#it was like reading something and my brain went

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS PT2| MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by. 

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had. 

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, pining, possession, jealousy

tw: swearing, light injury

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i liked writing this one but it’s kinda all over the place lol. azzi is really in her oblivious era 🙄 and please ignore how everything in this chapter has already happened.. anyway please please lemme know how y’all like it! enjoyyy

CHAPTER SIX

azzi strolls into her and caroline’s shared dorm, still out of it from everything that went down in paige’s room just hours prior.

caroline rests on her bed, curled up in a ball with a book in her hands. her eyes snap to azzi as she makes her entrance, prepared and willing to apologize profusely.

azzi lets out a quiet sigh, not quite ready to talk with caroline just yet. instead, she goes into their small kitchen, opens the fridge and grabs an unopened water, taking a few sips. she also spots leftover chocolate chip muffins that her and caroline had baked recently, and snatches one of those to snack on as well.

azzi makes her way into their bedroom eventually, finally deciding to talk to her best friend. she hates fighting with her- can’t stand it, actually.

“hey,” azzi waves at carol, taking a bite of the muffin.

“azzi, i’m so sorry,” caroline apologizes, shutting her book to give her undivided attention to her friend. “i promise i was going to tell you eventually, i just figured i’d let you and paige work things out before getting involved. you have to know that.”

azzi’s lips tug into a small smile, “i understand, babe. it’s already forgotten.”

she wasn’t lying, either. it was forgotten- something, someone took her mind straight off it.

caroline lets out a breath of relief, touching her hand to her heart. “oh, that’s good. i truly am sorry.”

azzi just laughs at the brunette’s reaction while continuing to snack on her muffin.

“so, how’s the book? i’ve been dying to read that one,” azzi asks, changing the subject.

“it’s so good, you’ll love-“ caroline cuts herself off, “azzi fudd, look at me right now.”

azzi’s head snaps to caroline, “what?” she questions, genuinely confused.

caroline gasps, covering at mouth with both hands, “oh my god! i can’t believe this!” she stands up, approaching the curly headed girl, “who am i kidding, i totally can believe this.”

“what are you talking about?”

“look in the fucking mirror, az!” caroline exclaims.

azzi’s eyes widen as it clicks in her brain. she rushes into the bathroom and instantly covers her mouth in shock. fucking paige.

a trail of hickeys are scattered along her neck, all down her collarbone. heat reaches her cheeks as she shakes her head in disbelief.

“oh jesus,” azzi murmurs.

caroline appears behind her, looking directly in the mirror, making eye contact with her friend. a loud laugh leaves her lips, unable to hold it together.

azzi turns around, finding it extremely unfunny. she gives carol a shove, “it’s not fucking funny, asshole!”

caroline plants a hand over her mouth in hopes to control her chuckle, “i’m sorry, babe. but seriously? we were just talking about this yesterday and it happened overnight?”

azzi opens her mouth to explain herself, but closes it when she can’t find the words.

“tell me everything that happened,” caroline smiles, excitement buzzing off her.

azzi and carol leave the bathroom, entering their shared bedroom and sitting on the two beds, facing one another.

“where do i even start,” azzi quietly asks herself, before beginning to go over everything that went down between paige and her from the night before.

“no, az, you said to forget about it? why would you do that?” caroline questions after azzi wraps up the explanation of her trail of hickeys.

azzi shakes her head as regret sets in. “i panicked, okay? i didn’t wanna screw things up.”

“but what’s wrong with changing how things are between you two? you clearly like one another, so what’s the big deal?”

azzi looks at her friend, “that’s the thing, carol. she doesn’t like me. i mean, maybe a little, but not like that. she never wanted to kiss me to begin with- i was the one to initiate it.”

caroline smirks while shaking her head at azzi’s comment, “babe, i love you and all, but you’re being dumb.”

azzi scrunches her eyebrows at her friend, “what? why?”

“paige loves you, idiot! i know it, everyone knows it; she knows it, even if she doesn’t wanna admit it,” carol begins, “she always makes little glances at you during practices, she practically glows when someone mentions you around her. and on top of all of that, she always finds a way to be near you whenever you’re around!”

azzi gapes at caroline’s reasoning, shock crashing onto her features. unsure how to respond, she stays silent, letting a comfortable silence settle between the two freshmen.

“you’re wrong, carol,” azzi finally responds, shaking her head. she has to be wrong.

“like hell i am!” caroline shouts. “and do you really think she’d fuck you without any feelings involved?”

azzi’s lips curl into a line, “i’ve heard she’s done it before.”

“azzi, everyone has casual hookups. i’m not talking about that. it’s different with you.”

“you don’t know that,” azzi responds.

“we’ll see in practice tomorrow,” caroline says to her friend.

“we sure will,” azzi folds her arms over her chest in challenge.

the following day, azzi immediately forces all the paige’s thoughts away, at least for a little while so she can focus on doing better in practice.

she rolls out of bed, rubbing her eyes and letting out a soft yawn. she washes her face, follows her short and simple skincare routine before applying concealer to the marks paige left behind on her neck, trying her best to hide them. even after three layers, they’re still slightly noticeable.

she throws on practice clothes before heading out the door with caroline by her side.

“did you make sure to cover your little love bites?” carol snickers from beside azzi.

azzi rolls her eyes, “yes, caroline. not like it’s gonna last, though.”

caroline nods in agreement. once azzi starts to sweat, the concealer will definitely wear off, leaving azzi’s neck exposed.

a flash of panic runs through azzi, “you don’t think paige told anyone, right?”

carol slugs her arm around the freshmen’s shoulders, tugging her close. “nah, not yet, at least. it’ll be fine, az.”

“i hope you’re right.”

azzi’s performance is definitely an improvement from yesterday; her shots falls in almost everytime, she completes simple layups with a grin on her face.

paige notices this, and decides to approach the younger girl, despite her brain screaming not to.

“i see you’re doing better,” paige notes, a tiny smirk on her lips as she stares at azzi.

azzi locks eyes with paige and takes a small step backwards. she figured paige would keep her distance, considering what she told her yesterday, but apparently, paige has other plans.

“yeah, guess so,” azzi mutters, taking her attention off paige and back onto shooting.

paige continues to stare at her, awkwardly standing with a basketball in her hands.

“do you need something?” azzi asks, arching a brow.

“uh,” paige begins but her words soon trail off as she catches sight of the faint marks on azzi’s neck, scattered along her neck and collarbone area.

azzi glances at paige, confusion setting in at paige’s wandering eyes. “what?”

paige blinks, her lips pressing into a thin line as she clears her throat. “um, guess i got a little carried away earlier,” she mutters as she shallows dryly. “didn’t realize i left marks.”

azzi’s cheeks flush, unconsciously grabbing her neck. “yeah, you did.”

“sorry about that,” paige attempts a small smile at azzi, who doesn’t return it. instead, she stares at paige with an unreadable expression on her face.

“it’s fine,” azzi whispers, going back to shooting, subtly hinting for paige to leave.

paige takes the hint and soon backs away from the curly haired brunette, going back to her own dibbling drills she was previously doing with jana and aubrey. she can’t help but feel embarrassed that azzi can shut what happened between them down. it clearly wasn’t that easily for paige.

paige feels for azzi, whether she was ready to admit it or not. that night they shared together meant something to her- meant everything to her. how was she supposed to forget it happened when every time she saw azzi, it all came rushing back?

days went by with azzi and paige keeping their distance from each other. the two barely interacted during practices, barely even glanced in the others direction.

regardless of their little contact, paige still yearned for azzi. she physically couldn’t get their shared night out of her head; the feel of azzi’s lips on hers, her tongue against hers, her taste. she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t late nights where her fingers didn’t end up in her pants at the memory of azzi. there most definitely was.

but today was game day, so the blonde tried her best to focus her attention on basketball, and not the brunette that wouldn’t even glance her way anymore.

the uconn women’s basketball team, along with iowa state, the opponent, took their time getting warmed up and stretched. by the time both teams were ready to start, paige was relaxed and confident in her game.

the girls are playing well- paige has 15 points and azzi equips 17 before halftime arrives.

30 seconds until the halftime buzzer goes off. the whistle blew sharply, cutting through the noise of the crowd. paige has her hands on the ball, scanning her surroundings for any open teammates. azzi is planted in the corner, setting up for a 3 shot she could easily make. out of the corner of her eye, azzi spots a player from iowa state approaching her, in attempts to guard the freshmen. paige throws the ball to azzi after noticing she’s open. azzi scans the court, waiting for the perfect moment to take the shot. she dribbles once, then twice, pivoting to create space between the defender and herself. the player belonging to iowa state closes in, aggressive and quick. azzi shifts to her right, trying to get the open shot, but as she plants her foot to push off, the defender lungs at her- her elbow unintentionally catching azzi in the ribs.

azzi lets out a sharp gasp when she stumbles backwards. her ankle twists slightly as she tries to catch herself, but ultimately loses her balance and crashes hard to the floor. the air leaves her lungs in a painful rush.

“azzi!” paige’s voice breaks through the noise of the game, full of concern and worry. one minute she was on the other side of the court, and in an instant, she was sprinting towards where azzi’s lays. she reaches azzi, who attempts to sit up, hand clutching her ribs, wincing in pain.

“hey, hey, you okay?” paige kneels beside her, placing both hands on azzi’s face, eyes wide and mouth ajar. there was a noticeable anger in her tone, and before azzi knew it, paige turns her head at the iowa state defender, who was standing there, oblivious. “what the hell was that?”

the defender, a bit stunned at paige’s outburst, takes a gentle, cautious step back. “i didn’t mean to-“

“i don’t care if you meant to or not!” paige snaps, her eyes narrow.

the ref was already approaching the commotion, but paige ignores him, attention fixed on azzi. she reaches out to once again cup the younger girls face in her hands. “azzi, look at me. are you okay? can you breathe?”

azzi, still dazed at her fall, pulls her eyes to paige’s. her body almost instantly relaxes with paige’s hands on her face and eyes fixated solely on azzi. “i think i twisted my ankle a bit. and my ribs hurt.. but i’m okay.”

paige takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. she removes her hands off azzi’s figure, placing them restlessly at her sides.

suddenly, aubrey, nika as well as coach auriemma appear behind paige- coach looking pissed.

“oh my god, azzi, are you okay?” nika questions, concerned for her teammate.

“i’m all good, nik,” azzi replies, attempting a small smile for reassurance.

“paige,” coach auriemma says, eyes flaming with anger.

paige flicks her eyes at coach as nerves set in for the sophomore. oh well, she thought. defending azzi was more important than a lecture she’ll receive later on.

azzi tries to get up on her own, struggles a little before the blonde offers both hands out to azzi. paige helps azzi to her feet, still clutching her ribs in pain. paige lets go of azzi’s hands, only to move one arm loosely around her waist and position herself at the brunettes side.

the two girls head into the locker room, paige’s arm never moves from azzi’s frame. for support, she repeats to herself. the other players follow as well, all concerned for the freshmen. azzi is a big part of their teams success- she had to be okay.

azzi lowers herself onto the bench once they make it to the locker room for halftime, carefully and cautiously. paige continues to linger close to her.

before paige could get a word out, coach auriemma shouts her name, calling the sophomore over. paige groans as azzi quietly chuckles, already expecting a long lecture.

the game eventually ended, uconn winning by a landslide. azzi, for the last two quarters, rested on the bench, not wanting to risk getting further injured.

azzi is sprawled out in her bed, caroline sitting in hers with her nose in her current read, when a text from the team group chat comes through.

azzi reaches for her phone- wanna go to ted’s at 8? nika’s text read.

azzi mentally groans, not wanting to leave her room, much less leave her bed. she lets out a soft sigh, knowing caroline will drag her there regardless of her answer.

me and azzi are in! caroline quickly sends, not even bothering to ask azzi prior. typical, azzi thinks to herself.

each teammate, besides ashlynn, who was crammed with studying and said she couldn’t make it, agrees to ted’s.

caroline practically throws her book down, rushing to get up and get herself ready for the night at the bar. azzi closes her eyes in defeat, pulling her blanket over her face to capture her annoyance.

carol yanks the blanket out of azzi’s grip, not having it with azzi’s stubborn pleas. “get up,” she says firmly at her friend.

azzi rolls her eyes, groaning again for good measure. she takes her time getting up from the bed, not wanting to push her ankle. it remains sore, but she’s able to walk decent. her ribs, however, have a large bruise from the iowa state player’s elbow.

azzi and caroline get dressed with music playing in the background from carol’s phone. azzi picks out a pink tank top, long enough to cover her noticeable bruise, and a pair of jean shirts: her go-to going out outfit.

around 7:50 pm, the two roommates make their way to the bar, azzi still buzzing with frustration from being forced out of her comfortable state. all she wanted was a chill night in, or maybe binge watch her favorite tv series again.

the door creaks as it swings open, the sound of loud chants makes azzi take a cautious step back. ted’s, as usual, is packed with uconn students. there was a faint clink of glass on glass cutting through the air, mingling with the deeper thud of bottles being slammed onto the counter. somewhere in the background, a jukebox crackles, its song barely audible over the noise of the overlapping voices.

azzi’s eyes wander, trying to find any of her teammates she planned to meet up with, coming up with none. her and caroline stood close, not wanting to lose one another in the buzzing crowd.

they sat themselves in open seats along the bar, after what felt like ages searching for. behind the bar, a male bartender’s rag swishes against a dirty glass as he glances at the two girls. laughter erupts at one end of the room, loud and brash, before it falters into a sputtering cough.

“what can i get you ladies?” the bartenders smiles kindly at them.

“i’ll just take a margarita,” azzi returns the smile.

“me too,” carol agrees, making it easier for the bartender, since he’s clearly overwhelmed with the crowd.

“coming right up,” the man throws his rag over his shoulder as he reaches for a clean glass.

out of the corner of azzi’s eye, she catches a glimpse of nika, with paige and kk right on her heels.

the three didn’t notice the two freshmen quite yet, however. they sat themselves at a nearby table, navigating their way through the packed bar, before going up and ordering their own drinks of choice.

paige’s eyes lock on azzi’s once she reaches the bar, their distance closing in. a smirk lingers on her lips, yet azzi looks away, embarrassed and confused from their interaction earlier that day.

the two don’t speak. paige is deeply engrossed in a conversation with kk, waiting for her drink to be made, and rushes back to their table without a glance back at the younger girl. not that azzi cares, that is.

azzi grips her drink, taking sips, wanting to savor it for the moment.

“i’m going to the bathroom,” carol says with urgency, getting up out of her chair. azzi responds with a simple nod in acknowledgment.

minutes pass; azzi stays firmly planted in her seat, glancing at paige ever so often, before focusing on her phone.

azzi’s gaze flickers around the room, idle but alert, until a woman around her age suddenly slides into the now empty seat caroline was sitting in previously.

“i couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” the woman smiles at the brunette, “i’m talia.”

“azzi, and thanks, i guess,” azzi stumbles over her words, nervous at the attention she typically never gets.

azzi’s smile is polite, but her eyes flash with hesitation. she didn’t come here to flirt- especially with a complete stranger.

“what are you drinking? i’ll buy you another,” talia says, determination laced in her tone.

azzi is hesitant, “you really don’t have to.”

“i insist.”

azzi smirks at her, before agreeing, “alright then. a margarita, thanks.”

talia, a pretty blonde with loose curls, just like azzi’s, resting on her shoulders. her eyes were olive green, eyelashes long in length, perky breasts sitting nicely in her tank top. azzi definitely didn’t hate looking at her.

an unnecessarily loud chuckle interrupts the two girl’s conversation. azzi turns her head, eyes immediately landing on paige who stands at her table, clutching her glass tightly. she’s staring- eyes narrowed, cheeks red as her jaw tightens. azzi feels a familiar tension rise in the air between them.

she focuses on the woman in front of her, choosing to ignore the fuming blonde. they discuss their interests, azzi mentions she plays basketball for uconn, and what not.

paige’s gaze lingers on azzi longer than intended: an unreadable expression on her face. the sophomore gives them a couple minutes as she silently watches, hoping and praying the woman will leave her azzi alone.

but when she sees azzi outburst with loud laughter is when she loses it. she slams her glass down, hard enough to rattle the wooden table, and struts over there, anger buzzing off her skin.

azzi immediately sees the blonde coming her way, but chooses to ignore her until she reaches her and talia’s spots at the bar.

paige doesn’t bother looking in talia’s direction- she focuses solely on azzi, and azzi only. her hand impulsively moves to grip azzi’s arm, firm but gentle enough so it won’t hurt her.

“i need to talk to you,” paige says darkly, “now, azzi.”

azzi scrunches her eyebrows, shock running through her veins at paige’s urgency.

“i’ll be right back,” azzi points to talia, offering a small smile as paige pulls her away. paige’s hand lingers on her back, holding her close as they walk towards the exit door for a more quiet, private area to talk.

“no, you won’t,” paige whispers against azzi’s curls.

the haunting tension hangs in the air as azzi follows paige outside, the frigid wind hitting her bare arms. the night is quiet, only the sound of the their footsteps fills the space as they head to the parking lot. neither paige nor azzi says anything at first, the energy between them is thick.

“where are we going?” azzi questions suddenly, annoyance laced in her tone.

“to your room, or mine, it doesn’t matter. somewhere we can talk without the freezing fucking weather.”

azzi remains behind the blonde the whole walk back to campus, letting out multiple angry huffs to capture how unpleased she is with paige.

“are you going to tell me why the hell you did that?” azzi says as soon as they enter azzi’s dorm, arms crossing over her chest as she tilts her head.

paige’s jaw clenches, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“you really don’t get it, don’t you?” the blonde’s voice is tight, barely under control, as she turns to look at azzi.

azzi raises an eyebrow, “get what?”

paige’s eyes flash, a mix of frustration and anger edging in her tone. “you were all over her, azzi. you didn’t even care that i was right there.”

azzi’s shoulders tense, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “what are you talking about? it was just a conversation, paige.”

the sophomore scoffs, taking a small step towards the girl. “you were practically flirting with her! laughing, leaning in, making it obvious you were interested.”

“you’re being ridiculous! it wasn’t flirting, and if anything, she was the one flirting with me! and why the fuck would you care?” azzi shouts, throwing her arms up.

“god, azzi!” paige shouts back, mouth ajar at azzi’s complete obliviousness.

azzi lets out a small, defeated sigh as she sits down on her bed. paige lowers herself onto caroline’s made one, eyes focusing on the floor.

what feels like minutes pass without either one of them talking. it wasn’t until paige looks up at the brunette, anger washing away into sadness.

“i was jealous,” paige quietly admits, locking eyes with azzi.

“why?” azzi whispers back, her heart racing.

paige closes her eyes for a moment before getting up from her sitting position on carol’s bed, walking closer and closer to the door. she turns to azzi, only able to offer a few quick, quiet words- “you know why.” paige walks out without giving azzi a chance to respond.

azzi swears her heart skips a beat at paige’s choice of words, yet is unable to process how or why paige left so quickly.

minutes later, azzi is curled up into a ball underneath layers of blankets, head still whirling from her and paige’s conversation.

throughout the night, azzi couldn’t sleep. her mind was on repeat of paige’s words, uncontrollably playing in her head.

you know why.

[drewsbraziliangf]

there'll be happiness after you | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: what can you do when you're back in the same place where you had your heart broken for the last time? Is there any way to move past all the hurt and longing?

a/n: ok so I'm sorry for the long wait for this... This will be the last part of this story :'( I want to thank you guys for the love shown in this because this is my first time writing for anything other than House of the Dragon in a loooong time. I hugely suggest listening to "No Goodbyes" by Dua Lipa, "Funeral" by Zara Larsson or "happiness" by Taylor Swift during this read. I hope y'all enjoy it!

dividers: @/saradika

warnings: some cuss words, angst.

The morning after a was never my favorite. Always waking up with a pounding headache and lips as dry as a desert is not the best way to start a day. But there was something about today that made it all worse, for some reason, my brain decided to remember most of the events of the previous night─ touches, kisses, promises, apologies─ everything.

A part of me prayed that I'd forget about it and be able to sneak out without him noticing, but seemed like he was expecting that already and gotten up before I was even awake. The only thing that made it clear that he was indeed at home, was the soft sounds coming from the kitchen.

Okay... I know this apartment like the back of my mind, so since the kitchen door wasn't a direct line for the main door, maybe if I'm quiet enough I'd be able to leave without him noticing, right?

Dwelling on it would only make it worse, so I got up, picked up my clothes from the day before, and quickly got dressed again, this time feeling much more exposed than I did last night. I looked around for my phone, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen. Cursing myself, I remembered that I left it in the living room. Great, a detour.

Thankfully I didn't have to worry too much about how my hair looked as the braids did half the work in keeping it presentable. With a sigh, I walked out of the room with my heels in hand and kept quietly praying to the gods above to grant me this one wish. I just needed my phone and then I'm able to leave.

As I reached the main hall, I could see the bathroom door closed and the lights on. Great, this would be even easier. I quickly walked towards the living room looking for my phone, thankfully it was exactly where I remembered leaving it. It took me no time to grab the device and turn toward the door, only to have one of the biggest jump scares of my life.

"HOLY SHIT!" My left hand instinctively went to my chest as my heart rate increased.

Yeah, there goes my prayers. Drew was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was messy and there was still a small air of sleepiness around him. He cleared his throat as he stared at me.

"Yeah, I knew you'd try to do that," he said with a shrug.

"Well, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid," I snap back after I'm calmer.

I could feel my hands getting sweaty and the weight of his gaze upon me was making me feel so uncomfortable. Like there was this white elephant in the room getting bigger by the second.

"Uhm, I kinda have to go-"

"Come on, let's talk over breakfast."

Without giving me a chance to answer he walked back towards the kitchen and I had no choice but to follow him. With a bit of reluctance, I dragged my bare feet after him. The cold tiles on the floor were not even bothering me as they were five minutes ago.

The worst kind of deja vu bathed me as I stood by the counter. The last time I was here was the worst day of my life, so I wasn't feeling great watching him move so effortlessly.

He filled two glasses with black coffee and the toaster with white bread before picking up some jam and cottage cream cheese.

I sat on one of the benches and quietly accepted the plate he handed me once it was all done, he then proceeded to sit by my side and we began to eat in silence, more like me watching him eat as I sipped my coffee.

"So you were just going to sneak out?" He asked casually after a few minutes as he coated his toast with jam.

"What did you expect me to do? I shouldn't even come here in the first place," I bite back and he places his mug down.

"Well, I thought you would at least grant me the chance to talk. We have a lot to talk about."

"No, we don't. We fucked and that's it. It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again. It can't happen again." I confess, with the instinct of avoiding to meet his eyes.

"What do you mean? We have to talk this through and fix what happened. I know that I fucked up but you just left. As if it all meant nothing to you. We were getting married, for fucks sake." He says, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance.

At that, I stand up and begin walking back toward the living room. I had to leave. This could escalate and both of us leave even more hurt than before.

"I'm not doing this again. I didn't just leave. You pushed me away. You didn't give me a reason to stay. That's what happened."

"I love you! How can you say that?"

"Yeah, you might. But do you like me?" The words leave my mouth before a second to think them over.

He watches me for a second before running a hand over his face. All the traces of sleep were gone from his features now.

"Because I did. And I was so in love with you too," I continue, as my eyes begin to sting. "I was so ready to have the rest of my life by your side. So, how could you do that to me? When did I stop being enough?"

The questions kept flowing out and I couldn't filter my feelings or my words. I just wanted this to end once and for all. My brain couldn't stop reminiscing on last night's events. His touches, his kisses, him.

But being sober now and knowing it all was killing me. How could I be such a fool? After I tried so hard to erase him from my mind...

"No, baby, please listen to me, okay? Just let me talk," he pleaded taking a step closer.

"No, Drew. There is nothing to talk about. I shouldn't have come here and this shouldn't even be happening."

My voice is slightly pitchier than I'd like but I couldn't help it.

"Do you have any idea of how hard it was for me?" I ask looking at his glossy eyes. "I don't get to travel all around the world and the country so I can simply put what happened aside. I had to deal with pitying looks for weeks. I had to walk around the city remembering a life we planned together but wouldn't have anymore. I have to keep on living knowing that that the man I loved didn't choose me when I really fucking needed him to."

At this point, I wasn't trying to keep track of my tears or my words. I just needed that out of my chest so I could be free. I was so tired of carrying these in my heart that even if it hurt, it was freeing.

"So it would be so fucking unfair to me if I just walked back into this," I say as I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "I can't do this to myself again. No matter how much a big part of me still cares about you. I deserve better. I have to choose myself because you clearly didn't."

He didn't say anything at that because there wasn't anything that could be said. Both of us knew that I was right.

Seeing him cry was like picking at an open wound, it made me feel even worse. But, what else could I do? I could feel this eating me up inside and I couldn't look past all the suffering I went through just because he showed up again.

"Loving someone isn't enough to keep a relationship going. You have a lot to do and you didn't, you really didn't. So I'm sorry if I can't just pretend to be okay with everything after a few hours spent together after a few months."

"You think you're the only one suffering in this? I lost you and I had to wake up in our bed every day. I had to be in this apartment knowing that the person who made it a home wasn't going to return. And that no matter what I did or who came by, it was never going to be the same."

His confession made my heart clench but he brought this upon himself. It wasn't me who gave up on it.

"And who's to blame for that?" I say looking into his eyes.

"I know. Don't you think I've blamed myself enough for that?  Because I did, for all the days that you have not been here. This is the first time in seven months when I have felt a sense of normalcy and that's because you're here. Don't you see that?"

Now that the bandaid was ripped once again, the both of us were in tears standing in the middle of the living room. The walls felt like they were getting closer and closer each second that passed.

"Did you know that Frankie came by on the third month? She gave me the TED talk of my life."

That caught your attention, Frankie has never mentioned that. At all.

"She told me that she knew that I wasn't good enough for you from the start, but that she had never expected me to be a shitty partner too. That she had never seen someone disrespect their girlfriend as much as I did without even knowing and that now that I was single the reason for my breakup pushed me aside for someone more interesting. So that not only was I trash for  how I treated you but I was also dumb for not seeing it."

His words come as a shock to you. With shaking hands and deep breaths, you look around the room trying to focus on something that isn't his red face.

"And she's not wrong, you know? And I was also a coward for never coming to you and watching your life on the sidelines."

At this point, I was feeling the huge urge to sob. My hands were sweaty, my tears were not even drying in my face as new ones came down.

"So I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fucking sorry for it. But please, don't say that I didn't care enough about you. Because I did."

His words keep ringing in my ear for a while as I try to place my thoughts correctly. Seven months ago I thought that it would be the last time I would see him and then I'd be able to heal and move on, but now seeing him and hearing everything was bringing a new wave of unaddressed feelings that I have not dealt with yet.

"I can't." A whisper comes out of my lips after a while. "And you have to understand why I can't do this again. I can't ignore everything."

He looks at me with his lips trembling as his tears keep on falling down his face. In the walls of this apartment now the only sound that rang was defeat. This was a lost cause and no matter what happened, both of us would be losing today. 

"I'm sorry, Drew. I really am, but there's nothing that can be done anymore. " I declare as I finally feel like he might let me go. "I hope you find someone who's ready and brave enough to love you through it all, you deserve to be loved and the times that I felt genuinely loved by you were the greatest. That person just won't be me."

Like the first time, months ago, I turned towards the front door and walked out.  Knowing that he would not follow me and that whatever had remained seven months and thirteen days ago, was completely over this time. Even if a huge part of me kept screaming at me to forgive him, I knew I couldn't. Not only it wouldn't be fair to me but I knew what would happen. Of course she wasn't as present in his life anymore, she completely isolated him from any potential significant other he could have. And if we got back together, the cycle would repeat itself and I would never put myself in a situation where I had to fight for someone's attention just to be tossed aside as if I was nothing. 

In this story, there was ever only one winner and it wasn't either Drew or I. 

💖taglist💖: @emmaafinchh @rafecamerons-national-anthem @bvleeeeeee @a-j-stuffs @maybankslover @lovelylove268 @cooper8224 @esquivelbianca @dreamybabbyy @lulubabii @idiotussupremus @drewsphswife @ietss @noneofyabuisnezs @chenslucy @yvbe99 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @theeternaloptimistt @roselibrary @daddydraco0 @iheartcats444 @allopathi

[midnight-mourning]

*Taps mic* Heard y'all like Moon around here, you're in luck, this one's for you

massive, MASSIVE thank you to @lunarmoves for beta-reading this chapter!!

She put a lot of time and effort into making my BS readable for y'all and it's greatly appreciated <3 <3 <3

Shay also makes really good dca stuff (also sebastian solace but I know very little about the fish tbh) and you should check her out!

Also, happy 200k+!!! We're only 297k from truly becoming the 500k enemies to lovers slowburn of our dreams lmaoooo

But for real I apologize for such a delay with this one. If you'd like to hear my excuses/reasoning they're below the cut, or you can just go read the chapter whatever suits ya ^-^

Tag list (if you would like added please see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

CW: medical stuff & additionally a bit of unreality mentions

Okay going to try and keep this simple bc I've said parts of it before

So as most of you know, I've been sick for 3 months now

I've now been on two rounds of steroids, and currently on my third round of antibiotics, which are basically keep me fucntional, not improving

besides general discomfort and pain, my memory has been pretty shot at times, I will go through the day and barely remember what I did/what I'm doing/what I need to do

as someone who had brain fog caused by covid a few years ago, this was genuinely a scary experience because ultimately, this has been worse

i've felt out of control of my body, having times where I'm mid thought and then instantly lose it

this is not my normal, I usually pride myself on my memory, so losing it has been incredibly devastating and scary

this was not helped by the fact that the quick care I went to (THREE TIMES for this) basically kind of sort of tried to gaslight me into believing nothing could be done and that it's not an infection

so not only has this entire thing has gotten dragged out so much more, which makes me sad tbh, but I've also felt like I've been going crazy bc it felt like no one was believing me when i said I was sick and not getting any better (including friends, family, coworkers etc, though unintentional on their parts to be fair)

I feel like I've lost three months of my life and coming to terms with that has been, yeah

on top of all that, I'm still in school AND doing grad stuff, and while the school side of things has been okay (thank god), grad's had it's moments, won't get into it but have had multiple issues with my advisor that have been at times just really tough to deal with

Confused spirit got pushed to the back burner, because i quite literally at times could not think, and when it comes to this fic, where there's multiple ongoing plot threads, characterizations, lore, and so on to keep track of, it was just, impossible to me to even consider writing for it

having shorter stuff like promptober, the oneshots and such was great to keep me writing, and also still interact with everyone in the community, plus i had a lot of fun with them so that helped too

this is all to say that I do sincerly apologize for the delay, and at the very least I should've clearly communicated about there being a hiatus, when this all started I thought i'd be down for two weeks max, then as that time kept increasing I just kept putting it off and putting it off because i thought i was going to get better, and then I didn't

I do this for fun and for nothing else, fic writing isn't content (it's engaging with fandom) and i have to remind myself of that sometimes but given that I've been around in some capacity on and off I feel I should've said something in some regard

Having said all that, I'm doing okay now! Still sick, but as long as I'm on meds I'm functional, stuff is getting managable with grad, and hopefully have some fun things coming up irl! Point is, the last three months haven't been the best, but they've been alright, due in part to all the support you all have given me, so thank you for that, can't say it enough :)

Okay, I think that just about covers it, thank you for taking the time to read all of this if you did <3

[scribbly-artist]

Calling it a Night

Author’s Notes: I let the Arcane brain rot win lmao. Season 2 was dope, I’ve rewatched S1 and I’m making my way through S2 again. I looked up some tickle content for Arcane, and while there isn’t a whole lot, I got sucked in, hard. So he is a little ler!reader fic featuring my favourite inventor/scientist, Viktor. :)

He was a little bit difficult to write for, but after rewatching the show I think I could portray him a little bit accurately. Apologises if not.

Warning: a tickle fic. If you’re not into that, I’d advise not reading.

Words: ~1,400

The weight of your head felt like a boulder as you awoke from sleep. You weren’t even sure when you gracefully passed out on your work desk, papers strewn about messily. You swiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, letting out a yawn as you reached up to rub your eyes. Your back felt so stiff, probably from leaning over on the desk. You arched your back as you cracked it. You continued to lift your head in this drowsy state, your eyes looking at the tall, elegant windows. The sight shocked you.

The moon was high up in the sky amongst the stars. But why were you still here so late? Your gaze turned to the left as you shifted in your seat to witness your reason.

Because Viktor was still here, working away.

Both of you were doing some research in the laboratory. Both independent work, but you both enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s quiet company. You helped out Viktor when you could. Whether that be handing him a tool that was just out of reach, or to grab both of you a nice beverage or a snack so he didn’t have to grab his cane and hobble over to the kitchen nearby to do it himself. He apologised every time you went out of your way to do that in particular, but you didn’t mind. You liked caring for him and helping him out.

However, it was getting way too late at night. It looked like even Jayce had already left with no sign of him in the shared lab. You were no stranger to the late nights doing research and experiments - Viktor even more so - but you worried for Viktor’s health as he appeared more tired and pale lately.

You rose from your seat, pacing over to Viktor’s workbench. He didn’t seem to notice your presence behind him. He was heavily focused on carefully putting together a little machine. Something for Hextech, you assumed. You admired how delicately and calmly he could work. You placed a warm hand on his shoulder, making him jump, his head whipping around to look at you with his amber eyes.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” You spoke up, alarmed.

“It’s quite alright. Mm, I was just focusing and didn’t hear you get up.” He reached up to put his own hand on top of yours. “You must be tired - I could hear you snoring earlier.”

Your cheeks flushed at his comment. “We should really get going. The moon is already out, and it looks like it’s been for a while.” You gazed out the window.

“Just for a bit longer, it’s nearly complete.” He replied, his hand slipping away from yours as his head turned back to the pieces of metal in front of him.

“Viktor, I know you’re no stranger to all-nighters. But if you keep working, your body will shut down. You haven’t gotten a lot of rest lately,” Your mind wandered as you spoke. “I could see how tired your eyes looked. Surely you can finish this first thing tomorrow.” Your other hand joined his opposite shoulder, gliding your palms on top of them. He hummed at the touch. Maybe you could convince him to stop and leave with a bit of comfort. But he shook his head, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“It is indeed tempting. And I appreciate your concern. But this will only take, eh, twenty more minutes or so.” His hands went back to work, picking up a screwdriver to carefully tighten a screw. You let out a sigh at his reply, leaning back on your heels, hands still on his shoulders. You pondered for a minute. If he can’t pull himself away from his work, you would have to do it by force. Literally.

“You’re so stubborn, you know that?” You pointed out as your hands slipped down from his shoulders to grip under his arms near his ribs. You felt his body jump at the touch as you attempted to physically pull him away from his desk. “If I have to pick you up like a toddler, I will.” Your hands slipped under his arms as you pulled some more. You got as far as lifting his elbows off the bench before you heard a noise leave his mouth.

“Hahaha— please, do not grab me there. Please, be patient. I won’t be much longer.” He steeled himself from laughing anymore than that, resting his elbows back on the table as he continued to work.

You heard his laugh and felt his body jump when you previously grabbed him. You started connecting the dots in your head, devising a plan.

Your hands dropped down from under his arms to his sides instead, dragging your fingers along the way. He jumped and twitched at the touch, stifling any noise before it left his mouth. “What was that laughing about, Viktor? Is something funny?”

He started to slowly catch on. “No, it was nothing of concern. Please, disregard it.” He was aware of your fingers being dangerously close to his sides. His body went stiff as a board.

“I think it was something else. And I think it’s our ticket out of here, Viktor.” You replied as your index fingers started to draw ticklish circles into his sides, his skin quivering under your touch.

He took in a breath, steeling himself. It was hard to concentrate and not react now that you’ve already started tickling him. But if he stayed calm, he could will himself to concentrate. He didn’t dare speak, as even replying to your comment would make his focus slip. He tried to distract himself by tinkering on his little machine, but even that was difficult.

You added more fingers as drawing circles turned into scribbling into his sides. A grin plastered itself on your face. You knew that if you kept going, he’d have to give in. You glanced over to view his arms, his elbows already shaking. It was taking every ounce of willpower within in to not turn around and grip your wandering hands by the wrists.

“You’re forcing my hand, Viktor. I’m doing this for your own good.” You warned as your hands slid up to his ribs, gently tickling between the bones through his vest.

Viktor’s body shook, his hands pausing but still gripping onto the machine and the screwdriver in his hands. He shut his eyes, leaning forward to try to get away from your touch. But your hands simply followed, pinching his ribs. He let out a laugh, he could no longer hold his reactions in.

“Pleahahahase, I j-just need to tighten some more screws— haha!” Quiet laughter escaped Viktor, his shoulders shaking. You couldn’t help but laugh alongside him, his sweet laughter you never got to hear often was quite contagious.

“Trust me; you can do it tomorrow. C’mon now, let’s go home.” You punctuated your sentence by quickly moving your hands to wiggle your fingers under his arms. Viktor let out a loud bout of laughter, quickly rising from his seat and grabbing ahold of your wrists, swiveling around on his heels. He met your smirking face.

“Alright, ohohokay, I believe you have made your point,” He stated, taking in a couple of breaths to rid of the residual laughter. “We will do some more tomorrow. Let’s go rest up, and maybe even have some tea?” He suggested as he let go of your wrists and shifted, grabbing his cane from off the side. You nodded as you started to leave with him, walking side by side.

“I’ll make us some chamomile tea when we get back. It’ll make us well rested and we’ll have lots of energy for more experiments tomorrow.” The rhythmic thump, thump, thump of his cane soothed you as you both walked together, matching his pace as to not leave him behind.

“Certainly. Mm, just before that though, so you’re aware. I’ll be getting you back tenfold for all of that.” As his words left his mouth, you thought you had misheard him. Your gaze darted to his face, a small but confident smile on his lips.

Uh oh.

You could feel a little bit of sweat collect on your forehead as your face turned red.

[misc-magic]

Ohh thank you for the tag, Eden!!

Mwahaha I gave myself cat ears because why not, right?? Also there were no freckles, so I went with those little diamonds instead lol.

how do you spend your free time?

I spend what little free time I have writing, doing a couple other hobbies, and trying to keep on top of my house, chores, and errands. And you know, trying to do it effectively despite the adhd lol!

what are your hobbies and how did you get into them?

I don't usually list writing as a hobby because it's more like my life's blood. I get irritable if I don't write. But my other main hobby is music. I play the piano almost every day. My guitar and ukulele are collecting some dust recently, but I will get back to those, too. Playing music is the most relaxing thing for me and I always end up wanting to pick instruments back up even if it's been a minute. As for how I got into it, I started playing the piano at the tender age of 9 and just never stopped lol. Reading is another big hobby of mine. I turned the formal dining room of my house into a library so I could have a place for all my piles of books. I'm in a reading slump currently, but I've learned to just let it be and eventually I will be consuming books like crazy again. This is another one I don't know the origin of, it's like I've been reading books as long as I can remember. (Other hobbies include crocheting, video games, DnD, journaling, and then there's a section of what I call "dead hobbies" as in I did them obsessively for a while but haven't done them in ages but might pick them up again in the future let us not discuss it adklfjkfj.)

what book or movie left a lasting impression on you?

This might be a really dorky answer, but... I read A Midsummer Night's Dream by good ole Billy Shakes when I was like twelve and it changed my brain chemistry forever. I don't know what it was about that play... I read a bunch of others around the same time and like I loved Macbeth and Othello and The Tempest. But there was something about all the fairies and fantasy that I think was the start of my obsession with all things magical lol.

what kind of music do you enjoy?

Ohhh it's constantly changing. When I'm listening to stuff with lyrics or that I want to sing along to, I'm really into folk, indie, jazz, neo soul, and k-pop, but like I also used to listen to a lot of alt rock and punk rock so I know a lot of those songs, too. I'll kinda switch between stuff, especially 90s rock is something I'll play when I'm feeling ~nostalgic~ lol. But when I'm listening to music for writing or concentration, it's all instrumental or in a language I can't speak. So I'm listening to a TON of piano music, classical, and lately my other obsession has been mandopop. I actually really love k-pop for this, too. It's like I can listen to these up beat poppy songs without getting distracted by the lyrics. And yo Mandarin is just a beautiful language to listen to. Anyway, I tend to like most music and I'm always looking for new stuff.

who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

Because I couldn't hope to choose one for all time, I'll go with at the moment and that is none other than the time traveling demon butler Barbatos.

(Assuming here that we're talking about characters that aren't mine because they top the list every time lol. Though actually even if I listed the ones that are at the top, nobody would know them because they aren't my OM OCs and I've never posted about them here lkdfjkfj.)

Barbatos is just such a great character that was horrendously underutilized in his source material. They kinda made him the end all be all solution for when things got out of hand. He could fix any plot hole with a bit of time travel or ancient demon power. But he has so much more depth than that. And maybe in some ways, he reminds me of myself. He's quiet, but observant. He notices everything, keeps track of all the details about someone, remembers everything. The main difference between us is that my adhd makes me scattered, so Barbatos feels like the type of person I have the potential to be if I could keep it together. It's less about the fantasy of someone taking care of me and more about the fantasy of being competent lol. What does this say about me? Let us not look any deeper.

He's also just really cool and mysterious and who doesn't love a guy who can cook, right? His demon form design is top notch in my opinion, with those cool wing like horns and the tail. He's just great in every way and I've written several essays about him on my side blog al;kdfjkdlfj.

Weee that was fun and as usual I wrote too much lol.

OPEN TAGS~ if you are my mutual consider yourself tagged because I want to see all your answers!

tag + q&a game ₊˚ෆ

hello! i thought it would be cute and exciting to do a tag game with all my mutuals to not only talk about themselves, but have fun! so here is my short little game:

alongside this picrew, share 5 things about yourself!

• how do you spend your free time? • what are your hobbies and how did you get into them? • what book or movie left a lasting impression on you? • what kind of music do you enjoy? • who is your favorite character (atm or all time) and why?

i will start first!

my name is rurumi and i enjoy spending my free time writing!

some of my hobbies (outside of writing) includes: drawing, building gundams and keyboards, and fashion! i got into most of them on a whim and became instantly hooked. aside from self-expression, being into fashion also helps with making friends in college because you always have something to talk about!

a book that left a lasting impression on me would have to be either kafka on the shore by haruki murakami or before the coffee gets cold by toshikazu kawaguchi. both stories have kept me up at night thinking a lot about the 'what ifs' in life.

i enjoy soul/r&b alongside anything of jrock influence, but i will basically listen to anything that sounds good. i am currently listening to 'so what' by lucy!

my favorite character at the moment is rin itoshi from blue lock because hes so ridiculously edgy, but at the same time i sympathize with him a lot. on the other hand, my favorite character of all time is suletta mecury from the witch from mercury series, she's an absolute ball of sunshine that i aspire to be.

tagging (+ no pressure) ₊˚ෆ

@kaiser1ns @naenaex0xx @shomatoriashi @choccorin @ryescapades

@rindreamery @soleillunne @kissxcore @rainswept @mitsvriii

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

in the sugar and spice universe, the boys know that she cams and i assume that she’s aware that her roommates watch, but does she know about ransom watching?

a/n: i. am. gnawing. at. my. cage.

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

we’ve already established that his discovery of your little hobby was what ended your relationship. i imagine that he fell over your stream while just browsing for something to jerk off to and then BOOM, there you were. 

in true asshole fashion, he of course confronted you about it in a big ol fight:

“choose. come on. me or that.”

“ransom,” you sighed as he kept on pushing.

“come on,” he roared, “just pick goddamn it!”

“that!” you blurted as he kept on yelling, “i wanna keep camming!” though that statement hadn’t been what he’d predicted, “it makes me happy and you–…”

“…i don’t?”

“not lately…”

“well how else would you think i’d react to finding out my girl has secretly been whoring herself out to anyone with an internet connection?”

the slap you then crack against his cheek echoed throughout the whole room, “fuck you,” you spat, “don’t ever talk to me, don’t even look at me, ever again.”

and then you tried to stay as far away from him as possible even though i think he would have kept trying to worm his way back into your good graces (because he obviously fucked up)

you also moved in with steve, bucky and curtis after the breakup and i imagine they began to act as your bodyguards when it came to your ex. keeping an eye out and helping you avoid him at all costs. 

but the thing is, from the moment that he first discovered your stream, and honestly also as a way to lick his wounds post-breakup, he kept going back to it, kept opening up the website till it was permanently open on his phone, always ready for when you went live or posted something (a pic or vid or just flirty message)

it was like an addiction and he couldn’t stop

he wasn’t even ashamed about it because to him it was a way to keep your faded relationship alive, keep you with him and for a generous tip (which he could more than afford as the trust fund kid he was) you’d still do as he wished, still follow his sinful commands.

turn around, let me see that ass

be a good girl and turn up the speed

send me those panties after you’ve soaked them with your cream, i’ll pay double your usual rate for the underwear you sell.

did you know that TittyCokeKingXXX, one of your most loyal followers and top tippers, was your ex? hell no.

how would you finally discover his true identity? maybe it would be at a party you’re both at, a celebration after the football team’s latest victory (of which both your roomies steve and bucky are on, but unfortunately so is ransom) 

he probably gets too drunk and then the truth starts slipping out

maybe he thinks he still has a shot, but just as you turn him down, he gets petty and accidentally blurts out, “well you didn’t seem to have a problem with me last night when you were calling me sir and making yourself squirt in the shower.” 

the image of you crumbled on the tile floor, shower head blasting in your hand as you ripped it away from your overstimulated clit was still seared into his brain. tits all soapy, yet he could still make out the faint letters of the possessive scrawling he'd paid you to scribble with marker the week before reading daddy’s girl

“…how do you know that?” you uttered and he suddenly realised that he’d actually said those words out loud and not just thought them as usual, “ransom, how the fuck do you know that?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[feng-shui71]

Hey there ol buddy ol pal. LOVING your Wesker OC x canon. Adoring it even. I kick my feet for every new post about them I see.

I'm DYING to know what happened to Jordan after Wesker's death in RE5, or if you believe Wesker made it out alive and picked her up covered in lava a week later.

AHHH THANK YOU OF COURSE small warning it’s extremely long, it covers the end of Re5 as well. I added drawings at the end, skip to those if you’re not willing to read this entire ramble I went on ^^ work is under the cut as usual. Not proofread:

Okay so first of all right after Re5 she’s devastated. She’s on the helicopter cradling her head in her hands as everyone else is relieved that Wesker is finally dead. She knows he deserves it, she knows it’s just years worth of built up karma coming back to bite him in the ass, she should be happy. Wesker is an evil, evil man, she really shouldn’t be in love with him after everything, hell, he’s even hurt her, both unintentionally or not. But despite this, despite everything, she does, she always did and god it hurts like a bitch. It feels like the aftermath of Arklay all over again, except this time he’s gone, for real this time. She will never help him up in the morning, raking her fingers through his blond locks, styling it into pristine slicked back pompadour. She will never hear his smooth crooning voice that always managed to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She’s left heartbroken once more, without her husband, and her children, without a father.

The ride back is extremely tense. Chris and Jordan refuse to speak to eachother, resentment between the two parties forbidding them to do so. They’re both relieved, don’t get me wrong, they’re best friends, however they’re both pissed. Chris feels betrayed, Jordan had been presumed dead since before the Spencer Mansion Incident, but low and behold she’d been alive this whole time?? with HIM?? he knew she acted a bit too eager to hunt him down. The B.S.A.A. shouldn’t have sent her. To top it off, the fact she hadn’t even tried to help Jill? try to get ahold of him? anyone? It made him mad just thinking about it. Jordan on the other hand, is going through a whirlwind of emotions right now. She’s enraged at Chris, hell, he just killed her husband, however guilt, guilt is really what’s gnawing at her brain right now, especially since she’s trapped in a chopper for however long while everyone inside of it is beyond pissed at her. The first thing she does is apologize profusely to Jill, whom the other accepts very reluctantly, probably only because Jordan would talk to her P30 puppet every so often. When you’re alone almost 24/7 missing your friends and family it’d only be natural to try to talk to one of them since they’re in the vicinity, albeit a hollow shell of them.

Half of these conversations were tear-filled apologies, choked sobs as Jordan held Jill’s cold face, wishing she could do something about it. Other times Jordan would sit down and try to talk to her, catch her up on how her day was going, try to see if she could pull the old Jill out of her, conversations about S.T.A.R.S. and such were common here. Going over memories of a past life. Jill doesn’t blame Jordan for it, hell, the memory is foggy, but the first time Wesker had brought Jill into that wretched facility the two had gotten into a huge fight over it, the woman exclaiming how this was unacceptable and cruel, there is a line with Wesker’s plans that she’s willing to put up with, however Jill’s enslavement is one of them. The entire eugenics project itself had already put him on thin ice. Every single argument over Jill after that, Jordan’s arms were laced with bruises and things of that sort, Wesker by all means never hit her physically, however his iron grasp sure did leave a mark. Jill shivers at the memory upon recollection.

Overall Jordan is a complete mess, her last few years had been .. pretty horrible to say the least but at the very least she always had her Albert there with her. Adjusting to life after him is extremely hard for her as Wesker manipulated her into codependency, she falls back into her self destructive habits that she’d long since weened off after her initial reunion with Wesker. Excessive smoking, whether it be weed or a pack of Marlboro blues, a lot of her time is spent out on the porch chainsmoking. This habit extends to alcohol as well, hard hitters such as Tequila or Whiskey. Hangovers are now a common occurance as she rots in her bed, sometimes waking up with her hand reaching over on the other side, only for it to be cold and empty. Barry and Jaiden try their best to visit, try to get her out the house to break her isolation. Jaiden spends days on end sleeping over just to keep his sister company, sometimes he feels like he failed her, he should’ve been there for her more. It puts a horrible taste in his mouth to see his once very charismatic and extroverted sister become so.. broken, her light dimmed from everything that has happened to her. Jordan has a headstone made for Wesker and buries an empty casket in his bodys place, just to keep his memory alive. Every weekend she picks up his favourites: a bottle of Pinot Noir, Jack Daniels and some primroses from the local flowershop down the street. She sits against it , adorning the resting place with the flowers and alcohol, and just talks about her day, as if he’s still there. Over time she starts to feel better, starts to move on and reconnect with her loved ones again, reconnect with Chris and Jill. However this weekly visit is the only thing from her mourning period that carries over. She loves him, she really does.

That’s what like .. mainly happens if we’re sticking to the canon, where he’s actually y’neow, fucking dead. However let’s say he isn’t:

A few weeks after the events of Re5, Wesker shows up to her humble abode covered in ash and igneous rock. He’s injured all over and honestly not doing too good, every move of his muscles is excruciating and lacerations cover his body from head to toe. Jordan is extremely shocked and relieved to see him, yet harbors feelings of anger. Like, yeah you deserved that you idiot, what were you thinking? despite this, her love towards him makes her stay, helping to rehabilitate him. Wesker however, is kinda pissed and also! extremely humiliated. His plans are foiled once again by that fucking Redfield and to top it all off, he’s being nursed back to health as if he were a kicked puppy. I like to think during all of this, Wesker learns some emotional maturity, everything starts to click for him. For once in his life he actually starts to feel .. guilt, he feels sorry, time after time he’d put Jordan through hell, yet here she was, with him. It really makes him stop and reflect. He starts to atone for his sins, trying his best to treat Jordan better, whether it be biting his tongue to not say some ill-mannered quip or just surprising her with her favourite flowers; hydrangeas and roses. I like to think after Re5 if Wesker survives they live a simple domestic life, no more grandiose plans or fighting bioterrorism for either of them. Being with each other is enough.

Oh also Wesker still probably has control of Uroboros, I think he uses it to do things when he’s too lazy, like grabbing the remote when he’s couch-locked. When they’re sleeping they wrap around her without him realizing. Jordan gave each and every tendril a name also, one of them is named Paul. Paul is her favourite.

doodles:

[ktamina]

SID for Metal Hammer, 1999

¡¡¡FULL interview here!!!

SID WILSON

Age: 22.

Marital status: I have a girlfriend.

Nickname?: Filth, or the epitome of...

Born and bred?: Born in Des Moines although my whole family is from England.

Instrument played?: Turntables.

Band previous to Slipknot?: I have a DJ crew called Soundproof Coalition, who are based out of Des Moines.

First record bought?: The first one I owned was the Miami Vice soundtrack which my parents bought for me.

First band seen live?: I was really young and my parents took me to see Sheena Easton.

Describe yourself in three words: Organic brain syndrome.

What does your mask represent?: To me it's like I'm killing myself on stage. I am constantly at war as the gas mask reminds people at war, so it's like I am constantly dying up there.

Was the visual image your idea?: Yeah, it kinda fell in my lap. I got into the band and was looking for a mask and the gas mask kinda found me. Since then I have been pretty interested in them and If I ever see one I buy it. Right now I have seven or eight of them.

Special Ingredient you bring to the band?: Youth, as I am the youngest member of the band which keeps it fresh.

What is your greatest fear?: Dying young. It is something I think about, as you can die from all kinds of things- I could break my neck at a show, catch a disease or the government could assassinate me.

What is your idea of hell?: I don't believe in it. If there is a hell, planet earth is it.

First job: Working at raves.

Have you ever experimented with auto eroticism?: Yeah, I guess I have. I've wore choke collars, as in the rave scene there have been a lot of experiences which have been pretty crazy.

Tell me your favorite sexual fantasy introducing Salvador Dalí (the late great surrealist painter), an orange, and a bicycle?: I would ride the bicycle for three hours to be completely exhausted, then me and my girlfriend would enter the painting with the melted clocks in it (The Persistence of Memory) and then at the point of orgasm melt like the clocks and eat the oranges for a reward.

Do you enjoy a good wank?: Yeah, every day. When we went on The Howard Stern Show I wanted in show him my cock and I was trying to keep it a decent hanging size, so I was jerking off, and by the time we were on it only lasted a minute so I didn't even get the chance to show it. I think he was actually quite scared of it.

Do you often wank in public?: It depends. When I go into my personality of number 0 the number takes over and I never know what he is going to do, but myself, not really.

What would be the concept for a Slipknot porno movie?: I probably wouldn't do much talking as when I am in my alter ego of 0 I don't talk much. There would be a lot of drooling, slobbering and grunting. There would be no need for dialect, just get down to it.

Hobbies outside the band?: I like to snowboard and sculpt with clay. I am also into cooking. My mom has been teaching me since I was three. My speciality is french crepes.

Fave horror movie?: Evil Dead 2 and Army Of Darkness.

Fave author?: Edgar Allen Poe is the only literature have ever finished reading.

Band you'd like to tour with?: It wouldn't go in with the genre of Skipknot, but me personally, it would be The Beastie Boys. At the point when I got into DJing, break dancing and hip hop The Beastie Boys were a big part of that. I have always listened to them.

Who do you think is the most heavy metal band of all time?: Slipknot.

Worst way to die?: Without my family. By myself.

If your house was burning down. What is the one thing you would run in and save?: If all my family was out, I would have to go and get the hair wrap my girlfriend gave me before we started dating. It is made out of her hair.

If you were the president of the USA for a day and could achieve one thing only. What would it be?: I would make it a free country and expose the government for what it is.

What is your dog called?: Mary Jane Wilson. She's part whippet and part dingo.

if you read all this follow me ¡HERE! I post media of Sid every 4 hours ♡

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Was just working on some meta when I noticed something and decided to investigate.

And I thought that it would be fun to share what's going on in my mind when I notice things with my tetris brain lmao Just so you guys understand how obsessed I am.

Here: this ">24A" mention.

Disclamer: I'm not into photography so I'm leaving the technical specificities to the pro (you're welcome to comment and share your science).

Apparently, 24A is the frame on the roll of film. It might refer to the 24th photo or frame on a 35mm film roll. The letter "A" could signify a specific format or marker related to a continuous sequence.

Now, looking deeper, I found out something interesting about film length:

The 24 on the box is a estimate of how many photos you will be able to take, depending on your camera and how you load the film. It's not unusual for the strip to provide you witha few more exposures than expected. At one time some film brands began marketing their "24 exposure" rolls as "24+3" or "27" rolls. In Japan some still label them as "27 exposures". The only difference between a 24 shot roll of 135 film and a 27 shot roll of 135 is the labeling. They're actually the same length. Between the 24 exposures promised on the box and the 27 exposures you were able to take is the difference between how much of the roll was pulled out of the film cannister and exposed to light during loading.

I feel like, even though Cheng Xiaoshi is the one in DIVE BACK IN TIME wrapped in films, it is more relevant to Lu Guang's power, who uses frames to see the past.

OVERTHINK also states "REPLAY REPLAY Gift me three chances to start over." I always thought 3 was a random number but it might actually be about the chance to get three more shots. It's a tight and narrow window of possibility though.

The whole thing sent me on a tangent and I just kept going with these:

16.49.439 16.49.159 16.49.799

These could belong to a standardized classification system in a specific domain.

My guess was MUSIC (Time is like Music, right?) because of the last digits. Like, R439 could be linked to Flute Concerto No. 2 in G minor, RV 439 La Notte, which-

Many LC lyrics refer to the moonlight so I thought it was fitting haha

For your information, the second movement is Fantasmi (ghosts), and the fourth is Il Sonno (sleep). Vivaldi published "La Notte" with five other pieces as the second of his six Op. 10 concertos for transverse flute and string orchestra.

This was a fun coincidence but not relevant to the other numbers tough, sadly.

Obviously, this sort of classification is meant to put our three favorite characters in the same category. If tied to photography, 16.49 might designate a thematic collection. Lu Guang is the one with the bigger last number, which could either mean he went through the most alterations or he's the latest to be updated, for example.

Note: I just like the ominous color on the last one to be honest. It indicates surexposition. Also, Lu Guang's smile in the background is chilling. Just like in the recent Yingdu Chapter teaser, the filter keeps us from seeing Lu Guang's eyecolor. Could be blue, red, gray, yellow, it's impossible to be sure.

Anyhow, that's how most of my meta start haha. Thank you for reading my nonsense!

[faefrosting]

Ough experienced feeling like throwing up from reading something for the first time in 5ever...

I forgor what that felt like

[starkspi]

Trying to bribe @morningstarwrites with these sketches so I can read the new chapter earlier ha! Thank you for the inspiration, the challenge and the absolute joy this fic brings me. I’d kiss your brain folds if I could.

[sideblogdotjpeg]

ive been thinking about the red string superstition recently and also sol bufo always and it makes me sick how uncannily caldwell tanner has made sol to perfectly target me personally

(+ cropped versions !)

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

[lucabyte]

🐮

[coquelicoq]

i fucking love prereading. getting documents about what's going to be discussed in a meeting and reading them and then going to the meeting and having context for all the things that are happening. if i could do this in all areas of life i would. send me a list of the words i'm going to need the definition of in order to understand what you will be talking about. give me a rundown of what topics might come up during this social encounter. provide detailed documentation of what to expect in a new setting. i will read the fuck out of that shit.