#there are definitely a few more but these are most of them

[distantdarlings]

WORSHIP // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After Theodore Nott catches you drawing him in the middle of class, he feels he deserves to see your art up close and personal.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Fingering (f!receiving), slight dubcon? (Reader definitely wants it, it’s just not super obvious at first), soft!Dom Theo, sub!reader, Theo’s a bit pushy, fem!reader, slight nipple play, teasing, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

I Feel It Coming - The Weeknd, Daft Punk

- - -

He was a god. Or as close to one as a human could possibly come to looking like one.

You had found yourself worshipping him daily, just not in the most mundane way. Your form of worship required a quill and parchment, in which you traced the curves of his cheeks and the strong bridge of his nose. Only, it wasn’t with your fingers or lips. It was with the quill and parchment.

You’d spent hours surveying him in classes, between them, at lunch… It was one of the only things that got you through each day, expecting to see his carved features.

Your knee would bob up and down, your fingers would tremble, and your teeth would punch holes into the metal grip of your quill. It was pathetic, really. But, you couldn’t help it.

The days he didn’t show up to class felt like hell. It felt like you were falling through the deepest riff of boredom you’d ever experienced.

Now, as you waited for him to arrive, you settled your things out on the desk before you just as you always did. You had a routine that you clung to that was reserved only for Theodore Nott.

A few breaths later, Theo was walking through the door with his friends trailing behind him.

His hair was perfectly tousled just as it always was; his leather, sharply monogrammed schoolbag was thrown lazily over his shoulder; his uniform sweater was tossed over his arm, whilst his white button-up was only partially fastened, exposing a bit of a lean chest. Beauty marks kissed the skin of his neck, traveling gently upward and onto his face. He was truly a specimen.

You exhaled shakily, inconspicuously preparing yourself to begin sketching. He glanced around the room, salt-spray eyes trailing over every face in the class until coming to rest on you.

As he came to look at you, you did a double take, reclaiming eye contact with him just as soon as you’d broken it. A second or two passed of staring that could have been considered rude and pure panic flowing through your body before he glanced away again.

You blinked a bit, seemingly snapping out of some powerful stupor that only clouded your brain whenever he was around. How stupid.

Despite the intensity of your awkwardness, Theo settled in at his desk as if you hadn’t just gawked at him only moments before.

And as he settled in, you did as well.

The professor entered the classroom from the rear entrance, announcing where the class would be picking up from the day before.

Sounds of rustling papers and thudding book covers echoed about the stone walls, but you only focused on Theo.

Your fingers gripped the quill they’d become so accustomed to as you began to sketch.

Gentle lines. Soft strokes of ink that barely held any space on the paper, but would eventually bear more weight. Your wrist flicked delicately in order to master the movements intended to convey perfection. At least, the way you interpreted it.

There were a few times when Theo looked up and managed to catch your eyes but, like earlier, it seemed to be a passing glance.

Disappointment would flood your gut every time he refocused on something else. Though he didn’t know you, you knew him, and naivety fueled fantasies that one day he’d truly see you and want you.

Your hand clenched tighter around your quill, annoyed by your situation. You made one, strong line and Theo’s nose appeared on your parchment. It was an exact copy. You didn’t need to practice anymore. You were able to replicate him perfectly because you drew him nearly every day and studied him on the days you didn’t. All things considered, you likely knew Theo’s face better than your own.

“I asked if you were still with us?” You heard the words faintly as if you were underwater. Then someone cleared their throat. Your eyes remained on your parchment. The same person cleared their throat again, in a much more exaggerated way.

You glanced up, catching the professor staring directly at you. A quick survey of the room told you that every student had their eyes pinned on you as well—including Theo.

Subconsciously, you slid your books over your parchment and nodded. A deep flush poured into your cheeks.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” you apologized. “Just doodling.”

“Well…just as long as you’re doodling and listening, okay?”

You responded with a small, forced smile. Though you didn’t dare look back up, you could tell Theo was still gazing in your direction. You couldn’t keep the nerves from picking up and manifesting themselves in all physical ways. Your left set of fingernails picked at the dead skin around their edges, your knee bounced again, and your right hand-picked at the dried skin on your bottom lip.

Only a few more moments passed until the professor called the end of class. You gathered your books and parchment up in one fell swoop and shoved them all into your bag. Embarrassment still shone on your face like a beacon of light as you made your way toward the exit.

***

You made your way through the halls of the castle you'd come to adore, trying your best to push all of the shame from your mind. Every time you thought of what happened, another round of hot blood would fill your cheeks. You knew you were red as a tomato but there was nothing you could do about it. You just hoped your hair covered your face enough for no one to notice.

By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, your hands were burning with how tightly you'd been clutching your bag. The leather had bit roughly into your soft palms, causing indentations along the flesh. It looked as if you had sutures wound through your hands. Amusedly, you traced your thumb down them—

“You’re in my History of Magic class, right?”

You jumped and spun around, your bag swinging and bumping against your back.

Now, as if all of your fantasies had come to fruition, you were standing right before Theodore Nott.

Fuck, had he always been this tall? The lean boy towered over you, so much so that he was tilting his face down to look at you. Your head barely cleared the base of his throat. You were enthralled. Your lips hung open stupidly.

“Er, yes, I am,” you chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I, uh—”

“You're all good,” he chuckled, shrugging slightly. “I was just curious what you'd been sketching in class.”

Suddenly, you were regretting all of the times you'd been cursing your body for filling your cheeks with red, hot blush just moments ago. You honestly wished for that sensation to return as your entire face drained of all blood and turned pale white.

“You—er, I was…,” you trailed off stupidly, begging your brain to come up with some kind of quick excuse. “Just, like, little sketches of—” a thought appeared in your head— “plants. For my Herbology class.”

You leaned down to the armchair your bag lay against and popped the buckle open. With shaking hands, you selected the pieces of parchment you'd been working on the day before and presented them to him.

He accepted them with gentle, yet strong hands. His eyebrows raised as he scanned the piece. “Wow, this is great.”

You could've died on the spot.

“Thank you,” you laughed breathlessly, awkwardly clasping your hands together before you.

“Really, this is some of the best artwork I've ever seen,” he smiled, handing it back to you.

You took the pieces of parchment back with a blissful smile and turned back to your bag.

“But I know it's not what you were working on today,” he said.

Your fingers paused their work in shoving the artwork back into your bag. You glanced over your shoulder.

“I'm sorry?” you asked, shocked at his bluntness.

“I know that's not what you were working on today because I saw you working on that piece yesterday at lunch. Today, you were working on something smaller.”

You felt as if you couldn't breathe. An awkward chuckle breezed past your lips.

“Can I see what you were working on today? When the professor called on you? When you covered it up with your books?” His eyes never left yours. They were demanding and soft all at the same time.

“Oh, that was…that wasn't anything special. It was just some lines and scribbles—”

“Were you drawing me?” he asked.

“Er, no! It was—”

“Please don't lie to me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly an octave lower. Sweetheart? Merlin, what the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

“I don't…”

“You were drawing a picture of me in class today, just like you have been every single day for the entire semester,” he said. “And I want to see them. All of them.”

“Why?” you whimpered, the useless word being the only thing your voice could force out.

“Because when someone watches me so intently every day, I want to know why. If you're drawing me, I feel I'm entitled to see that which I'm being a muse for.”

He had a point. Fuck.

“Okay, sweetheart, you’re gonna take me to your dorm and show me these drawings, alright?” he asked, his voice so painfully gentle.

His hand reached out and he selected a small strand of hair that slipped from behind your ear. He tugged on it gently, massaging it between his thumb and forefinger, memorizing the texture of it.

Your breath shuddered as he looked back at you and maintained searing eye contact as he tucked the stray hairs back behind your ear.

“What are you waiting for?” he murmured.

“What?”

“I asked what you were waiting for. I asked you to do something for me,” he said, seeming almost bored with the conversation. “Walk.”

You nodded slowly, immediately obeying his demands. In your mind, your first interaction with Theo would not have involved your drawings or the boy before you taking over the entire thing.

Theo watched as you turned away from him, eyes facing the staircase to the girls’ dormitory. Your breath pulsed in deep motions.

“Er, what about—?”

“I’ll get your bag,” he interrupted. “I’ve asked you to walk.” His voice was soft but stern.

You sighed shakily, willing yourself to take the first step forward. The fire crackled in the corner and covered the slight sounds his shoes made behind you. He moved silently, like a whisper in the evening. Like a shadow. A chill erupted across your arms.

Your feet carried you up the staircase, your mind barely forcing your body to move. If you stopped for even a second, you were sure you’d fall back right into the boy prowling behind you.

“Theodore, do you think—”

“Call me Theo,” he interrupted, placing a gentle hand at the small of your back as the both of you reached the staircase landing. A small gasp escaped your lips at the contact.

He stopped beside you and looked down at you. You gaped up at him stupidly, enamored and waiting for further instructions. You couldn't be sure why on earth you were listening so intently. Perhaps…?

“Theo,” you corrected. “Am I under the influence of the Imperius Curse?”

He smiled just a bit as if your accusations were amusing, though they weren't in the slightest. “Why don't you tell me? Try and walk down those stairs and see what happens. I think you'll find that I'm not controlling you at all.”

You looked behind you and weighed your options. Of course, you'd never been under the Imperius Curse before so you weren't exactly sure what it’d feel like. Would you have even been able to question him if you had been?

The fact that you were able to weigh your options right now alluded that you weren’t under any influences, but you couldn’t deny that you would have assumed your resistance toward him would have been a bit stronger. Obviously not.

You turned back to face him. His eyes hadn’t seemed to have left you at all. You swallowed thickly—desperate for him to either drop this whole thing or give you another instruction because the eye contact was driving you crazy.

“I won't ask again,” he spoke. A pause filled the air, his mouth forming a small frown. “Take me to your dorm and show me those drawings.” So gentle.

You nodded and walked past him. Once again, his footfalls were silent as he fell into step behind you. The feeling of not being able to sense him was eerie. Simultaneously, the knowledge that he was there was riveting. It felt as if you were being chased by some ancient creature. Like your body was in survival mode and trying to flee. Yet, seemingly involuntarily, tingles erupted in your abdomen each time he whispered a direction.

You stopped in front of your dormitory door. When you didn’t move after a few seconds, he reached past your frozen body and turned the handle.

The door creaked open, revealing a mostly dark room, save the enchanted stove in the center of the floor which emanated small waves of cozy heat.

Again, he placed his hand against your back, urging you forward. As you crossed the threshold of the room, you came to a realization—one that seemed to make the tingling in your abdomen ten times stronger.

It was just you and Theo in this room. That could’ve meant nothing but just the way he spoke had chills running down your arms. Surely, he meant to speak to you in that way. You knew it wasn’t just the way he sounded because you’d heard him plenty of times in class. Today, his voice was softer and lower and demanding. It was a far cry from his typical light, almost bored words. Today, he sounded purposeful.

Surely, it meant something. It had to. He shut the door.

“Where are they, darling?” he asked. Again with the pet names… Your breath caught in your throat.

“Er, they’re over here,” you whispered, leading him toward the leatherbound art portfolio crammed between your bed and bedside table.

You fell into a squat, sliding your collection of pieces out from their hiding spot and displaying them on the bed.

One by one, hundreds of sketches of the boy looming behind you slid across the satin duvet. His drawn eyes pierced through you, threatening to reveal every private thought you'd had since you'd begun creating these portraits.

Theo’s breath seemed to halt just as yours had moments ago. He leaned around you and pressed his fingers against the thick parchment. He traced the outlines of his own face and body, careful to avoid touching the medium itself, so as not to smudge anything. Your heart swelled as he looked at them.

Both panic and excitement vibrated in your body with each touch he placed to your works. No one had ever seen these before, especially not Theo.

“Why do you draw me?” he asked, eyes not leaving the parchment.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes while you debated your answer. There were a thousand reasons why you drew him—desire unfortunately being one of the main ones, but inspiration being another. You weren't sure if you could answer straightly.

“Er…” You racked your brain for a response.

His eyes turned back to you. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry. I don't know.”

“Do you want me?” he asked, eyes never leaving yours. You nearly choked on your spit.

“What—er… what exactly do you mean? Do I want you to what?” you sputtered awkwardly.

“You know what I meant,” he said. Just like earlier, his hand reached out to select a stray piece of hair that hung next to your cheek. His fingers tugged gently on it as he seemed to inspect it. Only, this time, he didn't push it back behind your ear.

Slowly, he allows the curl of hair to settle against his palm, situated up against his thumb. The rest of his fingers press gently against your head just behind your ear, his pinky easing itself up and down the curvature of your skull in a soothing manner.

Your hands are shaking; you can't stop them. It’s so impossibly difficult to maintain eye contact with him, knowing that his steel blue irises are going to be burning their typical holes directly through your cheeks.

Despite his lidded, easy gaze, your heart rate skyrocketed every time he looked at you.

When you did nothing, his other hand came up to the opposite side of your head to mirror the movements of the first. Your lips parted as a blush blossomed within your stomach.

“Do you want me?” he repeated, all but whispering.

It felt like hours passed before you were finally able to will your lips to form words, though—in reality—it was only a few seconds.

“Yes,” you finally said, nodding your head desperately.

Theo wasted no time pressing his lips directly to yours. Your eyes widened in shock for only a few seconds before they slipped shut, and the kiss deepened.

Theo tasted just as you would always have imagined. Echoes of pine, rain, and even a bit of lavender billowed against your cheeks with each breath he took.

His hands held your head right where he wanted it, allowing him to maintain full control of the contact.

The uselessness of your body was apparent. In an attempt to combat that, you willed your hands to rest lightly on his chest. The warmth beneath your fingertips was reminiscent of dreams you'd had of him. Dreams where his lips were on yours and your hands were pressed to his skin, and the similarities between them and current reality were not lost on you.

His hands dropped from your face to your hips. He pulled you even closer to his body, his lips devouring yours, his scent all-consuming. Your back arched against him, deliciously molding into him like a piece of the earth. A gasp erupted between your lips.

“Draw me,” Theo sighed, pulling away from you. You stared at him, breath coming out in hard pants.

“What?” you gasped.

“Draw me right now,” he demanded. One hand still held you against him with the opposite reaching up to touch your hair once more. “I want you to draw me right now and let me watch the process.”

You weighed your options, eyes flicking away from his and then meeting them again. This pattern repeated itself a few times before you finally took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down for the first time since this whole interaction started.

You weren't going to allow him to have this much control over you.

With shaking hands, you pulled away from him and turned to select one of the sketchbooks and charcoal pencils off of your desk.

He settled himself onto your bed, straightbacked and staring through your soul. You swallowed thickly as you selected the chair against your desk and willed yourself to calm down.

Drawing Theo had become a daily thing for you so—besides the obvious—there was no reason for you to be so nervous. The two of you accidentally made eye contact constantly throughout class, so why was this different? At least, that's what you tried to convince yourself of.

This was different because you were so close to him that you could see every breath, every shudder, every blink, every beat of his heart… you were now privy to every detail your art had been lacking in the past.

Everything that was missing was now able to be added. It was incredible. You could hardly contain your excitement.

But, after building yourself up and convincing your fingers that the shakes were not necessary, Theo stood from his spot on the bed as soon as your pencil touched paper.

“Er,” you started. “Theo, models have to stay put.”

He walked around behind you, staring at your paper. His hands rested on your shoulders.

“I know you don’t need to see me to draw me,” he murmured. His lips caressed over the curvature of your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of his breath against your flesh.

“I want you to draw me and…,” he stopped to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder. You bit back a moan. “…if you stop, I will make you regret it. Does that sound okay?”

His hands slid down your arms, warm and gentle. You nodded slowly—heat beginning to pool between your thighs. A shudder passed through you.

“What if—?”

“No, sweetheart,” he interrupted. “Just draw me and don’t stop.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of yours and positioned it against the piece of parchment. His thumb brushed against your knuckles as he pushed you to begin sketching.

For a moment, you did nothing and he did nothing, then his lips pressed once more to your neck as soon as you began drawing.

You shuddered but forced your hand to keep moving. A familiar portrait—his lidded eyes, his sharp nose—began to appear before you just like it had so many times before. This was so usual for you, it was almost comfortable.

But then there was Theo—lips at your neck, seductive words in your ears, fingers slowly tracing down your arms.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispered. “Keep going.”

His hands slipped to your waist past the wooden chair’s back. His finger sent shockwaves up your spine. Your hand shook around the pencil, mussing up a few of your lines. It didn’t matter, though, you still saw Theo. His features were much too familiar.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You nodded, biting your lip to hide any embarrassing sounds.

His fingers, wrapped around your front, began to split your shirt buttons apart one at a time. Only, every movement was painfully slow. You almost wanted to shout at him to hurry up.

Once your shirt was completely open, he let the two sides linger for a moment there—not pulling them apart, not closing them back. Beneath those thin layers of fabric lay a whole new world of intimacy for him to explore, but it seemed that he was waiting for something.

Finally, you perked up enough to ask. “Why’d you stop?” Your knee bounced nervously.

“Why'd you stop?”

You looked down and, sure enough, your hand had ceased all movements and the portrait of Theo was only half finished.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered, resuming your piece. With each new inch of skin he touched, it was getting harder and harder to focus on something as minute as drawing a picture.

Then, as soon as you began working again, he resumed his teasing. At this point, he slipped your shirt apart and let it fall down over your shoulders. He allowed the sleeves to bunch around your elbows where they were bent against the chair's arms.

Your heart raced as his warm breath fanned across your naked skin. Thank Merlin the bra you wore was half-decent—all black and simple lace.

When his fingers made contact with your flesh, you could have sworn your heart stopped. The simple contact had your eyes fluttering, blurring your vision.

“Don't stop,” he growled, plunging his hands into your bra and massaging your breasts. You whimpered and continued your art. This was much harder than you ever could have imagined.

His hands found the clip that rested on the front of your bra and expertly unhooked it. Your breasts sprung free—hard and sore from his toying. A soft moan left you as his hands continued to touch one of your most intimate areas.

Then, as your pencil came to the curves of his neck, his right abandoned your chest and slid down your exposed stomach. Air caught in your throat.

His free hand slowly but determinedly tugged the edge of your skirt up to the top of your thighs. The uniform fabric pooled there awkwardly, showing off your tights and thin panties.

“Fuck, you look as good as I imagined,” he sighed against your ear. One hand is still on your breast, one hand sliding itself between your thighs.

By this point, you'd finished your basic sketch and, typically, would start to go back over everything a bit darker. Then, you'd shade all the appropriate spots. Then, the bell would ring. Typically. But this wasn't a typical thing.

His fingers made contact with your core through your panties. The sounds that left you now were much more shameless—wanton and desperate as he acted out everything you'd imagined in your most private moments.

As your pencil traced the edge of his cheekbones, he slid your undergarments to the side and pushed two fingertips through your mounting slick. Your head fell back and his shoulder was there to catch it.

His lips pressed back to your neck, not caring so much now that you weren't drawing. He seemed satisfied enough with how far you'd gotten. Or he was just too focused on your pleasure.

When he finally sank his fingers into you, your moans became high-pitched and your hips began to rock against his hand.

He groaned against your flesh, mimicking your breathy sounds. His left hand continued to pinch your nipple about, stimulating what he couldn't with his right.

Between his tongue on your neck, his fingers on your breast, his hand against your core, and his sporadically whispered words, you knew you wouldn't last long against him. Still, you forced yourself to try.

With a weak chest, you leaned forward and made your hand resume its previous work. You finished his cheekbones—your hips still rolling against him; you finished his ears—your lips parted in a whine; you finished his throat—your eyes began to roll back.

Then he was sucking a particularly deep bruise against an especially sensitive spot on your neck and you were cumming hard around his hand. Your spend pooled against his palm and your legs.

The pressure from your hands crushed the tip of the charcoal pencil against the paper, creating a big, black blotch across his cheek. It formed a sort of scar against his unblemished skin.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face and collapsed onto the parchment, blurring another bit of the sketch. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” he asked, gently retrieving his fingers from within you. “What’s wrong?”

“The picture,” you whined. “It's ruined.”

He leaned around you to take a peek and, upon seeing the disaster that had become your art, he laughed aloud.

“No, darling,” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your head. “I think this is your best one yet.”

-

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74 , @2dloveshp, @seagull-on-toast

[aleskie]

EIGHTEEN | Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar Piastri has loved you since he was eighteen. It just takes him a while to get to that point. Or so he thinks. This is Oscar's journey to realizing that maybe the girl he's always hated isn't so bad at all. In fact, she's actually...pretty loveable.

Warnings: None just Enemies to Lovers?? Or is it more Rivals to Lovers?? Also, the timeline is wonky with the irl events, so just pretend it makes sense. And also i had to look up the british school systems SO THEY MAY BE WRONG BUT PLEASE JUST PRETEND

♫ Listen: 18 by One Direction ♫

2016: Year 10 [15 years old]

He didn’t know why, but from the moment you two met at the headmaster’s office, Oscar Piastri knew he hated you. 

Maybe it was your posture—back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting politely on your lap—or maybe it was your voice, too polished, too proper, like you were reciting lines off a script. Or maybe it was everything else.

The way you barely acknowledged him as you both waited in the stuffy office, but flashed a smile so perfectly pleasant it had to be fake the second the teachers and headmaster walked in. The way your eyes flickered over him when he introduced himself, assessing, calculating, like he was a pawn to be placed, a connection to be measured. Or maybe—definitely—it was when you called motorsport, his life’s mission and passion, a hobby.

He tried not to let it get to him. He really did. But even he had to admit he could be a little petty.

“At least I have a hobby,” he muttered in your direction as soon as the faculty members were out of earshot.

For a split second, he thought you looked hurt—something in the way your lips parted, the slightest flicker of hesitation in your expression. But then it was gone, replaced by a scoff and a perfectly arched brow.

“At least I know my dreams have a higher chance of succeeding than yours do.”

Low blow.

His grip tightened on the strap of his bag. “You’ve got dreams?” He sneered. “Must be hard for a princess like you to have to be here and work for them then.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was something sharp in the way you did it, like you were daring him to say more. “Don’t act like you know me, Piastri.”

He huffed out a dry laugh. “I could say the same for you.”

You turn your head away from him at the sound of light footsteps—faculty returning, this time accompanied by older students meant to be your guides. And just like that, the stupidly perfect, fake smile was back on your face, as if the last few minutes of exchanged barbs had never happened.

“I see you two have been conversing,” says the headmaster, smiling warmly. If only she knew about the jabs you’d taken at each other. Would she still be smiling?

“He’s been lovely company, Mrs. Berkshire,” you lie with effortless charm, your voice smooth as silk. “It’s been comforting to know I’m not the only transfer student.”

Then, as if to twist the knife a little deeper, you turn to him with a look so deceptively sweet it could almost pass as genuine—almost. “I’m glad Oscar feels the same.”

There’s a glint in your eyes, something smug and self-satisfied, and he wonders if anyone else in the room can see just how full of it you are. Probably not. Mrs. Berkshire certainly doesn’t. She beams, clearly pleased at the thought of her two new students becoming fast friends.

Oscar clenches his jaw. He could call you out, make it clear that you’re full of it—but what’s the point? Instead, he forces himself to nod, his voice tight as he grits out, “Yeah. She’s been great.”

He sees it then—that flicker of amusement, the way your lips almost twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. Almost. Couldn’t let your facade slip, not even for a second.

And it pissed him off.

You spend most of your first year at boarding school in different circles.

Oscar lays low, slipping easily into a group of laid-back boys who are effortlessly easy to be around. They play video games in dorm rooms until lights out, kick a ball around after class, and never demand much from each other beyond good company. They cheer him on when he leaves to compete and catch him up on everything he’s missed when he comes back. They’re great. Better than he could have ever imagined.

You, on the other hand, carve out your place at the top of the food chain. Academically untouchable, always two steps ahead. First in your class, a key member of the Debate Team and MUN Club, and well on your way to securing a prefect badge. Your uniform is always pristine, your headband perfectly in place, not a single strand of hair out of order. You have a small group of friends who he assumes are just as intelligent, uptight, and snooty as you are.

And yet—when he sees you laughing with them, head thrown back, completely unguarded—something about you seems softer. You don’t look like the girl who calculated every move, who smiled just enough to be polite but never enough to be real. In those moments, with that rare, genuine laugh, he thinks—begrudgingly—that you actually look quite…pretty.

Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know why he even notices. It’s not like he cares.

But sometimes, in the middle of a dull afternoon or while walking past the library, he catches glimpses of you—not the polished, picture-perfect version of you that you show everyone else, but something different. Unpolished. Real.

Like when you’re sprawled across a bench outside with your friends, books and papers in a chaotic mess around you, groaning about an impossible assignment—right up until someone cracks a joke that sends you into a fit of laughter. The kind of laugh that makes you cover your mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners, completely unguarded.

Or when, on those rare occasions, he catches you slipping up in class, head bobbing forward as you fight off sleep, fingers twitching as you try—and fail—to take notes.

Or when he walks past the debate team’s practice room and sees you in your element, arguing fiercely, hands moving with conviction, voice steady and sure. Confidence radiating off you in a way that has nothing to do with arrogance and everything to do with certainty.

And for a second, just a second, he forgets to be annoyed by you.

But then you glance up, catch him staring, and arch a perfectly shaped brow in challenge—like you know something he doesn’t.

Right. He still hates you. Definitely.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps walking.

2017: Year 11 [16 years old]

Oscar was back at school regularly after the summer holidays and the season ending. He was pretty pleased with himself—2nd place wasn’t anything to scoff at. Sure, first would’ve been better, but it was fairly won. Besides, it had been a fun season, his best yet. More importantly, he hadn’t thought about you for months. Too busy with his Formula 4 campaign, too focused on climbing the motorsport ladder, too—

Well. That’s what he told himself.

He stepped through the iron gates of the academy, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his phone buzzing with check-up texts from his mom. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass and old stone filled his lungs, a quiet signal that summer was officially over. Students crowded the courtyard, reuniting after the break, voices overlapping in a chorus of excitement. His friends spotted him almost immediately, calling his name, pulling him into easy conversation—asking about his races, his wins, his losses, his plans.

And then—there you were.

Standing by the main building, perfect posture as always, chatting with one of your equally polished friends. Your hair was different, slightly shorter, but the headband remained, a signature piece of armor. Your uniform was just as crisp as it had been last year, not a wrinkle in sight, now complete with a new prefect’s badge that you wore with unmistakable pride. And when you laughed at something your friend said, it was that same light, practiced sound he recognized all too well.

It took exactly eight seconds for you to notice him.

Your gaze flicked toward him, assessing, calculating—just like it had in the headmaster’s office when you first met. Then—because you were you—your lips curled into a polite, almost saccharine smile, the kind reserved for faculty members and people you didn’t actually care about.

He scoffed. Typical.

“Piastri,” you greeted, voice smooth, just a little too pleasant.

“Princess,” he shot back, just to see if he could get a reaction.

And for a split second, he did—your brow twitched, barely noticeable, but he caught it. Then, just as quickly, you smoothed your expression, tilting your head ever so slightly in mock amusement.

“We’re in Year 11 now, and you’re still calling me that?”

“You’re still acting like one.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. But then, after a beat, you said, “I saw that you got second in the championship. Congratulations.”

Oscar blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Compliments from you were rare, practically unheard of. He studied your face, searching for sarcasm, but found none. Just a simple, matter-of-fact acknowledgment.

“…Thanks,” he said, accepting it before you could take it back. “Bet it was a little more interesting than your summer,” he added, smirking.

You raised a brow. “What, don’t tell  me you’re…curious about my summer, Piastri.”

His smirk vanished. His brain short-circuited.

And just like that, you had him cornered.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shut it. His brain scrambled for a way to recover, but all it did was replay the way you’d said his name just now—not in the usual clipped, disapproving way. No, this time it had been lighter, teasing. Maybe even…amused.

Suddenly, the two of you were locked in a silent standoff, neither willing to look away first.

Your friend cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. Oscar barely noticed. Because in that moment—standing there, the summer heat giving way to the crispness of early autumn, your eyes locked onto his with that same sharp, knowing look—he realized something.

He hadn’t actually stopped thinking about you at all.

The mere thought made his stomach twist, and before he could process it any further, he turned on his heel, raising a hasty hand in goodbye as he strode back to his friends. Fast. Like putting distance between you would somehow fix whatever the hell had just happened in his head.

“Okay, that was a little weird,” he heard your friend murmur behind him. “Is he alright?”

“Maybe the gasoline finally got to his brain,” you quipped. “A pity. He was a little smart, too.”

Oscar nearly tripped.

He wanted to say the comment about his "off attitude" annoyed him. He wanted to say that the gasoline remark made him dislike you more. He wanted to say that he had a cutting comeback ready to fire back at you.

But all he could think about was how you called him smart.

God, what was happening to him?

He knew something was going to go wrong last week when their teacher announced he’d be the one pairing up students for the project, taking matters into his own hands with a kind of cruel indifference that made Oscar’s stomach twist.

He knew something was going to go wrong when, at the start of class, the teacher gave both you and him a pointed look—sharp, knowing—before moving on like nothing had happened. You had shot him a confused glance then, your brow furrowing ever so slightly in a rare moment of shared uncertainty. He had stared back, just as lost. Neither of you had any idea what was coming, but for once, you were both on the same side of the battlefield.

And then the teacher started listing off partners.

It started harmless enough—his friends were getting paired with each other, easy matches. So were yours. Names fell into place like puzzle pieces, creating perfectly balanced, cooperative duos that wouldn’t cause trouble. And then—

“And finally, Oscar and...Y/N.”

Silence.

For a moment, he swore he misheard. But then he turned, and there you were, staring at the teacher like you were considering staging a full-scale academic rebellion. The slight tightening of your jaw, the way your fingers curled subtly against your sleeves—he could practically hear the calculations running through your head, weighing the pros and cons of outright protesting.

A second ticked by. Then another.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you muttered under your breath, but the teacher either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“I expect full collaboration,” they continued, already moving on. “This project is a significant portion of your grade, so I suggest you all put any personal differences aside and focus on the work.”

Oscar barely heard the rest. He was too busy glaring at his desk, resisting the urge to run a hand down his face. Of course, this just had to happen. Most teachers kept the two of you apart, aware of the silent war you had waged since the day you met. But not this one. No, this one was smarter—or crueler—ready and waiting to watch the fire combust.

Great. Just great. Out of everyone in this class, he was stuck with you.

By the time class ended, he had barely processed anything. He was about to make his escape when he felt a presence beside him.

“You.”

He sighed before even turning around.

You had stopped him just outside the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable except for the slight, irritated furrow of your brow. The usual superiority was absent—no smug glint in your eyes, no perfectly poised smirk. Just frustration, quiet but simmering.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” you said flatly.

Oscar let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Trust me, Princess, I’d rather fail.”

And then—you smiled.

Not the polite, school-perfect kind you used on teachers. Not the barely-there one reserved for acquaintances. No, this one was slow, sharp, and just smug enough to make his blood boil.

“Then I guess we have very different priorities.”

He hated that he had no comeback.

God, this was going to be a disaster.

“We should take a break,” Oscar says, hunching over the library table, rubbing his temples like the weight of academia is physically crushing him. “We’ve been at this for hours.”

You barely spare him a glance. “It’s been two hours and seven minutes.”

“See? It’s been so long,” he complains, dragging a hand down his face. “Let’s take a break. You’re done with your part anyway.”

You turn to him, assessing. “Are you finished with your part?”

He hesitates. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he sighs. “Give me like an hour, and I’ll be finished.”

You straighten, your posture sharpening into something unreadable, something that makes him feel like a student being reprimanded. “Piastri, this is due tomorrow. We need to get it done today.”

“And we will,” he argues, matching your intensity. “Just let me nap for a bit.”

You inhale sharply, clenching your jaw, and he already knows what’s coming. That calm facade. That practiced composure. That same tone you use when talking to teachers, the one that makes him want to throw his pen at the wall.

“The library closes in three hours,” you say evenly. “This is just the first draft, so we still need to revise. And not to mention we have to properly format our sources—thirteen of them, by the way. Do you know how long that’s going to take?”

Oscar groans, letting his head fall dramatically onto the open textbook in front of him. “Princess, we can afford not to revise this. It’s literally a first draft for comments. We can just start formatting the citations.”

You don’t budge. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What page of the document are you working on?”

He blinks, suspicious. “…Why?”

“I’ll finish it.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

“We need to finish on time, and I refuse to let my grade be pulled down because we don’t submit a good output.”

“You’re not doing my work.” His voice comes out sharper than he expects, but the idea of you just taking over, of you thinking you have to—he hates it. “It’s literally my work for a reason.”

“And you aren’t getting it done, so let me do it.” You nearly exclaim, only to catch yourself, voice lowering when you remember where you are. The library is quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and distant whispers. You press your lips together like you’re trying to hold the rest of the argument inside.

It’s silent between you for a long moment.

And then—

“…Do you always end up doing the work?”

You freeze. Just for a second. Then your gaze flickers away, shifting toward the window. Anywhere but him.

Oscar watches you carefully, something tightening in his chest. “Y/N, what the hell? People have just been riding on your work?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, voice even. Practiced. “We get it done. And we get it done well.”

His brows furrow. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his problem, right? It was your choice to take on the workload, to let people walk over you.

But still…knowing that people just expect you to pick up the slack, that they let you do it without even thinking—

It pisses him off.

And what pisses him off more is the way you look right now. Not angry. Not frustrated. Just resigned.

Like this is just the way things are. Like you’re used to it. And he hates that more than anything.

“Give me like forty-five minutes,” Oscar says after a beat, exhaling through his nose. “We’ll start revising after, and then we can split the citations.”

You blink, eyes flickering with something unreadable—surprise, maybe. He can’t tell. But then, just for a second, he swears he sees the corners of your lips twitch upward, like you’re trying not to smile.

“Just…” You hesitate, fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of your notebook. “Tell me if you need help. Or…y’know. If you have questions.”

Your voice is quieter this time, less clipped, lacking the usual sharp edge you use when you’re exasperated with him.

Oscar doesn’t respond right away. The library is quieter now, the golden hues of the sunset stretching across the wooden tables and casting long shadows over your open books. The light catches on your face—soft, warm—and for the first time, he gets a proper look at you up close.

You look tired. Not just from today, but in the way that lingers—faint bags under your eyes, a kind of weariness that no amount of perfect posture or crisp uniforms can fully hide. And yet, right now, there’s something peaceful about you. The way you rest your head against your palm, watching him work—not impatient, not irritated. Just…watching.

You must notice, because your brows furrow slightly. “Do I have something on my face?”

“What?” He blinks, snapping out of whatever trance he had fallen into.

“You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“It was nothing,” he says quickly, looking back at his laptop. “Just zoning out.”

You hum, unconvinced. But instead of arguing, you simply go back to flipping through your notes, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.

“…Okay,” you say.

He exhales, forcing himself to focus. “Okay.”

Somehow, he feels like forty-five minutes is going to take much longer.

Three weeks into the project, Oscar realizes something: you’re actually kind of well-known on campus. 

Or, at the very least, you know a lot of people.

It’s not like he was completely unaware of it before. Your perfect reputation precedes you—your name carries weight in every class. Teachers mention you as an example of excellence, throwing your name around as if it alone should inspire the rest of them to do better. But working with you forces him to see it firsthand.

It seems like every five seconds, someone is coming up to greet you.

It doesn’t matter where you are—library, hallways, common areas. Someone always stops by.

Underclassmen ask for help on assignments—apparently, you tutor them sometimes, though Oscar doesn’t know how you find the time. Classmates ask about group projects. A girl from the debate team once yelled and waved from across the quad while you were in the middle of explaining a research point. Even the Year 13s, the ones Oscar barely interacts with, acknowledge you with nods and casual greetings.

And the weirdest part? You handle it all effortlessly.

He expected you to treat them the way you treat him—polite but cold, maybe even dismissive. But you don’t.

Instead, you smile. The fake one. The one he recognizes now, warm but not inviting. Like a wall disguised as a door, keeping people at a carefully measured distance. You don’t brush them off, but you don’t encourage them either. Your reactions are controlled, calculated. Just like everything else about you.

It’s impressive.

It’s annoying.

And it shouldn’t bother him. Not really.

But after three weeks of constantly being in your presence, after working side by side for hours on end, after getting into at least five arguments over formatting and research sources and the exact tone an introduction should have—he feels a little close to you. Not enough to like you, obviously. But enough that his respect for you has grown, just a little.

And with that, he’s started to notice things.

Like how you always twirl your pen when you’re deep in thought, but you never drop it. How you tap your fingers against your notebook in the exact rhythm of whatever song is stuck in your head. How you drink tea instead of coffee and always wince at the first sip, like it’s too hot but you drink it anyway. How you use hair ties instead of your signature headband when you’re frustrated, tying and untying your hair over and over again only to fall back to your tried and tested headband after a while. How you let out a tiny sigh whenever you finish an assignment, as if mentally crossing it off a never-ending list.

He notices these things, and he tells himself it’s just because you’re working together. Because you’re spending time together. Because of course he’s going to pick up on small details when you’re stuck in the same space for hours.

That’s all it is.

Right?

Definitely.

And then, one afternoon, as you sit across from him at the library, books and notes spread between you, someone approaches.

"Y/N, hey."

Oscar looks up. It’s some guy—one of the Year 12s from the student council. He’s polished and confident, wearing the kind of casual smirk Oscar immediately finds irritating.

You blink in mild surprise before offering a smile—thankfully, the fake one. The one that’s polite, effortless, and just distant enough.

"Hello, Eric."

Eric leans against the table, his entire focus on you. He doesn’t even acknowledge Oscar.

"Haven’t seen you at any events lately. You’ve been busy?"

You glance at the open laptop in front of you, gesturing vaguely to your notes. "Yeah, the project’s been taking up a lot of time."

"Oh, right. This is for—" He finally gives Oscar a glance, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s only just realizing he’s there. "This is your partner?"

Oscar doesn’t like the way he says that.

You nod. "Yeah. We’ve been working on it together for a while now."

Eric hums, then—too casually—grins. "Well, don’t work too hard. Wouldn’t want you burning out before the weekend." His voice drops slightly, just enough to sound a little too suggestive for Oscar’s liking. "You should take a break. Come to the council’s seminar on Friday afternoon."

You hesitate, and for some reason, Oscar finds himself gripping his pen just a little tighter.

"It sounds fun," you admit, "But, with my schedule, I’m not sure—"

"You should go," Eric insists, tilting his head. "C’mon. You worked hard to help organize it—Thanks for the great speakers you found, by the way—I’ll even save you a seat next to me."

Something bristles in Oscar’s chest.

He doesn’t know why, but the entire interaction irks him. Maybe it’s the way Eric acts like he already knows you’ll say yes. Maybe it’s the casual confidence, the assumption that you’d drop everything just because he asked. Or maybe it’s the way you’re actually considering it.

Before he can stop himself, Oscar lets out a scoff.

Both you and Eric turn toward him.

"You good, man?" Eric asks, clearly amused.

Oscar leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Didn’t realize we were in the middle of a social hour, Y/N. Thought we were working."

Your eyes narrow slightly, but before you can say anything, Eric just laughs, pushing off the table. "Relax, Piastri. Didn’t mean to interrupt." He turns back to you, giving you an easy grin. "Think about it, yeah? It’d be nice to see you there."

You give a noncommittal nod, and just like that, he walks off.

The moment he’s gone, you exhale, turning to Oscar with a raised brow. "Was that necessary?"

He shrugs. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, muttering, "You’re so weird."

Oscar clenches his jaw, tapping his fingers against the table, suddenly annoyed.

Not at you. Not even at Eric.

Just at the fact that, for some stupid reason, the thought of you actually going to that seminar is really bothering him.

And he has no idea why.

He sneaks out of the dorms on Friday night, hands in his pockets, head low as he moves through the dimly lit pathways of the school. The night air is crisp, the kind that clears his mind if he lets it, but tonight, it does nothing to untangle the thoughts looping through his head.

It’s stupid. The fact that he even cares. That the idea of you and Eric sitting together, side by side, laughing at some dull student council joke, is bothering him.

It doesn’t.

It shouldn’t.

Because he doesn’t like you.

He still thinks you’re stuck-up, overly competitive, and have a way of looking at him like you know exactly how to get under his skin. The faces you make, the way you roll your eyes when he so much as breathes the wrong way—it’s all infuriating.

But you’re smart. Intelligent. And your work ethic is something he respects, even if he won’t admit it.

And, yeah, you’re pretty. Even he has to acknowledge that much. But not the obvious kind of pretty. It’s the kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that feels like a place you recognize, a feeling that lingers in the quiet spaces between conversations. It’s the kind that makes you feel at home.

The kind that—if he were the type to believe in this kind of thing—you’d find when you’re in love.

Not that he is. Obviously.

He shakes the thought away, sighing as he rounds the corner of the old courtyard. And then—

"It’s lights out, Piastri."

Your voice cuts through the silence, and he stops dead in his tracks.

You’re standing a few feet away, arms crossed, the dim glow of the campus lamps casting soft shadows across your face. You look unimpressed but not surprised, like you already expected to catch someone out of bed tonight.

He exhales, shoulders dropping. Of course.

"Then what are you doing here?" he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. "I’m a prefect, remember? Tonight’s my shift to make rounds before security does."

"Oh."

A beat.

"So," you say, tilting your head slightly. "What made you break curfew? You don’t seem like the type."

"Just needed to walk. Clear my head."

You hum in response, your gaze flicking over him, assessing. Then, after a moment:

"Well, the classrooms in the east wing don't get much attention. You can stay there and then sneak back out when the prefects and security switch shifts."

Oscar blinks. Of all the responses he expected from you, that wasn’t one of them.

He raises a brow, smirking. "And you know this…how?"

Your expression doesn’t change, but he catches the way your lips twitch slightly, like you’re holding back a smile. "I can be a little disobedient too. Sometimes."

That surprises him.

"You?" he says, skeptical.

You shrug. "It doesn’t happen often. Just when I need to clear my head." A pause, then, voice quieter, "Those classrooms are my spot, so don’t go there too often. I don’t need to see you when I’m stressed."

Oscar snorts. "Wow. What an honor."

"Exactly."

For a moment, neither of you move. There’s something odd about standing here, talking like this—like you’re two people who aren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Like, in this sliver of time, there’s something unspoken but mutual between you.

It doesn’t last long.

You straighten your posture, clearing your throat. "Now, get going before I change my mind and actually report you."

"Noted, Princess."

You roll your eyes and turn away, disappearing down the corridor.

And for some stupid reason, as Oscar watches you leave, he wonders if you ever feel as restless as he does.

2018: Year 12 [17 years old]

He’s been using the classrooms in the east wing as a secret place to clear his head since the night you told him about it. So far, he’s never run into you.

Maybe you use a different classroom. Maybe you come on different days. Or maybe—like everything else in your life—you have a system, a strict schedule he’s unknowingly managed to avoid.

Either way, he’s always had the classrooms to himself.

Until tonight.

The air is heavier than usual as he makes his way through the dimly lit hallways, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s restless. Frustrated. He tells himself it’s because of the season he’s just had. The Eurocup was brutal and he definitely wasn’t at his best. Every race felt like a battle he couldn’t ever win and every misstep made the weight in his chest grow heavier.

All he wants is to be home. Back in Australia, where everything is familiar—the streets, the skies, the people who don’t expect anything from him except to just be. But instead, he’s here. At fucking boarding school.

He exhales sharply as he pushes the classroom door open, stepping into the quiet. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights—he knows this space well enough now. The desks are still arranged the way they always are, the faint scent of old paper and dry-erase markers lingering in the air. It’s not much, but it’s his for the night.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Not even five minutes later, the door swings open behind him, and he barely has time to turn his head before—

You.

You freeze in the doorway, hand still on the handle. There’s a flicker of something across your face—surprise, maybe even slight irritation. You definitely thought you were going to be alone.

He should’ve figured this would happen eventually.

Your lips part slightly before you collect yourself. “I’ll use a different—”

“You can stay.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

You hesitate, eyebrows drawing together slightly, like you’re trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap. He doesn’t blame you.

But then, after a beat, you nod, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you, switching on one of the lights and dimly lighting up the room. Neither of you say anything as you move to opposite sides of the room, like unspoken rules are being established in real time.

Oscar exhales, rolling his shoulders back as he leans against one of the desks. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. That you being here changes nothing.

So why does the room suddenly feel smaller?

He looks over at you. You’re scrolling through your phone, eyes scanning over messages he can’t see—but whatever’s on the screen has your jaw clenched tight. His gaze flickers down to your hands, the way your fingers tremble slightly over the glass. And then, in the dim light, he sees it. Faint but undeniable—tear stains trailing down your flushed cheeks.

His stomach twists.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice careful.

“Fine.” You don’t even look up.

He doesn’t buy it. Not for a second. “You sure?”

“Why do you care, Piastri?” You finally glance at him, but your expression is unreadable. “You don’t even like me.”

He stills. He wasn’t expecting you to be that blunt about your whole dynamic.

“Any decent person would care about someone who looks like they’ve just bawled their eyes out,” he says, crossing his arms.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, I’m fine.” Your posture shifts, back straightening as your expression smooths out into something eerily familiar. And then it’s there—the mask. The same sweet, practiced smile you wear around everyone else, the one he’s hated since the moment he first saw it in the headmaster’s office years ago. The one that hides everything.

“You don’t have to worry,” you say smoothly. “I have everything under control.” You turn to leave. “I’ll be off now—”

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N.”

The sharpness in his voice makes you freeze, hand hovering over the door handle.

“We both know you’re not fine.” His voice is lower now, steadier, but just as firm. “I know that face. I think I’m the only one who knows that face and how it’s not real. It’s never been real.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “For once in your life, just be fucking honest.”

You don’t turn around immediately. When you do, your face is unreadable. Then—so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it—you whisper,

“I’m not at the top of our class anymore.”

His breath catches.

“My grades are dropping—fast,” you continue, voice shaking despite how hard you try to control it. “My A-levels are harder than I expected. I thought I could handle it, but I—” You swallow. “I’m failing. And I’m letting everyone down.” Your voice cracks on the last word.

His chest tightens.

“My parents are pissed. My siblings are pissed because now my parents are pissed at them too. If I were just smarter, if I were better, none of this would be happening. Everything would be fine. Everyone would be happy.” You suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t stop the fresh tears from spilling down your cheeks. You don’t wipe them away. You just stand there, breathing unevenly, shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

“I’m just tired,” you whisper.

Silence.

It hangs thick between you, pressing against the walls, settling into the space between your feet.

Before he can think twice about it, Oscar moves. Slowly. Carefully. Until he’s standing in front of you. Not too close, but close enough that he can see the way your lashes clump together from the tears, the way your breathing is still uneven, the way you’re still trying to keep yourself from breaking completely.

“I…didn’t think you could cry,” he mutters, before realizing how weird that sounds.

You blink at him, and for once, there’s no condescension in your expression—just something flat, unimpressed.

“You’re weird,” you say, voice hitching slightly from crying, “But you’re pretty good.”

His brows furrow. “Like, as a person?”

“Take it however you want.” You chuckle, a small, tired sound. You wipe your tears away, then, tilting your head, you ask, “So, why’d you come here?”

He hesitates. Looks down at his hands. Then, finally, exhales.

“I got ninth at the Eurocup this season.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightens. “I let everyone down. The team. The sponsors. My family.” His fists clench. “I did everything right. I trained harder than ever, I did my best, I gave everything—and it still wasn’t enough. I failed and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

The room is quiet again. Until—

You move.

Soft footsteps against the tiled floor, slow and deliberate, until you’re standing even closer to him. And then, hesitantly, you lift a hand and rest it on his shoulder. The warmth of your touch is unexpected, but grounding.

“Well,” you say, your voice quieter now, “I guess that makes us both failures.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, half in disbelief at the words that just left your mouth, half at the sheer irony of it all.

The girl he’s spent years hating is somehow the only person who understands exactly how he feels.

And when you laugh along with him—soft and real, no mask in sight—he thinks it might be the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

But just in an objective way. 

Obviously.

Something shifts after that night.

The jabs between you are still there, but they’ve lost their edge—less snark and spite, more playful banter. The kind that lingers just long enough to be amusing but never actually stings.

You smile at him when you pass each other in the hallway now. Not the polite, distant one you give everyone else, but a real one—small, barely-there, but real. You don’t avoid sitting with him anymore when the study hall is packed, and somehow, he swears people have started reserving a seat next to him for you.

He finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

It was weird at first—falling into this easy rhythm with you. He doesn’t quite know when it happened, only that it did.

Now, you help each other out when you can, despite having different A-levels.

You teach him how to organize his notes properly, finally getting him to admit that his system of stuffing everything into his bag “where I can find it later” is inefficient. In return, you steal scratch paper from him when you need to jot things down quickly, muttering a half-hearted “thanks” while he snorts and tells you to bring your own next time.

You ask him to explain things you don’t have the patience to reread, and he—after weeks of resisting—finally accepts your request to have a shared study playlist, since, for some reason, you two find yourselves next to each other so often.

It’s fun. Organic. Comfortable.

And then one day, in the middle of study hall, as he’s flipping through notes and barely paying attention, you look up from your work and—completely unprompted—ask:

“So, tell me about racing.”

He freezes, caught completely off guard.

“…Finally interested in my hobby?” He smirks, leaning back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers just like you’d taught him.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Ugh. Let it go, we were like fifteen.”

He laughs, shaking his head. Yeah, something’s definitely changed.

“So…” He watches you intently, trying to gauge if you actually want to know. “You really wanna hear about it?”

“Well, you won’t shut up about it,” you say, propping your chin on your hand. “Might as well figure out what’s so cool about it.”

He snorts. “Then sure, princess, let’s introduce you to motorsport, yeah?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but he catches the way you shift slightly in your seat, just a little closer, just a little more engaged.

“There’s a few types of it,” he starts, leaning back against the desk. “You’ve got the motorcycles and there’s even stuff where there’s two people in one car. But I’m in single-seater racing, so it’s just me.” His voice gains a certain ease as he speaks, his usual sharp edges softening. “I’m aiming for Formula One, which is like… the top of it all.”

You tilt your head, studying him. He always seemed most alive when he was annoyed at something—eyes sharp, jaw tight, voice lined with exasperation. But this? This is different. His posture is looser, his words flowing without the usual bite. There’s no frustration here, just passion.

You nod, and—true to form—pull out your notebook, flipping to a fresh page. The sharp click of your pen echoes in the room.

He stops. Stares.

“…Are you seriously taking notes?”

"Duh,” you reply, completely serious. “I need to keep up.”

For a moment, he just blinks at you. Then he huffs out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. But he doesn’t tell you to stop.

“Alright then,” he says, smirking slightly. “Most of us start in karting as kids. Like, literally kids. I was ten when I started—a little late, actually—but that’s where you learn the basics. Overtaking, defending, racing lines, racecraft—the whole lot.”

You hum thoughtfully, jotting something down. Then you glance up at him, the corner of your lips lifting. “Were you fast?”

“In karting?” His mouth twitches in amusement. “Obviously.”

You snicker. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He shoots you a look, rolling his eyes before continuing. “Well, after that, you move up into junior divisions. It’s harder, more competitive, and way more expensive.” His fingers drum against the desk absently. “Talent alone isn’t enough there. There’s sponsors, funding, getting with a good team—and even with all that, nothing’s guaranteed.”

You watch him carefully, catching the way his jaw clenches at that last part.

It’s subtle, but there. The briefest flicker of frustration—of something deeper—before he forces it back down.

You don’t comment on it.

Instead, you tap your pen against your notebook, tilting your head. “So, let me get this straight,” you say, holding back a smile, pretending to examine your notes. “You’re telling me that you just drive in circles really fast, and you need rich people to like you?”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “It is not just driving in circles.”

"Of course." You grin. “You drive in different squiggles really fast."

“Oh my god—”

You both burst out laughing, your voices filling the mostly quiet study hall, and the tension lifts.

He finds that you've been doing that lately—smoothing out the tightness in his chest until there's nothing but left but peace.

The kind he realizes he only really finds with you.

The annual retreat was supposed to be a break—a chance for students to step away from deadlines and exams, breathe in fresh air, and pretend they weren’t slowly losing their minds under the weight of classes.

Traditionally, it was some wilderness training program, the kind where they’d be forced to build shelters out of sticks and start fires with nothing but sheer willpower. But this year, the school had gone easy on them.

Instead of roughing it in the wild, they were headed to a quiet camping site tucked away in the countryside. Cabins instead of tents, a scenic lake, and just enough planned activities to call it "team-building" without making it actual suffering. Oscar didn't mind. A few days away from campus, where he didn’t have to think about exams or sponsors or whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing with his life? Yeah, he’d take it.

By the time they arrived, the sun was already slipping lower in the sky, casting warm gold over the treetops. The air was crisp, cooler than the city, carrying the distant scent of pine and lake water. As he stepped off the bus, stretching out his limbs, he could hear his friends already making plans—who was bunking with who, what they were sneaking into the cabins, whether or not they could get away with "accidentally" skipping the reflection sessions.

And then, of course, he spotted you.

Standing near the second bus, arms crossed, listening to one of your friends ramble about something—probably the itinerary. Your uniform blazer was gone, replaced by a jacket, and for once, your hair wasn’t held back by your usual headband. Something about it made you seem different. Less put together, less perfect. More like a person, less like the image of one.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Not that it mattered.

Because when you finally noticed him watching, you raised a brow, expression unreadable for all of two seconds before you smirked—just slightly, just enough to mouth: Stop staring, you weirdo.

Oscar exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile as he shouldered his duffel bag.

Just his luck—two days in the outdoors with you.

Or so he thought.

He didn’t see you at all that first night, too caught up in settling into the cabin with his friends, planning out their excursions for the next day. The schedule was packed but perfect: kayaking in the morning, followed by a swim in the lake. Archery in the afternoon, right after lunch. Then they’d spend the evening holed up in their cabin, pretending to nap so they could conveniently "miss" the reflection exercises. After dinner, they'd break out the snacks and board games they’d smuggled in, playing well past curfew.

Between all that, he was sure he’d run into you at some point. The camp wasn’t that big.

And yet, as the new day unfolded, you were nowhere to be found.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He did see you. But only in passing—too focused on organizing the next day’s team-building activities, pouring over notes with the other prefects to even notice him.

Which was fine. Totally fine.

You were busy, after all.

Not that it mattered.

Not that it should have mattered.

And yet, for some reason, it did.

If the first day at camp was a relaxed free period with a required meditation session, the second was the complete opposite. Designed as a full-day competition, the campgrounds buzzed with energy as different challenges ran simultaneously—relay races, strategy games, problem-solving tasks. Every student was assigned to a random team and a random event. When they said team-building, they meant it.

Oscar got assigned to the obstacle course.

Which would’ve been fine—great, even—if it weren’t for the immediate complaints from the other teams the second they saw his name on the roster.

“Oh, come on,” someone groaned. “How’s that fair? He’s literally a professional athlete!”

“We’re going against a guy who has an actual training regimen,” another muttered, crossing their arms.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, feeling an unfamiliar prickle of embarrassment as all eyes turned to him. Great. He didn’t even want an unfair advantage, but now he was public enemy number one.

And then, of course, you stepped in.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” you said, somehow managing to corral the complaints into grumbling silence. Then, after a pause, you turned to him, a slow smirk pulling at your lips. “How about we give him a handicap, then?”

Oscar narrowed his eyes immediately. He knew that tone. That was your I’m about to mess with you tone.

“What do you think, Piastri?” you continued, crossing your arms. “Up for the challenge?”

He wasn’t, actually. Not at all. But some part of him—some deeply irrational, definitely stupid part—thought you might be a little impressed if he pulled it off.

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head at you. “What’s the handicap?”

You grinned. Too pleased. “We’re adding some weight on you.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Another facilitator stepped forward, handing you a backpack that looked harmless enough. That is, until you struggled just a little to lift it, adjusting your stance to keep from stumbling.

Oscar stared. Oh, hell no.

“You…” He sighed heavily, reaching for the bag. The second he strapped it on, he felt the weight drag at his shoulders, and he let out a quiet grunt. Okay. Yeah. That’s ridiculous.

“You,” he muttered, adjusting the straps, “Are so lucky I tolerate you.”

You just flashed him a teasing smile and—because you were the actual worst—blew him a mocking kiss before turning back to the rest of the group.

“Alright!” you clapped your hands together. “Now that we’re all happy with the arrangements, let’s go over the rules!”

Oscar exhaled through his nose, shifting the weight on his back as you explained the mechanics. A team-based obstacle course where every challenge had to be completed by every member. Fastest team wins.

His team shot him a look, somewhere between amusement and pity.

Oscar just rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Fine. He could do this.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d make sure to throw you in the lake after.

“Are we all ready?” you call out over the crowd.

“Yeah!” they cheer back, voices full of energy.

“On your marks!”

Oscar positions himself at the back of his team, muscles tensed, ready. He could’ve started at the front—probably should have, considering he was technically the athlete—but he stayed behind instead, ready to help if anyone needed it. Team-building and all that.

“Get set!”

You scan the group, making sure everyone is in place. Then, for the briefest moment, your eyes lock with his.

His fingers twitch. Yours drum against your clipboard.

And because he’s him and you’re you, he casually flips you off.

You grin, wide and smug, like you’ve already won.

“Go!”

Oscar takes off.

The weight of the bag is brutal, but he barely registers it. All he knows is that he is not going to let you have the satisfaction of messing with him too much.

He was so going to win this.

Okay, so he was a little disappointed that you weren’t at the awarding ceremony when they handed out medals to his team for winning—even with the practically evil handicap you gave him.

But you were probably just busy cleaning up after the competitions.

No big deal.

And, yes, he did get a little annoyed when he spotted you later—freshened up and back in your usual composed state—smiling and giggling with another prefect.

But you were probably just planning the bonfire for tonight.

Totally valid.

He was fine.

At least, he was. 

And then… 

“So, you wanna sit with me at the bonfire tonight?”

Oscar stops in his tracks.

He doesn’t see your reaction, but he hears it. That soft hum of consideration, the one he’s learned you make when you’re actually thinking about something.

You were actually considering it.

Before he can hear your answer, he turns and walks away, jaw tight, steps a little heavier than necessary.

He doesn’t know what pisses him off more—the fact that you might say yes, or the fact that he cares if you do.

As suspected, you’re nowhere to be seen the entire bonfire.

Not that it mattered.

Oscar spent the night exactly how he should—hanging out with his friends, caught up in the whirlwind of music, laughter, and an excessive, probably unhealthy amount of s’mores. Someone had smuggled in a speaker, blasting everything from classic rock to obnoxious pop songs that made everyone yell along. They danced, they joked, they reveled in the rare freedom of being away from school.

He had a blast.

Seriously. A fucking great time.

So why the hell couldn’t he shake the thought of you?

The question stuck to the back of his mind, clinging like sap, stubborn and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t like you had to be here. Maybe you weren’t a bonfire person. Maybe you were holed up in your cabin, exhausted from running the competitions all day. Maybe you were off somewhere with that prefect—

Oscar scowled, shaking the thought away as he stretched out on the wooden bench outside his cabin. The night air was cool, the distant crackle of the bonfire still audible from the main clearing.

It was supposed to be two days in the outdoors with you.

With you.

Late into the night, long after most of the camp had settled down, the thought hadn’t left him.

Annoyed—at himself, at you, at whatever this was—he exhaled sharply, pushing off the bench and shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the bonfire.

The flames had burned lower, flickering embers casting soft orange glows across the empty clearing. Most of the students had already turned in for the night, only a few stragglers left chatting quietly at the edges of the fire.

And then—finally—he saw you.

Sitting alone on the other side of the fire, half-hidden by the flickering glow, arms wrapped around your knees as you stared into the flames.

His steps faltered.

Where the hell had you been all night?

More importantly—why did you look so…lost?

Oscar takes a deep breath before stepping forward, his footsteps quiet against the dirt. You don’t notice him at first, too lost in whatever thoughts have anchored you to this spot. He sinks down beside you on the makeshift seat—a sturdy log warmed by the fire—resting his arms on his knees.

The bonfire crackles, embers drifting up into the night, casting flickering light across your face. The voices of other students murmur in the background, distant and indistinct. Crickets chirp in the trees.

You don’t look at him.

Oscar watches you instead, studying the way your shoulders curve inward as you sit cross-legged, the way your fingers fidget absently in your lap. You look…small, in a way he isn’t used to seeing. Like you’re carrying something heavy and don’t know where to set it down.

It’s silent, but strangely enough, he doesn’t feel alone.

Then, after a moment, you break the quiet.

“Why do you hate me?”

It’s a sudden question, one that hits sharper than he expects. A question about feelings he decided he had when he was fifteen, feelings he had held onto tightly—until a few months ago, when you had sat in that quiet classroom and shared your struggles with each other.

Feelings he honestly forgot he had.

“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t hate you.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not anymore, at least. But you did. Once.”

Finally, you turn to him, firelight reflected in your eyes. “Why did you?”

“I…” He pauses, considering his words. “I thought you were kind of stuck-up when we first met. And fake. And…and you called racing a hobby.”

Your lips twitch, amused. “Well, at least one of those things is actually something I did wrong.” Then, softer, “I’m sorry I said that. About racing.”

You lift a hand, smoothing down his hair in a gesture so natural, so easy, that it catches him completely off guard. “It’s your passion, your life. You worked really hard for it.”

A small chuckle escapes you. “I was a little stuck-up though, wasn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t even look at me.” Oscar smirks. “Though you were great at returning the attitude I gave you,” he admits, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes. “And yet you think I’m the fake one? I was very honest about how much I didn’t appreciate you disliking me.”

“I just think—”

“Not thought?” you interrupt. “Present tense?”

Oscar hesitates, then nods. “You don’t show what’s in your head…What’s in your heart. You have all these smiles and scripts practiced. And you always look put together—even now that we’re literally out in nature. And you’re never seen with bad posture. Your grades are perfect and so is your conduct, and you’re actually kinda nice to be with. By all accounts, you’re…perfect.” He pauses, voice softer now. “But no one’s perfect, Y/N. Not even you. No matter how much distance you put between yourself and everyone else so they can think that you are.”

At that, you finally look away, gaze dropping to the ground.

“You can say that because you’re all set, Oscar,” you murmur. “You don’t need to be perfect because you already know what you want. You have a path, and you work hard for it. You can take your mistakes and turn them into lessons because you have something you want to be great for. You can try again and again when things don’t work out because you actually have a dream.”

Your breath catches slightly, and you swallow hard before continuing.

“I don’t have that.”

The words are quiet but heavy, settling in the space between you.

“So, I need to be perfect, Oscar.” Your fingers tighten over your knee. “Because I don’t know where I’ll end up if I’m not.”

The fire crackles. The night feels impossibly still.

And for the first time since he met you, Oscar doesn’t know what to say.

He just sits next to you for a while, keeping you company as the fire crackles and burns lower. The murmured conversations of the last few stragglers fade one by one, until eventually, it’s just the two of you left.

The night air is cool, carrying the distant sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, the faint chirping of crickets. The firelight flickers, casting shifting shadows across your face, across the way your shoulders remain tense, like you’re still bracing for something unseen.

Oscar exhales, shifting slightly closer. “I don’t think you need to have everything sorted out yet,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “We still have next year. And there’s the year after that. And the year after.”

You don’t respond. Not immediately.

“Y/N,” he calls, softer this time. “We have a lot left to live. You’ll find your place. You’ll figure everything out.”

You finally turn to him, eyes uncertain, on the verge of overflowing.

“Do you mean it?” Your voice is shaky, fragile in a way he’s not used to hearing.

“I do.”

You look away, but before you can retreat entirely, Oscar moves without thinking—cupping your face gently with one hand, tilting your chin just enough to meet his gaze.

It’s foreign. Surprising.

But not…unwelcome.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, everything feels suspended. The air between you shifts, something unspoken stretching thin and taut, the space closing inch by inch.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

His thumb brushes against your cheek, just barely.

“Everything will be fine.”

And then the dam breaks.

A sharp inhale, then a quiet sob. The first tear slips down your cheek, then another, and before you can stop it, you’re crying—really crying, shoulders shaking as you press your face into his chest.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

He pulls you in without a second thought, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from the weight of whatever’s been crushing you for so long. His hand rests at the back of your head, fingers threading lightly through your hair as you let yourself fall apart against him.

And all he can do—all he wants to do—is hold you.

It’s strange.

He doesn’t ever see you like this. Just once before. You’re so composed, always controlled, always held together by perfectly measured smiles.

But right now, you’re none of those things.

You’re just you.

You're real.

You're in his arms and you're real.

And it hits him, in the stillness of the moment, in the way the firelight dances across tear-streaked skin—You’re beautiful.

Not in the way he used to think, not just in the way everyone already knew.

But in the way that matters.

The kind of beautiful that settles in the quiet spaces, that lingers, that takes you home. The kind that isn’t just seen but felt—woven into the way you carry yourself, the way you fight so hard to hold everything together, the way you’re allowing yourself to not be perfect, just for a moment.

Even in your worst state, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on.

And suddenly—too fast—he wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more there. If there’s a chance he likes you. In that way.

If, deep down, he’s been falling this whole time.

2019: Year 13 [18 years old]

When autumn rolls around and he’s back at school again, Oscar Piastri is a Eurocup champion. Testing for Formula 3 is lined up, doors are opening, and for the first time, the dream that once felt impossibly distant is now right in front of him. He’s buzzing, electric with the thrill of it all.

And you’re the person he most wants to tell everything to.

Not much has changed between you two after the bonfire. You still bicker, still trade sharp remarks, but there’s a warmth underneath it now—something softer, something unspoken. Something that makes his stomach twist in a way he’s beginning to understand.

Because, yes, he’s finally realized it.

He likes you. In that way.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance you feel the same.

He runs into you in the hallway, where your hair is still neatly styled, your uniform still crisp, but there’s something new. The prefect’s badge you once wore with careful pride is gone, replaced by a Head Girl badge gleaming against your blazer.

“You’ve come a long way, princess,” he says, stopping in front of you, hands casually shoved in his pockets. “Congrats on being Head Girl.”

Your smile is wide, genuine—the kind he doesn’t see you give to just anyone. “Congratulations to you too, Piastri—Eurocup champion.”

The way you say it, like you mean it, like you’re proud of him, makes something tighten in his chest.

“Wanna walk to class together?” he asks, like it’s easy. Like it’s normal. Like the idea of just existing next to you isn’t becoming something he needs.

You tilt your head, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face. “I have study hall for most of the day, actually.” Then, as if to soften the blow, you brighten. “I’ll send you my schedule, though, so we can coordinate!”

Something about that—coordinating, making time for each other—sits so naturally between you.

“Sure,” he says, nodding. “See you later?”

“See you later, Piastri.”

You turn and walk away, and just the thought of syncing your schedules is enough motivation for him to get through the day.

Except…when he finally gets your message, his stomach drops.

Because there, glaring back at him, is one unavoidable fact:

Nothing aligns.

Oscar had always been good at adjusting. Racing taught him that—how to adapt, how to move forward, how to deal with losing things and making peace with it.

But this? This was different.

He wasn’t used to missing someone. Not like this.

Sure, he missed his mom and dad. He missed his sisters. He missed the Australian heat and slang. He missed his racing friends when he went back to school. He missed the tracks and his car. But never in his life did he think he’d miss you.

And maybe that’s why the switch was so jarring. He’d spent years wishing he was away from you, wishing for different classes, wishing to never see your face.

Now that he has that, he wants nothing more than to bring back the simpler days—when you were always classmates, always orbiting each other, always trying to avoid the other but never quite succeeding at staying away.

Ever since he’d gotten your schedule and realized that nothing aligned, it was like there was an empty space in his day where you were supposed to be.

It wasn’t like you’d disappeared. He still saw you, sometimes—passing glimpses in hallways, quick nods across the library, an occasional “Hey, Piastri” when your paths crossed. But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t like before.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because before, he didn’t think he’d need more.

Now, though? It was all he could think about.

Oscar had wanted a lot of things in his life, but rarely did he ever want something back.

He wants back the way you twirl your pen in between your fingers at a speed he still can’t match, no matter how many times you try to teach him. He wants the ever-changing rearrangement of your hair when you get stressed, never sticking to one style within the hour. He wants your study sessions and your stealing of his scratch papers. He wants your smiles and your quips and your banter. 

He wants you back.

So, like in racing, he strategizes.

He figures out which routes you take so he can walk by at just the right moment, just to get a minute of conversation before you scurry off to class. He starts showing up at the library earlier, knowing you’ll pass by on your way to study hall. He “accidentally” bumps into you at the cafeteria, acting surprised even though he knows exactly when you go.

He even texts you more, something he never used to do before. Just small things at first—jokes, complaints about assignments, links to articles about topics he knows will spark an argument. Anything to keep the conversation going.

And yet, it isn’t the same.

No matter what he does, it’s not enough of you.

At some point, it’s wasn't just missing you anymore—it’s something heavier, something that sits in his chest and refuses to leave. Because no matter how many stolen moments he squeezes into his day, no matter how often he “accidentally” finds himself in your orbit, it never lasts long enough.

And the worst part?

You don’t even notice.

Not in the way he wants you to.

You’re busy—busier than ever. Between Head Girl responsibilities, exams, and whatever future you’re silently trying to carve out for yourself, it feels like you’re slipping further and further away. And Oscar, for the first time in his life, hates the idea of being left behind.

He tries not to let it bother him. You’re just focused, that’s all. It’s not like you’re avoiding him.

Except maybe you are.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a mean way.

But in the way that means he’s no longer a priority.

And that realization hits harder than he expects.

Because before, if he wanted to see you, he could. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d find a way, and you’d let him.

But now?

Now, you’re harder to reach. Harder to catch. Harder to keep.

And the closer graduation gets, the more he starts to wonder—If he doesn’t do something soon, will you slip away completely?

It’s right as the holiday break approaches that he finally gets a moment alone with you again—on a random night, past curfew, when you both somehow end up sneaking into the same empty classroom.

It’s similar, but different.

The lights are still dimmed, casting familiar shadows against the walls. The air is still heavy, thick with exhaustion from exams and the looming uncertainty of the future. But this time, you’re standing closer together. This time, the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—it’s something known, something safe.

Because this time, no matter how much is changing, you both know one thing for sure—You’ve got each other.

How’s life been for you, Oscar?” you ask, leaning against the wall, a warm smile on your face. “It’s been a while, so tell me everything.”

“I don’t think it’s been any different from yours,” he says, mirroring your smile. “Tests, papers…” He hesitates. “Graduation. The future.”

You exhale, the weight of that word hanging between you. “Well, those are definitely in my head.” A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Is it weird that I miss those early days here at the academy?”

“What, the ones where we hated each other?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes. “Yes and no.” Turning toward the window, you watch the campus lights flicker in the distance, the glow casting soft light across your features. Oscar should look away, but he doesn’t.  He can’t.

“I mean, things were simpler then,” you continue. “We had all the time in the world.”

He hums in response, watching the way your fingers trace absent patterns against the windowsill.

“I wish we could go back to then,” you say softly. “I’d be nicer to you. We could have been friends faster.”

You both giggle at this, the sound light and easy, but something in his chest pulls.

“What about you, Oscar? Would you change anything?”

He thinks for a moment. He thinks about the previous year—the late-night study sessions, the bickering that turned into something softer, the night by the bonfire when you let your walls down. He thinks about being paired with you for that stupid project in your second year, about meeting you in this exact room right around this time last year. He thinks about the very first time he saw you, sitting so perfectly poised in the headmaster’s office, completely unaware of the way you’d wedge yourself into his life, piece by stubborn piece.

He thinks.

Then—

“Nothing.”

You blink, turning back to face him. “Nothing?”

“I think…” He exhales, searching for the right words. “I think we’re where we’re at because it took a while to get to know each other. If we had been friends from the start, maybe things would’ve been easier—but I don’t think they would’ve been right.”

You tilt your head, curious. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, shifting his weight slightly. “If we had been friends back then, I think I would’ve liked you the way everyone else does. The way people admire you from a distance.” His voice is quieter now. “But…I got to see you. Not just the perfect grades or the Head Girl badge. I got to see the way you actually think, the way you talk when you’re not putting on a front. The way you try so hard even when you don’t have to.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

And then, finally, you smile. Not the polite kind. Not the practiced one.

The real one.

“Well,” you say, voice softer than before. “I’m glad you got to know me.”

He’s glad too. More than you’ll ever know.

You just bask in the silence for a while, letting the quiet settle between you like something warm, something known. The window glass is cool beneath your fingertips as you both watch the lights flicker outside, the campus stretched out before you, vast and unchanging.

Your fingers brush against each other.

It’s light—barely even there, just a whisper of a touch. But it burns.

Something inside him ignites, sharp and immediate, like the flick of a match against dry kindling.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

He doesn’t move his hand away. Neither do you.

“You should call me by my name more.”

You tilt your head slightly, raising a brow. “Tired of hearing your last name?” The corner of your lips lilts in amusement.

Well, you might have it one day, he thinks.

But instead, he just shrugs. “I like hearing you say it.”

The teasing look in your eyes falters for just a second—your lips parting slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your face before your cheeks flush.

You blink at him, the weight of his words lingering between you.

And then—

“Okay, then,” you say softly, watching him just as intently.

“…Oscar.”

You still don’t see much of each other throughout the rest of the year.

Between exams, responsibilities, and the looming pressure of the future, time slips through your fingers faster than either of you can catch it. Even texting becomes rare—just the occasional Good luck on your exam or a late-night complaint about an assignment. Nothing deep. Nothing real.

But Oscar takes what he can get.

His comfort comes in brief meetings in the hallways—your rushed conversations between classes, cramming a day’s worth of thoughts into a handful of stolen seconds.

“Got a physics test after lunch,” you’d say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

He’d smirk. “What did I do?”

“The playlist you gave me last time distracted me.”

“Hey, I have great taste.”

“You can keep telling yourself that.”

And then the bell would ring, and just like that, you’d be gone—your presence slipping through his fingers before he could even think about holding on.

Hearing you call out his name in the busy hallway became the highlight of his day. A moment of certainty in a year that felt anything but steady.

But the times your knuckles brushed, the moments your shoulders bumped in passing, those felt like something more. Like maybe, if things had been different, there would’ve been time for more.

Except there wasn’t.

And maybe that’s why the thought of you leaving hits harder than it should.

He isn’t expecting to hear it—not like this, not by accident. But as he’s passing the debate room on his way to class, your voice stops him in his tracks.

“The university there offered me a great scholarship,” you tell a friend, your tone measured, practical. “It would be stupid not to take it.”

There’s a beat of silence before your friend speaks, quieter, hesitant. “So, that’s it then? You’re just…leaving?”

Oscar freezes mid-step.

A heartbeat passes.

Then another.

And then—

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s so final. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that settles deep in his chest, heavier than it should be. “I’m leaving.”

And suddenly, the ground beneath him doesn’t feel so steady anymore.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” The words slip out before he can stop them, raw and too loud, cutting through the quiet corridor.

You blink, taken aback by the sharpness in his tone, by the urgency in his voice.

“Y/N, what are you even talking about?”

The hurt is there, unmistakable, woven between the syllables. And maybe if he hadn’t spent so long trying to deny it, he’d understand it better.

No. He does understand.

Because there was so much he wanted to tell you.

Because you were supposed to have time.

You were supposed to figure this out together.

“Oscar,” you say cautiously, as if approaching something fragile, something breakable. You glance at your friend, giving them a small nod, a silent request for space. They hesitate before excusing themselves, leaving just the two of you.

You inhale deeply, as if preparing yourself.

“I got an offer from a university outside the country,” you say, voice steady, like you’ve rehearsed this before, like you’ve already convinced yourself that this is good. That this is right. “Full-ride scholarship with room and board and a possible slot in a master’s program after I get my undergraduate.”

It’s a perfect opportunity.

It’s everything you’ve worked for.

You should be thrilled. You are thrilled.

So why does your heart ache at the way he’s looking at you?

Oscar doesn’t speak right away, just stares, his lips parting slightly like he’s still trying to process what you just said.

And then, finally, he breathes, “It’s a great opportunity.”

You nod, stepping closer, reaching for his hand before you can stop yourself. You don’t know why you do it—maybe to reassure him, maybe to reassure yourself. His palm is warm, his fingers rough but familiar, grounding.

“I’m going to take it,” you say. And you mean it.

But when his grip tightens around yours, when his thumb brushes absently against your skin like he’s memorizing the feeling, something inside you wavers.

Oscar swallows, staring at your joined hands like they hold all the answers he’s been looking for. He doesn’t know what he expected—that you’d stay? That you’d change your mind? That he’d still have more time to figure out what you mean to him before you slip away completely?

He thought he had more time.

He thought—

“I love you.”

It comes out before he can second-guess it, before he can tell himself that this isn’t the right time, that this isn’t how he was supposed to say it. But none of that matters now.

His grip on your hand tightens. His voice is softer the second time, but truer, like the words are settling into something real.

“I love you.”

The world tilts slightly.

Your breath catches.

Because of course he does. Of course this is what it’s been building up to—every argument, every stolen glance, every almost-moment that neither of you dared to name.

But now that it’s here, now that he’s standing in front of you with his heart in his hands, you don’t know what to do with it.

Because you’re leaving.

Because you’ve already decided.

And because some part of you wonders if maybe, maybe, you were waiting for him to say it sooner.

You look down, your eyes fixed on the floor because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than facing the way his voice cracks, the way his words hang heavy between you.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you whisper, and even that feels like too much.

“Do you feel the same?” he asks, his voice quiet but firm.

You close your eyes. “I’m leaving, Oscar.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His voice softens, but the urgency stays. “Do you feel the same?”

“It’s not going to work,” you say, your breath hitching. You hate how your voice shakes, hate the way your heart is pounding so fast it hurts. “We’re going in very different directions and—”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” he asks again, his voice breaking just slightly.

And that—that’s what makes you falter. Because you can hear it. The way he’s holding on so tight, the way he’s afraid of your answer.

“Just let me go,” you whisper, even though it’s the last thing you want.

“I can’t,” he says after a beat, and his voice is so soft when he says it, but there’s no mistaking the weight of those words. “I can’t because I know you. Because I know I’m not the only one who feels this.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m trying to be practical—”

“I’m trying to tell you I love you!” His voice rises, frustration and desperation bleeding into every word.

And then—

“So do I!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, loud and broken and everything you’ve been trying to bury.

The silence after is deafening.

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. “I love you too,” you whisper, like it’s a secret you’re only brave enough to say now. And when you step forward and press your forehead to his chest, his arms come around you without hesitation, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” you say again, softer this time. “But it’s too late, Oscar. I’m leaving.”

“It’s not too late.”

He pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks—wiping away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling. His touch is so gentle it breaks you a little more.

“We’re right here,” he says, his voice quiet and steady. “So, it’s not too late.”

And then—slowly, carefully, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—he leans in.

Your breath catches.

And when his lips finally meet yours, the world falls away.

It’s soft at first—tentative and slow, like both of you are afraid of pushing too far, afraid of what this means. But then your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and his hand slips into your hair, and the kiss deepens. It becomes something warmer, desperate—like making up for every second you wasted, every word you never said.

And for a while, there’s no leaving. No future pulling you in different directions. No goodbye waiting on the horizon.

It’s just you.

It’s just him.

The warmth of his hands on your skin, the way he holds you like you’re something precious. The way your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. The quiet, shared ache in every kiss—like you’re both trying to memorize this, to keep this, even when you know you can’t.

And maybe this is all you get—this moment, this kiss, this fragile space where neither of you has to think about what comes next.

But maybe…maybe it’s just the beginning.

Because when you finally pull apart, breathless and trembling, your foreheads still pressed together, his breath still tangled with yours—you both know the truth.

This moment? It’s fleeting.

But his eyes—warm and steady—hold you there.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, and somehow, you believe him.

You nod, your voice barely more than a breath. “Yeah. We will.”

And even if the future is uncertain, even if the next steps take you miles apart—right now, this?

This is yours.

And for the first time, even with your heart breaking in the most beautiful way, it feels like enough.

2022: Epilogue 1

“I can’t believe you just did that!” you exclaim over the phone, your voice half-outraged, half-incredulous. “Oscar, you’re giving me a heart attack from like fifty thousand miles away!”

“Everything’s under control,” he says, grinning as he leans back against the wall of his hotel room, the adrenaline still buzzing through his veins. “Trust me. It’s all in motion—you’ll see.”

“Honey,” you huff, and he can hear the dramatic eye roll in your voice, “I’ll believe you when you’re in that fucking Formula One seat, driving around squiggles for two hours.”

He chuckles, the sound low and easy, and God, he misses you. “You worry too much.”

“I have to worry,” you snap, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Because my idiot boyfriend decided to end his partnership with the team that made him their reserve driver by tweeting about it!” You huff. “I mean, listen to this: I understand that without my consent—”

“Okay, yeah, I typed that out,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t need to relive it, thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” you tease, your voice softening just enough to make him smile.

Then there’s the unmistakable sound of your keyboard clacking in the background. “Anyway, experts are absolutely shitting on you online,” you inform him. “But don’t worry—I’m your biggest defender.”

“Please don’t fight with analysts on the internet,” he laughs, though the image of you going to battle for him is both hilarious and weirdly endearing. “They’re going to eat you alive.”

“Oscar, I had to deal with your attitude for years before we got together,” you shoot back, your tone sweet as sugar. “Trust me— some slimy little reporters are nothing to me.”

He laughs, the sound full and warm—the kind of laugh only you ever seem to pull out of him.

And as the miles stretch between you, the distance feels just a little smaller.

2023: Epilogue 2

The roar of the crowd was deafening — a steady pulse of noise that vibrated through the air, through the track, through Oscar’s bones. He could feel it, even from the garage, where the final checks were being made on his car. The smell of fuel and rubber mixed with the electric tension of the starting grid, and the weight of what was about to happen settled heavily on his chest.

Bahrain 2023. 

His first Formula One race.

Everything he had worked for, fought for—the years of training, the endless sacrifices, the victories and the failures—had led him here. To this moment. To this seat. To this dream.

And still, when his eyes flicked to the edge of the garage, searching through the sea of engineers and team personnel, it wasn’t the car or the track or even the starting lights that grounded him.

It was her.

Y/N stood just beyond the bustle of the team, arms crossed and wearing his team’s colors, her ever-pristine hair now tucked beneath a cap. But the calm, poised version of her he’d fallen for wasn’t here today. Today, her excitement cracked through the surface—eyes bright, smile wide, nerves barely contained.

Three years, and she were still his greatest victory.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned—and when she smiled at him, everything else faded away. The crowd, the noise, the pressure.

It was just her. It was always her.

He lifted his hand in a small wave, and she grinned, mouthing words he didn’t need to hear to understand.

You’ve got this.

And just like that, the weight in his chest eased.

Because no matter what happened on the track today—win or lose, first place or last—she’d still be there.

And that? That was enough to make him feel unstoppable.

[hgfictionwriter]

Revelations: Part Six

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie’s been part of your daily life for years. She’s been your partner; your future. You try to find a way to let go without losing her altogether.

Warnings: Angst.

A/N: Rest of the series is here.

You sighed heavily as you stared up at the darkened ceiling of your new apartment. It had been a busy week of unpacking, cleaning, getting settled and sorted. The days had been so full on between work and the move that most nights you more or less collapsed into bed in sheer exhaustion.

Even then though, the stillness and quiet of your new apartment weighed on you. The unfamiliarity - the loneliness - of your current living arrangement caused your insides to twist incessantly and sleep eluded you.

You'd hoped that the weeks you and Jessie lived together while broken up would've dulled the harshness of this transition, but it seems that had been a foolish thought.

You absently and habitually played with your ring finger, dull realization setting in yet again that your ring - Jessie's - was long gone. She'd wanted you to keep it; adamantly so, but you forced her to take it back.

Hardly realizing it, you hand palmed your nightstand and you retrieved your phone.

1:45 am.

You released another restless sigh and automatically opened up your conversation with Jessie.

"This might be a record for me. I just finished a whole season of Alone in one night. At this point I feel like I could compete on the next season."

You couldn't help but chuckle faintly. She'd texted you that an hour ago - clearly she was having trouble sleeping as well.

You two may have been broken up, but you were still talking daily.

You still weren't sure you could be her friend or even if you wanted to be, but to go from being so deeply connected with someone, to live with them for years, to sleep next to them nearly every night, your lives, moments and dreams, entwined, from seeing reminders and tokens of them throughout your entire home, to none at all, it was even harder than you'd anticipated.

Being so busy and preoccupied helped keep it minimal during the days, but at night? You both seemed to gravitate to one another despite your situation.

Your cheeks puffed out in a weary exhale. A voice in the back of your head told you to close the conversation, your phone, do anything else, but instead you texted her.

"I bet you'd do very well on that show. I can actually picture it lol. Me? Not so much. Besides, beats the trash I've been watching."

You immediately closed out of the conversation the second you sent it as if that'd somehow erase your wrongdoing.

You'd barely opened up a different app when a notification from her came through. You may have stopped going to her games - watching them in any sense, it was just too painful - but you still knew her training schedule. She'd have to be up in a few short hours. She really must be having trouble sleeping, too.

"You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're resourceful and smart. You'd do just fine. And I definitely want to know what so-called trash you've been watching."

"You don't. Believe me. It's bad."

You hesitated before sending a hurried follow-up.

"Consider yourself lucky that you're not being subjected to it"

You saw the text bubbles pop up for a couple of seconds before disappearing. You stared at the screen for several moments, pulse starting to quicken and only increasing further as she started typing anew.

"I definitely wouldn't say that."

You saw a false-start of a new message from her again and you waited. When it seemed like she thought better than to send through anything more, she added:

"I'd love to be together watching some shitty tv show. I'd give anything for that."

Your eyes snapped up to the ceiling with a shaky breath as you pushed the back of your head deeper into the pillow. They fell shut as a rush of emotions came over you. A deep frown was etched on your forehead as you tried to get your feelings back under control.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Another weary sigh escaped you. You hated this.

"Don't be."

"I want the same. And it fucking sucks."

"The days are hard. Horrible. But the nights are unbearable."

"I wake up looking for you. Assuming I ever actually fall asleep."

Your chest expanded with another shaky breath.

"I know the feeling."

You rubbed your eyes in agitation before hurriedly writing another message.

"I miss you."

Your shoulders fell as soon as you sent it. You were weak. So weak.

Your breath hitched as your screen lit up with a call from her. You stared at it as your phone continued to buzz in your hand. Your lips were parted as your breathing grew quick and shallow.

You answered.

"Hello?"

A beat passed and her voice filtered into your ear.

"Hey."

Your eyes fell shut and you felt your throat tighten with emotion immediately. You subconsciously leaned your head into the phone and towards her voice as a swirling mix of comfort and longing swept over you.

"I-" She paused as she gathered her words, "I just thought I should call you," she finished quietly; apologetically even.

"I miss you too," she whispered, but even through the tinny quality of the phone, you could hear her emotion. "So much."

You took a steadying breath as you looked up at the ceiling.

"I hate this," you said, voice growing hoarse.

"I know, baby. Me too," she said softly, the pet name causing your lip to nearly quiver and your eyes to sting with tears. You didn't say anything and she carried on longingly. "I wish I was with you right now."

Another shuddering breath escaped you as you covered your eyes with your free hand.

"God, Jess," you managed to say, your voice pleading for so many things. You sighed in defeat and rubbed harshly at your face. "You have no idea how much I want that too."

You heard a quick sigh on her end.

"I'd come over in a heartbeat if you wanted me to," she said.

You didn't say 'no'. You didn't say anything at all.

"I-I could be there in, like, 20."

"Jess...," you said, both in want and warning.

"I'm coming over," she declared gently and you heard rustling on her end of the call.

You listened wordlessly for several moments and could hear her moving about and gathering up her things.

"You shouldn't. We shouldn't," you said weakly and with little conviction. By the jingle of her keys, it seemed you weren't fooling her either.

"I'll stay on the line," she told you unwaveringly.

Her effort and longing for you validated an ache and hollow in you. You wanted her here. You wanted her arms around you. You wanted her to speak declarations of love and devotion in your ear that would make everything else go away.

You heard the elevator ding.

Your eyes opened and you let your hand fall from your face to your side. Her wanting you, her loving you, wasn't the issue. Falling asleep in her arms wasn't going to fix anything - it hadn't all of those nights before.

You were hurting yourself, and her.

"Jess."

She didn't reply.

"Jess. Stop," you told her with quiet authority. "We can't do this. You know we can't."

"Y/N..."

"Jessie. I love you so much. But, we can't do this," you said regretfully, though with no room to debate it. "Please turn around. Please go back upstairs," you instructed gently.

The line was quiet for several seconds.

"Okay," she accepted, the disappointment in her voice still detectable. "I'm sorry," she added meekly.

The elevator dinged again and soon you heard her keys in the lock of your old front door.

"I can't sleep without you," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. She sniffled. "I don't know how to do this," she went on, voice high and tight.

You stifled a sob at hearing this woman who, to most, was reserved and kept her emotions close to her chest, expressing such hurt and vulnerability with you.

When you spoke, your voice was tight and you blinked through tears.

"Me neither."

--------

The very next morning you booked a trip home to London. Surely, going home - seeing your family and old friends - would cure you and provide comfort and relief.

While it was lovely - and needed - to see them all again, something about it didn't feel the same as it did before. You also lamented the fact that you couldn't catch up with Niamh or Sam or any of the Chelsea crew. You loved them, but they were Jessie's friends.

And despite your efforts, you couldn't help but hone in on - even over here - families and kids everywhere. It's like your subconscious was hyperfocused. Waves of loss came over you, but you also had flickers of thoughts about what it could've been like to bring Zoie here with Jessie.

Any time the notion broached your mind though, you were quick to banish it.

After a couple of weeks you actually felt a bit antsy and unsettled. You desperately wanted to feel safety and comfort and familiarity here, but it just didn't feel right. It wasn't what you were looking for.

What was that saying? 'You can never go home again'? It resounded in your mind because it felt painfully true.

Truth was, you enjoyed your career in Portland, you liked the lifestyle, the weather, and though you loved your old friends, you missed your new ones too. Beyond Jessie, there were reasons you were open to moving; leaving your home. So even if it looked different now, you still liked the life you'd built in Portland; maybe more than you realized.

Maybe someday you’d reflect on this and realize something else was fueling this decision - maybe pride, maybe plain old stubbornness - but some deep seated part of you felt you needed to see things out in Portland. You didn't want to run away.

So though you didn't feel overly content in either place right now, you felt strangely ready to go back.

The hardest part about coming back might've actually been that you had less distractions from Jessie's texts. When you were away, it was easier to disconnect and you started to put more emotional space between you two.

When you got there, she was still texting you daily - a good morning text with wishes of a good day, an inquiry or two about your day, a good night text, and the odd text in between with a picture or comment about things that must've reminded her of you.

As your responses slowed, Jessie adjusted slightly, but was undeterred in many ways. She still at least wished you a good day every day. If she was put off by your delay, she didn't show it because she responded promptly if she wasn't training or at a game. She even asked on a couple of occasions - when you were more responsive than other times - if you'd be interested in grabbing coffee or lunch together. As friends of course.

Now that you were back and in your routine again, it was harder to resist picking up your phone and texting her back.

It was hard, so hard, talking with her and trying to walk this line of friendship. It felt so unnatural to politely inquire about one another's day but not come home to each other, to not make plans together, or think of things as 'we' or 'us'.

You wanted to know about her life - what was she up to, what things were new, what things were the same - but it made your chest tight every time. It was so stupid and frustrating, you'd initiated this, you wanted her to live her life and for you to live yours, but it still hurt to be nothing more than a peripheral observer these days.

This couldn't be how it was meant to be.

"What are you up to this weekend?"

"If you have some time and you're open to it, maybe we could meet for coffee?"

You pressed your lips together tersely as you contemplated your response. You scrolled up through your conversation with her.

It was friendly enough, but neither of you were being truly open and honest as you texted back and forth. You were both just treading water - and for what?

You took a deep breath and replied.

"Sure. We can meet for a bit. When?"

You could've said more. But what you needed to say to her you wanted to say in person. It seemed the decent thing to do, but you'd be lying if you didn't admit that you also just wanted to see her - maybe one last time.

----------

When you rounded the corner to the coffee shop you spotted Jessie right away, standing there waiting. She anxiously gnawed at the corner of her thumb while restlessly shifting from foot to foot and scrolling on her phone.

You were readying yourself to greet her when her head snapped up, somehow picking out your steps amongst all the others that crossed back and forth in this area.

You hadn't seen her since the night she helped you move in. Your pulse was already pounding loudly in your head before you saw her, but now it quickened further and it took very conscious effort to keep your breathing controlled.

Her posture immediately straightened and she dropped her hands stiffly to her sides, almost standing at attention as you approached. A warm smile tentatively crossed her face. She went to take a step towards you, arms coming out slightly telegraphing a hug, but hesitated and remained rooted to her spot instead.

"Hi," she greeted, quieting her smile in an effort to seem casual. She looked you up and down quickly and said, "You look good." She immediately averted her gaze and began blushing. She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a single shake of her head. "Sorry. I, um, I don't know why I said that. It seemed like the polite thing to do - not that I don't think you look good! But like, not in a disrespectful or inappropriate way. I-"

"It's fine," you cut her off with a faint laugh and offering her a reassuring smile. You smirked. "You look good too. And 'hi'."

She gave you a grateful smile, shoulders relaxing at your reprieve before she stood confidently once more and offered a smile that seemed more natural, easy.

"Wanna head inside?" She asked as she gestured to the doors with her thumb. You nodded and she opened the door, standing aside for you as she held it. "What can I get you?" She asked next.

"Jess," you chided as you gave her a look. She chuckled and shrugged.

"Come on. It's coffee," she said pointedly.

You wanted to make a flirty crack about how that's how it always starts; it did for you two. You gave her your order instead and she looked so pleased that it hurt your heart.

"There's a table over there," Jessie noted as she nodded towards the other side of the shop when you both had your drinks in hand.

It was tempting. In this moment it would be so easy to sit down in this cozy cafe, chat the afternoon away and fall back into old habits. Being with her in person was like a jolt to your system. Even your memories didn't do justice to how easy it was to want her; love her.

"Actually," you interjected, some of your apprehension returning, "I was hoping we could go for a walk."

"Okay," she agreed easily. "Sounds great."

Again, she trotted a few steps ahead to open the door for you. You offered a tight smile as you stepped through.

You breathed easier as soon as you were outside.

You eased in. Asked her how she was, how were things. How was Zoie.

She lit up. The look of gratitude she gave you over the question made you feel guilty for how taboo you'd apparently made mention of her.

"She's doing well. Really well. She's in summer camps and loving it. She's really taken to anything science related, which, you know, I think is great."

She quieted and became aware of how you were watching her. Zoie really did brighten up her life and brought her so much joy. Maybe it was because of the distance or time passed, but it felt easier to just appreciate this. It still ached, but it was duller. It was countered with a warmth in your chest at seeing Jessie like this and imagining the happiness on Zoie's face at how much more love was in her life now.

Jessie took a sip of her drink and gave you a cursory glance before she cleared her throat.

"She asks about you," she said, pausing as if she was testing the waters. "She misses you."

You gave her a fleeting smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"She's really sweet," you said. "I miss her too." Now you cleared your throat, offering her a small smile. "And no surprise she's into science," you gave a faint, forced laugh. "That's great. We need more girls in STEM," you added with another chuckle in hopes of diffusing any mounting tension.

Jessie chuckled and soon started inquiring about your life.

"Yeah, I'm good," you answered simply. There was really no good or easy way to transition into this. Might as well dive in.

"Um, I, uh, actually agreed to meet with you because, I...," you trailed off, your eyes shifting to a low wall at the edge of the walking path you were on. You nodded towards it, "Let's sit down."

"Oh," Jessie commented, her tone dropping before she offered a breathy laugh. "One of these talks, huh?" She joked half-heartedly though she complied and took a seat on the ledge. Her shoulders her hunched over as she held her coffee tightly in both hands while her eyes stared distractedly at the ground.

You took a seat a few inches from her and she looked up at you, a worried frown etched across her forehead already. You gave her a small smile as if that would somehow soothe her.

"Um," you started again as you determinedly picked at the sleeve of your cup. You wracked your mind for the script you'd practiced over and over in your head, but the words were a jumbled mess in this moment.

You let out a nervous laugh and somehow you felt a calming presence coming from her. You turned your head to look at her, now her being the one to offer you a small smile of reassurance despite the sadness growing in her eyes.

"It's okay," she said gently. "Take your time. And say what you need to." Her head dipped slightly, but she maintained her smile.

You blew out a breath, gaze shifting to the sky as you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes already.

"Shit," you laughed as you tried to suppress the tightness that was forming in your throat.

"It's okay," she repeated.

She was kind. And sweet. And generous. And you loved her so. Your instinct was to lean into her, seek her embrace. In this moment as you looked at her, it was so clear that you would never not want that from her. That you'd be satisfied with less.

"Some people aren't meant to be friends," you lamented as your gaze fell to the ground.

"S-sorry?"

You gave her a regretful look.

"It's been over a month since I moved out. Two since we broke up," you said in near exasperation, "and I don't miss you any less."

You caught the flash of hope in her eyes snuff out the sadness that had been there moments before. It pushed you to get on with it. You'd been dragging things on long enough.

"I've been trying to find a way to be your friend. To stay in each other's lives. Find some way to hold on. But I just can't do it," you said with measured certainty. You voice dropped to just above a whisper, as it would lessen the weight of your words. "We can't be friends, Jess." You felt her eyes on you. "And we can't be more, so..."

You turned to her with a steadying breath.

“Since I met you, there’s been this undeniable, innate desire to get closer. Always wanting more with you. So now needing to do the opposite? It’s been brutal. And so unnatural.

"It's too hard. Hearing from you, talking with you and just orbiting around the edge of your life. One foot in, one foot out. I don't know how to be your friend, and I don't know deep down if I really want to be. How can I know and experience what we had together and just pretend that a fraction of that is enough? I can't picture my feelings for you being anything less than romantic. Anything less than love-of-my-life."

You saw her face fall and it caused a mirrored reaction in you.

"I can't build a new life with you around. Even if it's just in texts," you said sorrowfully. "I can't keep sitting around, distracting myself until the next notification from you. Mapping out how to respond. When. It's - it's too much. I need for us to be apart - truly apart, to move on." Your throat felt dry. "I hope you understand."

Jessie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears and with the way her shoulders rounded and had her hands tucked between her knees she looked so defeated.

She didn’t speak for several seconds and eventually her shoulders fell further with an empty sigh.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things harder,” she said.

“You-”

“I can text less,” she sat up as she offered it hopefully. She saw the silent sigh you released and her posture fell once more and she ran a hand through her hair. “I understand,” she offered, voice thin.

She wiped at her nose quickly and let out a shuddering sigh as she sat back.

“It’s been hard for me too. I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to know you’ve been pulling away. And of course it makes sense. We’re supposed to. I just-,” she laughed feebly with a cursory glance, “I don’t want to lose you. Completely.”

Her gaze fell and she reached out to gently grasp your hand, her thumb delicately grazing your skin. Your features immediately flickered with emotions, as did hers - you didn’t pull away though, instead relishing this moment.

“I can’t think of you as anything less either,” she admitted in a low voice. She took a deep breath and looked up at you, a couple of tears now staining her cheeks. “Is…this goodbye? Will I ever get to talk to you again?”

You couldn’t will yourself to close things so unequivocally.

You caressed the back of her hand much the way she did yours.

“I’m still here. I don’t want to pretend that you don’t exist and I don’t want you to have to do that either. But keeping up with each other doesn’t work either. Trying to stay active in each other’s lives isn’t sustainable. I want to respect what we had, and I think leaving things as they were, not trying to drag this out or turn it into something we’re not meant to be…I think that’s the best way we can do that.

“You know I think the world of you. But we can’t be friends.”

You gave a pained laugh. “At the same time, the thought of never hearing from you again…” You gave a weak shake of your head. “I can’t bear that either. I’m sure there’s the odd thing where it makes sense that we can reach out. But nothing - consistent? I guess?” You sighed listlessly. “I don’t know. I know that doesn’t give you clarity. But I don’t know how else to define things.”

She gave a series of slow nods and eventually gave your hand a gentle squeeze. She mustered up a smile for you.

“I think I understand,” she said softly.

You two sat together in silence. She squeezed your hand again and you found yourself moving in, resting your head on her shoulder. Her arm immediately came up around you and she hugged you to her side as she laid a lingering kiss atop your head.

You sat there for several minutes together, taking this moment and each other in.

Eventually, you disengaged, immediately feeling cold outside of her embrace. You two walked back to where you started and stood before one another.

“If you ever need anything, don’t ever hesitate,” Jessie said. You nodded.

“Same,” you reciprocated though your thoughts swirled with insecurity - she didn’t need you like you needed her. You pushed them aside.

“I love you,” Jessie said with a broken smile and a wavering voice. She blinked back tears again and tried to laugh. “Had to say it just one more time.”

“I love you, too.” Your gaze fell briefly as you choked up. “I don’t regret any of it. I’m so grateful for everything we had and to be loved by you.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “Being with you has been the best part of my life.”

Jessie’s face collapsed with emotion. “I’m always going to be yours, you know. Regardless. You made me love and feel loved in a way I didn’t know was possible. I-” She paused with a slow shake of her head and a heartbroken smile pulling at her lips. “Words aren’t enough.”

Moments passed as you held each other’s gaze.

You had no idea a heart could break so deeply so many times.

“Bye, Jess.”

——————

A/N: I’m sorry. I know this isn’t any happier. Please be patient…!

A/Nx2: Life has been rough for me today. Being able to share this chapter with you is a highlight for me though. So thank you so much for the interest and support. It’s making me weepy today 😭

Tag requests: @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

[jadeharleyinc]

op is indeed talking about the joy of creating art for the process of making rather than the outcome. i have no issue with people who find delight in this aspect of artistry/artisanship, so i take no issue with OP's "i think using AI is boring" (fine by me!) nor "i think using AI means having no autonomy" (wrong, it's only like that if you stick to the default settings, similar to how a basic picture taken on your phone doesn't give you much autonomy - but overall, no big deal).

i do however take an issue with terms like "reliance", "inhuman objects", "laziness and vagueness of thought" opposed to "self imagination and skill", and the idea that "the emotional aspect of creation of art is lost when a machine makes it for you", all stated like they're self-evident.

not to be overly snide, but i am, personally, quite annoyed to see everyone on this website only started sharing opinions The Nature Of Art And The Creative Process And The Emotionlessness Of Machines after they saw robots capable of painting pictures of their blorbos, as if the wider art world hasn't been debating these ideas for over a century now, and as if there weren't many recognized art forms involving handing a machine the wheel long before AI.

"Wouldn't using multiple codes and a combination of ais to create the desired output be the skill of handling ai and software, more so than actually having the skills to be able to put your thoughts into creation"

not sure what you're trying to say here. are you saying digital art has a process that goes "develop drawing skills -> use drawing tools to put your thoughts into a piece", whereas procedural art's process is "develop software skills -> cannot use software tools to put your thoughts into a piece"? i don't believe "transferring thoughts" is a prerequisite to making art in the first place, regardless.

when it comes to photography, i would say it is widely considered an art, much like cinematography.

as for how "multiple exhibits of modern art show that it is the process that makes art", this is certainly possible, but (notwithstanding the fact that AI art has been shown in modern art expos/museums since 2019, long before AI Art Discourse began) i am specifically referring to conceptualism in the post above.

on that note, you say "conceptual art is idea based and an idea does not constitute artistic creation it is something that leads to it", which is not at all in line with commonly accepted definitions, such as Sol LeWitt's:

In conceptual art the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work. When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair. The idea becomes a machine that makes the art.

emphasis mine. LeWitt is clear here: in conceptual art, the idea and decisions matter more than anything, and the execution is a formality. the idea is artistic creation!

again, i have no quarrel with anyone who decides AI is not a creative process. but when this bleeds into ideas like "loss of autonomy" and when people start telling me "this is laziness, these aren't your thoughts anymore, you have lost the emotion of creation by using a machine" i get annoyed.

(and in fact, i am doubly annoyed by people who oppose good & emotional Photoshop art to soulless machine-made AI art, because to them digital art is totally normalized, and they can't even imagine that we had entire movements about how drum machines, Photoshop, mocap, CGI, etc etc suck; i do not have much love in my heart for the "all the guys who said 'this is lazy impersonal emotionless art' were wrong before, except today's guys, they are right, this is where we must draw the line" mindset.)

the fact remains that nobody is questioning your creative process preferences (except a few techbro weirdos) and nobody is forcing you to "give up the autonomy to create art from your own animation and skills" (not that AI even fits that definition anyway), although we might "force" you to develop some tolerance for our definition of art to peacefully exist in creative spaces alongside people like me who sometimes make AI stuff or use it in their process.

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

[scoupsakakitty]

first of all i love your work (im honestly obsessed <3), since your requests are opened, can i please request 14th member being drunk and the members taking care of her, im just craving protective and fluffy svt tbh :)

Lost & Found at 3 AM | Seventeen x 14thMember | angst, fluff

It was nearly 3 AM, and the Seventeen dorm was unusually quiet—except for the sound of rapid button mashing and occasional exclamations coming from the living room. Most of the members were huddled around the TV, deeply immersed in an intense game tournament, while a few lounged on the couches, half-watching, half-dozing off.

Wonwoo stretched his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning slightly. "It's really late," he muttered. "Y/N still hasn't come back or texted."

"She said she was going out with her friends, right?" Joshua asked, looking up from his phone.

"Yeah, but even when she stays out late, she usually checks in," Wonwoo replied, concern creeping into his voice.

Mingyu, who was sipping on an energy drink, nodded in agreement. "Maybe she lost track of time?"

Just as he finished speaking, his phone lit up with an incoming call. Y/N's name flashed across the screen.

"Ah, finally!" Mingyu said, quickly answering. "Y/N, where are you?"

There was a pause before a giggle sounded through the phone, followed by slurred words. "Mingyu-yahhh~ you're sooo loud. Why are you yelling? Shhh, quiet, shh."

Mingyu's eyes widened. "Wait... Y/N, are you drunk?"

"Nooo, I'm just..." Another giggle. "Okay, maybe a little. But listen, listen, listen—" She hiccupped. "I don’t feel good. Can you come get me?"

The concern in Mingyu's chest deepened. "Of course. Where are you?"

Before she could respond, a male voice in the background interrupted. "Are you alone here? Want to come with me?"

There was a shuffle, and then Y/N’s voice, suddenly more alert but still slurred, said, "No. Go away. I said no."

That was enough. Mingyu shot up from the couch, his jaw clenching. "We're coming now. Stay where you are."

Wonwoo was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. "Let's go."

Seungcheol, who had overheard the conversation, frowned. "Do you know where she is?"

Mingyu nodded. "She has her location shared with us."

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. "Be careful. Call us if anything happens."

With that, Mingyu and Wonwoo rushed out the door, moving fast. The streets were nearly empty, making the drive quicker than usual, but their minds were racing.

"What if she’s really sick?" Mingyu muttered. "What if that guy doesn’t leave her alone?"

"We get there before anything happens," Wonwoo said firmly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

They arrived at the location minutes later and immediately spotted Y/N sitting on a bench, looking visibly out of it. A man was standing nearby, speaking to her, though she kept shaking her head.

Without hesitation, the two approached with long strides, their presence alone making the stranger take a step back. "She’s with us," Wonwoo said, voice firm but controlled. "Leave."

The man scoffed but didn't argue, walking away without looking back. Mingyu crouched in front of Y/N, gently placing a hand on her arm. "Hey, we're here. Can you stand?"

Y/N blinked up at them with unfocused eyes, then grinned. "Mingyu-ya, you came! I was just... trying to... uh-oh."

She wobbled dangerously, and Mingyu caught her just in time. "Whoa—okay, you’re definitely not walking on your own."

Wonwoo sighed and bent down, easily scooping her up in his arms. "Let's get her home."

Y/N hummed contentedly. "Wonwoo, you're warm. You should carry me more often."

Mingyu chuckled, despite the situation. "You’re gonna regret saying that tomorrow."

Back in the car, Y/N's face scrunched up. "I feel..." She barely got the words out before Mingyu grabbed a plastic bag just in time.

"There goes the alcohol," Wonwoo muttered, wincing.

"Shhh," Y/N whispered dramatically. "Respect the fallen drinks."

By the time they reached the dorm, Mingyu had called ahead, and the moment they walked in, a group of concerned faces met them.

"Is she okay?" Jeonghan asked, taking in her dazed expression.

"Drunk, sick, and exhausted," Wonwoo answered.

Dino sighed. "Alright, let’s get her changed and into bed."

Hoshi placed a cold water bottle on the nightstand while Seungkwan handed Mingyu a wet towel. "Clean her up a bit first."

Mingyu sat on the edge of Y/N’s bed, gently wiping her face. "You good?"

Y/N blinked up at him sleepily. "Mhm. You guys are the best."

Joshua chuckled. "Tell us that when you're sober."

As Y/N finally dozed off, the members stood around for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before stepping back.

"Alright," Seungcheol said, crossing his arms. "Tomorrow, we talk about party safety."

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah. But for now, she’s home. That’s what matters."

[yamumsyadadd]

First love

Part of the mariquita universe. i didnt proof read this at all :)

its about 4.7k words. bit of yelling, mentions of sex.

It took a long time for you to be comfortable telling your parents what you needed. Everytime you tried, the worst washed over you. But it never happened, both your mami and mama would move mountains for you. 

This time it was because you felt a little neglected. Rio was two, he was mobile and just loved to be around people. Olga got one on one time with him most days, your mami however did not. A large quantity of her free time in the evenings and even weekends was spent playing with Rio, which left very little time for you. 

As you were sitting on the couch, your mami on your right and Olga on your left, Rio in bed. 

“I have something to say.” It came out a lot harsher than you were anticipating, both your mami and Olga whipped their heads around to look at you, slightly taken aback by the way you spoke. “Sometimes I feel a little left out because you both have one on one time with Rio and not with me. I know he’s small and needs help but it would be nice to have one on one time too.” You couldn’t lift your head up to look at them, feeling slightly embarrassed that you weren’t being more independent. 

“Mariquita, I’m so sorry. We are sorry, that you’re feeling that way. How about we make a plan? One day or morning or whatever, we can have it as just us. No one else.” Your mami said as she stroked through your hair. 

“What about Olga?”

“What about me? You want to have one on one time with me too?” 

“Well yeah. You’re my third parent?” 

For the 6 years that Olga had been in your life, she had tried not to make any parenting decisions directly to you, always texting your mami and mama, not wanting to over step the line but now with you saying it, she felt more at ease. To her you were her daughter, just as much as Rio was her son. 

“How about on Saturday mornings we alternate? One week with me, one week with your mami, then if it’s a home game we can have a movie night on Saturday nights?” Olga knew she had to hold in her tears, saving them for when she was wrapped up in alexia’s arms later tonight. 

“I like that plan.” Your mami kissed your head, giving Olga’s shoulders a squeeze from behind you. 

For the next year, that’s how to worked. Every week you’d have one on one time with your mami and Olga. Even if Olga was meant to be in Madrid, she’d make time for you. Very occasionally someone else would join. Sometimes Alba, sometimes one of two of Olga’s friends. 

With your mami, your favourite thing was going on a hike. They weren’t particularly easy ones and not once did she complain. With Olga, you typically ran, 5 or 10kms, sometimes going to Pilates or yoga, always ending up at your favourite cafe for brunch and coffee. 

————————————-

As you got older, more mature, so did your body. To your mami and Olga, it was like you grew boobs overnight. The boys and girls at school noticed too. You went from being a flat chested, quiet girl, to being a c-cup, pretty and popular. 

Your bright green eyes, light freckles that littered your face, stood out to the boys but one boy in particular. Juan had been in your class since you moved. You didn’t know much about him, he was athletic, enjoyed playing football but he was also creative. He drew a lot, you would see all the drawings as you passed his desk in the mornings. He was in the ‘popular’ group at school but he was definitely the most quiet out of them. 

There were times when you were paired together, during gym class or biology but you were never really able to talk. It was all about school and getting the work done. 

It wasn’t until the Sant Jordi festival that you really got to know him. The Barcelona team, Olga and a few of her friends were going, your friends too. Your mami let you go off with them for a few hours, only for most the girls to go off with their boyfriends leaving you alone with Juan. 

“So, um, what do you do for fun?” He would barely look at you, hands buried in his pockets to avoid an accidental touch. 

“I like to run, do yoga, hiking, I like science and reading too. How about you? I know you play football.” 

“I like hiking too! I do play football, not for Barcelona or anything yet. But that’s the dream right?” He chuckled slightly. 

“Yeah I guess.” 

“You don’t like football? I thought you would because of your parents.”

“I like watching, I don’t like playing. It was never really fun for me considering who my parents are.” 

“Ah gotcha.” That was all that was said for a while, until you saw your mami who waved you over. 

“I’ve got to go. My mami is waving me over.”

“Do you want to go on a hike together?” You both spoke at the same time. Blush creeping over both your cheeks. 

“A hike sounds good. I can give you my number and we can organise it?” 

“Yes!” He practically shouted, “I mean, yeah yeah that’s cool.” You swapped numbers before saying goodbye and running over to your mami and Tia’s. 

One look from Mapi meant that you’d talk about this later. Later when your mami and Olga were no where near.

It took a few days of talking and planning until you were able to settle on a day that would work. There was only one problem: your mami and Olga. Usually they were fine with you going to hang out with your friends but this was different. Or at least it felt different. 

You decided to pull someone into this and help the cover for you. Your first thought was Mapi and Ingrid, but Mapi had a big mouth and would tell your mami. Vicky was out, she too would accidentally let it slip, same with Patri and Claudia. The only option left was Alba. 

“You want me to lie to your mami?” 

“Well it’s technically not a lie because I will be with you, just not the entire time.” 

“Fine. But if she finds out, you owe me £50 and you tell her the truth about her missing shoes.” 

“Thank you thank you!” You hung up, rolling over and smiling like an idiot. Tomorrow you’d have your first date? Hang out alone with a cute boy? You weren’t sure what to call it but you were excited. 

When the time finally came everything was set in motion. Your mami and Olga thought you were spending the afternoon with Alba, but you were going to be with the boy you had a crush on. 

It felt like school drag on for you. Whenever you could spare a glance towards Juan, he was already looking at you. A love sick smile on his face. Your friends giggled about it at lunchtime and in between classes. 

At first, it was a little awkward. Between carrying your school bags and the hike itself, there wasn’t much talking. Once you got to the top, Juan stopped near a clearing, pulling out a blanket and a container of food. 

“I made us some afternoon tea.” The container was filled with chips, cookies, soft pretzels, some cut up strawberries and watermelon. 

“Did you make these?” You gestured towards the cookies and soft pretzels. 

“I did. I like to bake, sorry if they aren’t good-“ you leaned towards him, kissing his cheek and effectively shutting him up. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with lots of laughs and getting to know each other. You’d never been on a date before, or really been around straight couples, but if your mami and mama felt this way about each other when they met, then you knew it was going to be good. 

The hike back down was a lot less awkward than before, when Juan reached for your hand to hold you let him. Smiling shyly up at him. You could see albas car a little up the path from where you had stopped. 

As you both awkwardly stood there, you took your chance. You stood up on your tippy toes and kissed him. He kissed back almost immediately and when you pulled away, you both had mirroring smiles. 

“I had a really good time today. Thank you for the afternoon tea.” 

“I did too. Can we do it again? maybe we can do out for dinner or something?” 

“Yes!” Alba car horn made you whip around, “text me? I gotta go.” You kissed him again then walked away, feeling a feeling that you’ve never felt before. 

Alba was sitting in the front seat of her car, having watched the whole thing, remembering helping your mami sneak off to go on a date with your mama. 

“So… how was it?” 

“It was fine. A nice hike, he made some afternoon tea, had my first kiss, talked about our hobbies, his football. You know the usual.” 

“YOUR FIRST KISS!?” Alba screamed. “How was it?”

“It was good. Really good. Better than I imagined.” 

“This calls for ice cream.”

“Mami is going to be annoyed.” 

“Who cares.” 

Your mami was in fact annoyed. Going on and on about alba spoiling your dinner and how you both knew that you weren’t allowed ice cream so close to dinner but you didn’t care. All you could think about was your first kiss with Juan and how he continued to text you even though apart of you thought he wouldn’t. 

For the next few weeks you and Juan continued your secret dates. Sometimes it would be just as simple as watching him at football training, or going for a run together. Olga had noticed something was up, you generally weren’t the typical phone always in hand teenager but over the last few weeks you had been. That and the love sick smile on your face whenever you looked at your phone. 

“I think Mari has a boyfriend or girlfriend.” It was said in the safety of their bedroom. The house was quiet, both you and Rio were asleep. 

“Oh?” Alexia put down her iPad, “what makes you think that?” 

“She’s always on her phone now, smiling at it. She’s also spending a lot of time with Alba.” 

“She’s always been close to Alba.”

“I know, but this feels different.” 

“Okay, how about I ask Alba since she can’t lie to me, and you ask Mari?”

“Okay.” 

They talked a little more to make the plan fool proof. Alexia would corner Alba, a short time after Olga cornered you. Olga would report back to alexia and alexia would use that to get the truth out. 

But it wasn’t that easy. While you had been spending time with Alba, you’d managed to finally rope in a Vicky and Pina. At first they were hesitant, neither could lie to your mami if they interrogated her but you promised it wouldn’t come to that. Alba didn’t know exactly how much time you were spending with Juan and that you had gotten two more people in on it. 

When Juan asked you to be his girlfriend officially you were over the moon. You’d lied yet again about where you were and who you were with. This time, you were alone in his room. His parents were still at work and one thing led to another. You left his house that afternoon with an ache between your legs and a smile on your face. You had a boyfriend. You were happy and you had entered a new stage of your life. 

It had taken a week for Olga to be able to effectively corner you. It was your time for one on one time with her, this week was a 10km run followed by a swim at the beach, then brunch. 

“Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?” Olga had completely disregarded the plan her and alexia had, wanting to get straight to this point. 

“Yes.” 

Olga’s head turned around so fast you’re surprised it didn’t snap off. “You haven’t said anything? How long?” 

“I don’t know. Couple of months.” 

“You’ve been using alba to cover for you?” 

“Alba, Vicky and pina. Only a few times a week.” 

“Why?” 

“Mami is… overbearing. She’s Alexia Putellas for Christ sake.” 

“She’s protective. Only wants the best for you, we both do. Have you told your mama?” 

“No. Only alba, Vicky and Claudia plus my friends at school. I guess you too now.” 

“You need to tell her.”

“I know. I will.” 

It wasn’t spoken about for the rest of the day, Olga never did message Alexia so she couldn’t interrogate Alba. You were stewing away trying to figure out how to tell her. You wanted it to be at home, somewhere she was calm knowing that she would freak out. 

But it didn’t work out like that. On sundays you’d always go to your Abuela’s for dinner. No matter what, everyone was there. It was something your Abuela had been incredibly strict on. 

Throughout the night, both Olga and Alba kept giving you looks. Alba had mentioned that something seemed different about you, but you shrugged her off. After Olga put Rio down in the portacot in the spare room, something inside you snapped. 

“I have a boyfriend and I had sex with him.” As soon as you realised what you blurted out, you covered your mouth. 

The sound of cutlery hitting the plates seemed like the loudest thing in the world. 

“What did you just say.” Your mami asked, you were pretty sure she heard and the vein popping out of her neck confirmed it. 

“Ale-“ Olga started. 

“No! Repeat what you just said!”

“I have a boyfriend, his name is Juan. He plays football, he’s really great mami.” 

“I didn’t ask his name y/n. I didn’t ask if he was nice or what his hobbies were, I asked you to repeat yourself.” 

“I have a boyfriend and we had sex.”

Everyone watched on in horror as Alexia slammed her fist on the table, “you’re 15! A child. You’re child who should not be doing that!” 

“You had sex with mama when you were 16.” Something inside of you wanted to fight back, to stand up for yourself. “The only difference is Juan is a boy and mama is a girl. Alba had sex at-“ 

“Enough! I cannot believe you would be so irresponsible, so reckless. Is that why you made Alba lie for you?” Her voice was getting louder and louder. Olga was silently worried that Rio would wake up. 

“How would you know if I was reckless? All you’ve done is yell at me. I didn’t make Alba do anything! She is an adult!” You matched her volume, yelling back. 

And right on que, Rio woke up. The scrapping of Olga’s chair and his screams snapped you both out of it. 

“Get in the car. Do not say another word.” Your mami was seething. There’s only one other time you’d seen her like this, it was when you were being bullied at your old school but this time, her anger was directed at you. 

You didn’t even bother saying goodbye to your Abuela or to Alba, slamming both the front door and the car door as you sat down. 

Your mami spent the entire car ride trying not to blow up at you, you could tell by the way her hands gripped the wheel and her posture was stiff. Occasionally Olga would turn back and give you a sympathetic look, she didn’t know for a fact that you and Juan had sex but she could’ve guessed it. To your mami, you were the shy, scared four year old even if you were the opposite at 15. 

As soon as the car was in the garage you made a move to get out, “don’t even think about it.” Your mami gritted through her teeth. You weren’t sure if she was going to punish you by making you sleep in the garage, or if she needed a quiet place to kill you. 

Olga got Rio out and made her way inside, deciding to ignore your mamis demand you got out of the car. You were full of emotions, you were mad at your mami for the way she was acting, you were sad she didn’t trust you but a part was also relieved that she knew. 

“Give me you phone, laptop, iPad. Hell any device you can message on, I want on my bed in the next 2 minutes.” 

“Mami that’s not-“

“2 minutes.” She stormed off down the hall, no doubt to message your mama and ask for her help in this matter or maybe she was going to google ‘how to deal with your child having sex.’ 

You knew that trying to fight her on this wouldn’t end well so you begrudgingly gathered up your devices. Apart of you was going to make this difficult for her, if you couldn’t have you laptop you couldn’t do school work, then she’d get a call from your teacher but that would be her fault not yours. Same with your phone, she wouldn’t know where you were or what you were doing. The convenience would be turned into an inconvenience. 

“You’re not to go anywhere after school. I will drop you off and I will pick you up. No phone, laptop, iPad, anything. You will come home, do you homework and chores and stare at a wall. I do not want you talking to that boy. I will book an appointment with a gynaecologist and we will go. There is no discussing this.” She didn’t even look at you. The disappointment was radiating off her. 

“You and mama were the same age as me. I don’t see the big deal in this.” 

“That’s exactly the problem, you don’t see the big deal in this. You’re a child y/n, you’re not some adult who gets to frolick around. I thought you knew better than this, I’m dis-“

“If you’re so ashamed of me then I’ll go live with mama! You won’t have be repulsed every time you look at me!” 

“Fine! Go live with your mama! Go right ahead, move to Mexico, say goodbye to your little boyfriend and your friends. You think you’re so grown so go ahead.” You knew she didn’t mean it because she had fought hard to keep you in Spain, more than once. 

“I hate you!” You screamed at her as you slammed the door closed. Throwing yourself onto your bed and screaming into your pillow. 

While laying there crying, you were trying to make up a plan in what to do. Flying to Mexico was out of the question, you needed your phone and passport, both which your mama had. Running away was an option that you were on the fence about. You could hide, but that would be unfair to Olga and your other family. 

Over the next few days you refused to talk to you mami, not that it really mattered since she wasn’t talking to you. Olga could tell you were mad and sad about the entire thing. There was no part of her that was disappointed or mad at you, it was a natural thing to do. Teenagers have sex, she had sex as a teenager, both or mami and mama too. 

She kept her word, dropping you off at the gate everyday and picking you up. The only way to talk to your friends and Juan was at school. It was annoying for everyone. 

Usually, your mama would take you straight home, cancelling her appointments that she usually had in the afternoons, today however was different. All week she was grumbling to Olga about how the club was making her go to the La Masia trials, the same trials that Juan had been talking about all week. It never clicked until you pulled up. 

“Why are we here?” “Trials. Don’t embarrass me.” She barely looked at you and got out. It was slowly getting to you. Your mami was your best friend and now she was treating you like shit. 

The first hour was spent standing around, staring at the grass as your mami spoke to all the coaches. It wasn’t until 15 minutes before the trials began that you saw Juan and his family. His mami and papa and little sister were always at his trainings and games, showing support whenever they could. 

After an hour it all came crashing down. You didn’t realise it at the time, but when you went over to say hello to Juan and his family, your mami was watching. She realised right away who the boy was and made a mental note of it. You had gone off to the bathroom, finally allowed to be alone after having your mami breathing down your neck. 

Panic arose in you when you saw your mami and Juan’s parents talking. With her scowl on her face, you knew it wasn’t a friendly conversation. 

“Our children seem to be dating, we need to set some boundaries. If the children, because thats what they are, are at either houses I need there to be adult supervision and for the bedroom doors to stay open.” Your mami crossed her arms, looking over as you walked towards them. 

“I agree, y/n is only ever allowed over when one of us is home.” Juan’s father, Jorge said. 

“Well if thats the case then they wouldn’t have been able to have sex would they?” “Excuse me?” His mama, Isabel got defensive , “they have never been home alone, they go out after school alone, but never ever have they been home alone.” Jorge had removed himself from the conversation, walking over to Juan and pulling him by his jersey to his mama. 

“Ms Putellas has just told us that you and y/n have had sex? You are never home alone so this isn’t true is it?”

Both you and Juan stood there in silence, knowing that whatever the answer you’ll both be in trouble. “You were asked a question, answer it.”

“Yes we had sex. Tia was on the phone to her boyfriend and so we were in my room with the door closed.“ “Juan! Not only have you disrespected our family, our rules, but you also disrespected the Putellas family. Go get in the car, you’re done today.” Juan looked like he was about to cry at his papas words. You knew that if he left early, he wouldn’t be counted in the trial and his dream to join Barcelona would have to wait another year. 

As he walked off, not even sparing you a glance, you could feel the tears slipping out of your eyes. The drive home was quiet, you sat there staring out the window crying silently. The coming days would be horrible, you just had that feeling. 

And boy were you right. For three days, Juan ignored you until it got too much and you cornered him in the locker room as PDHPE finished. 

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“Im not” he continued to pack his bag. 

“You’re lying to me. Why?”

“My parents said it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore.” He said it with the coldest voice, no emotions at all.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes. I need to focus on school and on football.” “I thought you loved me?”

“Love doesn’t matter y/n. I need to go, my papa will be waiting.” 

He left you standing there, crying in the middle of the boys locker room. Your heart had just been broken by the first boy you loved. So you did what you did best, you ran. You didn’t even take your school bag with you, or bother to tell you mami or friends. You just ran and ran until your tears were mixed with sweat and your chest hurt. 

Albas house is where you ended up and luckily she was actually home when you pounded on the door. She took you in no questions asked. Holding you sweaty gross body close to hers as you cried into her. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, a mix of exhaustion from crying so hard and running all the way there. 

When you did wake up, there were voices talking around you, you could feel a hand running through your hair. You tensed up at the thought of your mami being here. 

“Relax mari, its just me.” Olgas voice calmed your ears. “Are you ready to go home?” She asked softly.

“Yeah I guess.” You got up, hugging alba goodbye and thanking her, then followed Olga down to her car. Neither of you spoke, but she did give you a small sympathetic smile and squeezed your shoulder. 

You knew it was bad when you walked in the front door and Olga didn’t even greet your mami. To be the cause of their fight made you feel incredibly anxious. Olga followed you into your room, sitting on the edge of the bed as you made yourself comfortable.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You nodded and told the entire story. How everyday you and Juan would spend all the breaks together, how your mami acted insane today at the football trial and how Juan broke your heart and didn’t even care. 

On the inside, Olga was seething. She had already gone off at Alexia multiple times about this whole thing, and for Alexia to go behind her back and break a promise, made her see red. 

For two days, Olga let you stay home with her and Rio. Your mami wasn’t told, Olga just said she was talking you to school. For two days, you got to lay in bed and sulk. Feel whatever you needed to feel and then you decided that was enough. You weren’t going to let a boy ruin the rest of your high school experience. 

And so the next day you got up, scrubbed your entire body and put on a brave face. The kids at school whispered as they saw both you and Juan ignore each other, your friends groups stayed separate and the girls refused to talk to the boys. 

All that was left to face was your mami. Your mama, Olga, abuela and alba had all torn into her. She overreacted and ruined a relationship.

“Mari, can we talk for a moment?” Your mami asked as she stood in the doorway to your room. 

“Depends, are you going to yell at me or tell me I’m a disappointment again?

“No. That was a mistake. I should never have said those things to you because you aren’t a disappoint, you’re strong, brave, and the perfect child.” She walked over to your desk chair, sitting down. “I had never imagined you having a boyfriend or having sex. In my head, you were still our little baby, not someone who is going to be an adult in three short years.”

“Mami-“

“No please let me finish otherwise Olga might kill me.” You both laughed, knowing that Olga was probably waiting in bed for this conversation to end. “Your mama and I had sex when I was 16, alba had sex when she was 15. The difference being, I didn’t have a pregnancy scare but Alba did. She didn’t tell abuela, and I carried that secret for years, so when you said you had sex all I could imagine was a 15 year old Alba crying in my apartment.”

“I understand, but I promise we used a condom. It was only one time and it wont happen again because he broke up with me.”

Your mami frowned, then her eyes went wide, “he broke up with you because of me?”

“Yeah.”

“I am so so sorry. If I could go back in time I would.”

“No mami, its fine. He obviously wasn’t worth it but if you do it to the next person I probably wont be so forgiving.”

Your mami laid down with her, letting you snuggle into her. For now your relationship Ould be strained and maybe it wouldn’t ever be as good as it once was but for now it was fixed. 

[shadowsviper]

Thanos and Nam-Gyu as Cats

I mean as literal cats.

I've been wanting to continue my Birds of a Feather fic but idk if I want to continue it. I have part two half written and I could finish it and post it but that would mean a part three, four, and so on. It's been like a month since I posted the first part and it does end without any cliffhangers so I feel like I could just leave it without continuing it?

Feel free to leave any recommendations for new fics though, no full smuts though I'm bad at writing them. I only write for Thanos and Nam-gyu at the moment. Please don't expect them to be done in a few days either lmao I'm a senior college student I'm busy af and I only write when I have time.

Anyway, enjoy Thanos and Nam-Gyu as cats, and you eventually finding them! I kept reader neutral.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Thanos is an orange cat

Nam-gyu is either a black cat or a tuxedo cat

Not a single brain cell between the two of them

Thanos is bigger than Nam-gyu but skinnier due to not being able to eat much on the streets

Thanos has a long tail and he has little control over it. He's smacked Nam-gyu multiple times before without realizing

Nam-gyu has longer fangs, his top ones stick out of his mouth and he thinks it makes him look badass but to Thanos and everyone else, they think he looks adorable

They were strays for a long time. They found each other on a rainy day.

Nam-gyu had a little cardboard box under some stairs, it's not the best home in the world, but it's the best he's ever had. Thanos squeezed himself into the box one day, drenched from the rain. He didn't realize Nam-gyu was already inside but he couldn't care, he was just happy to be out of the rain

Nam-gyu definitely hissed and scratched at Thanos the second he saw him climb in

Thanos couldn't be bothered at all

Nam-gyu decided to leave him be for the night, assuming he'd be gone in the morning

He was wrong, Thanos didn't leave. In fact, he never left.

They quickly got used to each other and decided to stay together. Thanos did most of the hunting when they were hungry since he was faster than Nam-gyu. He would always return with food, scraps taken from people nearby

Thanos was more likely to get into fights with other cats. Whether it's over territory, food, or literally anything. Nam-gyu has to drag him away every time. If Nam-gyu wasn't there, then Thanos would definitely return home with a few scratches

The two of them were smart when they needed to be. When the two of them would go out to hunt together, Nam-gyu became the distraction. He would purposely rub against the store owner's legs, meowing. The store owner would kneel down to pet him and it took everything in him to not try and bite their hand.

While the store owner was distracted, Thanos would jump over the products and snatch up a big fish. As soon as his paws hit the ground, Nam-gyu chased after him, leaving the store owner confused for a second before he realized what they had done

That strategy kept them fed for a while before they started getting recognized and shooed away before they got close to food

At this point, it's probably been about a year since they found each other. Their home remained the same spot, the little cardboard box they met in. That was until their alleyway was cleaned up and their home was gone

Nam-gyu refused to leave for a while. That spot had been his home for the longest time. He didn't know where else to go

It took a while for Thanos to convince him to leave the spot and find a better place. He had suggested places across the river, where the people had more money, meaning more and better food, and maybe even a better home

They slowly made their way across the river, purposely moving at night to avoid people.

If they ever moved during the day, it was guaranteed that Thanos would try to get people to pet him and give him all their attention

Nam-gyu hissed every time a hand came close to him

If he hadn't considered Thanos as a friend, he would've bitten his head off by now

After traveling for a few days, they settled in a alleyway, next to a small cafe. Scraps were limited but it tasted better than anything they had before

This is where you meet them

You were closing the cafe one night and out of the corner of your eye, you saw an orange cat sitting at the corner of the alleyway. You could tell he wasn't getting enough food, the poor cat was scrawny for his size

You knelt down and offered a hand for him to sniff, only for him to simply shove his head into your hand. You could hear the rough purrs coming from him as you scratched his chin

"You're probably starving, huh?" you reached into your bag and pulled out your lunch from earlier. It was just some leftover chicken. You offered it to the cat

After a few sniffs, Thanos ate the chicken without any hesitation. He picked up the last few pieces and looked up at you. He blinked once before walking away and disappearing into the dark alleyway

It was days before you saw the cat again. This time he was sitting at the entrance of the cafe, meowing for your attention.

You gave him your leftovers again and watched as he ate it, took the rest, and disappeared. It became your routine for a few weeks

The next time you saw him again, he was with another cat. He was a sleek black cat with piercing eyes. You could tell he wasn't as friendly as the orange one

"Are they the ones giving you food?" Nam-gyu had asked. His tail flicked from side to side, distrust was evident in all his movements

"Yeah, I didn't even have to do anything. The food is good so I kept coming back," Thanos had said

You didn't know the two of them were talking to each other. All you heard were meows and assumed they were asking for food so you fed them

It took Nam-gyu a while to trust you. He would snatch the food up and eat it from a distance

Thanos was easily attached to you, he loved the attention, the warmth. He soaked it all up

Nam-gyu was the complete opposite, he had a natural distrust of humans and refused to get any closer than he needed. You're lucky if you can hand him some food without him hissing

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm gonna end this here lmao this became longer than what I planned. I might make a part 2.

I kinda want to make this idea into a fic idk though. Please give me some ideas.

[shadow-wasser]

Well, I agree with the points against rewilding insomuch as I agree that hasty and sloppy rewilding is a terrible idea. And the further, taxonomically and behaviorally, an introduced species is from its pleistocene counterpart, the more caution I'd have.

However, I find *most* of the concept rather ridiculous from a practical standpoint. Let's focus on reintroducing historically extant species first, see how that goes? Some people forget that half the US continent doesn't even have cougars anymore, and like 90% lacks wolves. That's no top predators at all.

Yet, there are complications. Wapiti/Elk are missing from over half of their original range, and two of the original six subspecies are extinct. People are already "reintroducing" elk from other subspecies into the ranges of exterminated elk, in hopes they can replace them ecologically. So I suppose this is already happening.

I often take the somewhat paradoxical environmental stance that: A) we humans need to fully understand the system we are changing before making changes to it, since this is the system that literally gives all life. This is because we are limited. B) we humans need to be intentional and active in how we steward the ecosystems we inhabit (that is, all of them), rather than making a variety of changes for other various reasons and then reaping the repercussions. This is because we are powerful. Acknowledging that our knowledge is limited but our ability to create change is great, I thusly take an overall conservative stance (definitionally, not politically) on questions of conservation. Meaning, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Don't make changes if you don't know what will happen.

The issue with THAT of course, is "what does 'broke' mean?" And how can we possibly know enough to predict an ecosystem like we would a machine? How long do we have to wait to see the fallout of changes made to an ecosystem? Well, we are not completely blind. Examining a forest, you see the future by looking at the young trees growing, because in a few hundred years those will be the canopy. Examining the past, we see how vastly different methods of land management/stewardship have resulted. We ideally should change as little as possible, according to stance A. Yet, we can't move backwards in time, much as Pleistocene rewilding might argue the fact. So in stance B, we need to set stewardship goals with solid reasons behind them, not just romanticize the past.

I don't really have an answer to these questions. We've gone too far in terms of changes to ever see the Earth as it was in the Pleistocene. But considering insect population collapse, climate change, ocean acidification, microplastics in our blood, POPs in our rain water, continuous declines in every clade of wild organisms we've looked at.... business as usual doesn't cut it.

Remember, by definition, what isn't sustainable will inevitably end. One way or another.

The idea of Pleistocene rewilding, even though it annoys the hell out of me, is so interesting in what it implies about ecosystems.

If we accept that North America's ecosystems are "incomplete" or "impoverished" because of the extinction of Pleistocene megafauna, that implies there is a "complete" state of ecosystems. In the absolute sense, of course ecosystems don't ever have a "complete" state, but is it possible for an ecosystem to be relatively incomplete? What does that even mean?

Could an "incomplete" state of an ecosystem be recognizable without knowing what used to exist in that ecosystem, for comparison? Could a researcher tell that they were in an environment where an animal had gone extinct, without any direct evidence of that animal or knowledge of what it was? Who is to say how many taxa of a kind of creatures "should" be in the ecosystem?

Say we accept, then, that North America's ecosystems after the Pleistocene (but before European colonization, which involved intentional destruction) were "complete," in the sense that researchers couldn't detect any obvious "dysfunction," whatever that means.

But 10,000 years, compared with life's history on the earth, are nothing--- the blink of an eye. There hasn't been very much time for entirely new types of animals to evolve.

So it would imply that ecosystems have a LOT of plasticity and ability to re-arrange to absorb shock, and that animals can quickly expand their ranges and change their niches to adapt to the new state of existence.

...this, in turn, implies something strange about the introduction of new animal species to a continental mainland: that "native" and "non-native" animal species probably won't be distinguishably different in their impacts in the long term, because the ecosystem is chaotic and constantly changing to begin with.

Introducing new animals to islands is a disaster, because it's introducing an animal with a niche that didn't exist before at all, such as terrestrial predators or large herbivores. Introducing plants is a disaster in a small and unpredictable sample of cases.

But in the example of horses in North America, the impact could range from positive (horses used to be here, and their extinction "damaged the ecosystem," therefore horses being introduced "fixes" that damage) to neutral (the ecosystem adapted to not having horses very fast, therefore the ecosystem can likely adapt to having horses again very fast). Saying that horses are invasive seems to require us to believe contradictory things: that the ecosystem has changed so much since the Pleistocene that horses no longer belong, and that ecosystems can't adjust to change quickly.

Then, why indeed should we not introduce camels, or cheetahs, or lions?

Well, this is where "Pleistocene rewilding" gets on my nerves: it sees North America as fundamentally impoverished of animals, and at the same time, somehow treats different species of animal as weirdly interchangeable. We don't know if the American lion was closer to a lion or a tiger, and we don't know some important things like its hunting behavior. The "American cheetah" was not any more closely related to the African cheetah than to the cougar, and might not have been a specialized fast runner like the cheetah.

So this might apply to the horse just as well: the species of horse in Pleistocene times might have been so different from today's horse that they don't have the same role in the ecosystem. Well, is it better to be horseless or horsed?

I don't think that introduced species are inherently bad. This isn't a extreme position. Among plants, very few introduced species actually become invasive, and even some of those considered "invasive" are not actually harming the ecosystem in a way that can be demonstrated. I don't think I would recommend the introduction of a plant purposefully, though...or would I? With climate change occurring rapidly, I am in favor of moving species to areas where they can survive.

One philosophy of biodiversity is that the more biodiverse the ecosystem, the more ability the ecosystem has to absorb shock and adapt to change. Introduced species could have a range of potential to adapt different from native species, and could raise the shock absorption potential of an ecosystem. But they would also disrupt existing relationships and cause a shock to the native species that already exist.

Range expansions are an alternative to extinction for some species. We will probably HAVE to consider introducing species to new areas in the future. Well, imagine in the future we put Zebras in Arkansas, and the Zebras outcompeted the white-tailed deer in that area. Is that good or bad? Both species get to keep existing, but the deer's range is a bit smaller. Is the measure of biodiversity more important in a local area or in the world?

Makes my head hurt...

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

•~{ Heyyy, So I found some new outfits on Pinterest so now it’s your gremlins problem}~•

•Frostbite’s Child•

Tim was in a snowstorm, Wait let’s go back a bit.

When he was looking Bruce in the Time Stream after Dick tried to put Tim in Arkham HOW COULD HE- now is not the time to think about that, Tim can have an another mental breakdown later but right now he has to find any clues of where Bruce could have gone.

But Tim doesn’t notice one thing as Tim looks around him while backing up. There was a portal behind him that has freezing air going through and as time backs up here falls through and all he can see is snow falling from the sky before he lands on the ground but thankfully it was covered in a lot of snow so it wasn’t as hard as it could be but it would most definitely be a problem later.

But right now Tim has to find his way back to the Time Stream and back to finding clues about where Bruce so Tim starts to walk through the fourteen inches of snow, Tim feels less lucky about how much snow there is.

After walking for about 30 minutes or so Tim lost count at minute 15 and the fall from earlier has started to show itself and the adrenaline from the fall as well has started to make Tim very dizzy and his spine hurts and after a few more steps Tim falls to the ground and everything gets fuzzy until everything goes black.

When Tim wakes up he was met with a frozen over cave ceiling, and so he try’s to sit up but it quickly shows that was the wrong move as everything starts to spin and Tim has to lay back down and closes his eyes as he does this with the help of two clawed hands, one on his bare-back and one on his shoulder that gently put him down back on the bed thing he is laying on.

….wait what

Tim’s eyes snap open and turn to look at the stranger…oh a very pretty stranger they had long white hair that is done up with braids and they are wearing a dark blue heavy coat over a thick black dress with white fur that looks to be from a deer on the hem it also looks identical to the fur peeking out from the sleeves of their coat and they have two ice horns on their head and they are sitting next to Tim looking at him with worry and a bit of amusement at his reaction to them being there.

Yeah Tim can work with this.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

Danny has to leave Amity Park.

His parents found out about him after Vlad somehow got footage of Danny changing into his Phantom Form [and like the idiot he is he accidentally revealed himself to them] and Vlad gets his ass beat by them for being a ghost and they throw Vlad to the G.I.W.

But Dani went over to Vlad’s house for child support so she saw everything so she books it over to where Jazz, Danny, Sam and Tucker are and tell them everything and after the Fentons are done with Vlad they are going to go after Danny so Danny grabs what he wants to take with him and give Jazz, Sam, and Tucker a way to connect him if they need him or just want to talk to him and he books it out of there with Jazz destroying the portal after him.

So after Danny’s in the Ghost Zone he makes his way to Far Frozen and talks with Frostbite about it and ask if maybe he has a lair as he has heard other ghost talking about it, Frostbite explains ghost only get a lair after 100 years or so and with Danny being a halfa they don’t even know if that going to happen anyway but Danny can stay on Far Frozen as all the Yeti are already comfortable with him staying with them and they can show him things

And Danny agrees with this and starts to live on Far Frozen and he ends up growing horns and learning medicine from frostbite and it comes in handy when he comes across a human passed out in the snow.

-•—•••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•Halfa’s form changes to what and where they spend most of their time

•Frostbite started to call Danny “Polaris” after Danny info-dumped on him and the rest of the yetis caught on and now that just what he gets called most of the time

•Danny has a ice core and isn’t has effected of the cold but he still likes thicker and heavier clothes [Its a sensory thing]

•Danny didn’t give Dani the way to connect him is because she already has it

•Frostbite is Danny’s Ghost Parent but Danny is kinda like the community cat to the vetis so they all take care of him

•Danny helps make sure the younger or baby yetis don’t get to far from the rest of the group

•Danny has a cave that he just likes to chill out sometimes

•Danny convinces Frostbite to help Tim find Bruce after Tim tells him what he was doing in the Time Steam

•Vlads obsession has changed from Maddie and with him being in the G.I.W hands it’s going to make him hella unstable… :)

•Tim doesn’t tell the bats about his very pretty Veiti boyfriend

•One time Tim visits Frostbite is beating Vlad off with a stick while Vlad says very concerning things about Danny that are way out of context and now Tim is about to be wanted for murder

•You could add De aged Dani/Dan but I didn’t feel like adding it myself

•When the Batfam are being assholes to Tim he just books it to Far Frozen to see Danny

•After like 4 months of knowing each other Tim and Danny become boyfriends! [If you want to go down the Dead Tired route]

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance

[ This but with Danny’s ice horns ]

•~{ And that’s it! Hope you gremlins like it until next time byeeee }~•

[lovesim09-blog]

Cale Properties

It's not surprising that Cale, being wealthy, has quite a few properties. But why are most of them like fortresses?

▪︎His first territory was Harris Village, now a better name would be Tiger Village. Okay, maybe the territory belongs to his family and not just him, but everyone calls the tigers his people. So in a way you could say it belongs to him. Plus he has his own villa there. Tigers are dangerous, so you could say he has good bodyguards. In addition, they guard the entrance to the Forest of Darkness.

▪︎Another territory is in the jungle with access to the sea. I don't remember if there was a villa built there, but there was a tent prepared for negotiations between the kingdoms of the alliance. His territory is an important diplomatic location, so there are often guards there. Cale has also helped Jungle more than once. Definitely a safe place.

▪︎Super Rock villa. Underground villa located in the forest of Darkness. The forest is full of poisonous plants and dangerous animals. Has the most Cale's people, is not far from the tiger village. There are only 3 ways to find this place. First, Cale will personally show the location of the place or will give you the coordinates. The second one has the powers of the previous owner's friends. I doubt this method still works though, plus Cale has all their powers. The third option is to go through the tunnel connecting the two continents. However, the tunnel is sealed and only monsters can go through this tunnel.

▪︎Villa in Ubarr territory. Built by the best architect, who built it like a fortress. Close to a military base or part of a military base.

▪︎ Inn 1 and inn 2. There are bandits working there, and one of these places is close to the Valley of Despair.

▪︎ Black castle. Located in the forest of Darkness, full of monsters and Cale's people. The last Dragon Lord lives there, whose attribute is called protection. Even White Star believed it was Cale's base. Later the Henituse family put some money into improving the place.

▪︎ Molan household residence. A natural fortress because of its location. Full of assassins. Yes I think you could call it his home because Ron is still his butler and the future heads of the Molan family are his children.

▪︎Fredo Residence in Endable kingdom. Ok, I know how this sounds, but listen up. Fredo gave him his heirloom, he likes to call him son and said he wanted him as a child but the stress, it was too much. I wouldn't be surprised if he let him have a villa, after all, Cale is Naru now.

[defututus]

Like Father, Like Daughter

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader

masterlist

summary: You come home from work one day and your daughter has something to show you.

word count: 2.6k

author's note: @munson-blurbs has Harris and Hendrix, @corroded-hellfire has Luke, Ryan, and Eliza, and now I have little Angie.

If there are any mistakes in this, then please ignore them. I wrote this up really quickly and didn't even proofread it. Is that a bad idea? Yes. Am I going to proofread in the future? No.

You let out a relieved sigh as you quietly close the front door behind you. Work was draining, and you had to stay after contract hours to finish up some last minute paperwork. Tiredly, you toe off your sneakers and move them to the shoe rack near the door. The rack is almost full, dominated by worn black combat boots belonging to both you and Eddie, his white white sneakers, There are also colorful Velcro sneakers, ladybug rain boots, and a small pair of flower print doc martens. The shoe rack is under a console table where you drop your keys. There’s a picture in the center of the table and you can’t help but smile every time you see it. It was taken the last time Corroded Coffin went on tour last month and captured a special event for your family.

You’ve got on an old Corroded Coffin shirt that Eddie swore he lost but you managed to hide it and turn it into a crop top. The shirt was paired with fishnet stockings, a ripped pair of jeans, and your most comfortable pair of combat boots. The outfit definitely showed more skin than you were comfortable showing, but the look on Eddie’s face when he walked on stage and saw you was well worth it. He also made sure to show you how much he loved it after the show and you had to buy a new pair of fishnets after that.

On your hip was your pride and joy and the owner of the little Doc Martens, your four year old daughter Angela. You and Eddie rarely called her by her actual name, instead calling her Angie, Ang, or Eddie’s favorite, Angel. Your daughter, who calls herself “daddy’s biggest fan”, was also donning a Corroded Coffin shirt but it was so big that it was more like a dress on her tiny body. She chose a sparkly pair of red leggings and her little doc martens. There’s a giant pair of headphones Her hand is outstretched to wave at the cameraman, which in this case was Uncle Wayne. To top things off, she was wearing a large pair of headphones. Angie didn’t like them at first, but quickly accepted them when you explained she could only go to the concert if the headphones stayed on the entire time. She almost forgot they were on her by the time her dad came on stage.

Eddie is next to you, fresh off the stage with his in-ears hanging from around his neck and his hair is drenched in sweat. His bangs stuck to his forehead and was frizzy from all the running around and headbanging. His tank top, once dry and white, was now almost see-through with how drenched it was. His guitar was slung across his chest since they had just gotten off stage. One hand was wrapped around your neck and the other was giving the camera the devil horns while his tongue was sticking out. It was a typical Eddie pose. Wayne made sure to ask for a “nice picture” which he has displayed at his house but you love this one more. It captured the beauty of your perfect family.

Speaking of family, you hear a familiar set of footsteps running through the hallway to reach you and see your daughter wearing her favorite Belle dress and a unicorn hoodie. Her shoes were probably taken off the moment she got home to reveal her rainbow socks. There are a few big hair clips that you didn’t remember putting in her hair this morning, but you don’t pay that much attention. Knowing Angie, she was probably playing dress up with Eddie and wanted to do her hair as well. You kneel down to her level and exclaim, “Hi sweet pea!” as she approaches you with open arms. She runs right into your arms and you stand back up while holding her and begin spinning around. The two of you are laughing, Angela more than you. Once you’ve stopped spinning you give her a big smooch on the cheek, emphasized by a loud, ‘MWAH!’ which sends her into another fit of giggles.

“How is my favorite girl doing, hm?” You begin to bounce her in your arms as you ask her about her day. All you want to do is pinch her cheeks and stare at her all day. You swear she’s a carbon copy of Eddie because there’s no evidence of you in her face. Eddie swears she looks more like you, but she has his signature hair and big bambi eyes. 

Angie responds, “It was good! I made a macaroni necklace and we read a book and played tag with Isabella on the playground!” You nod along as she lists off every single thing she did that day, making a mental note to ask about the book later to buy it for her. It was important to both you and Eddie that she had a love for reading like her parents. One of you would read to her every night and work on her reading skills. The last time you talked to her teacher, they informed you that she was one of the best readers in her class. Eddie almost started crying when he heard that. 

She’s halfway through telling a story about Kevin who opened his Danimals and then shook it before she stops mid-sentence and exclaims, “Oh! Mommy I need to show you what I learned today!” Angie pats your arms, her way of asking to be put down, so you help her to the ground before she races to the back of the house where the living room is. You’re still tired, legs aching after walking around all day, so you aren’t moving as quickly as she’d like. Her little head peeks out from the living room and she says, “MOMMY CMON!”

There’s a hushed voice coming from the living room which you suppose is Eddie, but you’re confused as to why he didn’t come say hello yet. He’s usually there at the door, child in hand, whenever you arrive home after him. You walk through the hallway, passing the door leading down to the basement that Eddie turned into his official D&D game room. There’s a staircase leading up to the second floor with a couple stuffed animals sitting on the steps. It’s not until you turn to enter the living room that you realize why Eddie didn’t come greet you at the door.

He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the stereo with at least ten clips in his hair and a bow on the top of his head. His hair was also looking a little frizzy, maybe Angela tried brushing his hair before putting the clips in. Eddie turns when you enter the room and flashes a smile at you along with a wave. He greets you with, “Hey gorgeous.” before turning to his daughter standing in the middle of the room. You notice that the sofa and coffee table were pushed back to give her ample room, although you weren’t sure what for. He has his hand on the stereo and asks Angie with a small smile, “Ready?”

She nods her head and turns her body to you. Then, Eddie presses play on the stereo and a song starts playing. You instantly recognize it as a Lamb Of God song, although you aren’t sure which one. She begins bouncing as the song plays. You’re standing there confused and look to your husband who locks eyes with you and mouths, ‘Just wait’, before you both look back at your daughter. The song transitions from the introduction to the first verse.

The blood's on the wall

So you'd might as well just admit it

And bleach out the stains

Suddenly, Angela starts to thrash around. She’s shaking her head with the hair clips bouncing off her head. Her little hands are balled into fists as she wildly waves her arms around and she’s swinging her legs around with abandon. In the corner of your eye, you see Eddie headbanging to the song with a wild grin on his face. Angie is having the time of her life dancing in the middle of the room. It reminds you of the crowd at the last Corroded Coffin show. A little too much like the crowd.

Without a word, you creep behind the sofa to kneel beside Eddie. You place a hand on his shoulder to get his attention without interrupting your daughter’s fun. He turns to look at you and his proud smile immediately drops when he sees how displeased you look. Your lips are pursed and eyebrows are furrowed. He always knew you to be the type of person who never got angry, so he knew it wasn’t good when you were looking at him as if you wanted to strangle him. He stares at you and only manages to choke out a quiet, “Hey… what’s up?” 

With a calm and even tone, you make a simple request for him, “Can we talk please–” and look up to your daughter who hadn’t noticed you stopped watching her, “–in private?”

Your husband nods and gets up after you do. Eddie moves to stand with a groan and you can even hear his knees crack in the process. It was so loud that you were surprised Angie didn’t hear it over the blaring bass of the song which was almost over. You try to hold back your laughter as he has to hold onto the nearby furniture to stand up fully. Once he’s standing upright, Eddie leans in and whispers, “You’re laughing now, but one day you’ll be struggling to get up like I am.”

Before you two leave the room, you press pause on the song which grabs Angela’s attention. She stops spinning to look at you confused as to why the music stopped. You walk to her and get down on her level for a second while Eddie walks into the other room. Angela asks, “Mommy, why’d you turn the music off? I wasn’t done dancing yet!” Her eyes, just as brown and beautiful as her fathers, looked so sad and part of you wanted to turn the music back on so she wouldn’t be so upset. The more rational side of you, the anxious mother in you, said it wasn’t safe for her to be thrashing around like that without either you or Eddie watching her. Hell knows she’d probably run into a wall or kick something since her hair was all over the place.

To ease her disappointment, you cup her cheeks and tell her, “I just need to talk to daddy for a minute, okay? Can you teach me how to dance like that when we’re done?” Any trace of sadness is gone the moment you ask her to teach you. For once, she got to show you something new! She’s absolutely beaming and nods frantically. You give her a kiss on the forehead and before leaving the room ask her, “Can you get your backpack for me? We can dance together and then we’ll do your homework together… and you can show me the necklace you made!”

You turn to leave the room and hear her rush past you to where her kittycorn backpack is hanging near the door. Eddie is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen and watching you two. You’re only now getting the chance to admire how perfect he looks. He got out of work before you did so he was able to change from his dirty coveralls to a dark blue henley and some plaid pajama pants. His arms are crossed and they look so big that they almost don’t seem real, one of the many perks of lifting heavy equipment and his job as a mechanic. The colorful hair clips and sparkly bow only add to his good looks, reminding you of the beautiful family you’ve started with him and what a great father he has become. 

Unfortunately, you feel your irritation with him slowly dissolving as you look at him more and he can sense that. You always struggled to stay mad at Eddie because you loved him too much and he was fully aware of that. Sometimes he used that to his advantage to put an end to your occassional  squabbles. Also, Eddie had eyes. He could see that you were staring at him. This shirt did a great job of showing off his tattoos and he knew those were a weakness of yours.

You step into the kitchen before he can get a word in and erase any last bit of frustration with him. Eddie has to get himself to stop smiling when he realizes you aren’t just putting up an act. You were actually ticked off at him.

“So, what made you think it was a good idea to teach our four year old how to mosh?”

You watch as your husband averts eye contact with you and kisses his teeth. His arms are crossed He’s trying to think of a good excuse for this, but so far he can’t think of anything and the longer he stays silent the more intense your glare becomes. Eddie eventually gives in with a sigh of defeat, uncrossing his arms before he admits to you, “Angie asked about the dancing she saw from the crowd when you two came to see Corroded Coffin last month. She thought it looked like a fun dance!” You’re seconds away from berating him before he lifts a finger up to continue speaking. “We talked about safety before I taught her anything. She can’t do it at school or on the playground. The only place she can do it is an open space with no other kids around, and she can’t be alone in the room. I don’t want to be the reason why she has to get stitches after she falls and hits her head on something.”

You heave a sigh of relief at that. Before he can get any ideas, you look up at him and say, “Ok, thank you. I’m sorry if it felt like I didn’t trust you or that I was really angry. It’s just… I dont know Eddie, she’s still so small and fragile and I worry about her all the time.” Eddie is nodding, his eyes focused on your daughter who is back in the living room with the contents of her backpack strewn across the floor. She’s got her yellow pencil case open that holds her crayons as she works diligently on one a color by number piece assigned at school. Your eyes follow his and you put a hand on his forearm to squeeze it. There’s no need to worry about Angela, not really. She has a very capable father who adores her and would never let anything happen to her. You’re sure he’d lay his life down to keep her safe. 

Without looking away from Angie, Eddie remarks, “Angela’s got a super strong and smart mother who doesn’t take shit from anyone, she’s gonna be okay. Besides, she bounces back really quickly whenever she gets hurt. I think it’s some kid superpower or something…” Angie looks to the two of you talking and waves to you both before motioning for you guys to join her in the living room. She’s completely unaware of the conversation happening in the other room and only cares about having her parents around. That, and seeing if you two wanted to have a dance party once her homework is done.

You do dance with her, by the way. After all, you’ve been in more mosh pits than you can remember. Eddie was there with you for every single one of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If anyone is interested, I might write something based on the events that take place after the picture at the Corroded Coffin concert was taken. Let's just say, Eddie had Wayne take little Angie home early so you could get some alone time with your rockstar husband.

[sapphiresonstrings]

The definition of intelligence can't be based on whether you know true things because it's possible to know true things even if you aren't intelligent. All that is required is for someone else to tell them to you. This is why we can't give people pop quizzes on science and history to measure their IQs.

As for producing novel true insights, that's also not a suitable measurement system. Consider this: A super-intelligent AI comes into existence and solves all of math and physics in a few weeks, publishing it as a Theory of Everything that elegantly explains everything in the universe. Under your system, any scientist who reads the Theory of Everything would become objectively stupider because they can never have any novel ideas about science ever again.

Intelligence can't be a factor of your environment, it has to be a factor of you.

Intelligence is simply generalized problem-solving ability. We measure it by finding problems that are difficult to solve, then asking lots of people to solve them. The people who do it better are deemed to be more intelligent. This produces consistent and highly predictive results.

As for the question of whether Donald Trump is intelligent, I suppose that depends on whether you think being the most controversial President in US history is a desirable outcome or not. Becoming President is obviously a difficult challenge, so by overcoming it he's at least above-average.

On the other hand, the greater challenge is in knowing what challenges to pursue, and I think Trump failed at that. He's made his life more stressful by entering politics. I tend to think as Trump as a person who's too clever by a half. He's smart enough to get himself into trouble but not smart enough to get himself out of it.

The same is true of the Pope and Galileo. I don't tend to think of people who aspire to be top banana as the smartest people, unless the perks of being top banana are really worth it. They usually aren't. The smartest people are the ones who identify the actual best ways of life, not the people who get distracted trying to win status contests.

The Pope certainly won his challenges and rose to great power, but in the end Galileo is celebrated and Pope Urban VIII is only remembered as the Pope who beefed with Galileo. I think Galileo rose higher in the end.

On the other hand, if you think being President or Pope is a good outcome then it's impossible to argue with results. Trump's useful ideas seem to have thoroughly outcompeted any true ideas you might have.

they're all obsessed with pet theories of the world shaped around the most stupid, racist, and crucially, simple—no reference to anything needed—frameworks imaginable. the nazi great man theory of history.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 144 (2)

author's note: pretty sure this can be read as a standalone fic, or as a part of my "ashes" series! this is the real alternative ending… considering how the game didn't end as we hoped…. you can check out that part too here, though, because i added some important-ish things to it. anyways i kinda really like how this chapter ended up sooo hope you enjoy too. <3

jack barely said a word to you all evening.

when you met him in the hallway leading to his changing room after the game, he seemed as miserable as ever. barely looking into your eyes, thoughts clearly on something else, rubbing his temples tiredly. you tried everything you could to light up his mood – a cheek kiss, intertwining your fingers with his, whispering sweet nothings into his ear – but he wasn't having any of it.

not that you didn't understand. he had just lost a major game and gone through this championship with just one point to his name. this was definitely not something he was used to, or what he had expected from himself. it didn't surprise you the slightest that he wasn't happy with the outcome of tonight.

after a long and painfully silent taxi ride back to the hotel, jack hurried off to his own room – the one he was sharing with a teammate – to gather some of his things and bring them to your room. most of the american players were going out to drink the loss out of their minds, and jack had no intention of being in his room when his roommate stumbled in drunk at four in the morning.

you'd expected jack to maybe stay in his room for a while and collect his thoughts before coming over to yours. you knew he had a lot to deal with, and you knew he wasn't always the most articulate about these things. talking wasn't his way of letting things like these out.

and yet, he knocked on your door just minutes after you'd parted from him in the hallway. he dumped his bag on the floor after he'd stepped inside, barely acknowledging you as he walked in and sat on the edge of the bed.

this wasn't his usual, relaxed and comfortable silence; this one was heavy, rugged and loaded, making the air thick. jack looked like he wanted to punch something, and you were almost scared that he would – but instead, he simply pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.

you'd seen him get irritated over games before – but this wasn't like any of the other games. this was a chance for him to prove that he belonged on the international level.

"i should've reached more for that pass," jack said after a few long moments. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "i should've stood a little closer, read the game better."

sitting down on the bed, though giving him some space, you were unsure what to say. you knew he didn't like platitudes such as "you were good anyway", and you knew he hated when people tried to comfort him in a way that made him feel like they were just belittling his anger. you had seen enough hockey games at this point to know that there isn't just one mistake that makes an entire game – if the us team hadn't let in two goals earlier in the game, they would have won without going into overtime – but that's not how jack saw it. in his head, it wasn't about the team.

it was about him.

you tried to swallow but your mouth was too dry. his voice was full of contempt, but he needed to let it out, so you didn't say anything. you placed a hand on his back, slowly and carefully, to see if he could even accept any kind of comfort right now.

at first, the thick muscles of his back tensed. but after a few seconds, he breathed out and dropped his face into his hands. "fuck."

his voice was so low, so weak, but it carried his entire frustration.

you didn't say anything more – and neither did he. until he finally looked up, right at you, chest trembling with his unsure breaths. "i need you."

the unexpectancy of the words felt like a dagger to your heart. it wasn't a sexual thing, not even a romantic thing. he just said it like the words escaped from his lips before he could stop them, before he could think them through.

you had no idea what to do. jack, ever the controlled and confident man, spoke with a voice so frail that it broke mid-sentence. he had never said something like this before; jack had always been the strong one, the one to not admit his weaknesses. he showed his feelings, but very rarely said them.

that's when it hit you – he was feeling more than he said out loud.

you knew you should answer him. say anything, but no words came out. so you did the only thing you knew of; you scooted closer, arms draping across his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. he froze, but only for a second before melting into the embrace. with his face nuzzled into your hair, he whispered, "i really wanted to win this. not for the team... for myself. to prove that i'm capable of it. because it's... all i have."

hockey wasn't just a career for him, nor just a sport he loved. it was a part of him.

and you were a part of him, too.

"you have me," you whispered back, unsure if it was a promise or not. but at this moment, it was true.

it took jack hours to fall asleep. it was just as hard for you to doze off, to be fair; his words kept echoing through your mind all night.

i need you.

you knew he said it in a moment of vulnerability, that he wasn't thinking. but... he still said it. it definitely could still be true.

instinctively, you turned around to face him in the darkness. the contours of his jaw were illuminated in the soft moonlight, the soft stubble almost begging for you to brush your thumb across it. but when your gaze climbed higher, you realized – his eyes were wide open, staring into the ceiling.

"you're not sleeping," you whispered.

his breath hitched ever so slightly. busted. "no." his voice was hoarse, tired.

"what are you thinking about?"

he was quiet for so long that you were scared he wouldn't answer. "the fact that i'll never be good enough."

it was so out of the blue that your chest ached with guilt. "jack..."

"it doesn't matter how much i practice. there will always be someone better, someone who scores more points than me, someone more worthy to work on."

it hurt to hear him talk that way. both because it was so far from the truth – did he not still hold the record for most points and assists in usntdp history? – and because he was always so sure of himself, so good at pushing himself forward, never letting his insecurities win over him. "you know that isn't true."

he turned his head in your direction. you couldn't properly make out his expression, but you could feel his gaze on you. "do i?"

"jack," you let out a low sigh. "if you hadn't been good enough, you wouldn't even have been here. you've already made it further than most people. this was one tournament, one game; it doesn't define you."

he shut his eyes as if trying to take in your words. when he opened them again, there was something heavier in his eyes. "it feels like it does."

you wanted to say something more, to make him understand. you wanted to rabble records at him, remind him of what his teammates think of him, what all of the reporters say about his talent. yet, there was something about the way he said it that made you realize that none of those things were what he needed. he didn't need someone to say that all was well – he just needed you to be there.

so you moved closer, resting your head atop his shoulder. it wasn't a big step, but it was enough. "it wasn't your night," you whispered eventually. "but you're still you."

it took a while, but then you felt it – his hand, dragging slowly up your arm. he didn't say anything, letting his touch act as a way of thanking you.

that night, you fell asleep closer than ever.

[fibernati]

The crochet hook case is finally here!!!

This is my very first crochet project. I made it using two different yarns: Barroco nº 4 (the grey one) and Duna (the green one), both by a Brazilian brand called Círculo. Using the 3.0mm hook. And, it took me about 3~4 days to finish. [you can find the project diary here and here]

At the end of the project, I gave up on making two more pockets and made just one. The one without a closure. The fourth one was supposed to go above the bigger pocket, but I thought it wasn't necessary because I don't have that many things to store.

I sewed the hook holder based on the size of my hooks, but they hadn't arrived yet when I crocheted this part, so I ended up following the original measurement and then I regretted it, because as you can see below, there's a piece left over that's no use, it's simply a raised flap. Besides, if you look at the photo above, you'll see that I sewed it on crooked. Everything here is crooked, that okay.

I also gave up on making a pendant for the drawstring because I wanted a flower and I couldn't make one. I asked my mom, and she couldn't make the flower either, so in the end I said let it go, let's keep it simple and it's useful, it achieves the purpose to close the case so I'm fine with that.

Here you can see the things I wish I had done differently. The leftover tab, and the buttons.

These buttons were made from improvisation, because I still don't understand the concept of the magic circle, and they turned out okay, but I sewed them on in a way that, after a few days of closing and opening, made me realize that at some point they will fall off.

So, I'm going to need new bottons and honestly, I can just buy them?? I wish I had thought about it before.

Basically, this is my first project and I hope to use this case for a long time. Now, let's talk about the feelings about make it, the expectations, the frustations and also the tips and cumpliments!!!

Just showing you what I'm storing in each pocket. That one without closure it's empty for now.

As I said before, I started out thinking I was going to follow a tutorial, but I let the project take me and did what I thought would be best for my personal use and to match my personality.

It was a fun project to do, but I'm also very aware of what I would have liked to have done and what I actually did. Not that they are VERY far apart, but learning to crochet for just one week (two now!), I did the best I could with what I had and it's better than not having made anything at all.

During the whole process, the thing that bothered me most was that it turned out crooked. Everything was simply crooked and I didn't know how to fix it, I redid it and it was still crooked, so I gave up and left it crooked.

One tip I was given was to use stitch markers at the beginning and/or end of each row, because that would help me get everything straight. And I'm definitely going to use that for my next project. They also gave me color suggestions and a tutorial on how to make an easy flower. I'm going to try again, but I need to buy the suggested colors before I do that!!!

My friends encouraged me a lot while I was doing it, and every time I said it was crooked, they lied to me. Which was really nice of them, because I have ADHD and I don't know how to deal with frustration, so there were times when I wanted to give up because it didn't look the way it should be in my head.

The people who know how to crochet and have seen this case, both here on Tumblr or in real life, have been lovely to me. They know it has flaws and I know they know it has flaws, but the messages were all saying that yes, it's a bit wonky, but that with practice, I'll be able to make better things and even if it's not perfect now, I've done a good job and shouldn't be hard on myself!

It's cute, it's useful, it's my favorite colors and they match with me, so, yes I'm very proud of my crooked hook case. 10/10 🎉✨

[eclipse-msoul]

FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇

synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?

Or

Normal reader X Platonic yandere Batfamily

Chapter 2 :-

Your eyes twinkled open all while you took your surroundings into view. This most definitely wasn't your room. It was too large yet had a tiny elegance to it. Your mind raked where you were -- seconds passed before you realised you were indeed at your uncle's place. 

Getting off the bed, you made your way to the bathroom and freshened yourself up. Your eyes which were in a daze snap open sharply. You smile at your reflection before coming out. 

Walking out you passed through the large and bright hallways and made your way to the kitchen. Mr. Alfred, you remember, was busy making breakfast. " Good morning, Mr Alfred." He greeted you with a smile. The man had a stern yet soft look in his eyes when he glanced in your direction. 

Passing you an eloquent smile he pushed the seat back for you. " Good morning, Miss Julia. You've woken quite early. " You nodded, " I'm an early wake. Also-" You said turning your head left and right. " Where are my parents?"

" They informed me they had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I was told to inform you when you woke.. " 

Wow, your parents really just left you. What happened to spending a few days there? Really- still you couldn't blame them, they always made time for you but sometimes the work got too heavy or an emergency arrived. " Seems like them. " You sighed while taking a seat. 

Mr. Alfred placed breakfast in front of you. You gasped at the amount, it looked like it could feed ten people. Looking back and forth you asked, " Will my cousins or someone else be joining us? "

Mr. Alfred blinked before a smile found its way on his lips. " Master Duke will be joining us." You had a hard time believing he could eat this much. But hey! It's not like you were familiar with how much a young adult ate. 

As if on que you heard a voice from behind, failing to prevent himself from yawning. " Good morning Alfred. What's for breakfast?” Alfred motioned him to look at the table. You heard a gasp, “ Wow, you really prepared a lot! Is everyone coming back already?”

“ They should arrive by evening. Also-” Alfred coughed, his eyes pointing to you. “ You ought to greet our guest.” The boy's eyes finally scan and spot you. 

You slightly turned your head and looked at him. He was really handsome you thought. His skin was practically glowing but the dark circle near his eyes told you he barely slept. 

He came closer and took a seat next to you. Extending his hand and a smile bright on his lips, he greeted you. “ Sorry about that. I was kind of sleepy. Nice to meet you uhh-.” You shake his hand and smile right back. “ Julia..” You reply, “ A pleasure to meet you too.”

“ Duke.” He says and takes a seat. You don't notice him examining you while you eat. He follows your movements and begins to eat. 

So this is Y/n Julia. 

You look so ordinary, practically so small. He scans you with his eyes and powers and finds you to not be a threat. You turn to him confused as to why he's been staring at you for the past five minutes. 

He places some more eggs on your plate. “ Eat more.” You nodded. “ You have some more too.” You passed him some ham. Both of you chatted with each other and despite him being at least six years older, you were able to enjoy yourself. 

Duke was really good at talking. 

“ Do you want me to give you a tour through the city? We can visit the hospitals too!” Wow he really was nice. You practically grinned, “ I would really like that!” Duke smiled back. 

He was feeling like a big brother right now. A real one. 

He's always wanted a little sibling he could take care of and spend time with. He remembers begging his parents for some. They laughed nervously and told him maybe in the future. 

Then they died and he lost every chance of it. 

When he got adopted by Bruce, he was scared. His new siblings were nice but they all kept their distance. Though with time he'd gotten closer to them all. Even Damien. But his relationship with them all was nothing more than a convenience. To each of them, every single one of them was but a teammate. Just a small part in their great mission. 

Duke had changed in the eight years he was under Bruce's roof. He got more cruel, more efficient and more…emotionless. He had lost any desire for love and care. He couldn't even be brothered anymore. 

Now talking to you, he felt hope brimming. Bruce had already told them all about your family's existence. When he read your file, after it was passed around among his siblings who for some reason just love to mess with each other. He remembers not caring. 

He wants to hit his past self right now. Even if it was him from an hour ago. 

Also

Your picture did not do you justice. 

You look lots more livelier than the picture shows. His eyes have gotten soft in just an hour. That's something none of his siblings would ever believe. Him being kind and smiling with someone? That's practically unheard off! They'll probably try to run some rest on him later. He can already feel a headache coming. 

But he feels they would understand him. They're all the same kind of monsters after all. He can already see you meeting them and them taking a liking to you instantly, just like he has. 

“ Duke, are you listening?” 

He turns his attention back to you. Your bright eyes stare at him with full attention and kindness. He smiles. 

“ I am..” you go right back in for your live of medicine. 

 This is perhaps his first time talking to someone normal. Someone who isn't a vigilante, someone who isn't traumatized. 

Just a normal, bright kid. 

His ears sharpen in edge and his eyes slightly flicker when he hears the footsteps. Bruce is doing it on purpose to not freak you out. He sees Bruce make way to the living room, where you both have taken a seat and are talking. You of course see him and greet him with a smile. 

“ Good morning, Uncle Bruce.”

Bruce pauses before smiling. “ Good morning Julia.” He takes a seat next to you. “ You're quite an early riser. I've never seen any of my children ever wake so early.” He sighs under a smile. 

“ Really?”

“ Yes. They all love to sleep late, when they are home that is.” You wouldn't know but his last bit is meant for someone else.Duke inwardly scoffs. “ They must be home often then.” Bruce freezes and you feel his smile falter before returning to his face. “ They come when they wish.”

You nod. 

Duke already wants to leave. Despite all that Bruce has done for him, he can't make himself stay in his presence for long. Especially if it's not related to vigilante work. He gets up and your attention turns to him. “ Duke?” You ask. 

He smiles and pinches your cheeks. “ I've got some work to do. Let's hang out later, ‘kay?” You nod. Duke shoots Bruce a stare before leaving. You don't notice since it's very quick and subtle

Once Duke disappears, Bruce turns your attention back to him. 

“ It's nice to see you get along with him.”

“ Duke's nice so I wouldn't take the credit.” You reply. You have no idea how cruel and emotionless he is. Bruce would say he was surprised when he saw you both chatting and smiling earlier. Duke has never been this open in front of anyone. Not even his siblings. 

“ I wouldn't put myself down there. You're good at socializing.” you blush. “ Thanks…” 

He smiles. “ So I heard you love medicine. Are you planning on pursuing it?” 

“ I am. It's been a dream for me forever!”

“ That's nice.” He doesn't realise when his hand moves closer and ruffles your hair. He starts and pulls back quickly. “ Sorry.. I didn't realize-”

“ It's fine uncle. You can do it again.” You allow him to pat your head. He smiles at the warmth you give. 

“ So uncle Bruce, when are the others coming? I would love to meet them!” especially if they are nice like Duke. 

“ Right ! They should arrive right-wing” suddenly there is a loud bang and the ground shakes. You about to fall is steadied by Bruce and he helps you get stable. “ You alright?” Bruce asks seriously. “ I'm… fine.”

“ What was that!” Bruce says nothing, just points at the direction of the sound.

“ Master Damien and Master Jason. What are you both doing?” You hear Alfred's voice. He's scolding someone. Bruce and you walk out and you see two men getting scolded by Alfred. 

“ It was Todd's fault, Pennyworth. I have done nothing wrong. “ You see the shorter one trying to defend himself. His face has a big blue spot forming. Probably due to a punch. 

“ Don't put the blame on me Demon brat! Alfie I'm telling you! It was all him. “ The taller one argues back. You see blood falling down his arms. 

Your glance at Alfred who looks like a tired dad ready to bamg his head on the wall. Bruce takes his place next to you and pats your head again. 

“ Here they are.” You hear Bruce sigh holding his nose bridge like a tired parent. “ Welcome to our Mansion Julia.” 

Damn-

TBC…

Coming chapters will be uploaded slowly, also if anyone wants to be added to the tag list, kindly message or comment.

All our batfam has a dark and cute side. So look forward to it ^⁠_⁠^ Also to everyone wondering why I gave reader the name Julia. It's a Nickname I thought would be cute. ( I don't know what it means but it kind of rhyme with jewel. So I wrote it in that context, since she's going to be like a jewel to them.)

Still if everyone wants I'll use y/n or name ( tell me what u all prefer) in the coming chapters ≧﹏≦

Thanks for reading 🩷

[mimble-sparklepudding]

I will add a few suggestions - but I will try to limit myself to ones that haven't already been mentioned. Please bear in mind that these are examples and not being mentioned on this occasion does not mean I don't think that other blogs are not equally worthy of note!

@spotofmummery - one of the best OC (don't quibble) blogs on Tumblr. Fantastic writing, gposing and highly entertaining shenanigans. Who needs sex and violence when you can have snakes and violins? Plus they are supportive, encouraging and splendid across all metrics.

@starrysnowdrop - fantastic Lalafell representation. Beautiful gposes and amazing writing. Also thoroughly nice to interact with and kind to others. Currently exploring new creative horizons, which I am excited to witness.

@kskellington - home to a dizzingly large number of OCs, including Kwas, who is one of the most unique characters you're ever likely to encounter. Very fun and thought-provoking content and a great mutual.

@dragonsongmakhali - arguably some of the best gposes I have ever seen in my whole life, to the point I thought they were official art. Plus encouraging and uplifting in every interaction, even when times are hard.

@furys-mercy - one of the few people who can rival the previous blog in terms of gpose talent, but executed in their own unique and striking style. And also very nice (check out their latest RP venture).

@osric-giroux-ffxiv - one of the most complex and three-dimensional OCs on Tumblr, with a really well-developed backstory and narrative journey. Detailed responses to asks, even the weird ones (some of which I sent, but not all!). Looking for RP connections so go connect!

@kannedia - another multi-OC blog, with some very different characters, but all interesting and well-realised. Very fun to engage with and learn more about each of these OCs.

@adrienvalmont - a very experienced RPer (is that a word?) with a very intriguing character with all sort of interesting connections and complications. Despite (or perhaps because) of their talent, they are very nice to interact with and supportive of others.

@pumpkinmagekupo - not only is this a blog with excellent writing and a wonderful OC, they also put up with me dragging them to various in-game events and plying them with hot chocolate. Also the gposes - they are fantastic.

@yzeltia - definitely a blog that's inspired me to improve my writing, although I doubt that it will ever reach their standard! So many characters, but they are all really engaging and frequently highly entertaining.

@houserosaire - probably one of the most canon-compliant and well-researched OC blogs on Tumblr. I feel like I learn something new about Ishgard every time I see one of their posts. Plus the writing and the gposes are superb - definitely a knight you'd spend all day with.

@orime-stories / @orime-eorzea - as recently celebrated in a recent Lalafellin Limerick so you know it's got to be good! Lots of atmospheric and aesthetic posts, as well as two of the best OCs on Tumblr, with many screenshots and gposes.

@nobutakafairclough - basically an RP coach and FFXIV journalist. Has a podcast, a Youtube channel and a blog and they are all excellent. A really helpful and enthusiastic person who deserves much more attention for their work on here and elsewhere. Please check out their stuff!

@irisopranta - most memorable of rarepairs, with great writing, pretty screenshots and a thriving weaving and haberdashery business!

@saeta - cute art from an incredibly talented artist, but don't let that distract you from the other great things to be found on this blog, including the beautiful gposes.

@talion-graves - mostly a gpose and inspiration blog, but what a gpose and inspiration blog. You may feel the need for a brisk run around the playing fields and a cold shower after this one.

@kaitontenchu - one of the best WoLship blogs to be found anywhere, by turns cute, moving and hilarious. Another very fun perspective on Ishgard as well.

@hikinghydaelyn - something a little different. A concept blog (like a concept album, but like, a blog) about a little hiker and his journey across the world (and maybe one day beyond). Perhaps you will meet this OC on his journey and become a part of his unfolding story?

@cadrenebula - one of the first blogs I ever followed and still one of the best. I'm not sure they quite win the "most OCs ever to be found on one blog” contest", but they are certainly in with a chance at the prize for "the most individually detailed OCs in a blog with lots of OCs in it". Honestly, each one is more detailed and better realised than I could ever manage with just a single OC. All the writing, all the screenshots - go check them out!

@tanktechnician - After an Ala Mhigan Miqo'te OC with a strong personality and a compelling story? You've come to the right place! A really enjoyable blog to follow, with lots of ongoing character development.

OK I have to stop now, it's 3:30am, but know that this is just a snapshot of some fantastic blogs and there are many I wish I could have included, but I'm falling asleep...

SHAMELESS PLUGGING - FFXIV STYLE!

It's that time of year again! Here are just a FEW of the amazing blogs available to follow in the FFXIV community here on Tumblr! (A lot of them can also be found on Bluesky--two for one shot!) If you're not following them, YOU SHOULD BE!

@lynxden -- gorgeous shots, amazing information on lion dancing and the history of it, even some goddamn STOP MOTION ANIMATION with FFXIV screenshots, that is astounding.

@coldshrugs -- a gorgeous WoL and some absolutely amazing screenshots, I am just... *sigh*

@darcar -- a Viera as pretty as Anna (and I rarely say that...)

@cerbaros -- the GPose just gets better and better and BETTER...!

@zylphiacrowley -- ever wanted to go through the MSQ in graphic novel format? Zyl's got you covered.

@mist-touchedxiv -- come get you some Viera lore theorizing and some really interesting backstory!

@abyssalmermaiden -- legit I wonder what people drink to come up with such absolutely fucking cool character ideas...

@iron-sparrow -- why are you not following them? Why are you not following them? YOU'RE MISSING YEIN!

@ink-dreams-ffxiv -- the fishercatte is so CUTE!

@oneiroy -- not only do they put up some hella good mods, they take AMAZING shots.

@verysmallcyborg -- and if you follow Ryss, you have to follow Fornax so you can get the complete "butches in love" package!

@nolanel-corbeaux -- you will meet the skink and you will thank me for directing you to this one.

@ser-corviknight -- Avery has such FUN characters and one of the most unique WoLs I've ever seen.

@ahollowgrave -- I will always and forever push more people to follow Odette.

@feralkwe -- watching Feral get into GPose crimes is almost as delightful as reading their fanfic.

@arty-ffxiv -- when you meet Kupa, you'll wonder why it took so long to follow.

@drownedlight - this is really just a gateway to their AO3 page, but I know the fanfic will lure in just... OH so many...

@sezja -- a violet Hrothgal is the first beauty to greet you, isn't that a delight???

DO YOU KNOW MORE??? ADD MORE!!! GIVE ME MORE WONDERFUL, TALENTED PEOPLE TO FOLLOW!!!

(Like you @luck-and-larceny I see you posting more Malika lately...!)