#just leaving NOTHING to the imagination here

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 2: April 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

...I am definitely blown away by the reception this story got. I did not expect that AT ALL, so thank you very much...and here you have Chapter 2! Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Bad Real Estate decisions, Max being a simp for his girl, discussion of former toxic relationships...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

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

"Isabelle," Max murmured against her lips, his hands firm but steady on her waist.

She barely heard him. Not when he kissed her like this—slow and deep, his thumb brushing over her hip, his body warm and solid against hers. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting her head to kiss him harder. When he groaned softly, she took it as encouragement, pressing up against him and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

But just as her fingers grazed the skin of his stomach, Max caught her wrist, pulling back slightly.

"Wait."

She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven. "What?"

His hands slid from her waist to her arms, a soothing touch. "We don’t have to rush."

Isabelle frowned. "I know we don’t have to. But I want to."

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t want you to think this is just about that."

She froze, her mind stuttering over his words. "What?"

He studied her carefully, thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. "I like you. A lot. And I want you to know that I’m serious about this."

Isabelle stared at him, something in her chest tightening. No one had ever said that to her before. Every other boyfriend had been eager, had expected, had—

She swallowed. "You don’t… want me?"

Max’s expression softened, his grip on her tightening just slightly, like he wanted to anchor her in place. "Of course I do," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want."

Her breath hitched.

She had never been anyone’s priority. Never been someone who wasn’t easy to forget, easy to leave behind. But here was Max, the most wanted man on the grid, telling her he wanted her—but not just her body.

Something like disbelief flickered in her chest. "You’re serious."

Max huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his nose against hers. "Very."

Isabelle swallowed again, her throat tight, and let herself relax into him. She let herself believe him.

"Okay."

Max smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Good."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Max.

Max:  Good morning, Schatje.

Isabelle: Don’t start. Did you actually buy that penthouse?

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: And did you demand that I be the only architect allowed to work on it??

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: Do you have any idea how bad this looks?

Max: What’s bad about wanting the best?

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: Do you know what people at work are saying now??

Max: That I have excellent taste in architects?

Isabelle: They think I got this project because of Charles.

Max: … What?

Isabelle: Oh yeah. The rumors are great. Apparently, I’m here because I’m a Leclerc, not because I actually worked for it.

Max: … That’s stupid.

Isabelle: Tell that to my coworkers.

Max: You think I’d let Charles pick my architect?

Isabelle: No, but they don’t know that.

Max: Then tell them.

Isabelle: Oh sure, that’ll go well. “Actually, my brother had nothing to do with it, my boyfriend just demanded that I be the only one allowed to work on his project.” That sounds so much better.

Max: Ok, maybe that doesn’t help.

Isabelle: You think??

Max: I just wanted to work with you.

Isabelle: Yeah, and now people are whispering about nepotism and favoritism and how I’m only here because of my family name.

Max: They clearly don’t know you.

Isabelle: I KNOW. But it’s still frustrating. I’ve worked my ass off, Max. I didn’t want my name getting me jobs. I wanted my work to.

Max: And it has. That’s why I picked you. Not because of your name. Because I trust you.

Isabelle: You could have given me a heads-up, you know.

Max: And you would have said no.

Isabelle: That is not the point.

Max: But would you?

Isabelle:: …

Max: That’s what I thought.

Isabelle: You really bought that penthouse just so I could design it?

Max: I bought that penthouse because I liked it. But I only wanted you working on it.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: And you’re brilliant.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: Always.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe what Max did.

Emilie: That sentence could mean literally anything.

Isabelle: He bought the penthouse. THE penthouse. The one we talked about once in passing.

Emilie: …Okay, that’s insane, but also, congrats? You love that place.

Isabelle: THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is.

Isabelle: He also demanded that I be the architect working on it. Wouldn’t sign anything unless my name was on the project.

Emilie: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Isabelle: It’s not funny!

Emilie: No, it absolutely is.

Isabelle: People at work are already saying I only got the project because of Charles!

Emilie: Oh. Yeah, I can see that.

Isabelle: Which is wrong. Because I didn’t get it because of Charles. I got it because of my boyfriend, which is somehow worse.

Emilie: You say worse. I say deeply, deeply romantic.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Isabelle. 

Emilie: Your rich, lovesick boyfriend is out here spending millions just to have an excuse to see you every day, and you’re MAD?

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: He is trying to wife you.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now tell me—when’s the housewarming, and how much champagne should I bring?

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: You CANNOT keep doing this.

Max: Doing what?

Isabelle: Abusing your “professional client” status to drag me to fancy lunches.

Max: I’m not abusing anything. We have important business discussions to conduct.

Isabelle: You mean the penthouse where you’ve approved every single one of my plans without question?

Max: Exactly. We need to make sure I have no doubts.

Isabelle: You just want an excuse to take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Max: And?

Isabelle: That’s not how professional client-architect meetings work.

Max: It is when I’m the client.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: You don’t have to say yes.

Isabelle: …

Max: But you want to.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: Just think of it as me paying you for your excellent work.

Isabelle: That’s what your actual payments are for.

Max: But those aren’t fun.

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. Now you’re making it worse.

Max: First of all, you got this job because you’re brilliant.

Max: Second, if they think that, they’re idiots.

Max: Third, I booked a table with a view.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Don’t pretend you don’t want to come.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: You didn’t say no.

Isabelle: …

Max: I’ll see you at one.

Isabelle: I officially regret ever mentioning my favorite restaurants to you.

Max: That was your mistake, not mine.

Max: But I’ll make it up to you with dessert.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You will not believe what Max is doing.

Emilie: Oh, this is already good. Go on.

Isabelle: He’s using the penthouse project as an excuse to take me to fancy lunches.

Emilie: …And the problem is???

Isabelle: Emilie. People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. If they find out I’m going to Michelin-starred restaurants in the middle of the day with a client, I will NEVER hear the end of it.

Emilie: Okay, but is he actually talking about the penthouse during these lunches?

Isabelle: He pretends to for about five minutes. Then he just orders my favourite foods for me and acts like we’re on a date.

Emilie: …So you’re saying you’re mad because your boyfriend is taking you on nice dates and feeding you good food?

Isabelle: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is the point.

Isabelle: I just—he’s impossible!

Emilie: What restaurant was it this time?

Isabelle: Le Louis XV.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle:

Emilie: You are sitting here complaining to me after being wined and dined at ALAIN DUCASSE’S RESTAURANT???

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: Shut up and tell me what you ate!

***

Isabelle laid out fabric swatches on the table, neatly arranging them in rows. “These are the options for the curtains,” she said, keeping her voice professional. “I’ve chosen materials that complement the lighting and textures in the space while also being durable.”

Max picked up a swatch at random, turning it over like he’s actually considering it. “Yeah… so which one do you like best?”

Isabelle sighed. “That’s not the point, Max.”

“But it kind of is,” he countered, leaning back in his chair. “You know what looks good. I trust you.”

She exhaled, trying to keep the conversation on track. “My job isn’t to pick what I like, it’s to give you the best options based on your preferences and the space—”

“My preference,” Max interrupted, “is to not think too hard about curtain fabrics. So, tell me, which one would you put in your own place?”

She pressed her lips together but eventually pointed to a light cream fabric with a soft texture. “This one.”

Max immediately nodded. “Perfect. We’ll go with that.”

“That’s not how this works,” Isabelle protested.

“It is now.” He grinned, tapping the swatch like the decision is final.

She gave him a look but moves on, pulling out samples for the kitchen backsplash. “Alright, for the tiles—”

Max smirked. “What do you like best?”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You are impossible.”

Max chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t see the problem. You have good taste. I want my place to look good. This seems like a win-win situation.”

Isabelle lifted her head, giving him a flat look. “Max.”

“Yes?”

“You are literally paying me to make these decisions for you based on your preferences, not mine.”

Max shrugged. “Yeah, but my main preference is trusting you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is when I’m the client.” His grin was infuriatingly smug.

Isabelle sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t quite hide the small smile creeping onto her face. “Fine. But if you hate something later, I’m telling everyone this was your fault.”

“I won’t hate it,” Max said easily, glancing at the tile samples. “So… which one would you use in your own kitchen?”

Isabelle groaned dramatically. “You are impossible.”

Max just smirked. “You already said that.”

Isabelle rubbed her temples like she’s trying to ward off a headache. “You know, most clients want a functional, cohesive design that suits their lifestyle.”

Max leant back against the kitchen island, watching her with amused eyes. “And I want a functional, cohesive design that you think looks good.”

“That’s not—” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. I’d go with the marble option for the counters. It’s classic, it won’t date badly, and it works with the natural light in here.”

Max nodded like that’s exactly what he was going to pick anyway. “Perfect. Marble it is.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You’re just agreeing with me so I stop arguing with you.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Or maybe I actually value your opinion.”

She huffed, flipping through the fabric swatches again. “Alright, what about your bedroom curtains? Darker shades are better for blocking light in the mornings.”

Max hummed, looking over the options. “Which one do you like?”

“Max.”

“What? You just said you’re designing for functionality. You clearly think one of these is the best choice.”

She muttered something under her breath, then points at a deep navy fabric. “This one. It’ll keep the room dark, and it’s not too heavy for the space.”

“Done.”

Isabelle levelled him with a suspicious look. “You’re making this way too easy.”

Max shrugged. “I told you. I trust you.” He gestures around the penthouse. “Besides, I plan to spend most of my time here with you. Might as well make sure you don’t hate it.”

She stilled for half a second, but then rolls her eyes like she’s not affected. “Professionalism, Max.”

Max just smirked, reaching for another set of samples. “Alright, Miss Leclerc, what’s next?”

Isabelle pointedly ignored the way her stomach does an annoying little flip at his words and refocuses on the task at hand. She flipped open her notebook, determined to keep things professional. "We still need to finalize your living room furniture. You said you wanted a sectional, right?"

Max nodded, leaning slightly over her shoulder to glance at her notes. "Yeah, something big enough to stretch out on. And for the cats."

She glanced up at him. "And for guests?"

Max blinked. "I mean, sure. If I have guests."

Isabelle sighed. "Do you ever think about designing your space for other people?"

"I am thinking about other people," he countered easily. "I’m thinking about you. You like to sit in the corner with a book, so we should get one with a deep chaise. And you like soft blankets, so whatever fabric we pick needs to feel nice."

She stared at him for a beat too long. "You—" She shakes her head. "You notice a lot more than you let on."

Max shrugged. "I like watching you."

Isabelle blinked rapidly and turned back to her samples before he could see the flush creeping up her neck. Professionalism. She needed to focus.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "Fabric choices for the sectional—"

Max leant forward, already grinning. "Which one do you like?"

Isabelle groaned, slamming her notebook shut. "You are impossible."

Max just laughed. "I’m making sure my designer is happy with her work. That’s important, right?"

"That’s not how this works."

"Sure it is," he said breezily, nudging her shoulder with his. "If you think this place should feel like me, then I think it should feel like you, too."

Isabelle gripped her pen a little too tightly. "You’re insufferable."

Max grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Isabelle exhaled slowly, flipping through the swatches with more force than necessary. “Fine. You want my opinion? This one.” She pulled out a deep green fabric, soft under her fingers. “It’s comfortable, durable, and it won’t clash with anything else.”

Max reaches out, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “It’s nice.” Then he grins. “You just like it because it’s your favourite colour.”

She paused. “That is not why I picked it.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “But I remember you said you like green because it reminds you of home. And I want you to feel at home here.”

Isabelle’s fingers tighten around the fabric. “Max—”

“So, green it is,” he cut in before she can say anything else, grabbing the sample and setting it aside. Then he leans back, smug. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like this apartment is for both of us.”

Max tilted his head. “Well, you are spending a lot of time here.”

“That’s because I’m working.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “And when the project is done?”

Isabelle pressed her lips together, not wanting to answer that question. Because the truth is, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about finishing this penthouse and walking away.

Max must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened. “You know, you don’t have to leave when it’s done.”

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds. “Max.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice light but eyes serious. “I don’t mind having you around.”

Isabelle forced herself to focus back on her notebook. Professionalism. Boundaries. She had to remember them.

But as she moved on to the next decision—choosing dining chairs—she couldn’t  help but feel like she’s already losing that battle.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is going to drive me insane.

Emilie: What did he do now?

Isabelle: He refuses to make a single decision about the penthouse. Not one.

Emilie: Oh, this is going to be good.

Isabelle: I showed him flooring samples, and he just said, “Which one do you like best, schatje?” I asked him about the kitchen walls, and he went, “I trust your taste.”

Emilie: He’s so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting.

Isabelle: EMILIE, I NEED HIM TO HAVE AN OPINION.

Emilie: He does. His opinion is that your opinion is the only one that matters.

Isabelle: That’s not how this works! He’s the one who has to live there!

Emilie: You will be the one living there with him, if he gets his way. He’s just pretending it’s not obvious.

Emilie: He’s setting up your future home together and letting you build it exactly the way you want. That man would let you paint the walls hot pink if it made you happy.

Emilie: He’s letting you pick everything because he wants you to feel at home.

Emilie: Tell me I’m wrong.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now, if you suggested, hypothetically, that the whole kitchen should be neon green, how fast do you think he’d say yes?

Isabelle: He wouldn’t even hesitate.

Emilie: This man is whipped.

Emilie: He’s so gone for you. It’s actually hilarious.

Isabelle: This is a nightmare.

Emilie: Just be glad he’s not insisting on Red Bull colors.

Isabelle: I take it back. It could be worse.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

****

"I think I’m falling in love with him."

Isabelle hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It just slipped out, quiet and uncertain, as she sat across from Emilie at their usual café.

Emilie, mid-sip of her drink, slowly set her cup down and arched an eyebrow. “No shit.”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I mean too fast,” she muttered. “It’s too fast.”

Emilie leaned back, unimpressed. “Define ‘too fast.’”

“I don’t know.” Isabelle exhaled, sitting up and fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “It’s like—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong. For him to change.”

Emilie just stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Belle. He’s treating you better than your own family ever did. That’s not ‘too fast.’ That’s just right.”

“That’s not—” Isabelle started, but Emilie held up a hand.

“Let’s review,” she said, counting on her fingers. “He listens to you. He remembers things you like. He makes time for you. He prioritizes you. That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve, Belle. And you know damn well you’ve never had it before.”

Isabelle swallowed hard.

Emilie’s expression softened. “Look, I get it. It’s scary when someone actually cares about you, especially when you’re used to being the afterthought. But Max? He’s not going anywhere. And you? You’re not falling too fast. You’re just finally being caught.”

Isabelle exhaled, staring down at her coffee.

“Also,” Emilie added, smirking, “you’re absolutely screwed, because I think you’ve been in love with him for weeks.”

Isabelle groaned again, and Emilie just laughed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. I think something is wrong with Max.

Emilie: Oh god, what happened??

Isabelle: He just gave me flowers.

Emilie: …And???

Isabelle: There’s no occasion. No reason. He just handed them to me and said, “Thought you’d like these.”

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And then he pulled out my favorite wine. Already chilled. Already opened. Just there.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: AND THEN he sat with me. No phone, no distractions, just me. He asked about my day. Actually listened.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING MY NAME.

Emilie: Because you’re being so stupidly loved and acting like it’s a problem.

Isabelle: I just don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I should be doing something in return??

Emilie: You are. You exist. You let him love you. That’s enough.

Isabelle: But I’ve never—no one’s ever—

Emilie: I know. But this is what it’s supposed to be like.

Isabelle: …It feels weird.

Emilie: You’ll get used to it.

Isabelle: Will I?

Emilie: Yeah. And then one day, it won’t feel weird at all. It’ll just feel like love.

Isabelle: …Huh.

Emilie: Huh, she says. Like I haven’t been telling her this for years.

Isabelle: Shut up.

Emilie: Nope. Now go drink your fancy wine and let your boyfriend adore you.

Isabelle: …Fine.

Emilie: That’s my girl.

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/arthur_leclerc: ??? From who?

@/charles_leclerc: Since when do you get flowers??

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: OMG IS ISABELLE SOFT LAUNCHING A BOYFRIEND???

↳@/paddockprincessx: We are watching this situation VERY closely.

@/leclercsiblingtea: The Leclerc brothers seem deeply unsettled by this turn of events. 

@/lorenzotl: Be honest. Did you buy these for yourself?

***

Isabelle wasn’t trying to snoop.

She was just tidying up a little while Max was in the kitchen—because, frankly, he lived like someone who was always on the road (which he was). That’s how she spotted the iPad on the coffee table, screen still on. She had only glanced at it in passing, but then something caught her eye.

French lessons.

Her first reaction was confusion. Then amusement. Then something warmer, something that made her heartbeat do something a little ridiculous in her chest.

“Max?” she called out, picking up the iPad.

“Yeah?” His voice floated back from the kitchen, followed by the sound of the fridge opening. “Do you want some water?”

She walked in, holding up the iPad like it was evidence in a trial. “Are you secretly moving to Paris?”

Max turned around, brow furrowing. “What?”

She waved the iPad at him. “Since when are you learning French?”

His face did not do a good job of hiding his guilt. His eyes flickered to the screen, then back to her, and he shifted on his feet like he was debating snatching it out of her hands. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Isabelle crossed her arms, fighting a smile. “What’s the story, Verstappen? Career change? Planning to start giving post-race interviews in French?”

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I live in Monaco. Figured it was time I actually learned, you know, the main language people speak here.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” He shrugged. “It makes sense.”

“It does make sense.” She took a step closer. “Except you’ve lived in Monaco for years and have never cared before.”

Max glanced at the iPad again, like it would somehow save him. When it didn’t, he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Maybe I had another reason.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And that reason is?”

His ears were turning pink. “You.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You switch to French when you’re with your family,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “Or when you’re distracted. Or when you get really excited about something. And I—I wanted to understand you better.”

Oh.

Oh.

Isabelle stared at him, warmth flooding her chest. “Max…”

He sighed again, clearly bracing himself for teasing. “Look, if you think it’s stupid—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “I think it’s… really sweet.”

Max relaxed slightly, still wary. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she nudged him. “Okay, say something.”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Max hesitated. Then, after a deep breath, he said—slowly, carefully—“Je veux tout comprendre de toi.”

I want to understand everything about you.

Isabelle’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, and suddenly, the teasing was gone. Her heart was thudding, her fingers itching to reach for him. “Max.”

He shifted again. “Did I say it wrong?”

She shook her head. Then, without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him.

Max made a startled sound but recovered quickly, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled away, his grin was dazed.

“So,” he said, slightly breathless. “That was because of the French, huh?”

She laughed, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to keep practicing.”

Max tightened his hold on her. “Done.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is learning French.

Emilie: ???

Emilie: Like YOUR Max? The one who has lived in Monaco forever and has survived just fine with English and Dutch?

Isabelle: Yes!!!

Isabelle: I found his iPad open with some French lesson on it, and when I asked, he said he lives in Monaco so it was about time he learned.

Emilie: That… does make sense.

Isabelle: But then I pressed him, and he admitted he’s actually doing it because of ME.

Emilie: Oh.

Emilie: Ohhhh.

Emilie: Isabelle. He’s in LOVE love.

Isabelle: I don’t even know what to do with this information.

Emilie: Girl, you kiss him stupid, that’s what.

Isabelle: I already did that!!!

Emilie: Good. Keep doing it.

Emilie: Good for him. He’s putting in the effort. He’s out here grinding on Duolingo just to impress.

Isabelle: That’s what’s shocking me the most… Nobody has ever done that for me before.

Emilie: Well, he’s not just anybody, is he?

Isabelle: No. He’s Max.

Emilie: Exactly. And Max Verstappen? He doesn’t do anything halfway.

***

Text Messages:Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Need your help.

GP: If this is about strategy on a Monday at 11 in the evening, I’m hanging up.

Max: It’s not.

GP: Then what?

Max: Isabelle’s birthday is coming up. I need a gift.

GP: …You do realize just because I’m married, I’m not a fountain of romantic wisdom, right?

Max: Who else am I supposed to ask?

GP: Literally anyone else?

Max: You’re the only one I trust not to be an idiot about this.

GP: I feel like that was a compliment and an insult at the same time.

Max: Just help me.

GP: Alright, what are you thinking?

Max: Something personal. Not just perfume or a handbag.

GP: Already doing better than most.

Max: That’s a low bar.

GP: True. Jewelry? Something meaningful?

Max: I was thinking emeralds. Her birthstone. And it matches her eyes.

GP: …Wow. You’re actually in deep.

Max: Not the point.

GP: Sure, sure. Bracelet? Necklace? Something she can wear every day?

Max: Yeah. Probably a bracelet.

GP: Go for it. But just so you know, if you keep setting the bar this high, you’re making the rest of us look bad.

Max: Not my problem.

GP: Yeah, that tracks. Let me know what you pick.

Max: Will do. Thanks.

GP: Anytime. Just remember, I’m charging a consulting fee next time.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: This is Max. Isabelle’s Max.

Emilie: …Hello, Isabelle’s Max. To what do I owe the honor?

Max: I need help. It’s about Isabelle’s birthday.

Emilie: Go on.

Max: I need Isabelle’s wrist size.

Emilie: …What.

Max: Her wrist size.

Emilie: That’s it? No explanation? No context? Just casually asking for her wrist size like that’s a normal thing?

Max: Yes.

Emilie: I don’t trust you.

Max: That feels unnecessary.

Emilie: UNNECESSARY? MAX, I HAVE SPENT YEARS FIGHTING A LOSING BATTLE AGAINST HER FAMILY’S COMPLETE INABILITY TO GET HER A DECENT GIFT.

Max: …

Emilie: Charles once got her a Ferrari-branded umbrella. ”In case you ever come to a race and it rains.”

Max: …

Emilie: Arthur once got her a stuffed animal from an airport gift shop, because he nearly forgot entirely one year. Just straight-up forgot Belle had a birthday.

Max: …

Emilie: Lorenzo got her candle last year. A SINGLE. GENERIC. VANILLA. CANDLE. SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE VANILLLA; SHE GETS HEADACHES FROM IT.

Max: That’s actually embarrassing.

Emilie: Thank you. But I’m not done.

Max: Oh no.

Emilie: Their mother gave Isabelle a cookbook.

Max: That’s… not the worst?

Emilie: It was a diet cookbook.

Max: …

Max: What the hell.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: And you’re saying this happens every year?

Emilie: EVERY. YEAR. Max, I have a Google Doc. I have an entire spreadsheet dedicated to “How to Make Sure Isabelle Actually Gets Something Nice.” I am fighting for my life out here.

Max: Not anymore.

Emilie: Wait.

Max: Attachment: Image of three emerald bracelets

Max: I’m thinking emeralds. It’s her birthstone. Matches her eyes.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN.

Max: What.

Emilie: YOU ALREADY PICKED OUT OPTIONS???

Max: I was narrowing it down.

Emilie: NARROWING IT DOWN. LIKE A FUNCTIONING HUMAN MAN. LIKE SOMEONE WHO ACTUALLY PUTS THOUGHT INTO GIFTS. LIKE SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HER FAVORITE GEMSTONE AND HOW IT MATCHES HER EYES.

Max: …Yes?

Emilie: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INFURIATING THIS IS FOR ME. I HAVE BEEN CARRYING THIS FAMILY.

Max: So you don’t know her wrist size?

Emilie: FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS. 

Max: Appreciate the help.

Emilie: Oh, and just for future reference—her ring size is 50.

Max: …

Max: Just for future reference?

Emilie: Just saying. You never know.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: 🚨 UM. Just saw Max Verstappen in a jewelry store in Miami. He was looking at bracelets and asking about emeralds.

@/OversteerAndTears: Not me immediately googling “Max Verstappen girlfriend emerald jewelry” like I’m gonna find something.

@/SoftForMax: Max Verstappen. In a jewelry store. Asking about emeralds. Who is she.

@/F1GossipQueen: He was so serious about it too. Like asking the salesperson about different settings and cuts.

@/CheckeredHeart: SETTINGS??? DIFFERENT CUTS?!?!

@/F1GossipQueen: Yes!!! And he was like, “She likes emeralds, but I want something subtle.” Like WHO, MAX??

@/FastCarsAndDrama: “She likes emeralds.” SHE??? I’M GONNA THROW UP.

@/MaxIsMyGOAT: So we’re just casually learning that Max Verstappen not only has a girlfriend but knows her jewelry preferences well enough to mention them in a store???@/OrangeArmy82: Maybe it’s for his mom or sister. We don’t know it’s for a girlfriend.

[thuriweaver]

So partly because of the ease of outrage on here and partly because I had road rage REALLY BAD after I lived in Philly in my early 20s, I've spent years making a concentrated effort to do this.

Any time someone pisses me off--which they do ON THE REGULAR--I try to step back from my immediate reaction and imagine a scenario where they aren't actually intending to be an absolute shitheel.

A meeting request to quiz me over something that's only partially their business and that I've already talked to their manager about extensively?

Could be them telling me I don't know how to do my job. Or? Could be that manager is going on maternity leave soon, and this project may have just been dropped in their lap, and now they're scrambling to catch up with it and all the other things they're going to need to handle for her in the next few months, and so their message may have seemed curt because they're having to send a lot like it. So retreading some ground with them goes from being a huge annoyance and accusation I'm incompetent to them needing my expertise and a chance to help and be certain everything goes as smoothly for both our departments as possible.

(This isn't from nowhere, it's an actual example that happened this week--and when I did this exercise out loud, a team member who'd been annoyed said something along the lines of "you are so much more patient and empathetic than I am!" And I had to say no, I am absolutely filled to the brim with boiling rage, but this is how I handle it!)

I have done this exercise so long that it's become second nature. It really does help me handle the annoyances of other people.

And? In the end it doesn't matter if I'm right, if they are acting in good faith. If they're not, that's on them, and I can deal with that fallout when and if it happens.

But if they are acting in good faith and I blow up at them, or simmer in anger, or take action out of proportion? Then that's on me. And I will have hurt someone, or burned a bridge, or even just made myself miserable over absolutely nothing.

not to sound like a christian facebook mom but some of yall need to have grace in your hearts for the people in your lives or the people you pass once on the road and never see again like you literally need to stop assuming the worst of everyone and their intentions it is poisoning your brain. you can be careful and responsible without being a miserable person. it is possible i promise

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[premiumbitch]

HOW TO SHUT YOUR MIND UP ... xoxo

Alright, listen up—your mind loves to run its mouth. It’ll throw random thoughts at you like, “Did I leave the oven on?” or “What if this doesn’t work?” when all you want to do is enter the void. Here’s some options (you can choose which one fits you best) on how to make it sit down and shut up so you can actually get somewhere:

OPTION 1: Acknowledge the Noise ONCE then ignore

First, accept that your mind is chatty. It’s like a toddler that won’t stop asking “why?” The more you fight it, the louder it gets. So, don’t fight it. Instead, just notice it and be like: “Oh, my brain is being loud. That’s fine.” then STOP & IGNORE, don't add anything besides affirmations or visualizing your dr.

OPTION 2: Pick One Thing to Focus On

Your mind needs something to do. Give it ONE simple thing to focus on, so it doesn’t wander off. I recommend affirming (use only ONE affirmation) for the void or to shift - Repeat your affirmation and let it be the only thought you're paying attention to. the unwanted thoughts will fade naturally.

OPTION 3: Turn Your Mind Into Static

Instead of trying to "think of nothing", turn your thoughts into white noise. Imagine they blend into the background like TV static or a distant hum. Example: Your thoughts start talking? Just imagine them turning into a soft shhhhhhhh sound, like a TV with no signal. Soon, there’s just peace. for this you don't need to affirm (unless you want to but i reccomend focusing on the "shhhh"), just set an intention on either shifting or entering the void & when unwanted thoughts come up just play some soft shhhhhhhhhhhhhh sounds in your mind.

OPTION 4: Visualize the Mute Button

Imagine a big, glowing mute button floating in front of you. Whenever a thought starts to intrude, picture yourself reaching out and pressing that button. Example: Picture a remote control in your hand with a large “mute” icon. When a thought pops up, press that button in your mind and watch the thought fade away.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Match My Freak

She’s been my roommate for over three months now and I’m nearing the end of my patience. Everything about her drives me insane, from the smell of her shampoo permeating through the bathroom after her long showers to the way she prances around the living room and kitchen wearing her tiny little pajamas. I’ve learned every single detail about her since she moved in and every day I fall in love with her a little more but she has no idea. She’s been etched into every atom of my soul and I need her to be mine.

She’d moved into my place after responding to an ad I’d placed about needing a roommate. She told me she’d broken up with her boyfriend and moved out of their shared apartment so it never felt right for me to make a move. I didn’t want her to treat me like a rebound, not when I have every intention of making her mine forever. But, last week, she’d put on a fucking red dress and heels fully done up to go on a date with some loser. I almost lost my mind when I saw her on her way out the door. How dare she go spend time with some loser guy when I’m right here for her?

That night, while I waited up all night for her to come home (she didn’t and I almost left the house to hunt her down and drag her back here), I made up my mind. If she can’t see what’s right in front of her, I’ll make her see. I’ll force her to. Plus, she deserves a punishment for whoring herself out to some random guy and I plan to teach her a hard-earned lesson.

It wasn’t very difficult to get my hands on what I needed, the internet really does provide all. A few searches, a couple hundred dollars, and a week’s wait for expedited shipping later, I was equipped with a fast-acting roofie and a powerful aphrodisiac, both of which dissolved nicely and undetectably into any beverage of choice.

It’s Friday night now and I’m jittery with a combination of nerves, excitement, and a feeling of finality. I’m finally getting a taste of what I want. She’ll wake up the next morning, maybe a little sore and tired but none the wiser of the events of tonight. And once I clear my head a little, I’ll figure out a long term plan to make her mine forever.

Really, I’m doing her a favor. I could be rough, be violent, hold a knife to her throat and force her to take my cock. Make her cry and scream and traumatize her to really punish her. But no, I’m too good to her to put her through that. Instead, she gets the easy way out, the nice drugs that make her pliant, relaxed, and needy. She gets to wake up the next morning and still feel safe around me, because she is. And eventually, she’ll learn to love me.

She’s curled up on the couch when I come out of my room, dressed in another one of her tiny pajama sets, her eyes leaving her Kindle to meet mine before she shoots me a beautiful smile. “Hey you! Where’ve you been? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you all week?”

I flash her a grin, “Been busy with work, I took on a new project and there’s been a lot of prep work involved.”

She nods, “Well I hope it goes well, I can’t imagine it not, you seem really good at your job!” If only she knew.

I smile at her before heading into the kitchen, calling out behind me, “You want something to drink?”

“Yes please! Can you grab me a can of seltzer, please?”

My smile widens when I hear that and I grab a can of her favorite flavor from the fridge before cracking it open and pouring the fizzy water into a cup. Both drugs dissolve immediately into the drink and I smirk before grabbing a can for myself.

I step back into the living room and settle onto the other side of the couch, handing over her drink. She smiles in thanks before taking a long sip. I hide my smile behind a drink of my own.

“Whatcha up to?” I ask, nodding towards her Kindle.

She shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo wafting into my face. My fist clenches. Fuck, she smells so good. “I’m just reading, nothing exciting,” she says. “What about you? Any fun plans tonight?”

I can’t hold back the smirk that lights up my face, “Nah, just spending a night in.”

She takes another sip of her drink and blinks her eyes tiredly. “Mhm, that sounds nice, getting to bed early sounds like a good plan.”

I nod, eyes fixed on her drink as she takes another swallow. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I try to restrain myself from showing my dark excitement for where tonight is headed.

I watch as she sets her Kindle down on the coffee table and rubs her eyes. “I think I’m going to head into my room…” her voice is softer now, slower as the drugs start to take effect. I nod at her drink, “You should finish that before you head in.”

She nods a little and drinks the last little bit, setting her cup onto the table and moving to stand. She barely manages to get herself up before she stumbles and her knees buckle, her body folding like a puppet.

I’m ready for her and I pull her into my lap, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, you okay?” My voice betrays my excitement but she’s too far gone to notice. Her body melts into mine as she lets out a soft whine, “Mm really tired… and everything feels so hot…”

She leans her head against my shoulder and I let out a groan, the feeling of her soft body in my lap is almost enough to make me lose control. I laugh incredulously, “Fuck, those drugs really do work fast.”

I tap her cheek gently and look into her dazed eyes, “Hey. Hey, focus on me. You still with me?”

Her eyes blink slowly at me but she’s too delirious to respond. I’m so fucking hard now, the reality of what’s going to happen fully hitting me. I cup her cheek and lean my forehead against hers, groaning with desire.

“You’re all mine now, huh? Drugged out of your mind and completely vulnerable. You look so pretty like this, not a single thought in that gorgeous head of yours, isn’t that right?”

My lips meet hers and I moan into her mouth as I claim our first kiss. First of many. She’s soft and pliant underneath me, her lips clumsily moving against mine. I run my hand through her soft hair as my lips work feverishly against hers. My breath comes out in harsh pants when I finally pull away, the taste of her lips making my head spin.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect like this. So obedient, so good for me. Not like last week, when you whored yourself out to some fucking guy, huh?” My voice turns mean as I recall the red hot fury that governed my every thought the night she went out. My hands get rougher as I move her around in my lap, pulling her back to my chest and spreading her legs so they splayed open for me.

“If you’d just been a good girl, tonight wouldn’t have needed to happen like this. But no, you betrayed me. You went and fucked some other guy and now I need to cleanse him from you before I can make you mine. Because that’s what you are, my perfect girl, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes have fluttered shut now but it doesn’t matter to me because when my hand trails down her stomach to her clothed pussy, I can feel the burning heat. The aphrodisiac’s doing its job too.

I chuckle and grab a fistful of her pathetically tiny shorts and jerk them hard off her legs. She lets out a soft whimper from my harsh treatment and I coo softly at her, “It’s okay, darling, this is what you want.”

My fingers press against her bare cunt and she’s soaked.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping. Look at you, drugged out of your mind and this pretty pussy is weeping for me.”

I run my fingers gently across her pulsing clit and her legs twitch, a soft whine escaping from her lips. I start to rub her sensitive little clit in circles, spreading her own wetness all over her pussy.

“So messy for me, huh? I know you like this, I can feel your cunt pulsing. Only I can make you feel this way, you’ll learn that soon.”

She’s letting out little desperate whimpers and a glance at her face tells me she’s so out of it that I have nothing to worry about. I slide a finger into her pussy and groan at how tight she is.

“Fuck, your pretty pussy feels so good wrapped around my finger. God, you’re so nasty, getting all drugged up and turning into a little mindless toy. You’re leaking all over my lap and I’ve barely done anything. What a filthy little whore.”

I thrust my fingers into her and curl them upwards, letting my thumb keep rubbing her little clit. I almost wish she were more lucid so she could hear all the dirty things I’m telling her.

“Fuck, I can tell you’re close, huh? You gonna cum for me, all drugged up and making a mess all over my fingers?”

Her soft whimpers have turned into louder moans and I can tell by her little hip thrusts that she’s close. My fingers don’t stop and I feel her shudder in my arms, a soft mewling cry erupting from her as she cums for me. I groan softly and work her through her orgasm, my fingers rubbing mercilessly against her little clit as she trembles.

“That’s it, baby, feel good for me. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, isn’t that right? You’re fucking mine.” I pull my fingers away from her and taste her wetness, moaning at how good she is.

I scoop her up and carry her into my room, laying her gently down on my bed, her head lolling in her drugged state of semi-consciousness. I brush her hair away from her pretty face, admiring her.

“I love you, pretty girl, do you know that? I love you so much and I’ll prove that to you. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow, but I promise you’ll never doubt how much I love you for the rest of our lives.”

I crawl over her, pining her body down onto the bed with my own, my hands running everywhere over her body. I trail soft kisses over her skin, licking gently down her neck and into the valley of her pretty, pretty tits. Her nipples are so hard and a gentle flick from my fingers makes her let out a soft, sleepy whine.

I draw a hard peak into my mouth and let my tongue play with her sensitive flesh, scrapping my teeth gently against her. Another whimper from her. I want nothing more than to leave love bites and marks all over her skin, proving that she belongs to me for anyone to see but I control myself. Leaving marks would mean leaving evidence and I can’t have that, not yet.

I spend another few moments gently playing with her sensitive tits before I get too impatient to wait any longer. My cock has been straining against my sweatpants since I saw her take her first sip of her drugged drink and I can’t hold back anymore. I make quick work of my own clothes before I finally press my naked body against hers, every single bit of her form fitting perfectly against mine, like we were made for each other.

Her pretty cunt is still weeping, making a mess all over my bed. “I wish you were awake for this so you could see how fucking perfect we are for each other. But it’s okay, your mind might not remember this but your body well. Your body will know it belongs to me.” I groan as I swipe a finger through her wetness, making sure to nudge her little clit, savoring the hitch in her breathing that follows.

I smirk as I grip my throbbing cock and run the head gently across her dripping folds, moaning at the feel of her. “Fuck, such a desperate little cunt for me. You like this, huh? Like the feeling of my cock rubbing your cunt? Fuck, you’re so good like this.”

I slowly start to press into her, the tight, wet heat of her pussy making my head spin from pleasure. She lets out tiny little moans as I bottom out inside of her, her cunt clenching around me so tightly I would’ve thought she was awake if I didn’t know better.

“Fuck, that’s right. I own this pussy, this tight fucking cunt gripping my cock. Fuck, you’re all mine.” I’m panting as I start to thrust into her, every single movement making her limp body jerk.

She’s so good for me, so obedient as I take exactly what I want from her. Her eyes are still shut but the sounds she makes while unconscious are almost enough to make me worry she’s actually awake. I thrust deep and she lets out a delicious little whine.

“Fuck yes, you’re so sensitive like this, huh? The drugs making you so needy for me and my cock. Is that little clitty feeling neglected?” I groan as my fingers rub harshly against her clit, the movement making her cunt tighten even further around me. It doesn’t take long before I hear her little whimpers escalate and her hips jerk. Her soft, relaxed body is driving me insane and I start to loose my rhythm as she milks me.

“You getting close again, love? All drugged up, stuffed full, and about to cum again for me? There you go, you like that huh? I know you can’t answer me but your body tells me enough.” I rub her clit faster and shudder when I feel her orgasm hit her hard. Her pussy milks me hard and it pushes me over the edge.

I fuck her through both our orgasms and I collapse onto the bed next to her, taking care not to crush her underneath me. My heart is pounding as the pleasure ebbs out of my body, leaving me satiated and content. I pull her into my arms and press my lips to her temple, my eyes taking in her flushed face, closed eyes, and trembling body. My pretty girl is all tired out from tonight’s activities.

“You did so good, love. I’m so fucking good to you, aren’t I? I made sure you’d enjoy this, made sure you would cum over and over again. I treated you so well, I didn’t leave a single bruise on your soft skin. You should be so grateful, baby. I made sure to be gentle, to be so good to you. Made sure to buy you the good drugs so you wake up tomorrow nice and easy. You won’t remember any of this but it’s okay. I’ll remember and I’ll know that our first time together was perfect.”

I press my lips to her skin again and pull her tighter into my grasp, my own eyes closing as I drift off to sleep with her.

I wake up several hours later, her body still tucked into my own, her soft breaths tickling my skin. I take in the vision of her curled up in my bed and it almost makes me want to fuck her again. But I can’t, her drugs are going to wear off soon and I need to make sure she opens her eyes in her own room, dressed in her pajamas so she has no clue what happened.

I groan softly as I extricate myself from the bed, my body already missing hers. It’s easy enough to redress her in her pajamas and carry her into her room. I tuck her into bed and press a soft kiss to her forehead before heading out of her bedroom.

I’m too restless to go back to sleep so I throw on a pair of sweatpants and go to sit out in the living room, replaying the events of last night in my head. As time passes, there’s a sinking feeling of dread building in my stomach. What if the drugs didn’t work as expected and she wakes up remembering everything that happened? If that happens, everything falls apart. I’m wracking my brain to come up with a contingency plan and wanting to punch myself for not thinking this through earlier when I hear the door of her bedroom open.

My eyes immediately find hers and part of my relaxes when I see no anger, fear, or revulsion in her face. Just sleepiness and a look of contentment.

“Hey, how’d you sleep?” My voice sounds thick and croaky and I cough awkwardly to cover it up. She smiles at me and walks in my direction.

“Good, really good.”

She comes to the couch and settles next to me. Closer than normal. A lot closer, she’s basically pressed right up against me. I blink at her.

She smirks and her hand comes to rest against my chest. My bare chest. My breath stutters and I look at her with wide eyes. “What- what are you doing?”

She giggles, “What? You spend all night doing unspeakable things to me and now a little hand on your chest has you freaking out?”

My mind short-circuits as my stomach drops. “What?” My voice comes out in a croak and panic seizes my entire body.

I hear her laugh again but everything feels like a haze. I watch, frozen, as she tucks herself against me and leans into my chest.

I clear my throat and stutter a little when I speak again, “What- what do you think happened last night?”

She smiles at me. “You mean before or after you drugged me?”

Fuck, I’m screwed. I fucked up. It’s over. My heart is pounding as I struggle to process what’s happening. “What?” If I had higher brain capacity right now, I’d be desperately coming up with some excuse but nothing comes to mind. She laughs again and cups my cheek in one hand.

“Stop freaking out, you didn’t do anything that I didn’t already want,” her voice punches through the confusion in my head and I stare at her.

“What?” That seems to be my favorite word right now.

She pats my cheek. “Okay, fine, I’ll explain, I’m done messing with you. I’ve been into you since I moved in. And I know you’ve been into me too. It’s really hard to miss all the signs, you’re always doing little things for me, buying me the snacks I like, making excuses to spend weekends together, staring at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

I blush a little at that, I guess I haven’t been subtle.

“I kept waiting for you to do something about it but you never did. So I ‘went on a date’ last week to try to provoke something out of you.” I blink dumbly at her air quotes.

“What? It wasn’t a real date?” There’s so much for my brain to work through right now and I can’t focus properly because she keeps stroking my chest.

She laughs and rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “No, it wasn’t a real date, I got dressed up and went to a friend’s place to stay over to make you jealous so you’d do something. And you did. Only I thought you’d ask me out finally, not concoct this insane plan of yours.”

I blink slowly at her, she continues, seeing that I’m incapable of stringing together coherent words right now.

“You left your laptop out last week and I saw the shipping confirmation of the drugs in your email. It wasn’t hard to put together what you intended to do. I didn’t think you had it in you,” she teased. I’m still dumbfounded.

“It wasn’t that hard to get to the packages before you when they came in,” she shrugs. “The roofie I swapped for a sugar pill but I kept the aphrodisiac intact because it sounded fun. And when you drugged me last night, I just pretended that the roofie worked. Honestly, it was so much harder than I thought it would be to stay still through everything but so fucking worth it.” She smiles at me before kissing my cheek.

My mind is racing as I put all the pieces together and all the panic and fear from earlier is replaced with awe. I let out a choked, incredulous laugh. “What the fuck? You’re fucking crazy,” my voice is reverential as I grab her and pull her onto my lap. My lips find hers and I feel her melt into the kiss, every single fiber of my being relaxing with her.

I pull away and look into her eyes, “I love you, you’re perfect.”

She smiles, “I love you too.” She winks at me, “I can match your freak.”

Note: Hi friends, I'm baaack! I'm so into the "crazy obsessed lover x willing recipient" dynamic so hope y'all enjoyed this one!

[urmum-lovesme]

More more moooooore of bunny and rafe noooowwwww 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩❤️❤️❤️

Currently working on the next chapter right now but since everyone's been saying Bunny should just hit Rafe with her car already... ?

Well just imagine Bunny leaving the country club one day after work, and she's just not in the mood. She had get on her hands and knees to clean up baby vomit even though the family weren't even one of her tables and no matter how many times she washed her hands she feels like she can still smell the pungent scent on her skin. To add to that, Sofia wasn't in today so she ate lunch all by herself in the staff locker rooms.

Her feet ache, her uniform feels like it’s clinging to her skin in all the wrong places, and now all she wants is to go home, take a shower hot enough to melt her skin off, and pass out. But of course, because the universe hates her, she hears his voice.

“Hey waitress!”

Her jaw clenches before she even looks up, her pace quickening as she weaves between the parked cars. She’s not in the mood for this. “Maybank!” Rafe calls again, his voice carrying easily over the pavement.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, Pogue!”

She exhales sharply through her nose. Ignore him. He’ll get bored.eventually. Well she hoped he will, but then there are footsteps, and she knows he’s coming closer still calling out her name, and before she can help it, she bites back at him.

“Yeah I can hear your fucking nagging voice.”

Rafe just grins, clearly amused, and she’s already regretting acknowledging him. She reaches her car, yanking the handle, but before she can climb in, Rafe’s hand slaps against the door, pushing it shut again and she just folds her arms staring at him unimpressed.

“Where you goin’?”

He asks, head tilting like he genuinely wants to know. But her best guess is he's wondering if she's going to the club- so he can follow after her and torment her there instead. Y/N lets out a slow breath through her nose before levelling him with a look.

“Home.”

She replies flatly, hand coming out to yank the door open harshly and he just takes a step back hands raising in mock defeat. Rafe just hums now, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk.

“Wow. Moody much?”

Y/N slides into her car and slams the door shut, hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles pale. She doesn’t even look at him as she starts the engine, the low hum filling the silence between them. However, she can still hear him through the crack in her window.

“You going to the club?”

She keeps her gaze ahead, jaw clenching. There it is. She didn't have to be a genius to know he was going to ask her that, after all she hadn't been at the club for a few days and she remembers getting a message from Bambi about how her 'boy toy is getting impatient' She lets out a small sigh, assuming he'll just let it go but of course, Rafe Cameron doesn’t let stuff go.

“Hey.”

A loud thud shakes her car as his palm slaps down on the roof. Y/N jumps slightly, brows furrowing in agitation as she whips her head toward him. He leans down just enough to look at her through the window.

“Don’t ignore me when I’m speaking to you.”

She scoffs, shaking her head as she shifts gears. Fuck this. Yet before she can even think about pulling out, Rafe is moving, stepping around the front of her car until he’s standing right in front of it. Her hands tighten around the wheel once more. Now he just stands there, arms crossed, looking at her with that smug little smirk like he’s got all the time in the world. Y/N stares back at him through the windshield in disbelief. Has he got nothing better to do? So now she rolls down her window, the mechanism groaning as she leans out slightly.

“Move"

Rafe doesn’t even flinch. He shifts his weight slightly, arms still crossed over his chest as he tilts his head at her, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nah,” he drawls.

“I think I’m pretty comfy here, actually.”

“Rafe, I’m not playing. Get out of my way, I swear to God—”

Her glare is sharp enough to cut glass and her palms are getting sore from how hard she's holding onto the wheel. He cuts her off, stepping forward just enough that his hands rest on the hood of her car. “Or what, huh?” He’s taunting her now, head tilted, gaze locked onto hers.

“You gonna run me over?”

Y/N’s nostrils flare. She’s this close to actually considering it. Instead, her lips press into a thin line before her hand slams down on the horn. The deafening sound screeches through the parking lot, a piercing, relentless noise that makes even her ears ring. A few birds scatter from a nearby tree. Some people turn their heads. Even Rafe's brows twitch up slightly in surprise.

But he doesn’t move.

Of course, he doesn’t fucking move.

Y/N inhales sharply through her nose, forcing herself to take a deep breath because she genuinely feels like she might pass out from sheer hatred. Her teeth grind against each other, eyes narrowing as she grips the gear shift and smoothly switches it into drive. She doesn’t hesitate. The car lurches forward and Rafe’s body instinctively jerks back a step, his brows snapping together. He spits, his hands bracing against the hood now.

“The fuck?!”

“Fucking move”

She grits out, her patience hanging on by a thread. But he’s as stubborn as ever, stance firm, eyes narrowed right back at her.

“No.”

Her fingers flex against the steering wheel, her heart hammering with irritation. Fine. He wants to be difficult? So be it. She jerks the car forward again, this time stopping just centimetres away from his knees. The movement is sharp, precise, and just reckless enough to have his eyes widening slightly.

“You’re fucking insane”

He exclaims, finally stepping out of the way, hands held up to the car as if she might actually floor it. Y/N lets out a humorless laugh.

“Oh yeah? You don’t say.”

She doesn’t even look at him as she drives right past him, her grip on the wheel now loosening. And as she passes, she lifts one hand, flicking her middle finger out of the open window directly at him. Behind her, Rafe’s voice rings out in an irritated yell,

“Psycho bitch!

She deffo would completely run him over if there were no witnesses 🤫

[bullet-prooflove]

This God Damn Fucking Day: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagged: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @noxytopy @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Boston - You reflect on the past after your ex-husband makes an appearance on a trying day.

Up until the day your ex-husband Richard infiltrates The Pitt, Jack has a very fixed image of the man. He imagines him to be older, portly, Freudian, nothing like the GQ model that steps through the door with a con man’s smile.

There isn’t a single thread of silver in his dark hair despite the fact he’s five years older than Jack and his beard is immaculately groomed to the point of being designer. He wears a navy blue tailored suit that costs more than a nurse’s yearly salary and a cologne he allegedly picked up in Paris during his last conference with the Royal College of Psychiatrists where he was a keynote speaker on manipulation and obsessive behaviour.

The irony of that is not wasted on Jack, considering this asshole has a master’s degree in mind games, which is why he’s here in The Pitt, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the empty family room before you even know which way is up.

Every single fibre of Jack’s being tells him to intervene, to murder this smug son of a bitch and then stuff his corpse into the overpriced Mercedes that’s parked outside but he doesn’t because he made a promise to let you handle this, because this was always an inevitability.

You knew as soon as Richard heard you were getting married again that he’d try and waltz his way into your life. He doesn’t want you of course, he never did. He just doesn’t want anyone else to have you.

“That Peach’s ex-husband?” Myrna questions, scootching her wheel chair alongside his work station. “He looks like an asshole.”

Peach is what she’s been calling you ever since she cottoned onto the princess nicknames he’d been using. He’s quit with that now but Myrna keeps it up. He’s been Sweet Cheeks for over a decade now because she has a thing for the way his ass looks in scrubs. Robby got off lucky with Fruitcake.

“You know I can’t discuss Doctor Doran’s personal life.” He mutters as he busies himself with his patient charts.

“Uh Sweet Cheeks.” Myrna says, the back of her hand slapping against his forearm. “I think you need to get in there before she kills him.”

Sure enough, Jack’s head jerks up just in time to see you break Richard’s nose. He stumbles back as blood erupts from his nostrils, jetsoning all over his thousand dollar shirt. Jack’s on his feet in an instant, the wheely chair he’s sitting on crashing into the wall behind him as he hurtles towards the family room, his sneakers squeaking on the tiles.

There’s two things that happen when you get punched in the face, you fight or flight and he can tell from the look in that asshole’s eyes he’s about to fight. He already has his hands on you by the time Jack gets through the door, gripping your arms, shaking you and you respond by attempting to claw his motherfucking eyes out.

“He fucking slept with her. He fucked Abby!” You snarl as he gets in between the two of you, his palm on Richard’s chest shoving him away from you. “You were supposed to be helping her!”

“I was helping her, I helped her the same way I helped you!” Richard snaps back, cupping his nose to stem the bleeding. “Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t realise how much of a bitch you’ve turned into since coming back here. You’re just as deranged as she was!”

You lose your shit then and Jack just about manages to get his arms around you, caging you in so you don’t commit a fucking homicide in the family room.

“Honey.” He says calmly, his forehead coming to rest upon yours, grounding you. “You need to take a walk and let me deal with this.”

“Jack-” You protest.

“Faye.” He asserts, looking into your eyes. “My E.D, my rules. Go take a breather.”

Your jaw clenches as you look away. He’s going to be paying for this tonight, he knows he is but he doesn’t care. He needs to get you out of this situation. He waits for you to leave, the door closing quietly behind you before he turns to face Richard.

“You’ve got her trained well-”

He drives his fist into Richard’s gut, hard enough to hurt like hell but not enough to do internal damage. His fingers wind through the other man’s hair, grasping it tightly as he yanks his head up to meet his gaze.

“You come near her again and I will end you.” He tells the other man, his eyes blazing. “Faye is off limits. You fuck with her, you fuck with me and trust me the shit that I could do to you wouldn’t leave marks, just pain, life altering fucked up pain that will make you wish that you were dead.”

He thrusts Richard away from, causing him to collide with the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Jack reaches for a box of tissues, tossing them onto the chair closest to him.

“You’ve got ten minutes to clean yourself up. If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll make sure to finish what she started.”

He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes coming on rest on the vacant wheelchair, an empty pair of handcuffs swinging from the armrest.

“This fucking day.” He mutters to himself before he goes in search of Myrna. “This god damn fucking day.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[nefkyology]

As much as I (*don't) like Christopher Nolan as a director, I sit in fear of what Odyssey will be, and I'll probably refuse to watch it when it comes out.

Partially because I worry for the interpretation of Circe and/or Calypso, but mostly because I know no one will actually take the time to talk about Odysseus's bow like it needs to be.

Like a comedy skit.

I have little knowledge on these things, so forgive my inaccuracies.

His was deacribed as a palintonos horn composite bow. Not only would it bend backwards when relaxed, but it needed time, knowledge, and patience to be reshaped and strung correctly, which the suitors didn't have.

For reference, this is a Turkish horn composite bow at the MET,

And here a series of diagrams on the Asian composite bow, including the form it needs to take to perform correctly, without it falling apart.

Note: this tells us, whichever model is closer to the one intended for Odysseus', that the bow was fit for warriors.

You can see that just positioning the arrow should be an effort that involves your whole body. The string itself needs to be pulled far enough that it looks like an arrow pointing backwards, and your grip needs to be solid as the tension is stronger.

Now imagine you didn't know all that, and dear queen Penelope presented you with the challenge to shoot an arrow with this.

Like me, you've already pictured the string in the wrongest position possible.

Blumineck the Arrow Bard on Youtube tried demonstrating this issue here, and the account Inspired Cosplay expanded on the difficulty of the challenge in a few videos, but I'll just leave these two here and here.

Point is: How. How did no one laugh. How did Penelope not have to bite the inside of her cheek once. How did Odysseus himself remain serious? Was he looking away the whole time? I'd look away too if people were touching my stuff and damn near breaking it for nothing.

[lily-sofii]

Hii! I am in love with your Raf nsfw alphabet. I can't imagine him being any other way cause you were so accurate. If you want, could you write a Caleb version? Thank you very much anyway byeee

Caleb NSFW alphabet

I am madly in love with you anon for this ask, we should get married fr

Warnings(?): I'm not the most familiar with his personality yet so it might be ooc, Caleb being weird and obsessive, slight mentions of drugging without your knowledge (just like canon lmao), the fanfic is just 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨𝔶, step-brother Caleb

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Caleb would rather die than to not treat you like a princess after sex. I mean, what kind of step-brother doesn’t want to take care of his sister? He does everything and anything you ask of him. Do you need a shower Pip-squeak? You got it. Want a snack or a drink? Caleb is on his way already! Wanna just fall asleep and stay in bed? Caleb will wash you down and cover you with the softest blankets. Don't worry about him, you're the only important one right now.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Caleb's favorite body part of his is the one which you like the most. Do you like his hands? So does he! Do you like his abdomen? He does too!

(Although if you did force him to pick a part himself, he'd pick somewhere where you left a lasting mark on him. Like the bite wound on his hand from when you were both kids)

As for his favorite body part of yours?. He'd say everything, he doesn't need one favorite part when he can just love all of them. But truly? He's obsessed with your chest. Any time of the day he grabs your chest, his hands sneaking under your shirt and your bra. His brain is addicted to how soft your breasts are under his fingers, how your nipples harden under his touch.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Caleb will cum inside of you, no matter what. Everytime you two are in bed, he cums inside automatically, not even asking. The only way for you to get him to cum anywhere else is to push him off of you just as he's about to cum or to say that you'll forever hate him if he cums inside.

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When you were teenagers and both still lived under one roof, he'd always jerk off to the thought of you, his lovely step-sister. Now, of course his friends and he used to talk about pornography and porn stars all the time, but Caleb never understood it. He tried it, he really did! But nothing could compare to the thought of you being with him as he was jerking off. Did he feel disgusted? Absolutely, I mean, he's jerking off to his step-sister. But it felt the best.

A dirty secret from the present? He's obsessed with the idea of feeding you an aphrodisiac. I mean, he's given you pills before without your consent, why not try it more? Although it is worth noting that he hasn't done it yet, nor will he have the courage to do so in the next 6 months or more.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Caleb knows what he’s doing because he knows you. He has no experience outside of you, because as cheesy as it sounds, he was saving himself for you and you only.

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

Caleb is okay with any position as long as you like it, although he does prefer positions where he can see your face. He enjoys seeing the pleasure on your face, the pleasure he’s giving you. Plus he also enjoys kissing you non-stop, leaving you out of breath.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Caleb is as serious as he can be in the moment. Sure, if anything embarrassing happens he’ll laugh at it, but otherwise he’s rather serious.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I was gonna say that he only trims his hair, but in his design it is implied that he shaves, as seen here:

As for the hair itself? I’d say it’s slightly darker than the hair on his head and that it is thicker.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Caleb is romantic with you 24/7, and it does not change when he’s intimate with you. If anything, it ten folds.

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

He'd jerk off almost every day when he was a teen, always thinking only about you. But upon becoming a fleet officer he didn't have time to do much. The only time he'd get to jerk off is when he had a free day (few days a month), and once again, his head would only be thinking about you no matter how hard he tried to think of anyone else.

As for the present? He jerks off anytime he gets needy and you’re not there. No matter where he is. Is he in a meeting and you text him? Well, he’s already hard and making his way to the bathroom to rub one out.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Due to Caleb's profession, I think he'd have a thing for bondage, especially handcuffs, and he'd be into uniforms, along with marking, like bites and hickeys.

For handcuffs, he'd cuff you and never let you cuff him.

For the uniform, it wouldn't matter. Sure, he loves to wear the uniform and to act higher than you, but you wearing the uniform turns him on the same, if not more.

Also, I am convinced he'd try to make you levitate up to his face to eat you out with his Evol while jerking off.

And there’s a slight chance that he has Dacryphilia, but he won’t admit it.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

I honestly think he’d want to do it anywhere if he was needy enough and if it was private enough. Most often he takes you in his home since it’s private and you barely leave anyways, but there have been times (far too many times) where he bent you over the control panel of the fleet’s airplane, or on a random wall in a public space where no one could see you two.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

YOU. Anything and everything about you is what gets him going, innocent or not. Oh, are you wearing his shirt? It's because you love him so much you wanna look like him, right?

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I believe he’d try almost anything for you, as long as it gives you pleasure/turns you on. He just loves you so much that he’d do it even if it was odd to him,

Although a thing that he’d never do, is take you with anyone else. You’re his, just his. No one else can ever see you in the ways he does.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Caleb loves giving oral. Sure he enjoys it when you give him oral too, but he’s much happier giving you the pleasure.

As for his skill? Well, given the fact he has no experience before you, I’d say he’s definitely sloppy in the start. He does get better with time, noting how each of his movements make you louder or quieter.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

This mainly depends on Caleb’s mood. He’d rather enjoys slow and sensual sex, but if something happens when he’s at work, he’ll come home and fuck you until you are on the verge of passing out.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Caleb most certainly prefers to take you in the confines of his home, taking his time with everything, but that isn’t too common due to his always-packed schedule. Thanks to him being a fleet officer who barely gets any time off, there are many times that quickies between you happened, much to his dismay.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Caleb isn’t the biggest risk taker, but he does take them sometimes. I mean, whenever he asks you for a joined ride in his airplane you end up bent over the control panel with Caleb fucking you from behind, your face pressed against the glass of the front winndow.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Caleb feels like he has infinite stamina, being able to go all night long if not longer. Although, if you start feeling exhausted, too overstimulated or like you’re gonna pass out, he will stop for you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

When he was a teen he tried to DIY a fleshliight/pocket pussy, but failed horribly due to being terribly untalented in the crafts. So he just continued jerking off with his hand and until now that had stayed the same. Sure, he had the idea of buying a fleshlight, but he’s grown accustomed to simply using his hand.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As much as Caleb loves to have soft and sensual sex with you, he also loves to tease you. And as much as he’d hate to admit, he finds it utterly hot when he makes you cry with his teasing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The first few times you were intimate, Caleb was rather quiet. Although after you asked him if he’s even receiving pleasure during intimacy, he let his voice go. Now most of the times when you have sex he whines and whimpers as he kisses you, moaning in your ear when the kisses break.

W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)

I think the step-sibling aspect of your relationship turns him on beyond belief. The forbidden aspect of it fueling his love (obsession) for you even more

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Caleb is much bigger than average, and much thicker too. His cock has a curve to it with the tip being an angry red color.

And for the record, he knows more than well how to use it. Well, after the first few times at least.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Before you? It was honestly low (not counting when he was a teen) and he’d actively have to get himself horny but now? He’s horny almost 24\7 when he’s with you, when he thinks about you, or when you text him.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Caleb makes sure you're okay. He watches you as you fall asleep and if you can't? He's gonna get you a nice drink that assures you will sleep. After all, he doesn't want you to be tired tomorrow, does he?

It also is rather common for Caleb to not sleep much himself. He just loves watching you sleep. Sometimes he can spend the whole night just watching your chest rise as you breathe calmly. He'd love to watch you like this every night, but he is the fleet's commander after all, so there are bound to be distractions.

Idk @scarasdarling wanted to be tagged, there ya go bud

[holyblonded]

i can just imagine one night olga isn’t around and ale has been down all day, sat on the sofa zoned out tears down her face and estrella quickly heads out and puts together a little hamper for ale with flowers, chocolate. when she come back she silently places it on the table and just curls into ales side with a simple “te amo mami”

— estrella notices right away when something is off with alexia, the way she’s quieter than usual, the way she sits on the couch staring at nothing, her expression distant and her eyes a little red like she’s been crying. she doesn’t say anything, just watches for a bit, feeling that tight, uncomfortable feeling in her chest because she hates seeing alexia like this. hates seeing the strongest person she knows look so small and tired.

— she disappears without a word, grabbing her hoodie and slipping out the door, walking fast, then running because she doesn’t like leaving ale alone like that for too long. she stops at the small corner shop first, picking out ale’s favorite chocolate, then runs to the florist down the street, grabbing a bouquet that reminds her of olga— bright and warm, just like the person ale is missing right now. she’s not great at this kind of stuff, at comforting in words, so she lets her actions speak instead, hoping it’s enough.

— by the time she gets back, alexia is still in the same spot, curled up on the couch, looking utterly exhausted. estrella moves quietly, setting the little hamper on the table in front of her before slipping onto the couch beside her. she doesn’t make a big deal out of it, doesn’t tell ale to open it, doesn’t ask if she’s okay because she knows sometimes there’s no real answer to that question.

— instead, she just curls into alexia’s side, resting her head against her shoulder, tucking herself close like she used to when she was younger, back when she didn’t know how else to say “i’m here.”

— after a few moments, she finally speaks, voice soft, barely above a whisper. “te amo, mami.”

— alexia exhales, shaky, but she shifts just enough to wrap an arm around estrella, holding her tight, pressing a kiss to her temple. she doesn’t say anything, just holds her close, but estrella feels the way her breathing evens out, the way her body relaxes just a little, and she knows she did something right.

— they sit there for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the little hamper untouched on the table, but estrella doesn’t mind. she didn’t do it for a thank you, didn’t do it for recognition. she did it because alexia is her mom, because she loves her, because no matter what, she’ll always make sure ale knows she’s never alone.

[joocomics]

UPCOMING: LOVE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU

✭ 18+

you never expected the mysterious boy who walked around the bookstore mindlessly, looking completely out of place among the shelves of well-loved novels, to return so soon… or at all. despite your obvious differences, he keeps coming back and each visit pulls you further out of your comfort zone until you find yourself at a crossroads… are you willing to step into his chaotic life or you’d rather stay safely in between the pages of your books?

pairing: non-idol!jooyeon x fem!reader | streetfighter!jooyeon x bookseller!reader

genre: smut w/ plot, angst, slice of life | bad boy x good girl trope | featuring: gaon as the café guy ; o.de as jooyeon’s close friend

general warnings: corruption kink, jooyeon has red flags (but nothing too serious), many descriptions of wounds and bruises, jealousy and possession, occasional aggression (not towards reader), dumbification, degradation during sex

PART ONE: in progress… PART TWO: outlining…

release date: to be announced

est word count — this is going to be the longest thing i've ever written in my life after my master thesis buckle up

preview word count — 1.5k

🎧 now playing… is it a crime? - montell fish, rooting for my baby - miley cyrus, red velvet - jutes & ari abdul, knock ‘em dead kid - mötley crüe, you and i - arctic monkeys

→ full playlist here

taglist is open! comment or send me an ask and i will add you right away so you don’t miss out on the story when it’s up ♡ (if you’re in the list you will be tagged for both parts)

READ A PREVIEW BELOW

Mornings at the bookstore always start the same way.

The soft click of the key turning in the lock, the bell ringing at your presence. The quiet shuffling of your feet across the wooden floors. The aroma of your first coffee for the day mingling with the faint scent of books. The quickening rhythm of the city slipping through the glass windows along with golden patches of sunlight where the packed shelves stand in neat towering rows.

It’s something you had grown used to, a comforting routine you cannot imagine unfolding in a different way.

You flip the bookstore’s sign to Open and take another sip of your coffee.

Just another day at work. Another day of unpacking books, arranging displays, and helping customers find the right story - nothing out of the ordinary. Those are your favorite activities to do.

And yet, your mind is drifting elsewhere.

More in particular, back to the day when a stranger, looking completely out of place among the books, wandered into the store. He didn’t stay long, but he stayed long enough to catch your attention; to make you want to take another secret glimpse of his unfamiliar face as you were dealing with two customers at the front desk.

He stayed long enough to leave an impression - and to make you immediately recognise him the second time he returned. Dark brown hair, slightly messy, but enhancing his attractiveness. Sharp, distinct face. Slim figure with broad shoulders. Bold flickering gaze. You can’t mistake him, even his aura makes the air inside the store shift the moment he walks in.

The first time he just walked around mindlessly; hands casually resting inside his pockets as he scanned the shelves, looking like someone who’s killing time than searching for a book. He didn’t pick up anything nor did he ask you questions.

The second time, he stood in front of the non-fiction section for a little bit longer. You tried to keep yourself busy, but every time his black leather jacket interrupted the silence with a muffled noise, your eyes flickered to his direction on the instant. Wanting to find out what led somebody like him here made you curious of every small movement of his. You continued to follow his figure discreetly until you were foolishly pretending to be completing tasks on the computer.

It was an innocent curiosity.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, but why did it felt like you got caught when he came up at the front desk that day, and told you the things he did? With hands still hidden in his pockets and head tilted to the side as if he was the one analysing you, not you - him.

You replay the conversation in your head, word for word, because you haven’t forgotten a single bit from it, and the same heat you felt in that moment rises to your face again.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask if I’m looking for a book?”

To be honest, you were surprised to hear such melodious voice. Perhaps, based on his sharp features and edgy clothes, you expected a more coarse tone, but eventually as you kept talking more, you realised it fits him perfectly.

“I… I thought you were in the middle of reading something so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But you didn’t ask me the other day either.”

“I had customers who were purchasing books and you left too quickly.”

“Right, right, that makes sense. I was starting to think that I intimidate you.” He flashed his brows at you with intrigue. His expression remained casual as a flirtatious smirk settled subtly on his lips. “Or that you just like staring at me.”

“Keeping an eye on our customers while they’re browsing is a part of my job.”

After that response, his smile widened.

No other stranger has ever smiled at you so comfortably like that before.

Based on his body language as he stepped closer it seemed like he was entertained by your answers.

“When it comes to us… I think it’s me keeping an eye on you.”

You were at loss for words.

Keeping an eye on you? A guy like him? You like to think that you do possess a decent, acceptable amount of self-confidence, but one week later - you still can’t come up with a reason why he would be interested in someone like you.

You didn’t ask why. Instead, you tried to play it casual, dismissing his comment by asking if he was searching for a specific title or an author. That’s what he was waiting for, right?

He laughed - to which you weren’t surprised.

You know how to spot a reader; someone with passion for literature, someone who prefers getting lost in a fictional world rather than in the overwhelming reality.

He is not one of them.

Lee Jooyeon is not a reader.

Truthfully, you doubt he's ever held a book open for longer than two minutes in his life. He’s the type of person who prefers entirely different sensations - to be outside, lost in thick crowds, banging rock music, alcohol and smoke, places where things happen all at once and they happen loud.

He did not tell you all of that himself, but it’s not hard to guess.

On his third visit is when you learned his name. That’s when you also seen him last.

Lee Jooyeon - it suits his face perfectly just like the way his voice perfectly matches his lips.

“So why books?”

“I grew up a reader.” You slightly shrugged shoulders; to you that explains everything, but Jooyeon who was having a difficult time understanding you, was staring at you silently, expecting to hear more. “This is my favorite place to be.”

“Aren’t you too young to stay here all day? I thought only old people work in bookstores and libraries.”

To that, you chuckled, meanwhile, his expression remained the same - calm, as if he were merely stating an obvious fact rather than making conversation.

He was leaning against the front desk, elbows resting on the wood, his body tilted just enough to bring him closer. Close enough that you could see the sharp angles of his face - the strong cut of his jawline, the high curve of his cheekbones, and the sensual shape of his lips as they moved; close enough that you found yourself staring a little too often.

You remember the adrenaline rush tightening in your stomach from the closeness so clearly, it’s still lingering. It wasn’t fear, nor discomfort, just an unfamiliar thrill that caught you off guard. But you didn’t pull back. Nothing was stopping you from doing it, you simply didn’t mind.

You’re just not used to feeling like this… like you’re standing at the edge of something unpredictable, something a little reckless. You’re not the kind of person who seeks out such adrenaline rushes.

“I don’t know, it’s too quiet.” Jooyeon murmured after a brief pause - a pause that had you struggling to look away from him; at that moment his eyes were fixed on the glass door, watching the people walking by on the street. “Time must pass too damn slowly here. I’d hate it.”

And that’s when you knew for sure.

He is the opposite side of the coin.

After that, you finally asked him what he did for a living. He said he worked at a bar but didn’t mention which one. You could have pressed for details, but you didn’t. Not because you weren’t curious, but because you didn’t want to seem noisy, like the type to show up unannounced, to dig too deep into a life he wasn’t quite willing to share yet. So instead, you shifted the subject, asking him how he spent his free time - something easy, something casual. Pretty much, the things he already knows about you, - but he didn’t really respond to that either, not directly, anyway.

Once again, he brought the focus back on you without you even realising it. Eventually, you’ll notice he does that a lot.

“Depends,” his voice was thoughtful as something darker was dancing in his eyes, “I’d like to spend some of it with you though.”

Your breath caught for a split second.

“Here?”

A smirk, that at this point, was getting familiar to you, creeped onto his lips as he shrugged shoulders. But his voice sounded serious as he said:

“As long as the cameras don’t catch us.”

It must’ve been written all over your face - how caught off guard you were, how you struggled to form a response. You didn’t want to push him away, but you didn’t know how to handle someone like him either; someone who said things so boldly, so effortlessly, making you question whether he was serious or simply teasing. And last, but not least - because you refuse to disobey the rules and ethics of your job.

Before you could answer, the bell above the door chimed, and a customer walked in.

Undeniably, you were relieved.

Of course, Jooyeon noticed. The smirk appeared again.

“Maybe next time.”

That’s what he said before leaving - the day you learned each other’s names. Exactly five days ago.

And now?

Now, you can’t stop looking at the door.

No matter what task you’re trying to complete - sorting through deliveries, rearranging shelves, wiping down the counter, - you find yourself glancing up at the entrance. Just like you did yesterday.

And the day before that.

♡ taglist: @sweet-dreaming-girl @dear-h @zelinkcrossing

[shyamanuensis]

i love you - t.n

i love you series. because there's nothing better than breaking your own heart. tom can be found in the masterlist and here's theo next xo

Salazar – you never expected it to happen. No, no, no; you were just friends. Not with him. It shouldn’t have happened with him. Yet here you were, living out both your biggest fear and ultimate dream with a friend. With Theodore Nott.

He sat beside you in the common room with a quiet intensity. His eyes forever seemingly to weigh in and judge on anything and everything he looked at. He was the type of boy who liked to keep to himself, when possible, yet wouldn’t shy from attention. Happy enough to stand both in the limelight but also in the shadows. Not interested in the chatter of others although comfortable in knowing his name was often hushed within whispers of gossip. The complete opposite of you. You were never one to draw attention, even if you wanted to, blending into with the rest of the 6th year students as if just another face in the crowd.

Tonight; slumped at a desk beneath the dim flicker of light dancing from the fireplace nearby, you couldn’t focus on the study you’d promised yourself you’d finish. The words on the pages before you blurred as your mind drifts to the boy sitting beside you. He’s busy scribbling notes down in that deliberate way of his. You want so badly to be able to look away, and yet from the corners of your eyes, you can’t help but eagerly take in every movement. Right now you’re focusing on the slight twitch of his hand as he writes; and if feels as if the movement demands your full attention.

You hate the simple ways in which he affects you. You have to convince yourself; scold yourself to stop staring. Your eyes still flicker in his direction however. You become obsessed with the way his fingers curl around the quill he’s holding, the way his gaze flickers over the pages of textbooks he’s got sprawled out around him; how his brows furrow adorable in concentration. You know better than to get swept up in him. You’re friends. He’s warned you before. Yet here you are – caught up in him once again; stuck like a spiders prey in a web of your own making.

At first you think he doesn’t notice. That you’ve gotten away with the innocence of your stolen glances, but then without warning – his baby blues lift up from the book he’s been focusing on and meet your gaze. You freeze. Forgetting for a second how to breathe. He addresses you by name in a quiet murmur; the sound of his voice cutting through the silence between you both like that of a freshly sharpened knife. Your eyes dart away as you swallow uncomfortably. A small smirk tugs at the corners of his lips; like he’s amused.

“You’re staring again.”

Again. Fuck. How many times had you done it already without noticing. More so, how many times had he actually caught you. A heat rushes to your cheeks; painting the apples a rich crimson stain as his gaze on you pulls you in – like a magnet; not safe, it never is. It’s the type of gaze which leaves you feeling exposed.

“I- I wasn’t.”

You hope that your voice won’t betray the lie you’ve just told. A part of you wishes you could be braver. Like other girls. Like you might be able to laugh it off; tell him that he’s imagining things. All you can feel though is this heavy ache coiling up in the pit of your stomach – consuming all available space until it creeps up painfully to your chest. Along with it is the desperate and foolish longing that has been building since the day you first noticed him as potentially more than just a friend.

Theo drops his quill. For a moment, you think he’s about to say something that perhaps reminds you of your place in the grand scheme of your friendship but to your surprise, he leans forward towards you instead. Forcing his gaze to remain locked in on yours. His voice drops low. Seductive and dangerous.

“You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air between you both thickens. It’s charged with a something that neither of you will say or admit to. The chair he sits on scrapes across the stone floor; the screech still ringing in your ears after he’s shifted over – moved close enough that you can feel a heat radiating off of him. Your breathing hitches. A soft sweat forming beneath your collar. You try to move away, stand up – just create a little distance between you both but he’s faster. Pre-empting your moves. Theo reaches out to wrap around your wrist; to tug you back, to bring you in close enough that his lips can find yours.

The kiss is brief. Too brief. Haunting. It’s enough to leave your head spinning. He feels soft; his lips almost insistent on it and yet a tightening you feel at the back of your throat when he pulls away leaves you with the remnants of an instinct that falls closer to never than hope. His breath is heavy as it weaves into your own. Your mind is struggling to make sense of what just happened. This kiss – the kiss – it should have been a release of intimate want and need, but instead it feels like a conviction. An ache. Something that you desperately wish you couldn’t explain.

“I love you.”

Your words come out without thought, without hesitance; but you quickly switch to wondering if you should have considered them before you spoke instead. Theo straightens his posture. His eyes become glazed over. His expression unreadable. His voice cold and distant as he speaks.

“Don’t get caught up in me.” Desperate to say something, you open your mouth, but no words come out. The weight of the moment, of what he has stated leave you heavy. You sit there slightly stunned, yet not alone. The echo of his words lingering into silence. “It won’t end the way you think it will.”

The kiss. The comment. Both seem like perhaps they were never real. Theo turns back to his books; quill scratching down notes as if nothing ever happened and it was then, that the realisation hit you that perhaps you were never meant to be more than just another fleeting thought to him. No matter how much he consumed you.

[liketolaugh-writes]

More Good GIW AU/Building Bridges, in celebration of finally making progress. <3

---

"What are all of those for?" Flore asked, stopping by the library corner where Agents N and G seemed to be sharing a pile of books, some of which appeared to be so ancient that they must have been brought over straight from HQ.

"I sent in a request for any records we have of ancient cases of high liminality or ectoplasm exposure," N explained, looking up from his book.

"Danny?" Flore asked, sitting down a respectful distance from the ancient books. She hadn't met the Fentons' son yet, but she'd certainly heard N and G talk about him enough.

N nodded. "G said something about his accident was ringing a bell, and listen to this," he explained, and reached for one of the newer books that had been set aside. A translation. "A twelfth century account from a Spanish priest. As he seemed to take his last breath, a whirlpool of the brightest spring leaves seemed to swallow him before my eyes."

"A natural portal," Flore recognized, startled. Natural portals were incredibly rare, and it was always jarring to hear something like that described by someone from so long ago.

N nodded. "It continues, when he emerged once more, I could not tell if he had been cursed by the Devil or blessed by God. He was healed, but he evermore had the countenance of a very sick man, and power no normal man could dream of. At times, he resembled nothing so much as the ghost of himself." Flore pursed her lips. "I know, it doesn't quite fit, but it's something. Maybe the effect wasn't as strong because Danny didn't actually go into the portal. And this."

N shut the book and set it aside, retrieving another that had been placed only a little to one side. He was on a roll now; there was no stopping him from explaining everything they'd found.

"A blacksmith's diary from the Edo era," N explained, increasingly excited. "This has several conversations with a ghost that had fallen through a natural portal and become stranded in the real world, I couldn't believe they let me borrow it. Listen: I asked him what became of living people that found themselves in the spirit realm, as he found himself here. He told me that they become immersed in ghostly energy, such that they become something unique. A marginal being. A living ghost." He tapped the page. "The last one has a couple possible translations in the footnotes. Demihuman. Half-spirit. Or just 'halfa.'"

"That's crazy." Flore tried to imagine that. "Do you think that's describing what happened with the priest's friend, or someone more like Danny?"

N shook his head. "They don't talk about it any more after that," he admitted, clearly crushed by this information. "It's probably the first, but if nothing else, it's evidence that the changes can be much deeper than we realized. Maybe you can be so liminal that it starts to rewrite your biology." He looked entirely too excited by the idea. "Because there's one more, listen-"

N shut the second book and leaned over to grab the last, an older book.

"Nineteenth century case study," he told her, flipping it open. "The patient's case is most peculiar, inexplicable to any practitioner of modern medicine. Her heart beats so slow and soft that I thought she must surely be dying, yet it has been a year and she seems in good health. Furthermore, she is cold; her skin is as cool as a winter's day even in the middle of summer, yet she does not shiver. Once, I witnessed her hold her breath for longer than it takes to boil a pot of water." He shut the book again. "There's more, but I think you get the gist of it."

[rei-ismyname]

X-Manhunt Chuck Hunt Omega Review

It's been a short and baffling road that's led us here to the finale of Chuck Hunt, but fortunately it's very easy to sum up for anyone coming in blind. Charles Xavier received a distress call from his Shi'Ar daughter Xandra and escaped from prison while affected by a brain tumor. Inconveniencing various X-Men along the way, he resurrected his long dead wife, Lilandra, and brought her up to speed. He's fucking off to space (again) with his imperialist bird wife (again) to heal a sickness (again.) It doesn't make any sense at all, so join me in the absurdity of disconnected action scenes and OOC moments before a big goodbye. Like Game of Thrones season 8, it looks great and makes little sense while blowing stuff up.

Frankly, I've found this event really frustrating. Chuck visited most of the X-books for an issue but the character and relationship payoffs have been slim. Exceptional X-Men handled it best by not having him appear at all, Red Skies Crossover style. Xavier has had a tremendous impact on everyone's life but he's only engaged with them performatively and superficially. It feels like he doesn't really care about the chaos he leaves in his wake, which is nothing new, and the resolution of his mission has been spoiled by solicits. I'm not mad about it, it's so ridiculous that I have to laugh.

In what's becoming a hallmark of From The Ashes, a flashback recontextualises the inter X-Men team dynamics. Scott thinks Xavier should stay in prison; Rogue disagrees and thinks Scott has some scheme requiring his absence, for reasons. Scott's dream speech is hilariously nonsensical while Rogue is just being obnoxious.

Gambit interjects before Scott can finish a sentence and Magik says what I've been thinking - 'what did Scott do?' What's the fucking problem, yo? We've seen in Uncanny that, yes, it is personal. Scott's name has been used as an insult. They relitigate the fall of Krakoa for some reason, with Rogue having an interesting summation. 'Taking out Phoenix' had only the broadest relationship to Krakoa's fall. Xavier surrendered due to ORCHIS sneaking a kill switch into Krakoan drugs, then he forced everyone through the gates. Rogue had the best view of anyone, as she carried Xavier to Krakoa where he broke down over thinking he'd killed everyone. She missed the rest because of Avengers duty.

The characters and the readers are both being gaslit into swallowing this tripe. I don't have room to show it, but Mystique is here to look sad. Mystique hates Chuck, and she should. Melee, Bronze, and the Outliers are here crying over a dude they've never met. Magneto has nothing to say, nor does Juggernaut. X-Manhunt has been a mishmash of discontinuity with motivations changing from page to page, let alone between issues. It's simply unbelievable that anyone would believe the narrative Chuck is selling, but that's what's on the page. There's no resolution here, no nod to history, recent or otherwise. Chuck is leaving and that's that, delusional goodbye speech and all.

I find it helpful to imagine circus music playing in the background of this discussion. Rogue has conspiracy theories, Gambit backs up Rogue, Scott is rendered speechless, and Magik tries to be the adult in the room. The only thing they achieve is a tentative alliance, something they probably had anyway. The best part is that none of this matters even a little bit. By the end they'll all be herded to where Chuck, ringleader of this circus, wants them.

Ilyana has multiple swords now, and Scott powers one up with optic blasts for THE RED SURFER! She could just teleport, but this is looks cooler. Why show tactics when you can go fucking cowabunga dudes! Lilandra is having a yarn to Chuck while giving him brain surgery, lol. It's standard curriculum for all Shi'Ar rulers. Gladiator could do this but he doesn't want to. She talks about her and Chuck feeling pain but it's overwhelmingly his 'children' that suffer. Obviously Yana is blown out of the sky, only to be caught by a demon Kaiju she summoned. Obviously.

Sage appears out of nowhere with John Wraith in tow, who has a robot Kaiju Sage borrowed from Storm. Yeah, Storm has Evangelion shit on her spaceship. Anyway, John speaks entirely in bible verse. They have a Kaiju fight, which wasn't on my Chuck Hunt bingo card, and Magik gets fucked up. SCARLET SCATTERSHOT! No onomatopoeia here - we're naming moves because it's just so 3P1C!!!1! Magik is explicitly said to be bleeding out but nobody takes it very seriously. She'll be fine.

Magik easily teleports Scott onto Mr and Mrs Avian's fleeing ship, so yes they could have done this at any time. In a Hallmark moment, Scott removes his visor with a single tear streaming down his face. That's how we know this is emotional. It's been ten minutes and the brain surgery is nearly done lol, but it's kinda irrelevant because Chuck sends his astral form to just talk to Scott.

Xavier says the most insane shit possible in his speculation as to why he's being pursued. 'I'm trying to bail on all my responsibilities after fucking you all over. Why are you chasing me?' Scott's muzzle is finally removed so he can tell this man how delusional he is. Xavier comes clean about his moronic schemes and then claims that he's sacrificed so much for others. Probably not the best argument for a child soldier whose life you controlled since he was 15. Who's spent his entire life bleeding for your dream, which you're giving up on. Chuck is actually mad that Scott doesn't get it, when he's kept everything a secret. What's more, Scott has zero reaction to this revelation. None. Chuck is leaving and there's no time to payoff even the meagre emotional stakes that were setup. Don't worry, they'll get shit on even further.

Obviously he's yeeted off the ship by an unnamed move. How can we tell what it is? My suggestion would be END OF ACT 2 BEAM! As Scott plummets to his death, the ringleader cracks the whip and X-Men come tumbling out of a clown car. Rogue catches him, in a completely unearned moment of solidarity. It's surprising, yes, in the same way a baby is surprised at peek-a-boo. There's no object permanence here as people just appear where they're needed for the next bombastic moment. Instead of being relieved, Scott feels that he's failed. That they'll be blamed for the mess Chuck left behind. It's a valid position, considering The O*N*E came for them over a lot less than this. He has a panic attack and starts shooting optic blasts everywhere. That's not how they work, but it doesn't matter. Just pretend everyone has a red nose on as the circus music intensifies.

Yep, that's definitely the most appropriate way to handle Scott's very real mental health issues. Stab the motherfucker. Only the homoeroticism of Logan gently penetrating his ex gives it any kind of grace. Circus music clashes with 'intimate violence in the rain' vibes but that's what Chuck Hunt is - disparate scenes that would be powerful with setup and context smashed together to elicit unearned emotional response.

I'm not even going to touch Logan's lengthy Super Saiyan speech. He says some dumb shit then stabs Scott in the gut. Rogue could have stopped this far more safely. The point is that Chuck is gone and they have to make their own way. Scott already knew that, in fact he knew it twenty years ago. Scott's dead and Xavier is in space.

Good news everyone! Scott is totally fine, despite the very lethal gut stabbing. Ilyana too. Xavier's tumor is fixed like the trifle it is and he's back already, having summoned an arbitrary group of mutants for an unearned goodbye. The guard that killed his family and the entire city of San Francisco? Fuck them, somebody else's problem. It takes some gall to make us jump through all these hoops and present dire problems (like Xandra) only to not pay them off at the end. In fact, they never mattered in the first place. Xandra is barely mentioned, just a McGuffin who's probably having her teeth pulled out with pliers.

We also learn that Xavier had some great soup here once. Nice!

Logan doesn't want to fight. Growth! He apologises for the trivial wound he gave Scott, who shrugs it off. I don't care what Brevoort says, this is flirting.

Xavier has the balls to say that mutants are choosing to fight each other, when that's clearly not true. It's also the reason he formed the X-Men - to beat down mutants who weren't behaving themselves. They were fighting because of you, buddy. For some reason nobody challenges this, nor his claim that he never wanted to be a general. Scott didn't either - you made him one. Shit, maybe we're still in Graymalkin and this is all a hallucination. It doesn't look anything like reality. I suppose it's a small price to pay for being rid of Chuck for a few years, but it's an audacious misrepresentation of X-Men history.

It's cost you? YOU? Motherfucker that is a terrible apology. 'Well, it's been tough for me, which I'm sorry for, and that's why I'm leaving. Good luck living in the mess I created. Catch you later when the MCU synergy comes.'

Emma kisses him on the cheek and tells him he deserves it. Why not? It's not like she hates him or anything. 🙄 Kids who have never met him or heard of him are crying but Scott has zero reaction. Nada. Contradicts everything we've been shown, even in this event. If that's what it takes to get rid of Chuck? Sure, see you later dude. Scott should start a school, you say? I know a great place for that, but it's been turned into a ghoulish prison due to someone's actions. Scott is at war with the USA - fortunately DOOM is building schools. Let's go with that. Maybe he's just exhausted with this man and his schemes within schemes. He should have known the chessmaster had a ruse going, one that gave him PTSD and fucked everything up.

There's so many things I could be mad about, but who has the energy? We jumped through flaming hoops to get here and ignored character moments that make any sense in favour of dizzying spectacle. As Gambit does cartwheels, the circus music plays Chuck out, and I choose to clap like a walrus. X-Manhunt wasn't very good - it wasn't trying to be good, but maybe the X-books can figure out a new Chuck-less thesis or identity. Imperial should be fun, and really we're just playing a familiar beat - Chuck bailing to space while the X-Men get on with their lives. Nice to see he's recovered quickly from brain surgery too. Good for him, and nice work Lilandra.

[meatgrinder-0]

something that ive found myself thinking about a lot recently is the loss of autonomy that you have over your identity and what makes you "human" when you die.

(as has been said before by multiple different people) technically ford does not die when he goes through the portal, but as many have said at this point--in a metaphysical way when he goes through the portal he is dead in the eyes of his dimension, so i find in the narrative he experiences a similar loss of his humanity and in the same way that might've occurred with his death, his memory for any that have access to any form of it constructs him into an idea rather than a person.

and really anything can be said and done with him by the people who are still "alive" when this occurs. since he is in all aspects dead people can use him to justify their actions, as a figure in their concepts, and imagine him up to be whoever they want him to be for as long as he remains dead. the audience of course also partook in these same things prior to his reveal by theorizing about what type of person he was or how he might fit into the narrative as a person but to be more specific to examples of this idea in the show is how stan and dipper see ford as an idea.

due to being absent ford had no possible way to influence what stan thought he would want him to do about the portal outside of his existing warnings in his journals so stan is able to twist ford into a justification to work towards opening the portal, and during the length of his work on it according to alex's statements about stan "expecting ford to be weak and in need of help when he came out of the portal" (i feel the likely useless need to say whatever a creator says about their work is always only as canon as one wants it to be but this is worth mentioning here and i think it makes sense contextually within the text) the ford who comes back is so jarring because in his "death" he's become an ideal of what stan wants to see in him to play into his hero fantasy and hopes of earning back his appreciation

and of course as i think about a normal amount of times per day--the duration of the show presents the author as a figure that is wrapped up in a concept of ford while presenting him in a much more mythical format--another one of gravity falls' mysteries. pretty much every main character that isnt stan views him in this mystical light throughout the show with dipper being the prime example and uses the idea of "the author" as a driving force to pursue the questions that the town begs them to ask. there is something to be said about how creators of the show refer to journal 3 as "its own character" in a way that clearly separates it from it's author. even outside of the universe of the show itself, even in the show's own writing team ford--somehow despite being already being only a concept by virtue of being fictional--is stripped of humanity and becomes an even further abstracted concept.

but even to the ford who is alive the self who had gone through the portal is also a concept. i know this idea isnt explored much in canon if at all but bear with me here while i make shit up for fun--in a way, we ourselves the way we are now are dying near constantly. when we wake up each morning we of course have access to the same memories and the same body and the same experiences as the self we were before we fell asleep, but if we were to get existential, how can we be sure that we are the same consciousness that we were before?

even if this is a bit too absurd of a concept to be applying to a messy braindump "analysis" of a fictional character theres something about how extreme change in a person (often from trauma as ford has experienced for Obvious reasons) or even just the passage of time leaves the former self as nothing more but a memory to even the body that it once inhabited.

as i said theres not much to connect this to in the canon of the text, but i do believe that ford does see his past self who wrote the journals as an idea just as much as anyone else in his life did.

[thesparkledash]

You’re so real for the last reblog. While I do think that Burning Spice just being bored is also pretty cool I can’t deny that Devsis kind of fucked up in giving him some nuance unlike all the other beasts. All we really get is him screaming “how much longer do I have to endure this” because he can’t stand the constant boredom of seeing the same thing happen over and over.

I always think what would happen if Burning Spice Cookie really did destroy everything, how would he look at himself and the world. I see him in despair over the fact that now there really is nothing left to do, nothing left for him to change, and the very tide he tried to steer for himself has run dry. Nothing left for him but a burning world of his own actions and at first he’s happy that something has finally changed, he’s made an impact on history in the way he wanted. But now there’s nothing left, nothing but him. All he can do now is scream in the agony of knowing that he’ll be there in an unchanging world for the rest of his days until he makes the ultimate change in taking himself out, but what would that accomplish? Leaving an unchanging world in his wake? He couldn’t do that to himself, it’s too painful. But to try and fix it, to give Abundance to the world once again is just a painful reminder of how he used to be and he couldn’t do that either. Either scenario is awful. So he’s left wandering the world forced to see it never change and never see a cookie, a kingdom, a civilization be born, grow or wither ever again.

Sorry that got kind of crazy skjakjsjan

Ngl my only issue with the “he wasn’t just bored” argument is that it always feels like it’s justifying what he (and honestly the other beasts) are doing. I’m all for “the witches fucking sucked and were horrible with the beasts”, but i feel like it’s always ignoring that the beasts were the ones to make the choice to fall and turn to the dark side. Nobody forced Burning Spice to turn into a genocidal maniac and nobody forced Shadow Milk to start telling lies and creating chaos. The Beasts had their reasons for doing those things but those reasons aren’t excuses and I don’t like how some people (not here, mostly on reddit) act like the beasts having tragic backstories gives them full permission to commit horrible crimes. It doesn’t. If anything it’s an argument about how the Beasts were possibly always unworthy of the soul jam because their counterparts, the ancient heroes, went through similar horrific events and didn’t become super mega evil. Even though GC pretends otherwise, the heroes want the betterment for all cookies. The beasts do not.

This is really long I’m sorry 💀 I just never liked the “oh they’ve got baggage therefore their war crimes are okay” thing in fandom.

Oh, I completely agree that they could've given Burning Spice more depth. Or at least, made it a bit more clear, again considering how many people thinks he was "just bored"

And for me personally, I don't think them having tragic backstories is an excuse. But it does show us that their not pure evil or anything and that perhaps there is a small possibility that they could be redeemed? Especially with Mystic Flour, even if the stuff she did was obviously horrible and inexcusable, it was still mostly rooted in a desire to end everyone's suffering, so I don't think she's a lost cause or anything

As for "the ancients went through similar horrific events and didn’t become super mega evil". No, they didn't, but let's be real here, that was also partly because they have close friends who look out for them. If Pure Vanilla didn't send that letter to Dark Cacao he would problably still be isolating himself in the citadel and ignoring all the problems outside of it. Pure vanilla admitted himself that if his friends weren't there then he would've actually become a cookie of deceit in the yoghurt river. And sure Golden Cheese didn't turn evil after losing her kingdom, but imagine if that happened like 10 more times. Would she still be okay then?