#but if im right I want the world to know i predicted it

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, still quite angsty (sry), strong language.

Notes — Lots of plot, we're closing out the 2019 year in this one! Not much Lando in this one (Im still mad at him). This gets crazy. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

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

2019

Two weeks after Spa, Amelia stood outside her dad’s office at the MTC with a manila file in her hands and the taste of copper in her mouth.

The door was open, but she still knocked.

Zak looked up, startled, like he wasn’t used to seeing her there anymore — and maybe he wasn’t. She’d stayed away from the MTC for the past few weeks.

“Hey,” he said, getting up too quickly. “You want to come in?”

She stepped inside, cringing when her new trainers squeaked against the floor. Her arms were stiff from holding the file too tight. “Brought you something,” she said, and handed it over. No eye contact. She stared at a plaque on his shelf instead — a dusty one from 2007, still etched with a podium that felt like another lifetime.

Zak took the file and sat back down behind his desk. “You put this together?”

She nodded once. “It’s just data. Analysis. Trends.”

He opened the folder and started flipping through, slower than she wanted, be he was a much slower reader than she was. Pages of her notes, charts, predictive modelling, comparative pace metrics, aero versus power unit deltas from the season so far. Even some basic projections based on engine supplier performance curves over the last six years.

He hesitated, eyes scanning the pages. “What is this, Amelia?”

“McLaren’s had a better season,” she said, not bothering to hide the way her nose scrunched. “You’ll probably finish fourth in the Constructors’. Best of the rest. Everyone is going to be very happy.”

He looked up at her, sensing the ‘but’ before she even said it.

“I am not,” she said. “I don’t think we should be happy with fourth. I think we should be aiming for much higher.”

Zak leaned back slightly in his chair, file still open in front of him. “Amelia…”

“I think we should drop Renault after next season,” she said, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s a big swing.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” she said, a little sharper now. “Reliability. Raw power. Upgrade cycles. Driver feedback. Even manufacturer investment in long-term hybrid development. Renault is… not consistent, and they’re not progressing fast enough. Mercedes is more efficient, more stable, more scalable. If we want consistent podiums, a chance at race wins, then we need to align with a manufacturer that knows how to win. Not just how to score points.”

Zak sat back again, slower this time, like the weight of the idea was physically pressing into him. He tapped the edge of the file absently with his fingers.

“You know how much this would rock the boat, right?” he said. “We’ve spent years building this partnership. Renault’s got skin in the game. Contracts. Commitments. There’ll be consequences if we walk away.”

“I know,” she said. “But you always said we should act like a front-running team, even when we weren’t. So act like one. Make a decision like one.”

Zak was quiet. Still.

“I started working on this after Hockenheim,” she added, voice lower now. “I just… didn’t show anyone.”

He closed the file. “This isn’t a light suggestion, Amelia.” He sighed. 

“I know,” she said again. “But I think it’s the right one.”

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked at her; really looked at her.

She was calmer than she’d been the last time they’d spoken. Still paler than usual, still guarded, but steadier somehow. Like something had hardened and solidified inside her in the silence of the past few weeks.

“I’ll take it to the board,” he said finally. “Quietly. Just to test the water. No promises.”

“Okay,” she said.

There was a beat. She stared at the paperweight on his desk, the one she’d bought him for Father’s Day when she was thirteen.

“I just want us to stop being afraid of wanting more,” she added, softer now. “That’s all.”

Zak didn’t respond right away.

And as she turned to go, hand already on the doorframe, he couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t just do this for him, did you?”

She paused. “No,” she said. “I did it for the team. I did it for you.”

She walked out. 

— 

The press release dropped on a Thursday.

A neatly timed, efficiently worded, professionally curated announcement: McLaren Racing to become Mercedes-AMG Powertrain customer team from 2021 onwards.

Quotes from her dad. From Toto. From Andreas.

A photo of a handshake she wasn’t in.

No mention of the folder. No mention of the analysis. No mention of her. 

Of course there wasn’t. She hadn’t expected it.

Not really.

And yet she sat at her desk, surrounded by pages and pages of sketches of cooling architecture redesigns, and felt… strange.

Not angry. Not exactly.

Not proud either.

Mostly just quiet.

She clicked out of the article. Closed her browser. Opened a new tab, then immediately forgot why.

When she'd handed her dad the folder two weeks ago, it hadn’t even been about recognition. She hadn’t cared about credit. She’d just wanted them to be better. To try harder. To take a worthwhile risk. 

And when he’d said, I’ll take it to the board, she’d believed him.

She just didn’t think that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t spoken to her about it since. No follow-up. No texts. No update. No “you were right.” Not even a half-hearted thank-you over dinner or a passing “good job” in the hallway.

The decision had come. And it had come without her.

Which made sense. She wasn’t a department head. She wasn’t on the executive team. She didn’t even have an official job title.

She wasn’t owed anything.

But still… still, she sat there with her heart lodged high in her throat and her fingernails digging crescents into the seam of her jeans, wondering why she suddenly felt like a ghost.

Why it felt like this was supposed to mean something.

And why it hurt so much to realise that her dad was okay with taking her work, her time, her thinking, the thing she’d built, and not giving her even a whisper of recognition.

Because he was used to it.

Used to her just handing things over for free.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t the only one.

She’d been doing this for years, hadn’t she? Offering up all the sharpest pieces of herself like they were scraps. Little theories, little fixes, the way she could spot patterns no one else could, pick through race data like thread. Suggestions left on the kitchen counter, ideas floated during test weekends, whispers passed to engineers when no one else was listening. Quiet contributions, all of them. Invisible fingerprints.

She’d given it away. All of it. Every clever thought, every hard-earned observation; just laid it down, like it didn’t belong to her in the first place.

And now someone else got the credit. Again. And she wasn’t even surprised.

She was just tired. And quietly furious.

— 

The house smelled like woodsmoke and dog shampoo. Roscoe was already halfway into Amelia’s lap, snoring, his head heavy against her stomach as Lewis slid a mug of tea across the coffee table.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her. “He’ll try and sleep there all day.”

“I won’t complain about that,” she murmured, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. He was a big dog, solid and heavy. He felt a bit like her weighted blanket. Anchoring. 

Outside the windows, snow clung to the corners of Lewis’ sprawling. Quiet. Still. The way winter was meant to be. Amelia pulled her sleeves down over her hands and stared at the steaming mug.

Lewis leaned back, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You keeping up with the silly season chaos this year?”

“As always.” She nodded. 

“Gasly back to AlphaTauri, Hulkenberg out, Ocon sliding into Renault. There will be a bit of a bloodbath next year.” He said. 

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere.

Lewis gave her a second longer before asking, “What about Lando? You two—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lando,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes stayed on Roscoe’s fur.

Lewis didn’t press. He just leaned forward, brows faintly furrowed. “Right. Okay.” 

They let the silence settle again. Roscoe shifted in his sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing something through a dream. Then, quietly, Amelia spoke. “The Mercedes-McLaren deal,” she said, voice low. “That was mine.”

Lewis blinked, gave himself a second to repeat her words in his head, and then said. “What?”

“McLaren dropping Renault, becoming a Mercedes customer team.” She rubbed a thumb over Roscoe’s collar. “I ran all the projections. Power unit deltas, reliability, development pace, all of it. I put together the entire case. Handed it to my dad in a file. And two weeks later, they made the announcement.”

Lewis stared at her. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, swallowing. “No one said anything. Not to me. And I wasn’t… part of the meeting, or the rollout. He never even followed up. I just saw it in the press release like everyone else.” Her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “And I know I don’t work for McLaren. But I thought; I thought maybe it would mean something.” 

Lewis’s jaw twitched and his eyes looked darker than they usually did. “Amelia. That… that’s a big deal, you know that? That was your intellectual property.” 

“I know.” She hugged her arms tight around herself. “It just… it feels wrong to be angry. Like I should’ve known better. Like it’s my fault for not asking for anything in return. For just giving it away.”

“That’s not on you,” Lewis said, voice hardening. “That’s on him. Your dad. And on the team. They’ve taken advantage of you. You should get credit. You should get a bloody job offer and a signing bonus. Not… whatever the fuck this is.” 

She sniffed. “I don’t have a degree.”

Lewis scoffed. “So what? Since when does a piece of paper mean more than years of proven genius?”

That made her pause.

“You are one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in this sport,” he said. “And I’ve been in it a long time. You see things before they happen. You think ahead of the curve. That’s what teams dream of having. And if McLaren can’t see that, if your own dad can’t see that, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because he doesn’t know how to recognise it in you.”

She nodded. She already knew exactly what the problem was. “He doesn’t know how to see me as anything but his daughter.”

“Toto does,” Lewis said. “And that offer is still on the table, by the way.” 

Amelia looked away, cheeks flushing. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that you’ve got options,” Lewis said, softer now. “Real ones. And you don’t have to keep waiting around for your dad to finally recognise your potential.” 

She didn’t answer, but her hands were steady on Roscoe’s back now. And when she finally did glance at him, there was something a little sharp in her chest. Something that felt a lot like clarity.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2019 F1 Grid

Lewis H. @Lando You are an absolute prick.

Sebastian V. Good morning to you too?

Daniel R. Shit. What’d he do this time?

Charles L. Ah, this does not seem good.

Lando N. what the fuck did i do

Lewis H. You ghosted her. Like a child.

Carlos S. What??????????

George R. Wait are you serious?

Lewis H. Dead serious.

Lando N. oh my god can you not it’s literally none of your business ok

Max V. You’re an idiot, Norris.

Pierre G. Landooooo bro.

Alex A. Yeah nah that’s rough. You ghosted her? I actually thought you liked her, man.

Daniel R. She was so nice. Bet she feels like shit now.

Sebastian V. Is she okay? @Lewis

Lewis H. She’s fine. Too good for him anyway.

George R. I can’t believe this. Didn’t he literally write his racing number on her shoes? Or was that a fever dream??

Max V. @George He did. He’s just a right dickhead.

Carlos S. 😐 Told you not to screw it up, @Lando

Lando N. ok fucksake i get it You can all stop now i already feel like a piece of shit

Charles L. Why would you ghost her when she is so pretty and smart? I do not understand.

Daniel R. He’s still a kid. Dumb as hell. He’ll regret it in a few months, trust me.

Lewis H. He should be regretting it already.

Max V. Extremely dumb move. I wouldn’t have ghosted her and I’m famously difficult.

Sebastian V. Maybe I will set her up with my younger brother. He’s very clever. And rich.

George R. Is it weird if I throw my uncle’s name in the hat? He’s only 24. Really lovely guy.

Carlos S. My cousin Carlo is already in love. He will be thrilled to know she’s single.

Lando N. fuck off i get it I’m the villain Jesus christ can we drop it now

Daniel R. Glad you’re finally on the same page, mate!

Alex A. You could’ve just talked to her. Didn’t need to ghost her. That was cold, man.

Kimi R. 👍

— 

Interlagos was hot and loud and humming with tension, and Amelia made sure to stay pressed to the edges of it; a shadow against the garage walls, an expressionless face hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

It was her first time at any track since before Belgium. Her first time being in the same place as Lando since he’d decided that she was not worth knowing. And she was careful. Careful to keep to service corridors and briefing rooms, careful not to risk running into him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked did. 

Nothing, probably. He would just ignore her, like he had been for two months. 

She had just slipped away from the hospitality bar, iced-coffee in hand, when a voice called out to her from the outside deck; warm, accented.

“Chica! Are you too busy to stop and talk with a very ignorant old man?”

She turned and found Carlos Sainz Sr. waving her over, a bottle of water in one hand and a wary smile on his sun-worn face.

“I was just—” she started, but he was already rising from his seat, gesturing for her to come join him. 

“Come, come. Sit. I have good seats here.”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded and climbed the short steps up to the guest viewing area. The chaos of pit lane sprawled out below. Mechanics scrambled. Tyres stacked like soldiers. Race engines sang in the background, vicious and alive.

“Gracias,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.

He nodded, then stared at her for a long, quiet second. “I wanted to say,” he said, his English thick with Madrid roots, but kind. “I think that… earlier in the year, I judged you too quickly.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed and nodded. “I assumed that you were just a pretty girl in the paddock.” He said. “And you see, my son has a terrible habit of becoming fixated on pretty things. But I realise now that I was wrong. You were there to, eh, help. To fix.” He sounded worn, like he’d had to work hard to say that out loud. 

She shrugged, staring out at the grandstands. They were full. “I was upset about it, I think. But it was not a big deal.”

“It was,” Carlos said, serious now. “It was a very big deal. My son made that clear to me. You are very clever. A real asset to the McLaren team.” He told her, firm and steady. 

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Just gave him a tight, (hopefully) polite smile and turned her eyes to the pit-lane as the cars peeled out of the garage to line up on the grid.

The race was long, and she stayed on the balcony throughout it all. Heat shimmered off the asphalt. Pit strategies flexed and fractured as the laps ticked down, and through it all, Amelia sat with her hands still in her lap, her mind sharper than the TV graphics overhead.

And when Carlos Sainz, the younger one, made it to third after a messy, brilliant final few laps, when the checkered flag waved and the paddock exploded into cheers and disbelief, she turned to his father and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time all day.

“Felicidades,” she said, voice soft but real. “That was very well done.”

Carlos Sr. beamed, pride etched into every line of his face. He stood up quickly, hurrying down to find his son and the rest of the team.

Amelia stayed.

The viewing deck emptied fast. Celebration echoed below. But she just slipped back into the motorhome, past the catering crew and out of the line of sight, into a quiet alcove near the storage lockers where no one would think to look for her.

She sat down on the floor, pressed her back against the cool wall, and closed her eyes.

She was proud. Of Carlos. Of the car she had helped make faster. Of the whisper of her fingerprints across the strategy that had put him on the podium.

But the truth still sat heavy on her ribs; that it had all happened without her. That even here, even now, she felt like a ghost.

— 

The paddock at night after a race was one of her favourite places in the world. Empty water bottles clattered in the wind, discarded tyre blankets lay forgotten in corners, and the once-buzzing garages now hummed low and tired beneath the fluorescent lights. Amelia walked slowly, hands in her pockets, trainers scuffing against the tarmac, the cool Brazilian evening pulling the heat from her skin.

She passed the Mercedes motorhome, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim light. Through the tinted glass, she caught a glimpse of Toto Wolff, head bent in conversation with one of his engineers. Calm. Assured. In control.

She didn’t stop walking, but something in her twisted. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet ache of uncertainty.

Red Bull had been circling for a while. Quiet at first; emails she half-dismissed, a few engineers asking her strangely specific questions, casual feelers through people she didn’t realise even knew her name. Then Christian on Dutch TV, mentioning her potential. Helmut at COTA, watching her from the edge of the pit wall like a cowboy evaluating livestock. And Adrian Newey, who bypassed all of them and emailed her directly in early November. Short. Direct. Complimentary in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

She hadn’t told her dad. Not yet.

Nothing was official, anyway.

“Brown,” came a voice behind her.

She turned, blinking as Max strode over from the Red Bull suite. His jacket was unzipped, and he still reeked faintly of champagne. Hair a bit damp. Grin lazy.

“Christian asked me to make sure you knew where to go,” he said, lifting his brows. “You’ve got ten minutes before Jos starts vibrating.”

She pulled a face. “Is everyone going to be there? Like… your dad is going to be there?”

“Obviously. It’s Red Bull. We are very theatric,” he said, deadpan. “Zusje, you are the most in-demand person in Formula 1 right now, of course everybody wants to be in the room when we finally win the battle for your brain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. Zusje. I don’t know what it means.”

“Little sister,” he said, Dutch accent thick, shrugging as he fell into step beside her. “It suits you. You talk just as much as I do, and you are equally annoying as me. We will give Christian many headaches, I think.”

“I always carry ibuprofen in my handbag.” She tried to joke, but it came out flat. 

Max looked at her for a moment, but then he grinned, so she imagined he must have thought her joke was funny. At least somewhat. “Adrian’s been trying to steal you since Canada.” He told her. 

She sighed. “That explains the espresso machine he sent to me during the summer break. I was very confused.”

He gave her a look. “You kept it?” He asked curiously. 

She nodded. “It is a good machine. Expensive.”

“Of course it was. It’s Adrian.” Max shrugged. 

They stopped a few feet from the Red Bull motorhome, which buzzed under the night lights like it was wired into a different voltage. Something kinetic hung in the air; possibility, maybe. Restlessness. Momentum.

She stared. “This feels like betrayal.”

Max rolled his eyes. “It is not betrayal.”

He nudged her shoulder. She recoiled, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, quieter, he said. “You’ve outgrown the shadows, zusje. It is not your fault that your dad doesn’t know what to do with you. But we do. Adrian does. Christian definitely does. You belong somewhere that doesn’t try to keep you small.” 

She started to chew on her bottom lip anxiously, “Do you really think that I am worth all of this?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’re going to make me a world champion, Amelia Brown.”

— 

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed beneath the Abu Dhabi sun, all smooth marble floors and overly modern hospitality suites. It felt more like a luxury mall than a racetrack, but Amelia liked it. Everything was polished, controlled. 

She slipped through the back corridors of the McLaren unit with practiced ease, unnoticed as usual. It was early, quiet, the calm before the chaos of FP1.

In Carlos’s driver room, she placed a neatly bound packet on the table beneath the television. His telemetry from the entire season, annotated and colour-coded: green for improvements, yellow for repeat tendencies, red for danger zones. She’d included braking inconsistencies, corner exit deltas, and fuel load trends, with suggestions tailored to the 2020 chassis.

He’d get it. He always did. Carlos read data like scripture.

In Lando’s room, she left the same. A different binder. Different tendencies. More throttle hesitation in traffic, sharper degradation when chasing, lapses in tire preservation across high-deg circuits. A note in the front, written in her smallest, sharpest handwriting.

You are an asshole. You are also better than your instincts. Learn the difference between fast and frantic. Good luck.

She didn’t linger. She didn’t need to. No one would know she’d been there except the two of them, and even then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d done it. Helped them. One last time.

She turned down the corridor toward the exit, and almost walked straight into a man who was standing too stiffly in her path.

He was older, expensively dressed, with the familiar face of someone she’d seen on enough pit walls to know he didn’t belong there out of curiosity. Adam Norris. 

He looked her up and down, his voice clipped. “Ah. Amelia, is it?”

“That’s right.” She muttered. 

“I suppose we haven’t met.” He said. 

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He hesitated. A beat passed. Two.

“I’ve… heard you’re very capable,” he said finally. “Talented. Bright.” He said it like he didn’t really believe it. 

She tilted her head. Frowned at him. “Did you tell Lando to stay away from me?”

He flinched, just barely. “I advised him to focus on his career.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t a happy smile. “You should teach your son better manners.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped around him, slow, deliberate, and kept walking. Past the orange panels, past the McLaren logo, past the team she’d poured her entire self into. 

By the time the sun dipped below the grandstands and the lights came on for the weekend's final showdown, she was long gone from the paddock. A flight booked for her under a new team name. A seat at a new table. A blank page waiting for her red inked scrawl.

Red Bull knew she was coming.

They just didn’t know what she was prepared to become.

— 

The Browns’ living room was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and whatever Christmas candle Tracy had been obsessed with that week. The fireplace crackled softly, fairy lights twinkled around the windows, and somewhere in the background, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning something vintage and sentimental.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching as her dad unwrapped a book about American muscle cars from the 1960s. He grinned like a kid, holding it up for Tracy to see.

“This is great,” Zak said. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

“I know,” Tracy said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before returning to her place at the table with a glass of wine. “I listen, you know. I’m a good wife.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She hadn’t said much all day. She’d made breakfast. Helped put the chicken in the oven. Unwrapped the gifts they handed her; socks, a new set of sketching pencils, a silver pen engraved with her initials, and said thank you each time. But the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, not even when her mother handed her a plate stacked high with garlicky roast potatoes. 

Zak was still talking, flipping through the book, animated now. “I’ve got such a good feeling about next season,” he said, his eyes bright. “The team’s in a good place. Carlos is dialled in, Lando’s matured a lot. And the Mercedes power unit; I know we’re still with Renault this year, but it’ll be a game-changer for us in twenty-one. Might be the year we really start bothering the top three again.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Her fork hovered above her plate, untouched. She glanced down at her food. It was getting cold. Her stomach turned.

Across the table, Tracy watched her. Her gaze was soft but sharp, a mother’s intuition in full force.

“Everything okay, Amelia?” She asked gently.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah,” she said, quickly. “Just tired. Long few months.”

Tracy didn’t push, but Amelia could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Her phone buzzed once, facedown on the table beside her glass of water. She flipped it over, half expecting a message from Carlos, or worse, from her dad, who had a terrible habit of sending her random articles from F1Tech like she wasn’t sitting five feet away.

But it wasn’t Carlos.

iMessage — 17:02pm

Vrolijk Kerstfeest,

Can’t wait for you to build my championship-winning car. – M.V. 

She exhaled, barely more than a breath. The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, not really, but the closest she’d come to one all day. She tapped her fingers against the table, hiding the message beneath her palm.

Of all the gifts she’d been given that morning — the socks, the pen, the awkward hug from her dad that still smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline — this was the only one that made her feel something. Recognition.

She glanced at her dad, still rambling about wind tunnel simulations and team morale like the world hadn’t shifted beneath their feet. Then she looked back down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t know when she would.

Maybe she wouldn’t at all.

Maybe she’d take a page out of his book. 

— 

“Red Bull Racing Hire Amelia Brown as Technical Design Intern, Working Under Adrian Newey”

— Motorsport.com

Red Bull Racing Announces Amelia Brown as New Technical Design Intern “Mini Newey” Joins Office of the CTO Ahead of 2020 F1 Season

Red Bull Racing has officially confirmed the addition of Amelia Brown to its technical department, naming her as a Technical Design Intern working directly under Chief Technical Officer Adrian Newey.

Brown, 19, has quietly gained a reputation in Formula 1 circles for her analytical precision and instinctive approach to problem-solving. Though never officially affiliated with a team, her behind-the-scenes contributions have turned heads up and down the paddock — especially within the aerodynamic development community.

“She’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve come across in years,” said Newey in a brief statement. “She has an innate understanding of car behaviour, balance, and airflow mapping that’s rare at any level of engineering, let alone someone so early in their career.”

While her appointment as an “intern” may sound modest, Red Bull insiders are already referring to Brown as “Mini Newey,” a nod to the technical savant under whom she will be working and a reflection of the high expectations within the team.

Team Principal Christian Horner added, “We’ve always prided ourselves on fostering talent, and Amelia represents the next generation of creative engineering thought. Her insight, even during early informal conversations, has already helped shape some of our thinking going into 2020.”

When asked about her appointment, Brown declined to comment directly, but sources inside the team say she will be working across simulation, aero development, and design review cycles throughout the season.

“She’s not here to make coffee,” said Gianpiero Lambiase, Verstappen's race engineer. “She’s here to change the game.”

Red Bull Racing’s 2020 challenger is set to be unveiled in Bahrain next month. Whether Brown’s influence will be visible from day one remains to be seen — but if early whispers are any indication, she won’t stay behind the curtain for long.

NEXT CHAPTER

[mangocurist]

bro im scared as hell to post this now that zams being more active on tumblr but Im gonna do it scared idc. this can be read as /r or /p but i was intending some weird qpr mix of the two ^_^ anyhow . Go my tr ashzams

════════════════════════════════════════════════

For as much as Ash is a famed pathological liar, he is telling the truth when he says that he hardly remembers anything from before the Realm. 

Almost everything is a blur to him— he remembers Clownpierce and Pangi, of course, remembers all the conflicting rush of emotions that come when he sees them again— but never the reasons why he feels that way. There is the faintest recall of a server, where hearts are the currency and your life a commodity— but beyond that, there is nothing else. He can recall KyleEff just the same as he can almost just conjure up the image of Reddoons, but it’s never anything concrete. One day they’re friends, another, he’s in a ruined city, missing his empire and his right-hand man.

Either way, Ash is never fully there. Never able to remember entirely if they were friends or enemies or a relationship gone south.

There is just one thing that stays cemented in his mind, and he’s the reason Ash is here to begin with.

Golden hair, an ever-present mischievous smile, and a contagious laugh that practically infects anyone who listens. Two near-gods, messing around with their own private servers because they can and it’s fun, they’re together, and every challenge they take on together gets ruined by their own hands in the end. A prince who always seems to find himself in conflict whether she likes it or not— a sad, lonely prince, who Ash watches die horribly, over and over again, season after season. Hearts, strung on a string, given to one another freely in one world, in another, an army strong enough to match his own. Cunning, paranoid, and most of all, just as bright as he remembers her.

An emperor, a tyrant, a maniac, a guardian, a god, a girl.

A prince. His prince. 

She stands in front of Ash now, that same spun-gold hair twirled around her shoulders in loosely braided curls as she reaches out to ring the bell by the castle’s entrance, beaming when the tall totem-king pats her on the shoulder and gives her a side hug. Something in Ash aches a little, seeing the familiarity that his prince shows around these people who he hasn’t even known for two weeks, who haven’t even seen him bleed and choke on his mistakes or the way blood splatters on his face when he kills—

But then, as the cloaked figure beside her congratulates her on her coronation and a bright yellow light starts to emanate from the jewels in his crown, the newly crowned Princess of Yellow turns around and runs up the steps, and instead of going for anyone else, Zam collides into him, perfectly coiled golden hair flying every which way as they land in a pile on the floor, her snickers sounding like music to Ash’s ears.

“Zam!” He protests half-heartedly, though his annoyance is futile against the way she laughs, loud and grating and so familiar it pulls at his heartstrings. “Dude, I told you to stop doing that. Didn’t you literally just get crowned or whatever too? You’re, like, losing so much aura right now.”

Predictably, Zam just waves it off— fair enough, given that the Yellow Faction’s King and his cronies don’t really seem to care much about what they’re doing, so as long as Zam is safe. From a quick survey of the faces in the crowd, most of them just look quietly amused and endeared by Zam’s antics— which, don’t get Ash wrong, is what he wants for him— but it’s a little annoying that he can’t even try to point out flaws in them in front of her. Not that he would. But it was the principle of the matter. 

“Dude, you know who lost aura?” Zam starts, a glint in his eyes that spells nothing but trouble for Ash. Still, he waits for Zam’s response— if only to be a gentleman about it. “That’s you, man! Who the hell manages to get themselves eaten by a giant on their first day to a new server?”

“Oh, shut the hell up!” Ash pushes her away from him as they both finally make to get off the ground, ignoring Zam’s maniacal giggles. She nudges him a little as they stand up, hands wiping away the barest traces of giant guts that Ash himself hadn’t managed to remove. “I travel all this way to meet you on your dumb server, just for you to do this shit to me—”

Zam snorts, pulling Ash down the steps of the castle. 

“Okay, sure. Whatever you say, Ash. For all I know you spent half the journey scamming merchants out of all their stock for fun. Oh! By the way, have you met everyone in the Kingdom yet?” 

“Not really,” Ash says after a moment of hesitation, because even though people had definitely tried to introduce themselves at one point or another, all he could think of was seeing Zam again. That, and the whole being brought back as a soul-allay after being eaten by a giant thing hadn’t made introductions much easier to pay attention to. 

“Seriously? I wouldn’t’ve guessed, with how Sneeg was messing with you. I’ve been told that he only does that with people he likes,” Zam notes. 

Ash doesn’t tell him that it’s probably just the Warden sensing a threat in him and subsequently doing his best to keep Ash from harming anyone, and instead just goes along with what Zam says. 

“It’s because of my natural charisma. It draws him to me, you know, like how Reddoons is drawn to unemployment,” Ash tells her, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as Zam bursts out into her contagious giggles at their inside joke, a memory fuzzy in his mind despite it only having been some weeks since his last encounter with Redd. He doesn’t dwell on it, though— right now, in the warm sunlight that bathes the castle grounds, it’s only Zam that matters. “I think he doesn’t like me very much though, you know, just between you and me.”

“Mm, well, Sneeg’s just like that, I think. He was kinda standoffish to me too, at first,” Zam says lightly. “As long as you’re like, chill, he should be fine. Oh! Wait, hold on, I almost forgot to ask. Did you have a look at spawn yet?”

“Like, a tour?” Ash shakes his head. “It’s a lot cleaner than the spawns I can remember, that’s for sure.” 

Zam’s eyebrows furrow for a second, probably picking up on Ash’s strange wording. He doesn’t press the matter though, instead simply slipping his hand into Ash’s own. Zam is warm against him, and Ash relishes in the feeling. “Right… Well, you can tell me about that later, then! Let me be your tour guide for the day.”

She goes, and he follows. Today has been an unfamiliar day, but this, at least, is something that he remembers. 

And while Ash might try to go against Zam in the future, or vice versa— this moment is something that he hopes he never forgets. 

[unordinary-diary]

did a little doodle of Farrah

[chimeofthecomet]

so this poll has most certainly been done already but uhh

[juricel]

yandere shadow milk x reader who's associated with pure vanilla? like an assistant or something?

thank youuu :3

a/n: apologies for the late reply! i didn't know what to do with this request and also because im in the hospital rn and recovering ^^; i'm supposed to rest but i wanted to write...

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x assistant! reader

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: surprisingly not much content warning, yanderes, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, mentioned mindbreak, implied physical and emotional abuse, potential ooc.

𖦁 one of the knowledge that came greatly with being the assistant of pure vanilla cookie was one thing: the understanding of shadow milk cookie's wickedness. and with that knowledge came an inevitability—you would loathe him, despise him with every trembling fiber of your being. after all, how could you not, when he had inflicted upon your master a harm so insidious, so inhumane, that no visible wound could ever hope to rival it? his cruelty did not leave mere scars—it sculpted abysses in the soul, chasms of sorrow where light once dwelled.

𖦁 how faithful you were, a devoted shadow bound to your master’s light! for centuries, you trailed along pure vanilla cookie steps, as if orbiting him like a planet to its sun. and so, when he entered the spire, you followed after him—of course you did. shadow milk cookie was not surprised. no, he had long accounted for you, your loyalty, your inevitable arrival. you were as predictable as nightfall, as moths to flame, as a lamb led blindly to slaughter— just as he had planned. however, what gnawed at him, what curled like smoke in the marrow of his thoughts, was your devotion. what was so good about pure vanilla cookie? he didn't get you, nothing really was so brilliant about him. a brittle thing, so easy to prod and bend until he broke just right; that was one thing, yet, you—you—clung to him with such reverence, such maddening admiration for something else he could not see. for what? for who? what did he have that shadow milk did not? what pathetic, insipid warmth kept you so leashed to him? he could offer you so much more—more safety, more knowledge, more entertainment. he could carve out a space for you in his world, shield you from the soft, saccharine delusions you clung to so desperately. and yet, you still shied from him, still turned to that weak, flickering light. It almost made him laugh. almost. but laughter was for amusement, and he wasn't fond of this one.

𖦁 you should be /his/ instead. his dear, devoted follower, his ever-adoring shadow. why waste yourself on him—that brittle, trembling thing—when shadow milk could offer you so much more? oh, he would give you wonders, spectacles of illusion spun just for you, laughter so sweet it would rot you from the inside out. entertainment, delight, deceit. and surely, in time, you would learn. learn to savor the moment a mind snaps, to take fulfillment in the fragile shattering of conviction, in the exquisite collapse of sanity. it would be beautiful. it would be yours. you only had to let go of that fragile, flickering light, that feeble thing who could never keep you safe, him, who never understand you the way he could. pure vanilla cookie, with his trembling kindness and hollow reassurances, would never give you what you needed. not like shadow milk. no, never like shadow milk. he could strip away the illusions you clung to, peel back the layers of your mind until you saw the world for what it truly was—raw, malleable, his. he would guide you, shape you, cradle your thoughts in his hands until they became something beautiful. and oh, how beautiful you would be. how exquisite, how perfect once you learned to listen, to see, to believe. to hear the delicate, symphonic crack of another’s breaking mind and finally, finally understand the pleasure in it. he would teach you. he would love you. and one day, you would look at him not with fear, not with resistance, but with devotion.

𖦁 it’ll be fun, he promises, and you will see, oh, you’ll see, you’ll understand. the thrill, the ecstasy of unraveling a mind thread by thread, the art of peeling away resistance until nothing remains but pliant, trembling devotion. he will show you, guide you, remake you into something worthy. yet, when he asked—when he offered after graciously severing you away from those imbeciles—you declined. declined. his smile didn’t falter, no, but something inside him cracked. declined? declined? after everything he had done, after he had so graciously peeled back the veil, unraveled the world for you, made it so easy for you to step into the path made for you? and yet you still clung to that pathetic, fragile little light, that miserable excuse for safety, that wretched, wretched delusion? his fingers twitched. something inside him writhed. the shadows around you trembled, warped, twisted at the edges as if reflecting something he refused to put into words. you were testing him. pushing him. rejecting him. insulting him. but that was fine. oh, that was fine. he could be patient. he could wait. he could break you as slowly as he pleased. but make no mistake—he will break you.

𖦁 and the first step to that? through your master, pure vanilla cookie. he had always been the target, the delicate little thread shadow milk longed to snap, but now—now, there was more to it, more weight, more purpose. it was no longer just about breaking him, no longer just about watching that soft, trembling kindness crumble into despair. no, now it was about you. about making you watch, making you feel every fracture, every moment of his collapse, until the last of your useless devotion burned to ash. he would make you understand. he would make you beg. yes, yes, you will understand, you will see, you will learn the cost of your defiance, the price of your pathetic, meaningless loyalty. you think you can reject him, turn away from what he so graciously offered? no, no, no, it doesn’t work that way, not with him. you will pay for declining him, you will suffer for it. surely, you didn't think you could simply enjoy life as you go on after declining him, don't you?

𖦁 piece by piece, he peeled pure vanilla cookie apart. not carefully, not gently, but with a slow, creeping malice, like hands pressing too tightly around a fragile thing just to feel it strain before it snaps. he could have played his games longer, toyed with the unraveling of a mind with the same amusement as one might pluck the legs off an insect, but you had declined him. and for that, he would make you suffer. he dug into your master’s mind, not just to break him, but to strip him bare, to leave behind something unrecognizable, something that would make you wince just to look at. he did not speak softly, did not coax him into doubt—he let it crawl, let it sink, let it fester until every thought became a sickness. shadow milk made sure he saw, made sure he felt the weight of it, made sure he could not look away. he watched the light drain from his eyes, the tremor settle in his hands, the last of his certainty rot away into something limp, something pitiful. and you—you were forced to watch. to stand there, silent, frozen, as your master, your beloved light, withered into something small, something helpless, something that would never be able to save you. you could scream, you could cry, you could beg for it to stop, but the moment you declined him, you had sealed your fate. this was not a lesson, not a punishment—this was personal. he would take everything, carve out every illusion, pull apart every piece of you until you were empty, hollow, weightless in his hands, until there was nothing left but him. and then—then you would finally be his.

𖦁 yes, yes— yes! you were his, his, his, his, not by chance, not by fate, but because it could be no other way. the key was in his fist, his fist was in his pocket, pressed so tightly against his palm that the metal left little crescents in his skin, a secret little brand of devotion, of longing, of possession. you were his, weren’t you? not yet, not fully, but oh, you would be, you had to be. how could you not see it? how could you not feel it, the way your very existence was carved to fit into his hands? every breath you took without him was a mistake, a terrible, agonizing mistake that he would fix, because he loved you, because he needed you, because the world was wrong—wrong—when you were not his. you could fight, you could sob, you could spit those little refusals like a wounded thing too foolish to realize it had already been caught, but what did it matter? there was no world beyond him anymore, no future that did not end with you folded into him, safe, perfect, ruined beyond recognition. oh, he would break you so gently, so sweetly, so thoroughly that when you finally crumbled, you would do so with his name on your tongue and relief in your heart. because you were his, you had always been his, and soon—soon—you would understand that too.

𖦁 an odious cookie, a caricature of unrelenting cruelty, turpid in spirit, despicable in deed. he was cruel, yes—mean beyond measure, despicable in every conceivable way—but it was all for you. for the twisted devotion he felt for you, a love so suffocating, so sickly sweet, it made the very air around him thick with poison. he already had his devoted followers—his poor, mindless slaves who fawned and worshipped at his feet, their hearts hollow and weak. but none of them, none of them, were enough. not until you were beside him. you, with your innocence, with your indifference. you, the one thing that both tore him apart and made him feel whole. did you not feel it? the pull? the way his gaze devoured you, consumed you, as though you were the last breath of air he would ever taste? oh, sweet darling, how he longed for you. how he burned for you. had you not turned away, had you not rejected him, you would have been his, completely. and he would have been yours, bound in chains of obsession so tight that neither of you could breathe, and only pure vanilla cookie would've heen hurt. and yet... cradling your face in his trembling hands, he let his breath linger on yours, lips brushing against the fading warmth of your skin. your eyes—hollow and lifeless—held no spark, but he didn’t pull away. you were his now, no longer the person you once were, but a broken version of what he had longed for. still, he loved you more for it, for you were his creation, shaped by his devotion. his kiss was not of tenderness, but of possession, absorbing the last traces of your humanity with every stolen breath. no longer yourself, but still his. you were not the person he once desired, but you were his, twisted and remade, and forever—forever—his love would suffocate you, even as you faded into nothingness. your emptiness, the final proof of his devotion, was his greatest prize.

a/n: i got both pv and smc's costumes!! i'm so happy... i only spent 32k for them surprisingly,, they're both so adorbs!!

[imaginedreamwrite]

Thriving Thursday (maybe also thankful Thursday): pretty little thing family after omegas had the baby (or maybe a few more babies) and being thankful that shitty ex dropped them and that they sent in the application for the matchmaker service

You can’t help but stare when the little wrapped bundle nestles further into the broad chest of one of the most capably dangerous alpha’s you know. The sniper and soldier, calculating and dedicated to being a ghost on every operation he goes on, is dedicated to keeping your baby safe.

Every movement that could have woken your baby, that could have stirred them from the sleep they’re in on his chest, draws his ire. Johnny raised his voice to shout across the kitchen asking Kyle about something, and Simon could have killed Johnny with his eyes alone.

It was his time with the freshly born babe, this beautiful little boy that was going to be raised to be a good and strong alpha like his daddies. There was nothing that was going to end the time Simon had with him early, not until your hungry little boy needed to breastfeed.

You watched him, that protective daddy that he was, as you rested after giving birth. You were in labour for a long time and though your alpha’s were there for you every minute, it was still you that had to go through that.

The doctor recommended you take the time you need to recover, to give your body time to heal. The alpha’s in your pack stepped up the moment your baby boy first cried.

The first time he used his lungs to cry in the hospital room, pride flourished in the hospital. Gaz was the first one to hold your baby, the first alpha to calm the son that had just come into the world. Kyle’s voice soothed your baby, stilling the cries that had filled the room.

“You need to eat.” The interruption to your view of Simon comes when John sits beside you on the couch, carrying a plate of food for you—a combination of protein, fruits, vegetables and legumes. “I want you to finish it all.”

You sit up and lean against John, your head resting on his shoulder. He turns his head to kiss your forehead, giving you an affectionate exchange for the plate of food in his hand. He watches, he waits, as you start eating the food piece by piece, making sure you are cared for.

When Johnny and Gaz come into the living room, Kyle’s carrying a bottle of your breast milk for the baby. Johnny carry’s a diaper for your son and a spare set of clothes to change into, almost as if he predicts that he’s going to have a blowout.

“Give ‘im here, Si.” Johnny approaches the couch Simon’s sitting on, where your baby is tucked against his chest, nestling in. “It’s my turn.”

“The baby’s hungry,” Simon doesn’t deny Johnny, he wouldn’t do that, but he does take as much time as he can before he gives your son up.

Once Johnny takes your baby, he sits on the other side of you your baby snuggling into one of his daddies chests. It only takes a few minutes for your baby to wake up, his soft little cries and scrunched nose evident of his hunger.

“My boy,” Johnny coos, calming your baby before his hunger makes him too cranky, “got mum’s milk right here.”

Johnny taps the nipple of the bottle against your baby’s lips, waiting until he follows the movement. Once he takes the nipple into his mouth, he begins suckling and quickly becomes content with eating. Johnny’s fingers brush over his forehead, his scent soothing your son who looks up at his daddy watching him.

“Best decision we ever made,” Johnny whispers to your son, speaking to him as he east and fills his belly with breast milk you pumped and stored, “applying to meet your mama. She’s beautiful, your mama, and you are gonna grow up like your daddy-”

“The biggest and strongest,” Simon says with a lilt to his voice, “alpha. The best of the best.”

There was a general consensus among them all, the alpha’s that would’ve sent your ex a thank you card for walking out. Cause if he hadn’t then they wouldn’t have had the chance with you.

And that would’ve been one of the greatest upsets of their life.

[tinkerbelle05]

Hii! I saw your requests for opla are open and wanted to ask if you would maybe do something really sweet and wholesome and fluffy, like cuddles or hugs, for being in an established relationship with luffy, please ^^ If you do thank you so much! but you don't have to if it's a problem

His Love Language

Characters: Luffy x Fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: (Requested) Thanks for the reqs 🏴‍☠️

Warning: none :)

-

Luffy was a really affectionate person. Anyone who’s had a conversation with him for more than 10 minutes can tell that he’s the physical type. It was how he showed his love to people. To you.

He wasn’t the best at declarations of love or stuff like that, so he showed it in ways that he knew best. After a long, hard day of work, he’ll give you a hug and rub your head to ease the headache.

He’d massage your shoulders and carried you places because your feet were screaming in pain.

Physical affection with acts of service.

Luffy was always touching you, no matter the time or place, he just always was. It was a constant, predictable as the sun coming up each morning.

You’d wake up yo him peppering your face with soft kisses, and throughout the day he’d be holding your hand. Depending on how crowded whatever area you two are in, his grip is loose or tight. But regardless it's always there.

Luffy, while being oblivious to most things, understood how you felt about PDA and did his absolute best not to be too touchy with you around other people. Knowing how uncomfortable it could be for you.

But he still insisted on touching the small of your back when you both are walking or running his hand through your hair when you two are laying down.

One day, you were sitting on the bed, going over some maps Nami asked you to look over. You heard the bedroom door opening and before you knew it Luffy was laying on top of you. His head fitted in the crock of your shoulder.

You weren’t even surprised at this.

“Can you shift a bit over so I can continue reading my maps?” You asked.

“Nope!” Luffy responded, popping the p. “I need to recharge and you need to break. I left in the morning and came back near evening and you are still reading those maps.”

He’s always doing this too. Deciding to just lay on you when you overworked too much. He flipped your bodies so he was laying on his back and you were on his chest. He’ll hold you close to him and just laid there for a while, in peaceful silence.

Eventually, you’d fall asleep and Luffy was always right behind you.

It’s the same for him too. Giving him compliments and doing stuff for him was fine, but you watched as he melted right into your hold when you opened your arms to him.

If you two weren’t doing anything, he’d take your hand and placed it on his head. The question, though silent, was clear. You began to absentmindedly rub his head. Dragging your fingers along his scalp.

He loved when you’d touch his face too. In the beginning you were fascinated with his stretching ability. You never stretched his cheeks that far even though he insisted that it doesn’t hurt. He loved it when you’ll trace your fingers over the palm of his hands.

His loving language was physical affection, and it was yours too.

-

Tags: @louissolovely, @randomhoex, @marceesworld, @dragonqueenfk, @puff-hugs, @childofhecate108, @nightingale2124, @foxflamewarrior, @abree234, @msmisasoup, @localcowboyd, @purplepirateadventures, @the-skys-musical-echo, @thatgothic-nerd, @lovebunnys-world, @0picels0, @charliepoopyfart, @saturnwitheclipwze, @rotin0, @nikolaevna-art, @multifandomgirl2018, @cielitoot7, @tayharrper, @simpingmyassoff, @villainsmygods, @cherrysandmatcha, @borkbarnes, @villainouspotential, @ramielll, @fujinnn, @fuck-you-im-gae, @poketrainer2270, @tayharrper, @dazaisfavgf, @smolracoon25, @hopester08, @don-tuna, @rotin0, @avatarkanemi, @dimplewonie, @fandomsunited, @synchronised-beat, @flowerslds-blog

Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Goodbye, Fourth of July (18+)

pairing: lee chan x fem!reader

genre: college au, best friends to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), hints of crack?

description: it's the fourth of july when you realize you're in love with your best friend. unfortunately though, it seems that he doesnt love you back, and this knowledge sends you spiraling. you push him away, but chan just wants to know why you're so upset

warnings: v v sad, pining, brief mention of s/a, chan is kinda dumb in this fr, reader is dramatic af tho, unprotected sex, desperation, praise kink, finger sucking, titty sucking, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl, sweet heart, good girl, cumslut once), mentions of alcohol and weed, irene is chans gf in this but shes not a villain shes mother fr

quotes from my proofreader: "my soul left my body", "no this is too personal", "i feel like im having a panic attack"

wordcount: 8.2k

Fireworks exploded across the sky the night your life was ruined. 

Down the gray, dim corridors of your campus where room after room was ablaze with idle lights, daring to imitate the stars above them. Every crevice of the left wing was filled with the noise and decorum of a college frat party, where people lived out their own lives simultaneously to yours - yours, that was shattering into millions of pieces onto Yoon Jeonghan’s kitchen floor. Every moment of teasing, of lingering touches, of adoring smiles, of secret memories and exchanged glances came hurdling onto you on the 4th of July, red solo cup long forgotten in your hand. You were in love with your best friend. 

“I’m in love with Chan,” you whispered, looking blankly across the room to see him leaned back against the couch, flashing a bright smile at Mingyu beside him. His blonde mullet - the one, that he had been so terrified to get, and only did so, when you told him he would look great - was tousled and spiky across his neck. He was wearing a red bomber jacket over a white tee, and he looked so good you thought you might cry. 

Soonyoung wouldn’t have heard your confession - was it a confession? Admittance? Defeat? - had he not been standing right beside you. He thanked God that your words were not lost to the music and to the ambiance, to lay and die in the sticky, hardwood floor. “What?!”

He was yelling over the music. You turned over to him, mouth cracked into a frown. “What?! You’re in love with Chan?! Seriously?!” He started bouncing and giggling, ignoring your hands coming to grab onto his forearms. He had predicted this exactly five months ago. 

“Shut up, Soonyoung, seriously!” You were yelling too, barely overcoming the booming voice of Kesha on the speakers. Bathed in pink light, letting your nails trail over the kitchen counter, you felt your heart becoming soft and trembling.

Your life was ruined. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do?” you cried, feeling Soonyoung spin you at your shoulders until he was right in front of you, alcohol dampening the air between you.

“What do you mean? You’re gonna confess to him. You guys are literally in love with each other” He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been best friends since freshman year; as if you didn’t know his favorite animal cracker shape and the exact model of his everyday sneakers. 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Yes, you can.” 

“I can?” 

“COMINGGG THROUGHHHHHHHH!” Frat-house dork Seokmin pushed between you and Soonyoung with a sky-high Vernon on his trail. Vernon shimmied apologetically, eyes sunken and red. “Getting cross-faded,” he supplied helpfully. 

“As you should,” Soonyoung mumbled, slightly peeved in his tone, but Seokmin and Vernon seemed too intensely high to notice his disdain. You were too floaty to be offended by their sudden intrusion. The party, the floor, the music, the stench of sweat had become distant and you felt very alone with your heart. And Kwon Soonyoung, of course.

“You can! Right now! I’ve been telling you for months!” He shook you by your shoulders, apparently sensing your distance. You looked up at him with furrowed brows, tugging at the strapless end of your short, glittery dress. “But he’s-” you inhaled sharply. “He’s not gonna love me back, Soon.” Soonyoung cut you off with a scoff. “He’s so in love with you! He looks at you like you’re the only girl in the…” 

Soonyoung trailed off, eyes peering past you into the crowd. “Oh shit,” His eyes widened, settled on you, then flicked back up. What the fuck was he looking at? “Uh, as I was-” you moved to look, struggling against his suddenly deadly grip on your shoulders “- no, don’t look!” He moved to stop you, but it was too late. You scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes, finding yourself confused as to what he’d been crying about. That is until you saw him. Red bomber now discarded, Chan had removed himself from the couch and was currently grinding on your biochem-classmate, Irene. 

Oh. Okay. 

You felt like cold hands grabbed onto your throat from within, as it contracted and tears stung your eyes. There it went, your heart and all its pieces on the floor, and weighing you down like an anchor, was the knowledge that you’d spend the rest of your life picking them up. 

”God fucking damnit. This is awful, I’m awful,” your head was spinning, and you could barely make out how your fishnetted legs started moving, let alone how the tips of Soonyoung’s fingers brushed against your bare back to pull you back to him. You needed to get out. Out, out, out. 

You squeezed through the tight crowd, avoiding the gaze of your classmate Seungcheol, who tried to smile at you from where he stood. This had to be some sort of mistake. Some sort of illusion brought upon you by the rhythmic movements and the loose slip of alcohol. Maybe you were hormonal? You didn’t know, but you couldn’t think while some bass-boosted playlist built dams of pressure on the sides of your head.

You finally squeezed through the door, closing it behind you and locking away that cursed, wretched memory. The further you got, the fainter the image of him. By the time you were slipping out of the hallway and into the yard, you could almost convince yourself that it was a mistake. A foolish moment, that you would tuck away and keep in a locked chest. 

God, you were cold, shivering in your scrappy fabrics, as you slid down the brick wall by a flower bed, staring into the sky. It was the fourth of July, and your chest had exploded in fireworks while looking at your best friend. Every line had simultaneously been crossed and uncrossed. 

You had realized it just a few minutes ago, just standing in the kitchen, when Wonwoo from history had asked you for a lighter. It had just been a graze, but you’d still felt it, in the faraway reaches of your purse. Amongst crumbs, concealer, a couple unraveled cigarettes and wired earphones with only one working side. What was that? You’d handed Wonwoo the lighter and then dug around for it again. A little slip of paper, edges soft and worn. You pulled it up. 

It was just a drawing. A little scribbled dinosaur. God, you couldn’t even remember when he’d given it to you. But there you were smiling at it. And then looking at him. And then you knew. 

You started crying. Hot, fat tears dripped down your cheeks, and your lips were trembling, and suddenly your body was stuttering and convulsing against the wall, and you were in love with your best friend and he was obviously not in love with you. 

“Y/n?” 

You snapped your head towards the door and the person you wanted to see the least in that moment (that thought made you cry even more, because when had you ever wanted anyone but him by your side when you were upset?) was peeking his blonde haired head through the door. Chan had such a heavy frown, looking down at you from the wide opened doorway. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” He was immediately crouching down, hand burning hot on your back, stroking the muscles. Another hand on your knee and it was all too much, so you pushed him away. He backed off immediately, and you wished you missed the flash of hurt on his face. He looked at you with so much worry. “What happened?” 

He was sitting across from you on the pavement and you couldn’t bear to see him, lit geometrically by the moonlight and the explosions in the sky, brows creased. Averting your eyes, you fiddled with the edge of your dress and sniffled. What were you supposed to say? It was hard to say anything. You fought down the tears pressing at your eyes again, swallowing your emotions before you looked at him again, almost robotically.

“I’m fine,” you said, nodding, and only adding more when his face twisted in confusion. You were always honest with each other, he thought, why were you lying? “It’s stupid, I’m.. I’m on my period and my hormones are just.. Bleugh.” You found it in yourself to giggle.

Silence, only decorated with the constant stream of fireworks and distant laughter of drunk college kids. Chan studied you for a moment, legs crossed and arms slung over his knees. “Cheol said you looked upset.” 

“Yeah, I, uh, I was thinking of that sad dog movie.” 

Another pause. “Old Yeller.” 

The distance between you had never felt wider and you were certain Chan could feel it too. 

“You know you can tell me anything right?” You wished your laughter hadn’t been so heart-achingly bitter. He looked so confused. All he wanted to do was make you feel alright, why wouldn’t you let him?

A nod. “Yeah,” you breathed in deeply, tear-streaked makeup drying from the gentle wind. “I know.” 

The air had become so thick, you had to gulp down breaths. Chan cocked his head to the side and looked at you soulfully. You were staring at your knees, nervously playing with your fingers, and a flush had crept up your neck to the very tops of your shiny cheeks. He sighed. “I can get, uh,” he hesitated for a moment, “I can get Soonyoung down here. If you want.” You nodded before he was even done talking. Anything was better than sitting across from him - not now. This time you knew better than to look at his face, because you knew your entire facade would break down the moment you’d catch the frown on his face at those words. 

The moment Chan left, you sighed so deeply, relief and despair coming in a pair to crash over you like a wave. Soonyoung came not two minutes later and, ever the great comforter, immediately tried to make you laugh, sitting in the grass right in front of you.

“Oh my god,” he put on his best Jennifer Coolidge voice, “you look like the fourth of July!” _____________________________

Your first instinct was to hide - to turn over a stone and lay under it without breathing. Maybe then, if you separated yourself from him the feelings would simply dissipate, like perfume throughout the day. But you and Chan had a ridiculous amount of classes together, - something you used to enjoy and cherish - and every interaction had become half-awkward. 

What also didn’t help is that him and Irene did not seem to just be a party fling. You were walking the halls with him, backpack slung across your shoulder, and listening to him drone on and on about a date.

“I think it’s the blonde,” he explained, “I think she likes the blond.” He peeked his eyes over to you, as you walked and you nodded. “It looks good,” you smiled, heart crushing when his face lit up, that sharky smile playing on his lips. “Right? But I don’t know what to wear. I don’t think she liked my jacket. You know, at the party.” At the mention of the party, his giddy expression faded a little, eyes flicking back to look at you again.

You’d been different since then. A little quiet and every word a little strained, every breath a huff, every smile somewhat unable to reach your eyes. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. For the life of him, Chan couldn’t. You’d told him when you got a tampon stuck a couple months ago, you’d told him about your awful dates, about your most embarrassing moments in your life. Something had to be serious, he thought, watching the way your eyes had become darker and sunken, for you to shut him out completely.

“Y/n,” he said and his voice was abruptly so, so soft. His hand came to cradle your own, stopping you in your tracks. Your eyebrows cinched together when you looked at the way his thumb caressed your knuckles. “You are okay, right?” and all of a sudden he was so close to you, head bopping downwards to catch your eyes, a little breath becoming humid on your cheek. For just a split second, he saw how scared you were, an emotion that took up all the space in your head, widened eyes darting up to his. Then it was gone. You smiled a tight line, ripping your hand from his. “I’m good. I’d be better if we actually made it to class on time.” 

You were bouncing away and for a few moments he stood still, watching you. 

“Alright,” he whispered to himself.

_____________________________

 You and Chan met through Seungcheol. It was your first year and you were fresh-faced, young and a totally different person. It was your first biochem project and the teacher had paired you with Seungcheol - Seungcheol, who you just so happened to know was amongst the most popular guys at school. He was sweet though, if not a little slow, but he was excited to get into the project and had invited you to his place to study. You had graciously accepted, seeing as your roommate-situation at the time was less than ideal. 

You had just hunkered down with stacks of books and laptops open on his desk, when Seungcheol got a call; to this day you’re not sure about the specifics of it, and all the information you’d later been able to pry from Seungcheol was that “Jeonghan was in trouble”. Whatever the case, the man had taken the phone and immediately taken on a crease in his forehead and a small frown on his lips, before apologizing profusely and promising that he’d be back in 20 minutes or so. 

And there you were, wearing a dress and hairclips and sitting idly at his desk, while his roommate sat, just a few feet from you, on his bed with a controller and a headset on. That was the first time you saw Lee Chan. He had sharp eyes that you found intimidating at the time - especially with the focused grimace he wore, something you later found endearing. And, of course, you knew he was popular as well. How couldn’t he be, when his muscles were showing through his t-shirt, and he looked beautiful even in the domestic state you found him in. Maybe especially in that situation. 

“D’you wanna see me play?” he’d asked, eyes not even leaving the screen. “Um,” your voice was meek, “sure.” 

Seungcheol didn’t come home for another three hours. The sky turned from a bright blue into an orange hue outside the campus-curtains, and you sat cross-legged beside Chan on his bed, watching him play Overwatch. Had it been anyone else, you were sure this would’ve been the longest, most awkward three hours of your life. But for whatever reason, you and Chan just clicked. It was all laughter and smiles, and it felt like you had known each other forever. Fate had whisked the two of you together with a gentle push. That was two years ago. 

Chan defied all your expectations. Surely, a young man who was attractive and popular would be an asshole, you’d thought, but he was so sweet, something that was most apparent when he smiled and laughed, eyes becoming crescents and toothy grin becoming sharp at the upturned edges. 

Maybe you’d always liked him. You’d started reflecting on your relationship after that party, and came to realize that there’d always been a faint mist in your chest. A soft hum that drummed within your ribcage, when you saw him. It was warm, pleasant and constant when you felt his warmth at your side. 

And sure, your relationship had had its moments. You distinctly remembered sitting between his legs while watching a movie once, and how you’d been so uncertain if he was okay with the skinship. His face behind your ear, you heard the smile in his voice, as his hands ran along your arms: “It’s okay, N/n. I’m cool with this if you are.”

You found yourself thinking about that often, but now there was a distinct pain to the memory. It was especially painful, when the gap between you and Chan was widening with every day. He tried to reach out, tried to catch you in the halls, but you were always “busy”. 

Chan caught on to the fact that you were avoiding him when you started showing up late to classes, just so you wouldn’t have to walk with him; hear him talk about Irene, while that once soft drum had become a marching band in your chest. So you scrambled inside 5 minutes late, much to the dismay of your professors, and found a spot with some random classmate - far away from Chan. You’d have your eyes turned to the board, but you couldn’t focus, not really. Like a constant thorn in your side, you felt Chan’s sharp eyes across the room, boring into with such an intensity you thought you might catch on fire. Scribbling useless notes and focusing your energy - what little energy you had - on the class, you determinedly avoid his eyes. Had you seen them, never once darting astray from your form, you’d see the tenderness they held. “Why are you avoiding me?” His eyes said. 

And then: “Why are you avoiding me?” his mouth said, out of breath from chasing after you in your hurried exit. You turned to him, almost bleeding into the blue of the accented-wallpaper. His eyes softened at your wounded expression. You were gently ripping apart at the wish to see him and be around him, with simultaneous urge to ignore him and become free from his scrutinizing gaze. He would never not know that something was wrong.

He scanned the crowded hallway, and gently, almost as if testing the waters (which he hadn’t felt the need to do in years) placed a hand on your upper arm. “Come on.” 

You gave in. God, it was so easy to give in. You missed him. You missed him like a fish might miss water, had it been taken away from it. You missed him like a priest misses God, when his presence ebbs away and the sky is suddenly so very empty. So it was so easy to be led on, to sit down in the passenger of his car and just close your eyes and enjoy how it felt to be beside him. Chan scanned you as he drove, laying there with closed eyes, willing yourself to not look at him again, and realize you had to throw this all away. 

He said nothing that entire car ride. Maybe he sensed the desperate need you felt to just have this silence. You clung to it as if it were tangible, as if someone would take it away. He would, once you entered his apartment. Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. You placed yourself on bed and played with the fraying edges of his IKEA duvet cover.

“I miss you.” he said. You sighed, pursing your lips and looking at your fingers. “I miss you too.” 

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, only a faceless presence in your peripheral. 

“I’m not avoiding y-...” you trailed off when he crouched down in front of you, your entire vision cursed (or blessed?) with his frustrated face. “You are,” he said, eyes boring into yours. You trembled. “I’m not, I’m just busy.” He backed away, sulking, and you tried not to make it obvious that you heaved in a shaky breath from the proximity.  “I can tell when you’re lying, you know?” 

You laid down on the bed, arms crossing over your chest as if you were a corpse. Was there a way out of this, you wondered. Every glance, every touch, and every word that dropped from his mouth poked and prodded at you sadistically. 

“I’m not lying.” 

You heard fumbling and raised your head to see Chan, having discarded his shirt, putting on a new one and you cringed at how your heart sped up, seeing his toned stomach, before it disappeared under a sweater. “What are you doing?” you asked. He sighed. He glanced at you before studying himself in the full-length mirror Seungcheol had stolen from Mingyu. 

“I’m going on a date with Irene in, like, twenty minutes.” 

A pause. You sat up.

“Oh.” 

He went on, throwing around scattered clothes and grappling for a cologne in his bag. “I’m sorry, I can’t cancel this, I don’t think she’ll really appreciate it,” he laughed a little. Throwing his head over his shoulder, his smile faded when he sensed your sorrow. His heart hurt then, so he moved, freshly spritzed with the cologne you bought him last Christmas, to stand in front of you on the bed. Your breath hitched when his hand found your cheek and he was suddenly dripping with sincerity and an emotion you really hoped wasn’t pity. “I just- I really wanted to talk to you, Y/n. I’m really worried about you.” You leaned into his hand pathetically, almost whimpering against it. You missed how his embrace felt. His thumb brushed over your cheek and he lingered there, eyes trained on you for just a moment - perhaps a moment too long - before he pulled away.

Suddenly he was putting on a jacket and ruffling his hair in the mirror again. “If you want you can stay here until I come back? It’ll only be, like, an hour and a half, two hours. Cheol will be home soon, he can keep you company.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” your eyes were huge, when you willed yourself to stare at the floor. Chan must’ve sensed the meekness in your voice, because he looked over at you through the mirror, a frown on his lips. “I promise we’ll talk, I just- I don’t wanna disappoint Irene.” 

It ached when you responded: “There’s nothing to talk about, Channie. I’m fine.” 

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours?” you only nodded half-heartedly. 

“Bye, N/n.” 

“Bye, Channie.” 

He left with a rustle of his keys, and when the door was closed, your body contracted, muscles pulling inwards until you were hugging your knees in his sheets. And you were crying because it smelled like him, and because he had held your cheek with such care, only to leave moments later for another woman. Everything you held dear, every moment you lingered on was just one-sided. Your tears were crystalline confinements for your most treasured memories with him and you were bleeding out on his bed, sliced in the heart.

It was Seungcheol who found you there like that, curling up in his roommate’s bed with painful sobs squeezing your whole body. You told him. Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did. “I love him,” you cried, and Seungcheol stroked your back, as he listened. “And he doesn’t love me back.” 

You apologized abashedly when you had calmed down, but Seungcheol only tutted and shook his head. “That’s what friends are for,” he’d said and patted your hair, and you giggled even though you felt all silly with your red face and your puffy eyes. The older man promised not to say anything, and you found yourself trusting him completely. You bid your goodbyes and felt a little lighter.

When Chan came home a heavy duvet of regret settled in his stomach. You were gone, only the faint mist of your perfume left behind in his room. When night fell, he slept on a bed stained with your tears. _____________________________

A week passed and you spent every moment alone in your dorm room, ignoring papers and deadlines in favor of lying completely still under the covers. Soonyoung came over with food every once in a while, and always left devastated at how completely disarranged you were. He felt powerless and if there was one thing Kwon Soonyoung didn’t like, it was feeling powerless.

That was how you found yourself in a very John Mulaney-like situation on a monday afternoon, sitting before Soonyoung and, surprisingly, Seungkwan, Soonyoung’s roommate, in a nearby café. 

“What is this?” you asked, arms crossed and leaned back in your seat, unimpressed. Soonyoung smiled sheepishly, sliding a paper across the table. It read “Intervention” in big, bubbly letters, colored with cheap highlighters. “An intervention?” you said incredulously. 

“Yes, we’re worried about you!”

“He’s worried about you. I’m skipping physics for this,” Seungkwan butted in.

“The community is worried about you,” Soonyoung gave a harsh glare to the younger boy, who was mirroring your distaste for the current situation. “So we’re hosting an intervention.” 

“This is bullshit,” you said. “Agreed,” came Seungkwan. 

“Alright, you two! Let Daddy explain,” Hoshi waved his arms in outrage and the two of you groaned at the word choice. “Y/n. I am sick and tired of watching you cry and cry and sit at home over a boy who is fricken’ in love with you!”

“Did you just say ‘fricken’?” 

“Unimportant. The point is get your act together and tell him or get over him!” Soonyoung was determined. While you felt his point of view was certainly unfair to you, your demeanor gave way a little. He was right, you knew. This was ruining you more than you’d care to admit. “You are worth so much more than this.” 

“As much as I hate to contribute to this, Soonyoung has been telling me all about.. Your situation, and I have to say I agree. I thought you and Chan were dating until Soonyoung told me this,” Seungkwan said, smiling sympathetically at you. You frowned. “It doesn’t matter what you guys think, you know. He doesn’t see me like that.. It just fucking hurts.” 

“If he doesn’t see you like that, then fuck him--”

“Don’t say that, Soonyoung--” 

“You need to put your energy into a man who will know your worth!” Soonyoung sassed and Seungkwan snapped his fingers once for emphasis, face totally blank.

“I know you’re right, okay?” you reasoned, sighing. “It’s not as simple as that. I know you want to help, Soonyoung, but.. I just need time.” 

Soonyoung deflated, but he understood. I guess he was a little powerless in this situation. Even Seungkwan, who definitely was not thrilled about missing physics, smiled sorely. You watched them and hated yourself for bringing worry to everyone around. Like an oil spill in the ocean, your black mass infected everything around you. They’d done nothing and here you were, parading your sadness like My Chemical Romance in 2006. 

“Thank you anyway.”  _____________________________

Chan was theorizing. There were only so many things that could happen so suddenly, that could make you push him away like this. He hadn’t seen you in a week and he’d begun biting his nails again. Every waking moment had become consumed with this question: why? Why were you acting like this? Irene would pointedly comment on how quiet he was being, and his lies came like flowing water. 

Chan was certain that he’d never experienced anything harder than watching you unravel everyday. Every morning more disheveled than the last, every smile more dull. Let me help you, he’d think, watching you slump in your seat on the other side of the room, running an unsteady hand over your face. You’d even found a way to avoid him after class. Day after day he’d run after you when you sped out of class, and when he reached the hallway where students were pouring out, you’d be gone like a faint ghost. 

Irene ended things with him over a text. “I just don’t see us working out anymore,” it’d read and lying in his room he’d sighed quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to care. The text diverted his attention for only a minute, before he was staring at the ceiling again, thinking of you. It had to have something to do with him somehow. But no matter how much he scrutinized every interaction you’d had, he came up blank. 

“Are you okay?” It was Seungcheol, standing in the doorway and hanging his jacket on their clothing rack while eyeing him. He’d hardly heard him come in. Chan heaved a sigh, long lines of worry oozing out of him. 

“Y/n’s been acting really weird with me. I can’t figure out if it’s something I did,” Chan squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want her to be okay.” 

Seungcheol frowned sympathetically. “Maybe you should just leave her alone.” Chan’s eyes sprung open and he grimaced, before ruffling the sheets where he sat up on the bed. Seungcheol was settling himself onto his bed, phone in hand and head against the headboard. “Why are you saying that?” 

For a moment, Seungcheol flashed his brown eyes with a hint of ‘oh shit’ in them, before they relaxed and he regained composure. “I don’t know, maybe she just needs some time away from you.” 

A pause swallowed the room. Chan studied his friend with furrowed brows. “Did she talk to you?” 

“Uh-” 

“You know why she’s acting like this!” Chan raised his voice, weeks of frustration crackling in the pit of his stomach. He stood up, so he could tower over Seungcheol’s bed. “Relax, man, I don’t know anything-” 

“You do! Tell me what’s going on, Seungcheol-” Only a few words had been shared, but they’d tugged at the right strings, and suddenly Chan’s muscles were tightened as they buried into Seungcheol’s collar. The older man scowled and wrapped his hands around his roommate’s wrists in warning. Chan’s hold untightened and unscrewed and he slumped in on himself like a piece of paper, “please, Seungcheol, please. I’m going crazy.” 

Seungcheol’s gaze softened. He pushed the boy’s hands away and sat up on the bed, voice a low, solemn grumble. “I can’t tell you.” 

“Fucking please, Seungcheol. What if something happened to her? At that party. I keep thinking about it, how I wasn’t with her, and what if some asshole harassed her or something. I googled it and Google said women can feel lost, lonely and embarrassed over stuff like that,” Chan started pacing. “And then I was thinking what if it was a friend of ours? And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to tell me, but, of course, I’d support her in anything she told me.” 

Chan stilled in his wandering across the narrow floorspace. “Can you at least tell me she’s okay?” 

All sharp eyes and blonde hair and panted breaths Chan stood in the middle of the room and waited for Seungcheol to tell him that you were okay. Chan would’ve even been at peace with Seungcheol telling him that you never wanted to see him again, fuck, as long as you were fine and you still laughed and smiled, even if it was with Soonyoung and not him.

But the answer didn’t come. Seungcheol frowned and fiddled with his watch. “I don’t think so, man.” 

Whatever ties had held Chan back before snapped. He stood still for maybe three seconds in the unlit room, before his body burst into action and he was scrambling for his jacket and keys.

“Fuck this.” 

Sprinting down monotonous corridors, a hard-headed Chan let wisps of blonde hair flow behind as the air kissed his cheeks. He wore the crease in his brow that had become permanently etched onto his features. Chan had a one track mind; maybe that’s why things didn’t - wouldn’t - work out with Irene. Currently, the record spinning was you and he’d gone damn near insane, so this time he’d made up his mind. He was not leaving until you talked to him. Whisking past door after door in the quiet nighttime, catching Wonwoo exiting some random dorm and smiling sheepishly, he ignored him and braved forward. 

It was not until he was standing right in front of your door that he hesitated. The door framed his figure entirely, trapping him within its confines. What if Seungcheol was right? What if he was making things worse? 

But for Chan, he wasn’t sure that he could go any lower. Every day had become a new rock bottom, every day that you avoided him, every moment wondering what he could have possibly done. He missed your smile. So then he was knocking at your door.

“Fuck off, Soonyoung, I’m not going to anymore interventions!” you yelled, voice hoarse from beyond the door. Intervention? Had you developed a drug problem? He knocked again and heard you groan, before heavy footsteps thumped towards him. 

“What do you want, Soonyo-” you paused, door half-creaked open. Your eyes were two moons, and your nose and cheeks were red. “Chan,” you breathed, voice nasally from a stuffy nose. Chan said nothing, only pushed past you to get inside. You sniffled.

Your heart was a bomb, or maybe a firework. Chan had lit the fuse and standing before him, where he was half lit in the middle of your room, you knew it was only a matter of time before it exploded, chest blazing with a parade of colors for the fourth of July. Because it was him, a greek fucking god in your toy-decorated room, in his sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and it was you, wimpish and thoroughly out of order, in pyjama shorts and a pink sweater. 

“Come. Here.” He wasn’t asking. You nodded and took two steps, and the moment you were within arms reach he enveloped you in his chest. His arms were so strong and warm, one wrapping around your waist and the other bunching up your hair to keep you pressed into him. Your cheek bunched up against his heart, you closed your eyes and heard how fast it was beating. He was scared. 

“Talk to me,” you could hear it, too, the fear. His voice was trembling and even though you couldn’t see his face you could imagine his brown eyes glazed over and lips in a pout. The thought squeezed at your heart. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut at the raspiness in your voice. “Don’t be, just talk to me. Please,” his voice was a wavering breath. He pulled away, head ducking down to peer into your eyes. Your cheeks burned and you looked away, becoming completely enamored with the white of his shirt, just for the sake of not seeing his eyes. Then both his hands were on your cheeks, a little harsh at first, but then softening. “Look at me.” 

He leaned closer, one hand straying from your cheek to hold you by the back of the head. “Look. At. Me.” he gritted his teeth and you felt the warmth of his face hitting yours. You did. You looked at him, saw him again, really, the guy you’d been avoiding and simultaneously praying closer to you standing before you like a kicked puppy. Suddenly you were crying. It felt like he’d turned you inside out. 

“No, no, no, don’t cry, pretty, talk to me, talk to Channie, okay?” he frowned before he was pushing your face closer, nosing your cheek and hair, just a big baby in front of you, with hot and humid breaths on your freshly wetted skin when his lips brushed over it. His hand on the back of your head was only urging you closer, and his back was hunched in a long arch just so he could be with you, as close to you as possible. 

And while his touch was bliss for a moment, the reality of it came crashing down, and your hands waved him off, taking a step back, which Chan followed with a step forward. He looked so hurt, hands held out for you to take but you shook your head.

“Don’t- Don’t do this to me, Chan. Not when-” you were shaking when you reached up to rub over your eyes. “Not when- Not when you have Irene to go back to.” 

“Irene?” He asked incredulously, almost in outrage, almost as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. It spurred you on. “That’s what this is about?” 

“No!” you cried, “Or- yes, I don’t know.” 

Chan was silent for a few moments when you began pacing, hands over your eyes. “You were jealous?” 

“No- That’s not the point!” your lip trembled when you removed your hands and looked at him again, his arms at his sides, now that he didn’t have you to hold.

“We were never going to stop being friends, you know-” his voice was quiet and yours overpowered his easily, when you screamed at him to say: “I didn’t want to be friends!” 

Boom goes the dynamite, indeed. Fireworks filled every crevice of your ribcage.

“Because I love you,” you paused only to flick your eyes over to his, and you sucked in the fear. Your voice shook when you continued: “And I think I have for- for, like, a year? And I only realized on the fourth of July and there you were with Irene, and I just… And I thought if I backed off these feelings would go away, because you obviously don’t-” 

“Irene broke up with me,” his voice was much quieter than yours. You wanted to scream and cry and yell, because what did that matter? Why did that matter when it changed nothing? But then he spoke again: “She broke up with me because I kept thinking about you.” 

Silence. It hit you that Chan was not informing you, he was telling himself this.

“Yeah,” he scratched at the back of his neck and chuckled dryly, “I kept being quiet on our dates, ‘cause I was thinking about you. I guess she sensed it.” 

You were looking at each other in the dim lights. He was so beautiful, cheeks shiny and soft lashes curling over his lids. You sniffled. “Does that mean that you-” 

Yes.

Yes, it did, because before you could even finish your sentence he was taking a step forward and his hand was on your cheek again and this time his lips were on yours and fireworks, fireworks exploded in your chest and on your lips like bursts of static, but this time it wasn’t pained, it was beautiful, and you’re melting into his hold, just as he was yours. Lips moving in perfect unison, he tilted his head down and you tilted yours up, and grabbed his neck, and his other hand slid onto your waist, resting there, as the two of you rocked under the artificial light of your overhead lamp. 

Everything you yearned for was in your hands and you didn't dare to pull away, only whimpering when you ran out of breath, and chasing his lips when he pulled away to breathe. He chuckled, mouth curved upwards in that beautiful smile that you love. You love it, and there’s no point in hiding it. He pressed his forehead against yours and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.

“I love you too,” he said. You grinned, a perfect blush spread across your rounded cheeks, and his heart soared so much that he had to kiss you again, pecking and mumbling it again and again against your lips: “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

His tongue slid over your lip and you opened your mouth with a squeak. His tongue was wet and warm in your mouth and his hands were suddenly on your hips, pushing them into his. Then he pulled away, blushing himself when a string of spit connects you. “Is this okay?” he asked, so softly, so gently, and you nodded, flushed and out of breath and pathetically desperate.

“Yes,” you whined, “need you so bad.” He cooed when you pressed your hips into his, long fingers brushing hair out of your face. “Channie’s gonna take care of you. Channie’s gonna make it up to you,” and yet again it's almost like he was saying it to himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he lowered the two of you onto your bed. Hair strands stretched from their roots in your head, when you hit your plush pillow, and you were all shiny and sparkling eyes, laid out before him in a way that he never dared to imagine. “Too pretty,” he whispered, kissing you again. 

He was grinding into you, anchoring himself on your waist and whimpering into the corner of your mouth at the feeling of your warm center through your shorts. “Baby, need you so bad. Can I take this off?” he tugged at your shirt and you nodded, unable to get anything out but whines. He pulled off the pink fabric, marveling at your bare chest before him. Of course, he’d seen it before, in tight shirts, on days where you’d decided to forgo a bra, and he’d always cursed himself for imagining the real thing. “You’re so beautiful,” he cried, as he hit your core just right and he stared at your tits’ slight jiggle. 

“Such a pretty baby, so ready for me, can I touch them, please, please?” he was babbling, somehow already pussydrunk, but you were no better, eyebrows cinched together in pleasure, nodding without even an ounce of hesitation at his request. He groped at your chest, thumbs brushing over the hardened buds, before he ducked his head down to suck on one. You’re gasping, as his tongue flicked over you, hands tangling themselves in his hair, moaning his name into the air. He hummed loudly, and you felt a thick glob of wetness escape your pussy at just the sight of him, hunched over you like a wild animal, panting into your chest.

“You’re so pretty,” you whispered and he let go of your tit with a small ‘pop’, lifting his head to look at you. He was grinning ear to ear, face still hovering over your chest. “Am I?” and suddenly he was so cocky, hand cupping your heat through your shorts, and watching as you buck into his hand with a strangled moan. “Needy girl, need pretty Channie to touch you, hm?” He teased, fingers gently rubbing over the fabric of your damp shorts.

“Please,” you whined, thrashing in the sheets, desperate enough to cry. He cooed and shushed you, hovering over you by one, strong arm: “Shh, sweetheart, shh, I know. I got you, I’ll make you feel good.” As much as Chan wanted to make you beg, he was desperate too, and he couldn’t help the slight guilt of what you’d been through. The thought almost made him frown, but he pushed it away and peeled off your shorts and underwear in one swoop. 

You cried out when his fingers were finally sliding through your folds. Your eyes, half closed, flicked up to see him, gaze trained on your core in amazement. “You’re so wet, baby,” he purred, spreading the warm slick up to your clit to start circling it with two fingers. “Just for you- Mngh!” 

He plunged two fingers into you with ease, wetness coating his fingers to let them slide in. You were panting and thrashing and moaning his name, and he just watched with the biggest hardon he’d ever had, how he made you feel good and how pretty you were, and how much he never wanted to pull his fingers out of your sopping wet heat. 

“Do you want my fingers in your mouth?” he asked, and you squeezed your eyes shut and nodded vigorously. “Hey, hey,” the fingers that weren’t plunging in and out of you and curling into your pussy’s sweet spot, squeezed your chin. Your eyelashes fluttered open, and you stared at him with blown out eyes. “You gotta look at me while you do it.” 

Then his fingers prodded at your lips, and you opened them with a whine, willing yourself to keep them open, to see how he smiled adoringly down at you. They were filling you just right, one hand stuck in your pussy and the in your mouth, teasing over your tongue. Your orgasm was approaching, knotting in your stomach, embarrassingly fast. 

He groaned at the sight of you, looking up at him with huge, adoring eyes while sucking his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, good girl, such a good, appreciative girl, taking my fingers wherever she can.” You clenched around him at that, and he chuckled knowingly. “Yeah, you like being my good girl? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum in my fucking pants.” 

You released his fingers only to moan - almost scream - his name, as you came around his fingers, curling into you and working you through your orgasm. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum on Channie’s fingers. Look so pretty when you cum.” 

You were still dazed on your bed in the glimmering aftermath of your post-orgasm, when you heard Chan shuffling beside you, and then he was leaning over you once again, shirt and pants discarded and cock proud and stiff and leaking precum onto your stomach. You groaned at the sight, hand trailing over his exposed stomach, where abs dipped and rose, glistening softly. Then your thumb caressed and pressed against his slit and he hissed, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. 

He nosed at your neck, pecking a little, before speaking, voice too strained and too pretty: “Can I fuck you, baby? Please, please, I need to feel you around me so bad.” He had shut his eyes tight, fighting the urge to grab hold of your back and press your tits into his chest.

“Please,” you came back equally as whiny, writhing in his hold, where his thumb was rubbing soft circles in your hip bone. “Please, wan’ your cock. Need it.” He smiled into your neck, grabbing your head and kissing your cheek. “So cute.” 

You felt the head of his cock slide through your still impossibly wet folds, then pressing against your entrance. You were murmuring his name over and over and he was panting into your neck and licking a stripe of wet glistening saliva onto it, as he began to push in. 

You were writhing so much he had to place his hands on your hips to still you, whispering soft reassurances until he was pushed all the way, clit pushed into his abdomen. You’re so full, you can’t stop the wanton moans at the feeling of his pretty, red cock, every bulge and vein pressed against your gummy walls. “You’re so fucking tight,” he spat, fearful that he’d spill his load into you immediately from the way you were clenching him. Then, slowly, he was rocking into you and the both of you were clambering onto one another. Your hands found his neck, his hair, his flexing biceps, and his your hips, waist, boob, and then clambering up to hold your face and look into your eyes. 

“Look at me,” you almost didn’t catch the way he repeated those words from before, but you looked into his brown orbs, blonde hair curling over and tickling your forehead. “So fucking pretty, so cute, my little cumslut. Say you want my cum, baby, please, say it.” 

“Wan’ your cum!” you cried, as he angled his cock inside you to press into that spongy spot. He was giving in to all his wants at your words, pulling you up by pressing his arms under your back, so your tits pressed against his chest, and he was nosing at your face again, trailing kisses everywhere he could reach. “So good for me, so pretty, all mine. Fuck, sweetheart.” 

“All yours,” you babbled mindlessly, when his hand snaked between your bodies to rub circles into your clit. “Cum for me, cum for me, baby.” 

His thrusts were growing sloppy, and you felt the knot tightening in you once more, pulled tight and ready to snap. “Cum, cum, come on, my pretty darling. Fuck, Y/n, I love you!” 

At those words you came, pussy pulsating around his cock and clenching so tight, he was unsure if he could even pull out in time. He did though, pulling out just in time to see his seed spill all over your soft stomach. 

Panting and out of breath, his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of you, body covering yours. “Ugh,” you groaned and looked up at you, laughing softly. “Chan, you’re heavy,” you complained. “I’m a weighted blanket,” he countered, but climbed off of you anyway, lying down next to you. You looked at him, with the side profile of a god, and his blonde hair tousled and chest rising and falling.

“You are pretty,” you said, and you could almost cry when he looked at you and blushed. 

“You should’ve just told me,” he whispered, turning his head to gaze at you. You frowned and nodded. “But it doesn't matter now,” he reassured, one hand climbing from the sloping, bunched up duvet and running his hand through your hair. He tilted his gaze towards your cum covered stomach, some of it having smeared onto himself, and he pushed himself off the bed. "I'll get a towel."

Naked and divine, he disappeared into your small bathroom.

“Oh, God..” you groaned suddenly, face morphing into anguish.

“What?” Chan called from the bathroom.

“Soonyoung is going to be the most insufferable person on the planet when he finds out about this."

[elles-home]

you know how every so often you see posts circulating about a prophesized guy that runs away from the prophecy? that’s monkey d luffy

he isn’t even acknowledging it could be him. as far as he cares, all that’s really at hand here is that his peak form looks like this god guy. that’s it though. luffy’s not a god so like? really cool you guys are religious and bless your faith but that’s not him

and not to be the guy that says “that’s what makes him a good chosen one” because yeah kinda? like let’s look at existing prophecies about luffy specifically. the one about him destroying fishman island

luffy will leave that country in fire and ash and im doing so we know he is fulfilling some of the interpretations of the religious text: the destroyer who lays waste to all

and now i am heading into fanon spaces, people predict the destroying is a side effect of his liberation. ever since the prophecy of luffy destroying fishman island has been made, the fandom has theorized he will lift the people of fishman island above water. the great big ship in fishman island is there for a reason. and again, in doing so, he is fulfilling those theorized about him again, about the whole “the hero who appeared to save the world from disaster.”

i think the texts about nika is befitting of a god. what does a god care about the temporary destruction of a land if it is a means to achieving their goal of saving and liberating a people. a god knows people are resilient. a god will see through their vision and wont mind being branded as evil for doing so. a god knows best

and not to say luffy is a god because i am of the firm camp that luffy isnt nika reincarnated but he is the chosen one as in it has been prophesized someone like him would come and he is here and he isnt joyboy reincarnated either, as in the guy who is joyboy, but also again, he (luffy) is the chosen one for joy boy as well (i particularly subscribe to saiga tiberius runner on tiktok who theorizes that joyboy is a title rather than a name and is therefore one that is bestowed upon luffy as the liberator. which i think fits the whole someone will come 800 years later that will take the world by storm and his laughter will ring as he saves people. i like “joyboy” being a title more than a guy that luffy is reincarnated into)

anyway luffy being joyboy makes me happy because he does it because he wants to. he is kind because he wants to because someone fed him and he needs to be kind to them and he doesnt care if in being kind to them he is disrupting everything else (thinking about dressrosa right now) because nothing is more important to him than the selfish need to repay the debt

i may be repeating myself now but i adore luffy being exactly what is prophesized of him not because of a prophecy but because of who he is as a person down to his soul. because luffy isnt doing this because this was what was prophecised, he would be doing this regardless of set into motion 800 years ago, he would be doing this anyway because he wants to

regardless of a prophecy, luffy will be liberating because thats who he is. a boy that loves freedom and being free

luffy is freedom and liberation. and to him, its just a coincidence this god nika and this guy joyboy was too

[akitossohma]

i wanted to say your post about lu guang's morality is currently my favorite thing ever. im not sure if you're just incredibly smart or have the gift of prophecy but you are so right and the post is very very good

hi! i'm so glad you enjoy my post >.<

i tragically do not have the gift of prophecy, but i'm happy to explain my reasoning! spoilers ahead.

first off, i wanna say that when i made that post, it was less of a prediction and more of a reading of what the show had already laid out.

i've seen a few detractors of my post on twitter, all of them saying things along the lines of "this is a misguided take because lg is selfless. lg only killed vein bc vein killed csx. we have no proof that lg is sacrificing others." there's a lot to pick apart with these rebuttals, and i'll get to that, but i feel there is one essential point they are all missing: time travel in an of itself is an act of hubris.

going back in time with the intention of changing the past is one born out of great hubristic selfishness. anyone doing so is automatically (and wrongfully) assuming the role of a god.

the show is well aware of this. take the earthquake arc for example. as csx takes it upon himself to try and evacuate the village, lg points out that in doing so, he could end up inadvertently killing more people. this is because the butterfly effect is uncertain and lg knows this. that whole interaction functions two-fold. one: it establishes that the narrative itself is aware of the stakes here. it is an in-universe acknowledgment that changing the past, even if it's to save lives, is extremely risky and ultimately selfish. two: it establishes that lg is very aware of this truth, which is what makes the s2 reveal so shocking. despite being aware of the consequences, lg is still trying to change the past to save csx.

it also tells us that lg's steadfastness about csx not changing the past is likely born out of a fear of csx accidentally messing up the timeline lg is cultivating, and not out of some noble effort to minimize their impact on others' lives, which is how it was previously framed. all this evidence paints a very clear picture: lu guang is not the morally just character we once thought. he is placing his own happiness above literally everyone else's wellbeing. yes he is trying to save csx, but he's only doing that because he can't stomach the idea of living without him. his motivations are objectively selfish at their core.

back to the detractors: i feel some people are conflating lg's actions being done out of love for his actions also being selfless. and while i agree there is an (albeit twisted) form of love behind all this, there is nothing selfless about what he's doing. why does lg get to decide what the future should hold? why does any one man get the final say on what happens to the rest of the world, and all the billions of rich lives within it? hell, why does he even get to decide what happens to csx? yes he's acting under the pretense of saving csx, but does csx even want to be saved? would csx even be okay with what he's doing? i honestly don't think so. when csx believed lg had died, he contemplated using his powers to go back in time and save him, but ultimately decided against it because as far as he was concerned, lg wouldn't approve. he understands the potential chain reaction that comes from saving even one life because lg drilled it into his head. even if he is impulsive to a fault, at the end of the day, csx would never want to cause harm to others, especially not at this magnitude.

even if this effort to change the past/future fails, the fact that he was willing to take this massive risk in the first places says a lot about his priorities and overall character. while he probably doesn't actively want to sacrifice others, he absolutely will if it means keeping csx in his life saving csx.

in this most recent episode, just minutes before killing vein, he says to him, "do you know the butterfly effect? in a dynamic system, any subtle change in the initial conditions may lead to different outcomes. i've been thinking how to change a destined ending completely. if there is an additional point before this, an unchangeable point, what will happen? no need to fear the deviation. just let it happen more completely." lg killed vein partly out of revenge yes, but also to create another unchangeable node in the timeline. he is trying to secure csx's future by taking another life.

and none of this is even touching on how lg possessed a woman's body, which is a COMPLETE violation of her autonomy, to kill vein, knowing damn well she'd take the fall for his murder. lol.

so yeah. lu guang is (and always has been) a selfish, immoral bastard (she said with love), and the writers were very deliberate in setting that up.

there's so much more i could say on this but then this would get way too long, which it already lowkey is haha. thank you for the ask! i genuinely appreciate the opportunity to word vomit all this <3

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

VIOLET | RAZOR. (GENSHIN)

✾ tags ; afab + gn!reader, aged-up characters, virginity loss/first times, established relationship, mutual virginity loss, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), creampies (reader is using a contraceptive), reader is mentioned to be an orphan / run away , 18+

✾ wc ; 6.1k (went to edit and went 700 words over the wc. pain)

✾ a/n ; i'm losing my mind btw. razor my only triple crowned character my most greatly beloved my angel my sweet. also i added the aged up tag mostly bc its the genshin fandom but. if u dont like that dont read. ez peazy.

also trust and believe the voice im picturing in this is his jpn dub. this is important

✾ synopsis ; you resolve yourself after many long years of abstinence, you're going to ask razor about sex the minute he comes home.

Razor is human. 

On a technical level, this information isn’t news to you. He looks human. His physical makeup is human. He needs to eat and sleep like humans do. Focusing on the technicals alone, Razor is very, very human.

It doesn’t change that he was raised by wolves, though. And you don’t want it too. You think it’d be a shame if he started to assimilate too much into human society just because he felt like he had too. You know how he feels about it. And that Boreas is the closest he’s ever had to a father figure, thus making his claim about Razor's humanity a rather devastating blow. He feels inhuman all while knowing he is. You think once upon a time, he really did wish to be a wolf. 

You’ve known Razor since you were a teenager. You’d ended up in Wolvendom after your exploration of Teyvat led you to its outskirts. You’d bonded over your similarities. Two orphans with no real place where they fit in completely and complete odd-ball personalities - Razor was an easy friend for you to make. Even when you eventually decided to settle into Mondstat - you’d made a point to visit Razor regularly and spend time with him in the forest. 

You made an odd pair of course, but you didn’t mind. If no one else understood you in the world - you know Razor always would. He’d listen patiently about all of your adventures and sit quietly as you decided to pester him by braiding his hair or teaching him new words. Loyal, obedient, sweet.

You never formally had the boyfriend conversation in the time you’d spent together. One day, however, Razor took you to meet Boreas out of the blue as well as the leader of his pack. You figured maybe it was something he did with his close friends. It only occurred to you that maybe this was a more serious meeting when Razor promptly gestured towards you and introduced you as his mate. 

Razor, predictably, was very confused about your minor freak out. You tried not to let it show during your little chit-chat, but afterwards you’d shaken him by the shoulders and interrogated him about his word choice. This of course didn’t register in his mind at all. According to Razor, you’d been his mate since long ago. He’d been courting you since the moment you met in the way wolves are known too. You’re an adventurer, well-versed in certain animal behaviors for the sake of survival, including wolves. 

And looking back on your interactions he was right,  Razor had been courting you from the start. The news made you flush, and you went back into Razors camp and thoroughly educated him on human courting rituals.

(“Why matter?” Razor asks, head laid in your lap while he looks up at you from inside the tent “Not important.” 

“Why would it not be important?” 

He turns towards you, head facing your stomach as one arm lazily wraps around your waist. He yawns sleepily, seemingly not worried about a thing. 

“You are mate. Mate last until death.” He explains, casually - like he’d always believed he’d spend every minute of his life with you. Like that was the only natural outcome for you both and that he’d never consider anything else. You want to explain, it’s different for humans. Humans don’t usually mate that way, you should say. But the words die out in your mouth as he clings closer to you “Sorry for..not asking.. properly. What are we…as humans?” 

You look down at where he lays, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“Lovers or life partners. They’re closest to the word mate, in definition.” 

“Lovers easier,” He grumbles, eyebrows tightening at the complex words in your sentence “You want to be lovers with Razor?” 

You laugh. Light and bubbly and warm as you lean forward and try to mask the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Yes. We’re lovers from now on. And mates. And lupical, right?” 

Razor sighs contentedly into your midriff.

“And lupical.”)

According to Razor, you had been mates from the minute you met. According to your human timeline, you have been dating since you were both around 17. It’s been a long time since then and nothing in your relationship has changed.

You’re an adult now and you work with the city of Mondstat studying wildlife populations. You live in the city in a cottage, and Razor lives with you - though he spends most of his day outside. He does the domestic labor while you whittle away at papers and projects. Because of your job, you still spend a fair bit of time together in the wild. He has plenty of insight about the wildlife in Wolvendom and is keen enough on changes to give significant contribution to your study. His work as your partner is unofficial, but everyone acknowledges that you come together in a set. Where you go, Razor follows.

You’re happy with your life. With your relationship to your wolf-boy boyfriend, with the career you’ve carved out of scratch and the life you’ve built. You left your orphanage young and spent a long time on the run. You’re incredibly thankful for all of what you have and you could never think of what more to ask for. 

This is especially true for you and Razor. You’ve never had any real major obstacles in your relationship. Part of this comes from the wolven habit of mating for life. Concepts like pride are foreign to Razor. He says sorry even when he doesn’t completely understand and he has no concept of betraying your loyalty. Most things you can teach, he learns very quickly. But there are also some things no one ever teaches you to navigate. Some boundaries you can’t be sure you’re allowed to cross. 

You’re a blossoming, healthy person in their twenties and so is Razor. He’s scarred and athletic in the outdoorsy way and he’s a little more rugged now that you’ve both grown. He’s hit a growth spurt and he’s taller than you and every time you see his arm flex carrying in an entire boar to butcher in your yard - you start getting so hot under the collar you feel like you’re going to explode. 

The problem is: you want to have sex and you want to have it badly. You want it so bad it’s starting to make you feel like you’re a deviant. Like you’re some kind of harlot masquerading as an archon-fearing civilian.

But it’s so hard to bring up and you don’t know how you’re ever going too. 

You’re very good at asking for what you want usually. It comes with the territory. And thanks to your boyfriend's cluelessness about human social convention, asking for things isn’t embarrassing. Concepts like shame are learned through a lifetime of socialization that he lacks and while you could sit and try to teach him - you don’t think he would care either way. He listens if you tell him he shouldn’t do something, but that’s because you’re his mate and his lupical. 

What other people think is none of his concern. He cares about his Lupical. So if Lisa or Bennet or Klee tell him something, he might take it into consideration. But they, like you, love the parts of Razor that make him how he is and his complete innocence in some ways is part of that. 

You know you could very well ask Razor for sex. You’ve spent a lot of time together and you’ve learned many things about him. It’s not like there’s nothing there at all. Like his every other trait, Razor normally relies on instinct to guide him. You’ve learned through kisses and dry-humping that he can get hard at least. You’ll probably never know the details of his arousal, and the only you’ll ever find out is by having sex with him. 

You don’t know what else he knows. What Lisa has told him of the birds and the bees. 

You have tried to ask Lisa inadvertently, but she enjoys making fun of you too much to give you any straightforward answers. And in her own maternal way, she thinks it’d be better for your relationship if you go ahead and ask yourself. 

She’s right about that, but it’s also not very easy. You know Razor would never judge you. He doesn’t even have the capacity to do so. But while Razor knows nothing of shame, you certainly do. 

It’s your problem to get over. You know that. You rationalize that your fantasies are healthy and normal for someone your age. But there is something terribly humiliating about trying to express the extent of your desire apart from just having it. Is it fair to teach Razor about desire? Does he know of it already and the both of you just suffer in silence? 

Razor is a man. A grown man, and tougher than most men you know. He’s seen more than almost anyone else as part of living in the woods. You know he’s not some innocent fairy. But you can’t get over the feeling like you’re corrupting his sweet preciousness somehow. 

(This has its own charm, but that’s not relevant. Or maybe it is. Maybe there’s guilt for that too but it’s not something you can unpack) 

You’re reaching your upper limit on patience. Your hand can only do the job so long (though the import of sex toys from Fontaine do help) nothing can truly replace what you want. And what you want is Razor.

So, you’ve made your choice. When Razor comes home from…what he’s doing today - you’re going to ask him to have sex.

__

You’ve finished all of your work, did as many chores as you can, and now you’re waiting in your bedroom trying to read a book.

You haven’t even read past the first page, actually. But you’re trying. It’s hard to do anything meaningful when your brain keeps pivoting back to what's going to happen when your boyfriend returns home. 

You’re nervous and fidgeting, rubbing your socked feet together and running over the laundry list of talking points you’ve concocted trying to make this happen. You shaved but not bare because you know he definitely wouldn’t like it, but you’re clean. You aren’t sure if he’s going to like that either and he’s expressed that he likes when you smell natural. But it soothed your anxiety to shower so he’ll have to leave with it. 

You have no idea how this could go. You don’t even know how to prepare for the worst, because you don’t know what the worst is. But you reassure yourself with the fact Razor loves you and leave it at that.

You hear the door open and take a deep breath. 

There’s heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. Razor cracks the door open politely, peeking his head into your shared room. He makes a face, the softest little smile you’ve ever seen - before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He’s quick to undress himself - jacket and scarf abandoned along with his boots. Leaving him in green pants and a bandage around his chest and arsm. 

“Hi,” He says simply, coming down over to where you’re laid. He chooses to sit on the floor, folding his arms on the bed as he looks at you patiently “Missed you,” 

“Hey there,” Your heart is pounding just looking at him. He’s unreasonably handsome. Had he grown up in normal conditions, you think he would’ve been a very popular loner type. “How was your family?” 

“Good,” He says shortly, eyes warm and light “New pup. First time seeing since I was little. Very small and cute.” 

“I’m glad. Bet it’s nice not to be the youngest anymore.” 

“Come next time,” He says genuinely “They miss you.” 

Your heart is so full you think it might burst. It temporarily soothes your anxiety.

“Of course I will.” 

Razors eyes examine you for a minute. Your heart is still racing. Of course he notices it. He knows much more about you than you’ll ever know about yourself. His brow creases in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You look at him apologetically, immediately warmed by how worried he is. You give him a small smile. 

“I’m okay. Just a little nervous. Wanted to ask you about something.” 

“Okay. I listen. No need to..be nervous.” 

Right. He’s right about that. You sit up and Razor remains where he is. He’s seated comfortably on the floor, on his knees - between your thighs. He’s a sight for sore eyes, terribly rugged and scarred with nothing but honesty settled in his gaze. Carmine and beautiful. You fold your hands in your lap and before you can worry too much, Razor grabs one in his hand. 

He kisses your knuckles so gently, leaning his face into your palm. 

“It’s okay.” 

You figure it’s best to be straight to the point. 

“Uhm. Razor. Do you…know what sex is?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, it’s—wait what? Did you just say yes?” 

He nods again. “Miss Lisa taught me.” 

That witch. You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“And uhm, what did she tell you about it?” You ask tentatively. 

“Like mating but for humans. Best to do with mate. Good to be careful or else pups will come too soon.” 

You stare at him, jaw slack. 

“Right. And what else?” 

He racks his brain right in front of you. 

“Uhm. Can be for…feel good. Should go slow. Lots of things different from wolf.” 

“...Do you know how it happens? The specifics?” 

Razor goes a soft pink. Razor blushes. 

“Yes.” 

You have no idea what to feel. Not the faintest clue in the world. This is the first time in your entire relationship either of you have been in an awkward situation. You’re partially relieved it’s not completely foreign, partially feeling hot between the legs because you’re not corrupting anything. You make a face of uncertainty. 

“Oh. Uhm. Do you—have you ever.. I mean—have you ever wanted to have sex with me then? I-is that something you’d…want to do?” 

Razor almost looks perplexed by this question. He nods, then follows up. 

“Yes. A lot.” 

You nearly choke on your spit. 

“A lot?” 

“Yes. But.. Miss Lisa said to wait. Until mate asks.” 

You’re going to have a serious discussion with that damned woman later. You take a shaky breath, looking at him carefully. This is going to break you in a way you don’t know if you’ll recover from. But you’re fine, you’ve made it this far. And you don’t want to back down when you haven’t gotten to the finish line. The final blow. 

You’re not completely sure where you go from here honestly. Your brain was fully expecting to go on a long rant about sexual intercourse. Now that that’s out of the window, you’re at a loss. You decide, internally, that going straight forward is the best thing you could do for now. 

“Then… would you want to have sex with me?” 

His eyes widen then he pauses, looking worried. 

“Well…yes. But, worried. Not sure…how.” 

“Well, uhm. Normally it starts with kissing and t-touching and things like that. You can just do what feels right. Uhm.. and I’ll tell you… what I like. A-and what feels good.” You offer, trying not to show just how nervous you are even suggesting “But uhm… I also… think about it. A lot. With you.” 

His eyes light up, and you can practically see the change in him. You’ve never let yourself get close enough to look but when you see him now that you know, it’s obvious. He’s looked at you like this before. 

Like he wants you. 

“Razor,” You say, bracing yourself for impact “Come up here.” 

He’s quick to his feet. You lay back down and Razor lays himself ontop of you, hovering gently. He smells like forest, the rich warm scent of dirt and sunlight mixed with sweat that you’ve grown fond of. Looking down at you, he presses his forehead against yours with his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Mate,” His breath is warm like he’s been chewing mint leaves and sweet flowers. He does it sometimes before coming home “Love you,” 

“I love you too, Razor. You don’t,” You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of your proximity “Don’t hold back okay? You won’t break me.” 

“Want to..” He thinks slowly, brain clearly struggling to come up with the right word “Cherish. Want to cherish mate. Cherish you.” 

You give him a breathy laugh as he leans in close to you. 

“Did Miss Lisa teach you that?”

“Yes,” He replies, pressing his cheek to yours and rubbing himself against you innocently “Cherish you a lot.” 

“I cherish you a lot too,” You offer and he smiles. You feel your heart thump as you look up at him less innocently “Let’s kiss first, okay” 

He doesn’t reply. This much is familiar. Though this was something you had to teach him at first, you would go as far as saying Razor kisses better than you. He’s better than you in these ways most of the time. He knows how to read your body language down to the most irrelevant details, attuned to your physicality in a way that could only be inhuman. The first time he noticed a change in your cycle after starting some herbal contraceptives, you were turned on as much as you were afraid. 

His mouth is hot and overwhelming, plush as he kisses you passionately. He’s quick to open your mouth up with his tongue. Razor likes to taste. It’s natural for him to slip his tongue past your lips and lick at yours. You think if anyone else did it you’d be turned off. But with him hovering you over you, desperate as he pulls and nips at your lower lip - it’s stimulating.  It makes you wet before you can think about it too hard. Your hands curl themselves around his neck, tangling at the thick roots of his gray hair. 

He moans when you tug, and your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets. You do it again, a little harder and the same broken sound leaves his lips in the middle of kiss. You swallow the noise before pulling away, looking at his face. His face is perfectly rosy, lips swollen from where you’ve been kissing them.

“Did you,” You look at him erratically, eyes going over every part of his face “Did that feel good?” 

He nods, dumbfounded. 

“Felt good but,” He shakes his head in disbelief “Don’t know why.” 

You giggle, delighted with the outcome. 

“No it’s good, that’s normal.” You say trying not to babble “It’s like your body’s weak point.”

“Not weak.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I have some too. Like my neck.”

You can see the gears turning in his head.  He tucks his chin against your shoulder and before you can speak to ask him about it, he’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck. He doesn’t stop at a kiss, though. He proceeds to lick the small patch of tender flesh, before sinking his teeth into it.

You moan. You moan sharp, almost like a gasp of pain. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but when he sees you he stops. He blinks, then gives you a look you’ve never seen. 

His voice is almost chipped - richer and more hoarse as his fingers go over what can only be bite marks.

“Feels good?” He says, then adds more urgently “Where else?”

You’ve made him discover something. You’re sure of that. He looks awfully determined about it, too. 

You sigh shakily, grabbing his hands. Even though you’re trembling mercilessly, you want this. You want him. You let his hand squeeze around the swell of your tits - your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your shirt. With your eyes locked on his, you brush your nipples.

“H-here,” You admit watching his eyes go dark. Animalistic. “Uhm. W-with your mouth, you c-can suck on them.” 

He’s quiet. 

“Like pup?” 

You laugh. 

“A little bit like that, I guess. But it’s different.” 

He makes a small, approving noise with his mouth, once again thinking hard about something before he continues down his path. He leaves open kisses all over your skin, hands reaching to undress you. You help him, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere. His eyes are shut closed, in bliss as he licks and bites down your neck with no real grace. His tongue is wet and rough all over you. 

You can tell you’re being primed for something animal. Like being tenderized, worked apart in a way that makes you melt into something soft. Something that can be broken without teeth, that can be swallowed in one go. It’s not a romantic kiss as much as it’s a hungry graze, a gnawing lust. He’s not being so reserved anymore, and that means sinking his teeth as far into you as he can go, not enough to break the skin. Razor would never break you. But he might ruin you, might melt you down from your very center until he can tear you apart. 

You thought it’d hurt, and it does - but in a good way. There’s some sick sense of relief in how achy your whole body is. You’re burning up because Razor wants you like he’s starving. An emptiness claws at you, makes the back of your gums ache. Makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand nearly straight as you sink deeper in. You want to be full of him and you want him to get so full off of you. 

Razor doesn’t stop his tirade even when he gets down to your chest. Instead his mouth closes around your tit, hard incisors sinking into the supple skin but only slightly gentler than before. His canines feel sharper than yours. They must be. 

“O-oh,” You can feel your voice shake as you hold onto the back of his head. He touches the other one with his free hand, squeezing and massaging the skin. He rubs your nipples experimentally in the same way you did a moment ago. “Razor, hngh,” 

A noise is pulled from the back of his throat, a growl - so hard and heavy that it reverberates into your skin. You can feel it spread through your whole body, your core tightening up. Your skin is prickly. A solar flare shooting through your spine. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aroused. You can hardly breathe around the weight of it sitting in your chest.

“Your scent..change.” Razor says through a breath, a thick layer of saliva where his mouth once was “Hot. So hot.” 

You nearly whimper. 

“ It’s because I’m wet…Aroused.” 

“Wet?”

“It means I want to be touched. I want you to touch me down there.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Want me..to mate with you.” He sits up onto his knees, staring at you. Your legs are around his waist loosely. He presses a hand to your clothed sex. You jolt at the contact. “Want me to fill you, here?” 

He puts his hand on your hip, on your stomach - before tucking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“Want to see. What’s wet, I want to see.” 

You lift your legs slightly, pulling your shorts off as you're bent at the knee. It’s embarrassing being bare naked in front of Razor, though you’ve seen him in the same state plenty. He’s quick to grab your knee and force your legs apart wide. He’s got that same focused stare, tongue poked out as he brushes the coarse hairs on your mound with his knuckle. You squirm under the feeling. 

“Pretty,” He says first, then follows with “It’s…very warm. Hot but doesn’t hurt” 

Razor explores with his hands. He runs his finger along your slit, before using his thumbs to spread you apart. He nudges your clit. At first you wonder if it's an accident, but when he does it again - rubs a pointed circle on the aching bundle of nerves you realize he’s being intentional. 

“Here, right?” Razor says slowly and gauges your reaction “Feels good for you…here. Helps.” 

You want to ask who taught him such a thing but you already know the answer. You nod helpless, feeling the way his thumb goes back and forth. He tries it in different ways, watches whatever way makes your breath hitch the most. 

“Here makes you… jump. Like bunny rabbit. Like prey”

The word prey almost takes you out. You can’t make your words out very eloquently anymore. “It’s uhm sensitive.” 

He knows the word. You’ve taught him it. He looks at your bare cunt all awestruck, gloved hand resting on your sex as he continues to toy with your clit. You squirm and shake, even trying to pull away. Razor manages to grab you, keeps you pinned with your legs spread, using his own body to keep you like that. 

“Razor,” You moan, grabbing at his wrist “Razor.” 

“Mm. It’s soft. So soft.” 

“I want to see yours.” 

It takes him a second to register your words, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest when he does. He takes off his gloves right before. You’ve felt it, briefly, the weight and heft of his cock through clothes but you’ve never actually seen it. You gasp as he pulls it out, tucking his pants down under his balls. He’s hairy - thick dark gray hairs nested at the base. His cock has a pretty curve up, tip ruddy and bright. It’s drooling, dribbling pre-cum and heavy. He wraps his free hand around the base and strokes it instinctively. It’s a good length, but it’s thick. Thicker than you could’ve ever conjured up in your own mind.

You reach for it between your bodies, your hands trembling as you touch it. Razor lets out another throaty growl. Your hand doesn’t fit around it completely. The back of your throat tightens up.

“You’re—it’s big. I can’t—not at once. I h-have to open myself up a little bit.” 

Razor tilts his head to one side and you shake yours in reply. 

“I need to uhm,” You gesture vaguely “Make it more..wet and stretch myself out. So you fit i-inside.” 

“Want to help. Teach me.” 

“...Teach you?” 

“Easier if I..learn now. When we do it again later. Teach me..how to touch you.” 

The words sound sweet coming out of his mouth, honeyed and loving. An obedient and eager pupil, Razor has always been that hasn’t he? And he always listens the best he can, tries his hardest. You suppose that this instance is no different. You suck in a breath and spread your legs a little more. 

“Watch,” 

Razor watches. He watches as you dip your fingers into your mouth and coat them with saliva. Watches as you snake a hand in between your legs and dip your middle finger down low into your cunt - with a trembling sigh at the sudden intrusion. He watches intimately as you pump them in and out, rhythmic and noisy. The sound of your own wet heat rings in your ears as you spread yourself in earnest. 

Half-way through, Razor puts a hand on your thigh. He pushes your own hand away, and waits for you to open your eyes. He stares at you, long and hard. 

“I want to eat you. Want to lick,” His hand cups your bare pussy “Here. Make you wet. Open you by myself. Want to eat.” 

You’re speechless. Profoundly turned on by the sentiment, so much so you can’t make out your own voice. 

“Uhm,” You close your hands into a fist, tucking your chin. “You can do whatever you like, Razor.” 

He assesses the statement and you watch him take it in. He ends up on his stomach, lying between your thighs. You’re fascinated by his assurance in himself. He takes the right position between your legs. You spread out to give him easier access and he gives you a silent look of thanks. His breath is warm as it fans your cunt. 

Before you get a chance to breathe, Razor sticks his tongue and licks. It’s animalistic with no real finesse at all. He makes up for it with enthusiasm and some conclusions he’s drawn with your assistance. He sucks on your clit nearly feverish, takes it into his mouth like he did your tits minutes prior. It’s drooly and sticky and nasty in a way that makes you ashamed. You’re more ashamed because you like it, you love it really. Spit is running down, dripping down to your ass. It’s a loud slurp - a shameless, nasty hunger in how he licks up your arousal with his mouth and drenches your pussy with spit. 

His groans reverberate into you. He likes what he’s doing. The sound and touch and taste - Razor overwhelms you with all of it. There’s a tangible intensity wrapping up around you, keeping you trapped in the wolf's den. 

You don’t teach him to use his fingers. He seems to have figured it out. The pad of his middle finger draws the spit pooling along your seam before pushing itself into your tight hole. You gasp at how invasive it is at first. Razors fingers are thick and scarred and you can feel the ridges of your raised skin from healed injured when he fucks you open with them. 

It feels good. Being wanted. Being consumed voraciously and openly without any care for shame. Razor is the embodiment of raw desire and all of it- every ounce of it is being used to devour you. The descendant of wolves, the son of the forest - laid between your thighs and eating like something delicious left at an abandoned altar. 

Even clumsy, you’re turned on beyond reason. Arousal leaves you shakily pawing at him to slow down. Your voice is reduced to nothing but small whines and mewls - pleas to slow down that fall on deaf ears. 

“Razor,” Your voice is clipped “Razor, please - it’s enough. Just.” 

When he snaps out of his haze, his chin is soaked with arousal and spit. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking at you. 

“Tastes good. You taste nice.” He praises, heaving and out of breath. 

Your stomach flares up with new found lust, hands covering your face. 

“Archons, just. Come here.” 

Razor climbs up on top of you again. You cup his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on him. 

“You’re so unfair. But I can’t get angry because you’re not even doing it on purpose.”

“Sorry,” 

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth. Trembling with need. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I want you inside. Want you to fill me in here, so bad, Razor.” 

His eyes widen. Your desperation must reach him this time, because he nods. innocently. You’re thankful beyond words you’re on contraceptives. At this point, you think trying to use a condom would break you down.

“You just have to put it inside. But please go slowly, okay?” 

“Go slowly…won’t hurt you.” 

Razor sits up on his knees again, drawing your waist down towards him. Before he pushes into you, he lays his cock against your sex - pushing it between messy folds. His expression morphs, his jaw tensing as the head of his cock swells and throbs against your aching clit. It slides and slips so messily, pussy clinging to his hard length. You guide his cock towards your entrance while he leans forward over you. His palms are rough as they grab your hips, hands settling up under your knees. 

You can feel his cock as he rolls his hips slowly. Your nails dig into his back, indenting the skin as you cry out. It’s thick, intrusive as he pushes into your tight little hole. Even after opening you up, there’s an ache inside as the head stretches your pussy open. The raw drag of skin on skin as Razor pushes inside of you. You can feel him with every movement, your legs wrapped around his waist tight.

Razor has always had a limited vocabulary. He likes to speak in short sentences since it’s what he does best. His speech now is a lot more developed, but he still finds it troublesome. 

It stuns you when Razor's grip tightens and he swears under his breath - a single word, long and drawn out as his cock pushes into you deeply. 

“Fuck,” 

“R-razor?” 

“Feels good…feels so good. Want…move. Please.” 

“You can move, just let me hold onto you okay?” 

Razor tucks his head against your neck before he fucks you. In one smooth motion, he pulls himself out completely before shoving himself back in. It’s as gentle as he can go, but you can practically feel him shaking above you. How his whole being urged him to fuck you llike an animal. The desperation rolls off of him in waves, his own hands gripping tighter as he slowly finds a rhythm to fuck you in. Clumsy thrust that turns into careful calculated ones as you urge him to go deeper. 

“Deep,” Razor pants against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His voice is a low growl as his hips snap up to meet the back of your thighs with each thrust. Your bed creaks each time he moves, the frame knocking against the wood “I’m deep inside you,” 

“Razor,” You sneak a hand between your bodies, clumsily toying with your clit - pleasure ruining your every thought “Harder. Give it to me harder.” 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Razor gives up on trying to hold himself back. He fucks you with nearly reckless abandon, an impressive amount of strength and weight behind each thrust. His dick pushes in and out of you hard and fast in the most unromantic way. You can feel it all the way up to your throat. It makes the back of legs and and your lower half feel tingly. Your head is blank, nothing but spotted white in your vision. You blink them open to look at Razors face. 

He’s biting at his lower lip hard, focusing all of himself on his thrusts. He’s enduring it well. Your insides clench, a fluttery sensation starting to build up between your legs. You can feel it in your belly, the knot starting to untie. 

Razor is starting to feel it too him. 

“Inside so, ngh - hot.  S-something coming, going to—” 

“A little more. Gonna cum soon, Razor. Feels so good, you make me feel so good.” 

Your mindless praise makes him whimper. A soft noise that echoes through you. You repeat it over and over, in a high voice like you’d praise a puppy. Razor takes it in beautifully, trying so hard not to succumb to his own desires. He restrains despite how hard and how fast and how deep he’s fucking you. You know it’s not easy. 

“I’m gonna c-cum, Razor,” You say, at the very edge “Cum with me. It’s okay, you can let it out.” 

You cum hard. Harder than you think you ever have in your life, then you’ve ever been able to manage by yourself. The sensation hits all at once, like falling through the sky, you can feel the clouds pushed away by the weight of you coming down through. Your insides tighten and tense one last time before everything releases at once, and waves of the aftershock leave your pussy fluttering. You’re washed with pure euphoria, crying out Razor’s name as you cum. 

Razor is quick to follow you. Your own orgasm seems to drive him over the edge, and he cums deep inside. He muffles his cry by biting into your shoulder, groaning as hot seed spills into your cunt with a harsh stutter of hips. He fucks into your pussy, soft and messy before bottoming out and nearly collapsing on top of you. 

It takes you a long minute to catch your breath well enough to speak. 

You rub Razors back soothingly before you do. He lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks at you. 

“Wow,” He says, eyes wide and blown out. You can’t help but break out into a fight of laughter “Love you…”

“I love you too, Razor.”

“Wanna do it again,” Razor says, looking at you seriously “Can I?” 

You feel a pulse of warmth through your whole body before nodding. 

“Uhm. Yes. Just give me a break first, okay?” 

[imaginesig]

"Ditch the clowns, get the crown / Baby, I'm the one to beat"

Pt. 2 of “Can someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived”

Lewis Hamilton x ex!reader (barely)

Joe Burrow x singer!reader

SMAU

What happened between the breakup and Y/n's release of "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros." Once again I stole this entire story line from Taylor Swift. The timeline doesn't line up perfectly with the original but I do what I want

Yn_updates

Liked by user4, user83, user92, and 920,092 others

Yn_updates: after the drop of TTPD Y/n was seen at the Cincinnati’s Bengals game today!!

tagged: yn_ln

user1: she rlly said, bye futbol and went back to her roots

user2 it’ll always be Y/n and her little drink against the world

user3 chat what is going on

user4 I need Twitter to get working on a timeline bc the breakup album just dropped, but we think her and Lewis might have been broken up for a while before she went on break, but now she’s writing for a new man who is possible on either the Bengals??

yn_updates

liked by user98, user3, user1, and 928,282 others

yn_updates: Y/n at the last regular season Bengals game!

tagged: yn_ln

user1 ugh why does her break have to end before playoffs!! I don't want her to miss any games!!

user3 same! I've enjoyed seeing her and her fits

user2 even if it didnt the Bengals aren't predicted to go far this year

user4 I NEED to know what's happening bc there is no way she just up and decided to attend football games this religously

user5 and they're not just any football games, Bengals games. she didnt even grow up a Bengals fan, she was raised a Titan's fan

yn_ln

liked by user43, gracieabrams, sabrinacarpender, and 928,923 others

Yn_ln: Ugh South America!! Y’all are as beautiful as sparkling lights at midnight!! Big kisses to you all!! 🫶🫶

tagged: no one

user1 ahh best night of my life!!!

user2 she was so giddy and happy tonight

user3 im glad someone else noticed

user4 guys the surprise songs tonight where the first ones since the breakup about Lewis that she wasn't mad or sad

user5 was Lewis in attendance? Are my parents back together??

user6 nope, while Y/n was giggling her way through Delicate Lewis was attempting to overtake Lando in Italy

user7 we all see her smile right??

user8 I NEED to know who was behind it

user9 I've been searching but as of right now no one other than family and close friends were in the VIP tents

user10 when she sang it seemed like she directed it in one area of the crowd not the tents, so maybe this mystery person was on the floor

user11 normally I would call this theory crazy but people who were there said it was clear the second surprise song was clearly aimed at someone in the audience, but no ones been identified yet...

joeyb_9

liked by user93, lahhay10_, teehigins, and 823,929 others

joeyb_9: "You look like bad news, I gotta have you" or sum

tagged: lahjay10_

User12 HE DID NOT

user1 WHAT

user2 guys is this who I think it was

user3 my worlds just collided

lahya10_ great night- one for the books!

joeyb_9 you got that right

user4 OMG JOEY B AND J'MARR AT A Y/N CONCERT??

user5 im assuming we're all thinking the same thing...

user6 they were on the floor too, not in tents

user7 J'marr only posted a story about the night and didnt dress up, so it has to be Joe

user8 THE CAPTION HELLO

user9 brother thinks putting "or sum" makes it less obvious

user10 what if he's just a girl like us with hyper specific captions

user11 the fact that he dressed up on theme for the concert made him 10x hotter

bengals

liked by yn_ln, joeyb_9, user5, and 678, 982 others

bengals: "It's been a long time coming..." 🏆

tagged: no one

user1 admin you aint slick 🤨

user2 AND THE BENGALS ARE SUPER BOWL CHAMPS WHOOO

user3 AHHH DID ANYONE ELSE SEE Y/N'S FACE AT THE END

user4 her face?? Babe I saw her whole body go flying up when they won!

user5 ugh she's a good luck charm across all sports

User6 but this time the man backed her up with his own skill…

User7 damn Y/n fans switch up quick

joeyb_9

liked by yn_ln, teehiggins, bengals, and 918,289 others

joeyb_9: WE'RE CHAMPS BABY

tagged: bengals, yn_ln

yn_ln so proud!!

joeyb_9 ♥️

lahjay10_ HELL YEAH BROTHER

joeyb_9 💪💪

teehiggins that’s how we do!!

joeyb_9 that's how we do 👏👏

User1 OMG HIM AND Y/N???

User2 their celebrations were adorable!!

user3 I’m glad after all the speculation they’ve made it official \

user4 He is not afraid of showing her off🥹

user5 it makes me so happy for her

yn_ln

liked by joeyb_9, user93, user3, and 928,928 others

yn_ln: I'm with the winning team

tagged: joeyb_9

joeyb_9 so much better than a good luck charm ♥️

yn_ln ♥️♥️

user1 Lewis punching the air rn

user2 fr, she really called him a loser with the caption

user3 lmao I love shady Y/n

user4 HER AND JOE?? THATS THE CUTEST PIC EVER

user5 IKR

user6 THEY'VE BEEN PUBLIC FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS AND THEY ALREADY MAKE ME FEEL SO LONELY

user7 is she with the winning team or are they the winning team??

user8 y/n and Joe >>>

Yn_ln

liked by user79, user91, user91, and 918,901 others

Yn_ln: surprise!! "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros" out now!! This edition includes two new songs, "So High School" and "The Alchemy"

tagged: no one

comments have been disabled

Twitter post songs release:

Twitter first Paris show:

yn_ln

liked by joeyb_9, user82, landonorris, and 829,927 others

yn_ln: Fuck me up *Paris*!!!

tagged: no one

user1 AHHH TTPD SET WAS INCREDIBLE

user2 ugh buying more tickets now bc I HAVE to see the new set

User3 all the symbols I CANT

User4 she looked so stunning

User5 I cannot y’all Joe was there!!!!

user6 I lost my mind at all their moments!! Hes so shameless unlike Lewis

User7 Paris was so lucky!!

user8 it was adorable to see Joe smiling and SINGING all throughout the show, including his songs/TTPD set

user9 ahhh the singing got me!!! her exes would never

user10 all the friendship bracelets her received and wore-- he was so cute

user11 I love that he has arms full and refused to relive himself of any!!

joeyb_9

liked by yn_ln, user9, yn_updates, and 918,928 others

joeyb_9: Baby, you're the one to beat ♥️

tagged: yn_ln

comments have been limited

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@swifth0lic

@erbri3r

[tom-is-online]

ok so.

3DMV cuts of songs written for past events is kinda huge to trying to figure out what the fuck is going to happen in the new world links.

if the songs that are chosen are to do with what happens in the event itself then that means they'd have to be based on events that have 3dmvs to begin with (probably)

current 3dmv contenders are

Toya: Mirai, Blender, Haven Akito: Cinema, Kashika, Fuel Kohane: Flyer, Realise, Ultra C An: Forward, City

Haven is too new rly imo and I don't think SCSD is really as hyped as Blender is, also Blenders event rly goes hard that boy suffers in there. they'd have a lot to play with

my gut is telling me that Akito isn't going to be Fuel, i don't see a world where it is. Cinema and Kashika are both very likely, i kinda want it to be Kashika more cuz I think they could do a lot with the event its from but also Stray Bad Dog goes so hard that I actually don't know what id prefer. Stray Bad Dog is iconic, they could do a lot of thinking about Arata's character progression in this timeline. So im leaning to realistically its gonna be Cinema. (also Cinema is like. so popular idk why they wouldn't pick Cinema yknow? It's fucking Cinema)

Ultra C feels like the obvious choice but I do think that any Kohane pick would be a peak choice, but Ultra C is fucking Ultra C yknow? That's fucking Rad Weekend. UNLESS they do realise and mess around with the aftermath of LUTF stuff which would be cool also but i don't think that's gonna happen. Flyer is a firm perhaps but i wouldn't hold out any hope

Closing out the world link on An's being City. I do not see a world where they pick Forward over fucking City. It's gonna be a punch in the gut for her. An being last in the World Link is so fucking heartbreaking already and the fucking event isn't even out yet im gonna lose my fucking shit. City is such an important song for An. It's gonna be fucking City

Also if my prediction of City/Machi is right then that means that there's no issue with Toya and An having the same producer for blender and forward, since surely they wouldn't have both lmao.

ANYWAY uhh let me know what you guys think :) idk if im cooking or not i feel like i am going insaneeeeee

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

Ok ok one final jumbled prediction for WOTFI 2024:

So we all know about the Shadow Man Easter egg charecter right? The one who we see in small glimpses scattered across the Mr. Puzzles episodes? (Most prominently seen as a hand in Mr Puzzles' Clubhouse at 1:38? )

Well,,, what if that's Mr Puzzles dad?

Alright, hear me out.

What if his father saw what Puzzles has grown up to be and realized it was his fault, so now he follows him around in hopes of finding a way to atone/fix things? Maybe the crew find themselves stuck with no way to get out and in comes Puzzles Senior to save them. (Although I REALLY want to see Tari be the one to break them out like in Western Spaghetti.)

And at the end there will be this climactic moment of him saying 'Im so sorry I was never supportive, it's my fault you turned out that way, I just want to mend things between us' and maybe distract him until the SMG4 crew go in for the kill. Because let's face it, he's going to die.

Another really interesting idea is that this could be puzzles from another timeline where he didn't go insane and maybe actually did become a famous director, coming to this dimension somehow to tame his alter self.

Either that or: (and I really like this one) Mr Puzzles was never a human to begin with.

My personal headcanon for him is that he is fully robotic and his creator, the actual Kid Puzzles, created him for his theme park. However, due to some conflict or other, Puzzles was set free into the world, not knowing that he was supposed to be a mascot, but having the memories of his creator and knowing that at some point he used to be a kid who watched TV a lot.

Maybe the shadow man is Kid (Now Man) Puzzles looking for his missing creation, and as the one who programmed him, he could help Tari bring him down so he could take him in for repairs. That would explain why Puzzles is so heavily characterized by lack of creativity and also give him a chance to show up again in a different episode, but this time a lot more nice and well meaning.

I'm so exited for the WOTFI chat,,,,

[orcarnage]

I don't know if I'm just deranged but.... I think this is it, this is the point where things went irreparably south between Guts and Griffith.

Let me try to explain it; in this scene, had guts spoken his mind, it would likely have prevented him from leaving the hawks altogether. Griffith asked this not because he thought he might be cruel, he knows he is. He asked because he wanted to know what Guts, thought; he wanted reassurance. He asked this to Guts knowing he'd reply with something akin to this, because it is something familiar. He knew Guts would downplay it, give some sort of 'and you ask ME?' kind of response.

This was the wrong choice. Griffith predicted it would be this way, and he proved himself right, because he always does that, doesn't he? What he did here was essentially just shouting into a void. Griffith is not content with this arrangement, having Guts just follow him as a soldier, and had he known Guts also wanted to stand equal to him, this scene would have gone a completely different route. This scene separated them, it put them each back into their roles, a leader, and one who is below him.

The face that Griffith makes when he asks that question, his expressions are very delicate but it is a deliberately big panel. His eyes are determined, but he's tense. His eyebrows are about to furrow, his posture is really stiff, and he hesitates. The sorrow in his words is insane, I'm going insane. HE NEEDS YOU TO HOLD HIM!!! GUTS YOU DUMB FUCK!!!

And then this HORRIBLE {affectionate} CONTINUATION.

God this was awful. You said exactly what he expected you to, you ruined the opportunity to speak your mind, im losing my marbles. GUTS IM PUSHING YOU INTO THE SEWER.

That fucking smile. Its so forced. This is the point where Guts puts Griffith on a level he sees himself as being below. This is the point where Griffith realizes his dream will come at a cost.; forever elevated above his peers, unable to stand shoulder to shoulder with Guts, something Guts accidentally made clear with his comment. And Griffith can do nothing but accept it. This will cause him to cling to his dream harder than ever, and Guts will seek to elevate himself to stand beside Griffith. They're so physically close, but they're worlds apart. THIS COULD HAVE BEEN FIXED!!! OH THE TRAGEDY!!!! THE TRAGEDY!!!!! MIURA SENSEI, WHY?????

Anyways I'm very passionate thanks for coming to my ted talk feel free to add on or argue or discuss i just wanted to analyze this scene a bit specifically due to the face Griffith makes.

[voidcat]

so... amphoreus, huh. i think as 3.2 is out, we all know and are aware it is, without a doubt, a simulation right?

(aka my mini rambling post regarding the world thus far, less of a theory and more of a "pointing out the obvious" in my terms because im still seeing posts in denial or not reading a single text in the main quest then making "theories" and im a salty person who's annoyed by this ahahaha)

with 3.2 being out and we have been shed more light with anaxagoras' help, i want to talk about the world a little, and appreciate mhy for the foreshadowings they've done. credit where its due, for all the bs they do, they always nail foreshadows right and do it well. not spoiler free !!! im lazy to add visuals (esp regarding anaxagoras quotes) so i'll quote to the best of my ability (idek where to begin lol) kind of a long thread, mostly to keep my thoughts somewhere,,, ty if you read to the end <3

So even for non hi3 or genshin players, amphoreus was a suspicious world on its own. the corrupted areas looking to be like erased data or a virus of sorts. how garmentmakers nymphs always resembled "bugs" and made emoticon faces to react. i said before that i thought the world was stuck in a cycle- a samsara cycle like tevyat (genshin) perhaps. with the broken moon, "the sea of flowers at the end of the journey" (the twins' ultimate destination in genshin) which was revealed to be the nether realm aka the afterlife and how the dead are never fully dead and we have these memory fragments often left behind at crucial locations.

cerces had called herself "calypso" before and said she came up with it on a whim. but this quest showed, calypso was one of the seven sages and her past form for a better lack of a word. like how gnaus was once nikador/strife. "titans of today are heirs of yesterday who claimed the coreflames and passed the trials" it's as simple as that, really.

(also here is what one of the nymphs in dawnbreak say when you catch it) (the nymphs seem to be more aware of the reality of amphoreus than the citizens and heirs)

amphoreus is a simulation- that resets its data. that's why while cerces has remained her appearance (despite her contradicting lines saying they decipted her as a tree in the demigod council, easiest and best way to illustrate her when they didn't know what she looked like) some of the previous heirs did not- or to our knowledge so far. how the new titans' data is "constructed" entirely depends on the "memories" collected in the previous era. and from there, their new forms are based on. kephale hinted to be not dead nor alive, in the state of dying and thus stuck in a dynamic, i think fits well with phainon's contradicting entity too. only surviver of his town, his "true form" on the other side wreaking havoc. he is the trickiest heir most likely last to obtain divinity for this reason. because it's flame reaver that is the lord ravager lygus told madam herta.

amphoreus is a simulation made to keep lord ravager in. the why isn't clear but there must be some history between his past and cyrene/elysia to have gone through these lenghts. with a simulated world that "resets" itself and starts over, FR is more or less aware of his entrapment at this point and that'ss why he has begun to go after the coreflames: the hard drivers of the world, if we take amphoreus not just as a simulation but as a simple computer of sorts.

that's where erudition and remembrance plays factor, intentionally or not in a collabration with each other, as brought to reality and guarded by lygus, an antikytheran.

and what is an antikytheran? a hand powered orrery (solar system model) that could be used to predict asronomical positions/athletic cycles of olympic games and such. it can be considered as the oldest known example of an analogue computer. (all these, simply from a basic wikipedia search). in the game we are told there used to be many "antikytherans" and lygus is one of the last of the species, but in a simulated world, how much of it holds true, who is to say this isnt fabricated history? anaxagoras also points out the history before the titans is unclear and implied/told to be in utter chaos. just because it wasn't recorded properly does not mean this was th fact.

same as the case of lygus. in his dialogue to madam herta, there is an emphasis on predictions, similar to the real thing. he says he ws gazed upon by nous too but herta has showed us already that nous is not exactly the gazing or responsive type. before he is an aeon, he is a computer. so who is to say lygus is not an extension of it, or maybe an earlier model, a prototype perhaps made by zandar one kuwabara himself- or based on one of his earlier inventions? just like that, it's most likely lygus/nous' influence that the first "seeds" of "nousporists" was planted (again, credit where its due, nous' name and the philosophy of nousporism in amphoreus tie wonderfully and show us clear influence/interventions of nous. just like how nihility is named ix not for the number but after the major arcana card ix). everything in amphoreus is a repetitive cycle that is rewritten by the previous data that has been saved/collected.

as a world that is overlooked by three paths, i think destruction came last, with the arrival of lord ravager. now im not certain if the world was already existing before that with the intention to keep him, or if he was inserted after, but the last scenes with herta imply he was the latest component and lastly added- one of the true outsiders. his fragment image being able to move as herta walks is another display of his self awareness of his predicament.

and now onto why i emphasized on mhy's foreshadowing (if you've read this far lmao) if you've done the seal event, you see TB has a "prophetic dream" that shows phainon. some things that stand out regarding him is that: he refers to his seal army as his "legion" which instantly reminds me of "anti matter legion" or simply known as the "legion", lead by nanook and his lord ravagers. in the event, phainon (or pie-non as he introduces himself in the dream), he does say "i was always the invader. there was never any side switching." for the remainder of the event after the dream, we don't see much of him. it gives us more information regarding cipher and aglaea in fact.

which further leads me to believe his purpose is for the following story. because one thing mhy loves is to hide their best drops and foreshadows in fun, silly looking events (ie: summer events that always foreshadow upcoming regions in genshin) people will skim over or will put to auto (or webevents, as the latest moon sisters loredrop in genshin proved once more.) please do note this is the same company who foreshadowed/gave us a lot of crucial intel on the harbingers and even the story of ru and the thunderbird as early as games earliest existing artifacts (the og electro set to be specific for ru/thunderbird.) the timing of the event being right after 3.2 and giving you a warning to play it if you havent finished the latest quest are all intentional.

offhandedly it is also said during the quest, hycilens is dead. (not surprising since she is most likely an expy of dr mei) but with anaxagoras' death as well, before we could learn more regarding him and the odd void within his chest, i think we are meant to see the upcoming cycle. all of the heirs being foreshadowed to die isn't very surprising, since we have examples such as tingyun, fugue, misha, gallagher and whatnot... but considering they are all part of a simulation, as long as their coreflames/souls remain protected, they will live on for a better lack of a word.

and we do have calypso suggesting alchemy in the previous cycle, and supposedly in the new era when supposedly "alchemy hadn't existed to align/sync with the story of dragon of styxia", castorice's existence alone is the first step perhaps that the repetitive cycle is being broken.-- castorice and pollixia breaking the natural order of the world by directly inserting her into the new cycle is the first step on the path of disturbance, or destruction.

and while i got into the whole foreshadow thing, i do want to add, black swan's existence in penacony from the start seemed iffy to me. so when we put what we know about misha/mikhail, black swan and all she told us so far, the memetic virus event that stuck out like a sorethumb when we all were expecting amphoreus, i am certain, these were all setting stones for amphoreus for us players. (the black tide being corrupted data/a virus, the nymphs being bugs/antivirus installment that record data and watch over until we collect them all back while coreflames are the drives where all data is restored for the world to be reset with a "new age of titans".

so much rambling for so little conclusion ahahah sorry, i didn't have much time to ponder regarding phainon being "cursed by mnestia" but considering the golden threads that always listen and the nymphs belonging to her, her role isnt just the "titan of love and romance" nor "created by cerces for company, only for the creation to fall in love with the creator". -> especially after with thanatos and the twins, reaching the conclusion that with the cycle of life and death and the passion to live and enjoy as long as you breathe, thus the humans learned to love; bringing this hand to hand with thanatos playing a role in mnestia's nymphs, their roles mightve been more mixed than what we have been shown so far.

after all, all we learn in amphoreus is just memories of people of the past- manipulated data if you will. oh and the vortex of genesis is most likely the heart of amphoreus and the whole world itself. as it is where the coreflames are "returned" (restored) and why when entering the world, herta finds herself there with fragmanted forms of the outsiders (lord ravager/fr, trailblazer and dan heng) while lygus is fully intact and in its form as it has shown us.

if anyone (especially hi3 players) have anything they want to add or have noticed themselves, pls feel free to add! i mainly wanted a post to gather my thoughts and will most likely edit this in the foreseeable future when i remember the rest of my thoughts ^^) but yeah, elysia/cyrene is most likely a emanator (remembrance) too but if she's not playing dumb as mem and that gaze of fuli black swan noticed in 3.2 wasn't the moment we were gazed upon by fuli, then it'll really be a paimon situation for sure... rip oh and whenever we "purify" the corrupted areas, the symbol we interact with seem to resemble kephale's symbol... edit 2: i'm thinking maybe as black swan has said regarding the garden of recollection and memokeepers, there is a third party playing too that we are unaware of yet who is causing this chaos/corruption- possibly even the black tide itself. similar to how march 7th's ice shoing up when she is unable to remember, the remnants of black tide is data removal- and in case of amphoreus, we know data = memories. perhaps the third party is like HoC was for elysian realm and Cyrene is now trying to guide us as Mem. and for all that concerns Phainon/FR/Kevin, the world to be built only to reset over and over is perhaps the true trial of not just Kephale but for Phainon/Kevin to reach a certain form or state of mind Cyrene/Elysia hopes for him to reach as humanity's survivor and protector. edit: i think this qrt thread by twitter user lenteels sums up all of amphoreus as a world down to its basics pretty much too (and gave me a good laugh so i'll link here)

(also idk how many of you follow leaks or not but just today we've got leaks that say flame reaver is the true protagonist of the story-- they didn't elaborate further as to not spoil anything else, and "because it's long". buuuuuut yeah let's see what we will be getting out of FR vs Elysia / Phainon vs Cyrene and was the driving force behind her actions^-^)