#sometimes they stay. it’s not often but it happens

[grogumaximus]

Jos, do you agree that this was one of the most difficult seasons for Max?

"It certainly was, because of the performance of the car. He was already saying at the beginning of the championship that there were problems, but in the team they laughed, because he was winning. However, when the others grew up, it became clear that Max was right."

What didn't work?

"The wrong directions were taken in the development of the car. The balance between the front and the rear has never been ideal and on top of that the car breaks down on the bumps."

How did Max react?

"He worked hard to get the most out of it, despite the frustration of not being able to compete against the McLarens, who have long been the best on the track. He went to the factory more often, for simulator tests, and tried to help the engineers."

How did you handle the pressure around the team after the Horner case?

"In these moments, he manages to isolate himself from everything. He has the maturity and experience to face any situation. At home he has always been relaxed. Perhaps the most tense moment was in Mexico, due to the negativity spread by the English press (after the double penalty for the fierce duel with Lando Norris, ed. ). But all this is an extra motivation for Max. Nothing worries or scares him".

He was also at the center of controversy for certain statements…

"He won't change. That's just how he is, he always says what he thinks."

Who was closest to him?

"Me, our manager Raymond (Vermeulen), his engineer Giampiero Lambiase and of course Helmut Marko."

What was the best moment of 2024?

"The win in Brazil in the wet, coming back from seventeenth place. He managed to come back very quickly, took the lead and won by 20 seconds, without making any mistakes. It reminded me of his race in 2016, also in Interlagos, with the outside pass on Rosberg in the “Senna Esses”. It was incredible then too."

Starting this year, Max is traveling to European races with his motorhome. How did this idea come about?

"It's something he likes, because this way he has his own traveling home, he always sleeps in the same bed and enjoys more privacy, surrounding himself only with people he trusts. And then he had a simulator placed in the motorhome so he can train whenever he wants. It's a hobby of his, sometimes he stays there until three in the morning, but then he rests at least seven hours. I leave him alone and go to the hotel."

What moments do you share?

"At the races we eat together and talk about everything that happens. I can tell him anything frankly. Our relationship was built like this from the beginning and I only want the best for him. The difference is that now I don't get angry, because Max is a man and can do what he wants with his life and his choices, while as a child he needed a few scoldings".

What do you remember about those years and the holidays with Michael Schumacher?

"We were with the family. Our sons, Max and Mick, were having fun together, even though they spoke different languages, and Michael was playing with them in the pool."

Why did Max say he no longer wants to train on karts like other F1 drivers?

"He raced a lot in karts, maybe too much, sometimes we even did mini races in three with his mother (the champion Sophie Kumpen; ed. ). He also explained to me that, if you drive them only a few days a year, you end up with bumps and pains all over your body. He prefers GT cars. But he continues to follow the boys".

The Verstappen.com Racing brand is linked to a team that uses the Ferrari 296 GT3. Whose choice is it?

"About Max, he likes Ferrari...".

In the meantime, Mercedes was looking for him.

"Normal, they want the fastest driver."

How long will he race in F1?

"We have a contract with Red Bull until 2028 and we will get there, then we will see. We will have to understand if Max will still be interested in F1. All his life he has been told what he had to do, even by me, and now it is happening with the team. The time will come when he will want to decide".

Has he already given you a preview?

"There is certainly much more to his life than F1, and Max is aware of that. He listens to his feelings a lot, he knows what he wants. But it's difficult to say what will happen. Maybe, in the future, he will stop for a year and then he will want to come back. Of course, it's not the records that motivate him. He doesn't need to win seven or eight world championships, he is already happy with what he has achieved."

What do you remember about Max's first victory?

"It was the first race with Red Bull, even today I get goosebumps when I watch the commentary in Dutch. At the beginning we only dreamed of getting to F.1, then that success came and years later the world title, everything came true very quickly".

Who will be Max's rival in 2025?

"Many say Hamilton is too old, but he is a driver who knows how to fight hard. Norris is fast, even if he still lacks experience. It will depend on who has the best car. Ferrari got lost this year, after a good start, but they reacted. Vasseur is doing a great job, he is a racing man who knows how to sniff out situations, I like him".

[rita-repulsa-ke]

The nice one

Sometimes Agatha falls into the trap of thinking of Rio as the nice one.

It isn’t even true! She’s feral and weird, growls at people who get too close, gets them chased out of towns by prophesying someone’s death or proudly proclaiming Agatha her lover. But she buys fruit from passing children and listens to people’s woes and is generally a little more friendly to the world than Agatha, who hates to have her time wasted and is often mean for her own amusement.

So sometimes Agatha forgets who she’s traveling with, until they hear a shrill voice screaming for help, a child of 8 or so splashing desperately in a creek alongside the path they’re currently walking. Rio pivots immediately, lopes over and crouches at the edge of water, Agatha a few steps behind.

When Agatha glances down, she finds that the look on Rio’s face can only be described as excited, watching events unfold with parted lips and wide, unblinking eyes. She has her knife in her hand, tip flicking back and forth like a cat’s tail.

“Hey, Rio…” Agatha murmurs, eyes flicking between her lover and the drowning child.

Death doesn’t spare her a glance. That annoys Agatha to a frankly unreasonable degree, she hates when she’s not the center of Rio’s attention. And even she is having trouble simply standing and watching this. No matter what Rio occasionally accuses her of, she isn’t actually heartless.

The spell is easy enough, a quick swirl of her magic and the waters rise, spit the sobbing child on to shore.

Now Rio’s attention is back on her, a frown on her lips, sulking in a very human way, like she’d been deprived of a promised delicacy.

Agatha shrugs innocently. “You can’t really expect me to watch a child drown,” she points out. “That would be monstrous.”

A few feet away, the child, a girl, is still coughing up water. Agatha ignores her entirely.

“Ags, you are a monster. Does it matter that it’s a child?”

“I think it’s supposed to?” Agatha says. She’s heard that somewhere, anyway.

Rio sighs and comes to her feet. “Make it up to me,” she instructs, almost orders and Agatha isn’t sure how to feel about that at all, so she just watches Death glide past on bare feet to crouch next to the half-drowned girl.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

The child nods, trembling. As Agatha watches, mildly incredulous, Rio gently coaxes some information out of her, where she’s from and that she knows the way back home.

“Ags, give her your cloak, she’ll freeze getting back.”

“What? No!” Agatha snaps. She likes this cloak, it looks good on her.

Rio rolls her eyes, but finds one of their blankets, wraps it around the girl, manages to get a smile out of the girl by producing a flower out of thin air and handing it to her before she sends her on her way.

“Okay,” she says, standing up and turning her attention back to Agatha. “Where to next?”

Agatha only stares. “…I don’t understand you at all.”

Rio snorts. “That’s because I’m ineffable.”

“I really don’t think that’s it. What was all that about?”

Rio has moved too close, barely a step away from Agatha. It’s actually comforting, she used to it by now, the continuous presence of Rio in her personal bubble. “All what?”

”Why were you so nice to her?”

Rio shrugs. “She was scared and she’d almost drowned and it didn’t cost me anything. So why not?”

“You wanted her to drown!”

Rio sighs plaintively, leans her weight against Agatha’s side. “I did,” she agrees, a touch wistful. “I always like to watch. But it didn’t happen that way. Someone interfered.” She giggles to herself. “Suddenly Agatha Harkness is bothered by death.”

“I’m bothered by Death all the time,” Agatha murmurs. “…Did you really have to give her the blanket? Now we need another one.”

Rio offers her the smug smile of someone who has been planning this particular bit of innuendo for a while. “I have other suggestions for staying warm.”

Agatha groans loudly. “You know, my sweet, you may be a great and mysterious force of the universe, but your flirting technique could use some serious work.”

Rio frowns, kicks her foot against the dirt. “…I thought it was nice.”

“All I’ll say about it is that it’s good you’re gorgeous,” Agatha says, which makes Death fix her with an icy, unimpressed look, an expression that would terrify most people.

It only pleases Agatha. Annoying people, even (or perhaps especially) her lover, is her favorite pastime. “…Hey, I did say you were gorgeous. Does that get me any points?”

“No, but if you kiss me now, I’ll forget all about it.”

“What a hard choice,” Agatha murmurs, pulling her lover to her, kissing her slow and sweet, one arm around the other’s woman waist. When she finally pulls back, Death, ineffable and endless, is practically melted against her.

“Hey,” Agatha says thoughtfully. “Does this mean I’m the nice one?”

Rio raises her head from where it was buried against Agatha’s shoulder, somehow without engaging most of the required muscles. “…Sure, Agatha. You’re the nice one.”

“I always thought so,” Agatha lies. “Come, m’lady,” she says, taking Death’s hands in hers.

“Where are we going?” Rio asks, though they both know she doesn’t really care.

Agatha flashes her a wicked smile and gets to feel Rio’s hand tighten around hers, eyes widening again with excitement, but this time all of it correctly centered on Agatha. “Well, you did tell me to make it up to you.”

Promises is cute, the apple has Rio buying fruit from a child.

[lifesteal-headcanons]

I like to think that Zam's endless resolve and capability to bounce back from almost anythin scare other players on some deep, subconscious level. Because it's in human nature to give up and he just does not. It's intimidating in an uncanny valley way. Death doesn't scare him. Getting banned off means practically nothing to him. He's not afraid to lose everything he has and often even wishes failure on himself because it'd be funny. Losing items, hearts and bases is not a big deal for him. And it's terrifying. You get used to it after a couple of seasons of interacting with him and then you learn to weaponize it and it just makes you uncomfortable when you think about it for too long. It especially freaks out those, who happen to be against him. Like Spoke in season 3, Mapicc and Ro in season 4, Minute in season 5, etc. But new players are really disturbed by it whenever they interact with him. Like, Wemmbu still feels uneasy around him and sometimes is hesitant to annoy him. Flame doesn't want to fight him more than he needs to, because he trusts his instincts, and they tell him to stay away. Mane can't figure out where the illogical desire to come back despite having nothing comes from and it terrifies him. Kab doesn't understand why he's so ready to risk everything, while everyone else cares about it, and it deeply scares her.

.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Home

Boo Seungkwan lost his first love to his career. Don’t get me wrong, he loves his job and couldn’t really imagine doing anything else. But sometimes it’s suffocating, and draining, and restrictive. He often wonders how things could have been different.

Word count: 3k

Genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Requested? Yes!

TW/CW: mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of overwork

Seungkwan met you at a coffee shop when he was 16. He was a trainee, spending long, grueling hours in vocal trainings and dance practice. An end to his trainee days was possibly in sight because there was a chance to finally debut. But that wasn’t promised at the time, so he enjoyed his moments to sneak away to the coffee shop down the street for a breather and perhaps even a slight reality check that the world did indeed continue to move outside of the four walls he was stuck in most days.

You introduced yourself to him first. You said you’d seen him in this coffee shop every now and then, and wanted to say hi. He’d noticed you there a few times studying, but had assumed you didn’t notice him. He hadn’t been brave enough to introduce himself. He was still even more shocked when you admitted that you thought he was cute. He was a little shy at 16 and swept up by the feeling of a first love right away. You weren’t his first kiss, but you were his first everything else and he fell fast.

Then it came time to finally debut. You cheered him on from home. The company strongly discouraged having public relationships, citing the safety of everyone involved, and at the age of 17, it seemed sensible to both you.

You were also exceedingly patient with how little you saw or spoke to him. At least, in the beginning. It started as an ‘of course, stay as late as you need to’, or ‘no problem, I’ll stay up. Call me when you’re free’.

But then those late practices ran right through things like birthdays or date nights that had been booked weeks in advance. And the phone calls late at night when he was finally free were getting shorter and shorter, before finally stopping altogether.

He knew the distance growing between the two of you worried you, but he was frustrated by that. Frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t do anything to help it. Frustrated by the fact that he seemed to live at work rather than at the dorm, much less finding time to visit with you. Frustrated by the fact that even when you could visit him when he was busy, things were strained because weeks had passed since you two had a decent conversation and neither of you really knew what was going on with the other.

He accidentally took that frustration out on you one too many times. You’d send a short ‘okay’ when he cancelled plans over text and he knew you were upset. You’d sigh when he had to cut a phone call short. You stopped expecting him to show up, and when he did, your surprised look stung.

One fateful day, you both had fought. He’d ranted - ‘you don’t get the pressure I’m under’ and ‘maybe this won’t work out if you won’t support me’ amongst some other jabs. Deep down, he’d kind of hoped you had a solution he was missing. But instead, you had sighed and agreed that maybe it wouldn’t work. You’d wished him luck in his career and stepped out of his life quietly. He was 19.

He didn’t notice the absence at first and he hates that that’s the case. Things moved fast for the first couple years as the group attempted to gain some footing, and he was far too busy zipping from here to there, crashing in his dorm bed or a hotel room at the first free moment for some much needed rest. He didn’t think about much of anything besides work and what was next on his schedule back then.

When the group found a little bit of breathing room, that’s when he realized the weight of his mistake. He felt stupid for it, really. Something happens, funny or not, and he’s pulling up your contact before he remembers that he hasn’t spoken to you in years. He always closes his contacts and finds something else to do.

~

The nights are the worst. That would have been when both of you would usually talk, or if he was feeling bold, sneak out to see each other for a little bit. He knows he should be sleeping because he has important things to do tomorrow. He almost always has important things things to do tomorrow. He knows you’d tell him that if everything is important, then nothing is truly important. But he hasn’t been able to sort those things out in a while.

But still, sleep evades him and he’ll stare up at the ceiling for hours. He tries not to scroll on his phone very much in these moments, if only to not set back the possibility of sleep. But a ding on his nightstand regularly gets his attention in these moments.

It’s an Instagram notification. He follows you from his private account. He’s sure you know it’s him, but you still accepted his follow request years ago and even followed back. He’s embarrassed sometimes when he thinks about how fast he set up notifications for your posts when you accepted his request. This is one of those notifications.

You’re a night owl. You always have been. Most of the time lately, you’re up late studying. He opens the notification to find that that’s not the case tonight. He finds that you’re out barhopping - it’s Saturday after all. He sees a few photos of you and your friends.

And one with a guy with his arm around your shoulders, holding you close.

It stings in a way that it shouldn’t, so he closes the app and puts the phone back on the charger. He didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Not that you’d tell him. Not a single message has been shared between the two of you since breaking up.

He wonders if this guy has a job that he can make time for you with. One that he can be public with you and still keep. Or maybe he’s a student, which means he can relate to the pressure you’re under. Something Seungkwan wasn’t great at for the duration of your relationship. It’s funny how he was so worried about you relating to the pressure he was under, but now he recognizes he was guilty of the same thing.

He knows he’s not going to sleep anytime soon, so he goes out to the living room and turns on the TV, blue light be damned.

~

Seungkwan is with a few of the members working on some lyrics together. An argument has broken out about something grammar related. He’s voiced his opinion loudly. However, others have voiced their opinions loudly too, despite them being different.

His fingers itch to reach for his phone. You’d know the answer. This is your expertise. He knows you wouldn’t just answer the question. You’d pull one of the various textbooks off your bookshelf and share all the details no one really cares to know about why that’s the answer to the question.

Well - he’d care to know if you were the one telling him, but he knows better than to ask. Your text thread is five years dry now. He’s actually not sure that you still have the same number. How could he know?

Instead, he opens the browser, googling the answer like any of them could have done ten minutes ago when the original question was posed. He’s satisfied to pull a stunt like you would, in a way, when he turns the phone to them and gets to say, ‘Ha! I was right!’ Not that it matters all that much, because they’ve already decided that they’ll pick whatever flows best, regardless of what’s grammatically correct.

He thinks you might be proud of him for getting something right in a subject you care so much about. Not that he’ll ever tell you anything about it. He pockets his phone again as the conversation moves on.

~

He’s on a date. It’s a female idol that he’s met a few times and she’s nice. She gets the tough schedule he keeps because she keeps one herself. They’ve actually been trying to coordinate this date for many weeks now, but their schedules have not aligned until tonight. And it’s only a couple hours at that.

But still, Seungkwan tries to enjoy it. It’s the first time he’s really entertained the idea of dating in a long time. It took some convincing from a few of his group members to accept her advances. They used phrases like ’It’s just one date’ and ’What’s the worst that could happen?’ He agreed because they’re right. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

The thing is, as great as it is that she understands his work, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He spends 90% of his time talking about it already. But he finds out pretty quickly that they don’t have much else in common to discuss. He also finds himself biting his tongue to hold in some smart ass comments here and there. He’s not sure how she’d take any of his attitude.

You used to tell him he was so sweet sometimes and then would turn a little sour. Not for the worst, you’d cry out. Just that he enjoyed sarcasm and a little teasing or side eyeing from time to time. He doesn’t think this girl would care much for that, so he plays nice, even though he’s not being totally honest with himself. Banter was such a key element to his relationship with you and he misses it. It feels like a sort of requirement for a relationship to him.

He goes back to the dorm after the two hours are up and is pretty certain he won’t be going out with her again. He just prays that there were no cameras around for this date, because he’d like to sweep this under the rug. He thinks about you might say if a tabloid picked up such a story about him. He rejects the thought. Surely, you don’t even follow what he or his group is up to. Even if you did, why would you care after all this time?

~

He’s gotten drunk with some of the members. They have a few days off and opted to unwind with a few drinks, but a few drinks became way more and he’s stumbling back into the dorm at nearly 2am. The alcohol makes him feel unburdened in a way that he doesn’t feel often. Years into his career, he often feels weighed down by the responsibility, by the lack of privacy, by the constant traveling. He constantly has to be on top of his game. He wants to go home sometimes and truly rest, but home isn’t really a place he can define anymore.

He’s trying though, in his drunk mind as he lies in bed, feet hanging off the edge at an angle with the covers twisted underneath him. It’s not really Jeju anymore, though he loves getting to go back and visit. It’s not really the dorms or Seoul in general, though his members themselves have become a home in their own way here. It occurs to him like a lightening strike that he wants to come home to someone. He wants a partner to share a life with. That’s an element that has been absent for the most of his career so far.

He face palms hard when his first thought is you. It’s so silly, even in his drunk mind, because it’s been nearly seven years now. You’re largely inactive on social media anymore, so he has no idea what you’re up to. You could be married with kids by now for all he knows. The idea makes tears prick in his eyes and he’s reaching for the phone before he thinks better of it.

At the first ring, he realizes he doesn’t even know if this is your number anymore, but by the second and third ring, he’s getting comfortable with the rhythm. Eventually, voicemail picks up, and his eyes widen because it’s your voice on the other line, albeit recorded. It makes him cry a little more, but some sense is coming back to him because he doesn’t even know what he would say. He hangs up just after the beep to record his message.

~

You don’t call him back. That’s a blessing and a curse in a way. The next morning, he hadn’t remembered making the call, but your contact with the call history is the first thing he sees when he opens his phone the next morning. He had groaned and put his phone on Do Not Disturb because he wasn’t ready to find out if you’d return the call in his hungover state.

But time starts to tick by and it’s radio silence. A week later, he’s still checking his phone every now and then, looking for something, anything. Chan gives him a look when he checks his phone during a break at dance practice for the dozenth time. “Expecting something?” He asks.

Seungkwan shakes his head. “No, not really.”

Chan is silent for a long beat before he glances around to check for any members standing too close to them. “Are you good? You’ve been off all week.”

Seungkwan blinks at him. “Off? What do you mean?”

Chan shrugs, struggling to find the right words. “Dazed? Distracted? I don’t know. And you’ve been checking your phone every 30 seconds like clockwork.”

Seungkwan hesitates, also glancing around for any prying eyes or eavesdropping ears. His group members, particularly the older ones, would be so nosy about this sort of thing. “I called her.”

Chan’s eyes flare. He doesn’t ask who Seungkwan is referring to. “Oh? After all this time?”

“I was drunk and not thinking straight,” Seungkwan sighs, tossing his phone back into his bag. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I haven’t gotten anything from her, so that’s a sign itself.”

Chan looks sympathetic. “I don’t know. Life gets in the way sometimes. Maybe she’s just been busy. Or doesn’t know what to say. Do you?”

The practice is being called back to order, but Seungkwan can’t help but think that life really does get in the way sometimes. It got in the way seven years ago. That’s the whole reason he’s anxious to find out if you’ll reach out to him. Chan’a right though. He has no clue what he’d say.

~

Weeks later, they get another rare day off after many late nights preparing for a comeback. Seungkwan visits that coffee shop from years ago with Chan and Vernon. The label’s offices have moved since they debuted, so this is a special occasion to visit an old haunt, not just for Seungkwan but for all of them. They get their drinks and find a table.

Vernon is mid-sentence when Chan perks up, looking behind Seungkwan. He slaps Vernon on the shoulder and then they’re both looking. Seungkwan is about to turn when Chan stops him. “No, don’t look yet! I need you to relax first.”

“Why?” Seungkwan narrows his eyes.

“I think you’re about to find out what she thinks of that phone call,” Chan says, standing up from the table. Vernon follows suit, and Seungkwan is thankful for the warning when you replace them on the other side of the table.

You’re not a teenager anymore and more grown into your features, but there are a lot of things that are still the same, namely your smile. “Seungkwan?” You ask. Your voice still sounds like the voicemail he heard last month.

“Hey,” he tries to say lightly but some anxiety is starting to build. He decides to aim for friendly and try to match your mood. “It’s been a long time! How have you been?”

“Good, good. And you? I hear you stay pretty busy, being an international popstar and all,” you say lightly without an ounce of awkwardness. It makes some of the tension leak out of Seungkwan’s body and he laughs.

“Yeah, something like that. Do you want to sit?”

You do, and it surprises him. He kind of expected you to say hi and then get on your way fast. “You didn’t answer my question,” you say. He’s not surprised that you call him out. Whatever attitude he could dish out back then, you could dish it right back out. It was part of the appeal back then (and still might be, judging by how his heart races).

Seungkwan shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but he’s panicking because he never thought he’d see or hear from you again. “I’m good, I guess. Kind of hard to know for sure with how busy things are sometimes.”

You nod understandingly. “But you’re majorly successful. I’m proud of you, you know? I get to brag that I dated you way back when.”

He knows you’re teasing about that last part, but it still makes him flush a little. “Is it worth bragging rights if it didn’t work out?”

“Of course,” you say quickly and it sound genuine. “You’re a good guy and you always have been.” You look a little hesitant for a moment. “I’m sorry we lost contact. It was all so fresh in the beginning and then life just kept moving, sweeping me away with it.”

Seungkwan chuckles. “Yeah, I get that. I have no idea what you’re up to now a days.”

You look a little pensive, biting your lip, before finally asking, “Is that why you called a while back?”

Seungkwan wishes the ground would open up underneath him. He purses his lips. “I’m sorry about that. I was drinking and got carried away.”

“And… called an ex girlfriend from seven years ago?” You look both entertained and confused by the concept, and he can’t help but feel the same. If one of his group members pulled something like this, he’d surely never let them live it down. That’s why the ones that know are Chan and perhaps Vernon, judging by how he didn’t look surprised by where this interaction was going.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m sorry,” he repeats. Then he tries to crack a smile. “No angry boyfriend or husband that will be after me for the slip-up?”

This does make you laugh. “No. No boyfriend or husband, period. You’re good. I was just dead to the world that night and then had a busy couple of weeks.”

“Oh, you didn’t owe me a call back. I shouldn’t have reached out like that in the first place,” Seungkwan excuses.

You purse your lips. “What if I wanted to call you back?” Seungkwan blinks a few times and it must give the wrong impression, because you’re backpedaling. “Forget that, please. If you didn’t mean to reach out, that’s okay.” You have your hands on the table like you might push up out of your seat and leave now.

Seungkwan’s words die on the tip of his tongue and he huffs, giving you a semi sarcastic look. “What is happening here?”

It makes you burst into a little giggle. “I don’t know.” You huff back when the giggles die down. “Maybe we can just start with coffee?”

Seungkwan smiles. “I’d like that.”

~

Seungkwan busts into the apartment, throwing his bag down. “I’m sorry I’m late! Practice ran over a bit.”

You’re on the couch with your laptop in front of you. You smile up at him over the screen. “It’s okay, Kwan. You said it might.”

Seungkwan collapses on the couch beside you and you set the laptop to the side so that he can wrap himself around you. “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

You run a hand through his hair, still a little damp with sweat. “Yes, baby. I promise I’m okay.”

Ever since getting back together, Seungkwan had been incredibly careful to try to strike a balance between his work and personal life. You hadn’t asked for it, and had even expressed that maybe you gave him a hard time the first time around. But, still, he recognized how unimportant it might have made you feel, and he’s diligent now about letting you know not only his schedule for work, but that he’d rather be with you any time of day. He checks in constantly and you tell him it’s refreshing and entirely different than before. But still, you’ve been understanding when some things can’t be helped, like tonight.

He buries his face into your neck, breathing in the smell of you - your soap, your shampoo, your perfume. It’s comforting. It’s home. The thought makes him tear up a bit and you notice right away when he lifts his head to look at you.

“Tough day?” You ask gently. He thinks it’s nice that you hand him an excuse like that, so he takes it, nodding. You press a kiss to his cheek. “You stink. Go shower. When you come back, we’ll cuddle and watch a movie.”

Seungkwan groans, pushing you away from him. “Fine.”

As he goes into your bedroom and pulls some of his clothes out of one of your drawers, his drawer, he thinks he really is thankful to have found a home in you.

[cs-fox]

LOST AND FOUND | SOAP MACTAVISH X FEM! READER

dude....

had to do this man.

i speak Scots Gaelic of course i had to 😋😋

warnings: angst. and TOOTH. ROTTING. FLUFF.

tw: ⚠SELF HARM ⚠ this is a bit of a trauma dump for me.

only a short 1 this time

______________________________________________________________

Cold. Cold. Freezing sea wind blew through the prison complex. It was situated on a craggy, desolate island, surrounded by ocean for five kilometres on every side, often pounded by a thick mix of sleet and rain.

Your cell was concrete-walled on three sides, completely sealed, but the bars criscrossing the “door” - they allowed a whisper of a bone-chilling, damp zephyr to rattle you to your core.

You’d given up hope two years ago; nobody was coming to get you. Your life had narrowed down from living to simply just surviving, and from there, every second becoming an effort to keep your legs holding you up as you paced, slowly losing your old self.

For, once - you’d been a soldier. The pride of your task-force, but you couldn’t think about them without thinking about him, and allowing Sergeant MacTavish into your mind was simply out of the question.

As you stood with your back against the wall, you studied your arms with a kind of empty abandon. They had once been tanned and strong, but now they were pale and thin. The only thing that hadn’t changed were the scars.

It had been so long since your face had displayed any sort of emotion, so you didn’t wince, didn’t recoil, at the memory of your childhood - problem, you thought with a sickening, dry laugh.

Your mother had scolded you for the cuts being “ugly”, your father beleived you were breaking his trust, his faith, and had shouted at you every time you couldn’t stay clean.

But even now, the thin, puckered white lines stood out against your wan skin, seeming to glow in the dark. 

At least they had stopped dragging you in for questioning. You didn’t know if you could even resist any more, you’d lost all of your will to live after their torture tactics… sometimes you thought those scars would affect you more than physical cuts ever could.

Soap’s POV

Their boat bounced over the waves, bringing the task-force 141 ever closer to that damned island. Soap gazed up from the rudder, one hand on the steering, the other resting calmly on his rifle. 

He then turned his eyes to the three other men alongside him, meeting all of their eyes one by one. The location of this island had been hard to find, but somehow, Laswell had managed it, after almost two years of waiting. A vaguely sick feeling had started to rise in Soap MacTavish’s stomach; he’d seen far too many times what had happened to prisoners of war before. Their sunken, dead eyes, their thin frames and empty faces.

He feared the worst for his lieutenant - the lieutenant he’d lost so many days ago, the woman he’d - he might just have fallen in love with.

He remembered vividly the nights you now refused to think about, spent in his quarters, your soft, uneven breaths as he held you underneath him. He remembered the hands that he’d been forced to think about whenever he undressed, wishing it was you who had your fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, you who twisted your hand in his shirt.

A soft sigh escaped Soap’s lips.

He knew you wouldn’t be the same, perhaps you’d be broken beyond repair. But he would fix you. He would bring his girl home, even if it killed him. 

Mo leannan.

My love.

Finally, the vessel bumped into the rocky island’s shore. A high-walled complex rose in the foggy, dark 0400 sky, blotting out the horizon, and making Sergeant MacTavish shiver.

He tamped down any qualms and turned to his Captain, Price, who had already stepped ashore.

Soap dismounted from the boat, the rain that had been pounding the four men only continuing it’s onslaught, soaking them to the bone. 

The assault rifle that was resting beside him now took it’s place on the sergeant’s shoulder, as he stood in front of John Price, his mind spinning at a million miles an hour. He was going to see his girl again - but what scared him the most was the prospect of finding you - then losing you immediately again.

One breath at a time, MacTavish, he told himself.

[ timeskip because that’s legal here and i’m lazy ]

Her eyes were still beautiful.

That was the only thought in Soap’s head as their helicopter touched down, finally, back at their barracks. She still carried herself with that unwavering confidence he remembered from her days in the military, as his Lieutenant. Despite her arms being pale and wan, along with her thin frame, a quarter of that formerly strong, tanned, beautiful body he loved so much, he still found her breathtaking.

He didn’t care what his teammates thought as he helped her off the chopper, his hands finding the small of her back, supporting her weight.

She exhaled softly. ‘Johnny…’ he perked up. This was the first thing she’d said since they exited the prison building, so he leaned in close. He wanted to hear everything.

‘Yeah?’ Soap whispered, his hand still holding her. ‘What is it, bonnie?’

She leaned into his touch.

‘I missed you.’

He let out a long breath. ‘I’m going to heal you, bonnie, I swear. You never deserved to go to that hell-hole, mo leannan, so I’m going to rip them limb from limb -’ my love.

Soap stopped himself, taking in a short breath. He couldn’t lose himself in front of her, not now.

‘I promise.’

Your POV

He’d been so good to you, for the past months. Maybe years. Or perhaps it was only a week.

You’d lost track of time recently.

Soap took you out into the sunshine often. The light had been a rare sort of delicacy in prison; having this much of something so warm and beautiful felt like a horrible sin.

For the first few nights, he’d fed you dinner. Not because you’d forgotten how to eat, but because he cared. The feeling of his hands gently tilting your chin to press a spoonful of rice, or a mouthful of steak, even a carefully-cut corner of buttered toast to your lips made you feel that little bit more like yourself every hour.

Even so, you still had relapses of your time. You’d collapse, crying silently, on his bed, knees drawn up to your chest. He’d sit with you, hands gently pulling you closer until you stopped. Soap didn’t speak - he didn’t need to. He simply lay there, with you, until you calmed down.

All of his teammates tried to help, as well. Kyle offered his relaxed, calm words, Price, his almost fatherly care. Simon Riley, your co-lieutenant, was a solid, dependable figure. Once, he came silently into your room, after a soft knock. In one hand was the leash attached to his K9, Riley - which he unclipped. The German shepherd bounded onto your bed and lay across your body. All you could give Simon was a grateful look - but he seemed content to watch on with eyes that were crinkled at the edges, signalling his fond expression.

Slowly, your team could see the old you coming back. Kylle caught you in the gym early one morning. Ghost saw you making a cup of tea when you emerged from Soap’s office, and the Scotsman himself often found you sitting outside - simply basking in the sunlight.

Over two years since your breakout, you had become your old self. Strong. Capable. Confident, but with that under-layer of hollowness that only made you more intimidating.

‘You’re stronger, bonnie,’ he whispered in your ear, pride in his voice, as you lay beside him one evening. 

‘Tch,’ you said softly. ‘You’re preening.’

‘That I am,’ he grinned, that thick deep accent never failing to make you smile.

You allowed yourself to lie back, onto his chest, which made him chuckle softly, his warm hand resting on the dip of your waist.

Your skin wasn’t so see-through anymore, your eyes were a little brighter.

‘Creepin’ Jesus, bonnie,’ he murmured, kissing your neck softly. ‘Ye’re still beautiful. Ye never weren’t.’

You smiled slightly, allowing him to continue the trail of kisses he was creating along your neck. ‘Mo leannan.’ My love,

Your pronunciation was a little off, your accent not quite right, but he gasped never-the-less.

‘You remembered, bonnie!’

You laughed, curling up beside him. A tiny flush crept across your cheeks.

‘How could I forget?’

[discordiansamba]

zuko discovered his earthbending when he was around five and panicked. he can't be an earthbender. they're fighting earthbenders.

so he just. hides it. pretends he's a nonbender.

but he can't stay away from the lure of earthbending, so he sometimes practices in secret. it's really hard trying to figure things out on his own.

eventually ozai finds out about this and well. he's not happy about it. he knows it's impossible that ursa was unfaithful, which means there's no doubt zuko is his son. but if his son is an earthbender, that would call his rule into question- so he pretends zuko is a bastard and disowns him.

it's fine. he was always a failure anyways.

kenzo 100% knows zuko is not his grandson. zuko does not know this. kenzo does not know who exactly zuko actually is- it's not really important anyways. he's a child who was traveling all alone. he needs a warm bed and food in his stomach. a place to stay where he can be safe.

he assumes that zuko might be from the colonies- maybe even of mixed blood, given that he clearly has never had any formal earthbending training in his life.

the villagers are a little suspicious of zuko at first, given the fact that he's obviously fire-blooded, but as time goes on they kind of forget their suspicions. if kenzo says he's his grandson, that's good enough for them.

lao beifong is a frequent patron of kenzo, and therefore zuko travels to gaoling often to deliver his finished commissions. lao has absolutely asked kenzo to teach his daughter toph the art of pottery at one point, feeling that it would be a fine pastime for his poor blind daughter, but kenzo took one 'look' at her and was like. what this young girl wants is not a peaceful life of pottery.

kenzo is not completely blind, but can only make out vague shapes and outlines. he lost his eyesight much later in his life, due to an illness. he was already working as a potter then and had to relearn his craft.

zuko ends up befriending toph. of course he does.

toph: huh. who's this guy and why is he lying about what his name is. ah well. none of MY concern.

zuko attends an earth rumble and watches as the little beifong girl absolutely thrashes grown men twice her side. hah. blind and helpless his ass. grandpa was right.

she agrees to help teach him more combative earthbending. she likes the cut of your jib, mudslinger.

you've seen: the gaang forgets toph is blind. now get ready for: toph forgets zuko isn't blind, because he's been exclusively taught earthbending by two blind people.

zuko may be doing a little light blue spiriting on the side. just a tad.

he gets roped into a standing draft of earthbenders a little bit before aang gets out of the iceberg and is just like. well. fuck. this isn't a great development but if i'll definitely draw more attention to myself if i try to desert.

the term of service is only three years. he can get through that, right? then he can go back home to grandpa.

...oh uh. huh. that is his home, isn't it?

at least he makes a new friend? sensu seems like a great guy.

coincidentally happens to be in the area when zhao captures aang. this looks like a great time to sneak out of camp and do a few blue spirit activities.

iroh helps protect the moon spirit at the north pole and later asks aang for a favor. can you keep an eye out for my nephew as you travel the earth kingdom? his father falsely disowned him as a bastard years ago and i have reason to believe he has been hiding there.

sokka: that shouldn't be too hard. a firebender in the earth kingdom should stand out.

iroh: no. he is an earthbender actually.

sokka: what.

(zuko's past, is in fact, about to catch up with him. but he has more important things to worry about- like sensu's unit being captured.

time for blue spirit activities?

hey wait is that the avatar.)

earthbender zuko would just be shun zuko getting mistaken by a blind potter for his dead grandson and then just. never leaving. he can't break this old man's heart. he ends up learning not only his craft but also a lot of other earthbending tips and tricks from the old man whom he genuinely starts to think of as his grandpa at some point.

(spoiler alert: the old man knows full well zuko isn't his grandson. in fact he doesn't even have a grandson. but the scrawny, clearly starving and definitely abused refugee kid will definitely stick around if he pretends to think otherwise.)

...and then he gets drafted into the earth king's army. well. isn't this ironic.

[biblical-chronicles]

A quiet shift

_______________________________________________________

where Liam starts distancing himself as his mind has led him to believe that the reader feels summat for Noel, the reader helps him to understand that he's actually the one for her.

_______________________________________________________

You’d always been caught in the middle of the Gallagher brothers. Not in a dramatic way—most of the time, anyway—but in that strange, chaotic balance they both seemed to keep. You were mates with both, though in different ways.

For months now, you’d been growing closer to Liam. There was an ease about him that felt like home—well, when he wasn’t winding you up for fun. He had this knack for making you laugh when you needed it most, for knowing exactly what to say to brighten your day. Somewhere along the way, the laughs and the banter shifted into something more, though neither of you dared to admit it.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was little things. Liam didn’t call you "love" as often, nor did he call you at random times of the day just to make you laugh. Then, when you’d pop over to see him, he’d make an excuse to stay busy, the warmth of your conversations cooling into something awkward and distant. The banter, the light-hearted insults, and that signature Liam energy—it all seemed to drain away. You’d catch him watching you sometimes, but when you’d look his way, he’d turn away like nothing happened.

You’d tried to brush it off, thinking maybe he was just having an off week. But weeks turned into over a month, and the pit in your stomach only grew heavier. It wasn’t just that you missed him; it was the way he’d gone cold without explanation. You started overthinking every interaction. Did you say something wrong? Was he annoyed at you for some reason?

One afternoon, after a particularly awkward encounter where Liam barely acknowledged you, you found yourself pacing in Noel’s kitchen while he leaned lazily against the counter, sipping on a brew.

“What’s up with you then?” Noel asked, raising a brow. “You’re wearin’ a hole in me floor, stomping about like that.”

You stopped, crossing your arms. “It’s Liam. He’s been acting... weird. Like, properly weird.”

Noel smirked, already amused. “Weird how? He finally grown a brain?”

You shot him a look, but he just shrugged.

“He’s been avoiding me,” you admitted, biting your lip. “Won’t talk like he used to. Barely even looks at me and I don’t know what I’ve done.”

Noel took another sip of tea, clearly holding back a laugh. “You? Nah, you ain’t done owt. He’s probably just bein’ his usual daft self.”

“That’s not helpful, Noel.”

“Look,” Noel said, setting down his mug, “Liam’s stupid. Like, properly thick, always has been, always will be. He probably thinks you and me have summat goin’ on.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “Me and you? That’s ridiculous, he surely doesn't”

“Yeah, I know that,” Noel said, chuckling. “But him? He sees you hangin’ round here, havin’ a laugh with me, and his brain turns to mush. He gets all shy when he’s actually feelin’ summat for someone, y’know.”

Your cheeks flushed. “He—he feels something for me you think?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Noel muttered, rubbing his temples. “It’s so obvious it hurts. He’s just too much of a muppet to say owt.”

The pieces started falling into place, and a mix of relief and frustration flooded through you, although you were still doubtful of Noel's theory. After all reading Liam wasn't the easiest of tasks.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath, “I’m gonna have to talk to him either way, aren’t I?”

Noel raised a brow. “Good luck with that. R’kid’s as stubborn as a mule. But, hey, might be worth it, just don’t tell him I helped, yeah? Can’t have him thinkin’ I’m nice or owt.”

You laughed despite yourself, feeling a slight spark of hope for the first time in weeks.

The next evening, you found yourself standing outside Liam’s bedroom door, nerves rattling your chest. You’d rehearsed what to say a hundred times on the way over, but now, staring at the scuffed wood of the door, every word had fled your mind.

Still, you couldn’t back out now—not after everything. Summoning your courage, you raised your hand and knocked. A shuffling noise came from inside, and after a moment, the door creaked open.

Liam stood there, dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly disheveled. He didn’t flash that cheeky grin you’d come to expect, nor did he give his usual “Alright, love?” Instead, he just nodded slightly and stepped aside to let you in, his silence hitting you harder than any insult could.

You walked in, your eyes scanning the familiar room. The bed was unmade, a few discarded records lay scattered on the floor, and a small pile of clothes lay in the corner. Usually, the space felt warm but now, it felt muted, the weight of Liam's distance pressing down on you.

He stayed by the door, arms crossed as he leaned back against the frame, avoiding your gaze. The air between you was tense, heavy with unspoken words.

You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Alright, spill it,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nowt’s goin’ on,” he mumbled, not moving from his spot.

“Don’t give me that,” you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, Liam. You barely talk to me, you don’t even joke around anymore. It’s like I don’t even know you right now.”

He shifted uncomfortably, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re makin’ a big deal out of nothin’, love.”

“Nothin’?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You’ve practically shut me out, Liam! Do you know how much that’s messed with me head? I’ve been sitting here thinking I’ve done something wrong, that I’ve somehow fucked this up without even knowing it.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, finally glancing at you. His voice defensive, his posture stiff, only fueling your frustration.

“Then what is it like?” you demanded, standing up now, unable to stay still. “Because I’m at me wit’s end, Liam. You’re the most important person in me life, and I feel like I’m losing you. Do you even care how much that’s hurt?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and before you could stop yourself, tears started streaming down your cheeks. You hated crying—especially in front of him—but the weeks of bottled-up emotions had finally burst free.

Liam’s head shot up at the sound of your voice breaking, his defensive walls crumbling in an instant. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. “Don’t—don’t cry, love.”

But you couldn’t stop. You sat back down on the bed, burying your face in your hands, the sobs shaking your shoulders. “It does matter, Liam,” you choked out, your voice muffled. “I’m so lost. I don’t know what’s happening, and it hurts so much to lose you.”

Liam crouched in front of you now, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “C’mon now, don’t... don’t cry. Please.”

When you didn’t look up, he sighed and hesitantly placed a hand on your knee. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for bein’ a knob. Just... look at me, yeah?”

Reluctantly, you lowered your hands, your tear stained face meeting his wide, worried eyes. “Why, Liam?” you whispered. “Why have you been like this?”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I thought... I thought you and Noel had summat goin’ on.”

You blinked at him, utterly confused. “Me and Noel?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “What the hell gave you that idea?” You said not believing Noel's theory to actually hold true.

He shrugged, looking down at the floor. “Dunno. You’re always round his gaff, laughin’ at his shite jokes. Figured I was just gettin’ in the way.”

Your jaw dropped, and despite the raw emotions swirling in your chest, you let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re a fucking moron, Liam.”

He flinched, misinterpreting your tone, and started to pull back. But before he could, you grabbed his hand, holding him in place. “No, listen to me,” you said firmly, your voice steady now. “You’re a moron because you could’ve just asked. Instead, you’ve been torturing me for weeks over something that doesn’t even exist.”

His brows furrowed. “So... you and him... there’s nowt going on?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed, giving his shoulder a light shove. “Noel’s like... like an annoying older brother. And he thinks you’re a muppet, by the way, for getting this in your head.”

A flicker of his old self returned as a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t be wrong, would he?”

You rolled your eyes, but the sight of that smile sent a wave of relief washing over you. “No, he wouldn’t. But you’re me muppet, alright? And if you ever pull this shite again, I’ll knock some sense into you.”

For the first time in weeks, Liam let out a proper laugh—a warm, hearty sound that filled the room. “Fair play,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry, love. I dunno what I was thinkin’. Just got scared, I guess. Thought I’d lose you either way.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you said, giving him a watery smile. “so get that through your thick skull.”

His grin widened, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Stuck with me, eh? Lucky you.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Before you could say anything else, Liam pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, the weeks of tension and confusion finally slipping away.

As you pulled back slightly, he tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours. “Can I...?” he started, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the gap, you pressed your lips to his, the kiss warm and full of all the emotions you’d been holding back. When you finally broke apart, he smirked down at you.

“Knew you fancied me,” he teased, his energy back to normal.

You swatted his arm playfully. “Don’t push it, Gallagher.”

But as he leaned in for another kiss, you couldn’t help but smile. It was good to have your Liam back as a friend and summat more now.

________________________________________________________

me daft brain totally left this one sittin' in the drafts... So massive apologies to the person who asked for this a while back. But it’s here now, so I hope it was at least worth the wait. Proper sorry again, and if you wanna throw another request my way, I’ll sort ya with a priority pass xx

[trashpremiium]

i wish i knew how to keep friends :( making friends is… hard, but doable. if i have a reason to be near someone and they’re amenable to my Autism Beam of infodumping, i can usually make them tolerate being around me for as long as that activity lasts.

but semesters end. mutual interests fade. activities wrap up. and then those people leave. not to say i’m not thankful for however long their friendship lasted, i just wish people were more likely to want to be friends because they liked me, not because i was a body near them to spend time with.

[amygdalae]

had a dream last night i was lost wandering the streets of a big city at night and i was cold so i walked into the nearest open store and it was a sex shop but half of the store had several displays of just leather jackets and pants. i wanted it to be real so bad

[camellcat]

I wonder if Scott's alpha teeth made him nervous even after he got used to them just Being A Thing Now. If, when he would catch the glint of red eyes staring back at him, he had to still an instinctive flinch and try not to think of all the people who have threatened to or almost ended his life with that same vibrant hue. If the feeling of blood under his claws, on his skin, in his hair and soaked into his clothes ever became normal, if it was ever something truly able to be numbed and ignored. If seeing his shadow with pointed ears and elongated claws and shredded shirts gave him day terrors like the Nogitsune never went away; a paranoia that everyone could see how fucking messed up (how scary) he was. If Scott ever truly moved on from feeling afraid of being a monster, of becoming a Monster. Not all monsters do monstrous things, but all Scott has ever seen is monsters who choose to act like their namesake.

If he continues to be cautious and aware of his teeth, of his eyes, of how blood is overwhelming and what it's like to be afraid --- because if he looses his humanity, his tie to slow healing and faulty lungs and what it feels like to be prey to somebody else, how will he be any different from the monsters that plague him?

Scott is the outlier, and he does not let his monstrous features define how he chooses to behave and who is chooses to be.

[anotherpapercut]

one of the kids at work never listens or does what he's told and we have like the same problems with him every day so the other staff all kind of hate him at this point so they'll yell at him for doing extremely minor shit and today he said "how come you're the only staff member who cares about me" and it made me really fucking sad but it's not like I can tell the grown adults I work with what to do so I just have no idea how to help the situation

[spotsupstuff]

Wait where is spore from? (Rain world real life country equivalent)

Sweden! i had her speakin swedish already too

[rolandkaros]

sometimes my knee jerk reactions to things i see on the internet force me to deeply consider that i am, in fact, the problem here

[britneyshakespeare]

I feel like certain people on Tumblr have really been fighting for backwards progress when it comes to how we talk about mental illness and abuse. I see posts at least several times a week on my dash that seem to have the purpose of implying people with insert-mental-illness and/or insert-symptom are not abusive when they do insert-action-that-makes-people-uncomfortable, often times meaning to promote a more positive image of people with particularly stigmatized conditions, like personality disorders, mood disorders, psychosis, addiction, or neurodivergence. And I really really hate it because these posts almost always have the ultimate purpose of telling people not just "This thing is not inherently abusive," but often it comes across as "You were not abused."

I just find that to be really unhelpful and unintentionally hurtful, and for what? I believe that destigmatizing various mental conditions is a worthy cause, but at the same time this type of rhetoric seems to be so protective of people in whichever stigmatized group they're trying to advocate for, that it comes back around to a sort of respectability politics. Anybody can be an abuser. And someone's means and methods of abusing can very much be influenced by a condition they have. Why wouldn't it be? Their conditions will affect every aspect of their life and their interpersonal relationships. Especially if these issues are going untreated or being insufficiently managed. I don't understand why anyone would want to make it appear as if abusers are mostly neurotypical and mentally well people, or that if they aren't, then their conditions have nothing to do with it and the overlap is merely incidental. What? It makes it so hard for anyone who is a victim to come to terms and identify the dynamics of what they've gone through.

Addicts and mentally ill people don't have to be unproblematic in order to be humanized and accepted. And nobody profits from writing hard and fast rules about how abuse apparently works, drawing clear lines between which behaviors can, and cannot, ever be abuse.

[ru5t]

what if -i'm over here about this now sorry- but what if. glitch isn't, technically speaking, settled?

[snazzi-strawberri]

Man :(