#living in Europe for reference

[nihilean]

shoutout to derwent graphic graphite pencils for being so dogshit while daring to be just as if not more expensive than Castell 9000s, Staedtler Mars Lumographs or fucking Koh-I-Noor Hardmuth 1500s

[slapthebass]

© Jonathan Ferreira for rockurlife.net

[waystarresourceco]

Matthew MacFadyen on why Tom and Shiv are together (with TomShiv backstory crumbs).

“He was able to – we decided that she was in a very very bad way when they met. She’d come out of an awful relationship; a heartbreaking relationship and he was there to pick up the pieces and he was just a solid or a safe pair of hands. And so he quite liked playing that part – playing that role.”

From an interview with Matthew MacFadyen for the Official Succession Podcast S4E7

The dark place Shiv was in has gotten a few additional mentions in the show and interviews. A few additional script (and one interview) excerpts below the cut, as well as some potential detective work on Shiv’s relationship history.

Based on the Season 1 mention of Shiv being "a mess" when Tom and Shiv met, it sounds like Tom entered the story right after or at the tail end of her bad breakup:

And from their fight in "Living +" it seems like TK might have been the guy she had the awful/heartbreaking relationship with:

And just to throw Nate into the mix, this would mean he's at least two guys ago for Shiv (TK and Tom) by the time they start up their thing again.

So I guess if one were mapping out Shiv's relationships (based on what we know) it would be Nate -> TK -> Tom -> Nate 2.0 (diet commitment version).

Also for completeness, a bonus quote of Sarah discussion Shiv's past. (x)

[just-spacetrash]

Hey I saw your Cleveland post and I was born and raised in South Euclid and living in Garfield Heights and I just want you to know you're right. To love her. She's a city with so much heart. So much love. And pain, and grief, and wanting. She wants like it's a sport, and she burns and needs like her own reactor, and she's green as her epithets. I have loved her forever, and even now as I plan my escape from brutal Ohio I know my heart will always be hers.

im so glad im not alone in this love, and i wish you luck on your escape

you can, like me, admire her from afar from now on

[moodr1ng]

i watch (/listen to) a lot of youtube vids/essays about writing and worldbuilding but eventually their usefulness to me (ESPECIALLY the worldbuilding ones) is always limited by the youtubers assumption that i am 1. writing sci-fi or fantasy, that my story will feature clear protagonists and antagonists, and that i will be writing in order to move forward a clear, action-based plot, and there seems to be no consideration towards the fact some people write like. other stuff than ya and high fantasy. 2. that their ideas of how societies or people or cultures or religions or whatever else function are universal, when in fact basically all these youtubers are white and culturally christian and constantly, evidently limited by their perspective lol

[nomairuins]

the world if sims 4 had more lots per world

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Psy - Gangnam Style 2012

"Gangnam Style" is a K-pop song by South Korean rapper and singer-songwriter Psy, released on July 15, 2012, as the lead single of his sixth studio album, Psy 6 (Six Rules), Part 1. The term "Gangnam Style" is a neologism that refers to the nouveau riche lifestyles associated with the Gangnam region of Seoul, where people are trendy, hip, and exude a certain supposed class. Psy likened Gangnam to Beverly Hills, California, and said in an interview that he intended the title as a joke, claiming that he has "Gangnam Style" when everything about the song, dance, looks, and music video is far from high class.

"Gangnam Style" debuted at number one on South Korea's Gaon Chart, receiving generally positive reviews, with praise for its catchy beat and Psy's amusing dancing during live performances and in its music video. The song and its music video went viral in August 2012 and have influenced popular culture worldwide. In the US, "Gangnam Style" peaked at number two on the Billboard Hot 100, which at the time, was the highest charting song by a South Korean artist. By the end of 2012, "Gangnam Style" had topped the music charts of more than 30 countries including Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Spain, and the UK. The music video won Best Video at the MTV Europe Music Awards that year. On December 21, 2012, "Gangnam Style" became the first Youtube video to reach a billion views. As of January 2024, the video is the eleventh most viewed video on Youtube, having reached over 5 billion views.

Psy's dance in the music video itself became a cultural phenomenon. He revealed that South Korean fans have high expectations about his dancing, so he felt a lot of pressure. In order to keep up with those expectations, he studied hard to find something new and stayed up late for about 30 nights to come up with the "Gangnam Style" dance. Along the way, he had tested various "cheesy" animal-inspired dance moves with his choreographer Lee Ju-sun, including panda and kangaroo moves, before settling for the horse trot, which involves pretending to ride a horse, alternately holding the reins and spinning a lasso, and moving into a legs-shuffling side gallop.

"Gangnam Style" received a total of 77,2% yes votes!

[headspace-hotel]

Okay but like whenever europe and USA are compared in terms of ruins and artifacts it makes me think "oh but what about Native American artifacts and ruins" and it reminded me of another post I meant to make ages ago but forgot

A while back I went thru the library looking at all the books I could find on the history of Kentucky.

My textbooks and most "reliable" sources when I was a kid said that Kentucky was never actually home to Native Americans, it was just a "hunting ground." This is total bullshit, the living Shawnee whose ancestors lived here know it was bullshit, but how did we get there

A lot of the more recent books I found (from like the 1990's) repeated the "it was only just hunting grounds" thing

But heres the weird thing

When you go back further

The narrative is completely different

so here's the first page of a book published 1872, it's "History of Lexington Kentucky: Its Early Annals and Recent Progress" by George W. Ranck

Let the shock of this first paragraph settle in. Like, damn, this is a whole different picture being painted

now, this Rafinesque fellow he refers to, has been widely referred to as the originator of many claims about Kentucky, and an exaggerator and liar, outright dismissed and scorned by many historians.

Rafinesque is considered to be the source of many claims found in this chapter, and the pompous, flowery language used to state them makes them seem a bit unbelievable. But the claims themselves are not highly unrealistic. These are several of the claims found on pages 2-12 of the book

An artificially built stone well was found by settlers

Earliest settlers plowed up pottery fragments

Settlers dug into an old abandoned lead mine

"Stone sepulchers" were found containing human bones

A large earthen mound 6 feet high was found with pottery and burned wood

A stone mound was found containing human bones

An extensive cave used as a cemetery was found under Lexington, containing embalmed bodies

Flint arrowheads were found

Polished and worked fragments of iron ore were found

Sandstone and limestone tools perforated with holes were found

Rough ingots of copper were found

Stone walls were built defended by entrenchments

It is very important to note that this chapter is insistent that the inhabitants that built these ruins and left these artifacts were NOT Native Americans. Why? Because Native Americans didn't build stuff so advanced! Very circular reasoning.

It was a very common myth that there was some kind of "pre-native-american" race of people that existed in Kentucky. Sometimes this was a way of justifying colonization by saying that well, the Native Americans were just taking over land that wasn't theirs too, so it's okay for us to do it.

It seems to me that when it became clear that Native Americans were the first and only pre-European inhabitants, the stuff about an ancient city under Lexington and all that became dismissed as lies. But are they lies?

I tried to find out, and we know for certain that central Kentucky had many, many burial mounds (some of which I had seen the site of without knowing what I was seeing) and quite a few stone ruins. The builders of the stone ruins are referred to as the "Fort Ancient" people because the earliest settlers incorrectly assumed the stone structures they saw were forts for some defensive or military purpose.

The tools and artifacts being referenced are all known to exist, except I think there aren't any confirmed extant examples of pottery.

The most widely criticized claim in the chapter is the underground cave used as a tomb, but I don't see why—central Kentucky is a limestone karst region and EVERYWHERE has a cave under it. The embalming or mummifying of bodies could have been a flourish or rumor, but the essence of the claim is totally reasonable. Then again, it might not have been, since the area had access to sources of salt. The supposed "lead mine" probably wasn't that specifically, but it's known that Native Americans went inside, explored and used caves.

It was really interesting to me how so many later sources dismissed these claims despite most of them being plausible or just true, and how many of those sources repeated the idea of Native Americans using the land for hunting but not "inhabiting" it. It is two different ways of denying Native Americans were here.

[slapthebass]

Random gear stuff from EUROPE TOUR24 FROM DEPRESSION TO [mode of Withering to death & UROBOROS]

No ESP Throbber for Kaoru during Toguro, as they had a limited number of guitars allowed for this tour abroad (he used the blue JZH instead if I remember correctly)

Speaking of Kaoru, he brought his custom ESP D-KV (the brown/yellow-ish one), I wasn't expecting that one!

I saw Toshiya use Finger Ease-like string spray multiple times during interludes, this helps reducing the friction on the strings and playing smoother guitar/bass-lines :)

Die brought the black Morris acoustic guitar instead of the red one, they're the same model so it didn't matter but it was nice to see a non-red guitar in his arsenal :)

The sunburst ESP D-TR [RU-DRIVE Arch] bass (aka the best bass in my totally unbiased opinion <3) was damaged at the beginning of the tour, we could see the scratch at the Paris shows :( (he mainly used this bass for almost all of Mode of WTD, as well as for Akuro no oka at the end of all shows, as a substitute for the white ESP D-TR he usually uses for this song)

Shinya used a partial brown-ish Pearl drumkit (pictures/tag to come) with Remo & Signia toms, Sabian cymbals and at least one Evans drumhead (that he threw in the crowd at the end of Paris day 2). This is a different drumkit than his usual all-white/see-through one; as they're touring in Japan in April-June, he perhaps didn't want to risk damaging his regular kit.

Something I somehow never noticed before: all their guitars/basses are now cable-less! I don't really know how that works sound-wise but it does wonders in terms of stage management & interactions :)

[luxicorde]

Maybe you can't legally hunt them for sport but you CAN watch as they visit their bland "updated" house that they want to sell at twice market value and see the color slowly drain from their eyes as literally every neighbor in the area has their own special way of bringing the property value down

i think people who can afford to flip houses should be killed same as landlords sorry, outbidding people who would want to actually live there just to make it more expensive to sell to someone else is crazy

[opencommunion]

"Like all foreigners, the Jewish settlers sailed first to Alexandria, took a ferry to Jaffa, and were taken ashore by small boats. This mundane arrival at the shore appears in the settlers’ statements as aggressive and alien treatment: ‘Aravim Hetikifu Ottanu’ – ‘the Arabs assaulted us’ – is the phrase used to describe the simple act of Palestinian boys helping settlers to small boats on the way to Jaffa; they shouted because the waves were high and asked for baksheesh [tips] because this was how they managed to live. But in the settlers’ narrative they were assailants. Noise, presumably a normal feature of life in the Jewish townships of Eastern Europe, becomes menacing when produced by Palestinian women wailing in the traditional salute of joy to the sailors returning safely home. For the settlers this was the behaviour of savages, ‘with fiery eyes and a strange garroted language.’ Whether the topic is their language, their dress or their animals, reports back to Europe concerning the Palestinians were all about unpleasantness and weirdness. ... Again and again, Zionist settlers behaved as a people who had been insulted – either objectively in the form of a physical attack, but more often simply by the very presence of Palestinians in Palestine. ... The Zionist settlers instituted retaliation for ‘theft’, which was how they characterised the rural tradition of cultivating state land, a practice that was legal under Ottoman law. Picking fruit from roadside orchards became an act of robbery only after Zionism took over the land. The words shoded (robber) and rozeach (murderer) were flung about with ease when Palestinians involved in such acts were described. After 1948 these terms would be replaced with ‘terrorist’ and ‘saboteur’. ... Cleansing the land of its farmers and tenants was done at first through meeting in the Zionist madafa and then by force of eviction in Mandatory times. The ‘good’ Palestinians were those who came to the madafa and allowed themselves to be evicted. Those who refused were branded robbers and murderers. Even Palestinians with whom the settlers sometimes shared ownership of horses or long hours of guard duty were transformed into villains once they refused eviction. Later on, wherever Israelis would control the lives of Palestinians, such a refusal to collaborate would be the ultimate proof for Palestinian choice of the terrorist option as a way of life. ... Following the 1967 war ... both Israeli academics and Israeli media commonly used the term ‘terrorism’ when referring to any kind of Palestinian political, social and cultural activity. ‘Palestinian terrorism’ was depicted as having been present from the very beginning of the Zionist project in Palestine and still being there when academic research into it began in earnest. This characterisation was so comprehensive and airtight that it assigned almost every chapter in Palestinian history to the domain of ‘terrorism’ and absolved hardly any of the organisations and personalities that made up the Palestinian national movement from the accusation of being terrorists."

Ilan Pappé, The Idea of Israel: A History of Power and Knowledge (2014)

[maniculum]

Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

[mv1simp]

requested : dark mafia max!!

Devilish ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

Girl who you tryna call, it’s a quarter past four, can’t nobody hear you scream right now

The Leeuw of Holland - or Mad Max, as he was referred to in his teen years - is well known for establishing his father's control over most of Eastern Europe. No one would dare to stand up to him for fear of losing their head - until you, the sweet daughter and lawyer of Monaco's mayor - who's determined to protect her small city from the Verstappen familia by putting the Leeuw behind bars.

Leeuw = Lion in Dutch

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, mafia boss! Max falls for mayor’s daughter! Reader, reader is also a boss ass bitch, kidnapping, violence, explicit mention of murder/dead bodies/mutilation, nothing towards reader cuz maxie is a simp 🥰 9.5k WC omg my longest yet

You feel a shiver run up the back of your spine from where you stand in the high court. Knowing exactly who’s dark gaze is raking down your body, taking in your small figure that's stylishly dressed in a tight Chanel dress and matching heels, you deliberately keep your gaze fixed forward. The judge looks like he's about to have a heart attack, sweat dripping down his forehead as he glances back and forth between you - the fiercely passionate lawyer who'd presented the numerous charges on behalf of her father, the Mayor of Monaco - and to the tall, Dutch man who sat watching you with a cocky smirk. The blonde’s large thighs spread wide and the Leeuw of Holland, as he was famously named, looked far too calm for a man who'd just had 76 counts of murder brought forward against him.

You'd had no idea who the Dutch Lion was when you two had first met. You'd just returned with your law degree from college in America, only to find things in a state of disarray in the idyllic city of Monaco. Your father had always struggled to maintain his citizen's safety as the Mayor as the neighbouring Leclerc and Sainz familias battled for territory - but in your absence the now established, much bloodthirstier Verstappen familia had seized control of the profitable area. Monaco's location served as prime real estate to ship all the drugs and black money a criminal could wish for to the rest of Eastern Europe, and Jos Verstappen had personally sent his own son and underboss - Mad Max - to secure your father’s territory.

You'd head rumours, of course, even all the way abroad in the States, of this Verstappen heir. He was known for his rage and callous violence that earned his nickname, the perfect hitman for his cold, calculating father. You’d thanked your lucky stars you had never come face to face with him, because you were sure he would kill you - or worse, you think with a shudder - if he came across the Mayor of Monaco’s daughter. But after coming back home for the last two months and finding things in such upheaval, you became more determined to do right by your family’s citizens. Your mother - who had passed away when you were young, at the hands of a Sainz thug - had been very passionate about helping those who couldn’t protect themselves, so you always lived your life in a way you knew she would be proud of.

So that’s why you spent endless days poring over the city’s legislature and laws, overturning laws that had made civilian’s finances and livelihoods hard and submitting proposal after proposal of new laws that were severely harsh on crime. The locals quickly noticed the change from the Mayor’s office, and you became idolised as Monaco’s princessa.

Your father, bless him, although his heart was always in the right place, he had gotten too old to go head to head with the gangs, choosing to bargain with the gangs instead and buy his citizen’s safety that way. You argued that it was only a matter of time before Jos Verstappen showed up at your family’s doorstep to demand more and more from the city of Monaco - until he owned it himself. You were determined to catch him, or even better - catch his son, the one who’d inherit the Verstappen empire, and put a stop to this rapidly expanding mafia before it grew out of control. Your dedication to do right by your people inspired your father to once again champion for the safety of his city.

And for a while, everything seemed to be flowing smoothly. You’d set up many a new school, local trade centres and businesses, and even medical clinics by using money redirected from paying off the gangs to keep your citizens safe. Life was thriving for the first time in a decade in Monaco. You’d even found your own small peaceful spot of solace in the chaotic city, behind one of your new clinics where a collection of streetcats would assemble. You fed them dutifully, coming daily in your lunch breaks and laughing delightedly when you saw one of them had kittens. But one day when you’d been late due to a court hearing, you’d been surprised to see that the cats had already been happily munching on some freshly ground tuna meat. It was good quality too, very expensive to come by these days, your keen eye noted from being born into the luxury of a Mayor’s daughter. You smiled sweetly and fondly patted the purring cats’ ears. Someone else found you too adorable to resist too, hmm?

From then on, whenever you’d come feed the cats, you’d always look around curiously, wanting to see if you could find that person - but you never did. And then, one day, you stumbled across an impossibly cute scene of a tall blond man, clearly broad shouldered and muscular even though he was casually dressed in a hoodie and jeans. He was warmly laughing as he held one of the cats in his arms while another yowled at his legs, wanting to also be picked up. Oh! You clapped your red manicured hands excitedly as you ran over, all sense of stranger danger forgotten as canoodling with streetcats wasn’t really a common mafia thug activity. The man’s head had slightly tilted towards you as soon as you had appeared on the other end of the street, but he turned to greet you fully as the sound of your dainty Chanel heels clicks against the pavement. You’d energetically started talking about how nice it was to finally meet whoever had been spoiling the cats, wasn’t it so cute how there were even kittens now? But when you finally drew your eyes away from the purring feline in his thick arms, you couldn’t help but blush at the curious blue-eyed gaze on his handsome face.

You introduced yourself, apologising for being rude, and after setting down the cat, he took your small hand in his own much large, warm palm. You flushed again as he raised it to his lips, leaving a gently kiss in a very traditional Monaco fashion, introducing himself as Emilian. You formed a quick friendship with him, eager to talk to someone your age after spending so much time with stuffy politicians all day. You find yourself excited to run into the gorgeous blonde on your lunch breaks, to laugh about some of the playfights you’d witnessed between the cats, or other times talk passionately about the current state of government affairs. Emilian, like many of the jaded younger generation, held a strong disdain for your father’s office and its weak position towards protecting citizens. In a somber moment you’d both realised you’d lost your mothers to the hands of the Sainz familia. But you passionately argued for your cause, remaining fiercely loyal to the goverment office of Monaco, spending your lunch hour easily talking about the many legal and restructuring plans you’d been working with the council to establish that had already improved so many household’s livelihoods. Emilian couldn’t help but quirk his attractive lips as he leaned a head on his palm, content to watch you animatedly talk for hours. The two of you sat across the waterfront, enjoying a late afternoon danish pasty in the lazy Monaco sun. When you’d turned the conversation to him, curiously asking what exactly he did, he dismissed it as per usual, vaguely mentioning something about working in the security business.

You eyed him suspiciously, imagining that like many young men in the area he’d turned to dabbling in underground business to support his family. It always started as selling the occasional party drug for profit or working as hired muscle for a night, sure, but you’d seen innocents with good hearts get sucked into the murderous world of gang violence too often. You definitely weren't just going to sit by and let someone as gentle and sweet as Emilian fall prey to it - the man had 3 separate albums on his phone dedicated to the stray cats, for God's sake! You told him this earnestly, even gently brushing your hand across his as you offered him a job as a bodyguard instead. Your father had been making more public appearances lately as the public perception grew positive of the Mayor’s office.

Emilian had hummed, contemplating, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing at where your small palm had grasped onto his much larger one. Then he’d reached across the cafe table to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, making a pretty blush spread across your caramel sun-kissed skin. So cute, he’d said, his lips quirking into a gentle smile. You promptly forgot all about what you’d been trying to convince him on as your eyes drifted down to his lips instead, the rising fluttering of romantic feelings swirling in your stomach. He’d gotten a phone call then and sighed, telling you he’d see you later, leaving after another kiss to your fingers. You’d pouted, feeling like you were crushing a lot harder on the handsome blonde than he was on you.

Next time when you met him, though, the only feeling you had was panic and fear as you saw him slumped against your stray cat’s alleyway, blood quickly oozing from a stab wound to his abdomen. You’d forced yourself to hold back a scream and avoid attracting attention in the quickly darkening evening, grabbing a hold of Emilian’s soft jumper and tugging him with you to your clinic. He’d held firm, far stronger than you even with a goddamn knife wound that was bleeding so much, oh my god-

He told you to leave, because whoever had done this was likely still in the vicinity, would see you two walking into the clinic and then would target you too. You hissed at him that he was crazy if he thought you would ever abandon him like that and if that’s what he was worried about you’d take the back alley route to your downtown apartment then! He’d finally given in, now looking paler from the blood loss and making you internally freak out. As you guided him into your cute 2nd floor apartment, all warm lighting and trailing pot plants, he smirked and murmured that if this was all it took to get you to invite him back to your place, he’d have gotten stabbed a lot sooner.

Shut up, you’d blushed, setting him down on your bathroom floor and grabbing your extensive first aid kit. Secretly though, you were glad that he still felt well enough to make jokes like that. You miss how his ice blue eyes intently watch you compress his wound, relieved that it hadn’t gone too deep into his body to injure his organs, and biting your lip with concentration as you slowly stitched the wound. Later, when you’d been nursing a glass of whiskey to settle your nerves, your many lamps casting a glow across your face, you’d answered his questions about how you learnt to fix an injury. You told him about how powerless you’d felt when you’d seen your mother be stabbed to death in front of you, how your child sized hands couldn’t stop the bleeding and you had never wanted to feel so useless ever again.

You hadn’t realized your mind had wandered back to that memory, triggered by Emilian’s own blood that you’d scrubbed thrice over from your own hands tonight. When you felt his warm hand run across your clenched ones, soothing the tension, your for eyes focused back to look at his contemplative gaze. You’d never thought you’d see the handsome man sitting in your apartment like this, now shirtless as you’d thrown his bloodied one away. You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling shy despite the desire coursing through you, secretly glad he had declined your offer of your pink pastel knit to cover up with so you could enjoy the view of his broad, muscled shoulders.

Tilting your head back up to look at him, Emilian murmured that he was indebted to you, that you would always be under his protection. His words send a flutter through your heart, although frankly you're not sure how he was meant to protect you when you were the one with access to security resources as the Mayor's daughter. But still, his words have an undertone of assured confidence to them and you find your eyes drifted down to his lips again. You're ecstatic when he breaks the tension and finally leans in, giving you what you'd been wanting for a few weeks now as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and soon you're sweetly moaning into his mouth and grinding onto his skilled, thick fingers that have slipped into your jeans and pulled your panties to the side. He brings you to bliss within minutes, and you can't resist pressing yourself closer to him as you come down from your high. You want to make him feel good, too, but your hands accidentally brush against his stab wound and you don't miss his low, painful hiss. Pulling back immediately, you apologise profusely, worriedly looking over his bandages again to make sure there was no bleeding. He chuckles, telling you he was fine, you were very welcome to continue?

Flushing, you told him that you'd had a slip in judgement and were not going to put his already hurt body through any more accidental pain tonight. He pouted rather cutely as you stood up, grabbing some spare blankets and pillows for him to stay on the couch. Not having your hands on him was far more painful than the stab wound, he says teasingly, making you blush. You felt a little embarrassed at how quickly things had progressed tonight, unable to keep your head on straight around the handsome tall Blonde in front of you. You give him a firm goodnight, but just before you enter your bedroom, you turn to shyly tell him that you’d like to return the favour and make him feel good when he had healed. Grinning at your cute, blushing face, Emilian’s ocean look eyes look at you fondly as he lowly murmurs that he’ll look forward to it, shcatje.

That night you dream about handsome men in mysterious alleyways, who pin you to the wall and pepper your neck with soft kisses that turn hungrier and hungrier. You’re gasping and asking for more, please, please as his strong hands roughly palm your ass, your tits-

You wake with a start in your now empty apartment, Emilian’s name on your lips. Late morning light floods through your windows as you curiously notice the empty sofa, where a blanket is neatly folded up. Your face brightens when you see a note, that reads sorry I left without a goodbye kiss, schatje, the cats were getting possessive.

Rolling your eyes at his usual mysterious antics, you toss his note into the bin. But you’re humming as you went about your morning routine, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing the attractive blonde later on. But oddly, Emilian hasn’t been in your usual spot that afternoon, and you look around with concern as the cats meow at your feet, wanting to be fed. When he isn’t there the next day either, or the day after, you’ve started to get very worried now, wondering if something had gone wrong with his wound or worse - the man who had stabbed him had decided to retaliate with more gang members this time. You’d been thinking about it so much that you decide to the police station that day and asking the chief to look for the Dutchman who's found his way into your heart.

It turns out that Emilian’s safety was not something you needed to be concerned with. Because the one who has been in danger was not the mysterious blonde, but instead you, who had unknowingly caught the attention of many mafioso in the area by protecting him. You realised this when you came home from your visit to the police station, only to find your front door unlocked. You'd barely taken a step inside when you’re pushed against the wall by a heavily pierced man you’d never see before. The mocking silver pendant that he wore around his neck, of a horse rearing, signified his alliance with the LeClerc familia. You’d been unable to control the tears running down your face when he'd painfully begun choking you, demanding to know where the hell Max was. When you’d tried to tell them you had no clue what he was referring to, he just tightened his harsh grip on you to slam you against the wall again. You cry out in pain, bruises already forming along your delicate hands from the intruder's grip, as you keep trying to plead and explain you didn't know who they were talking about. A part of you knew there must be some link between this Max they were looking for, and your Emilian - but you sure as hell were not going to tell these criminals a single thing.

You swallow your fear and try to bargain with them, offering money, access to shipping resources, security - all things you could provide in your role as the mayor's daughter, you insisted. But they laughed it off, confusing you when they said currently, you were the most sought after bargaining chip for the gangs in Southern Europe. And everything had faded to black then, after one of them pressed an acidic smelling cloth over your nose.

When you woke up, hours later and with a pounding head, you're in an unfamiliar room. You groggily sit up, and find yourself instantly alarmed by the thick ropes tied tightly around your wrists. At least they hadn't tied your legs, too, you think with relief, sitting up in the dark room - only to come eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. Ah, that explained it - apparently they thought you were such a precious commodity they'd assigned someone to literally guard you with a gun. You're still confused, unsure why suddenly these street criminals seem interested in kidnapping the Mayor's daughter. Everyone knew who really held the power in Monaco - the Verstappen familia.

You get your answer then, when the sound of gunshots start filling the air from outside your room. You look up in alarm, and your guard eyes the door warily. He growls at you to not to move an inch as he leaves to go investigate, closing the door behind him. You flinch as more and more gunshots fill the air, accompanied by screams and yells. And then, when it becomes eerily silent for minutes on end, you wonder if this is your chance to escape amidst whatever chaos was going on. You're nervously peering around the hallways, finding yourself in a creepy, abandoned looking mansion - somewhere probably on the outskirts of the Monaco township, if you had to guess. Moonlight is the only thing lighting the way as you try to quietly navigate your way out of the winding hallways. It's strange, there had been so any gunshots but you had yet to see a single person anywhere-

And that's where you saw it, around the next corner. Scattered haphazardly throughout the hallway, illuminated by moonlight shining through the large window, lay body after body, all freshly dead with expressions of terror still on their faces. And then, soft murmurs from the opposite end of the hallways, as three men rounded it - and you finally find your missing Dutchman. Emilian? You whisper breathlessly, half reassured to find him alive and half confused at what he was doing inside a property that clearly belonged to the LeClercs. He stops abruptly, halting the two men behind him as he stares at you with a look of pure relief. He was dressed so differently to his usual casual attire, too, with his blond locks slicked back, wearing a fitted white shirt and dress pants, and an expensive looking black overcoat that highlighted his tall, broad frame. You'd looked puzzled at the large watch on his wrist - a renowned luxury brand you recognised from the many elite charity galas you'd attended. Well out of the yearly income someone like Emilian would make in...what had he said? Security?

You're so perplexed at the sudden appearance of the half a million Euro worth watch that you don't even notice the sleek gun in his hand, until he's raising it up and pointing it straight at you. Don't move, schatje, he murmurs, his deep voice carrying across the hallway. And those ocean blue eyes of his that you'd fallen in love with were now ice cold, without a trace of any human emotion behind them. Your own doe eyes widen in fear, tears gathering, because you have no idea who the man standing in front of you is, just who you’d fallen in love with - and now he's going to kill you. You don't even get time to flinch when he's pulling the trigger. But to your surprise the bullet never hits you. Instead, you hear a thump behind you - and turn to see a body fall to the ground, his own gun that had been raised towards you clattering across the floor.

You'd stood frozen in fear, silently shaking and willing yourself not to pass out from the sheer amount of blood that pooled onto the floor, staining your pretty white Chanel heels. And then a tall figure is at your side, guiding you away from the horrifying sight with a large palm in the small of your back. His warm hands making quick work of the ropes that still bind your hands. His familiar voice is murmuring to you gently that you he was here, you’re safe now, schat and no one was going to hurt you again. You’re finally pulled out of your frozen shock when you feel his touch. You look down at large palms softly rubbing the red marks on your skin from where the rope had dug into your skin.

You're outside now, standing in the moonlit gravel in front of the eerie mansion, with an equally haunted looking garden around you. The chill of the night time air helps you start clarifying your racing thoughts. I don’t think Emilian is your real name, you begin. And for a casual security hire to wear a Patek Philippe watch...who are you, really? You finally ask, your voice surprisingly firm despite fear coursing through your veins. He sighs, draping his thick black overcoat over your shaking figure, the clothing completely dwarfing you.

You’re a very smart woman, liefje, he murmurs lowly, his intense gaze studying your face. He tells you that he's sure you've probably already figured it out by now. Releasing a deep breath, you recount his Dutch origins, clear as day in his deep accented voice and blonde locks, and the fact that he obviously had an established presence in one of the mafioso gangs. Most likely the Verstappen familia, then. He was high up enough to have command of his own group of men, the ones you now spotted through various windows, no doubt cleaning up the piles of dead bodies in the house. He watches you with a small grin on his face, enjoying how even if this frightening situation you were able to gather evidence and form a logical conclusion. And when you told him your theory - that he was not Emilian but Nicolas Hulkenberg, left hand man to Jos Verstappen, he chuckled, telling you almost fondly that you were so close. He was in the Verstappen family, and he was high up in the chain of command - but Nico's my cousin. He'd probably have a hissy fit at being confused with me, the handsome blonde in front of you mused. The new information sends a jolt through you, because even though your knowledge of the gangs is not extensive, if this man was Nicolas Hulkenberg's cousin, then...

Max Verstappen. Your breathless voice gives away the fear rising within you as your doe eyes widen in shock. You instinctively take a step back as the infamous underboss of the Verstappen familia takes a step closer to you, tilting his head like a lion eyeing up his prey, looking very much like the Dutch Leeuw he’s famously named for. Max Emilian Verstappen, he corrects, saying that most people didn't know the middle name - making it a useful nickname in public.

It's certainly more discreet than Mad Max, you reply hotly, rage and betrayal now replacing your earlier fear as you realise just how deceived you'd been. The man standing in front of you was no innocent citizen, or anyone to be protected. No - he was set to inherit the richest and most powerful gang family in the continent. Max's ice blue eyes narrow at your hurt expression, at the tears that are now running down your cheeks as you tell him what as absolute psychopath he was, to use and manipulate you into helping him, just because - you gasp, sobbing uncontrollably now - just because I'm the mayor's daughter? And you wanted to know about my redevelopment plans!? Max's heart aches at seeing you so upset, and he softly tells you it wasn't meant to be like this, you weren't meant to find out so unexpectedly. All of the heated looks and sweet words he’d spoken to you were real, because he’d fallen in love with you, too. But those Leclerc bastards had gotten their hands on you, wanting a bargaining chip and thinking you were something disposable to be used and tied up - A dark expression has taken over Max’s face now, storm clouds in his steely eyes. He'd let your captors off far too easily, he says menacingly. A shiver runs through you as you remember that the man standing in front of you had earned his title not just through family blood, but with his status of a deadly hitman with the highest kill rate this side of the globe.

Well, never mind, he drawls nonchalantly, his observant gaze not missing the fear in your sweet doe eyes that you tried desperately to supress. He was sure the Leclercs had gotten the message that you were not someone they could touch so casually. You were under Max’s personal protection, after all - he was indebted to you. Like he predicted, your Monegasque pride didn't take the offer from your political enemy kindly. You tell him to fuck off, Verstappen, you didn’t need his protections and he could just stay the hell away. He laughs at the fire in your brown eyes that’s returned in full force, glad you no longer had the lost, glassy stare he’d found you with earlier. Refusing to let him drive you home, you demand he hand over the keys to that S Class Mercedes parked in the driveway that you assumed was his, given the outrageous price tags and the bulletproof glass. He presents them to you with a smirk, watching you take off after shooting him a furious expression over your shoulder.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight ever again, not after you’d been hurt. You didn’t know about the guards he had assigned to you at all times, but you did receive a package a few days later. Unboxing the black and white designer wrapping, you tried to remember if you’d ordered something and forgotten about it. But when you see the identical Chanel heels you’d been wearing the night everything had happened, a new pair to replace your old, blood stained ones, you knew exactly who had sent them to you. You shove the box to the back of your closet and scowl as you continue about your research of collating the list of charges to bring against Max Verstappen.

So now, a month later, you see him for the first time since your kidnapping. It’s in the courtroom where you confidently list our your extensive evidence condemning the Leuw of Holland - who’s intense gaze you can feel raking over your well dressed form. You’re stunned when the judge, who’s sweated through his wig and gone through 3 jugs of water from all his nervous gulping, anxiously says that he finds the accused, Max Emilian Verstappen, not guilty. You knew that the Verstappens were powerful, had connections in every place and access to unlimited money - but to buy off the judge of the Monaco Supreme Court, really, Max? Have you no integrity? You hiss at him, much to the shock of onlookers as they see the Monaco Princess go toe to toe with the son of the Verstappen Familia. Good to see you too, schatje, the Dutch Lion croons at you, enjoying the frustrated blush on your face from his sweet nickname. Can’t say I’m a fan of going to jail for offing a few bastards, no. Besides, those Leclerc goons definitely deserved it for putting their hands on my woman. You gasp, stammering out your response as he catches you off guard. You were not his woman, and he had no right to call you that-

Sure, whatever you say, schat. He’d given you enough space - over a month, and he missed having you by his side every day. You’d gotten your revenge with this whole dramatic court case - one that he would never have allowed anyone to go so far with, slitting their carotids well before any court date was set. Now, it was time for Max to have his fun with you again, and this time he doesn’t have to hide behind the mystery facade. Wear that pretty little pink nightdress you wore for me that time I stayed over, hmm?

You flush prettily again, giving him a venomous glare before storming off. Cute, he thinks as your heels click on the marble floor. He admires the view of your lush ass in the tight pencil skirt you wore. He’s thinking about what colour lingerie he should have sent to you to match the heels you’d worn today, all dressed up for him - when the Mayor of Monaco approaches him. Your father looks very suspicious as he shuffled from side to side, asking Max if he would like to join him for a drink that evening.

Max watches him stoically, agreeing to a meeting only out of respect for him as your father. Otherwise, he wouldn’t care less about the puppet leader of Monaco. Everyone knew who the real power lay with, after all. So he isn't surprised when the pathetic excuse of the man who calls himself your father offers you up as a trade in exchange for the return of some of the power the Verstappens have stolen. Your father had heard the rumours of how infatuated the Verstappen heir had become with the Princess of Monaco - and was happy to just hand you over. A political marriage, of course, so that your father was guaranteed to have a familial link into the powerful new family. And if Max was no longer interested in you, then your father was sure there would be no shortage of buyers in the Leclerc and Sainz families who had become aware of the new princessa thrown into their game.

Max narrowed his ice blue eyes at the pitiful father figure in front of him, his attention finally caught with this new threat to your safety. And from your only living family member, no less - the one who you'd painstakingly resurrected from political ruin. God, the Mayor of Monaco was almost as bad as Jos. But then again, Jos had never pretended to be something he was not. Your father, on the other hand, was someone who you loved and cherished dearly. It would break your heart to see him hurt - even though he was now trying to sell you off to become a mafia bosses's wife without your knowledge.

Good thing your daughter got her fire from her mother, the Verstappen heir says coldly, his voice commanding enough that it makes the Mayor gulp nervously. Since her father clearly has no balls. Max doesn't respond well to threats - he much prefers making them, instead. And although he wanted to do nothing more than leave a bullet inside the Mayor's chest, he wouldn't touch your father out of respect for you.

So instead, when he gets word that evening of another secret hit out for you, he takes this as the oppurtunity to take you under his protection - permanently. He wouldn't allow your father to marry you off to one of the many ruthless mafiosos in the region. This time, the abduction attempt comes from the once powerful Hamilton-Rosberg family who were trying to restablish their hold after Max Verstappen himself had tobbled them from the inside. You'd impressed Max by fending off the first few attackers with the handgun you now kept at your bedside, injuring them but avoiding any critical areas as you ran out your fire escape. Good girl, Max thought with pride as his men relayed the situation to him over the phone. But you'd not expected the attackers waiting for you at the end of back alleyway. You were out of bullets, and closed your eyes in resignation as you prepared for what you were sure would be a nasty end...

When that infuriatingly attractive, confident Dutch voice appears at your side. Missed me, schatje? Max Verstappen makes quick work of the men who dared to attempt laying a hand on you. This time he rips one of their heart out, rather gruesomely, before shoving it inside the dead man's mouth. A very clear warning to all others who went after you again - since apparently the massacre at the Leclerc mansion had not been enough.

You're snifling and shaking when Max returns to your side, your back firmly to him to avoid seeing the horrific sight. And when he sighs softly again, draping his familiar, warm coat over our shoulders, you ask him if he was here to kill you, too. You'd realised that many of Max's enemy gangs had started to come after you, hoping to use your connection to the Verstappen heir against him. Of course, for a man as coldly efficient and powerful as Max - it made sense to eliminate any source of weakness to his status. But the enemy Dutch Lion you'd somehow fallen for suprises you once again. Brushing a stray curl behind your ear, and wiping away the tears now gathering in the corner of your wide eyes, Max gently murmurs No, schatje. He was going to marry you.

Shock courses through you, as you gasp at his unexpected confession. But then everything is going blurry, and the last thing you remember is his ocean blue eyes, looking into yours with their familiar warmth and intensity. The next time you wake up, you're in Max's private jet, somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. You’re panicked, trying to angrily demand that he take you back, but whatever drugs he’d had given to you make your efforts futile. You’re slumping tiredly against his broad shoulders after a few minutes, his strong arms around you, falling into a deep sleep as he murmurs reassurances that he was doing this for your own protection.

And when you wake up again, he’s made sure that it’s goddamn near impossible for you to run away. Because he has you on a godforsaken large private island of the Sicilian Coast, a beautiful place surrounded by turquoise beaches and dotted with ancient temple ruins mixed in amongst trendy Italian boutiques. It’s the sort of place you would normally be enraptured by - but in the week you’ve been here you’ve been plotting escape attempt after attempt.

Of course, you’d argued with Max every night when he returned from whatever shady business he’d conducted during the day, taking his private plane. You put your law degree to good use with the heated debates over the dinner table as he watched you with an adoring grin, finding your ever present energy and passion captivating. It had made you flush and look away from his gorgeous eyes. You stabbed into the deliciously flavoured lobster pasta in front of you, hating how your stomach did backflips when Max looked at you in this way. Your heart and brain felt like they were at odds with one other constantly, torn between the gentle, cat loving Emilian you’d fallen in love with and this protective, commanding Max who you couldn’t deny your growing desire for. Confidence greatly suited the Dutch Leuw, who now came back to the mansion he kept you in dressed in a black suits and wristwatches that was no doubt worth the combined income of a middle class family. But at dinner, with just the two of you over the flickering candlelight each night, enjoying the Italian summer air, he’d be in those cozy soft tees and loose linen shirts you’d always liked because of how they showed off his broad arms. Meanwhile, you pointedly only wear the plainest and drab outfits you could find in the luxurious walk in closet you’d been given. You’d gotten shocked as you opened each drawer in the room, finding it filled to the brim with designer clothes and luxury bags and heels, all in your favourite brand and colours and with matching jewellery in gold - as if it had been curated specifically for your tastes. At least he had the decency to give you private living quarters, you supposed. One night over fresh seafood paella he teasingly asked if you didn’t like all the clothes he’d had ordered for you, schat, because he can have more delivered? You scathingly tell him to stop being such a stalker, did he even know how creepy it was to find all your favourite items in that closet when you’d never even told him about them?

Blue eyes darken at your bratty note, but you aren’t nervous of Max anymore - even through the Leuw of Holland had been notorious for terrorizing your hometown streets. You’d realised that for some reason or the other, you were more precious to him than you’d ever imagined. It made you hesitate and wonder if maybe there was some truth to the romantic feelings he’d confessed to having for you, the night of the Leclerc mansion bloodbath. Forgive me for wanting you to feel comfortable here, schatje Max responded coolly, drinking from his whiskey glass. You argue back that a girl couldn’t possibly feel comfortable if she was kidnapped and help captive by a man who had technically led to her family’s ruin. And if you expect me to get dressed up for you, so that you can have your way with me…you can forget it! You retort angrily, face flushing.

Now smirking into his palm, Max assures you that despite his reputation, he promises to be the perfect gentleman. He’d never lay a hand on you…not unless you begged him too, first. His cocky tone made it clear he thought you found him impossible to resist. The playful look in his gorgeous blue eyes makes you bite your plush lips as you remember the last time Max had placed his large palm on your very willing body in an intimate way. After all, you'd sounded so sweet when you kept moaning for more when you came on my fingers within minutes, remember schat? The blonde teases you, clearly also thinking back to the same night you were. Standing up abruptly, you hotly retort with a Last time, I'd also been asking for Emilian, not Max Verstappen, before dramatically flipping your thick curls and storming off. The Dutch Lion watches you go with an amused chuckle, once again enjoying the view of your curvy ass even despite the horrid pants you were wearing. Same man, schat! he calls out to your retreating back, to which you respond with a well mannered middle finger in the air.

Your game continues like this over the month. As the days pass, you start to become more relaxed with Max. You still get flashes of the cold eyed Mafioso heir when you catch him on the phone angrily discussing a business deal, or when you spot a fleck of red on his pristine white designer shirts when he returns from being out. But your heart gets confused when you also see the gentle and caring Emilian when he's with you, who chooses to make your favourite breakfast every morning despite the full staffing in his mansion, who feeds and walks the dogs he has running around his gardens and plays with the snarky housecats. And when you'd woken up in the middle of the night crying in terror from the memory of seeing all those bloodied dead men in the Leclerc mansion, Max had been the one to hear your cries and storm into your bedroom. He'd taken you into his broad, warm arms, and you'd buried your sobs in his neck as he murmured reassurances of how you were safe now, you had nothing to ever worry about with him at your side. When you'd woken up the next morning, finding Max's toned chest underneath your cheek from where you'd both fallen asleep in your bed, a bit of your drool on his shirt, your heart swirled with conflicting emotions. You hated how safe and protected you feel in his embrace, knowing that this domestic bliss lifestyle with one of the most handsome and richest men you've ever met was something he'd kidnapped you for.

Still though, as you get more comfortable, you negotiate for more freedom with Max. You're an excellent lawyer, and now that you were temporarily out of your political position, you were going crazy sitting inside the mansion or walking it's beautiful gardens everyday. Max hadn't allowed you to go anywhere else without him at your side, his intense gaze eyeing any potential threat that approached the pair of you. Not that anyone did - the aura the Dutch Lion radiates was so powerful you kept wondering just how you'd thought he was some soft-spoken young citizen needing your help and guidance. So when Max reluctantly agrees to let you go outside without him - it's with the rule of 5 trained bodyguards at all times, of course. You roll your eyes but let them trail behind you as you terrorise the multiple designer stores dotted on the large island with Max's black Amex. It was the least he could do considering he had basically abducted you, you think with a smirk, as you watch the total at just the jewellery store alone add up to over half a million Euro. The Verstappen security guards nervously sweat behind you.

However, their boss has no such qualms. Max lets you spend his money however you wanted, thinking you were finally starting to accept his offer of marriage and coming under his permanent protection. So you surprised him a few weeks later when you finally made an escape attempt. The island was actually much bigger than you'd initially thought, and you found there was a small population of a few thousand elite, rich Italians living on the other side. That's where you headed too that afternoon, having picked a day where Max was away on business. You escaped the watchful eye of your bodyguards and ran towards the first policeman you saw. Confessing that you'd been kidnapped, and you needed help urgently to get back to Monaco where your father was Mayor, you'd been relieved when they guided you into their policecar with concerned looks. You thought they were going to help get you on a plane back to your hometown - but to your shock they drive you back the Verstappen mansion. With a sinking feeling you realised that the influence your captor had went beyond anything you could have thought possible.

You had barely managed to get away for an hour - in fact, Max hadn't even landed back in the island yet. When he did arrive that evening, having been told by his men of what you'd attempted that day, he strides into his private living room to find you. He dismissed everyone standing guard, and for the first time since you'd come here you note that he actually looked annoyed with you. You shuffle your hips nervously, from where you're seated on the low chaise. To your embarrassment, the policemen had even put a pair of handcuffs on you that Max's guards hadn't bothered removing, and they clink noisily in your lap. The handsome blonde towers above your seated figure, tilting your face up with his firm hand as he glowers at you. He's angry, and he lets you know it, telling you how stupid it was of you to compromise your safety like this, did you even know how hard it had been for him to find out when he'd been 3 hours away by plane and couldn't protect you!? Logically, you know that you should feel terrified of having pissed off a cold hearted man like Max Verstappen. But you're tuning his words out, instead biting your bottom lip at seeing him get so passionate over you. You couldn't deny that despite everything, the man in front of you was so attractive with his muscular, tall build and gorgeous light features - just your type, and the object of many a dirty fantasy in the last few months. Even after you'd found out his true identity as a Verstappen - not that you'd ever admit it to him.

But of course, Max's keenly observant gaze doesn't miss a thing. He sees it all - the way you press your thighs together, the delicious thickness easy for him to enjoy with the ridiculously overpriced Prada miniskirt you're wearing. So tiny that at this angle, with his much taller height, he catches a glimpse of your white lace panties - which are soaked straight through to reveal your dripping pussy. He smirks, knowing there was a far more effective way to punish you now. He gets his confirmation when he leans down to huskily murmur in your ear how much of a bad girl you'd been, how he clearly needs to teach you a lesson, thoroughly, so you don't disobey him again. You blush prettily, tits heaving with the gasp you let out as your eyes become dazed thinking about finally letting Max have his way with you, giving up all control and letting him take over, would feel like - after months of agonising tension.

He has you right where he wants, and he doesn't let you forget his promise. Not until you're begging me to touch you, remember liefje? he whispers darkly, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he leaves you pouting in frustration to go take a shower. He'd figured you'd angrily brood over his teasing for a few days, but when he emerges from the bathroom, he finds you sitting on his bed. Max looks especially mouth watering in grey sweats and dripping wet, tousled blonde locks and his broad, muscular chest. Rubbing your plush thighs together again, you hold up your handcuffs, innocently telling him you were only here to get free, nothing else, of course! The raw strength he uses to break the cuffs open with just his large hands has you holding back a breathless whine. God, this man was so insanely attractive, and you weren't going to be able to resist him much longer.

That's why you play back at this teasing game, making sure he's watching you with narrowed blue eyes and crossed arms, biceps swollen, as you strut through the shared door to your own bedroom. You leave the door wide open as you rustle through one of the many overflowing drawers - picking out a sheer La Perla pink nightie with matching lace panties. And when you nonchalantly hum as you make your way back to his rooms, shutting the lights off and leaving the warm bedside lamps on, you slip into his inviting comforter. He watches your whole show with a clenched jaw and unamused expression, telling you that you were playing with fire, schat.

You bat your thick eyelashes at him innocently, tossing your dark curls over your shoulder as you deny any mischief. Just in case I get any nightmares, of course! He doesn't buy it for a second, but still reluctantly slides in next to you. You remain on your best behaviour, reading a novel you'd picked out and ignoring Max, who was trying his best to ignore the skimpy outfit he knew you had underneath the covers and focus on the budgeting spreadsheet open on his laptop. After all, mafia gangs still had to keep track of their finances.

And then, just when he lets his guard down for a second and is typing away, you begin your revenge. Your book is tossed to the side and your manicured hands are running over your sensitive body, squeezing your juicy tits and rubbing your aching cunt through the sheer lace. The Leuw of Holland is left powerless for the first time in his adult life as the covers fall away, exposing your tempting caramel skin, contrasting with the pretty pink lingerie he’d bought for you. Your brown doe eyes are half lidded with desire as you watch him swallow at the tempting display in front of him, his hungry eyes honing in on the way you played with yourself. When he asks you what the fuck you were doing, his voice low and deep, you tease him more by saying he'd never said anything about you not being able to touch yourself, right? Maybe you’d let him touch you, too, if he was the one begging-

He growls like a literal lion, then, making you giggle as he watches you with a desperate look in his eyes that’s making you even more turned on. He gives up when you slip the sheer fabric down over your tits, showcasing your pretty tanned nipples that pebbled in the night air. Liefje, he groans, pressing his lips to your thick curls and his large hand to a rapidly hardening erection, please let me touch you, let me take care of you…

His husky voice sends shivers down your already warm skin, and you can’t deny your need for him any longer either. Wrapping a delicate hand around his much bigger wrist, you slowly guide him over your body, making his intense gaze go dark with desire. You brush his thick fingers over your pink lips, where you teasingly flick your tongue out and make him groan, then down across your neck so he can admire how pretty you look with his hand as a choker, then over your bouncing tits as you breathe deeply. He can’t resist pinching a cute nipple, this time making you moan, but it’s still not where you need him most. And then you’re guiding him over your soft tummy, over your plush hips, and then-

Oh, fuck schatje. Max's intoxicating, accented voice moans into your ear, making you drip even more for him. You’re so wet for me, this sweet pussy needs me to take care of it so badly, hmmm? You whine breathlessly, nodding impatiently as his long fingers brush against your swollen cunny. You’re dripping through your skimpy panties, which are practically stuck to you now. The attractive blonde next to you has no inhibitions about manhandling you easily, ripping the scraps of lace off and tossing the ruined hundreds of Euros to the side. Bringing your slick cunt to his lips, he licks them attractively as he stares up at your blushing face with hungry eyes. You stammer nervously, never having been eaten out before, but he couldn’t care less. He dips his skilled tongue into your soaked pussy, inhaling in your addictive sweet scent as you gasp and moan. His strong hands lock your rocking hips in position as he fucks you with his broad tongue, lapping up the sweet juices your cunny gushes out for him. You’re in tears from how amazing it feels, especially when he buries his large nose or a thick finger knuckle deep, and soon you’re intertwining your pink nails in his blonde locks as he once again makes you scream in name in pure pleasure. This time though, he’s much more satisfied because you’re desperately moaning his real name. Oh, Max! Please!

Days later, when you and him have formed a legal agreement of sorts, where you accept his protection against the ongoing threat of rival gangs and he agrees to let you resume your legal career, you fly back to Monaco with him at your side. He slid a hefty diamond engagement ring onto your finger, and you’re still shocked by how pretty it looks, glimmering in the light. Still, it was only temporary, you had no plans to actually marry the man. A union between the Princess of Monaco and the all consuming Verstappen Mafia heir who’d been responsible for stripping her city of its livelihood was a cursed match!

So when you excitedly run straight to your father’s home when you land, the Verstappen bodyguards in tow as per their boss’s instructions. You fling the doors open, shouting for your papa. The mayor of Monaco looks up in shock, thrown back a bit when you jump into his arms and tell him you missed him dearly, had he been keeping safe? He’d delighted you are safe of course, and tells you so numerous times over dinner, and then later when you two are poring over the city redevelopment plans. You’d been away for over two months now, and a lot had to be caught up with in your absence.

But when he continues that really, when he’d made the offer to Max he’d half expected to never see you again - after all, the Dutch Leuw of Holland was known to be ruthless. When you freeze, papers falling from your hand as you look at him in shock, he realises that your fiancée had never actually disclosed to you the circumstances under which he’d decided to make you his wife.

This whole time I thought he’d kidnapped me, like a madman…but really he was protecting me from you, wasn’t he? Because you were ready to sell your daughter off to whatever man would be the highest bidder? None of the pathetic excuses that come out of your father's mouth are enough to fix the trust that had been broken. Your heart had broken that night, and you’d left your family home and vowed to never look back, tears running down your face. Max had taken one look at you and taken you into his comforting arms, shushing your cries and murmuring that you were not alone, he was your family now, his home was now yours as well. Or rather, multiple properties, it might be more appropriate to say.

This time, you willingly return to the darkness, and you accept his offer of marriage, of protection, and of partnership, and he takes yours delicate hand in his when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful cream gown that same month. Like your now husband had noted when he'd first met you, you were a smart woman, the perfect wife to the likes of the heir to the Verstappen mafia. You understood that if the reigning government council couldn't resist the criminal takeover, it would be better to join them instead. But not with the pathetic bribing the Mayor had done, comprising his citizen's safety and then his own daughter's.

No, your style was far more ambitious than his. You'd gotten your fire from your mother, after all. So when the Princessa of Monaco married the powerful Verstappen heir, your citizens hadn't known what to expect, rumours flying of the whole thing being a forced arrangement. But when you and Max have eliminated both your fathers out of the way and claimed the city of Monaco for yourselves, you're quick to resume it's political redevelopment and advances in healthcare and education whilst running the largest drug smuggling ring in Europe in the underground canals. You had to get the funding from somewhere, and driving neighbouring gang's businesses into the ground to support your own local one seems a good a cause as any. This time, under your partnership, it's done in a much safer way for your citizens, and you firmly believe the means justify the ends.

And time passes in the now flourishing city. The handsome Dutch Leeuw is often seen out for lunch by the beach, laughing with his beautiful new wife in his arms. The power couple of Monaco, your citizens say, admiring your union of the darkness and the light.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEWWWW this was a long one my dearest readers I am so sorry for the wait life has been crazy!! was a bit overwhelmed with work but max winning the sprint was enough to revive me thank you for waiting! lmk what you think! dark max simps do not worry I have many garbage pieces coming your way hehe

[fukever]

@tigirl-and-co Oh my, do I have some news for you about "Czechoslovakia" during WW2

January 1st 1993 be like

You know what. Fuck this. Fuck you. *unCzechs your Slovakia*

[sliced-peaches]

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!

[alphynix]

First discovered in the 1850s, Compsognathus longipes was the first theropod dinosaur known from a fairly complete skeleton, and also the smallest known non-avian dinosaur for over 130 years.

(A second specimen was also, briefly, the "first" aquatic non-avian dinosaur, but that's another story.)

Living in what is now Europe during the late Jurassic, about 150 million years ago, it was a lightly built animal with long legs and a long tail, growing to around 1.2m long (~4'). Its hands seem to have had only two functional fingers, with the third being vestigial and possibly not even having a claw.

Skin impressions from about a third of the way along its tail show small bumpy scales – but since other compsognathids like Sinosauropteryx are known to have been covered in fur-like feathers, this likely means that just that particular region of Compsognathus' body wasn't fluffy.

Some of Compsognathus' diet is known for certain, since preserved gut contents show it fed on smaller vertebrates like lizards and rhynchocephalians. The remains of a lizard in the stomach of one specimen were even identified as belonging to a previously-unknown species, Schoenesmahl dyspepsia, with the dismembered nature of the skeleton suggesting Compsognathus tore its prey into bite-sized chunks in a similar manner to modern predatory birds.

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References:

Conrad, Jack L. "A new lizard (Squamata) was the last meal of Compsognathus (Theropoda: Dinosauria) and is a holotype in a holotype." Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society 183.3 (2018): 584-634. https://doi.org/10.1093/zoolinnean/zlx055

Gishlick, Alan D., and Jacques A. Gauthier. "On the manual morphology of Compsognathus longipes and its bearing on the diagnosis of Compsognathidae." Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society 149.4 (2007): 569-581. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1096-3642.2007.00269.x

Peyer, Karin. "A reconsideration of Compsognathus from the Upper Tithonian of Canjuers, southeastern France." Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology 26.4 (2006): 879-896. https://www.jstor.org/stable/4524640

Wikipedia contributors. “Compsognathus.” Wikipedia, 17 Jun. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compsognathus