn't believe he could call you his now...the mere thought sending chills of anticipation down his spine: he layed in bed for hours, smiling goofily at the ceiling and already fucking his fist while picturing all the naughty things he would have done to you from the following day on, finally able to show the whole world you were nothing but HIS now...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who never felt alone anymore after you two got together, becoming the cool 'Big Bro' in your friends' circle. He feels contempt every Friday and Saturday night, when you all stumble loudly out of the club together, messing around the underground subway station at 3am. A persistent whistle echoing in your ears until morning from the loud music, pumping through the imposing speakers.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who loves sloppily making out with you, no matter the situation: holding you on the subway seat on the way home with his strong hands on your waist, totally unbothered by other people watching your tongues connecting shamefully with a sticky line of saliva, or laying on top of your tiny sexy body on the old, worn down couch at your pal's place, ending up groaning against your swollen lips and grinding his needy hips on yours whenever your black-polished nails scratched his sensitive scalp ever so slightly.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who fucks you missionary style with gritted teeth when he dives into your velvety depths for the first time, trying desperately not to cum instantly and paint your walls white with his hot seed. He instantly develops an addiction to the lewd, wet sounds your small, warm cunt makes when it swallows his fat dick over and over again at every frantic thrust. He finds his little piece of heaven between your thighs and he feels higher than he ever was when he reaches his climax, quivering and whimpering pathetically as a torrent of tiny pearls of cum erupted violently from his pinky, swollen tip, adorning your chest with a sticky necklace of his cum.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who collapses his whole body weight on you as he fights hard to catch his breath again after tasting the sweetness of your pussy. With his heartbeat slowly coming back to its usual pace, he looks up to you with adoring puppy eyes, meeting your warm smile and asking you if you too enjoyed it. When you nod and cup his face in your palms, he kisses you slowly, savouring every little whine and sigh you confess to his lips.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who just wanna be your sweetheart and treats you like a princess during the day -showering you with cute plushy animals and smothering you with kisses- just to press your head further into his pillow as he hits it desperately from the back, holding onto to you and leaving marks on your soft buttocks, as he physically cannot resist drilling your cunt when he sees you ass up, face down for him on his bed. He compliments you continuously, telling you how much he loves you and how he deep he wants to feel you. He nuts everytime you call him 'your sweet good boyfriend', moaning words of encouragement as you feel your walls flutter wildly with your impending orgasm.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose hazed expressions are priceless when you try weed together for the first time, buying it from a guy who offered you some at the exit of the club. His glassy eyed stare makes him appear even cuter and kissable, while he inhales deeply and drag after drag lets go of any inhibition, confessing the depths of his adoration to you: he lazily repeats he would do ANYTHING for you, he would fight ANYONE to keep you safe in his arms, his pretty beautiful angelic girlfriend, the only one he wants to feel laying her head on his shoulder while staring outside the window on the subway train...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who wakes up on the cold floor of your antics the morning after with a great headache from all the alcohol and the weed of the previous night. He blushes furiously when you show him the video of his sweet, stammering confession, but he doesn't deny a single word...

Thanks for reading this far, reblogs and comments are appreciated! 🙏

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose favourite remedy for bad hangovers like this one, is to lock the whole world outside of the door and spend the whole day with you, listening to Nirvana and Radiohead from your vintage vinyl record player in your antic with his head buried for hours between your thighs.

Taglist: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @lordbelkamort @viviennevianna @verydreamerfairy

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: what's your ideal bedroom like?

once upon a time (a year ago) i spoke of using your house rulers to deep dive into the story of the houses. i did a hypothesis about money and another about careers - but what about your home? for that take a look at your 4h and the persona chart of its ruler (ex: my 4h is in gemini, i will be looking at my mercury persona chart NOT my ic persona (thats more family and childhood dynamics in my opinion)).

today i want to focus on somewhere critical to all of us - our bedroom. you can look at the 12h and/or the moon in this chart to get a better idea of what your ideal bedroom looks like or should be like to feel most rested and comfortable.

why?

the 12h rules over solitude (where you might go to escape everyone else in your household), the subconscious (where we supposedly go in deep sleep), etc.

the moon rules over comfort (what we find comfort in), the subconscious (which connects again to deep sleep and dreaming), cycles and rhythms (hi sleep cycle and circadian rhythm), etc.

so here are some observations of what i believe to be important to a room based on these factors in your 4h ruler's persona chart.

a capricorn (10°, 22°) moon / 12h saturn / capricorn 12h / moon aspecting saturn person likely wants a minimal room. they don't what a lot of clutter - if their room is cluttered they might be experiencing a lot of waking/life stress/anxiety that is effecting their sleep. they like neutral and natural colors in a room - beiges, "agreeable grey", dark green, and dark blues in particular allows them to feel calm and as though they are able to relax. arctic white paint or cool white light may trigger them into feeling like they are in work mode instead of relax mode. they seek quality furniture that is timeless - they don't want to constantly have to replace the pieces they have in their room because they don't last or no longer fit the style. they don't want to have to think at the end of the day that something broke or they hate a piece because it doesn't fit the trend anymore and they now have to replace it. they don't want another thing they have to do, they just want to crash. organization is key - everything in their room should have a spot. they want everything that belongs in there to have a place (books are organized by author/series, clothing is color/season organized, glasses have a spot on a side table, jewelry has an organizer that rarely changes, etc). there is often a very refined and elegant feeling to their room. the sheets have a classic design (they are white or white and grey), the mirror is elegant yet classic, the bed is simple yet fits and fills the space well, etc. and most importantly room darkening curtains and lots of blankets (no capricorn/saturn person wants to be awakened by the sun or because they are too cold at night)!!!

a gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) moon / 12h mercury / gemini 12h / moon aspecting mercury person might have a rather eclectic style in their room. it might feel like they are testing out a look or like they have a lot of different vibes that don't necessarily fit one another. color finds its way into this room no matter what and it is often multiple colors at once that draw a person's attention. its very strange because this space is never just a sleep space for them often its multi-functional in some way shape or form like they have the ability to have a sitting space for others... could be a chair or a window seat or a desk... speaking of desks - books, vinyl, cds, gadgets, etc are a big part of the gemini/mercury vibes in a space. often their media have a spotlight moment in a room. lastly this space has an air of awareness in it - its not totally sleepy vibes, you know for sure when you see this space its not just for sleep. this is a place of study, reading, music listening, etc. it might just feel like not much sleep occurs in the space at all!

leo (5°, 17°, 29°) moon / 12h sun / leo 12h / moon aspecting sun rooms are warm and inviting. there are likely gold elements or warm paint colors used in the room. luxury is a must - the bed is likely memory foam or plush - the pillows are probably hotel/high quality. the comforter is down feathers and/or a fluffy/fuzzy blanket is present. it is very likely that stuffed animals are present too or at least one that is too adorable not to be there. there is some sort of central piece in this room - a giant mirror, a big art piece over the bed, a grand wall of books, etc. something in the room is guaranteed to always get a compliment from people who peak in during a house tour. it is also rather common especially in younger years for these people to keep their awards/trophies on display in their room as it fills them with a great sense of pride. windows are very important to this person's bedroom too as they tend to enjoy natural light when they can get it.

aries (1°, 13°, 25°) moon / 12h mars / aries 12h / moon aspecting mars people love a bold look in their room. its the energy of platform beds, industrial metal frames, etc. if they can use an "aggressive" color (red, orange, yellow, etc) in a bedroom they will... however they like a modern and sleek look despite their bold color schemes. they also like a minimal room - the bedroom is for their bed - point, blank, period. it's about having the essentials nothing more nothing less. they won't being using decorative pillows they have to remove every night or a decorative blanket that just hangs over their footboard. heavens forbid a decorative ladder with a decorative blanket that's not for use but for the eye. if they can't use it, they don't need or want it in the space it will just make them annoyed and cause them to feel like everything is in the way of them getting to the relax/wind-down portion of their day. now strangely enough, they often workout in their bedroom, so it wouldn't be shocking to find a pull up bar in the doorway or a peloton bike in the corner of the room. and 10/10 they will be getting up using an alarm - but it is rather unlikely they will need multiple alarms to make them get out of their bed in the morning.

likely more to come on home hypotheses, as i look to make renovations to my own home despite/because of being creatively burnt out. thank the heavens for astrology doing the leg work.

-a.d.

click here for the masterlist

click here for more of nox's hypotheses

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 18: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - Commodore 64🎄💾🗓️

The Commodore 64, released in 1982, is one of the ones we keep hearing got many people their start in their own computing history. Powered by a MOS Technology 6510 processor at 1.02 MHz and featuring 64 KB of RAM, it became the best-selling single computer model of all time, with an estimated 12.5–17 million units sold. Its graphics were driven by the VIC-II chip, capable of 16 colors, hardware sprites, and smooth scrolling, while the SID (Sound Interface Device) chip delivered advanced audio, supporting three voices with waveforms and filters, making it a lot of fun for gaming and music.

Featured a built-in BASIC interpreter, allowing users to write their own programs out-of-the-box. The C64’s affordability, large software library, lots of games, productivity, and educational applications made it a household name. It connected to TVs as monitors and supported peripherals like the 1541 floppy disk drive, datasette, and various joysticks. With over 10,000 commercial software titles and a thriving homebrew scene, the C64 helped define a generation of computer enthusiasts.

Its impact on gaming was gigantic, iconic titles like The Last Ninja, Maniac Mansion, and Impossible Mission. The C64 also inspired a demoscene, where programmers pushed its hardware for visual and audio effects. The Commodore 64 remains a symbol of computing for the masses and creative innovation, still loved by retrocomputing fans today.

Check out the National Museum of American History, and Wikipedia. https://americanhistory.si.edu/collections/object/nmah_334636 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commodore_64

And…! An excellent story from Jepler -

== While I started on the VIC 20, the Commodore 64 was my computer for a lot longer. Its SID sound chip was a headline feature, and many of my memories of it center around music. Starting with Ultima III, each game in the series had a different soundtrack for each environment (though each one was on a pretty short loop, it probably drove my folks nuts when I would play for hours). There were music editors floating around, so I tried my hand at arranging music for its 3 independent voices, though I can't say I was any good or that I have any of the music now. You could also download "SID tunes" on the local BBSes, where people with hopefully a bit more skill had arranged everything from classical to Beatles to 80s music.

Folks are still creating cool new music on the Commodore 64. One current creator that I like a great deal is Linus Åkesson. Two videos from 2024 using the Commodore 64 that really impressed me were were a "Making 8-bit Music From Scratch at the Commodore 64 BASIC Prompt", a live coding session (http://www.linusakesson.net/programming/music-from-scratch/index.php) and Bach Forever (http://www.linusakesson.net/scene/bach-forever/index.php) a piece played by Åkesson on two Commodore 64s.

Like so many things, you can also recreate the experience online. Here's the overworld music for Ultima III: https://deepsid.chordian.net/?file=/MUSICIANS/A/Arnold_Kenneth/Ultima_III-Exodus.sid&subtune=1 -- the site has hundreds or thousands of other SIDs available to play right in the browser.

Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

[felassan]

Notes on and quotes from today’s new DA:TV coverage content from Game Informer, the video “The Making of Dragon Age: The Veilguard | Cover Story Feature”. The rest of this post is under a cut due to DA:TV spoilers.

First I'll note that the Game Informer video contains spoilers for DA:TV, so bear that in mind before deciding to watch it or read further in this post.

There were no new images, screenshots or videos from the game in the Game Informer video. There was however a series of music pieces playing in the background of the devs talking throughout. I didn't recognize these music pieces (lmk if you did tho pls hh!), so I'm wondering if the music in this video was all-new DA music from DA:TV!! 👁️

Next I will say that there was not much in the way of new information in the video. The devs were chatting about topics, info segments and talking points that have been featured in previous articles & previous coverage on the game. however, the devs seemed really happy and excited, and proud of what they've made, excited to share about it, and that was rly nice to see. :)

For the rest of this post, it is not a 'cliff notes on everything said in the video'-type post. It's just a series of notes on and quotes from the video that particularly stood out to me and that I particularly liked. ^^

"You start DA:TV having chased Solas to Minrathous. You're there to stop his ritual, there to take him down. You're there to find this character, so you're chasing him, you're trying to stop this ritual that he has already said multiple times that he is going to perform before he performs it, because, if he does, the Veil will get torn down, the Fade and the world of the waking will merge, and demons will pour out, pretty much meaning the end of life as we know it".

John Epler: "Solas always feels that he is a tragic hero, but a hero [of the story] nonetheless. So he is coming into this believing firmly that what you stopped him from doing [Rook stopping the ritual the way they did in the gameplay reveal video] was the right thing, that you've made a mistake, but, because now he's trapped, now he can't reach out and actively affect, he needs to work with you. And that allows us to provide a lot of nuance to the relationship, because Solas sees a lot of himself in you, especially the parts of himself that he maybe doesn't like to face, so there is kinda that interesting push and pull between the two characters, Solas and the main protagonist Rook. And you can define what that relationship means. You can continue to be suspicious and hostile towards him. Or you can start to see him and find that common ground, find that connection between the two of you and really develop a different relationship over thee course of the story." Mark Darrah: "This is a good direction to take the Solas story. It allows us to hopefully give a good conclusion to all of the varied attitudes towards Solas that are gonna be coming into this game. People who love Solas, people who agree with Solas, people who hate Solas, people who want to kick Solas off of a building, I think that we give you the opportunity to bring that to a close, but then tell a greater story about The Veilguard and about the world as a whole."

BioWare wanted to tell a story this time where you literally cannot save the world without these characters

The companions have relationships with each other too. "They have friendships, they have rivalries, and lean into that concept, you're not just pulling together a bunch of people who will do whatever you say, you're assembling a family and that becomes the core of what The Veilguard is all about. It's about taking this group, this found family and saving the world side by side with them."

In the game, things and the storytelling are done towards a goal, towards a storytelling goal, "towards the future" [of the franchise it sounds like], not 'just because' or 'just to do them'

John: "The message of The Veilguard is, you’re not saving the world on your own. You need your companions but you also need these factions, these other groups in the world. You help them, they help you. Now, something we wanted to avoid, because, you know, there's always the trope of, 'oh yeah, I would help you save the world but I need you to go gather 200 wood', it's kind of a silly concept, so what we wanted to build is these factions that do want to help you but have realistic challenges, problems in front of them. So narratively, you help them with their problems, they will help you with yours when the time comes, but beyond that each faction has a follower, as well as an ancillary character we’re calling 'agents', who exist as these, face of the faction. We’re not gonna get too deep into those right now, but we didn’t wanna just say, 'here's the Wardens, go deal with the Wardens', we wanted to have characters within that faction who are sympathetic, who you can see and who become the face of that faction, so even if there's moments where the faction as a whole may be on the outs with you, these characters are still with you, they’ve still got your back. It’s a core with what we’ve done with the storytelling in this game. We wanted to make sure all the content you did felt relevant. Everything you do has a purpose and has a tie back into the critical path. Sometimes it's more explicit than others, but there is always a sense that you are moving towards the goal of stopping the elven gods, stopping the end of the world, and it's not just [like how some of the side content in DA:I was]. Helping these people, helping these groups, so that they can help you when the time comes."

In the story and tone of this game, it has the highest of highest and the lowest of lows. At the lowest of lows, "it gets gritty, it gets painful, it gets dark", but there are also nice positive moments in the game and a colorful, optimistic throughline. Corinne: "This identity is something special for the franchise now and for the franchise going forward"

"the depths of Arlathan Forest"

"In the case of Arlathan, what does it look like when you go to the place where the elves had their ancient empire that was run on and fuelled by magic? What does the aftermath of that look like, especially when the gods are out in the world and raw magic is seeping back out from the Fade."

DA has always been a series where in the world, the truth has multiple perspectives

We will journey out from the Lighthouse into the area of the Fade known as the Crossroads, "which is full of mysteries, exploration, branching paths". We will take eluvians to the far corners of northern Thedas

Some of the environments are more mission-focused, "with narrative beat after narrative beat"

"We know what's gonna happen, we know when it's gonna happen, but of course it's influenced by all the decisions you've made as the player along the way"

There are also more non-linear, more open areas in which we will be able to open up new sections of the map, find new pathways, "really leaning into solving mysteries and finding ancient treasures and some of our apex battles, there are some truly terrifying enemies that you're going to encounter when you're left to your own means to kind've explore these larger areas".

"Tevinter has always been a land where mages rule, they are in charge, they make the rules and run the show. So what does that look like? And, as we've gone through DA:O, DAII and DA:I, magic has become more and more present, and part of that is because Solas has been slowly preparing this ritual for longer than anyone in the DA universe is really aware of, but also just, going into these spaces where magic is, by definition, and by the lore, much much more present. It's been fun"

For the first time in DA BW are able to let the visuals speak for themselves (as in, the technology has caught up and they aren’t just saying 'trust us, this [magic thing] is really cool')

They took great care with how they introduce each companion and major story character

Corinne is really proud of what BW have built with the CC. "It is a game where everyone belongs"

A new to DA feature in CC: full body customization with pretty robust diversity. Body shape, body size, body proportions

They invested huge effort into their strand hair technology. There are numerous hairstyles in the game, they know how much the fans care about hair and Corinne is one of these people. They know that the range of hairstyles matters too and that it is not just about quantity. "Making sure we have diverse representation for all types of players."

They took a step back and asked, how are we going to incorporate things like your background in a meaningful way?

They call difficulty levels "playstyles". This is integrated into the CC process. You can select a number of preset experiences that your character will adopt and step into the game with, but you can also customize that playstyle e.g., if you're bad at parrying, you can ease this up

Some of the locations that we will visit are "bustling cityscapes." "We're gonna go right into the heart of the Tevinter empire. We're also going to a city in Antiva called Treviso"

Corinne Busche: "[those places] have a dense populace and we knew we needed to have the tools to support a wide range of NPCs. You will not find NPCs that look alike in this game. Each one is crafted using the same tools that we're giving to our players, with the exception of some of our custom-sculpted characters like the companions. So when you go up to that market vendor in Minrathous, you can make that character. When you see the guards patrolling the street, you can make that character too. You can therefore be inspired by the population around you and go and create that in CC."

The Lighthouse as we know is our HQ and base of operations. Each of the companions has their own sanctuary, their own room within it. These spaces become a reflection of who they are. The more time we spend with them as the game develops, as we work through their arc, their room and their personality will evolve and flourish and become more complete as they trust us and we understand them better

Corinne: "There are moments in the game where two of our companions fell in love with each other and I had to make some pretty challenging choices as it related to the quest we were on, and it broke my heart, it absolutely did"

The game tries to give the player as much agency as it can, and then reflect it back on us. Choice and consequence can be hard to show, but this is a game about agency and about giving us options

We can upgrade gear and enchant gear, this extends to the companions too

The 3 specs for each of the 3 classes are highly distinct

Every attack, every swing of a sword, when you connect you feel it, these have weight

Companion abilities can be queued up one after the other

The devs are really proud of this game and excited about it. Everything that's in the game is in there because someone cares about it. The game really reflects the dev team and it's coming together well, they are really excited for us to get our hands on it soon

[source]

[vitalverstappen]

Flash Forward - M. Verstappen (part three)

summary: The world of F1 is never easy. Throw in your childhood enemy, a new coworker you can't quite get a read on and a new situationship? You're in for a wild season.

pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader (Ferrari photographer, graffiti artist, childhood enemies), Charles Leclerc x platonic fem!reader, Logan Sargeant x situationship fem!reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, allusions to sex (no smut), brief mentions of Max's childhood, angst, use of y/n

a/n: i cannot believe i'm finally done with this series. taking max and y/n through three F1 seasons was a whirlwind but i'm so happy the entire story is yours. knowing me, i may do small little blurbs with them in the future, as i don't think i'll be able to part with them for very long. also this was written before Logan's ELMS announcement.

word count: 28.1k

masterlist

part one // part two

Monte Carlo, Monaco 

You woke up to the soft weight of blankets wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours. The subtle rise and fall of his chest against your back was grounding, comforting even. His arm was lazily draped across your waist, fingers just grazing the edge of your ribs under the shirt you had stolen from him. 

Both of you had been taking it slow. Real slow. Your connection caught in the limbo between friends and something more - something you weren’t ready to name, even if the moments almost felt like it. The dinners that went on a little longer than they should have, Logan insisting on covering the bill, the excuse to stay over just one more night, because it was better than going home alone. The stolen kisses, the way his lips pressed against yours unexpectedly, tentatively, like he was testing the waters. It was all there - the signs, the quiet gestures, the closeness that seemed to build every time you were together. 

But you hadn’t defined it, not really, not in the way it felt like it needed to be. No titles. No labels. Just two people slowly getting to know each other on a more intimate level, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

And that was fine by you. In fact, you preferred it. 

While your artwork was a different story, you had never been one to rush into romance. The last two years with Max had been an exception. Max had been a whirlwind. A rush of emotions that left you dizzy, breathless, and swept up in decisions that came too fast. You hadn’t been ready for all of that, but you didn’t know any better at the time. 

But Logan? There was no urgency, no rush. Everything happened exactly as it should - slow, stress free, like a puzzle you pieced together, one small moment at a time. It felt easy. It felt right. 

After you placed a small peck on his skin, you wriggled out of Logan’s grasp. His arm shifted a little, but he didn’t wake. 

You made your way to the kitchen to make breakfast. Logan was obsessed with Carlos’ pancake recipe, and it had quickly become a Sunday morning tradition between you two. Whenever he stayed over, it was pancakes, coffee, and conversations about anything and everything. So, you grabbed the flour, the eggs, the vanilla, and of course, the honey. 

The scent of pancakes always made you feel cozy, even before the first bite. You also adored mornings like this, quiet and slow, where the world outside was just waking up, and inside, there was only the soft hum of your Spotify playlist and the sizzle of batter on the hot griddle. 

During the season, it was rare for you to enjoy these moments. It was always running to the track, trying to remember where in the world you even were. The chaos of the season was fun, the challenge of meeting deadlines exciting, but it was welcoming to have this kind of peace.

As the pancakes began to cook, you set the table, making sure to leave a spot for Logan. You heard him stir in the other room, the soft shuffle of footsteps on the hardwood mixed with the music that was playing. You didn’t have to rush him. He would be out there when he was ready, just like he always was every Sunday. 

You flipped the pancakes, the golden edges crisping up perfectly, and when you turned around, you saw Logan standing in the doorway. His hair was messy, his eyes still full of sleep, and his bare chest a welcoming sight. For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the sight of you wearing his Williams Racing shirt, the fabric loose on your frame. A lazy, content smile crept across his face that made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Morning” he said, his voice thick with sleep but warm, as if nothing in the world was more important than the moment in front of him. 

“Morning” you replied, glancing over at him before turning back to the griddle. 

The sound of his bare feet shuffling on the hardwood filled the room again as Logan made his way over to you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in from behind. You could feel the heat of his body as he lazily tucked his head into the crook of your neck, watching you finish cooking breakfast. 

“You look good in my shirt” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, but there was no mistaking the smile in his tone

You chuckled softly, planting a soft kiss on his head “I think I wear it better than you do” you teased 

“Maybe” he said, but his smile only grew “but I’m gonna steal it back after breakfast”

“Sure you are” you rolled your eyes, a smile still plastered on your lips 

Your focus turned back to the pancakes, feeling his arms tighten around just a little around you as he nuzzled against your neck. It felt effortless. Comfortable. For the first time in a while, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

======

Across the hall, the atmosphere was completely different. There was no music playing, no playful banter, just quiet that felt heavier than it should’ve. It had been like that for a while now - tension that settled in, unspoken and unresolved, no matter how hard Max tried. Ever since his vacation in Barcelona, your face had been at the forefront of his mind. 

He had told himself it was just a passing thing, that he was back home and everything would go back to normal. But when he’d returned, it was impossible to ignore the shift. The connection he had with Isabella, while once comfortable and familiar, now seemed foreign. It felt like something was missing. And in the quiet of his apartment, in those rare moments when he allowed himself to stop and think, the only thing that kept creeping into his thoughts was you. 

He couldn’t deny it anymore. After Barcelona, he had spent far too many nights scrolling through your social media accounts - stalking, in the most harmless way possible, or at least that’s what he told himself. It started with your personal account. It wasn’t like he was trying to find something to make himself feel better about the distance that had grown between him and Isabella, but somehow, you’d become a constant in his thoughts. 

Each photo, each post, every little detail felt like a breadcrumb trail he couldn’t resist following. There were shots of you, your eyes half closed in the sunlight, a soft smile on your lips, standing on the edge of the world in England. Then there was Logan, appearing more and more in your stories and posts, at first casually, but then with a certain ease, like you beginning to slip into something… more. There were no signs of it being explicitly named, not in the way that would make everything real, but there was no mistaking the quiet chemistry that danced through your posts, through the subtle way your fingers brushed his in a candid shot, or how you started tagging each other in pictures that felt intimate, even if you didn’t mean them to be. 

But then there was your photography page. 

It was no secret that Max had admired your work - he sang praises about it to whoever would listen, even if you weren’t around. Ferrari still dominated the feed, all those breathtaking shots from last season, the smooth curves of the cars, and the sleek lines of the racetracks. But littered throughout the bright red, were sprinkles of dark blue. Hints of his own car were still found in the whirlwind of red. 

But there was another shade of blue creeping into your feed. It was lighter, and gave a much more welcoming feeling. That shade of blue wasn’t going to destroy anything and everything in its path. The shade of blue that only belonged to a Williams car. 

Mixed into the racing photos were photos of your travels, places you visited between races and seasons. These were more intimate. A series of pictures that felt real. Not the polished shots he was used to seeing of events and on the track. These felt raw, unfiltered. And in those images, hints of Logan could be seen - an arm, or the back of his head. His shadow in your life became undeniable. 

Max always found himself staring at those photos longer than he should. Trying to piece together a story he wasn’t a part of. A narrative he didn’t want to be a part of, but couldn’t help but feel drawn to. He wasn’t a fool. He could see what was happening, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yet. You had slipped away, or maybe you were just beginning to let go of the illusion that you and Logan were just friends. Max didn’t know how to feel about it.

He should’ve been happy for you, right? You were finding someone. You were finding something. But there was a bitter edge to his thoughts. Because no matter how many times he tried to bury the idea, the feeling grew stronger. What did this mean for him and Isabella? What did this mean for his own feelings, things he hadn’t even processed yet?

Max pulled up your personal profile again, the small colorful circle around your profile photo showed that you had posted a new story. Against his better judgment, he tapped on it. A photo of your kitchen table popped up, two plates filled with pancakes - Carlos’ recipe most likely, he knew how much you raved about it. Across from you was a hand. A man’s hand. Logan’s hand. Logan was across the hall. 

Max’s chest tightened, his breath came up in short, sharp bursts as he stared at the image on his phone. The photo of you and Logan. It was innocent, nothing overly affectionate - just pancakes, a lazy Sunday morning. But that hand. The way it rested on the table, the fingers just shy of brushing against your own, spoke volumes.

He had spent weeks trying to push down the feeling that something wasn’t right with him and Isabella. He had told himself it was just the pressures of the season, just a phase. But now, it felt like everything was crashing down on him at once. The quiet distance between him and Isabella had only grown, and you had become a constant thought, even though he knew it wasn’t right. 

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia 

The paddock always felt like a circus - an ever changing, high stakes performance where the pressure was as loud as the noise. Even the most experienced drivers occasionally crumpled under the pressure. Throw in the nineteen year old reserve driver? It’s gonna be interesting. 

“So Carlos needs to get his appendix removed?” you asked as Annalese entered the hospitality suite.

Annalese sighed, “Apparently” she replied, slipping into the chair opposite of you. “It’s not ideal, but the surgeon apparently said he’ll be fine after a few weeks. But you know what that means…” 

“Ollie?” you asked 

“Ollie.” she answered, “which also means…” 

“Finding him and doing quick media content” you finished her sentence, a smirk playing on your lips. 

As if you two were being controlled, you stood up in sync, already knowing what you had to do. Your attention was on the tablet in your hands, swiping through the team schedule, looking for any hint as to where Ollie could be. 

“According to this, he should be in the garage going over data.” you said, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you looked at the spreadsheet. 

“So we should be able to snatch him for a moment to make the announcement video.” Annalese replied 

“That, or his team is going to chase us out of there, armed with wrenches and screwdrivers” 

You continued to scroll down the spreadsheet, curious as to what the day brought for the rest of the team. Your diverted focus however, meant that you didn’t notice the person standing in the middle of the walkway until you had collided with their chest. 

“I’m sorry -,” you began as you took a step back and looked up from your tablet, “Max?” 

Max’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance, but his expression softened when he realized who it was. The faintest of smirks tugged at his lips, and to no surprise, his usual air of confidence was there. 

“Didn’t see you there” you muttered, adjusting the tablet in your hands, a little flustered at the collision.

Max’s smirk deepened, and he took a small step back, glancing down at the tablet in your hands before meeting your eyes again. “Clearly” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “How’ve you been?” 

You blinked at the unexpected question, taken aback for a moment. Max wasn’t one to check in on people, especially outside of race-related matters. Especially if he blew up in your face mere months ago. You shrugged nonetheless, attempting to shake off the sudden feeling of vulnerability. 

“Busy” you replied, offering a half smile. “You know how it is, constant chaos.” 

Max nodded, fiddling with the can in his hand. “Right, of course.” he said before taking a breath. “How was your break?” 

You felt the question hang in the air, and for a brief moment, you hesitated. Max asking about how you were was odd in itself. Him asking about your break was even more strange, especially after everything that happened between you two. The memory of that argument, the tension from months ago, still lingered in the back of your mind. But then, it was Max. He had a way of keeping things casual, pretending like the cracks never formed in the first place. 

“Break?” You raised an eyebrow, hoping you sounded nonchalant. “It was… alright. Quiet. Logan and I did a bit of traveling.” 

Max’s expression softened at the mention of Logan’s name, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something you couldn’t describe. He nodded, as if processing the information, but his smirk remained in place. “That sounds nice. Traveling is always good, even if it’s just to get away from it all.” 

You shrugged, trying to keep things light “Yeah, exactly. A little peace and quiet never hurt anyone.” 

There was a beat of silence, the sound of the paddock humming in the background, the usual chaos always just a heartbeat away. Max fiddled with his Red Bull can again, clearly thinking. The brief lull felt oddly comfortable, despite the tension that you both seemed to be dancing around. 

“So, how about you?” you asked, trying to shift the focus back to him. “Did you get a proper break?” 

Max’s lips twitched into something that could’ve been passed as a smile, though it was far from reaching his eyes. “You could say I had a break, though it wasn’t exactly restful.”

You wanted to ask what he meant, if something happened behind the scenes, but that would mean he was important. And Max Verstappen was not an important part of your life anymore.

And so, you didn’t. Instead, you offered a nod, letting the silence last just a little bit longer. 

“Hey!” Annalese called, cutting the silence between you “Love that you guys are chit chatting, but we have a driver to find” 

“Right” you said, any traces of awkwardness left slowly evaporated as you were brought back to reality. “We need to go find Ollie. But thanks for the chat, Max. It’s uh… been a while.” 

Max gave a brief, almost undetectable smile, his eyes softening for a moment. “Anytime” he replied, words quieter than usual. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, his footsteps steady and sure as always. 

Just as you expected, you found Ollie in his garage. The number 55 was nowhere to be found, but instead replaced by 38. You were honestly amazed how quickly the team was able to swap everything out, as if Carlos was never even there. 

The stark change in the number alone reminded you that the Spaniard wouldn’t be with Ferrari come next season. Lewis had signed with the team, and while you were excited to see what he could add, you were going to miss Carlos. 

Ollie was to the side of the garage, staring intently at the wall of monitors, clearly deep in thought. His focus was unwavering as he looked at the data, the world around him easily faded away. 

You wanted to leave him be, let him get as adjusted as possible without media distractions. But the life he lived didn’t let that happen. 

So, you sighed as you walked up to the reserve driver. “Hey, Ollie” you said, hoping not to scare him “Got a minute?” 

Ollie turned his head to look at you. You were expecting him to be annoyed that you pulled him away from his data, but the Brit had the biggest smile on his face. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ve got a minute,” Ollie said, putting his headset down. “What’s up?”

Annalese hesitated, surprised by his easy going approach to the weekend. The switch from Carlos to him - however temporary - was a huge turn of events. 

“Need you for a quick video” Annalese said, motioning to the camera slung around your shoulder. “Just the usual - announcement for Carlos’, uh, situation.” 

You didn’t feel the need to elaborate, only offering a nod. He knew exactly what Annalese meant. 

The three of you made your way out to the pit lane for filming, as there were no cars on track. You walked Ollie through what to highlight in the video, offering him suggestions on what to say. 

“Ready?” you asked, holding your camera in the perfect angle. 

“Ready” he answered. You pressed record, motioning for him to start talking. “Hey guys, Ollie here, bit of an unexpected night to be standing here. Firstly my condolences to Carlos…”

You and Annalese exchanged glances, the two of you thinking the exact same thing. Carlos isn’t dead. But Ollie was so busy rambling about his day and how excited he was to be with Ferrari, that both of you kept your mouth shut until he was done. 

“That was good, but you know, Carlos is still alive, he’s just getting surgery” you couldn’t help but chuckle

Ollie froze for a moment, his eyes widening as he processed what you said. “Oh no.” His face flushed with embarrassment as he quickly glanced at Annalese who was holding back a laugh. “I-uh, I didn’t mean it like that. I swear, I didn’t-” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Ollie scrambled to explain himself, his face now matching the color of his Ferrari shirt. polo. “It’s okay, we know you didn’t mean it like that” 

Annalese couldn’t hold it in as she let out a snort of laughter. “Carlos would definitely appreciate not being mourned while he’s still very much alive, recovering in a hospital bed.” 

“But it would be really fucking funny if we left that in the video.” you added, a smirk still dancing on your lips 

“Would you leave it in the video?” Ollie asked, curiosity lacing his words 

You shrugged “Honestly, probably. It was a solid one-take, you hit everything on the head, and the hiccup will surely add a bit of humor for the fans.” 

Ollie didn’t need any more convincing to agree to use the already filmed clip. As quickly as you pulled him away from his work, you sent him right back to it, hoping to get him prepped and ready for the weekend. 

======

Fortunately, Ollie did great for his first F1 race. He finished P7, getting six points for the team. Charles made the podium for the first time for the season, placing P3 behind Checo in P2, and to no one’s surprise, Max in P1. 

You waved to Ollie as you made your way to parc ferme, making a note to congratulate him when you had a moment. When you got to parc ferme, you found yourself a spot for photographing the top three. As you snapped photos, you chatted with some of the team, congratulating each other on the podium. One of the people you expected to be there though, was nowhere to be found. 

Your eyes scanned the crowd of Ferrari crew members once more. Surely you had just glossed over her in the sea of red. There were so many people, all wearing the same uniform. Nope. No sign. 

She wouldn’t miss his podium. Not in a million years. You knew she’d do anything and everything it took to be there. She did it all last season, even if Ferrari wasn’t on a step. But there you were, and she was noticeably absent. 

“Hey, have you seen Isabella?” you asked, walking up to one of the mechanics, trying to sound casual as you snapped a few more photos of Charles yapping with Max.

The mechanic looked at you with a slight hesitation, as if he was debating whether or not to tell you. “She’s with Ollie. Getting a headstart on the post race work with him.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you could feel a flicker of doubt in your chest. Getting a headstart on post-race work? Sure, that made sense for someone new on the team. But Isabella? That didn’t quite add up, especially if going to celebrate Max was an option to put it off. 

“Right” you said, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice. You turned your attention back to the three drivers, snapping one last picture as they disappeared into the cooldown room. 

You went through the podium routine, being sure to avoid getting doused in champagne. Once the celebrations subsided, you made your way back to the Ferrari garages. Isabella was seated on one of the stools, camera in hand, most likely looking at the photos she took. It was hard to tell whether she was deep in thought about the photos or just lost in her own head, but something about her demeanor didn’t seem entirely normal. 

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light as you approached her, “Good shots?” 

Isabella didn’t immediately look up. Instead, she absently adjusted the camera in her hands, before giving a soft, almost absent minded nod. “Yeah I think so,” she muttered, her voice quieter than usual. “Pretty standard, nothing too exciting.” 

You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of concern. Pretty standard? You would be the first to admit she was an incredibly talented photographer. Isabella saying her photos were pretty standard was unheard of. 

You took a slow breath and decided to press a little further, knowing her decently enough to read between the lines when something didn’t feel right. 

“Why weren’t you at the podium?” you asked, trying to sound casual but noticing how your voice came out slightly softer than you intended. “I thought you’d wanna see Max-.” 

At the mention of the Red Bull driver, Isabella’s posture stiffened for a fraction of a second. She quickly forced her expression back to neutrality, but you caught it. She met your gaze for the first time since you’d walked up to her, her lips curving into a small, almost dismissive smile. 

“I just wanted to make sure Ollie was set for the post-race media scrums. He’s still adjusting to everything, you know?” Her words felt rehearsed, like a practiced response, and though her voice sounded calm, there was a tension there - an underlying current that made your gut twist with suspicion. 

You nodded, but the unease in your chest only grew. It was definitely true that Ollie may need the extra help going through his first F1 weekend, But Isabella wasn’t the type to stay away from the celebrations for that. 

Before you could ask any more questions, Isabella stood up, her body language shifting in a way that made you feel like the conversation was over. “Anyway, I’ve got work to do.” she said quickly, her tone almost now businesslike, as if to close the door on any further discussion. “I’ll catch you later.” 

With that, she packed up her belongings, and made her way through the garage, leaving out of the back.

You stood there for a second, processing the interaction you just had. But before you knew it, chatter quickly filled the pit lane, as Red Bull was making their way to their garage. Leading the pack was Max. His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long, his usual cool demeanor slightly shifting as if something had crossed his mind. 

Your mouth opened, as if you were to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t know what to say to him. Congrats on the win! What’s wrong with your girlfriend? 

So, you quickly broke eye contact, not wanting to draw anymore attention to him. But his look was sharp, calculating, like he was reading you. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Melbourne, Australia

One of your favorite races on the calendar was Melbourne. Ever since you started traveling down under, the city held a special place for you - part of it being the thrill of being so far away from everything you've ever known in Europe, but also because there was something electric about the energy there. Whether it was the bustling streets, the laid-back vibe, or the fact that the Australian Grand Prix was always a spectacle, Melbourne had a way of drawing you in every time. 

One you’d dropped off your bags and gotten settled, the first stop was always the same: Graffiti Alley. You could call it a bit of a tradition at this point, and even though you’d wandered through the maze of artwork countless times before, it was never the same. It was a living, breathing space, filled with history, culture, and the spontaneous creativity that you longed to return to from when you were a teenager. 

This time, you brought Logan. You were bouncing off the walls with excitement as you finally got to show him arguably your favorite street in the world. 

“You ready for this?” you asked, glancing over at Logan, your fingers intertwined with his. 

Logan, gave you a grin and shrugged, his curiosity piqued. “Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.” You could read him like a book, so you could tell he was trying to play it cool, acting as if he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes scrolling through his phone looking up pictures of the alley. 

A laugh left your mouth, feeling a wave of fondness for him as you turned the corner. Off the bat, you noticed some of the artwork had been painted over with new pieces. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at Logan, still trying to play it cool, his phone now tucked away in his pocket as he took in the surroundings. You could tell he was impressed, his eyes darting from one striking piece of art to the next, the occasional flicker of recognition crossing his face as if trying to place the meaning behind the murals. 

“See?” you said, exchanging Logan’s hand for your camera. “I told you it would be worth it.” 

Logan’s grin widened as he looked around, eyes scanning the art. “Okay, okay. I get it now,” he said, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “This place is unreal. It’s like the walls are talking to you.” 

“Told you” you teased, as you brought the camera up to your face, snapping a few shots of the art around you. You were sure to get a few of Logan’s amazement.

Logan rolled his eyes as you took the photos of him, but his smile never waivered. “Fine, fine, maybe a bit.” he conceded.

The two of you navigated through the network of backstreets, snapping photos as you did so. Logan followed your lead, taking out his phone and channeling his inner photographer. You couldn’t help but laugh as he mimicked your poses, hoping to get the same angles you were. 

“You look ridiculous” you chuckled as you watched Logan squat in the middle of the alley. 

“Hey, I’m just copying you.” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. Once he finally got himself up, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in. “Have you ever thought of buying a few cans and graffiting a piece here?” 

Your weight shifted a tad, leaning more into him as you pondered the question. “I mean I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it” you said, looking around the walls that surrounded you. “But I don’t know” 

“Why not?” he asked, “I’ve seen your work, it’s definitely worthy of being up here.” 

You paused for a moment, looking at the vibrant artwork around you. The last time anyone had talked about you adding to it was with Max years ago. It was an idea that had taken up a lot of space in your head, but one that never came to fruition. 

“It’s a little intimidating, you know?” you said, glancing up at a mural of a heart restled in the branches of a tree. It was one of the few murals that had been there every single year you’ve visited. The colors faded in the sun, but no one had dared to touch it. “I also don’t want to cover up someone’s work.” 

Logan placed a kiss on your head, before speaking “If you do, just know I’ll be the first one wanting to see it.” 

======

You didn’t see much of Logan the rest of the weekend. Between his media duties, him getting his car taken away for Alex to use, and your camera getting hit by a cricket ball that Charles had smacked, you both had your hands full. You did, however, see a lot more of Max than you were expecting. 

It started on media day. Both him and Charles had been running around talking to different sponsors, doing promotional videos, and simply hanging around the paddock. Whenever you were on the move with Charles, it seemed Max was always walking past in the opposite direction. It wasn’t unusual for him to be involved in everything - everyone wanted to meet him after all - but this time, there was an undeniable shift in the air. 

It was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Max’s glances were no longer just passing, neutral acknowledgements - he was actively seeking them out. It wasn’t the typical “I’m just here to do my thing” look that you were used to from him. This was different. His eyes lingered for just a beat longer than usual, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips whenever they met yours. 

It was during the post-qualifying press conferences that it really hit you. You were sitting near the back of the media room, scanning through some of the shots you had taken earlier when you caught Max’s eyes across the room. He was in the middle of answering a question, but for some reason, his gaze flickered to yours again - longer this time. When your eyes met, there was something unspoken there. It wasn’t a stare, exactly, but more of a quiet acknowledgement that only the two of you seemed to understand. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by the shift. His desire to hold your attention oddly coincided with Isabella’s shift in demeanor. Curiosity got the best of you as you opened Instagram, typing in her handle name into the search bar. As you thumbed through her profile, there were a few things you took note of. 

The first thing that stood out was the change in Isabella’s posts. There weren’t as many shared moments with Max, no sweet captions or photos of the two of them at events. In fact, it had been a few weeks since she had even mentioned him in her stories. 

You could already feel the pieces falling into place, as you noticed posts from the past few months had a new cover photo. Posts that had Max at the forefront of them now were replaced by landscapes or solo shots of Isabella. 

As you lurked, you found yourself staring at one of the last remaining traces of Max on her profile. It was a photo of one of the beaches in the French Riviera, with Max’s silhouette in the distance, his outline tagged with his username. 

So, you did what you thought any other person would do, and followed the tag to his profile. While it was common knowledge that someone else mostly ran his account, you couldn’t help but look. His posts were more frequent, more personal. There were the standard race weekend photos, but sprinkled in were photos of his day to day life, of Jimmy and Sassy. Photos that the public wouldn’t normally get. 

They had definitely called it quits. 

 ======

The run ins with Max continued as he was forced to retire on lap 4. You were on the complete opposite side of the circuit as he pulled into the pit lane, but as he did so, you received a text 

from Isabella. 

Can we swap assignments for the rest of the race? 

No questions asked, you agreed, letting her know where you were currently stationed if she wanted track shooting ideas. You rode the golf cart shuttle back to the pit lane, where Isabella was already long gone. 

One of the many monitors on the wall was the TV coverage showing the Red Bull garage next door, with Max sitting in his car, frustrated. It was understandable, having to give up winning the race because of a car failure. 

You made your way to the pit wall, finding yourself a spot in between the grating of the metal fence that separated you and the track. The rest of the race you were stationed there, alternating taking shots of the cars on track and turning to shoot the boys as they pulled in for a pitstop. 

Carlos and Charles had finished first and second, respectively. From your spot, you were able to capture both cars crossing the finish line, as well as the team celebrating along the wall as they did so. 

As the mechanics and engineers turned to race down to the podium, you turned to follow suit, only stopping when Max’s gaze caught your attention yet again. He was standing outside his garage, clearly showered and changed into his team kit. 

You didn’t expect the sudden jolt in your chest. His gaze held for just a moment too long before both of you broke it simultaneously, you looking down toward the podium, and him to his engineer. Mere seconds later, you met each other's eyes again, GP was gone, and you had a minute or so to spare before the ceremony began. 

“Hey” you said, giving him a soft smile as you approached the rival garage. “Sorry about the race” 

He shrugged, “It’s all good. I can’t win every race, no matter how much I try” he joked, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. 

“Can’t stay on top forever, huh?” you replied, your voice light even though you could sense Max’s frustration lingering beneath the surface. You paused for a moment, debating on whether or not to bring her up. Against your better judgment, you did. “How’s Isabella taking the DNF?” 

Max’s expression shifted for a brief second, and you could immediately tell you hit a touchy subject. His eyes narrowed, a mix of frustration and contentment formed on his face. He let out a small, controlled exhale, before responding in a calm voice. “She gets it. It’s all part of racing.”

Knowing Max, and how much he hated someone pushing his buttons, that’s exactly what you did. And thankfully, you were pretty good at playing dumb.

“Did something happen between you two?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “She’s usually the one comforting you over here when you have a bad race.” 

“We broke up.” he informed you, his jaw tightened slightly before being released. “Things weren’t working out.” 

Your expression softened for real this time as he confirmed your speculations, noting the slight disappointment in his voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything-”

“No, you’re fine.” Max interrupted, running his hand through his damp hair. His tone changed, as if he got a second wind, as if he was okay with the split. “I was the one who ended it all.”

You don’t know why your heart pounded a little extra when you heard his explanation. People go through breakups all the time, it’s just a part of life. But the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, yet with an undertone of something unspoken - struck a chord in you. It was almost like there was another factor that contributed to him breaking things off with Isabella. 

You also weren’t sure what to say after that. You couldn’t apologize, that would lead to a never ending cycle you didn’t want to be a part of. 

“I’m sorry.” Max blurted out before you got a chance to find what to say. 

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden apology. Max Verstappen, of all people, apologizing? It almost felt out of place. He was more than capable of doing so, but it was something you never expected. 

“Sorry?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing before he spoke again. “For Singapore. I spoke without thinking.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. The argument had been burned in your mind. The words thrown at each other, the accusations. It was a tattoo that you couldn’t remove. 

“Yeah, you did” you let out a small chuckle, catching the driver by surprise. The chuckle was quickly followed by a sigh, your voice lowering. “But I think I did too.” 

Max’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, and he looked at you with an unreadable expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. For a moment, it seemed like he was trying to process what you meant by that. 

“You did?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “I didn’t think… I mean, I wasn’t expecting an apology from you.” 

You shrugged, a little sheepishly, but your gaze held steady. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t exactly calm either. I got caught up in the heat of it too. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” 

There was a pause as you both stood there, in this strange in-between space where everything felt more real than it had in a long time. You hadn’t expected to be standing here, having a conversation like this with Max. The silence of car engines being turned off snapped both of you out of your bubble. 

Max glanced down towards the podium, before landing back on you. “You probably should-”

“Yeah, I should go.” you said, turning to walk away. You stopped for a moment, turning back to get his attention one more time. “Hey Max?” 

“Huh?” he asked, looking at you again

“Do you wanna grab a coffee next time we’re both back home?” you asked

Max stared at you for a beat, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you caught him off guard or if he was considering the offer. But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, something genuine - almost relieved. 

“Sure.” he said, his voice quieter than it had been “I’d like that.” 

You were surprised by how easy and natural it felt to say those words to him. You hadn’t expected the conversation to take the turn that it did, but something about it felt right. 

“Cool. I’ll see you around, Max.” you replied, finally turning to walk toward post race celebrations that were already underway. 

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Arranging a date to meet took longer than either of you had hoped. Between race weekends, Max buried in sim work and meetings in Milton Keynes, and you flying in and out of Maranello for shoots and content, the calendar seemed to mock you both. When you were both home, it felt like you couldn’t catch a break. You’d pass each other in the halls of your building, both too busy to do more than wave as you hurried to your respective commitments. 

But somehow, after a month of missed opportunities, the stars finally aligned. It was a quiet weekend in between races, and you had a rare break from the chaos.

Max was sitting at his sim, wrapping up the sim racing stream he was doing with some of his friends. As he was logging off, his phone buzzed with a text from you. 

Free tomorrow? Coffee at my place?

His heart gave a little skip. He hadn’t seen you properly in ages, and even though you passed by each other in the halls and paddock, it had somehow felt like months since you’d last had an actual conversation. 

He quickly typed out a reply.

Max: I think I can squeeze it in. Time?

You: 10 AM? I’ll keep the coffee hot

The next morning, he stood in front of your apartment door, adjusting his shirt and trying to ignore the slight flutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Just coffee. 

It took a minute to build up the courage to knock on your door, but when he did, he could feel his stomach flip. He could hear the shuffling of your footsteps - at least he hoped it was just your footsteps from the other side of the door. You didn’t explicitly say Logan would be there, but you also didn’t say he wouldn’t. 

The door swung open, and there you were. You looked relaxed in a gray Miami Dolphins hoodie and leggings, the familiar warmth in your eyes as you greeted him. 

“Hey” you said, your voice soft, with the same warmth that Max loved. “Come in.”

Max stepped inside, letting the door fall gently behind him. The apartment was cozy, and definitely yours. As he passed the kitchen, he noticed photographs and artwork donning the walls, in a tasteful manner, each piece hung with intent. Once you led him to the living room, he instantly took notice of two skateboards mounted on the wall above the couch. The top one painted with the Ferrari lettering, while the bottom one had three skeleton hands flipping him off. 

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw the boards. He should’ve known you would’ve added a touch of your skater past in the apartment, but it was a welcomed touch. It was you. 

“Nice place.” he said, glancing around. The apartment felt a lot like your childhood bedroom, warm, inviting, and very much like it reflected you - comfortable, and lived-in, but matured enough to not seem childish. Maybe it was the slight familiarity of the decorations, or the fact that Logan wasn’t there, but Max felt an odd sense of ease as you guided him further into the living room. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, as you motioned toward the small kitchen counter where the coffee was already set up. “Take a seat. I’ll grab you a cup.”

Max settled onto the couch, glancing at the books and knick-knacks scattered about - a mix of travel souvenirs, racing memorabilia, and more personal items that seemed to tell a story. It was like a puzzle of your life, scattered in front of him, each item a clue.  

When you returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, he snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at you with a small smile. “You know,” he said, taking the cup you handed him and breathing in the rich aroma, “I didn’t think we’d get to do this with our schedules. It’s nice.” 

You returned the smile, your eyes soft with a quiet, easy warmth. “It’s been a while since we’ve actually had time to talk, huh?” you said, making yourself comfy on the couch as well. “We’re both always running around, never getting a chance to actually stop for a minute.” 

Max nodded, cradling the coffee between his hands. The heat was comforting, much different to the coldness you two had been giving each other the entirety of last season. He took a sip of the drink, letting the flavors infiltrate his taste buds. 

“This is really good, y/n. What is it?” he asked, his mind far from the small talk you were having moments earlier. 

You pondered the question for a moment, as if you were trying to find the answer to your question. “This one is the Italian roast. I’ve been alternating between this and a Spanish roast Carlos gave me.” 

Max let out a chuckle at the mention of his former teammate. “Really? He must really know his coffee if he’s giving you tips.” 

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back into the couch cushions, your body language casual and comfortable. Max couldn’t help but notice how much easier it felt to be here now. No racing. No rush. 

“You have no idea. We’ve started having to follow him to the espresso machine in the motorhome so we can get his coffee content. But honestly, it’s hard to fight back when he always gives free samples.” 

Max shrugged, “Maybe I need to start bribing him with something to get my hands on some of this next time.” 

“I think a race win would be a perfect trade off” you offered, a smirk playing on your lips

The driver rolled his eyes, but the smile still persisted on his lips. “Hey, some of us are fighting for a World Championship.”

“Yeah, your fourth” you replied 

“You can never have too many” he defended before taking another sip of the coffee, the liquid warming his throat. 

As you two caught up, Max couldn’t help but feel a small shift inside, like the walls that both of you had built up between you over the last year were slowly starting to crumble. The act of sitting there, of just talking, seemed to be more than enough. And from your shift in body language, you seemed to be realizing the same. 

“I think we both needed this,” you said quietly, a small, genuine smile forming on your face. It was a different kind of smile than you usually wore - one that was more open, less guarded. “Just time to breathe.” 

Max nodded, returning the smile back to you. “Yeah, we really did. It was nice to catch up without any distractions for once.” After a long silence, Max sighed, standing up. “But I should probably get going. Thanks again for this.”

You stood up too, walking him to the door. “Anytime,” you said, the soft smile on your lips making his chest tighten a little. “We should do it more often. We’ll both be in town next weekend.” you said. He instantly registered that you meant that you’d both be in town for work. It was about to be the Monaco Grand Prix, afterall.

Max smiled, a genuine curve on his lips. “Definitely” 

And as he stepped out the door, he didn’t want to leave. But the connection had been made. And that was enough, for now. Something had shifted between you. It was subtle, but it was real. 

====== 

The week had flown by, and before you knew it, you found yourself back in the paddock. Just like last year, Logan was staying with you, but Oscar chose to bunk in the team hotel. He claimed that it was “team orders” and they were “nervous that he’d leak important information to the rivals” but you knew he just didn’t want to be the third wheel. You didn’t have a super license, and Logan was driving a dumpster on wheels. 

Regardless of the tractor that Logan was driving, or McLaren’s sudden paranoia, one thing was for certain: when the hometown boy wins, everyone celebrates. The streets of Monte Carlo were always packed with parties during the weekend, but this was another level. 

“Is that Vasseur?” Logan asked as you walked into Jimmy’z, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the crowd. 

You turned in the direction Logan was looking, following his gaze upwards. Sure enough, Fred was high above the crowd, on top of someone’s shoulders. You chuckled, as you shook your head. 

“Well, at least it was easy finding where the team is” you pointed out, your eyes still on the scene.

You both laughed, and as the two of you continued weaving your way through the crowd toward the bar, you couldn’t help but notice how Logan’s body was pressed up against yours, close enough that it was hard to ignore the warmth radiating between you two. The chaos of the club didn’t seem to matter much in that little bubble you’d formed as you stood waiting for the bartender to notice you. 

One of Logan’s arms was lazily draped over your shoulder as the other was resting on the bar, his card in hand. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You are not paying” you said as you took notice of his card 

Logan just grinned, not missing a beat. “It’s the least I can do for the winner.” His voice was playful, almost teasing. 

You rolled your eyes, not sure whether to laugh or groan. “I didn’t win anything,” you reminded him. “I simply stood there and took photos of it all.” 

“Eh, minor details.” he said as the bartender finally approached. He ordered for the two of you, listing off your favorite drink as he did so. 

“You know my drink order?” you asked as the bartender went on his way to make the drinks. 

“Of course I do.” he replied, his grin widening as he leaned a little closer “I’ve been paying attention.” 

As the evening wore on, the drinks continued to flow. You and Logan took turns buying each other rounds, with additional drinks being added by other drivers, engineers, and mechanics. 

With the additional amount of alcohol in your system, your inhibitions faded away. You dragged Logan out to the dancefloor, where the music pulsed through the speakers, and the bright lights made everything a little hazy. The crowd was wild, moving in sync to the beat, and you and Logan quickly found yourselves caught up in it all. 

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer as the rhythm took over. You both laughed as you moved together, the chaos of the weekend forgotten in that bubble of energy.

The drinks had hit, and the world around you seemed to blur more. You could feel Logan’s hands exploring your body as you danced, the heat of his touch sending sparks through your skin. The music thumped, almost louder than the racing of your heart, as his body pressed closer to yours, moving in rhythm with yours. The space between you was nonexistent as he held you, the closeness magnetic, impossible to ignore. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, this breath warm against your ear as he leaned in. 

“Having fun?” he murmured, his voice low and husky

You nodded, your breath quickening, but it wasn’t the music that had you like this - it was the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. 

A giggle escaped your lips, more carefree than before. “I didn’t think you liked to dance.” you teased before kissing his lips, half expecting him to break the moment and crack a joke. 

Logan’s grin turned more into a smirk, eyeing the door before turning to look back at you. “I mean, I’d rather be moving a different way with you.” 

Normally, you would have dismissed the idea, brushed it off as a joke, and continued the banter. But with your inhibitions long gone, you eyed the exit, the thought of taking Logan home much more alluring than it had been moments earlier. 

You pulled Logan closer to you, crashing your lips against his once again, unable to resist the pull between you two. The kiss was instant, raw, and full of intensity. His lips were warm and urgent against yours, deeping the connection with every movement. 

Logan’s hands found your waist, pulling you tighter against him. The feel of his body against yours was electrifying, and the feeling of the rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours was addicting. His fingers gently traced the line of your back, sending shivers through you, and you couldn’t help but to lean into him more. 

When you finally pulled away, both of you panted, dying for air. Your hand rested on his cheek, his bright blue eyes stared into yours. 

“You wanna get out of here?” you asked, the air returning to your lungs. 

“Please.” he said before taking your hand, leading you out of the club and back home to continue the night. 

The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the head you’d left behind in Jimmy’z. The walk back felt too long, though neither of you said anything. Every now and then, Logan would glance at you with that playful grin, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. There was no need for words; everything you both wanted seemed to hand in the air, unspoken but understood. 

When you reached your apartment, Logan was quick to open the door, pulling you inside with a quiet urgency. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he was on you again, his lips crashing against yours. His hands moved to your back, guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the couch. 

Logan’s hands pressed into the small of your back, guiding you down as he followed you, never breaking the kiss. The world around you seemed to fade as everything narrowed to just the two of you - his lips on yours, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. His body was warm against yours, and the heat was intoxicating. 

You pulled him closer, your hands threading through his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. The urgency in his movements matched your own, his touch leaving a trail of fire along your skin. The rhythm of your hearts synchronized again as you moved in perfect harmony, the tension in the air building with every passing second. 

He pulled away for just a moment, his breath coming in quick bursts as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. The heat of the moment hung thick between you, both of you caught in the electricity of the connection. 

“You sure?” His voice was low, gravelly, as if he was trying to make sure you were on the same page, but his hands never stopped exploring, his lips never straying far from yours. 

“Yeah” was all that came out of your mouth, before pulling him in once more. 

======

You woke up to the soft weight of blankets wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours. For a split second, it felt like a regular morning - quiet, peaceful. The kind of mornings you’d have after binge watching another season of the Outer Banks. But the details slowly sunk in as your mind came alive. The way his arm was slung over your bare waist. The fact that your legs were tangled beneath the sheets, pressed together in a way they definitely shouldn’t have been. 

You froze. 

The events from the night before began to replay in flashes - the plethora of drinks, the touch of his hand brushing against yours. You hadn’t planned for the night to end like it did, but you let yourself get lost in everything. The kisses he placed on your neck, his low voice in your ear. You both had always danced around this kind of tension, but last night, it was like you couldn’t stop it. It had been inevitable. 

Your chest tightened, and you gently pulled away from him, careful not to wake him. Fortunately, he slept like a rock, and you were able to wiggle out of his grasp and stood without him moving a muscle. 

You stood there for a moment, the quiet of the room wrapping around you as your heart raced. The weight of the situation began to sink in - what had happened between you and Logan was real, and you needed to figure out what you wanted to do about it going forward. 

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to make sense of it all. It was complicated. There was a pull between you - there was no denying that. But what happened last night may have been too much for you. 

Taking a deep breath, you tossed on the Ferrari sweatshirt and sweatpants that were resting on your desk chair and made your way through your apartment to the kitchen. The soft creak of the floorboards under your feet barely made a sound as you moved. You needed space to think, to process. You weren’t sure how things were going to change between you and Logan, but you knew one thing: you had to get out of the in-between thing you had going on with him. 

The steady hum of the coffee maker was oddly comforting as you poured yourself a cup, though your thoughts were anything but still. The warmth of the mug in your hands was a stark contrast to the cold wave of uncertainty that stirred in your mind. You stared into the dark liquid, the aroma doing little to clear the fog in your mind. The night had shifted something between you and Logan, but whether that shift was permanent, or a temporary lapse in judgment, you weren't sure. 

And then there was Max. You thought you had pushed all of your feelings away for that man. Shoved them, along with all of the memories, in a small little closet, never to open. But ever since he sat in your apartment, that door was going to break at any moment. 

You set the mug down, leaning against the counter as your thoughts continued to spiral. Last night had been intoxicating, yes, but in a way that felt more dangerous than thrilling. Logan was your best friend, you couldn’t afford to lose him. As much as you loved the months leading up to the night before, you couldn’t let him break your heart.

And now, there was a chance you would. 

Suddenly, you heard the sound of footsteps from down the hall, slow and tentative. Your heart skipped, and you turned to see Logan standing in the doorway, his hair messy, his expression still sleepy but alert. His eyes found yours immediately, and there was an unease in them that mirrored your own. 

“Hey” he said, his voice rough, trying to gauge your mood. “You okay?” 

You nodded slowly, though the uncertainty still lingered in your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.” 

Logan hesitated, and then, as if taking a deep breath, he walked toward you. “Look, about last night…” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out how to approach the situation. You could tell he was trying to tread carefully, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were. 

You picked up your mug again, as if hoping the warmth of the liquid would help with what you had to say, and met his gaze. “Yeah, about that…” your voice faltered for a moment before you steadied yourself. “Logan, I don’t know what to do.”

His eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you for a second. “I don’t know either.” He stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I care about you, and I don’t want things to be weird between us.” 

Somehow, a soft chuckle was the thing that came out of your mouth at his words. “Little too late for that” you said, “I don’t know if we can just pretend everything is fine”

Logan looked at you, his expression shifting to confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with concern

You exhaled, feeling the air fall out of your lungs. You didn’t want to hurt him. The last thing you wanted was to make things worse. But last night - it had been a mistake. Everything had felt so right in the moment, in the months leading up to it, but now, in the light of day, it was clear that it was too much. 

“I think… I think we can’t just go back to how things were.” you admitted, your words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve had fun the past few months, and loved last night. It’s just… I just don’t think we should continue with it.” 

Logan’s face fell, and for a split second, you saw something in his eyes - hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But it quickly masked itself with an understanding that both stung and comforted you.

“Are you saying you regret it?” he asked, his voice barely audible

You shook your head, “I don’t regret it one bit” you said, hoping that would give some comfort to the American. “I just don’t think all of this was supposed to happen. We’re friends, Logan. I don’t want to lose that, and I don’t want to lose you.” 

His gaze softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he gave a small, resigned nod. “I get it” he said, the words barely there, like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “I don’t want to lose you either.” 

The silence between you both grew thick, heavy with unspoken feelings, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the gap that had opened up.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightened. “I think we just need to go back to being friends. Like we were before.” 

Logan sighed, a mix of frustration and sadness in the sound, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded again, the flicker of pain still there, but there was something else in his eyes now - a flicker of understanding that wasn’t there before. 

“Okay.” he finally said, his voice low. “I can do that.”

The words hung between you two, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It felt like there was a distance between you now that hadn’t been there before. You didn’t know how things would be from here, or if they’d ever go back to the way they were. But deep down, you knew you had to try. 

“I’m sorry” you whispered, your voice barely audible

Logan glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting a weak smile. “It’s okay” he said, though you both knew it wasn’t. But that was the problem with mistakes. They couldn’t be erased. 

The rest of the morning passed in a muted silence, and though you both pretended that everything was fine, the air between you felt different. Changed. But at least, for now, you were still friends. And that’s all you could hold onto. 

Spielberg, Austria 

For the first time since you started working with the team, Ferrari wasn’t number one on the Bulls hit list, it was McLaren. So, you, along with the rest of the team, were able to enter the Red Bull Ring with ease. 

You found Isabella and Annalese in the hospitality suite, chatting excitedly over pastries and coffee, one of their phones on the table. Isabella looked up first, her eyes lighting up when she spotted you. “There you are!” she called, waving you over. “We were just talking about you.” 

Ever since you swapped assignments in Melbourne, you and Isabella had started talking more. It had been a rough season between you the year prior, but as you two talked more, you found you two had more in common than you thought. Aside from your shared love of photography, you found out she also paints, just with a paintbrush and canvas. 

“Talking about me, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you sat on the couch next to her. You had come in to look for Carlos and Charles, but the conversation seemed much more interesting than the drivers. 

“Yeah, your episode of Drive to Survive finally came out” Annalease said, glancing down at the phone on the table 

You felt a brief flash of embarrassment, suddenly aware of the attention that your name had drawn. The interview you had done in Austin last season had completely left your mind, until now. Agreeing to do the show had always been a tricky subject, especially when it came to the fact it documented not only the highs and lows of what’s been happening on track, but also painted your personal life and struggles in front of the world. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “It was a… weird experience.” 

Isabella gave you a teasing look, clearly amused. “Weird? You came across great. It was all professional and calm, even when they clearly tried to invade your privacy. I think you looked like a pro.” 

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a smile with the compliment. “It’s just weird seeing yourself on something like that.” 

Annalese, who had been watching you closely, chimed in. “At least there aren’t any memes being made about you.”

“Yeah, Toto is still living with the aftermath of ‘I have it printed out.’” Isabella chuckled before taking a sip of her drink. 

“True” you said as one of the doors swung open.

The three of you turned to the sound to see Charles leaving one of the meeting rooms. He spotted the three of you almost immediately, a smile on his face as he approached. 

“Or you could be this guy, who doesn’t even need the show to be made fun of” Annalese teased 

The driver’s face dropped as he registered what she had said. “What was that for?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. 

Annalese grinned as she looked at the driver, “Just comforting y/n, she’s worried about her reality TV debut” she said, glancing at you.

“I’m not worried,” you interjected. “I’m just not used to my personal life being aired out for the world to see”

Charles’ face lit up in recognition as he looked at you. “Oh yeah! The episode was really good. We’ve all seen it. You honestly didn’t reveal too much” he said “You handled everything with Max really well.” 

You shot a look at Isabella, checking on her at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. Max had been a topic of plenty of conversations before, but each time you felt the need to make sure it was okay to talk about. The photographer gave you a soft smile, nodding to let you know you were in the clear. 

“Yeah, I mean, everything I said in it is true. I still admire the hell out of him, even after everything we’ve been through our entire lives.” you said 

Charles nodded, clearly understanding the complexity of your feelings. “Max has a way of making things… complicated. It’s good that you’ve handled it with so much grace.”

Yeah. Max was the one that made it all complicated. But Max wasn’t the one to run from whatever you two had going on a few years ago. Max wasn’t the first one to slam the door on you two. Max wasn’t the one to hide.

Before you could say anything else, another door flew open, revealing Carlos walking out. You silently thanked the timing of it all, relieved for the interruption. 

“Perfect, I need both of you.” you said, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as you looked at the two drivers. 

======

Getting in and out of the Red Bull Ring was always chaotic. Crowds swarmed around the track, a sea of orange wherever you looked, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the three time world champion. 

When it wasn’t the fans though, it was the cameras. You could sympathize with them a little bit more, being a photographer and social media creator yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the ones just dying to get into a driver’s business. They’d shove their lenses where they shouldn’t, getting uncomfortably close to personal spaces, all for a shot that would most likely get lost in the sea of other images flooding the internet within minutes. 

It was quali day, and you had just parked at the track. In the distance, you could hear the chatter of people mixed together with the occasional burst of laughter or shouting. Taking a deep breath, you got out of your car, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead. 

You opted to try to enter through the back gate, figuring it wouldn’t be as crowded as the main one. It was a little more out of the way, but you would take the exercise over being mobbed. But as you got to the back gate, you could tell it was going to be a battle. 

Fans, photographers, influencers, and reporters alike swarmed the gate, all in hopes of seeing their idol. You kept your head down as you grabbed your paddock pass out of your pocket, hoping you’d go by unnoticed. 

You approached the gate cautiously, following a few of the Red Bull engineers, as you weaved through the swarm as best you could. As you made your way through the last few people, you accidentally bumped into someone. 

“I’m so sorry” you said, turning to apologize. As you met the gaze of the person, you cursed yourself for doing so. 

The person you had bumped into was a photographer, one infamously known for prying himself into the drivers’ business and spreading it all over the internet. His photos were some of the ones that spread around the rumor about you and Max a few years ago. 

Both of you froze, recognition flashing on the photographer's face as well. His camera was in his hands already, most likely prepped to stick its nose in someone’s drama. 

For a second, the world seemed to slow. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. His finger twitched around the camera, and you could already feel the weight of it - the unmistakable tension of being the subject of his lens. 

Whether you wanted it or not, your sudden stoppage, along with the sound of your voice, drew more attention than just the photographer. Fans had taken notice of your presence, and the buzz around you started to grow. With the Drive to Survive episode just being released, people had you fresh in their minds. 

Cameras flashed and people tried shoving things in your hands - flags, tshirts, pens, their phones - the whole lot. It was overwhelming. You were unaccustomed to the attention - your job always having you in the shadows, being the one creating. 

It felt invasive, and for a moment, you felt completely exposed. The weight of the cameras pressing in on you, the overwhelming noise from the crowd, and the sudden sensation of hands reaching for you felt like an avalanche. 

“Hey!” a familiar voice rang out, causing your head to snap up, but you couldn’t find the source. “Give her room, give her room” 

Through the crowd of people, you could see someone coming toward you, pushing through the crowd. The sea of people parted slightly, and through the shifting mass, you saw Max’s familiar face emerging. He was like a force of nature, moving through the crowd with confidence. 

With one last “move” leaving his mouth, he grabbed your hand, leading you through the crowd. As you passed through the gate, the air on the other side felt calmer. The rush of adrenaline that had coursed through your veins when the crowd had surrounded you started to ebb, and you found yourself taking a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice a little softer than you expected, his eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. 

You nodded, still trying to shake off the last remnants of that suffocating feeling. “Yeah, I’m fine.” you answered, looking down to see your hand still holding Max’s. Slowly, you pulled away. “You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve been fine.” 

“No you wouldn’t have, it was just you against how many people?” he said, shooting you a look but a small smile still on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t walk in with Logan.”

At the sound of his name, your face fell. He was still a tough subject, one you had only told Isabella and Annalese about. 

Max immediately noticed the shift in your expression, the lightness in his voice fading as he took in your sudden change in demeanor. “Did something happen?” he asked, his tone more cautious now.

You hesitated, the weight of Max’s question making your chest tighten. You hadn’t expected him to press, but his concern was genuine, and his eyes softened as he waited for your response. The air felt thick between you, and for a moment, you considered brushing it off. But Max had a way of getting under your defenses, of making you feel like he really wanted to understand. 

“It’s… complicated,” you said, glancing down at the asphalt beneath you for a second. “It ran its course.” 

Max didn’t push any further. Instead, he nodded in understanding, his hand briefly giving your arm a tight squeeze in a way that was somehow more comforting than his words. “I get it,” he said quietly, his voice low. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here, alright?” 

You managed a small, appreciative smile, feeling the tension in your body begin to ease. Max never made you feel like you had to explain, didn’t make you feel weak for not having everything figured out. It was nice. 

He continued to walk beside you, his pace slow and steady as if he was giving you the space you needed. “It was the same way with Isabella and I… the relationship just wasn’t what we both thought it would be,” Max continued, his voice still calm, his words measured. “You can only go so long pretending things are fine, when deep down, you know they’re not.” 

You looked over at him, surprised. When Isabella had talked about the ending of the relationship, she said similar things - that it ran its course, there was nothing either of them could really do anymore - but hearing the world champion talk about it was different. It was almost hard to imagine him going through anything similar. But the way he spoke, so matter-of-factly, with no shame or anger, made you feel like it wasn’t as unique as it felt. 

Max continued to yap about his relationship, both trying to fill the silence between you but also give you some sort of comfort without you having to go into details, which you were appreciative of. You had missed how much Max talked, how much he could fill the space with his words, without ever putting any pressure on you. 

The two of you stopped as you reached the facade of the Ferrari motorhome, a comforting silence between you for the first time since you saw him. 

“Thanks, Max” you said, your voice more relaxed than before. “For… not pushing, but also sharing everything with me. It helps more than you realize.” 

He glanced at you and gave a half-smile, the usual cheeky glint back in his eyes. “I told you, I’m here for you.” 

You knew Max wasn’t a fan of physical touch. Ever since you were kids, you knew he loathed when someone would try to hug him, or pat his back when he did a good job. But there, in that moment, all you could do was force your arms around him, your body acting on its own before your mind could catch up. 

For a second, he tensed up, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. But then, just as quickly, he relaxed. He didn’t pull away, didn’t seem uncomfortable, and before you knew it, you could feel his hands on your body as well. 

The warmth of his body against yours, the unexpected comfort in the hug, made something shift in your chest. It wasn’t like you needed saving. But being with Max always made you feel less alone, and that was something you knew you couldn’t take advantage of anymore. 

“I don’t know what to say” you whispered, your face pressed against his shoulder, your voice muffled by his polo. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Max replied softly, his hand rubbing your back. His voice was quieter, much more sincere. “You don’t ever have to explain anything to me. Just know I’m here, always.” 

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your hands still resting on his shoulders as you searched his eyes. There was something in the way he looked at you - no judgment, no pressure - just understanding. 

“Thank you” you said, your voice quieter now as well. “I mean it.” 

Max simply nodded, his gaze softening as he glanced down at you. Suddenly, you remembered his distaste for physical touch, so you moved your hands away from him. 

Your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “Sorry about that, I don’t know what came over-” you started 

“You’re fine. I know you needed it” Max interrupted, his voice calm and reassuring. He didn’t seem too bothered by the hug. In fact, there was a certain warmth in his demeanor that made you feel even more at ease. 

The shadow of the Ferrari building rested on the concrete in front of you, a reminder of why you were even in the paddock. The chaos of the weekend all seemed so distant being with Max, that seeing the Ferrari logo sent a jolt of reality back into you. 

You took a step back, glancing back at the building behind you before looking at Max again. “I should probably get back to work.” 

The same realization must’ve hit Max as well, as he cleared his throat and looked up at the red and black facade. 

“Yeah,” Max agreed, his voice almost wistful. He took a half-step back, his hands dropping to his sides though his expression remained soft, like he was holding onto the moment. “Good job, by the way, on the interview for the show.”

The mention of the show caught you off guard. Max was never one to pay attention to the media, especially one that painted him out to be the villain. 

“You watched it?” you asked, curiosity piquing in your voice

He shook his head. “No, but I’ve seen clips floating around.” he admitted, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of genuine interest. “You handled yourself well, honestly you made everything that went down last year… not so important.” 

While the exact questions that you had been asked in that interview were now far from your memory, you do remember being asked about your relationship with Max, how different it was compared to the other drivers since you knew him so long. It had been a touchy subject, but you spoke with complete honesty, knowing how much of your connection with him was private - something you didn’t want to overshare, but realized you couldn’t completely hide. 

Max’s acknowledgement of it now, though, surprised you. 

“I appreciate that,” you said, a smile playing on your lips. “I wasn’t sure how it would come across, honestly. It’s… complicated, you know?” 

Max gave a knowing nod, his eyes soft but focused. “Trust me, I know. But you didn’t give them more than they needed.” his voice had that same reassuring tone as earlier before he chuckled. “I’m just glad you didn’t make me seem like a complete ass too.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing a little more with the humor. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that to you,” you teased lightly, rolling your eyes. “I care about you too much for that.” 

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Really?”

“Really” you replied with a grin, “You might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you’re still one of my closest friends.” 

Max let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I'm not offended by that.” 

“Oh I know” you said playfully before letting out a long sigh. “But I should actually get back to work now.” 

Max chuckled softly. “Go on, I’m sure there’s plenty more to do. But don’t stress too much, yeah?”

“I’ll try not to,” you said, “Thanks again Max. Good luck out there.” 

You watched him walk off for a moment, just like you had for the past two years, before you turned back to the Ferrari motorhome, ready to tackle the rest of the day.

======

The paddock had quieted down as the teams slowly filtered out, the buzz of activity from qualifying hours behind you. Without any additional content to film for the day, you found yourself back in your hotel room earlier than expected, a rare bit of downtime. 

You emerged from the bathroom, steam still hanging in the air, wrapped in your favorite comfy pajama set. Despite the heat outside, your room was chilled to the perfect temperature, giving you an excuse to snuggle up in comfort. 

Normally, after a long day at the track, you’d settle under the covers with a hot cup of tea, diving into editing your photos. But with the last remnants of daylight still spilling through the window, you decided to sit at the desk instead. The view of the town spread out before you, the golden hues of sunset casting a peaceful glow across the streets below. It was the calm you craved, though it didn’t quite settle the restlessness in your mind. 

While Max had done his best to get you out of the crowd and calm you down earlier in the day, the overwhelmingness of it all still haunted your thoughts. The flash of the cameras, the pressure of being surrounded by people, the suffocating feeling of being so exposed. It was an invisible weight you couldn’t shake off. 

You distracted yourself in the best way possible - throwing yourself into your work. Along with the photos from qualifying, you had files of photos from past Grand Prix’s that you never got to edit. The disregarded, B-roll snaps. The ones of the team goofing off, being actually human. The ones that would end up on your photography Instagram and not Ferrari’s.

You scrolled through the gallery, flipping past the perfectly composed shots of drivers in their element and instead landing on the more candid moments. There was one of Carlos and Charles trying to sneak past the media, both of them cracking up, trying to hide behind their oversized sunglasses and floppy hats. Another was of Lando sitting on the edge of the pit wall, yawning and stretching in between stretching in between practice sessions, looking utterly exhausted but still managing a cheeky grin. You smiled softly as you clicked through each of these moments, knowing that while the fans might only see the polished, perfect images, you had the privilege of seeing them as people, not just athletes. 

You began to edit, the familiar routine soothed your fraying nerves. The gentle tapping of your fingers on the keys, the soft click of the mouse, it was grounding in a way nothing else had been all day. A series of photos - Ferrari mechanics huddled together laughing as they shared a joke - was your focus now. You always enjoyed capturing these moments. They were unguarded, full of life and personality. 

As the editing process pulled you further into the flow of work, your thoughts began to settle, the weight of the crowd and the chaos from earlier starting to fade into the background. Time slipped away without you realizing it, until your phone buzzed on the deck in front of you, pulling you out of your concentration. The screen lit up with a message from Charles: Have you seen this?

You furrowed your eyebrows as you picked up your phone, a small flutter of unease forming in your chest. It wasn’t unusual for Charles to send you things, often funny memes - he was chronically online afterall. But there was something about the tone of the message that made you pause. You clicked on the message, half-expecting something lighthearted, but when the link opened, your heart sank. 

It was a post from the photographer. The same one that frequently invaded the drivers’ privacy and shared snippets of the paddock that the general public wasn’t allowed to see. The caption read: CAUGHT IN THE ACT: Max and Ferrari photographer/F1 content creator y/n shared a surprising moment at the Red Bull Ring as Max helped her away from the crowds. Is the Dutchman off the market again?

The image accompanying it was one of you and Max from earlier in the day, when he had pulled you through the crowd. His hand had been around yours, and though you were hardly aware of it at the time, the photo had been perfectly timed, capturing the moment with the two of you caught in the middle of a small laugh. It was innocent enough when you looked at it, but the context added a layer of gossip that neither of you needed. 

Curiosity got the best of you as you scrolled down to the comments, reading everything that everyone had to say. Some fans had already started speculating about a possible relationship, while others were questioning whether there was any truth to the rumors about you and Max from a few years ago. 

You sat back in the chair, massaging your temples, trying to push away the gnawing anxiety that threatened to rise. It was frustrating. You had worked so hard to carve out your own space in the F1 world, to be known for your skills and your work, not for your relationships. And here you were, once again caught in the glare of a spotlight you never asked for. 

The devil on your shoulder whispered in your ear to run. Cut Max off again so you’d never have to deal with shit like this again. 

You shook your head, as though trying to physically dislodge the thought. Cutting Max off had seemed like a viable solution once before, back when the rumors had first started circling a few years ago. The weight of constant attention, the unwanted speculations - it had been too much then. But Max hadn’t been the one who had caused that strain. It was the situation, the pressure, and the way everything had spiraled out of control. You hadn’t wanted to lose that connection with him, but it had been a protective instinct, one you couldn’t quite ignore in that moment of panic. 

But now… now things were different. You weren’t that person anymore, and neither was Max. 

You exhaled sharply, staring at the screen in front of you, the comments still scrolling endlessly below the post. It was hard to ignore the pull of curiosity, but each new comment made the knot in your stomach tighten. There were even a few insults mixed in, questioning your motives, accusing you of using Max for attention. 

This wasn’t what you wanted. You weren’t in this for the drama. You didn’t care about the headlines, about being in the center of the gossip. You cared about the work, about capturing the moments that mattered, about the people behind the helmets and the brands. 

But the reality of the world you had stepped into meant that everything could be turned into a story. Even the smallest moments, like a laugh shared with a friend, could be twisted and misinterpreted. 

Your phone buzzed again, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. Another message from Charles: Are you okay? Let me know if you want to talk. 

You blinked, the words settling in a bit more. Charles had always been kind, always trying to help you navigate the chaos of life in the paddock. But the last thing you wanted was for him to feel like he had to protect you, or worse, get caught up in the drama. He had enough on his plate already. 

I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, you know? You typed back, staring at the screen before pressing send. It’s just the way this stuff gets out of hand so quickly. I appreciate you checking in though.

The message sent, but your phone felt heavier in your hand than it had moments before. You stared at the screen, the buzzing of notifications a constant reminder that you weren’t in control here. 

The temptation to shut everything out, to disconnect, was powerful. But running away from the noise didn’t stop it from following you. You needed to keep moving forward. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced something like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Still, the thought of dealing with the backlash - online and possibly in person - was enough to make you want to crawl under the covers and forget about everything for the rest of the night. 

Instead, you clicked on the next photo to edit, your fingers moving methodically as you lost yourself in the familiar task again. This was your element. Behind the lens. In the background. Not the subject, not the story. Just the creator. 

Monza, Italy

Monza was one of your favorite tracks. Regardless of your contractual obligations to like it because your employer was Ferrari, you loved the history, the speed, and the fact it was a beautiful track to photograph. 

You, Isabella, Charles and Carlos were on track walks as the morning sun cast long shadows on the tarmac. The boys were in deep conversation with their engineers about the differences in the track from last year, while you and Isabella walked several feet behind them, capturing them in the action. 

You raised your camera to snap a picture of Charles, his figure framed perfectly against the towering grandstands in the distance. He was talking intently to his engineer, gesturing to one of the corners, and his face was etched with concentration. Carlos, not too far ahead, was listening attentively, his posture relaxed but his attention unwavering. They looked so in sync with the track, every move purposeful and deliberate, just like the machines they commanded. 

A few of the other drivers were doing their walk as well. Valtteri had already lapped you guys once or twice pedaling around on his bike, looking far more relaxed than you’d expect before a race weekend. Pierre and his engineer were also far ahead of the Ferraris, their pace much quicker than your group. It always amazed you how every driver had their own approach to each track. 

It wasn’t long into your walk that you heard the sound of a familiar lisp behind you. You turned your head, your gaze falling on none other than Max himself. To your side, you could see Isabella’s camera clicking away at the boys in front of you, completely oblivious to the sight behind. 

Max was talking GP’s ears off, the topics most likely ranging from everything to nothing. Out of habit, you raised your camera once more, getting shots of the duo in their natural habitat. Max must’ve heard you, because his gaze flicked over, a playful grin on his face. 

“Trying to avoid me?” he asked, his voice teasing

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not at all,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but laugh as you raised your camera slightly. “Just doing my job.” 

The two of you returned your attention to what you had been focused on prior to the interaction. You were about to chime in on Charles’ conversation, but before you could, Isabella whispered. 

“What is going on between you and Max?” she asked 

Your eyes widened for a moment, her question catching you off guard. There was something going on between the two of you, you just didn’t think Isabella was the right person to tell, after her history with him. 

“I-” you started, trying to find the right words. “There’s nothing going on. Max and I go way back. It’s complicated.” 

The look that Isabella gave you showed that she could see right through you. “Oh come on. I’m not stupid. He dragged you out of the crowd in Austria, and I see the way you two look at each other.” she said. “If you’re worried I’m gonna be mad because Max and I dated, I’m not.” 

You blinked, caught off guard by her directness. The tightness that had been slowly building in your chest instantly disappeared, and you couldn’t help but to feel a bit more exposed. 

“Yeah, I mean um…” you began, not sure if you were ready to come to terms with the ideas floating in your head. You glanced over your shoulder one last time to ensure that Max was way out of earshot. “I may still have feelings for Max again.” 

Isabella raised an eyebrow, her expression slightly softening as she took in your words. She didn’t look shocked or judgmental - just curious, like she’d expected this at some level. It was hard to tell if it was because she knew you well enough or if it was her own history with Max that made the situation feel less complicated for her. 

“I had a feeling.” she began, her voice calm. “And I can tell that he still has feelings for you too.” 

Your head cocked slightly, curiosity flooding through. “How do you know?” 

Isabella took a deep breath, and just like you had moments earlier, turned to make sure Max was out of range. “Before we broke up, I saw him lurking on your socials - nothing crazy, just looking to see what you were up to, like he missed you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Isabella’s words. The idea of Max keeping an eye on your socials, even after everything that had happened between you two, hit you harder than you’d expected. It made sense in a way - Max had always been a little hard to read, but that subtle action… it felt personal. It felt like something more than just idle curiosity. 

“He was?” you asked, your voice quieter than you had intended. Hearing it come from Isabella of all people made your head spin. 

Isabella nodded slowly, her eyes softening even more as she gave you a sympathetic look. “Yeah. Again, not in a creepy way or anything - more like he was just checking in. He’d always been interested in what you were up to. He’d ask us how you were even when things between you and I were … rocky.” 

You swallowed, unsure whether you were relieved or confused by the information. Did this mean Max had been silently holding onto something? Had he always felt this way, or was it a recent development? The thought of him lingering in the background of your life like that - no matter how subtle - stirred something within you.

“I-I’m sorry” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them

Isabella gave you a small, reassuring smile, as if she understood the confusion in your voice. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said gently, her tone still calm. “I’m not upset, really. I just think Max has been… uncertain about a lot of things. You know he doesn’t do well with vulnerability.” 

The sound of Max’s voice reached you then, breaking the moment between you and Isabella. He was still talking with GP, but you could see the playful glint in his eyes as he gestured animatedly about something. Even from this distance, it was clear that the pull between you two was still there, unspoken but undeniable. 

======

What also was undeniable was a missing presence in the paddock. While you and Logan hadn’t explicitly talked since he was in your apartment in Monaco, you two would usually wave to each other when passing by in the paddock. 

Your mind began to race with all sorts of thoughts, questioning if he had been around and you had just missed him. But something in you knew you didn’t, the blue Williams shirt he always wore on media day stood out like a sore thumb. 

You tried to brush it off, telling yourself maybe he was busy with his team or caught up in a meeting, but something kept tugging at your gut, urging you to look closer. It wasn’t like Logan to completely disappear. You could see drivers, engineers, mechanics, and other staff members move about the paddock, focused on their tasks, yet Logan’s absence was still obvious in its silence. 

“Have you guys seen Logan?” you asked Annalese and Charles as you walked into Ferrari hospitality. 

Annalese and Charles exchanged knowing glances as you stopped in front of them. Their facial expressions ranged, as if they were silently arguing. 

“You haven’t heard?” Charles asked 

You shook your head, brows furrowed in confusion. “Heard what?” 

Annalese shifted uncomfortably, her hands gripping the edge of her cup as she glanced between you and Charles, the silence hanging heavily between you all. Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair, and finally spoke up. 

“Logan isn’t on the grid anymore.” Charles finally said, “He got dropped on Tuesday.” 

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. “Dropped?” you repeated, the word feeling foreign in your mouth as the shock began to settle in. “Why?” 

Annalese exchanged another glance with Charles, her face grim. “Obviously we don’t know everything that’s going on over there.” she said softly, as though she didn’t want to be the one giving you the news. “But Williams decided to part ways with him after everything that’s been happening. It just… wasn’t working out.”

Your heart raced, your mind trying to process what they were saying. While you and Logan hadn’t been on speaking terms for a few months, you knew he had always been so focused, so dedicated to the team. He’d been through a lot over the past year and a half, but you never imagined it would come to this. You thought he was pushing through. You thought he would find his way. 

You thanked the duo for the information before you made your way up the stairs to one of the lounges. The lounge was empty, which you were silently thankful for. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to talk to anyone. 

As you laid down on the couch, thoughts of Logan filled your head. He was probably back in his apartment in the UK, cleaning it out, prepping to move. Or he had already done all that and was on a flight back to the States. Regardless, your heart grew heavy thinking of having to face everything on his own. 

You thought about reaching out, offering a shoulder to cry on if needed. But he wasn’t the one who broke the news to you - Charles and Annalese had. And they probably found out about it from an Instagram post with the word breaking in all caps and bold at the top. 

It wasn’t your place to invade. 

Even if you did reach out, you didn’t know what you would say. Sorry you got dropped? That felt hollow, insufficient. How could you convey the regret you were feeling for not being there when he needed someone the most? How could you fix the distance between you two, which had been growing for months? 

You opted for a way that only you knew how. 

You spent way too much time digging through your camera roll to find a collection of photos of Logan. Professional snapshots of him driving on track, walking around the paddock, but also personal ones, like the trip you had taken to the White Cliffs of Dover, or the goofy photos of him trying to paint like you. The photos were arranged into a collage before you uploaded it as an Instagram story, adding the caption Missing you in the paddock. 

It was small, but a way to acknowledge the void left by his absence, a silent message that you still cared, that you hadn’t forgotten him despite everything. 

As you uploaded the story, your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to tag him. You hesitated, thinking that maybe it would seem too much, too soon. But then, in an almost impulsive decision, you tagged his handle, before quickly pulling your finger away from the screen.

The olive branch had been extended. It was up to him whether or not he wanted to accept it. 

======

Most of the weekend was spent trying to forget about the Logan news. You tried not to check your phone obsessively, to avoid waiting for a response that may never come. But each time you thought about it, a part of you felt like you were holding your breath. 

For better or for worse, you were by yourself during the race, out along the barriers trying to capture photos of the team. Each time the blue Williams car drove by, you’d find yourself slightly smiling, only for it to drop when you saw the number forty-three attached to it. 

Fortunately, with each lap that passed, your pity party turned into a rush of adrenaline. You knew Charles, as well as the entire Ferrari team, wanted to win at their home race. And you knew they were all crazy enough to do whatever it took to get there. 

The race seemed to go on forever, as Charles dominated the field. He was well ahead of either McLaren, and showed absolutely no signs of slowing down. 

It was then that you caught a glimpse of Max’s car speeding by - your thoughts immediately drifting to him. Despite everything going on in front of you, you couldn’t escape the pull of the memories you had with him and the fact he had been stalking you on social media. Your stomach fluttered for a brief second before you shook your head and snapped another photo, trying to focus on the race once more. 

As the laps left moved down to the single digits, you hopped in the golf cart to get to the pit wall before the chequered flag was waved. 

You pressed up against the wire fencing, hoping to capture each car as they passed through the final laps. You could feel the tension rising not just from the team, but from the grandstands, hoping for that long awaited home victory. 

And when that chequered flag waved, Charles was the first one over the finish line. 

Your camera captured Charles, the team, and the grandstands at lightning speed. Every angle you could take, you did. This is what the fans had waited five years for. 

The podium and the celebrations that followed late into the night were a blur. Just like in Monaco, the entire town came alive from the victory. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. 

But as you finally got into bed that night, your head doing cartwheels from the amount you had to drink, your mind wandered to Logan and Max. You hoped that the American was okay, and that the Dutchman would finally man up and make a move. 

Monte Carlo, Monaco

The coffee dates you had started with Max earlier in the season slowly turned into meeting up with each other whenever you could, no matter the time of day. Whether it was you playing with his cats as he exercised out on his balcony, or him watering your plants in the background of your Zoom meetings, you guys would always make time for each other. 

It felt easy, comfortable - like the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that neither of you anticipated but both of you were secretly grateful for. The spontaneity of it all was both exciting and calming. One moment, you’d be in a rush, prepping for a shoot or editing photos late into the night, and next, you’d get a message from Max, asking if you had time to talk. 

The racing calendar had prompted for a three week break, allowing you and Max some well needed rest at home. Max had brought the cats over to your apartment, and he was playing with them in the living room as you were preparing dinner for the two of you. The sound of Jimmy’s meows mixed with Max’s occasional laugh as he jumped on his lap, swatting at the toy you had set up earlier. Sassy was perched on your cabinet, watching you as you made pasta. 

“I swear she loves you more than she does me” Max called from the living room as he watched Sassy perched on the cabinet, her eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. 

You chuckled softly, stirring the pasta boiling in the pot. “It’s probably the pasta” you teased, glancing over your shoulder to find Max grinning. “She knows good food when she sees it.” 

Max shook his head dramatically. “She’s such a traitor.” he muttered, though his voice was light with amusement. “Have you thought about getting a pet?”  

You pondered the question for a moment, “Maybe…” you trailed off back into thought. “I just don’t know if I’d have time for one, with all the traveling, you know?” 

Max nodded, “I get that. It’s tough leaving these two all the time.” he said as Jimmy snuggled up in his arms. “But if you were to get one, what would you name it?” 

“I wouldn’t name them after clubs in Monaco, that’s for sure” you teased before tilting your head slightly, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. “Knowing me, I’d name it after an artist, like Donatello or something.” 

“An artist or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?” Max chuckled 

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, your phone ringer dinged, signalling you got a text. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, looking for any sign of your phone, only for it to be resting on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Can you check and see who it is? I don’t wanna miss it if it’s work related.” You asked

Max nodded, reaching for your phone. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed at the screen in his hands. Max’s fingers paused for a moment as he read the message, his expression shifting from casual curiosity to something more unreadable. You noticed his lips pressed into a thin line, his relaxed demeanor now clouded with a hint of concern. He didn’t say anything for a beat, just kept staring at the screen. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, the sudden silence between you two unsettling. 

Max didn’t immediately respond. He looked up at you, then back down at the phone, as if weighing something in his mind. “It’s… Logan,” he said finally, his voice careful.

Your stomach dropped at the mention of Logan’s name. You hadn’t heard from him since that morning in your apartment, and the thought of him now, unexpectedly, made your pulse race a little faster. 

Max’s reaction made sense now. During one of your late night chats, you had filled him in on what happened with you and Logan. You could tell he was mad how Logan handled you while both of you were intoxicated, despite how the American treated you when sober. 

Max’s eyes stayed on you as you absorbed the news, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. ‘Do you want me to read it?” he asked, his voice gentle. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before walking over to where Max was in the living room. “No, I’ll look at it,” you said quietly, trying to sound steady. You needed to be in control of this, no matter how much it made your stomach churn.

“Hey, I saw your post a few weeks ago. Just wanted to let you know I have an IndyCar test with MSR in November.” 

The message on your phone seemed innocuous at first, just a simple update, but something about it made your stomach tighten.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the words, not sure how to process the sudden shift. It was strange - Logan had always been a mix of casual and serious when it came to racing, but this felt different. The way he was reaching out now, after so long, felt distant in a way. 

You took a slow breath and glanced over at Max, who was watching you closely. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything, but his expression spoke volumes - caution, concern, and perhaps even a hint of frustration. The silence between you felt heavy, like a quiet storm waiting to pass. 

Max spoke first, breaking the tension. “So… is he just checking in?” His voice was guard, but you could hear the underlying hint of something deeper - protectiveness, maybe?

You shook your head, trying to shake off the swirling in your head. “I don’t know what it is, honestly. He’s been quiet for so long…” you began, running a hand through your hair. “I know I left the door open for him to reach out, but it’s just odd that he popped up the second he had another test lined up. Like he wants me to see how much better I am without him.” 

Max remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving you, as if trying to decipher what you were feeling. “Do you think he’s trying to make you feel guilty?” he asked, considering the scenario from all angles. 

Immediately, you shook your head, dismissing the idea. “No, he’s not the kind of guy to do that.”

Max nodded slowly, though his expression didn’t shift. “Got that. Maybe he’s testing the waters to see if you’re still willing to have him in your life?” 

“Maybe?” you questioned. “I made it clear that I only wanted to be friends with him that morning.”

“I know you did,” he said, shifting up straighter, careful not to wake the cat that had fallen asleep in his lap. “You don’t have to respond. And if you do, let it be on your terms. Don’t let him pull you back into that uncertainty.” 

The sincerity in his voice lifted a weight off your shoulders. Just like he did in Spielberg, he managed to pull you out of your thoughts and back down to earth. 

“You’re right.” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

“Of course,” he said, a smile on his face as he got up from his spot on the floor. He set Jimmy, who was still sound asleep, on your couch before moving towards the kitchen. “But if you do decide to reach out or talk to him again, I’m here, okay? No judgments. Just… you.” 

“Thanks, Max. Seriously.”

He gave you a teasing grin as he grabbed a plate from the cupboard. “Now, about dinner - if you’re done having your crisis, I’m ready to eat. I was promised pasta, not a therapy session.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you moved to grab the bottle of wine on the counter. “Right.” 

======

As the night went on, so did the glasses of wine. Dinner had long been eaten, and the dishes were cleaned up. You and Max stood out on your balcony, watching over the Monaco harbor, glasses of wine in your hands. The city lights twinkled below, reflecting off the water, creating a peaceful hum that matched the evening. The cats were inside, both entertained by the new scratching post you had set up for them. 

Max leaned up against the railing next to you, the breeze moving in a way that let you get a whiff of his cologne. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, but you could tell his mind wasn’t entirely on the view. He had a thoughtful look on his face, the one that always made you curious about what he was thinking. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, unable to stop yourself

Max didn’t immediately respond. He gave a small shrug, still looking over the harbor. “I don’t know.” he said eventually, his voice low, like he was still thinking through whatever had been on his mind. “Just… everything.” 

You took a sip of your wine, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat, giving you a moment to think. It was clear that his thoughts weren’t about everything, or everyone. 

“Are you still thinking about Logan?” you finally asked 

Max’s head turned slightly at your question, his gaze shifting from the harbor to you, but again, he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he followed in your footsteps and took a long sip of his wine, his eyes lingering on the glass for a second before meeting yours. 

“It’s hard not to, right?” He asked, “You’ve got a lot of history with him.” 

You could feel the weight of his words, the implication that what happened between you and Logan still lingered in the air, unspoken but present. Your stomach tightened a little, and you didn’t know it was because of Max’s casual mention of Logan, or the fact you had asked a question you weren’t sure you were ready to answer yourself.

“I know” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now. “I know you’re looking out for me, but like I said, Logan was a mistake. If I were to reply to him, it would be as friends.” 

You don’t know what came over you next. Maybe it was the liquid courage in your veins, or maybe it was the fact that the confession was going to kill you unless you told him, but you continued to talk. 

“I also made another mistake, Max” you admitted, looking down at the liquid swirling in your glass before you met his gaze once again, coming to terms that you were going to confess. “I should have never ran away from you years ago.” 

Max was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the soft rustling of the breeze and the distant hum of the city below. You couldn’t help but watch his reaction, trying to gauge if your words had landed in the way you intended. The confession felt raw, more than you had intended, but it was out now, hanging between the two of you like a fragile thing that could shatter at the slightest touch. 

Max’s lips pressed together for a second, and he turned his gaze back to the water. You couldn’t tell if he was processing your words, or just avoiding looking at you. The silence stretched on, and you began to regret everything you’d just said. Maybe it was too much. Maybe he didn’t need to hear it. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” Max finally spoke, his voice much softer now. “I know you had your reasons for what you did back then, and I have my reasons for how I reacted. But I think we’re both adult enough to move past it.” 

You felt a weight lift off your chest, though it was still tinged with uncertainty. His words weren’t an immediate fix, but they offered a glimmer of reassurance. You had expected judgment, maybe even a withdrawal from him, but instead, he was speaking with a level of understanding you hadn’t anticipated. 

“I didn’t want to run away from us” you added, your voice barely a whisper, the truth of the moment still biting at you. The post from Spielberg flashed in your mind. “I think I was just… scared. I didn’t know how to handle everything that was happening, with you and with me. It wasn’t just about us. It was everything.” 

Max glanced at you then, his eyes softening, the earlier tension in his posture easing. “You don’t have to explain. We were both young and dealing with things we didn’t know how to handle,” he said, his voice calm, almost like a quiet comfort. “I saw the posts too.” 

“You did?” you asked, your head tilting slightly. It was unlike him to pay attention to the gossip and the rumors. 

“I’m on social media a lot more than you think.” he chuckled, his tone lighter than it had been before.

“Oh I know, I heard you kept tabs on me when we weren’t talking.” you teased, nudging your elbow into his side.

Max let out a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. “Guilty as charged,” he said with a smirk. “But I never commented or liked anything. Just… well, you know, checking in now and then.” His expression softened again as he added, “I wasn’t stalking, just… curious.” 

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light, but part of you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed by the thought. “Curious about what, exactly?” you asked, teasing but with an edge of vulnerability in your voice. 

Max took another sip of his wine before responding, his tone thoughtful. “Curious if you’d figured things out. Curious if you’d be okay. And, if I’m honest, curious if we’d ever talk again.” He turned to face you more fully, his eyes serious but still warm. “I didn’t want to push. I didn’t know what you needed, or if you needed anything from me at all.” 

He took a step closer to you as he kept talking. “And when you left, I thought I needed to get over you, to move on. I didn’t specifically pick Isabella because she was close to you. I did it just because she was there that night. And then for a good while, it seemed you had everything figured out. You had Logan, and I felt like I messed up my chances with you.”

You felt a pang in your chest as Max spoke, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. You hadn’t expected him to open up like this, to share what had been on his mind all these years. 

You swallowed, your grip on your wine glass tightening slightly. “I didn’t think you needed to get over me,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his. “I thought you moved on.” 

Max shook his head, his gaze steady on you. “It wasn’t that simple. I told myself I needed to, but I couldn’t. I tried to convince myself I was fine, but… I wasn’t. I just didn’t know how to reach out to you again after everything that happened.” 

His words struck a chord deep inside you. It was strange to hear that he’s been in pain too, that the distance between you hadn’t been something you’d imposed on yourself. 

“Max, I’m sorry… I never meant to -” you began

“Schat, you don’t need to apologize. We’re both past it.” he interrupted, though his voice was still soft. “I think it’s now a matter of where do we go from here?” 

“That depends,” you said, turning to him, “What do you want?” 

Max paused, his expression softening as he processed your question. His eyes locked onto yours, his lips parting slightly as though he were carefully weighing his words. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to say, and you were perfectly set on the offer. 

“I want to make things right.” he said. “I don’t want to keep wondering what could have been.” 

You felt your heart race, the intensity of the moment sweeping over you like a tidal wave. It felt like everything you’d both been holding back, all the years of uncertainty and unspoken words, were finally coming to a head. 

“I don’t want to wonder either,” you admitted, your voice quieter, yet much more certain. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

“Then let’s see where this goes,” he said as he stepped closer to you, his body language open and vulnerable. “Together.” 

The words settled in the space between you, hanging there, like an invitation that was too simple, too perfect to refuse. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, the kind that made everything feel right again, like you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

You stepped closer to him, closing the distance until you could feel the faint beat of his heart, both of you drawn together. 

Without another word, Max cupped your face with his free hand, and kissed you. It was soft at first, tentative, like both of you were finally allowing yourselves to feel what had been buried for so long. But then, as if the years past melted away, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more real. The taste of wine lingered between you, but the meaning of the kiss was much more intoxicating than the drinks prior. 

When you pulled back, breathless but smiling, you both lingered in the moment, eyes locked, hearts still racing. Max’s forehead rested against yours, as you spoke. 

“So how about we celebrate with a batch of cookies?” you asked knowing you had refilled your cookie jar for him. 

“It’s like you read my mind” he chuckled as he took your hand, leading you back into the familiarity of your apartment. 

São Paulo, Brazil

Brazil was wet. 

The amount of rain that had fallen from the sky was borderline monsoon level. Every step you took was filled with the squelch of water in your socks and shoes. The normally buzzing paddock was now silent as team members huddled in their motorhomes and garages waiting for the go ahead to start qualifying. 

You and Isabella had tried to keep busy, as well as the fans engaged, by snapping photos and forcing some of the engineers into videos. But no matter how many artistic snapshots of raindrops you took or insane mini mic questions you asked, the two of you repeatedly ended up taskless.

The two of you found yourselves in the hospitality suite that overlooked the pitlane, sitting at the window as you watched the rain fall. In the ten or fifteen minutes you had been there, you’d already seen Kimi Antonelli be pushed out into the pouring rain and a few Williams engineers race rubber duckies. 

You leaned your head against the glass, watching the chaos below, feeling a strange mix of boredom and amusement. The unpredictability of it all - cars that should have been speeding down the straights now parked and idle - felt like a strange world.

“Have you heard from Logan at all?” Isabella asked as she stared at the Williams engineers down below, dragging you out of your thoughts.

The phone in your pocket grew heavier as you straightened up slightly, hesitating to answer the question. While you had filled her in about everything with Max, you failed to give her one minor detail.

“Uh yeah, I actually did. A few weeks ago.” You admitted, “He’s doing some testing with an IndyCar team sometime this month. Not really sure. I didn’t reply.” 

Isabella raised an eyebrow at your words, her gaze shifting from the engineers below to you, a knowing look forming. “You didn’t reply?” she repeated slowly, her words laced with curiosity.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I didn’t know what to say” you admitted, trying to defend your decision. “And plus, I was a little occupied with Max.”

“You made things official with Max the same day Logan texted you?” she asked, shock now coming into her words. 

A sigh escaped your lips as the weight of the conversation pressed down on you. “I didn’t plan it that way.” you explained, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “It just… kind of happened. It wasn’t like I was purposefully avoiding Logan or anything, I just didn’t know how to respond.”

Isabella remained silent for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your words. The silence hung between you for a moment, the rain outside intensifying, the sound of it hammering against the windows in the otherwise quiet room. 

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked after a beat, her tone softer but still inquisitive. “Because if I recall correctly, you gave him the opportunity to reach out, and he did.” 

“You’re right” you said, running a hand through your wet hair. “But I don’t even know how to bring it up. I can’t just text him and act like nothing’s changed. I don’t wanna string him along.” 

“You owe it to him,” Isabella said, her tone gentle but firm. “And to yourself, to be honest. He deserves to know where you stand, even if it’s awkward.” 

Her eyes lingered on you, hinting that she wanted you to reply now. Slowly, you took your phone out of your pocket and unlocked the device. 

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could feel Isabella’s gaze on you, her silent encouragement urging you on to take the plunge. The weight of the conversation, of everything left unsaid, pressed down on you. Logan deserved more than this silence. 

With one last deep breath, you typed out the message that had been swirling in your head for the last few weeks. 

Hey, congrats on the test, hoping it goes well. Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been busy with work. 

You read it over once, then twice. It felt right - congratulating him on his accomplishment while not seeming too overboard. You figured it wouldn’t be great to bring up Max quite yet, but you knew you couldn’t avoid it forever. So, you added: 

I’ve been meaning to let you know where I am, and things have changed a bit on my end. I’ve started seeing someone else, but like I’ve said multiple times, I’m always open to being friends. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit send. 

Isabella watched as you set the phone down, the tension still in the air between you. “It’s done.” she said quietly, her voice reassuring. 

“I hope I didn’t make things worse” you replied, your gaze flicking nervously to the phone on the table, waiting for a response. 

Minutes passed, and just as you were starting to second-guess yourself, the phone buzzed.

Yeah I get it, I appreciate the honesty. I’m happy for you, but you should know I don’t wanna throw away that friendship. 

You read the message out loud, prompting a smile on Isabella’s face. “See? Not so bad, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah. It was fine.” you said, rolling your eyes, but still forming a small smile on your face. 

======

For the first time since you started working in Formula 1, a super Sunday was on the table. The incredulous amounts of rain pushed qualifying to Sunday morning, prompting an early wake up for everyone. Texting with Logan had made things a bit better, the two of you had been chatting back and forth nonstop since you finally replied. 

You could already hear the sounds of drill guns and dremels in the distance as the teams prepped for the rescheduled qualifying session. The rain had been relentless, but now, under the early morning light, the drizzle had calmed just enough to let everyone get back to business. The Celcius in your hand was enough to get you started in the morning, but you knew you needed a second wind later in the day. 

As you passed by Ferrari’s hospitality to get to the garage, the familiar Red Bull logo loomed over you. The temptation was strong, and for a brief moment, you thought about slipping into the blue building. You could grab a can without anyone noticing. But then you remembered you did have a commitment to Ferrari, and you couldn’t be caught repping another team. 

Instead, you took another sip of your Celsius, and with a deep breath, you walked straight to the bright red garage. 

Both Ferrari cars did as well as they could in the crappy conditions. No one in the paddock was having a good time, especially Max. While he had qualified twelfth, he was pushed back to seventeenth due to his combustion engine being changed. 

As the race went underway, it was as chaotic as you could have imagined it. Water had pooled into places no one ever expected, and seemed to throw everyone off of their game except Max.

Growing up, you knew Max was going to succeed in the most challenging conditions. In grade school you would overhear him telling stories about how he was out karting all day in the rain and snow, going until he felt more than comfortable. You thought it was absurd, risking frostbite and illness for a career he wasn’t even sure he would get. But watching him now, claw back from seventeenth, in these miserable conditions, it all made sense. 

Max was the first one to cross the finish line, leading to a roaring celebration from your garage neighbors. You felt a strange, bittersweet joy wash over you as you snapped the photos of Charles finishing in fifth. You couldn’t help but to be proud of your boyfriend, it was his race from start to finish. A flawless performance that left the rest of the grid in his wake. 

As Carlos had crashed earlier in the race, once Charles crossed the finish line, you made your way back to the garage, planning to prepare for the interviews. You were fiddling with the mini mic when Isabella approached you. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, causing you to look up. 

You blinked for a moment, processing her question. “Uh, prepping for Charles’ post race stuff.” you said as if it was obvious. 

“Don’t you wanna go see the podium?” she asked, the roar from the crowd in the distance signalled that the top three had parked in parc ferme. 

“It’s okay, I don’t have to. There’s work that needs to be done.” you replied, scanning the area to see if Charles had returned yet. 

Isabella furrowed her eyebrows “You don’t want to see Max? Especially after that drive?” 

You shrugged in response. “I’ll see him on the flight back” you answered. The two of you had already arranged plans for you to join him on his jet. 

Isabella looked at you like you were the hardest math problem she’s ever had to solve. “Go to the podium,” she ordered. “You always covered for me when I ran off. I got Charles’ stuff.” 

She walked over to where you were, taking the mini mic and all of its wiring from you. Before you could open your mouth to protest, she glared at you again. “Go!” 

Without another word spoken between you two, you darted out of the garage and down the pitlane to where the celebrations were. The adrenaline from the race still lingered in the air as the teams waited for their drivers to come out. Alpine was on one side, and Red Bull on the other. 

All three drivers had gone to the cooldown room when you arrived. You opted to stay towards the back of the crowds, hoping and praying that no one would question what you were doing there. While you both had told family and a few friends about your relationship, it hadn’t been made completely public yet. You wanted to enjoy the beginnings of it out of the public eye and the scrutiny. 

Pierre and Esteban looked thrilled as they took their places on the podium, flashing wide smiles and quite literally jumping for joy. Rightfully deserved, of course. You could hear their names being chanted, their team and fans rallying behind them. But the atmosphere shifted slightly as Max stepped out. 

The crowd’s roar somehow grew even louder, and you could see his trademark smile lighting up his face as he made his way to the top step. The drive would surely go down in history, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell inside as you watch his raw emotion to finally getting another win.  

A smile broke onto your face as you heard the Dutch national anthem for the first time in months. It was hard to believe that a short year ago you were wishing to never hear it again, even if it was for your own country. But there you stood in the crowd, quietly singing along. 

During the anthem, Max’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something. When his gaze met yours, hidden in the shadows of the celebrations, he relaxed. The smile that was already plastered on his face grew a tad wider as you waved. Nothing flashy, nothing too overt, just a brief shared moment that only the two of you would truly understand. 

While Red Bull wasn’t your team, Max sure as hell was your driver. 

======

You were thankful that Max’s plane had taken off in the late morning the next day. As much as you loved getting back home sooner rather than later, the rest was well deserved after a late night of celebrations. 

The two of you sat next to each other, the hum of the engines filling the quiet space between you. You were both exhausted, but the thought of Max now within a race reach of winning the championship planted in your minds, neither of you could rest.

A piece of paper that had every angle of a blank helmet printed on it sat in front of Max while you had your laptop out on a 3D editing software. Both of you were running through ideas for his champion helmet. Max had a gold colored pencil in his hand coloring away on the paper while the occasional click of your keyboard brought his visions to life. 

“I think it’s missing something,” he said, glancing at the rendering on your screen. “Like it looks good as is, but I think it could be better.” 

You glanced at Max, seeing the way he was biting his lip as he stared at the paper in front of him, deep in thought. The gold pencil in his hand was worn down from the hours he’d spent perfecting every detail, but it was clear he wasn’t satisfied. 

“I agree” you said, zooming in on the 3D model. The white and the gold looked good together, but they lacked that extra spark that would tie it all together. 

“What if we added some sparkles to the gold?” He suggested, his eyes wide with curiosity to see what that would look like. 

With a few clicks of your keyboard and taps on the screen, you added a glitter effect to the gold in the helmet. 

Max’s eyes lit up. “Whoa. That’s sick.” 

You stared at the screen, happy with the improvement that was made, but you felt like you could do even better. “What if we added something to the white?” you suggested as you clicked away a bit more. “I can completely undo this if you decide you don’t like it.” 

You watched Max’s reaction closely as you filled some of the white areas with gold marble on the 3D rendering. The effect was subtle but impactful, adding a depth and shine that made the design feel even more dynamic. 

Max’s eyebrows raised slightly, clearly impressed. “That… that’s actually perfect,” he said, almost in disbelief. 

“I’m glad you like it.” you said, brushing your fingers over the touchpad, making small adjustments to the way the gold marbling flowed. “It needed something to balance out the glitter, and I think it brings everything together.” 

“It definitely does.” he said before going quiet again, his head tilted slightly as if he was deep in thought. “Would you wanna design my champion logo?” 

You looked up from the laptop, surprised by his question. “The championship logo?” you repeated, unsure you heard him correctly. 

Max nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the paper, his eyes distant as he thought it over. “Yeah, you know how I’ve had a logo for every championship I’ve won. I want you to design this years. Something that symbolizes the achievement.” 

You blinked a few times, processing his request. The idea of designing something so symbolic for Max was exciting, but also incredibly intimidating. The pressure was higher than with the helmet design - it wasn’t just a visual statement for the race; it was a symbol of part of his career, his hard work, his journey through the season. 

Max could see the hesitation in our face. He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk creeping onto his lips as he gently nudged you. “What? You’re not up for the challenge?” 

You shook your head quickly, the excitement already bubbling up inside of you. “No, no. I’m up for it. It’s just a big task. Haven’t done something like that since the Monza livery my first year.” 

“And that livery is why I think you’ll be perfect for it.” he said, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you into him as best as he could in the plane seat.  

You felt your heart race at his words. The Monza livery was a piece you had poured your heart and soul into when you first started with Ferrari, and Max was with you through every step of designing it and bringing it to life. For him to reference it years later made you feel both proud and incredibly humbled. Creating something big for him felt like a huge honor. 

“I mean… if you insist…” you began, a smile growing rapidly on your face before planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll start as soon as we get home.” 

Las Vegas, USA

Going into Vegas, you didn’t know what to expect. The flashing lights, magic tricks, and way too many celebrities for you to keep track of were guarantees, but other than that, you were clueless. 

It was the newest track on the calendar, only being the second time in recent history that the World Championship made a stop in Sin City. The entire team was excited as they arrived, but with the Driver’s Championship on the line, you may have been the most. 

Thankfully, to help keep with the facade of nothing going on between you and Max, both of you had to report to the paddock at different times. As much as the two of you had gotten used to the secrecy, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. You were constantly aware of the eyes on you, knowing that anything that you did - any small gesture - could be taken as evidence of a relationship. The last thing either of you wanted was the added pressure of public speculation. 

You were in one of the Ferrari media rooms by yourself, getting your gear together in between the free practices. The hum of conversation from the paddock filtered in through the door, but inside, it was quiet. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that your laptop wasn’t recognizing your SD card for some reason. 

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you tapped the sides of your laptop as if willing it to work. The noise from the paddock was growing louder as other team members filtered in and out, but here you were, stuck trying to troubleshoot a technical issue that you really didn’t have time for. 

You plugged the SD card into another slot, hoping it might just be a bad connection, but nothing happened. You were about to try one more thing when you heard a knock on the door frame. 

“I’ll be right out. I’m dealing with some tech stuff.” you said not even bothering to see who it was. You assumed that it was Annalese needing you for a media meeting. 

You heard the soft chuckle before the voice responded, and it wasn’t Annalese. 

“Tech issues, huh?” The voice was familiar, low, and warm. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced up, immediately meeting Max’s eyes, the playful glint in his gaze sending a mix of emotions through you. 

“Max!” you said, a little too loudly for your own liking. You rushed him into the room before closing the door behind him, hoping no one saw him in the doorway. Your lips met his briefly, and as you pulled away you asked “What are you doing here?” 

Max shrugged “Thought I’d pay you a visit in between meetings. It’s always nice to see you” he said nonchalantly which confused you even more. 

“Great seeing you too, but how did you even get in here?” you asked knowing the only way into the media areas was with a proper credential. 

Your boyfriend motioned back to the door that had just closed behind him. “Annalese let me in. She’s pretty easy to convince.” 

“You know what? I’m not even surprised” you said, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I have bigger problems to worry about right now.” 

Max gave you a teasing smile, clearly enjoying your flustered state, but there was a tenderness behind his eyes that made you feel a little more at ease. He stepped further into the room, glancing over at your laptop with a raised eyebrow. “Need help?” he asked, his voice warm and easy, as if you weren’t in the middle of a stressful race weekend. 

You huffed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I mean if you can get my SD card to register, be my guest. I might just text Isabella and see if she has a second one I can borrow until I can go get a new one.” 

Max took a seat in front of your laptop, and got to work. You watched him for a moment as he tapped a few of the keys, along with unplugged and replugged the SD card in. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the screen, before unplugging the SD card and plugging it into a different port. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his confusion. “You’re doing literally everything I’ve done.”

“I’m sorry, schat.” he said, frowning as he looked at you. 

You shrugged, clearly over the entire situation. “It’s fine. I’ll just text Isabella and ask her.” 

Fortunately, she did have one and quickly agreed to bring you a spare SD card. Within minutes, you heard her voice on the other side of the door, followed by one belonging to a man. 

You and Max exchanged looks as you guys heard the voice. It was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where. As the door knob turned, all you could hope was that it was someone who wouldn’t get Max in trouble for being where he shouldn’t. 

Isabella walked in first, a fresh SD card in her hand, and a slight smile on her face. “Hey, I come bearing gifts” she said, but as she took in the fact you weren’t alone in the room, she stiffened. “Uh hey, Max.” 

While the history between Max and Isabella was no secret to anyone, you knew that Isabella had gotten past it. Her sudden change in demeanor was surprising. Isabella glanced at something in the hallway before landing back on you and Max. 

She walked further into the room, to give you the SD card, but the door behind her didn’t close. You glanced over Isabella’s shoulder, heart skipping a beat as you saw who was now standing in the doorway. 

Logan Sargeant. 

His lips formed an awkward smile as he took in the sight of both you and Max. “Hey, guys.”

“Logan, hi.” you began, your voice filled with confusion. “What are you doing here?” 

Logan’s eyes darted to Isabella, who was still standing between you and him. “She invited me, just as a friend. I missed the paddock and figured I’d come say hi.” 

You couldn’t quite hide the tension that crept into the room, as Logan’s casual tone didn’t quite match the undercurrent of unease you could feel simmering. Max knew the two of you had been catching up, that it was all just friendly, but neither of you were expecting him to show up to another Grand Prix. 

“It’s good to see you.” You said before gesturing to Max. “And you know my boyfriend, Max,” 

Logan’s eyebrows raised at you calling Max yours, but he didn’t say anything on the matter. Instead, he offered a wave and a polite “Hey” 

Max straightened up, his posture tightening, but he quickly masked it with a calm smile. “Nice to see you, Logan,” he said, his voice steady, but you could tell he was more aware of the situation than ever. 

Logan gave a small, awkward nod, his eyes flicking between you and Max. There was a brief pause in the room as the three of you gauged what to do next. 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you both,” Logan said again, his words almost too quick, as if he was trying to fill the silence that had lingered for a little too long.

“Well, I still have some stuff to do.” Isabella said, turning towards Logan, “Shall we?” 

With a quiet goodbye, the duo walked out of the room, leaving you and Max alone. As the door closed, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I was not expecting that.” you said, turning toward your boyfriend.

Max let out a low chuckle, though there was a hint of tension behind it. “Yeah, me neither.” He said, leaning back against the table before his voice softened. “But you introduced me as your boyfriend.” 

You froze for a moment, realizing the weight of the words you’d just said. It hadn’t even occurred to you until now how significant that simple introduction was. It was the first time you’d referred to Max that was in front of someone outside of your tight circle. 

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess I did.” 

Max’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension from Logan’s unexpected visit seemed to vanish. He got up from the chair and walked over to you. “You know, that felt pretty good.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his eyes. “It did.” you agreed quietly.

Max pressed his lips against yours, soft and sweet. When you both pulled away, he glanced towards the door. “Now I think it’s time we both get back to work.” 

“Yeah, I have a guest to entertain, I guess” you laughed as you packed up your stuff before sneaking Max out of the Ferrari building. 

As soon as Max was out of your sight, you darted towards the Ferrari garage. Not only did you have a load of content to get that you were missing due to the technical error, but you needed to apologize to a certain American.

You’d spent enough time in the paddock to know that the drivers, especially Max, could be drama queens. The awkwardness you’d felt when Logan had walked into the room was fresh, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. You didn’t want him to think that something he’d done had crossed a line - it was Max being protective. You and Logan had finally gotten back on the right page, and even though things had been a bit complicated in the past, you didn’t want him feeling uncomfortable during his visit.

You made your way down the long hallway, eventually being surrounded by the hum of activity. Mechanics and engineers were busy attending to both cars, but your focus was on finding Logan. You caught sight of him in the corner, talking with one of the engineers, but as soon as he saw you approaching, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, a little hesitant. “Can we talk?” 

Logan nodded immediately, noticing the sincerity in your voice. “Yeah, sure.” 

You motioned for him to follow you back down the hall that you just came from, away from the main hustle and bustle. When you were far enough away to have some privacy, you finally let out a breath. 

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier” you said, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t know you’d be here this weekend, and seeing you and Max in the same room really caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to make things weird.” 

Logan blinked a few times, clearly surprised by your directness. After a beat, he gave a small nod. “It’s alright, I mean it was unexpected, sure, but it’s no big deal.” he offered a reassuring smile. 

While you wanted to let out a sigh of relief, you could feel the weight of your apology still hanging in the air, and you wanted to make sure he understood how much you valued your friendship. 

“I didn’t want you to think that something you did or said made me uncomfortable.” you continued, your voice softer now. “It’s really just Max being protective. He’s not exactly the most laid-back guy when it comes to things like this.”

Logan gave a small chuckle, his expression easing. “Yeah, I know. He’s got that look about him. But I’m glad you two found each other again, you seem genuinely happy.” 

You smiled softly, feeling a warm sense of gratitude for Logan’s words. It was clear he wasn’t holding onto any hard feelings, and it meant a lot that he understood the situation.

“Thanks, Logan,” you said, appreciating his kindness, “I will admit though, I have been missing you around the paddock, so this was a nice surprise.”

It was Logan’s turn for his expression to soften as a genuine smile creeped on his face. “I’ve missed it too.” he said, his tone warm. “The paddock, the people… it’s always been a part of who I am, you know?” He paused for a moment before the smile turned into a smirk. “But I will say you guys get spoiled over here in Ferrari. I need to visit more often.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle as the last bit of tension slipped away. The journey hadn’t been easy for either of you, but hearing him speak so honestly put your mind at ease. 

“You’re welcome to come anytime.” you said “I always get a spare pass that I don’t end up giving away half the time.” 

Logan grinned, his eyes lighting up at the offer. “I might just take you up on that.” he said, his voice playful. “It’s nice that everything’s good between us again. I didn’t want to make anything weird.”

“No, me neither,” you agreed, giving him a reassuring smile. “We’ve got enough drama around here already”

He chuckled “Yeah, no kidding. Especially when it comes to Max.” 

At that point, you both laughed, the mood finally officially lightened. The tension that had been there earlier had dissipated entirely, replaced by the familiarity and ease you’d shared with Logan before things got complicated. It felt like you were back to where you had been. 

“Alright, let’s get you back to the garage before everyone starts speculating that you ran to Williams to get your job back.” you said, glancing back down the hall towards the noise of the machines. 

“Oh please, like I’d ever go back there” 

======

When you weren’t busy cracking jokes with the Ferrari guests or convincing Max that Logan really isn’t as bad of a guy as he thought, you were actually doing your job. Between capturing behind-the-scenes moments, interviewing engineers, and snapping shots of the cars during their time on the track, your weekend was filled with a constant stream of action. 

Since you were in Vegas, both you and Isabella opted to take a gamble and switch drivers for the weekend, meaning you were predominantly covering Carlos. 

As much as you loved following Charles around, the change of not having to hear him whine about how much he missed his dog was refreshing. You adored Charles, as well as the endless stories about Leo, but a change of pace was always nice. It was also nice to work with Carlos one last time, leaving for Williams at the end of the season. 

But what didn’t change was the nerves that surged through you as you took your spot in one of the media pens along the track. You had positioned yourself perfectly between the fences, the practice photos that you took during the formation lap had looked perfect. All that was left was for the lights to go out. 

The roar of engines echoed in the air, vibrating through your body as the lights slowly began to fill red. One by one, they blinked on, and the air around you thickened with anticipation. The final light flickered, and then, - off. 

You were already snapping photos as the cars shot off the line. Each frame clicked into place as you captured the story unfolding right in front of you. 

Even though you had done this week in and week out, your nerves couldn’t help but spike this time around. It wasn’t your first time working with Max behind the wheel since you made it official, but it was the first time this season he could clinch the championship. 

You caught sight of his Red Bull, its blue and red livery standing out against the glint of Las Vegas lights, weaving through the pack. Though you were focused on Carlos’ red Ferrari, you couldn’t help but to snap a few photos of Max as he whizzed by. 

The tension that had settled in your chest slowly started to ease as the race progressed, the rhythm of your work taking over. It was almost as if your camera became an extension of you - each snap, each click pulling you deeper into the action. It also helped that Max was ahead of Lando. 

As the laps ticked down to the single digits, you found yourself once again pressed along the fence that separated the track and pit lane. Carlos was about to cross the line in third, securing another solid finish for Ferrari, but your focus was split between that and Max, who was positioned perfectly in fifth. 

The weight of the moment settled in, along with the pride that came rushing to your chest. You clicked a few photos of Carlos as he crossed the finish line, gathering the energy of the team that squished into the fence beside you. 

But just one garage over, the air was thick with excitement, anticipation, and pride. Max had done it again. 

The Ferrari team members, along with those in Red Bull and Mercedes, sprinted down the pit lane to parc ferme. You weasled your way to the front of it all, snapping photos as Carlos got out of the car and celebrated with the team. 

Your attention quickly turned to Max as he parked next to the red Ferrari. You could feel the adrenaline of the moment vibrate through your body as the crowd roared in celebration, your fingers still hovering over the shutter button, ready to capture every second of what would undoubtedly be another iconic moment in Max’s career. 

As Max stepped onto the car, the energy from his team surged forward. You snapped a few quick photos of him, the expression of triumph evident in his eyes as he raised four fingers in celebration. 

You had to force yourself to tear your attention away from him and back to Carlos. After he celebrated with the team, you snapped a few photos of him as he stuck a fist in the air. You followed Carlos as he congratulated George and Lewis on the Mercedes 1-2, before he found Max amidst the chaos. 

Between the photos that you had taken of him on the car and now, Max had taken off his helmet and balaclava, and for the first time since the end of the race, you could see the smile that beamed on his face. The shutter of your camera was barely heard as you captured the moment between the two drivers. 

You were going to follow Carlos as he was ushered to the cooldown car, but before you could, you felt an arm wrap around your waist. You froze for a second, heart pounding in your chest as the familiar scent of Max’s cologne mixed with the stench of sweat washed over you. The arm around your waist was tight enough to give a protective presence, but loose enough to not hurt you. 

You turned, meeting his eyes - those deep blue-green, focused eyes that always seemed to hold a world of thoughts in them. But tonight, they were something else, something lighter. A look that said he was ready to celebrate. 

“Congrats champ” you said as you looked up at him. 

Max’s lips curved into a smile as he looked down at you, his hand still resting around your waist. There was a certain softness to his gaze now, a quiet joy that radiated through him, despite the whirlwind of celebration around him. 

“Thanks” he said, his voice a mix of pride and something softer, almost vulnerable. “It feels good, you know?” His thumb lightly brushed against your side as you spoke, an unconscious gesture that felt intimate amidst the chaos. 

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the heat of the moment settle between the two of you. “You earned it.” you said. The sound of a car horn filled the air, tearing your attention away from him. In the middle of the track were a handful of Rolls Royce’s. 

“I think that’s our cue. I have some interviews to catch” you said as your attention settled back on your boyfriend. “Go celebrate with the team.” 

“Meet me in my driver’s room once we’re both done.” Max said 

You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You got it, champ.”

Before you could slip away towards the chaos, Max pulled you in closer. You could feel the heat from his body as he leaned down to press his lips softly against yours, the world around you fading into nothing but a blur for a moment. It was quick, but it carried so much more weight than any words could ever have. 

As you both pulled away, you could feel the warmth spread to your cheeks. “So much for keeping it hidden.” you teased 

Max shrugged, a playful smile on his lips now. “You’re just too good to hide.” 

======

The interviews and the podium ceremony went as slow as molasses in January. As proud of Carlos as you were, you wanted to get the formal celebrations all wrapped up so you could pack up and make your way to the garage next door. 

The spray of champagne and confetti filled the air, and the podium continued to sparkle under the floodlights. Carlos waved to the crowd, his focus on the fans, but you couldn’t help but to feel the pull towards the Red Bull garage. You quickly snapped a few more photos of the celebration, but your heart wasn’t in it. 

The second the ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse, you bolted from your spot, making your way quickly towards the Ferrari garage. Through the walls you could hear the celebrations already going on next door, but you had one last task to complete before you could join in the celebrations yourself. 

You found a relatively quiet corner of the garage to open your laptop and load a handful of photos into Lightroom. Not everything needed to be looked over and edited tonight - that was a flight home problem - but you knew you needed something to send some of the social media interns to post for race results and podium content. 

After slapping on the presets you’ve used all season, you emailed the photos to the interns and slammed your laptop shut. The Ferrari garage was still alive with a sense of pride, but your heart was no longer tethered to it for the day. You needed to be next door, with Max. 

With a quick stop in the motorhome, you changed into something a bit more comfortable - jeans and a crop top before you pushed through the corridor to the main garage. You weaved between team members and engineers who were still making their rounds, tying up loose ends after a race. 

Cold was never a word you thought you’d describe a city in the desert, but as soon as you left the red garage, a shiver was sent down your spine. Fortunately, before you could even think about how to bundle up, you heard your name.

“Y/n!” a voice called.

You turned towards the direction of the Red Bull garage, and sure enough, Meg and Jess - Red Bull’s photographers - were waving you over. You ran over, letting the both of them engulf you in a hug. 

“Congrats guys!” you said as you pulled away 

They both echoed back a “thank you” before matching smirks formed on their faces. 

“So you and Max?” Jess asked 

“Why didn’t you tell us it finally happened?” Meg added 

You could feel your cheeks grow warm as you shrugged. “Just didn’t think it was the right time” 

Meg rolled her eyes at your comment “Oh, and kissing in front of three hundred thousand people was?”

“Whatever” you mumbled 

“If you’re looking for Max though, he’s in his driver’s room. Guessing he needed a moment to breathe” Jess said before giving you directions to said room. 

You made your way through the corridors of the navy blue Red Bull garage, your steps quickening as you neared Max’s driver’s room. The noise of the celebrations felt distant, the hum of excitement muted behind the thick walls. As you approached the door Jess had pointed you to, you paused for a moment, steadying yourself. It was crazy how much had changed in just a few months, but here you were, walking toward the man who not only had been your childhood enemy, but also had become a significant part of your life in ways you hadn’t imagined. 

With a quick breath, you knocked lightly on the door. Max’s voice quickly followed, “come in!” 

Inside, the room was dimly lit with just a few lights scattered around. The clutter of post-race items - the helmet and gloves - were discarded in the corner, his race suit still hanging loosely from his waist. A navy blue shirt covered the white fireproofs he still had on, the word “M4X” written in graffiti plastered on the front. You couldn’t help but smile as you took in the design - your design - that was now a symbol of an iconic season. 

“I’m looking for a four time world champion. Have you seen one around?” you asked playfully as you leaned up against the doorframe.

Max looked up from where he was sorting through his things, his lips curling into the same grin he always got when he caught sight of you. His eyes brightened, and for a moment, it was as if the chaos of the day melted away. 

“Four-time world champion, huh?” he teased, his voice light and filled with pride. “I think I’ve seen one around here, but I’m not sure they’re as impressive as their shirt.” He gestured to the M4X logo on his shirt, the design standing out proudly against the dim lighting of the room. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in. “Maybe it’s the shirt that makes the champion.” you quipped, pushing off from the doorframe and stepping into the room.

Max chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure it’s all your doing.” His voice softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you, almost as if taking a moment to let everything sink in. 

“You’ve earned it Max.” you said, your words sincere, no teasing this time. The pride you felt for him, and all he’d accomplished, was clear in your voice. “Every single one of them. And I’ve been so fortunate to watch you win at least three.” 

Max stepped closer, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to gently pull you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you, and everything outside of that room vanished. He rested his chin on your shoulder, a relaxed sigh escaping him. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured, his voice hushed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. 

You felt your heart race, his words hitting you deeper than you had anticipated. “It’s been a hell of a ride,” you replied softly, your fingers lightly tracing his shirt where the M4X logo was. 

“I did get you a shirt, don’t you worry” he teased as he registered your actions.

A laugh escaped your mouth as you shook your head, “I sure hope you would.”

Without saying another word, Max leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was filled with both the joy of the moment and the promise of everything to come. It was slow, deliberate, and full of emotion. When he pulled back, you both lingered there for a moment, letting the world outside stay on hold for just a little bit longer. 

“You’ve been a huge part of this, you know?” Max said, his voice low and steady, his breath warm against your skin

“I know” you replied with a small smile, looking up at him. “But so have you. I’m so incredibly proud of you, Max. More than you know. Though I haven’t seen it all over the past four years, I know you’ve sacrificed a lot.”

Max gave a soft chuckle, his grip tightening around you. “You make it sound like I’ve done something extraordinary.” 

“You have” you said, admiration and affection filling your gaze. “And don’t you dare sell yourself short.” 

His gaze softened again, and he pressed his lips to your forehead, a brief but tender kiss. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with a quiet understanding between the two of you. The weight of the day still hung in the air, but there was a sense of calm that made everything feel right. 

“So…” you said after a beat, breaking the silence with a playful tone. “How about we go and celebrate? We’re in Las Vegas afterall.” 

Max pulled back slightly, a teasing grin on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

The Dutchman quickly showered and changed into more casual clothes - his iconic black shirt and jeans. You couldn’t help but smile as you took him in, feeling your heart flutter in the process. 

As he collected his things to head out, he turned to you, his head tilted slightly in curiosity. “Do you think Logan and Isabella would want to join?” 

At first you were caught off guard by the question, the two people he named you thought surely wouldn’t be invited to the celebrations. But it was Max afterall, and no matter how many years you’d known him, he’d keep you on your toes. 

You shrugged, glancing at his phone on the table. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask them yourself?” 

Max raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, but didn’t hesitate as he grabbed his phone from the resting spot. “Fair enough.” 

His head was down as he reached for his wallet and began to walk out of his room, so he didn’t notice something fall from one of the pockets. You, on the other hand, noticed the small, folded up piece of paper hit the ground. As Max was halfway out the door, you grabbed it, unfolding it. 

As you unfolded the paper, you could see a photo of a young boy, throwing his arms up in celebration. He was standing in front of a kart - his kart. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes traced the photo. The edges were faded, but you knew the kid standing in the middle. You knew that photo was only taken on your little red point and shoot camera.

“Y/n? You coming?” Max called from down the hallway, his tone casual, but you could hear the faint urgency in his voice. 

You hesitated, the photo still in your hand, and glanced at Max. His attention was now back to being focused on you, his eyes soft. 

“You put the photo back in your wallet?” you asked, turning the image of the boy so Max could see his younger self. 

Max’s eyes widened for a second as he realized what you were holding. His calm expression faltered just slightly, replaced by a hint of surprise, before breaking into a soft smile.

“Who said I ever took it out?” 

=============================

tagged: @mixedstyles @steamy-smokey @skbidi-izze @sinfully-yoursss @158cmx @freyathehuntress

[halcyonfawn]

the meaning behind "face the raven" theme in "wild blue yonder" and more

a continuation of this post. i need to talk about this otherwise i'll explode.

some people have also said that this theme is playing in "last christmas" and "hell bent" (thank you for pointing that out, i'm going to die) which makes it all even worse (better). therefore, this post is, more or less, destined to turn into capaldi's era brainrot. but not all of it, i promise.

you've been warned.

first of all, allow me to refresh your memory. let's look into the context of the scenes where we heard this music theme before.

"last christmas"

according to series 8 official soundtrack, this theme is a part of "every christmas is last christmas" and is heard quite clearly two times. they're both important scenes for the doctor and clara.

too late.

a moment full of regrets and nostalgia. the doctor thinking he's lost clara again, wishing he would have come back sooner. clara reminicing her life without the doctor in it.

"so no one matched up to danny, eh?" "there was one other man, but that would never have worked out." "why not?" "he was impossible."

it is (heavily) implied that "one other man" is the doctor. does the doctor himself realise that she's talking about him? open for interpretation. but what this small exchange truly does is showing a game of saying something without actually saying it.

"can you really see no difference in me?" "clara oswald, you will never look any different to me."

yet another way of dancing around words. there's something special and touching about this last line. it is sort of a confession of unconditional love. but the word itself - love - is never spoken out loud.

then again, twelfth might be face blind.

second chances.

now, this scene is a complete opposite of the one mentioned above. it's full of hope, anticipation, happiness. a beginning of a new arc. he is given a second chance and he takes it. the doctor asks clara to run away with him once again. and she says "yes" without hesitation, takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

conclusion? these two scenes are focused entirely on the doctor and clara's relationship. it is there to show their strong connection, how much they mean to one another. utter devastation at the thought of their time ending and the absolute joy of reuniting after being separated. a chance at a happy ending. which also makes the music that plays on the background their theme.

"face the raven"

"every christmas is last christmas" is now turned into "face the raven" and is asocciated with clara's death. it also makes the previous name even more heartwrenching since last christmas was literally clara and doctor's last hurrah. we can hear this piece of music appear in two scenes as well.

clara's monologue about facing the raven.

"if danny pink can do it so can i. die right. die like i mean it, face the raven. maybe this is what i wanted. maybe this is it. maybe this is why i kept running. maybe this is why i kept taking all those stupid risks, kept pushing it."

she's accepting her fate and aknowleges her recklesness all the way throught the season 9. it was meant to be. there wasn't enough space for two doctors in the tardis.

"i let you get reckless" "why? why shouldn't i be reckless? you're reckless all the bloody time! why can't i be like you?" "clara, there's nothing special about me. i'm nothing but less breakable than you. i should've taken care of you."

this scene is also about how a human life can be so very short compared to the time lord's and how easily it can end. it's fragile. and it's the doctor's curse: bearing the pain of losing his loved ones.

clara meeting her fate.

as she approaches the raven, ever so brave, the doctor watches her. he hears clara scream, then witness her collapsing onto the ground. it is extremely painful, but this is, i repeat, the doctor's curse: watching his companions leave. there's no use in running away from that pain, it haunts him every step of the way.

"hell bent"

next time, "face the raven" theme can be heard during the memory wipe sequence. there is no name given for the background music in this particular moment, but it's quite obvious it represents loss and... letting go?

the doctor is about to make clara forget their time together (does that ring a bell, anyone?).

it is worth pointing out that the music becomes the loudest at the exact moment the doctor says:

"look how far i went for fear of losing you. this has to stop. one of us has to go."

it is the culmination of their relationship. companions that push each other to extremes. together they might destroy the whole universe in order to keep each other safe. there's no other way but to separate. they've formed such a strong connection than one is ought to forget the other.

even though at first the doctor is determined to wipe clara's memories, he then admits she is right: it is unfair to take away all that wonderful time they had from her. so he gives her a choice. or, more like, an offer to play a russian roulette. it's either you or me. i'm not going to press that button. we will do this together.

to summarise: all of these moments featured a strong connection between clara and the doctor. it also tells us a story about how hard it is to lose someone you care about deeply, especially for the doctor.

how is it all connected to the doctor and donna?

memory wipe

the doctor has to make donna and clara forget about him in order to keep them safe. expect that he doesn't give donna a choice, wiping her memory almost instantly, without saying a proper goodbye to her. obviously, he didn't have enough time to think of a better way to solve the problem since donna wouldn't have lasted long. however, it is still a decision he regrets making.

from "the star beast":

"i'm so glad you're back, donna. it killed me, it killed me, it killed me."

if we take a look at clara's situation, it's a bit different. i've already mentioned it above: at first, the doctor wants to do the same thing to clara that he did to donna. make her forget. expect, this time he is confronted for doing so (even threatened, at some point).

"these have been the best years of my life and they're mine."

i think this line triggers something in the doctor. because this is when he realises that this is not the right thing to do. not exactly. he'd already done it once and he regretted it. so this time, he offers a slightly different solution. someone still has to forget, but they'll press that button together. it's a mutual choice.

now, i know it's not entirely related to the dialogue in "wild blue yonder", but i think it's worth mentioning that donna and clara's stories are somewhat similar. i'm sure it's been said before, but it's still important.

donna's story was incomplete because she wasn't given a choice. now, that she remembers, 14th doctor makes sure their time together is worth-while. a second chance just like in "last christams".

too alike

another similarity between these two stories is that clara and donna are not entirely humans. not anymore.

donna's half timelord. even though her head is still not big enough to fit all the doctor's memories, she still has a part of the doctor in her.

clara's frozen in time, that makes her practically immortal. she risks her life, she reverses the polarity of the neuroblock, she gets her own tardis, she's even reffered to as "clara who" at the end of "hell bent". she has become the doctor in a sense.

but there can only be one doctor. so where's the story heading to at this point, i wonder? but we'll come back to this question later.

"but what really happened?"

before i say anything, it is obvious that the doctor's silence before and after he says "a lot" is him reminicing all that'd happened to him during the 11th, 12th and 13th reincarnations. all of the loss and pain he went through.

but why "face the raven" theme of all things? it could be a general theme of grief/nostalgia/painful memories, nothing else implied.

but please let me be delusional for a bit longer!

just as that scene in "hell bent" brought the doctor back to the moment he made donna forget him, could it be that bringing back his best friend's memories in a whole universe that "he absolutely loves", also reminded him of another important person in his life with similar story? just like "hell bent" mirrored "the journey's end", "wild blue younder" gave us a reference to "hell bent".

this is where we get back to the question about the current story direction.

foreshadowing?

donna's story is not over. and there are a lot of possibilities how it can end.

say, there is a connection to clara's story here, i wonder if that's where the plot's heading. in one of the trailers, the doctor does say "i'm not sure if i can save you this time" to donna. and it worries me. then again, maybe they're just tricking us into thinking something bad will happen (oh the drama).

i'd say it's unlikely donna's going to die because that would be absolutely devastating after just bringing her back. at the very least, the ending wouldn't be completely "happily ever after". perhaps, sacrifices will be made in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening.

why did this face come back?

in "the girl who died" twelfth doctor finally realises why he got his face. it is a call-back to "the fires of pompei" (don't even get me started on its being the episode with 10th and donna).

the message the doctor was giving to himself turned out to be:

"i'm the doctor and i save people!"

but what is 14th trying to tell himself?

i think it's about donna and more.

he's fixing his mistake of erasing her memories and depriving her of the right to remember amazing things that'd happened to her.

it's a reminder to actually tell people how much they mean to him. as we can see, 14th's more open with his feelings and constantly shows signs of affection towards his loved ones, even breaking the "never say i love you" rule.

it's about being honest and open with people because they deserve to hear it from him and he deserves to hear it back. because "things happen and then it's too late".

again, take 12th doctor, for instance. he constantly represses his feelings. but in my humble opinion, the reason why he's changed by season 10 was clara. she pulled him out of the dark place. and even though her death almost threw him back to that state again, he is still a better man by season 10.

but there were things left unsaid. love and care were always there but it was never said out loud. kind of the same thing happened with 13th.

i strongly believe that donna is that person for 14th. they're best friends who love each other deeply. and after the doctor lost her and got a second chance to fix everything, he does, he's being affectione. he's finally open with his feelings.

conslusion: why did you make us read all fo this?

to answer the question in the title: it's all tied with how memories are important and priceless, fixing past mistakes, moving on and learning to treasure every moment with people you care about like it's your last.

it can also be a foreshadowing for something terrible, but i choose to hope for the better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

aaaand that is the end of my doctor who rant. thank you for getting this far, if you did!

my feelings about all of this can be described with this one meme:

[vidavalor]

Remembrance of Things Past

Aziraphale's scent-oriented, mindful moments in Good Omens also might be something else as well-- an attempt to circumvent the potential taking of his memories by Heaven. He might be trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories-- the sudden rush of a memory prompted by a certain taste or, especially, by a particular scent.

On Aziraphale trying to get around Heaven by setting up triggers for The Proust Effect under the cut.

I wrote a post awhile back about how I think one of the reasons why Aziraphale keeps a journal is as a way of having something that Crowley can show to him in the event that Heaven takes his memories. While reading something doesn't necessarily trigger a memory itself-- it can but it's not guaranteed-- I think there might be other things they are doing as well that they think might be effective in different ways when it comes to helping Aziraphale retain his memory. The biggest might be actively trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories.

Understanding of involuntary memory? It comes from the extremely Aziraphale intersection of food, the French, literature and psychology...

For anyone who does not already know about involuntary memory:

In 1913, French writer Marcel Proust published the first volume in his 'In Search of Lost Time' series and it contained a passage about the power of memory so descriptive and that resonated with so many that it got scientists to actually study and prove the validity of the connection between scent and memory about which he wrote. Proust had his narrator in the novel describe how, after dipping a lime madeleine into a pot of tea, the scent and taste of eating the madeleine brought him instantly back to a specific time in his youth when his aunt would serve them to him while he was recovering from illness as a boy. He remembered details about her house and their time together, sounds and scenes that had dimmed or been forgotten entirely... all triggered by his mind upon smelling and tasting the specific combination of flavors of the tea-dipped lime madeleine.

Most of us have probably experienced something like this and scientists have since confirmed that it's a very real phenomenon, probably rooted in our need to be able to recognize danger by scent. They have also found that, in some cases and to a slightly lesser degree, hearing specific pieces of music can also bring about a similar sense of memory. Scent, though, remains the best possible trigger for memory.

I can't imagine that after seeing Crowley struggle with his own memory for so long and knowing that it could happen to him, too, that Aziraphale wouldn't be trying everything he could think of to be prepared for the possibility that it might.

In a story that has so much focus on memory-- and in a way that seems to potentially foreshadow that Aziraphale might (temporarily) lose his before the story is over-- there also are scenes that might suggest that Aziraphale's mindful moments might also be an attempt at trying to associate moments with scent in an effort to get around Heaven and retain as much of his memory as he can in the future.

But that's only one part of it... The other part is how he and Crowley are shown to consistently tie times in the present to times in their past.

There are many reasons for doing so and we looked at some of them in other metas but another one might be as a way of trying to connect memories together in a way that, should Aziraphale lose his memories in the future, if one could be triggered with a madeleine memory, then other memories connected to it might follow.

In the first episode, Aziraphale's mindful, sensual eating experience involves breathing in the scent of the sushi with his eyes closed, as if committing it to memory. The evening, as we looked at in the Fish meta, was supposed to be a dinner with Crowley tied to their time in ancient Rome. Breathing in brine and alcohol and salt like Aziraphale is here might also be a way of trying to literally tie these scents to his memories of the scents of oysters and wine in Rome so as to not forget either.

In the parallel to the sushi scene in 1.01, Aziraphale is shown in S2 to breathe in Goldstone's when he and Crowley go there in the present. It's part of the mindful experience for him in the moment but it could also serve as a way of trying to remember the events of both the present and 1941 in the future.

Crowley also breathes in Goldstone's in the present in S2. It's something they both do without even looking at one another in the scene and just kind of know the other is, indicating that this is just a thing they do. Both of them do it instinctively, like the rampant sensualists using elements of mindfulness to work through trauma that they are lol. Aziraphale's eyes are again closed and I would bet that he's as much willing himself to never fully forget his human magic love and 1941 in the future as he is reliving memories of the past.

This scene is a really interesting inclusion because while it's set in our present of S2, it's really about the past and the future. No one has any trouble believing that they're both thinking of 1941 here, even as they're here in the present, and both of them are utilizing techniques both related to the present (mindfulness) to connect with memories of the past (Proust Effect/involuntary memory.) What else might be true as well is that they don't just do this for the past and the present moments but for potential future ones as well.

Then there's this...

There are two scenes-- one in each season-- that focus on Crowley's unsurprisingly amazing scent. While memory wouldn't be the only reason why Crowley would smell great lol, both scenes suggest that Crowley's scent is unique and distinguishable. Sandalphon can smell it as being different from Aziraphale's cologne in S1 and Shax... a paralleling character to Aziraphale, played by the actress who played the character with whom Aziraphale shared a brain in S1... well, Shax is into it. Girl's in a dead faint to a point of straight up huffing him.

While there are others, one reason for this scene, though, could be that it parallels the fact that Aziraphale actually does this sometimes, if in a decidedly less ick way than Shax did lol. Part of why Crowley's been wearing the same, apparently quite appealing, scent for awhile now could be out of an effort to help Aziraphale's mind create enough associations between Crowley's scent and Aziraphale's memories that Crowley himself might be able to trigger some of Aziraphale's memories just by his presence alone.

It's also then interesting-- and potentially a little eerie-- that the only time Aziraphale eats or drinks anything in the present in S2 is when he drinks a few sips of a cup of tea to introduce Muriel to the drink and the custom. This is just after Muriel showed up at the door and failed to recognize Aziraphale, even though he recognized them, in one of several scenes that suggest that Muriel had their memories taken from them at some point. The two characters parallel one another pretty strongly. The difference could well wind up becoming that Aziraphale is able to retain more of his memories because he and Crowley have been working for years to find ways to get around Heaven... and they're using knowledge uncovered by humans to save what they can of Aziraphale's memories.

Or, as Nina would put it:

[lunarforager]

Who is Apollo?

Hello again, and welcome to another installment of "Introduction to the Hellenic Gods"! Today's deity is *drum roll* Apollo! He was the next alphabetically but Apollo is also another deity I have worked with myself and have a strong connection to.

---

Apollo is the name given to the ancient Greek god of oracles, healing, archery, music and the arts, and light. The Roman equivalent of Apollo is also named Apollo (makes things easy).

---

Apollo, unlike Aphrodite who we spoke of before, has one main birth myth.

The story actually begins with a Titaness named Asteria. Asteria, in an attempt to escape the god Zeus' advances, threw herself into the ocean. Where she entered the sea, a piece of disconnected land was created.

Later, when the goddess Leto was impregnated by Zeus, she was cursed by Zeus' scornful wife, Hera, to not be able to give birth on any piece of land or island. While searching for a place to give birth, Leto discovered this piece of disconnected land and gave birth to her two twins, Apollo and Artemis. This piece of land was then connected to the earth by Apollo himself and was named Delos. (For anyone wondering, yes I will be covering Artemis in this series very soon!)

---

Apollo was also known by many different epithets throughout Greece and Rome. By far, the most common and most used of the epithets is Phoebus Apollo, translated roughly as Bright Apollo. This is most likely why Apollo is so heavily connected to and is seen as the god of light.

---

Some interesting facts about Apollo you might not have known:

Apollo is also sometimes represented as the god of disease, and when praying to him, people would not pray for healing but instead would pray to be protected from the disease he was sending their way. This is actually seen in the first book of Homer's Iliad, where Apollo sends down a plague of arrows on the Achaeans for kidnapping the daughter of a priest of his.

Apollo wasn't always the god of the sun. This title actually belonged to Helios but over time the two were combined into one deity and/or Apollo was seen as the sun god while Helios was instead seen as the sun personified.

Apollo is a prime example of LGBTQ+ identities being present far before the start of the modern era as there are many myths and legends about the god being attracted to and being in relationships with people of the same sex such as his relationship with Hyacinthus or his relationship with Cyparissus.

---

My favourite pieces of art and literature that depict Apollo!:

Apollo Belvedere by Leochares --> This statue depicts Apollo and is a copy of the original bronze statue. It is currently held in the Vatican

The Iliad by Homer --> In Book 1 of this epic, the god Apollo sends down a plague on the Achaean soldiers for kidnapping the daughter of a priest of his

Kylix of Apollo --> This piece of traditional Greek pottery depicts the god Apollo sitting on a chair pouring out wine and holding the instrument most connected with him, the lyre

---

Thank you all so much for the support so far on this blog! I apologize for such a late update but I was super busy today hanging out with some friends I haven't seen in such a long time and spending much needed time with my partner! I thank Aphrodite for giving me such a lovely partner who is willing to spend hundreds of dollars on Florence + the Machine posters for me lol!

[huramuna]

beware the sapphire peak - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series. (this will likely be about 3 parts)

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut, angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory

to death we dance - salem's heir • the flower duet - sabine devieilhe & marianne crebassa

“You were nearly late, miss,” one of the butlers murmured in your ear. “The music’s just started.” 

“There is a quote about being fashionably late, isn’t there?” you mused, taking his gloved hand as he helped you up the steps. 

It was a banquet for your father’s business, a celebration of having struck gold (oil) and turning a huge profit. Or, in your words, an excuse for the high and mighty to get plastered and dance the night away. Your fist clenched upon the train of your dress– a lovely evening gown in eggshell white, with hand embroidered lilacs and lavender petals on it, spindling up your bodice like a trellis. Your usually somewhat unruly hair was tamed into a braided and pinned up-do, with an expensive broach poked into the bun of hair in the shape of a falling wisteria branch. 

Your father was the first to greet you, peeling away from the gaggle of portly oil barons. He kissed your cheek. “You look lovely tonight, my dear. A vision in purple, I must say.”

You smiled back at him. “Yes, well, you all but wringed my arm to get me to attend– and you shall hold up your end of the bargain… right?” you hummed softly, batting your eyelashes. 

He let out a small sigh, nodding. “I will send your manuscript to the publisher– the editor in chief is here tonight, if you’d care to mingle. Amongst… many other eligible bachelors, I might add.” 

Your father had spent the better part of the last three years gently trying to pair you up with a suitor for marriage. He was a patient man, as he had droned on about so many times before, but his patience was waning. You were twenty-one years old, and apparently, that was a ghastly sight– to be twenty-one and unmarried with no promising prospects. 

Of course, you couldn’t care less. You were more focused on finishing your manuscript in that time– you had a knack for writing and reveled in works of fiction that tended to lean to the darker sides of things. It had finally reached a point you were somewhat happy with, and had convinced your father to chat up his well connected colleagues so you may be able to send the first draft to a publisher.

The price for that, however, was to entertain suitors. At a gala. Dressed and primped like a Thanksgiving turkey. It was all so dreary to you– the ladies stared at you and whispered, citing you as the dreary one. 

Breaking away from your father with a tiny smile, you began to mingle– as well as you could, anyhow. You were awkward and a bit sheltered and it showed. However, once you said who your father was, dollar signs would flash in the eyes of the men you were speaking with, and they would push forward in the conversation. You weren’t ugly by any means and could become a good wife to some young entrepreneur– but you didn’t want that.

You were about fed up with it all three hours later, your nails clinking against the glass of champagne you were nursing for the better part of thirty minutes. Your look of slight annoyance managed to stave off any other wanton suitors– until another man approached you. You had exchanged some glances with him during the night, but you didn’t recognize him. He was tall, exceedingly taller than any of the other men there. His blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in hue, was cinched at the nape of his neck in a clean ponytail, falling between his shoulder blades. He was in a custom-fitted three piece black and green suit– you could tell from how perfectly it was hugging him, in all the right places.

A familiar heat came to your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to you with an intent in his pale blue eyes– eye? One of them, you noted as he came closer, was slightly off-color from the other and moved a bit slower. Likely fake, you thought. The light casted over the planes of his face, chiseled as it was, illuminating the slightly raised, puckered skin near the fake eye in a distinctual scar. He looked just like the perfect inspiration for a protagonist in one of your novels– or mayhaps an antagonist. He seemed to skim the line between the two in appearance alone.

Curious.

“My lady,” he greeted as he finally broke the air of silence between you, his arms placed behind him in a very calculated manner. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked then, a brow perked. His accent wasn’t American– that you knew for certain– likely something European. 

“As much as I can, sir,” you responded coolly, despite being caught slightly off guard by his sudden and overwhelming presence– a dark cloud in a perfectly tailored suit. “I hope that the…” you cleared your throat, trying to sound a little more confident than you likely were. “The… event is to your liking.” you mustered a smile, diverting your gaze to your champagne, hoping there may be the secrets to being a good conversationalist somewhere within the bubbles.

He chuckled, the sound low and husky. It caused a shiver to go up your spine. “The event is well and fine, my lady. Are you… the proprietor of the gala tonight? I wouldn’t expect a beautiful thing such as yourself to plan something like this.”

You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. He was complimenting you and insulting the party at the same time. “No– I am not. I’d never choose such… dreary musicians for an event like this. They’re playing for a wake rather than a party– that would be my father’s doing.” you slipped it into the conversation, that this was your father’s party, trying to gauge if this handsome stranger was after what all of the others were.

Surprisingly, his expression, smooth and cool with the barest hint of a smile perking at his naturally upturned lips, didn’t change. “Dreary,” he repeated, “Melancholic, gloomy, monotonous, vapid– all good words to describe the state of affairs.”

“You have quite the expansive vocabulary, Mister…” your voice trailed off, an inadvertent way to ask for his name.

“Targaryen– Aemond Targaryen. And you?” he reached his hand out to shake yours – how incredibly formal– as you returned your own name with a wide-eyed stare.

“Targaryen. As in… the ancient bloodline? Descended from dragons, close to royalty, Dragonstone estate Targaryen?” you asked, mouth slightly agape. From what you knew of them, they were as close to the height of English royalty, real royalty, as there was in the current year, 1902. Their wealth alone, minus all of the titles, made your father’s look like a pissant trust fund. 

“The very same. You’re familiar with my family?”

“Ehm– familiar, more so I’ve heard of you all. Your family’s name comes up quite often in my father’s social circles. And I am quite nosy.”

“And what do you think?”

“About… your family? Mr. Targaryen–” 

“Call me Aemond.”

“Aemond– I don’t really know much besides the height of your prestige– and your family’s estate, Dragonstone. My father brought me back some photographs of it from his trips over the pond. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Your father brought you pictures of our home?”

“N-not just yours! I collect photographs of old estates, mostly ones from Europe. I like to use them for inspiration for my… stories. I’m a writer– a novice, mostly.”

“A writer? Have you published anything I might know?” 

“Oh, God no–” you laughed, covering your face slightly with your hand. “I’ve not yet been published. I actually sent my manuscript to… or will be sending one to a publisher soon. Hopefully.”

“What do you like to write?” he asked then, leaning a bit closer to you as if he was actually enjoying conversing with you. “Romance? Children’s fables?” he teased softly, his one eye gleaming. He was quite handsome, you thought.

“I like horror– mysteries, gothic fiction. I’m quite enamored with the… macabre and weird,” you admit. “I hope that doesn’t frighten you.” 

Aemond grinned, his teeth shining, canines pronounced against his thin lips. “Oh, yes, it does frighten me. But, all good horror stories should frighten their readers, yes? I expect you’re a fan of Vampyre? Perhaps Dracula?” 

“Both are good. My favorite, however, is Frankenstein. Mary Shelley is a genius. The Castle of Otranto is also wonderful and the pioneer of the genre. I remember trying to read it when I was younger and being scared of the dark hallways at night. Later on in life, those dark hallways enthused me enough to write about them– hence my… fascination with old houses.”

“Old homes certainly do have their fair share of secrets, don’t they?” he paused, straightening his lapel slightly before leaning back in towards you. “And do you believe what they say? That Mary’s husband wrote it and published it under her name?”

Your brows knit together in slight irritation. “Of course not. Why would he need to do such a thing? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but men already have enough advantages as is– publishing under a woman’s name instead might be considered a disadvantage.”

“Will you be publishing under your own name?” 

You blinked, taking a sip from your champagne. It was something you considered and went back and forth upon. “I haven’t decided. I have a pseudonym ready just in case.”

“Do tell– so I know what name to look for on the shelves within a year.” 

God, was he ever charming– and without even trying, really. He was well-spoken with a voice that was soft and almost whispery. It made butterflies bubble in the pit of your stomach– now that was a feeling you weren’t familiar with. “Dorian Gray.”

“Cheeky woman.” he mused. “Fancy a dance, Miss Gray?”

“... I suppose I could be swayed.”

–

Your dance together, to say the least, was a success– it started month’s worth of courting after. Aemond took you on the most splendid nights out, wining and dining you like you were a gorgeous, interesting debutante. It was exhilarating to say the least and made you feel… truly wanted– especially since his family was exceedingly wealthy, your father’s wealth couldn’t have attracted him. 

He took you to the theater, out to wondrous restaurants, and bought you various gifts like jewelry, writing supplies and outfits to wear when you went out.

It all felt very much like a dream to you– something beyond your usual, weary routine that had hardly ever changed since your mother died when you were eight years old. You’d recused into yourself then, the dark hallways that scared you so fiercely just before her death now seemed welcoming. You thrived in the dark, like a moth. 

But now, you felt something more akin to a butterfly, bathing in the sun’s light. 

It wasn’t a great surprise when Aemond asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your father, who had harped you for years to get married, was suddenly apprehensive. 

He pulled you aside, arm around you. “Do you like this boy, dear?”

“Y-yes, father– very much so.”

“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. I’m not exactly keen on letting my only daughter go off with… some man–” 

“He isn’t just some man, father! He’s a Targ–” 

“Don’t interrupt,” he chastised firmly. “I’ve had my people look into his family further– it’s a whole mess, issues with succession, backstabbing, incest, the whole nine yards,” he took a measured breath. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about… Aemond. But… you’d be so far away. You’d be off living in the annals of England, a whole boat’s ride away.”

“This is what you wanted, father! For me to marry, for me to be happy! This is the happiest I’ve been in… so long. You must see that?”

The creases in your father’s forehead relaxed as he regarded you for a long moment, before turning to Aemond, who was waiting patiently off to the side. He let go of your shoulder and walked to your beau, staring at him sternly. “Will you treat her right? Give her everything she deserves and more?”

Aemond perked up slightly, rubbing the side of his forefinger with his thumb in a seemingly nervous gesture. “Of course, sir. I’ll give her everything I have and more. She will be regarded as a Lady– the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall, and she wouldn’t be treated with any less respect than a Lady deserves.”

Your father’s gaze narrowed, taking it all into careful thought. “... very well. You have my blessing, son. But, one whiff of even a tear from her eye on your account, and your nads are forfeit. I may not be as well-off as your family, but I’ve got a lot of friends in a lot of places.”

– 

The marriage was a quick affair, as your father, and now Aemond, knew you had no patience for pomp and frills. Aemond gave you a beautiful ring with an absolutely gigantic sapphire inlaid in the center, citing it as a family heirloom from centuries past. Your father saw you off onto the boat, bawling his eyes out. You’d never seen your father cry– not once. 

As husband and wife, you both agreed to wait to celebrate your wedding night until you arrived in England at his family’s estate to your marital bed.

The trip overall was a little under a week’s time upon a luxurious liner, where you both enjoyed champagne and each other’s company. You craved your husband, and he craved you in the same, but you each wished to keep your agreement intact. But it was increasingly hard, as you held one another close each night and his need for you was clearly pressed to your lower back.

Dragonstone Hall was a few hours' carriage ride north of the port and was nestled upon a high-ridged cliff. It was as gorgeous as the pictures had depicted, even moreso. It was ancient, imposing against the skyline and mingling to the clouds, where sea birds and ravens alike swirled above the towering watch towers that were supported by stone walls with vines grasping to them like lifelines. 

It was gorgeous, gothic and most definitely haunted– a perfect place for a woman of horror such as yourself. 

Aemond helped you out of the carriage, a hand placed upon your waist as he guided you beyond the gates. Your eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the scenery like a breath of fresh air. Tears threatened to spill over suddenly, as you were just overwhelmed with everything going on. You were married to someone you loved, who loved you– and were the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall. 

“Something wrong, my love?” Aemond whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your lobe.

“N-no– I’m just… very happy.”

He wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, clearing your vision. You glanced up at one of the windows on the third story of the castle. Someone was staring back at you.

A lady. Her hair was red, her skin almost translucent. 

You must’ve been imagining it, surely. Looking to another window, another visage appeared.

Another– this time with dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes ghastly and bloodshot. She was practically see through. 

You pressed closer to Aemond, blinking profusely– it must’ve been the exhaustion from the nights on the boat catching up to you. Once you rubbed your eyes, you looked back; the figures were gone. 

As you approached the main door of the estate, another face caught your eye. 

Another woman– with dark hair and sullen, emerald eyes. They pierced through you like two heavy jewels, making goosebumps prickle atop your arms. She wasn’t ghastly or undeathly like the other two, and when you rubbed your eyes, she was still there.

She was still there, very much a living person in the flesh, with flowing blood and a beating heart. And she was beautiful.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

what are your thoughts on the olympians’ thrones? we know that they are connected to the power of the gods, and that kronos’ tactic was to destroy olympus/their thrones in order to weaken them (so when kronos destroyed the arm rest of ares’ throne, did that weaken him during the battle with typhon?)

but why should the destruction of their thrones weaken them? isn’t the source of their power, their divinity, well, themselves? and what of minor gods? or what about during the first titanomachy? sorry for the lengthy question but it’s all very confusing and im interested in hearing your take.

SO

THE OLYMPIAN THRONES

first let's see what Dionysus had to say about this in The Last Olympian

"Whichever! Now listen, the situation is graver than you imagine. If Olympus falls, not only will the gods fade, but everything that is connected to our legacy will also begin to unravel. The very fabric of your puny little civilization—"

"Yes, yes. Your entire society will dissolve. Perhaps not right away, but mark my words, the chaos of the Titans will mean the end of Western civilization. Art, law, wine tastings, music, video games, silk shirts, black velvet paintings—all the things that make life worth living will disappear!"

"—the other gods would never admit this, but we actually need you mortals to rescue Olympus. You see, we are manifestations of your culture. If you don't care enough to save Olympus yourselves—"

Let's look at the third part first! Dionysus tells us that the gods are manifestations of human culture. And as we know, in the RRverse, the gods have moved around with the flame of progression, where the most human power is allocated. This is why they are in the US in the RRverse, and why they tend to reflect a more American culture (ie, Zeus in a CEO suit, Poseidon as a fisherman, Ares is a biker, ect.)

So what I'm getting from Dionysus's explanation here, is that the gods and human culture are intrinsically intertwined with each other. You can't have one without the other and all that. If human culture fades, the gods weaken, and if the gods weaken, human culture fades.

Something interesting to note here is that Dionysus says that the gods will fade if their thrones are destroyed...interesting, considering Dionysus and Percy also discuss how Pan faded.

But Pan didn't fade because of a lack of human belief/culture - he faded because his domain was being destroyed. Helios and Selene faded because they lost faith in themselves.

I think Dionysus might be overexaggerating a bit here. I don't think the gods would have necessarily faded if their thrones were destroyed- just significantly weakened. And perhaps, weak enough that if they ever just decided to give up...they would fade.

(Which brings up an interesting notion of Dionysus fearing them fading, because maybe that implies he thinks not all of them have the willpower to push through that...food for thought)

Kronos destroying Ares's arm rest is curious, since after the defeat of Typhon, we see the Olympian gods and nothing is out of the ordinary, even with Ares. So I'm guessing the arm rest getting cut off didn't exactly affect Ares, but if a larger piece of the throne or even the throne itself was sliced up? We'd have a different story.

I believe the source of the gods' power comes from a variety of places- mortal belief, their thrones, and belief in themselves. We see the latter occurring with Apollo in The Tower of Nero especially, where he's able to bring himself back into immortality on his own willpower, and I think we even see this happening with Hades and Poseidon, leaving their respected realms to come to the aid of Olympus and leaving behind their grudge (Hades) and ego (Poseidon) for the greater good.

This brings up an interesting idea, then. The Olympians have three main sources of power. But are they even aware of the third?

Because think about it. People, in series and out, have automatically assumed Helios and Selene faded because of a lack of mortal belief. But, that is not what happened, for they were still majorly worshipped- instead, it was a lack of faith in themselves. They lost their sense of self.

So I think the "power ranking" of these sources go as follows;

Belief in self

Mortal belief

Thrones

Mortal belief is often talked about, especially in ToA where Nero tells us mortals gave him a prolonged life and eventually immortality. He does not have a throne like the Olympians, though he does have a fasces, where his immortality is stored.

Could it be that the Olympian's immortality is stored in their thrones? Maybe. But remember, Nero is a wannabe god. There has to be drawbacks to that, and I bet the fasces was one of them. He has to contain his immortality in something, while the Olympians do not, because they are immortal. Full stop.

Now minor gods...this is a bit trickier, but I think minor gods have a power scaling of their own. The Olympians are on another level for godly power- they are The Squad so to speak.

How powerful minor gods are I think depends on their domain, as well as mortal belief/their own belief.

Hecate, for example, is probably exceptionally powerful for a minor goddess because of her position as the goddess of magic, the Mist, and crossroads among other things (did you know she has some influence over prophecy? ;3 she and Apollo were two sides of the same coin when it came to prophecy).

Iris is probably not as powerful as Hecate is, because, uh, rainbows aren't exactly powerful when it comes to magic XD

As for the Elder Olympians' power during the Titanomachy...that's also interesting to think about. Imo, I think their power grew over the time of the war, since they didn't really have the opportunity to fine-tune anything what with being in Kronos's stomach and all lol

Zeus probably got more practice in when he was young, but probably not as much when he became cupbearer. And I also think the symbols of power of the Big Three help channel their power- which now has a funny image because here are the guys learning how to focus their power with training wheels while the girls are just fucking around and finding out.

Demeter probably strangled a few people with her plants. Hera probably unleased a hoard of peacocks on someone. Hestia no doubt set a few things on fire.

lmao, that's funny to think about.

Anyway, finally got around to this one!!! :D

[spacesapphi]

HES Trio Headcanon Time! (HCs below the cut, this is a long one)

TW for mentions of bullying, death, parental death, car accident, drinking, and neglect

Elliot

- he's 30yrs old and 6'0, very lanky and tall and covered in freckles. His hair is curly too!

- HC for his voice has to be Raoul from Phantom of the Opera, just has that romantic voice that fits him so well

- his family is of Irish descent and his last name is Lillis, which he finds sounds VERY romantic!

- growing up he was so obsessed with classical literature that he would often pretend his life was a novel, narrating his daily life in his head

- LOVESSSS pride & prejudice, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Mis, he'll talk your ear off about them if you let him

- was unfortunately bullied a lot for his interests growing up, even at home. He tried not to let it dampen his spirit, but it was difficult. He channels a lot of that pain into his writing

- his parents never really respected his hobbies, and his brothers weren't that kind in general. Elliot often felt alone in his house, like he was a misunderstood outcast that didnt have anyone. One of his favorite book series as a kid was Anne of Green Gables, as he connected to her feeling out of place and different from everyone around her

- pretty much canon, but he's a lightweight. One drink and he's GONE. Hes gets silly and giggly when he's drunk too

- he's autistic (I feel like everyone in the HES trio is) and his special interest is around literature, specifically romance literature. Anytime he sees something notable happen in town, or a couple do anything he goes "Oh this is just like x character in x book!" And he'll infodump about the story to anyone who will listen (usually Leah or Penny)

- he gets along well with Penny and shes actually been his test reader and editor for many of his published pieces! He always puts her name in the "special thanks" section

- takes much pride in his appearance, especially his hair. Before the farmer arrived he was the one practically keeping Pierre in business for self care products because he REFUSED to go to Joja bc "Do you know how many CHEMICALS are in those things?!"

- maladaptive daydreamer for sure. He gets frustrated with the way he cant stop daydreaming, and how music always seems to intensify it. On one hand, it gives him ideas for his writing, on the other it makes it hard for him to interact with others. When he's home alone in his cabin, Finding him pacing around, listening to his favorite CDs and records is common

- his love language is sentimental gifts. They don't need to be elaborate or expensive grand gestures. If you mention loving a certain food he'll make it for you, he'll get you things in your favorite color just to make you smile. Hes a very sweet man!

- he has a beautiful laugh!

- wears dangly earrings all the time. He likes very sparkly ones with jewels, ones that make him feel like he's in a romantic period piece. He has a killer collection of them!

Harvey

- he's 35yrs old and 6'2, though you can't tell because he's often slouched over (bad habit, he knows. His back hurts all the time). He's a chubby guy too, which makes him feel self conscious, but he learns to love himself :)

- My HC for his voice is Simon Petrikov, specifically the way he speaks in Fiona and Cake, I cannot imagine it any differently LMAO

- Harveys family is of Italian descent and his last name is Russo!

- grew up with just his mom and grandpa. His mom was a doctor and his grandpa was a retired pilot who helped spark his love for flying. He died when Harvey was 12, leaving some model planes and that radio he keeps in his office to him with a note telling him to always reach for the skies.

- Harvey has a bit of a lisp, and spent a lot of time in speech therapy as a kid. Words with lots of "s" sounds are tricky for him

- he actively went through so much testing to be a pilot, but when he got to the actual flight test where he had to get into a plane he got so anxious he threw up and ran away

- he realized then and there that he couldnt do it, and it was a hard reality to face. A lot of crying, and a lot of struggling to accept his dream wasn't attainable. He felt like he was letting his grandpa down, but his mom promised he wasn't

- when he decided to go to medical school, he couldn't decide what his focus was going to be to save his life, he changed it constantly. It took about two years to land on primary care physician and even then he still kept researching other tracks. This would come in hand once he got to pelican town and became the only doctor

- often too exhausted to cook for himself, which is why he buys so much processed food. Shane gives him a lot of shit for it every time he sees him at JojaMart ("don't say SHIT to me at my next checkup if you're going to buy that")

- his eyesight is so bad. He can't see a foot in front of him without his glasses. He's also incredibly clumsy and falls and breaks them often (I mean where did you THINK all those broken glasses you were fishing up were from?)

- like Elliot, was a victim of bullying in school, especially highschool :( Nerdy guy with a plane interest that stuck to himself was unfortunately a prime target, and he found himself in a rough situation. It actually got so bad that he took a special test to be able to graduate early so he didn't have to deal with it anymore. He passed it in tenth grade, and put all his energy into studying to be a pilot until he was old enough to join courses for it

- his mom was his biggest advocate, and was regularly down at his school to yell at administration for letting the bullying get that bad. She loved her son more than anything and would do anything for him. She was the one to suggest testing out of school, not wanting him to go through all of that for years.

- hes still close with his mom, and they regularly call and write letters to each other to keep up. Since Harvey lives so far now, they mostly meet up on important days like birthdays, holidays, and to go visit his grandfather's grave every once in a while

Shane

- he's 30yrs old and 5'7, and he hates both of those facts. Being the shortest man in town and one of the oldest single ones is a bit of a blow to his self esteem. He's pretty bulky too, a combination of muscle from working on the ranch and as a stocker, and fat from drinking and diet

- I go back and forth on his voice HC constantly, but I like the common fan interp of him sounding kinda like Nick Miller from new girl, it fits too well

- Shane is Pennsylvania Dutch on his mothers side and his last name (along with Marnies) is Yoder!

- that being said he knows very little of the PA Dutch language, though Marnie speaks it fluently. He has a bit of an accent from growing up with her

- croc wearer, don't tell me otherwise. He has a few everyday pairs, a fur lined pair for when it gets cold, and what he calls his "formal Crocs" (literally just black Crocs with bowtie jibbits this man is so fucking corny). He has normal shoes too, like sneakers and boots for the winter and work, but nothing beats his Crocs

- Jas has tried to call him dad a few times, but it makes him sad. He doesn't feel good enough to deserve that title, and he feels like he'd be disrespecting his friends by trying to take it over.

- Was in the accident that killed her parents. They took him out to celebrate his 25th birthday, going to a Tunnelers game. They were hit by a reckless driver going far above the speed limit on the way back home, and he was the only one who made it. One moment Shane was having the time of his life with his best friends in the world, the next he's waking up in the hospital finding out they're gone. As a result, his birthday has become a bit of a sore subject, hence why he "was hoping he'd forget" anytime he gets a birthday gift

- his leg got really hurt in the accident, and though its healed, he still often needs compression braces to deal with chronic pain from it. Working at Joja and on the ranch aren't exactly low impact after all

- Marnie is his only bio family thats alive and on speaking terms with him. She practically raised him for the most part, with his dad gone and mother having passed when he was little. His mother was Mona, the same Mona from the cemetery. She was Marnies twin sister, and the photo in secret note 11 is her and baby shane.

- He and Emily were childhood bestfriends growing up, and dated in highschool. They realized after about a year that they just worked better as friends though, and remain besties to this day

- he's transgender he told me himself

- Marnie was also incredibly supportive of his transition and she's fiercely protective of him. He may technically be her nephew but she sees him more as a son and thus goes full mama bear when it comes to him

- even though he doesn't take great care of himself, he makes sure jas is well taken care of, especially after he starts recovery. His clothes may be threadbare and worn, and he may look like he hasn't slept in a year, but Jas will *always* have everything she could ever need... and want. Ngl he kinda spoils her a little, especially after he cuts back and can afford it more. He feels bad saying no to her given all that she's gone through. She has a doll collection that could make the most avid collectors jealous

- he makes sure he spends time with her too, taking days off for festivals because she wants him there, taking the day off for her birthday, and trying his best to be there for her. It's an upward struggle for him to get better so he can be there for her, but he's trying

- after Joja closes down, Marnie offers him a full time job at the ranch, including pay and board. He takes the offer IMMEDIATELY, and does an amazing job at it. She's certain she'll be leaving the ranch to him once she's retired

- if you want to get him to do anything, tell him him it involves chickens in some way. Chickens are his special interest for SURE. Chicken print socks, corny puns, joke tshirts, he has it all. He practically becomes the organizer of the Egg Festival yearly once he's started recovery, putting a crazy amount of work into it to make sure it goes well. Same with the Valley Fair's petting zoo. The amount of pride he gets talking about the animals to tourists is unmatched, and it's one of the few times Marnie gets to see him look as happy as he did before the accident. Those moments are fleeting, but everytime she can see that light in his eyes she feels like everything will be ok.

[choosingwhatmatters]

Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 1

My goodness, what a beautiful chocolate brownie of a first episode! There are already wonderful posts about the way in which the funds of the series have been put to good use. One aspect that has not been highlighted yet (please correct me if I'm wrong) is the music. And oh!, the music we get in this series.

My ears perked up from the very beginning of the show. We get an orchestral score! All the instruments of magic welcome us at the palace: strings, a harp, a glockenspiel, woodwinds, bar chimes, a piano - I was smiling within seconds.

Tv shows very rarely receive a score like this because arranging, recording and mixing music for twenty different instruments is time-consuming and complex, by which I mean expensive. One trick you can use to lower the costs is using synthesised instruments. The strings we can hear are not real. However, a brilliant thing the scoring team does here is mix in real instruments. For example, we can hear real flutes, if I am not mistaken. Some cello and violin pieces throughout the episode have also been recorded with real instruments. For me, the whole soundscape is simply beautiful!

What about the music itself? There are three things I would like to talk about: the pentatonic scale, Pachelbel and a melody that I hope will become one of Pin and Anin's.

1. The very first thing we hear when Anin has landed on Pin is a melody comprised of five different notes. For Western ears, these fives notes are inevitably associated with music from South-East Asia. The scale resulting from these notes is called a pentatonic scale, and if you ever feel like playing it: look for the black keys on any piano keyboard and go wild. The cool thing about the pentatonic scale is that it's fantastic for improvising. In Western music, it's used all the time because these notes simply sound good together.

We have a lot of ambient music in this episode. Music that blends with the peaceful atmosphere onscreen, and often the pentatonic scale is used to do just that.

2. Which brings me to another piece of music I want to talk about: Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D major. It's the first and the last piece played at the dance. While the king discusses Anin's future with the rest of the family, we can see Pin and Anin dancing to this piece. I find this significant because most music scholars believe that Pachelbel composed the Canon as wedding music (for Bach's brother, no less).

I haven't read the book the series is based on. I have avoided spoilers as best as I could. Logically, I KNOW that it is very unlikely that we get a happy ending here. But I get to see two women in a historical setting dancing to a wedding piece and this fact alone makes me very, very happy.

3. Off to my last point. Even though most of the episode features music, I have noticed very little repetition. There is, however, one piece of music that comes back.

We can hear it when Pin and Anin have their first meeting, and again when Anin discovers her windmill and her ribbon in Pin's bedroom. (What do you call those tiny windmills? And, more importantly, what is it with these two and tiny windmills? Thank you, creators, for the nod to your GAP fandom.)

The piece sounds somewhat like this:

The harmonies are more intricate, but this gives us an idea what we can listen out for in future episodes. The melody is simple and sweet. It could be connected to childhood and adolescence. I'm curious to see if we encounter it again.

And I'm very excited to see whether the score team continues with motives and reprises. I love straining my ears for these because they give us even more clues about the happenings onscreen.

Thank you for riding along with me! I am so excited to see what the show has in store for us!

[fountainpenguin]

Short Version: I don't even know how to begin explaining this, so take these 'fic doodles with no context.

Wish Fixers, my chronically unhelpful beloved...

Long Version (City Lights AU #ridspoilers beyond the above implication. Mentions of death and trauma; it gets pretty dark)

Nalooksthrough, I tag you below because I cited your co-dependent toxic friendship comic and said it was cool- If you don't want to click, that's all the tag was :)

So I started outlining my Dale backstory 'fic (Lemonade and Papercuts) since I am the most predictable person alive and of COURSE I can't resist 7 years of trauma and intimacy anxiety <3. But planning a 'fic like this requires many pieces and many questions.

First and most obvious- How did Vicky lure in Dale? From previous planning, I've already decided that since they're the same age (maybe one year off), they probably knew each other in school or activities.

Ex: Squirrely Scouts & Cream Puffs... Not unreasonable- Throughout the series, many kids participate and the organizations seem to have a big following in Dimmsdale. Vicky's sister Tootie is in the Cream Puffs and Vicky is seen bossing them around in the Season 0 episode "Scout's Honor" ("Oh Yeah! Cartoons"). There's a comic by the same name depicting Remy in Squirrely Scouts (after "Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary" but before he gets his memories back in "Remy Rides Again" and I always thought it was cute). I mean, look at him:

Pictures courtesy of the FOP Wiki

It's not unreasonable that Dale - who's also rich - might've gotten into that (especially since Doug is big on the cowboy theming and of all the rich parents, he's probably the one most okay with his son playing in dirt). Something scout-related could be an option even if Dale and Vicky went to different schools.

A friendship that gets increasingly toxic until it spirals into full-on abuse sounds really interesting (and @nalooksthrough portrayed this idea beautifully imo in THIS comic I can't stop thinking about).

Sounds fun to write, so let's go with that. What's next?

Hey, remember when 7 years ago, I headcanon'd H.P. as Dale's godfather because of this doodle in Da Rules that specifically refers to Pixie godparents and depicts a fluffy-haired kid in a purple shirt?

I recently found out I still had Dale listed as a godchild of H.P. on his full character profile on my fanfic sideblog. I was waffling over whether to retcon that (since I hadn't yet done anything with it), but I started brainstorming whether I COULD do anything with it.

I've always written Wish Fixers in 'fic [e.g. Origin of the Pixies] as a therapy business run by H.P.'s dad (which H.P. bought off him out of spite despite not being licensed for therapy) but, like...

Does Jorgen know H.P. isn't licensed? I can't see why he would... As far as he knows, H.P. owns and runs the place- especially given my lore that Wish Fixers has been in his family for many generations. Sounds qualified to me!

In "School's Out! The Musical" (episode that Da Rules screenshot is from), we learn Pixies are at the back of the line for godparent work, even under creatures like unicorns (Hence the Musical's plot requiring them to remove magical creatures from earth before they could assign themselves to Flappy Bob).

I said in a recent liveblog post that I'd always imagined this was a punishment given to them due to H.P. absolutely failing as godfather to Dale- Thus, the origin of the doodle on the page for that rule. But... I never decided what happened.

See, Dale SEEMS like a guy who would qualify for a fairy. He was probably pretty miserable under Vicky's 7 years of torture and he's still holding onto that trauma in his adulthood.

DID he have a fairy?

I'm just saying, we know from S4's "Wish Fixers" that H.P. is legally(?) allowed to make contracts that swap a fairy godparent with a pixie one if godkids choose to sign of their own free will... Hmm... I'm connecting dots I don't think I like... (I am lying).

I mean?? Dale clearly did not get out of the pit due to magical interference. If I'm committing to the doodle being Dale and reflecting an actual godfather-godson dynamic between him and H.P., then something sure went wrong there. I can't NOT make Dale suffer...

What on earth could've made Dale sign a contract for something a fairy couldn't give him? We know from "Nectar of the Odds" canon that he wished to see his dad, and thanks to previous liveblogs, I DO already have a headcanon of Dale being extremely desperate for his dad's love... Hmm... I can work with that.

I went down a rabbit hole trying to answer the question of how Vicky secured lemons for 7 years for Dale (and other kids) to work with. Here are some lemon tree facts:

- Lemon trees bear fruit after only a few years - They can bear fruit multiple times a year (depending on variety) - A single lemon tree can produce 1,500 lemons in one growing season - Dimmsdale is in California - a state known for lemon orchards.

That feels likely... An orchard of even a few trees can keep you going for a while.

But lemonade doesn't sell for much compared to other things Vicky could've set a kidnapped child up to do (Ex: In "Microphony," she has kids doing a bunch of other tasks like answering phones for her babysitting service, painting houses, and washing cars).

So... WHY lemonade? What is going on that makes this the thing Vicky has Dale do for 7 years?

And who owns the orchard? I need Vicky to obtain lemons without being stopped for 7 years.

Is it a Dimmadome orchard? Maybe, but several episodes imply Vicky's not familiar with the Dimmadomes - and she probably would have turned Dale in for cash reward if given the chance - so those are two things I need to keep in mind.

Does the orchard belong to her family? That's a possibility- Vicky is shown drinking lemonade after "Nectar of the Odds." She definitely could've bought it - It can't be too expensive unless prices were jacked up after she lost her cheap labor - but it's a drink she's seen with in multiple episodes. She definitely likes it.

And we know from "Timmy's 2D House of Horror" that Vicky's parents are terrified of her. It's not likely they'd stop her from taking lemons from the family orchard.

One problem... If Dale goes missing when he's about 9 (Closer to 7 or 8 in my planned timeline), Vicky is also 9 or younger. Are her parents scared of her when she's that small and inexperienced in the ways of the world?

In "The Switch Glitch," she's 5 and seems mild and sweet until 10-year-old Timmy mistreats her- She clearly didn't have memories of Timmy, implying she totally regressed to how she acted when she really was 5. Worth pointing out she goes off the deep end and chains up Cosmo and Wanda, so... she IS mean even at age 5. But also, she's 5. She wears the same purple hair bow in "Switch Glitch" (at 5) that she does when Timmy drains the meanness out of her in "Vicky Loses Her Icky," which is interesting.

So that begs the question... Can I turn my Dale backstory 'fic into a double story of Dale abuse AND Vicky going from a pretty innocent child to Totally Messed Up? Keeping in mind that according to Vicky in A New Wish, Vicky IS the one responsible for abusing him and he "spent 7 years' worth of Saturdays in a factory underneath a lemonade stand."

If that's the way I want to play it... Something happened to send Dale and Vicky down the dual victim-and-abuser path, destinies intertwined. And for some reason, Vicky stuck with the lemonade theme.

Dale just says he spent his Saturdays "in a factory underneath a lemonade stand." It's not out of the question he and Vicky made more lemon products than just lemonade, especially given Vicky's love for money (and those 600 lbs of lemons one tree can produce in a year). We can assume they changed locations a few times or someone would've found the trapdoor on Timmy's lawn. Plus when Dale started his abuse, Vicky hadn't started babysitting Timmy, whom she only met when he was 8.

So, I've set Dale up to be lured in by Vicky because they were friends. I like the idea of things gradually getting worse as Vicky slowly morphs from a friend into a very cruel person. If Vicky was bullying him, what stopped him from just... leaving?

Vicky's transformation was probably subtle if he stayed for so long..... I also pointed out in a recent post that Doug's underground milk empire where he uses hypnotized people for labor bears a striking amount of similarities with Vicky's lemonade stand, even down to the general vibes of "trapdoor entrance" (although it's implied there's another entrance in small building).

And if we want to be technical about things... We don't know if Doug and Dale pressed charges against Vicky. She clearly continues to babysit Timmy and other kids after "Nectar of the Odds" (Season 2).

In Season 4 ("Channel Chasers"), Doug remarks that Timmy's parents should've guessed Vicky was evil because of the Chip Skylark song "Icky Vicky," but he doesn't mention Vicky kidnapping his son. That's.... sus. He even offers to buy a car from her in Season 3's "Engine Blocked" (after Dale's escape).

Why would such a powerful guy let all of that slide? Did they just not have enough proof? Did Vicky wipe the place clean? Did Dale "not want to make a big deal about it" because he was so exhausted and grateful, he just didn't want to think about it or struggle with the legal system? Was he covering for her?? Was he scared to speak up?

... Did Dale not tell his dad the whole truth about where he was?

What if Dale was - in some vague and early concept way - in on the lemonade scheme from the beginning, back when he and Vicky were friends and she wasn't so cruel? Maybe she turned on him and sentenced him to the pit before long?

Why the underground-ness of it? Why the lemonade, which probably doesn't turn much profit... as lemonade. Unless you have unrestrained access to tons of lemons that you can turn into multiple products - Dale DID call it a factory - and no one is stopping you from accessing them...

... but how do you set up a situation where kids have access to a whole lemon orchard - presumably carefully maintained - and the adults don't take it away from them (Because... surely they would've found Dale and multiple other kids if they strayed close).

And Dale didn't leave. He does in "Nectar of the Odds" - apparently of his own volition - but not before. Was he kept there mentally as well as physically?

We KNOW Vicky can't be monitoring him 24/7 because "Nectar of the Odds" is the only episode depicting her paying attention to him, while others show her doing many other things in many other places (though it's worth noting Dale says in that episode that "Vicky's kept him locked up for so long").

Did he stay so long because it was the perceived better fate up until he miraculously crossed paths with his dad (via fairy magic) and took the risk? Would he have gone back in?

Maybe it wasn't supposed to get this out of hand. Dale and Vicky were young when this started... Somewhere between 7 and 9 (given that Dale was kept there for 7 years and Vicky is 16 when he escaped and he tells 9-year-old Dev this happened when he was Dev's age).

Maybe there was an accident. Something not just Vicky, but even Dale felt the need to cover up, especially in regards to the orchard and the fact that it needs to be Vicky's consistent source of lemons (and not something she lost out on before Dale's escape... an illusion of ownership maintained. Kids can't own the orchard, but what if they fooled people into believing it wasn't owned by kids?)

Hmm... some kind of accident that got two mostly innocent kids into huge trouble, thus setting up a horribly intertwined fate where if one of these toxic co-dependent friends backs out and squeals, even the squealer might suffer worse compared to trucking along on the cruel existing path.

tl;dr - if Vicky and Dale accidentally killed the orchard owner but they were kids and terrified to tell an adult lest they go to jail for life so they hid the body in the basement (or like ?? threw it to the coyotes or hyenas that inexplicably lurk on the fringes of Dimmsdale??) and are trying desperately to wipe their hands of this by pretending the lemon orchard is still operational so no one investigates until they can figure out a plan, and then Vicky hardens herself as a trauma response and manipulates Dale into believing it was solely his fault and she'll pin him with murder charges if he gets cold feet and turns her in, and he's miserable and gets a fairy (then loses his fairy via Pixie contract through Wish Fixers, presumably in an attempt to negotiate a way to protect himself from Vicky and somehow not gaining the ire of his father) and then H.P. (lawyer and unlicensed yet de facto therapist pulled two ways) is suddenly Dale's godfather and trying to comprehend what the flip is going on between misery and manslaughter while he's also juggling Gary, Betty, and Flappy Bob at the same time in preparation for the Musical because we know he spent 37 years on that plan...

... Would that be one messed-up yet hyperspecifically canon-compliant 'fic or what?

These thoughts have been haunting me all weekend and I HAD to get my "I'm not that kind of lawyer or therapist" joke out of my system, so there's your context. #Sorry. Is this the direction the actual 'fic will go? ... It's not the direction I really had in mind, but ?? It's off the wall and therefore I must shake it in my teeth. I can't not write Dale backstory this horrific. what. hey.