#I’m imagining this is like a networking party or something

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Kind of obsessed with the idea of Terzo referring to Omega as “my partner Meg” to people who have never seen him so they get the shock of their life when Meg turns out to be a 6’7 guy with unnerving eyes who’s built like a brick shithouse and could crush a watermelon with his thighs.

[daisyvisions]

Change Your Mind - (l.jy)

➺ Pairing: fboy best friend!Juyeon x afab!reader

➺ Summary: You befriend your college’s resident fuckboy who’s been eager to get with you since day one. But after a rollercoaster of emotions between your friendship, he wants you more than you could ever imagine.

➺ Word Count: 4k (wow who is she?!)

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends to lovers, mentions of partying, drinking alcohol, fuckboy tendencies (flirting, hookups, ghosting), lying to reader (at first), lots of kissing and making out, dry humping, oral (f! receiving), slight handjob and masturbation, unprotected sex (but he pulls out), aftercare, pet names (sweetheart, baby), a lovesick Juyeon

➺ A/N: I’m officially back from my break! Really wanted to take some time off and focus on things irl, can’t really say if the break helped bcos I was still stressed haha but anyway!This took me a while to finish up, felt incredibly rusty writing again but glad I was still able to do it 😭 Considering this as my late birthday greeting for Juyeon. Hope you enjoy this piece! Proofread once. Let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Network & Tag: @deoboyznet, and my girlies @aimeecarreros @snowflakewhispers @winterchimez

If anyone told you that you’d end up becoming best friends with one of the most sought out guys in your campus (and not to mention resident fuck boy), you would’ve laughed at their face. All your life you’ve tried to avoid befriending guys like Juyeon. A guy like him just generally gave you the ick.

You never understood how or why people would want to be friends with someone whose only objective is to get into girl’s pants and be praised for it. Not only that, but also playing with someone’s feelings and just dropping them at an instant was wrong on so many levels.

But here you are, lending him a helping hand while you two clean out his living room after throwing yet another one of his bi-weekly parties, which was usually code for “Please let me at least make out with someone tonight.”

It’s crazy how you consider him one of your bestest friends. In another world you both knew this friendship would never work out. You were both opposite of each other in so many ways!

So how did you even end up becoming friends with Juyeon?

Transferring to a different university in the middle of the semester was one of the worst things that could've happened to you. Not only did you have to adjust to a new set of lesson plans and navigate your way around campus, but you also had to sit alone during lunch since practically everyone already knew each other from freshman year and had their own set of cliques.

During your first week, you thought you could at least find a table you could sit with just by going up to the group you vibed with the most and ask politely. But you decided to just sit by yourself instead and avoid any embarrassing introductions. You refused to be known as the weird new girl (which you already felt like one to begin with.)

You tried to fight off the tears emerging from the corners of your eyes as you sat quietly in the corner of the cafeteria, slowly poking the food on your tray as you try to drown out the noise around you.

You wish you didn’t have to transfer and leave everything and everyone you knew behind. Yes, you can still call or text your friends, but you knew it was different than actually being with them on campus.

You were convinced you’d be alone for the rest of your years in college. No friends to hang out, laugh, or cry with. No one to go through the same struggles as you. No one to tell you that everything was going to be okay. You were definitely on your own until-

“Hey.” The voice suddenly snapping you out of your self-loathing as you look up and see probably one of the most handsome men you have ever seen in your life.

The way his eyes held so much love, how his smile could light up anyone’s day, and how his aura was something you never felt with anyone before. He was practically radiating sunshine to your already gloomy day. It almost felt too good to be true… Because what the hell was he doing here in front of you?

“…Hi?” You sit up straight as you try to subtly dab off the tears in your eyes.

“I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone.” The man gently says.

Great, the first thing he notices about you is how much of a loser you are. But before you could even say anything back he continues on.

“Would you like to come sit with us? We have some space for you at our table.” He slowly smiles at you. You hesitated at first, confused by the whole situation but quickly made up your mind.

“Uh… yeah, sure! If it’s not any trouble.” You shyly respond.

“Of course not! Can’t let a pretty thing like you be all alone on her first week here right?” He holds out his hand to you.

“How did you-”

“I’m Juyeon.” He interrupts you again. You tell him your name, your cheeks slowly warming up as your hand intertwines with his as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He smirks. You felt the butterflies raging within your stomach.

“So, let’s go?” He waits for your response, but you shyly nod your head instead as proper words get caught up in your throat. Grabbing his hand as you stand up and follow his lead.

You try not to make a fool out of yourself as you feel Juyeon’s hand rest on your lower back as you guides you through the sea of people. As you two are walking towards his table he leans close to your ear and whispers,

“We’re gonna be best friends, I promise.”

And ever since that day Juyeon really did keep his promise. He helped you catch up with some of the lesson plans you had, guided you around school, and always made sure to leave a space for you beside him during lunch.

You tried to wrap your brain around the idea of how someone like Juyeon just randomly entered your life and swept you off your feet. At first you felt like you were on cloud nine getting the most attention and almost boyfriend-like treatment from him. But as the weeks went by you soon discover that his reputation actually preceded him more than you thought.

You see, it was no secret that Juyeon was somewhat of a playboy. Well, somewhat was an understatement. During the first few weeks since you became friends he would walk you to class almost every time. In those moments you couldn’t understand why people would give you such weird looks or whisper to each other whenever you two would pass by.

Maybe it was because you stuck out like a sore thumb as the new girl? You decided not to mind it for a while, pushing down the thought that you were just overthinking all of this… that is until you accidentally learned about his reputation and the real reason why he approached you that day.

It was an accident. You were never meant to find out anything about Juyeon. But during a party that he brought you to, a certain loosed-lip drunk friend (Eric) decided to spill everything to you, down to every letter and detail imaginable.

To be honest, it didn’t bother you when you found out that Juyeon was indeed a fuck boy. You saw the signs as the weeks passed by.

The way he would flirt with someone while waiting for you to finish class, how the notifications on his phone would show a name of a different girl every week, and even the subtle touches he would leave on you which were definitely not considered friendly but not perverted either. What bothered you the most was finding out the reason why he even wanted to be friends with you.

“He’s been really working up to have his way with you, you know? And I mean who could blame him? Have you seen yourself? You’re so fucking hot-” Eric rambles on to you as he tries to lean his body against the wall to keep himself upright, slowly inching his way closer to you. You felt your blood boil in that moment, completely ignoring Eric’s advances.

How could Juyeon do this to you? Even after everything you shared with him about your life, your struggles, your secrets too? And to think you were starting to feel like he could be a really great friend to you. But this? Hell no. You were not about to let some handsome sleazy guy use you like that. Not in this or any lifetime.

You nearly crush the plastic red cup in your hand before storming out of the house, intentionally pushing past Juyeon’s shoulder in the way as he tries to approach you with the most concerned look you had ever seen on his face.

He ran after you that night. He even dropped on his knees begging for forgiveness in front of a crowd of drunk college people too. Over the top sure, but somehow you knew his apology wasn’t just a one and done thing.

And after the humiliating lecture you gave him as well as the list of promises he had said he will be doing in order to make up for his mistakes, you decided to give him another chance.

In return of accepting his apology, you offered to help him get out of his fuck boy tendencies and be his “guardian angel”. Juyeon was reluctant of the idea at first because it would mean he couldn’t be free to do as he pleased but he eventually gave in. He had to because well… He did owe you a lot for lying to you in the first place.

Somewhere in your mind you knew this could turn out to be a bad idea. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, or however the saying goes. But Juyeon was different.

You knew somewhere in that deep conceited mind of his there was a version of him that was actually a good guy. A guy that can actually learn how to not fool around and maybe one day, find someone worth changing for.

You can tell it was a struggle for him at the beginning. But eventually he started to lessen the flirting, the hookups, the ghosting, and more.

Gone were the days where Juyeon had a line of women wrapped around his fingers (because they were too many of them to count). Dating was still a thing for him, but he had said and even showed you that he would take them seriously and not just move onto the next one as easily as he did before.

Eventually you realized over time that Juyeon turning over a new leaf was also becoming a struggle for you especially at parties when he would come up to you nearly drunk out of his mind, his subconscious would revert back to his old habits and he would act them all out on you.

His hands subtly snaking around your hips, your waist, how he would brush the hair off your neck and leave a warm kiss on shoulder. The way he would smile at you like a lovesick fool, never leaving your side as he attempts to drop his corny pickup lines.

Or the way he would jokingly confess how badly he wanted to kiss you. You knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind, that he was just being his old self. But it really did confuse you because sometimes it felt all too real.

Now you understood why someone could fall so easily for Juyeon. It was second nature to him.

You tried so hard not to give into his appetite especially in those moments. But it was becoming difficult each time since you the crush you had on him from the first day you met was screaming to be set free, desperate to overtake your heart and soul and just allow him to do as he pleased, no matter the consequences.

The many “what-if’s” that crossed your mind when you were alone in your room at night had plagued you constantly. Your walls were starting to crack and it was making you lose your self control around him.

“Maybe one little kiss wouldn’t hu-” No. You shouldn’t. The whole point of staying friends with Juyeon was to guide him to being a better person. It wasn’t about you or how you felt at all!

But… how bad could it be to become selfish just one moment in your life?

“Wow, I’m so tired.” Juyeon plops down on the sofa as you finish up collecting all the empty bottles and cups around the room. After the last bottle was thrown inside the trash bag you washed your hands and plopped right next to him.

You instantly close your eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief, showing the same exhaustion as he felt. As you stay silent and enjoy this quiet moment, Juyeon can’t help but just stare at you. He watches how your chest slowly moves up and down and tries to commit to memory the little details of your face.

You look so beautiful right now, he thinks to himself. As you always have since the first time he saw you. But he pushes down the feeling deep within his gut, having given up pursuing you a while back. But it doesn't hurt to look every once in a while right?

As soon as you open your eyes again, you catch him staring at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. You chuckle at how silly he’s being and turn your body slightly to face him.

“What?” You ask.

“I-It’s nothing.” He shakes his head.

“C’mon, what is it? You can tell me.” You semi pout, and how can Juyeon say no to you?

“I was thinking-”

“Oh no he’s thinking.” You fake gasp and giggle as he playfully nudges your shoulder in return.

“It’s just- I still can’t believe how we ended up as friends despite everything, you know?” He smiles gently.

“Me too.” You respond, “To be honest, if I had known about your reputation before we met I would’ve rejected you that day.”

“Yeah?” Juyeon’s eyes grow wider as he scoots closer to you. He places his hand on your knee, making you become nervous all of a sudden. “And why is that?”

“W-well…” you feel a lump forming in your throat, the way his cologne invades your thoughts and has your head slowly spinning. Is it getting hot in here or is that just you?

“Because, guys like you just aren’t my type that’s all. And well-”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Juyeon interrupts you as he looks into your eyes. You nod in response.

“I haven't been with anyone else ever since that night you confronted me about my behavior.” He pauses for a moment. Dead silence filled the air as he waited for your response while you tried to grasp what he was trying to say.

“Huh? What about that girl you were with last week? Or the one you were texting?” You softly ask.

“I... I lied about them.” Juyeon looks away from you, afraid to look at your reaction. He looks up at the ceiling, pushing down any regret he’s feeling at the moment admitting the truth to you.

“But, why?” Your voice laced with concern.

“It felt wrong to be with those girls. To even think about kissing or touching them the way I would've back then, because…” He looks back at you, his hand on your knee now traveling up to your lap.

“…All I ever thought about in those moments was you.”

You felt your heart running a mile a minute. Eyes widening at his sudden confession.

“God you’re so beautiful it kills me inside.” he raises his hand and cups your jaw, thumb slowly stroking your cheek as his gaze turns into something more than just lust.

You subtly catch him quickly looking at your lips, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as he leans in closer. And with your lips just millimeters apart, he suddenly stops.

“But who am I kidding? I know you don’t see me that way-” Juyeon retracts his head, his face expressing a certain kind of sadness you can’t seem to properly label. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears as you watch him slowly slip away from you.

“Juyeon I-”

“It’s alright, I’m probably drunk. Just- forget what I said.” He shakes his head, but before he can attempt to get up from the couch, you grab his wrist. “No.” You sternly say.

Juyeon slowly sits back down on the couch and scoots really close to you, thighs pressing against one another. His eyes don’t leave yours, waiting for what you have to say or do.

“S-show me. Show me you mean it. Every word you just said.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.” Juyeon lunges forward and wastes no time as he leans in to kiss you. His pillowy lips feeling like heaven as he guides your lips with his, both melting into one another like it was always meant to be.

As your arms start to wrap around his neck Juyeon pulls you in closer, his body slowly falls backwards onto the couch. His hands desperately grabbing your hips to make you straddle his lap.

Juyeon whimpers into your mouth as soon as his straining bulge rubs against your core. His member throbs harder as you begin to roll your hips subconsciously.

He’s fucked way too many times to count but for some reason, grinding yourself onto his crotch makes him feel like an untouched virgin all over again.

He swears he can burst inside his boxers any second now if you keep doing this to him, especially with the soft little moans coming out of your mouth that sound so sweet.

Juyeon pulls away from your lips and starts to kiss your neck, mapping out his kisses until he finds the spot that makes you melt into a puddle. He knows he’s found that spot as your moans become louder and drag on longer.

He starts to wrap his arms around your torso and without warning, he flips you both over, making you squeal as he giggles at your reaction. His eager hands waste no time to unbutton your jeans as he continues to leave marks on your neck. You slightly push him away as you feel him slowly sneaking one hand into your pants.

“Wait-” You grab his wrist before he goes any further.

“Do you want to stop?” He waits for your answer.

“No it’s not that.” Your eyes close for a moment as you catch your breath.

“It’s- well- It’s been a while I've since done this. I- I might not be good for you.” Juyeon senses the worry in your eyes. He leans down to kiss the space between your eyebrows, his free hand caressing your cheek.

“Oh sweetheart… you’ll always be too good for me.” He smiles down at you. “You sure you still want this?” You nod your head instantly.

“Use your words baby, need to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.” His hand travels to your neck and gives it a soft squeeze. The act alone is enough to get you dizzy again.

“Want you- want you to touch me, please.” You look up at him so innocently.

Juyeon leans in to kiss you passionately once more, his tongue immediately intertwining with yours. He helps you out of your pants in the process not wanting to pull his lips away from yours until he tugs the hem of your shift and lifts it off, leaving you wearing nothing but your underwear on.

His kisses start to travel oh so slowly from your lips all the way to your inner thighs. Juyeon can feel himself pre cumming at the deep inhale of your panty covered core. The wet patch luring him in to kiss it and practically mouth your covered folds.

You let out yet another ethereal moan as your fingers weave through his hair. His hands slowly pull the garter of your underwear down, throwing the damp material behind him as he continues on with his ministrations.

Juyeon wastes no time and grabs the back of your thighs and placing them over his shoulder, making sure that his face is locked onto your throbbing core. He kisses your folds before suddenly darting his warm wet tongue between them, reveling in the taste of you before flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up to watch your reactions, which motivate him to keep on going.

“P-please…” You whine as he hums and sucks on your clit. Juyeon doesn’t even need you to tell him what you want, by the sound of your moans and the way your thighs slowly squeeze his head he knows you’re getting closer to the edge.

He nearly lets go himself when you reach your high without warning, the sudden burst of your essence onto his lips as you moan out his name was something he never thought would feel so divine.

He pulls himself up and goes back to kissing you, tasting yourself on his tongue has your core throbbing for him once again. Your hands hastily helping him unbutton his own pants along with his boxers as he pulls them down and kicks them to the side.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his impressive length, your hand instantly wrapping around his member as you stroke him slowly. “Oh s-shit.” He growls into your ear.

“Want you inside me Juyeon, want you to fuck me.” You whisper in his ear. He grabs your wrist to stop, holding his own member as he aligns it with your entrance.

“Don’t want to fuck you-” He mumbles. You pull away from him, confused by his words. His other hand grabs the back of your neck as he pulls your face closer to his.

“-Want to make love to you.” He whispers into your mouth. And before you know it he’s pushing his entire cock inside you, bottoming out instantly. You both moan into each other’s mouths at the stretch. Juyeon moves his hips slowly as he starts to fuck you deeply, making sure you feel all of him going in and out of your pussy.

Juyeon wishes this moment could last forever, but the way your walls grip onto his member like a vice brings him closer to the edge faster than he had hoped. Especially with how you’re moaning into his mouth and wrapping your arms around his neck so tight? He was a goner.

He’s never fucked anyone like this before, and now he can’t imagine doing this with anyone else except you.

With every deep thrust, you feel yourself on the verge of cumming for the second time. Each stroke hitting that sweet spot in you has you reaching for the stars.

“Fuck Juyeon, you’re gonna make me cum again.” You whine as the wet sounds you're both making has you feeling dizzy.

“C’mon sweetheart, cum on my cock. God you can keep cumming on my cock as much as you want I don’t care.” His thrusts start to pick up the pace. “I’m yours forever.”

Those three words were enough to snap the coil within, breathing heavily as your walls flutter around his length. You’re so caught up in your own head you don’t realize Juyeon uttering a string of whimpers until you feel him quickly pull out his cock and blow his load all over your stomach.

The both of you take a moment to calm down from your highs before Juyeon gets up to each for the box of tissue on the coffee table. You watch him gently clean you up before he pulls his boxers back on to find your discarded underwear and also helps you put it back on.

He hovers above you before leaning down to leave small kisses around your face and on your lips. You caress his cheek slowly as he leans into your touch.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said?” You softly ask him.

“Down to every letter.” He responds. “But… I think you broke me.”

“Broke you? How?” You playfully scrunch your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t want to see myself with anyone else now.”

“Oh really?” You raise an eyebrow. “And how should I fix it then?” He smirks and kisses you again,

“Let me take you out on a date and we’ll call it even.”

[formosusiniquis]

Steve gets control over the TV three hours a week. Friday night when he commondears the phoneline too so he can talk to his mom about Dallas as it’s happening. Tuesday, when their local network airs the new Star Trek. And Wednesday, when Quantum Leap is on.

He had to fight for Wednesday.

He had to admit that maybe he does have a thing for science fiction but he doesn’t actually think Robin cares that much about China Beach, just giving him a hard time.

It’s October, Robin is on the floor finishing up their costumes for a party she found on Saturday.

“Where’s he leaping to this week?”

“You’d know if you tuned in every week with me.”

“No, I’m with Eddie, it lost me when the leap was about Buddy Holly and not saving that lesbian.”

He ignores her. Because that isn’t what happened, mostly, and the episode is starting and because he doesn’t actually know the answer. Last week’s episode had ended with a leap back to somewhere Sam had already been.

And somewhere along the way Steve isn’t sure he’s even watching anymore. He can’t even hear Al and Sam’s banter over the sounds of his own thoughts.

Why wouldn’t Sam be excited? Who wouldn’t be excited to get to be a girl? It’s just sometimes, has Sam never thought it would be nice to be a girl just for a little while?

Then there’s the dress.

“I wish I could look like that.”

“What?”

Steve’s barely aware he’s spoken until he hears Robin trying to clarify.

This should be a bathroom conversation, but if he looks away he’s worried this will end. He can’t come back and have it be over. He can’t leave the bathroom and learn he imagined the whole thing. 

So he looks a the chest hair poking out of a low cut floral dress and he says what he’s thinking.

“I want that, I think. I want the dress and the shoes. I want to look in the mirror and see a pretty blonde with a strong jaw. I don’t want it all the time, but I want it.”

“Okay.”

“Is it?”

She clambers up on the sofa. Her fingers cold where she grips tight to Steve’s arm. “I don’t think everyone’s going to get it, but I do. I get you, I’m with you. And you would look better in that dress than Scott Bakula.”

“I’ve got better legs than he does.” Steve says, cause that’s what they do. It’s something serious and then they break the tension knowing they’ve got the one person in the world who understands them sitting right beside them.

“And your hair is nicer.”

“I wouldn’t wear that ugly hat.”

“You wouldn’t need to, your hair would look better.”

“Robin, I think I want to be a girl today.”

“Sounds like it's time to leap, Stevie.”

[pyronovas]

𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Lucien Flores x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | this is for @iamasaddie's kinky may writing challenge, a mix of a kink i haven't tried writing before and character i adore dearly but know next to nothing about. this was really fun to try out and my first fic back in almost four months, cheers to finally being back ig? may we christen it with smut.

content warning | heavy smut, literally pwp (there's some backstory if you squint), sensory deprivation, safe words, some food consumption as foreplay, some bodily fluid exchange/consumption, gags/restraints/ect and all that good stuff, oral (m/f receiving), p in v unprotected sex, established relationship, lucien is still a relatively blank character so none of this is canon (just how my silly little brain likes to imagine him rn)

word count — 4.7k

The rain is quiet against the apartment window, a soft and slow pattering that matches the slow beat of your heart. You can’t see it, not in your current position as Lucien leans his knee into the mattress behind you and the bed dips, warm fingertips brushing over your cheeks and the shell of your ear as he carefully and methodically secures the blindfold in place with a knot that feels secure. He brushes his fingertip over your nose as he nitpicks and mumbles something under his breath, fixing the black material until your vision is completely hindered.

“Princesa,” His voice is a soft caress, “everything alright?”

Constant check-ins, reassurances, comfortability and security—it was all you felt with Lucien. Things had clicked with him so easily. It made your heart drop into your stomach with the first realization, unlucky with love to a fault that never let up. He had eyes on you from the moment you first met and they never drifted.

A mid-life crisis. You were younger, a subordinate under his wife, and unattainable by most standards and rules. Fetching coffees, keeping Rose on schedule and reminding her of all the never-ending events she kept yes-ing—Lucien and her had long been divorced but a chance encounter at an industry mixer had landed you here. A routine you’ve both upheld for the last six months and it felt real. You had solid ground to stand on with Lucien and he never diminished how you were feeling, even if you felt so embarrassingly naive about things.

And the sex had never steadily climbed and crescendoed—Lucien liked to ravish and devour in a way that had you holding your breath and helped him realize very quickly how overwhelmed you could get. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but there was too much outside distraction—him, the droning buzz of traffic outside of his apartment, the distant muffled television a room away that Lucien always forgot to turn off before settling down for the evening with you. 

You needed focus, grounding—given Lucien’s illustrious history and Hollywood rumors and all the things you’ve heard from around town and within the social networks you shared, he seemed like the furthest thing from a good choice.

But, the care and attention he showed you drowned it out entirely. 

Hell, he gave you a key to his apartment within a month and you’ve never seen anyone else visit him—he doesn’t host parties here, he doesn’t even let his ex-wife set foot past the threshold. It was your own little sanctuary.

You lift the blindfold slightly and ruin the work he’d done to get it just how he wanted, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Hmm?” He’s got an eyebrow half-raise, features relaxed but masking an obvious worry that he didn’t want to harp about. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

Lucien tilts his head, “How good?”

Just good. Kinda good. I’m only telling you I’m good so you don’t worry about me.

His thumb rubs at your chin and the thoughts float away and you allow yourself to live in the moment, reaping in the undivided attention this man showed you.

“Really good.” You reply salaciously, using the angle to your advantage as he towered over you on the bed, foot dragging along the inside of his thigh and pressing into the back of it until he lost his footing and slipped further into the deep pockets of the comforter. “Better if you start touching me like you kept promising over dinner.”

“Eager today?” Lucien teases as he crawls until he’s found his way between your legs, resting on his outstretched palm as he fixes your blindfold and darkness floods your senses again.

“Game recognizes game.” You retort, allow Lucien to use a guiding hand to settle you against the plush headboard, buttons pulling in on the fanned, velvet material. “I really need this today.”

There’s a soft shuffling and the familiar clink of expensive jewelry scattering against the bedside table—it was the forewarning that Lucien was prepared to make a mess of you, hammering that final nail in the coffin as he drags three fingers in a harmonious unison over your clothed pussy, the thin shirt you were wearing rubbing against the inside of his forearm as he applies just enough pressure to have you chasing after it when it fades away.

“I know, baby.” His voice drips like a warm honey, sticking to your skin and making you sweat. “Say your word.”

“Luce, we do this every time. I know it, we’re good.”

Silence lingered and you cleared your throat, the dip of pressure in the mattress between your legs from his hand, not allowing himself to touch you until you repeated it back to him.

You nod, “Peach.”

The small tick of a fond memory shows on his face, lips curling up at one side. It happens every time and Lucien knows it was meant as a playful jab in the beginning, but it quickly became something so sacred. 

You've only used it once and never out of fear or miscommunication—Lucien understood your limits and liked to push when you agreed, but one too many orgasms by his tongue as he buried his head between your thighs had eventually became too much and it was said through a shaky laugh, yanking at his curls until he surfaced.

Lucien, almost instantly, is there—mouth pressed against the barrier of your underwear, fingers curling around your thighs and spreading you apart with ample pressure, exploring your skin like uncharted territory, a new exploration. Like he hadn’t been going down on you for the last several months and already mapped out every inch of your body, knew all the shortcuts and quick routes.

The wetness soaked your underwear, the fleshy fat of his tongue rubbing hot and lapping at the heady taste of your arousal with a sigh before his fingers curl around the edges of your underwear where they cling to your hips, moving them down your legs and suddenly, despite being surrounded by darkness, the feeling of exposure is still daunting. Every time. 

“Tell me about your day.”

Then he’s licking a slow stripe down your center and you’re curling at the sudden touch, but quickly relaxing as he settles in, letting your fingers rest back in his soft curls, using your other senses while they are still available. Your mind wanders and wonders, thinking about the expertise and dexterity of his tongue. How if he really wanted you to come, he would have you there in less than a minute, but he was going easy.

“Boring,” Is all you have, “Most of the same.”

He’s just trying to fill the air, giving you a solid distraction outside of his filthy mouth. It’s not exactly his aim to bring up work during sex, especially when it’s in relation to his ex-wife.

“And dinner? How was it?”

Lucien purposefully flicks his tongue over your clit and you gasp softly, tugging at the strands of hair under your fingertips and you feel a hand rub at your lower back as it arches, a tender touch that you give into.

“Perfect,” It’s the truth, eternally grateful for his choice of personal chefs, because as much as you adored Lucien, he was not to be let into a kitchen, “delicious, as always.”

Lucien groans, deep and low against your pussy as his mouth sucks greedily at you, feeling his fingers inching closer and closer to your core, like he’s trying to take things slow for now, but the impatience is winning out. They’re tight at the apex of your thighs currently and just bordering on discomfort when he squeezes every time you moan or sigh or make even the smallest reaction to his mouth.

“R-right there,” You direct, canting your hips up despite his strong grip, “fuck, just—yeah, right there.” Lucien has always responded well, course-correction and sensing the way your body pulls him in, thighs squeezing around him as he dips a finger inside of you in time with his tongue, working you over mercilessly.

The lack of sight is making everything that more intense, searching for something to ground you, using your grip in Lucien’s hair, your other hand placed over his where it’s curled around your thigh as an anchor, feeling him speak against your cunt, filthy words you can’t quite catch but if you could see him, he would be sporting a shit-eating grin. 

The heat in your stomach coils, feeling the sensation down your spine as you whimper, one final swipe of his tongue over your clit within the immense build up of tension has you brokenly moaning out, “Come—fuck, I’m c-coming, Luce.”

Lucien laps at your greedily, prying your thighs apart forcefully.

“Shit—” His voice encourages, “—such a sweet fuckin’ pussy. Makes me fuckin’ crazy. Need you to taste it, baby.”

He’s already moving up your body as your lips part, your tongue dipping blindly into his mouth and tasting the headiness of you on his tongue, a sweet tang that isn’t unwelcomed. You don’t often make it a habit to kiss him after he’s gone down on you—he’s often messy, face a mix of saliva and you, smeared all over his chin, but the frenzy in his voice is hard to deny, giggling softly into his mouth as your teeth graze his bottom lip.

You’re still effectively blind, rubbing your palm over the inseam of his silk lounge pants, pulling at the delicate string that was struggling, tight against the length of his cock. Lucien grunts into your neck at the touch and widens his knees against the mattress, biting playful at your skin to soothe it moments later. His hands rub at your weak thighs, still shaking post-orgasm and you can’t help but be eager despite how much energy Lucien had worked out of you.

“Sit up,” You pointedly squeeze at his shaft and lean up, feeling the movement of his body follow. “—my turn.”

Lucien huffs in amusement, shuffling back on his knees as you sit upright. You reach for your blindfold but his hand engulfs your own, “Not yet.” He orders calmly.

You relinquish control to his guidance and sit on your calves as he places your hands flat against his bare chest, just above the softness of his stomach, feeling his heartbeat under your palms. “Like this.”

“But, I want to see you for this.” It’s nearly a beg, more of a test to see how easy he gives into your wants, but he chuckles in response and taps at your chin once. So, that was a no.

Despite how quickly he got off from a single look, his cock stuffed into your mouth and his hand gripping hard at the root of your scalp—maybe he was actually doing himself a favor.

Your shoulders slump slightly, barely noticeable but you smile and trail your fingertips down his abdomen, featherlight as the muscle flexes underneath your touch and they hover around the hem of pants as you lean forward and aim to press a kiss to his sternum, his chest, down and down until you feel your lips brush against the waistband.

“Take it out,” He encourages, “wanna watch you.”

You pull at the waistband with your teeth playfully, curious of just how quickly you're driving Lucien up the wall with the way you're acting, the material catching over his stiff, hard cock and allowing your hands to help you get them the rest of the way down. 

Lucien is kind enough to be a guiding hand, thumb pressed against the side of your jaw as he guides you forward, feeding the head of his cock past your lips, tongue dragging along the tip and under, the brush of foreskin like soft, warm velvet.

And you have him in the palm of your hand like this, despite how helpless you must look. It only takes a few minutes before Lucien is louder, mouthier with his words and harsh with his matching thrusts into your mouth.

Frustrated, Lucien pulls at the knot on your blindfold hastily, the soft grunts of his impending orgasm loud in your ears, feeling so starved of sight that when the blindfold falls away and your eyes open and you’re overwhelmed with light, ignoring the fact that Lucien’s cock was nearly pressing against the back of your throat.

But, it’s quickly nulled out by Lucien, towering over you and blocking most of the harsh fluorescence that drown out the room around you, eyes falling close again despite being free of the blindfold as you take him until your nose is pressing against his groin, the fingers resting at the back of your neck squeezing harshly.

Selfishly, he wants to keep you here for a while longer. A few minutes, a few hours.

“Relajate,” Lucien forces out, his mouth hanging open on the word as you pull away, now wide-eyed and wiping away the string of spit that connects you to him, “there’s no rush.”

You smirk at his words, grinning up at him before you lick at the head of his cock, wrapping your hand around his shaft as you respond, “For you, maybe. But, I want you to fuck me.”

Lucien’s fingers dance along the shell of your ear, drifting down the column of your neck until his palm covers the expanse of it before gripping firmly, a soft gasp ripping from your throat as he forces you to straighten, leaning down into your space.

“Slow, princesa,” Lucien demands, “Or you’ll regret it later.”

As if that didn’t already intrigue you enough, you nod subtly and return his mischievous grin.

Slow is what you give him, long strokes as you circle your tongue around the head of his cock, occasionally dipping your head down to lick the underside of his shaft, too dangerously close to his balls, taut from how obviously he was straining to hold off, his usually perfectly quaffed hair sticking to his forehead and every which way.

There is no wondering—you could do this all day if you wanted, bringing him right to the edge but never quite falling, like he enjoyed doing to you, a shared pastime you’ve explored a few times but clearly not enough—because eventually you just get impatient.

Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding as your lips hover near his cock, playful kisses pressed against his pubic bone and scattered around until you finally decide to swallow him down, a few minutes later and he’s coming down your throat, eyes watering at the force but his eyes are locked on your own and you swallow on instinct, taking a sharp breath when he finally pulls back, seemingly just as wrecked as you were a half hour ago as he slumps into the bed, landing on back beside you, his hand rubbing over your knee tenderly.

“Are you up for a snack?” 

You look at him quizzically, bemused at his question.

“Is that code?” You tease, fingers scratching at his overgrown stubble beard, “Should I be worried?”

“No, I’m hungry,” Lucien laughs gruffly, groaning as he turns on his side and slips off the bed, walking naked to the door and out of the room casually, coming back into the room with a sizeable plate of cut fruit and you grin, his heel forcing the door closed behind him. “See?”

He offers the plate up as proof as he sets it at the bedside table, though his fingers linger near the closed drawer a few centimeters beneath it. And you know where things are heading, the routine isn’t always the same, but Lucien liked to cover most, if not all the bases on nights where he was really needing the distraction. It seemed to be one of those nights, watching as his fingers dipped inside the drawer to grab the wrist restraints that hooked to the center of his headboard, a soft material that helped with comfort but made it damn near impossible to slip out if you really wanted to while your hands were hooked up.

But, that’s what Lucien wanted. The ability to trust that he would know your limits or that you would trust him enough to react to the safe word if you ever, for any reason, needed to use it.

“Oh—” Your gaze lingers and Lucien rubs the material in his hands.

“This alright?” He wonders, though the glint in your eye is enough of an answer.

You laugh softly through your nose and take the binding in his hand, slipping your wrist through the loops, leisurely scooting back until you hit the headboard, raising your arms above your head, “You tell me?”

Lucien chews absently at his bottom lip as he takes a rogue bite out of one of the strawberries on the plate before leaning onto his knee against the mattress, securing the restraint into place. A small latch that was also accessible to you if needed. He leans down quickly and you’re unprepared for the suddenness of it but he presses against you in a slow, sloppy kiss that leaves you chasing after the sweet juice that lingered in his mouth, mixed with the glass of malt whiskey he’d had earlier.

“Blindfold too?” You ask curiously.

Lucien shakes his head distractedly and takes his seat beside you on the bed, facing in the opposite direction so you’re both facing each other. The lack of clothing should feel distracting, but you’re too focused on his face, watching as he carefully bunches up the leaves on a strawberry and presses it to your lips, tongue curling around it and biting into it with a soft crunch.

‘What’s with the food?” You ask with a slightly furrowed brow, food stuffed in your cheek as you chew, “Not that I’m complaining but…this is…”

“Baby, relax,” He notices the tensing of the muscles in your forearm, nodding in the general direction—you hadn’t realized how hard you were curling your hands into fists until he pointed it out, “—remember the new assistant I hired?”

Another bite and the strawberry is done for, Lucien’s finger following as he wipes away the mess of juice around your bottom lip, savoring it for himself as he presses his thumb against his thumb and sucks and if he sees the way your thighs inch together, he doesn’t say anything. 

You hum in acknowledgment and chew at the fruit, remembering the fresh-faced and terrified young man who Lucien had given a shot to after firing his old assistant—the embezzling funds was a problem, but he also insisted that he needed a fresh start, but you didn’t think he meant that fresh.

“I was craving it,” Lucien shrugged, “He went and picked up a bunch of shit.”

“Craving it,” You mince the words and Lucien chuckles, noticing your pointed gaze, “—for a sex thing, clearly.”

Caught. Sort of. 

Lucien was big on trying new things—it was harmless, but the way he had tore into a peach during the picnic luncheon at for the acting agency both he and Rose worked under, eyes locked on you as he split it in half and shared the other half with you, less than careful about the way he cleaned up the juices on himself and you, finding yourself unexpectedly drooling over him in one of your less than finest moments. It was either the delicious fruit or an oral fixation. Maybe both. 

He shoved a slice of kiwi between his teeth and leaned forward, pressing the fruit into your mouth and following with his tongue, devouring you into a kiss that has you whining quietly into his mouth, pulling away as you leaned forward to chase after him, chewing at the fruit in annoyance as you slumped back.

“Play nice, princesa.” Lucien teases.

“I am,” You retort with a sharp bite in your town, “you are making me wait.”

Lucien takes the ringlet slice of pineapple and squeezes it over your bare chest, down the valley of your breasts and you gasp at the sudden change in temperature against your hot to the touch skin, eyes snapping to the liquid traveling to your belly button.

“Lucien!” 

You shriek, watching as he tossed the mangled fruit aside and made his ascent, licking from your belly button to the junction of your neck in one go, hovering over you with a devilish smile.

“If you don’t fuck me right now—” You gritted through clenched teeth and he presses his forehead against your own, giving you nowhere to hide as he stares you down, “I swear to god, Luce—”

“You trust me, right?”

“Stupid question,” You retort, nudging him back with your nose, “of course.”

Lucien hides the bemused expression on his face as he looks away, leaning over the side of the bed for a couple items that are out of your line of sight but quickly come into view as he lays them against your stomach, his thighs slotted underneath your own, taut muscle rubbing against your skin.

“Thought we could,” He separates them out carefully along your abdomen, “try a few at once.”

A gag—familiar and frequently used, black leather around a silicone black ball. A different blindfold, more like a sleep mask—it looked like Lucien’s sleep mask, actually. He could use the traditional one he tends to stick with but it seems he’s aiming for comfort here, fingers tracing along the last item with a raised brow.

“Ear buds? Really, Lucien? Headphones?” You giggle softly, “You want me to listen to music while we—”

“No, no—” Your laughter is infectious and he chuckles too, “baby, they’re just noise canceling.”

“Oh?” Your wrist yanks in interest before you realize you’re still restrained.

“If it’s too much, we don’t have to.” Lucien is very clear about that, fingertips pressed into the sheets beside your hips. 

“You really like when I give over control, don’t you?” You tease playfully.

“Como siempre.” He says softly before leaning down to nip at your breasts, eyes flicking up at you.

“Okay, yes. But—” You look up at your hands, bound but not uncomfortable, “maybe no blindfold. I’ll keep my eyes closed but I want to see you. I like being able to see you.”

Lucien nods in agreement, a slow and treatours pace he takes as he retreats, tongue dragging down the center of your body and still tasting slightly of citrus. He smirks at your obvious squirming before doing away with the blindfold and allowing himself to get everything else in order.

The gag comes first, a small muffled grunt as he tightens the strap around the back of your head, adjusting it until you give him a solid nod. It helped that despite your inability to communicate verbally that Lucien had created a way for you to rid yourself of your wrist restraints whenever everything felt a little too much but you weren’t worried about using your safe word, a small latch connected to the metal chain that linked you to the headboard, easily accessible. And then the headphones, an odd experience to say the least—you can’t imagine what kind of money Lucien wasted on these because they immediately drown out all noise, the small buds resting in your ears and relatively out of sight.

It feels ridiculous, but when Lucien speaks and you can’t hear, your heart races with an anticipation you’ve never felt before. Exhilaration, more like.

You have no other choice than to watch—watch as Lucien settles comfortably back, kneeling as he runs his fingers along the underside of his cock and down to his balls, cupping them and rolling them around leisurely, your eyes watching every single movement, teeth baring down gently around the ball as he fists him, fingers dragging over his shaft and working himself up quickly, his chest slightly flushed from a mix of your previous activities and now, his eyes never settling on one piece of your body for too long.

You communicate through nods and eye contact, feelings incredibly vulnerable in the moment, watching as Lucien pressed himself inside of you with slow intention and you swear you can hear the deep exhale he forces out through his nose as it flares before he settles and gives you no time at all to prepare, a small gasp escaping you as your finger tighten around the slack in the strap connection your wrist cuffs to the bed, a slow but deep snap of his hips that shatters your focus, back arching into his touch as his fingers run along your spine and dig in, gripping you tight, practically sitting in his lap with the angle he has you held at.

“Mi vida,” He sighs, knowing you can’t hear him, “mi vida, mi vida, mi vida,” growing quiet with every utterance of it, “too perfect for me, baby.”

The vibration of his voice is pressed against your collarbone, his nose dragging along the junction of your neck and you’re so curious of what he’s saying, but you try not to let your mind wander—not that he allows much of that, gradually switching the pace to something stronger.

You wished you were stronger than Lucien liked to give you credit for, but you do find that your impatience eats away at you, coming in short whines and pleading looks and Lucien catches your gaze, eyes soft and watery. 

He’s breathing out in short grunts through his mouth and you can see his nose scrunch up as he groans, fingers digging into your skin, squeezing tight at your hips—you can’t do it anymore, reaching your fingers up to grasp at the latch keeping your arms hoisted up, falling back in a heap with Lucien pressed against your chest, hastily slipping your hands out of the binding.

Lucien catches on quickly, working the gag off and tossing it aside, hearing it clink heavily against a nearby object but neither of you bother looking and quickly discarding the headphones on the nightstand, his forearms coming around your head to barricade you in.

You’ve never felt more safe.

“Pobrecita, come on,” Lucien coos, “ask for it, yeah? You want me to touch you?” Lucien moans heavily against your skin, your own hands twisting it his hair, fingers curling gently around the back of his ears, “Want me to make you come with my cock inside you? Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” You whine softly, “touch me—please, just touch me.”

He doesn’t move quick enough, finding that your hand quickly searches for his own, pressing it between your bodies and his fingers know you, working like muscle memory as he circles your clit a combination of his middle and ring and it’s nearly instantaneous, a mix of built up tension and desperate need for release. Your fingers pinch at the skin of his neck as you come, pulling the hair at the nape of neck and breathing in a sharp gasp, mouth hung open in silence as your eyes squeeze shut.

“That’s it, baby.” Lucien breathes quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your breast as you come, eventually finding your lips and kissing you thoroughly, silencing your weak moans, chest heaving deeply in the aftermath as he pulls back, nothing he’s on the edge himself.

“I want you in my mouth again,” You sound desperate, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze from where he towers over you, fists gripping the sheets, “wanna taste us together, baby.”

Lucien rises suddenly, one palm pressed against the headboard as he grips his cock with the other, quickly spilling over your stomach, a sigh punches from his chest as he comes down, flush with a slight embarrassment at how easily it was for you to work him up.

“Or not,” You say through a tired laugh, soft and airy, “too much?”

“Never.” Lucien assures, brow furrowing in amusement as he drags a finger through the mess he made, bringing it to your mouth and allowing you to suck, lick, and make an over the top and unnecessary show as you swallow his cum and Lucien feels his cock twitch between his legs, despite how tired his body felt. 

“Jesus, princesa,” He laughs, “—greedy tonight?”

You mirror his actions, bringing your own finger into the mess before pressing it into his mouth—and Lucien opens with a lust-drunk grin, capturing your wrist in a tight grip and licking off his own spend from your finger.

“Absolutely.”

And thank god, because your night was far from over.

↝ beta: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

[thesharktanksdriver]

I got an ask asking about what the crew would do for Honeypie birthday. The user forgot to make it anonymous but I thought I’d answer it like this instead of revealing them lol.

“And what would happen on HP's birthday? Like, what would the gang™ cook up, I'm extremely curious” - curious anon

No doubt the crew would go all out but on what they do exactly depends on what era of dmc it is!

For dmc3 with just lady and Dante I think the two would plan a bit of a surprise for Honeypie. Since this is the first game they probably wouldn’t surprise it at all thus the surprise would work this time around. Due to a tight budget because of store repair costs I think lady would cover it this time around but Dante would handle actually setting up the shop. A homemade banner is set up, their favourite songs in the jukebox, a cake sitting on his desk along with snacks. Both would go the full mile that they can with limited resources of the circumstances. Lady had to drive an hour out to find a bakery still making things after the temen-ni-Gru tower destroying most of Redgrave.

In the morning when Honeypie walks into devil may cry expecting the usual their met with both lady and Dante throwing streamers and yelling “surprise!”. Having someone celebrate their birthday is kinda something new for them, mostly because “birthday parties” that their parents threw were essentially excuses to socialize and network rather than celebrating their actual kid.

So having a real party just for them catered exclusively for them is something Honeypie isn’t used to and kinda stuns them. Lady on their birthday always brought them a small handmade cupcake and a gift to school but having a full little party is new.

I think honestly Honeypie would get a bit misty eyed that someone would even go through that sort of effort to make something about them.

For dmc1 I’m gonna combine it with the anime as well since Trish didn’t meet lady until the anime plus I love patty.

Honestly I can imagine an entire filler episode of patty dragging Dante around trying to help him pick out the perfect gift for Honeypie while lady and Trish plan and book a nice dinner for everyone. The villain of the episode is Honeypie having a nice day off and repeatedly almost running into both patty and Dante lol all the while lady and trish jump through holes trying to find a nice place to have dinner for everyone.

At the dinner the crew all band together in making sure the dinner goes well. Dante for once saved up and not only helps cover the bill (for once) but also made sure to get Honeypie a really nice gift a la the help of patty as well.

Every year Honeypie says that they didn’t need to get them anything and that the party was enough and every year the others disagree.

During dmc2 considering Dante’s mental state plus returning fresh from hell I think Honeypie would opt for something a bit more quiet. Everyone gathers at Honeypie’s apartment for a nice cozy hangout with cake and a movie. It’s a bit more put together than dmc3 due to both Trish and lady planning beforehand once again, but it also serves as an opportunity for Lucia to meet the gals as well! (This is for the 6 other Lucia fans).

Everyone squishes together on the couch as popcorn, cocktails and cake is served on handpainted ceramics.

There’s a very silent competition between lady, Trish and Dante over who gets to sit closest to Honeypie all the while Lucia is just happy to be there and included…plus it’s maybe funny seeing Dante who had been very stone faced and depressed during their adventure suddenly getting flustered and fighting with Trish all the while Honeypie remains oblivious talking to her about random shit as lady slides an arm around their waist.

For dmc4 with the inclusion of Nero, Kyrie and Credo the birthday probably once again has to be held in DMC due to how many people are now attending (not to mention patty coming plus Morison swinging by to drop off his gift as well) as well as fortuna being in repair.

Trish, Dante and lady are planning to the T all the while Kyrie helps out and credo and Nero awkwardly watch. Both are still kinda processing everything and very much watching Dante fumble repeatedly like and idiot.

Trish and lady get both former order of the sword members to help decorate while Kyrie this time makes a home made cake plus other foods. Honeypie is about to be blessed with home made Italian food blessed by Sparda himself once Kyrie is done with her cooking. Through the entire day patty is keeping them distracted and taking them shopping as the others get ready.

The group tries to make it a surprise but Honeypie definitely knows their plan and it secretly warms their heart.

The entire night Nero sabotages Dante purposefully for all the bullshit he put him through….mainly royal guard

As for dmc5 with the entire crew it’s chaotic to say the least and that’s saying something after the ones proceeding it. Nico for one is definitely making some bullshit to help decorate and is helping everyone with the planning. She’s running between each room with a new set of things in her hand and somehow being able to flip flop effortlessly.

Nico really appreciates honey, so she’s doing her best to make sure that effort is seen and felt. She likes to think it’s also a subtle way in paying them back for all the flowers they sent to granny Nell over the years. It’s a gesture she still remembers after going to her grandmothers grave and finding bouquets there each and every anniversary.

Meanwhile for Vergil he’s….honestly unsure of what to do. Listen, he hasn’t exactly celebrated his birthday beside caving and buying himself a chocolate bar before dmc3 so he kinda is disillusioned with birthdays…unless it comes to honey. But still he’s unsure of what to do as he watches everyone run around like chickens with their head cut off.

It’s because of this he uses the opportunity to help patty distract honey and unironically makes a really funny duo. Her sass plus his general personality make for a very fun day of watching them bicker or ruthlessly tear down any rude passerby’s for Honeypie’s amusement.

When returning back to dmc and everyone yells surprise Honeypie can’t help but laugh with tear lined eyes as confetti rains down around them.

Something for once Dante promised to clean up.

So many birthdays over so many years, and yet now it feels complete as they laugh with Dante over old jokes, eat kyrie’s hand baked cake made to their preference, wipe off some frosting from Nero’s forehead much to his embarrassment, watch patty team up with Trish and lady against Dante, dance with credo to their favourite songs, open up nicos hand made gift wrapped in uncharacteristically delicate wrapping paper and share a quiet moment with Vergil in the alleyway.

They wouldn’t trade this day for any amount of money.

(Enjoy this cursed gif)

[teeheeandhaha]

Malibu

Joost Klein x reader

summary: six months after the breakup with Joost you are set to perform at Eurovision, but there’s one thing you didn’t expect: he’s competing too. When you find out through a Eurovision Instagram post—after months of no communication from him about it—your emotions erupt.

a/n: let's act like you wrote the song Malibu by Miley Cyrus I've been listening to it on repeat and came up with this

♡-------------------

Months of preparation and rehearsals have led you here—to Eurovision. But you never imagined it would come to this. Starting out as a YouTuber and streamer, you never thought of yourself as a "real" singer. Sure, you’ve uploaded a few songs to Spotify, but you didn’t exactly promote them or talk about them when someone mentioned it. It was just a side project—nothing to make a big deal about. But now, here you are, competing on the grand stage of Eurovision with Malibu—a song full of memories you wish you could forget.

It was six months ago when you and Joost broke up. A mutual, friendly breakup. You were still talking, sneaking into each other’s houses when a party got too out of hand, drinking too much, and waking up in his bed. That was until three months ago, when Joost started talking to somebody else. You’d only met her once, and it didn’t last long—just three weeks. You found it almost comical how quickly it ended. But what stung the most was that he tried to reach out to you after, but you were done.

Joost sent texts every now and then—casual, almost like nothing had changed—but you kept your responses short. “I’m fine. Hope you’re good.” That sort of thing. Eventually, the texts stopped coming. You haven’t heard from him since.

But you remember clearly telling him about Eurovision. You’d shared your excitement, your nerves, how much it meant to you. You hadn’t expected him to be overly excited, but you did expect him to acknowledge it. To care. Instead, he said nothing. Nothing at all.

As you sit on the couch scrolling through the Eurovision hashtag, you freeze. Your thumb stops moving. You blink. There it is—Joost Klein. A picture of him with his name and Netherlands next to it, proudly displayed in the official post.

He’s performing.

Jesus fucking Christ.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you stared at the screen, your heart a mess of anger and disbelief. You’d given him space to move on—hell, you were moving on too, even if it didn’t feel like it most days—but this? This felt like a punch to the gut. He knew how much this meant to you, and yet, it was like he didn’t even care.

You leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm the storm inside you. Eurovision was supposed to be your moment. A fresh start. And now, Joost was part of it too, whether you liked it or not. The thought of having to face him, especially knowing he had kept this huge detail from you, made your stomach churn. 

The night before the first performance was always the wildest at Eurovision. Fans and performers alike were all gathered at the lavish pre-show party. Glittering lights, loud music, and the heavy buzz of excitement filled the air, everyone trying to get in one last bit of fun before the nerves hit for real.

You hated it.

You didn’t hate the excitement or the glittering lights or the music—it was the one thing you could never get used to. The crowds. The noise. The fake smiles and small talk. It was supposed to be a celebration of your hard work, but instead, it felt like a carnival of everything you wanted to avoid.

You’d told yourself you were ready for this. Ready for the competition. Ready for the performance. But tonight? Tonight, you just wanted to be anywhere but here. Maybe you should’ve stayed in your room, but your manager had insisted you come. Networking, they’d said. It’s good for your image.

Yeah, good for your image—if you didn’t mind pretending to be friends with people who were more interested in how many Instagram followers you had than anything else.

But there was something else nagging at you, more than the crowds or the fake smiles. The thought of him. Joost.

You hadn’t expected to see him tonight, honestly. With the way you kept your distance from him over the last few months, you figured he’d stay in the VIP section, ignoring everyone in the public crowd, just like he always did. But there he was, standing by the bar in the corner of the room, casually talking to someone, his broad shoulders leaning against the wooden counter.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked good. Too good. Dressed in his signature style—slightly messy hair, and a casual yet sharp jacket that made him look effortlessly cool. It wasn’t even that he was just attractive; it was the way he carried himself—like everything was perfectly in place. And, that was what made you want to break something.

Taking a deep breath, you turned away from him, keeping your distance as you made your way to a quieter corner. No way were you going to let this night be ruined by him. You were here to make a name for yourself, not to fall into old patterns.

You needed space. The music, the laughter, the flashing lights—everything about the party felt like it was closing in on you. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. Joost was here, in the same room, and you couldn’t avoid him any longer.

Grabbing your coat, you made your way to the nearest exit, slipping out into the cool night air, hoping to find some solace.

The fresh air hit you instantly, and you breathed it in, feeling a little more like yourself. The chaos inside felt miles away now.

You reached into your pocket for a cigarette, flicking the lighter open with practiced hands. You never used to smoke—at least, not like this. You’d occasionally share a vape with friends when they came over, or maybe grab a drunken cigarette at a party. But it wasn’t until Joost came into your life that the habit became real. He’d always be outside with his cigarette, leaning against something casually, as if the world outside didn’t matter. It made you want to be a part of it, too. Before you knew it, you found yourself lighting up as well, the action feeling strangely comforting.

You took a deep drag, the smoke curling into the night air, and tried to let go of the thoughts swirling around in your head.

But you weren’t alone for long.

“Hey.”

You turned to see it was Alanis—Joost’s best friend and one of your own, too. She gave you a tentative smile, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. Of course, she’d come after you. Alanis always had a way of showing up when emotions were running high.

“What’s up?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

She leaned against the railing next to you, crossing her arms. “You okay? I saw you slip out. It’s... a lot in there, huh?”

“Yeah. A lot.” You took another drag from your cigarette, looking down at it as if it would answer all your questions. “Why’s Joost here?”

Alanis’ eyes softened, a familiar look of understanding in them. She knew how this was for you. How it used to be.

She sighed, glancing at the party behind you before speaking quietly. “Eurovision’s been his dream since he was a kid, you know that.”

You exhaled sharply, flicking the ash off your cigarette. Of course, you knew that. Joost had never shut up about Eurovision. He’d talked about it endlessly, the way it had been his escape, his hope. For his parents, he’d always say, and every time, you would nod along, because you understood. You’d been there with him, supported him every step of the way. He had always dreamed of this, but now?

Now, the anger welled up again. The same familiar frustration you hadn’t felt in months. You could feel your blood beginning to boil.

“I know, Alanis. I know,” you said through clenched teeth. “But why the hell didn’t he tell me he was performing? Why didn’t he mention it to me when I told him about Eurovision?”

Alanis’ expression faltered, her lips pressing into a tight line. She glanced around the street, clearly uncomfortable. “He’s always had this... this fear of disappointing people. You know how he is. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you, especially after... well, everything that happened.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling over. “I know it sucks. He should have said something, you should have heard it from him, but—”

“But what?” You cut her off, tossing your cigarette to the ground. “I mean, seriously? I told him how excited I was. I told him I was going to be here, doing this. And he says nothing.”

Alanis seemed to hesitate for a moment, her gaze shifting uneasily. “Maybe... he didn’t know how to handle it. Maybe he thought it would make things worse, or... I don’t know.” She shrugged, eyes softening. “He’s still figuring things out, just like you are.”

You turned away, running a hand through your hair. “I’m figuring things out? What the hell does that even mean? What’s left to figure out, Alanis?”

Alanis stepped closer, placing a hand on your arm gently. “Look, I’m not trying to take his side. But... Joost’s been through a lot. Eurovision’s the biggest thing in his life, and I think, for him, it’s not just about the performance. It’s for his parents. You know, the ones who never got to see him achieve this. He wants to make them proud. He’s always wanted that.”

You stood there, the weight of her words sinking in. You knew all of that—knew it intimately. You had heard him talk about his parents, seen how much their memory shaped everything he did. But that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t told you. And maybe that hurt more than the rest of it combined. He had always kept you close, shared his dreams with you... but this? This felt different. And you were angry.

You stood in front of the mirror backstage, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. The buzz of the crowd outside, the excitement in the air—it should have been exhilarating. But instead, all you felt was the crushing weight of the tension, the gnawing uncertainty.

Your fingers hovered over the makeup kit in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere. You should have been concentrating on your look, but instead, your thoughts drifted to Joost. He was out there now, performing his heart out on the Eurovision stage. You couldn’t help it. You had to know.

You put down the makeup brush in your hand, wiped your fingers on a tissue, and made your way toward the small TV monitor at the edge of the room. A few other performers were gathered around, nervously talking to each other, but you ignored them, your gaze locked on the screen.

The familiar sound of the crowd cheered as Joost’s name was announced, and you instinctively held your breath. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, your eyes glued to the screen. You knew it was happening, but somehow, watching him step onto that massive stage made everything feel real.

With a deep breath, you turned away from the screen, trying to shake off the lingering feelings. There was no time for distractions. You were here for a reason.

The stage was a sea of lights, bright and blinding, but you hardly noticed them as you stood at the center. The weight of the microphone in your hand was grounding, the feel of the cool metal a subtle reminder that this was real. You took a deep breath as the first chords of the song played softly through the speakers. The gentle strum of the guitar filled the arena, and you closed your eyes for just a moment, letting the music pull you into the moment.

The audience was a distant hum, but your mind—your heart—was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere in the past, to a time when you thought you had all the answers, before everything between you and Joost changed.

You started the first verse, your voice clear but soft, the words so personal they nearly caught in your throat.

It was like a weird cruel joke that the universe was playing on you, you had three dancers up there with you two dressed in black suits and one in a blue suit an annoying coincidence that Joost was also performing in blue, You weren't ready for all the questions after the performance something your manager tried to help you through but now with Joost here it'll only be about your past relationship with him and being put on the spot 24/7.

After the performance, your manager noticed you staring, their hand lightly pressing against your back as they guided you through the maze of people. "Hey, focus," they said, trying to get you back on track. "Remember, this is your moment, alright? Let’s keep it positive. Let’s not get caught up in—"

"Do you think they’ll ask me about him?" You blurted out, cutting them off before they could finish.

They hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to pick their words carefully. "I can’t stop the press, but you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to. Just... stay focused on you. Stay focused on your journey."

But that didn’t reassure you, not when you saw the flashes of cameras and the reporters hanging around the edge of the crowd, eager to ask about the relationship that had been the talk of the town for months. The breakup. The tension. The fact that, once again, Joost was right there—right in the middle of your moment.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to clear your head. But it was impossible. Every time you looked around, you saw him. There, in the distance, talking to some of the other contestants. Laughing with the same easy charm you remembered, the one that used to make your heart flutter. It made the anger and frustration surge inside you, like a storm rising.

The reporters were swarming now, looking for their next headline. They zeroed in on you immediately, microphones and cameras raised high, ready to ask the questions they knew would get the best reaction.

"How do you feel about Joost Klein also being here?" one reporter asked, their voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

You could feel your chest tighten at the mention of his name, but you forced yourself to smile. "I’m focused on my performance," you said, your tone sharp, but not giving away the anger bubbling underneath. "I’m here for me, and this is about my journey."

But they wouldn’t let it go. They never did. One reporter pressed, “Everyone’s talking about your past with Joost, the way your relationship ended—do you think that affects your chances here?”

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Of course, they would. The press loved drama. They lived for it. And all you wanted was to be left alone, to exist on this stage without being reduced to your past.

Every question about Joost, every lingering glance in his direction, would bring the same pain flooding back. You could already feel the endless loop of questions that would follow you everywhere: Do you still talk to him? Are you getting back together? How does it feel to perform with the same intensity as your ex?

It was a sickening feeling. And the worst part was that you didn’t know if you were strong enough to shut them all down, to fight back against the narrative that everyone seemed so eager to write for you.

But then you caught yourself. You had fought so hard to get here. To this moment. And no matter how much Joost or the media tried to pull you back into the past, you weren’t going to let them steal your future.

You forced a smile, shaking off the bitterness. "I’m just here to perform. That’s all I want to do."

And with that, you took a step forward, your manager beside you, ready to shield you from the rest of the madness. 

The chaos of the press, the frantic energy backstage, the constant questioning about Joost—it all started to blur together as you took a deep breath. You needed a moment to yourself, a place where you could escape the circus of Eurovision. You hadn’t prepared yourself for the wave of emotion that came crashing down after your performance.

You stepped away from the crowd, slipping into a quiet corridor that led out to the back of the venue. The cool air hit your face as you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes and letting the silence engulf you. You’d done it. You’d given the performance of your life, poured your soul into every note—but that wasn’t what was consuming your thoughts right now.

It was him. Joost.

The silence between you and Joost was heavy, more so than you had expected. His face was inches from yours, the vulnerability in his eyes making your chest tighten.

You had hoped, when you decided to take a step outside for a moment of peace, that you wouldn’t have to face this. But now that he was here, standing in front of you, you felt the weight of everything you’d left unsaid.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You found yourself asking, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here? You knew I was coming. We talked about this, Joost.”

He hesitated for a moment caught of guard by your directness “Im sorry.. I really am i shouldve told you” he said softly, as if trying to explain away the silence. "I thought it would be easier if I just stayed out of the way, gave you space."

“Staying away? Joost, this is a big deal! You talked about this all the time. We could've done this together!” You couldn’t keep the edge from creeping into your voice. Your pulse was pounding, frustration mounting as your words cut through the tension between you.

Joost’s eyes widened for a moment before a hint of frustration flashed across his face. He stepped forward, his voice rising slightly, his hands clenched at his sides. “Really? Three months, and you haven’t even tried to make a normal conversation with me. For three months, nothing! And what about the three months before that? Sure, our relationship wasn’t the same, but we were still talking. You’d sleep over at my place every now and then! Did our relationship mean nothing to you?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as Joost’s words hit harder than you expected. He was angry, and it was hard to keep up with his pace. But the frustration was bubbling up inside you, too. It wasn’t just the breakup anymore; it was everything that came after it—the silence, the feeling of being abandoned by someone who once cared for you.

Joost’s face fell slightly, the anger in his eyes fading, replaced by something else—regret, maybe, or guilt. “I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know how to fix it... I was scared. I thought that if I gave you space, if I just let you breathe, maybe you’d want to talk to me again. But instead, you shut me out.”

Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, trying to calm your racing thoughts. “Space? Joost, you disappeared when I needed you. I didn’t need space. I needed you to show up, to talk to me like we used to. But I never heard from you. And when you started seeing someone else, I thought maybe... maybe I could finally move on, too.”

He exhaled sharply, taking a step back, his gaze shifting away from yours for a moment. “It wasn’t like that. It didn’t work out, and I didn’t want you to feel like I replaced you. I never wanted to replace you.”

“But you did,” you said softly, almost too quietly. “You didn’t tell me what was happening in your life, and it felt like I didn’t even matter. I kept waiting for you to reach out, but you didn’t. And then, when you did, it was only because things fell apart with her. It felt like you only cared when it suited you.”

Joost looked down at the ground, the weight of your words settling between you. He seemed lost, not knowing how to respond. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was quieter, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. I just didn’t know how to keep going after everything that happened. And now... now it’s like everything I do, it just makes it worse.”

You let out a shaky breath, the anger draining from your body, leaving you exhausted. “Joost, I’m not asking you to fix everything. I’m just asking you to be honest. To stop pretending like I don’t matter. You had your chance to tell me what was going on, and you chose to stay silent.”

There was a long pause. Joost opened his mouth, but no words came out. His hands fell to his sides, defeated. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were talking to the Joost you once knew—the one who didn’t hide behind walls or silence.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he said quietly, finally meeting your gaze. “I still don’t.”

♡-------------------

Pt2?????? 👀

[unlikeable-female-character]

Combining both these anons as they cover some of the same ground

1 - no we likely won’t ever find out the details and that’s fine because it’s not ours to know. Even if the ‘she’s been offered sacks of cash to write a tell all book’ reports turn out to be true we’d still only have one side of the story (The very idea of such a thing is so gross and the not so subtle subtext of every article about it is basically ‘we want her to tell us he’s gay’)

2 - the ‘he didn’t physically cheat but she thinks there was an emotional affair’ part has been a mainstay of the reporting, especially in the Mail, for some time now. Which is an interesting tidbit to add. Either they genuinely have been given that detail or they don’t know but they want to imply something without outright accusing him of cheating.

3 - the longer I’ve sat with it the more it does feel like that statement was definitely designed to hurt. It would probably have been less shocking if she’d outright said ‘he cheated on me’ because there’s no ambiguity there. Just talking around the subject of ‘betrayal’ without specifying what kind is…spiteful? We will never know the reason why she worded like it was. As anon says it was reported they were still on very good terms not long after it was announced they’d split. Maybe she was not been happy seeing him being openly out and about with Sutton. It’s one thing to be fine with such a thing in theory but when you see it in reality - and because of who they are, it’s blasted over the world for all to see - it might be a bit harder to deal with. Obviously that’s just me theorising.

I still think if she felt she had to say something that’s entirely valid - it was her marriage and he was her husband after all - but I don’t have to like it (and no I’m not excusing Hugh’s behaviour- he made his bed he has to lie in it)

For what it’s worth, the US weekly article does claim that he has no intention of saying anything in response so assuming that’s some version of the truth let’s hope that this is a brief skirmish and everyone will move on now.

4 - I’m sure someone who is more versed in such things can correct me but if they had split due to adultery by one party, wouldn’t that have been cited in the divorce papers? My understanding is that if it’s ‘not contested’ it basically means all parties agree the marriage has broken down and no one is to blame? I can’t imagine the tabloids would have left it out of the reporting if there was even a whiff of proven adultery.

5 - the timeline of Hugh and Sutton getting together is definitely murky, but again unless they say when they actually got together murky it shall remain. I’ve seen some places like Deux Moi saying they believe they’ve been together for 2 years ish, something other reports have alluded to. While others seem to be trying to push that they didn’t get together until Sutton filed for divorce at the end of last year. Obviously the latter looks better for them which maybe the version we will get pushed more officially if they ever start to talk openly about their relationship.

6 - It was nice to see what Hugh’s bestie Gus said about him doing okay and looking forward. He clearly has a very good support network around him and I’d hope that Deb does too.

[byhees]

kids ━━ ( 엔하이픈 종성 ) ♡ genre fluff kinda babysitting au warnings not proof-read

thinking about how amazing jay is with kids; despite his already gentle demeanor, i can imagine him being extra, extra sweet to little kids. he’d probably stay by the child’s side, eyes glittering with such a pretty twinkle, as he listens to their stories and little kiddo anecdotes.

he’s probably the type to claim that he’s “immune to the puppy dog eyes”, only to fumble and give in almost a second after meeting the little pair of doe eyes; will cover for the kid if they happen to do something out of pocket— like, no of course not! how dare you accuse this precious cutie over here?? i’m one-hundred percent the one who did that, mhm…

and i can imagine him playing along with little kids, sitting himself down and holding a mini plastic fork to imitate the eating of a meal; and although the dish is really just a combination of hollow, plastic food-lookalike toys, he’ll pretend to scarf it down.

also, i can see him putting on some flimsy, glittery crown just to accompany the kid during their little royal tea party; he’d do it in a flash, head adorned with whatever accessory he’s being given.

not to mention that he’d probably be so good at tying their hair— show him an image of a desired hairstyle, and it’d be replicated in real life (albeit a little bit sloppy and off-center); the soft giggles that’d fall from the kid’s lips as he gently gathers locks of hair, would definitely give him an instant serotonin boost.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @j1nniee networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

for the stp ask game, how about 1, 3, 11, 12, and 16? cx

this is from @voiceofthelionhearted hehe

Hi lionnnnnn

(Also. I’m finally replying. I am free from my shackles. Hallelujah. )

Ask game here:

Question 1: What's your favorite Chapter?

HEA. No question about it.

It just hits a really personal spot for me due to my own personal experiences. Every time I revisit this chapter I’d just brawl my damn eyes out. Hell, it even got to humanise Narry a bit here. It’s the only route that actually got Narry breaking down and actually start doubting himself. I also really love bittersweet stories, so this chapter really appealed to me.

AND!!!! The themes it talks about really interests me!!!! Regarding the gender norms that society had placed on both men and women as the provider and the receiver!!!! A traditional home setting that seems perfect on the outside but is actually extremely flawed and toxic!!!! HEA being placed into the role as the housewife, a role that we’ve given and forced onto her, and HEA!Smitten placing himself as the provider!!!!

Oh, and also Apotheosis! I just have a thing for small beings overcoming something much greater than themselves. It’s just so… cool? Is that the word? I don’t know, just seeing Broken breaking the dam and screaming out in rage and releasing all of his pain just made me feel things. Reminds me that I have more control over a situation than I thought.

Question 3: Who's your favorite Vessel?

Also HEA. Again, for personal reasons close to my heart.

Ok, maybe HEA/Damsel. I just want to hold them close to my own heart and give them smoochies. Muwah. They’re just like me fr.

Question 11: Any non-canon Vessel-Voice you think is fun to see?

Cold and (network)Wild, Oppy and Nightmare, Cheated and Spectre, Smitten and Fury.

Cold and Wild, I just think that he would be one of the voices who wouldn’t want to be separated from wild alongside Smitten and Skeptic. Imagine that you’ve been feeling numb this whole time, and you’re finally feeling everything at once and the feelings are ever changing when you’re connected with Wild. And you just don’t want to separate yourself with her because that’s the connection you’ve been longing for so so long. And then the decider, the person you’ve sided with the most, had decided to rip that feeling away from you. The angst potential this would provide is just. Delicious. Eating it up.

Oppy and Nightmare, I’ve already made a post talking about them here. There’s a lot of potential for these two.

Cheated and Spectre, I just think Cheated would feel for Spectre. Cause she was literally robbed of her life and never got the chance to really “live”. Y’know? Much like how Cheated got his victory ripped away from his grasp. Spectre would be the calm to Cheated’s anger.

Smitten and Fury. Man he would let her rip him apart during the unraveling. And he would be happy about it. Like “Yes my beloved rip me apart! You’re doing great sweetie”. And it would be pretty funny. And I think he would really dote upon her and see her as the most rarest of jewels. Fury sees no worth in herself while all Smitten sees is someone beautiful and is everything to him. Might not be the most helpful voice in terms of connecting with Fury like how Broken does, but man is it kind of funny to think about.

Question 12: What's your favorite Voices dynamic?

Probably Cheated-Oppy-Contrarian. I dunno, I just really like slap stick humour. And I think these three would be very funny together.

Question 16: If you were a Voice in The Long Quiet's head, what would you be?

I’d probably be Voice of the Meek. Non-confrontational, conflict-avoidant, and would always try to make all parties happy. My Princess would probably be one of the more dominant ones over Quiet.

[starset21]

Shift in the Air

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may currently be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under the name @.itswildflower. THIS IS ALL FICTION. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships.

Warnings: none

WC: 8k

Summery: Casey has a moment with Max, the connection between them developing further and an exciting race takes place

Looking for more? Chasing the Line series masterlist

The grand ballroom of the hotel in Belgium was nothing short of breathtaking. Glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the sea of tuxedos, gowns, and perfectly polished shoes, creating a landscape of opulence and grace. The soft hum of conversation mixed with the delicate strains of a string quartet playing in the corner. It was a night of high society, but there was also something deeper—Wings for Life, the charity supporting spinal cord research, was the night’s true focus. 

Casey Winters, though, was doing her best to disappear into the shadows.

She stood at the edge of the room, slightly away from the crowd, holding a glass of sparkling water in one hand. She wore a navy dress that shimmered slightly in the light, the satin fabric hugging her form perfectly but still allowing her to move with ease. The dress was elegant, simple yet striking—just the kind of understated look she preferred. She wasn’t exactly the center of attention tonight, and she didn’t mind that at all. She scanned the room, taking in the sea of faces, most of which she recognized—sponsors, team principals, drivers from across the motorsport world. Everyone was playing their part in what had become an annual event, one designed not just for charity, but for socializing, networking, and a fair share of self-promotion. The energy was thick with politeness, with subtle power plays, and the faintest undercurrent of competition.

As she glanced around, her eyes landed on him. He was standing near a table of sponsors, engaged in conversation with a few high-profile executives. His confidence was impossible to miss. Even across the room, the way he carried himself, that unmistakable aura of someone who was always in control, stood out. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, his hair styled just enough to look effortless. Max was always commanding attention—on and off the track—but tonight, Casey caught herself looking at him a little longer than usual. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way he moved through the crowd with such casual grace. Or maybe it was the fact that she was realizing just how much time they’d spent together these past few months, racing, traveling the world, getting to know each other.

And then, their eyes met.

Max’s gaze locked with hers across the crowded room, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to stop. It was subtle, but undeniable. There was an intensity in the way he looked at her, something that felt like more than just recognition between teammates. A flicker of something—perhaps curiosity or even... longing?—passed between them. She quickly looked away, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. Great, now I’m imagining things, she thought. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at her drink, trying to shake the feeling. A few seconds later, she heard the familiar sound of Max’s footsteps approaching, and before she could react, he was standing beside her, his expression unreadable but definitely curious.

“Casey Winters, all glammed up,” Max teased, his voice low, his usual playful tone laced with something that felt a little more... personal. He eyed her from head to toe, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary before meeting her eyes again. “I think I’m seeing you in a new light.” Her heart skipped in a way that surprised her. Max had always been confident, often teasing her about her approach to racing, but tonight... something felt different. Casey arched an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “You look good yourself,” she replied, her tone casual, but even she knew it sounded more earnest than she’d intended. Max gave her a slow, appreciative smile, his eyes narrowing as though he were weighing her reaction. “I don’t just mean the dress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost softer. “You look... different tonight. In a good way.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, and for a moment, she was acutely aware of how out of place she felt in this world of glitz and glamour. She wasn’t the type to let compliments like this get to her, but there was something in his words—and the way he said them—that felt more significant than usual. It wasn’t just his casual charm. It was like he saw something deeper. Something that wasn’t just her as a teammate or a competitor, but... her, the person. Her throat felt dry as she shifted her weight. “I wasn’t sure I’d even fit in tonight. All these people in tuxedos and fancy dresses,” she said, gesturing vaguely around the room. “Still feels like a bit of a fish-out-of-water moment.”

Max leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping lower as if to keep the conversation between just the two of them. “You don’t need to fit in with anyone, Casey. You stand out, no matter what.” Casey felt a sudden warmth spread through her. She didn’t know what it was about his tone—this new layer of sincerity—but it made her feel like she was being seen in a way she hadn’t expected tonight. Max’s smile was slow but confident. He leaned back slightly, glancing over at the group of sponsors he’d just excused himself from. “But, I guess I’m here for the company. The right company,” he added, his voice lighter now, but the way he said “right company” made her stomach flutter.

Before she could respond, a waiter passed by with a tray of lobster tails, and Max gestured toward it with a knowing look. “And maybe for the food,” he added with a wink. “Though I think the lobster’s a bit overrated.” Casey laughed, feeling some of the tension melt away. For a brief moment, she saw the real Max—a side of him that wasn’t surrounded by the bravado of a world champion, but the man she had come to know as a teammate. Someone who, in his own way, had been looking out for her. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to care about all of this,” she said softly. “The gala. The fancy people. I thought you’d rather be on a race track or at least somewhere... with more horsepower.”

Max’s eyes softened as he met her gaze. There was no trace of teasing now. Just a quiet understanding. “Racing is my world,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But people like you... they’re part of the reason I race. You’re different, Casey. And I think you forget that sometimes.” Casey felt her breath catch. His words hit harder than she expected. She wasn’t used to compliments that went beyond the surface, and this... this felt like something real. Something she didn’t know how to respond to. Max continued, his voice almost a whisper now. “I’m glad you’re here, Casey. It’s good to see you out of the race suit or team kit once in a while.”

Her chest tightened with something—could it be vulnerability? She quickly glanced away, trying to hide the sudden wave of emotion. She couldn’t deny that the connection they shared was becoming more than just professional this last month. She knew that it shouldn’t but finally, she smiled, trying to shrug off the intensity of the moment. “Well, I’m glad you approve. But let’s not forget—this is still your world. I’m just a guest.” Max chuckled, but the warmth in his eyes remained. “I don’t think of you as a guest, Casey. You’ve been here the whole time. Racing with me. And I think... I think that’s what matters.” She didn’t know how to respond to that, but the words hung in the air between them like an invitation. Before she could say anything more, Max glanced over his shoulder at the sponsors he’d left behind. “I should probably go back to them, and perhaps you should go find some to shmooze. But…” He paused, turning back to her. “I’ll save you a dance later. If you’re not too busy charming the entire room.”

Casey’s heart skipped again, though she tried to hide it behind a casual smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Verstappen.” Max’s lips curled into a smile—one that felt like more than just a friendly gesture. “Good. I’ll be waiting,” he said, his voice soft and steady, as if he already knew she’d say yes. He turned and walked away, leaving Casey standing there, her mind whirling. Had she read too much into it? Was she imagining things? The way his eyes had lingered on hers, the softness in his voice—it didn’t feel like just friendly banter anymore. But before she could even begin to process it all, she noticed him glance back over his shoulder, his gaze finding hers one more time across the room. And in that brief moment, she had the distinct feeling that the night was far from over—and neither was whatever was quietly building between them.

The evening continued on as expected. Guests mingled, the wine flowed freely, and the soft hum of conversation mixed with the occasional burst of laughter. But for Casey, the night seemed to drag on. She couldn’t help but feel a little disoriented by her exchange with Max earlier. She’d known Max for months now—had spent countless hours racing alongside him, strategizing, joking, and even bantering back and forth as she gained more confidence in her abilities. But tonight? Tonight, something was off. In a way that felt like it might tip over into something else. Casey wandered across the room after a few more polite exchanges with sponsors. She could feel her nerves slowly easing. The grandeur of the event was starting to fade into the background, and the weight of Max's words had begun to settle into a more manageable, though still heavy, place. She let her gaze drift toward the dance floor, where a few couples were swaying to the music. The soft string quartet played a slow, gentle waltz, and for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to join them—if only to escape the bubble of awkwardness that seemed to have enveloped her. Then, as if on cue, she felt a presence behind her, and before she could turn, she heard his voice.

“You didn’t think I’d forget about that dance, did you?”

Casey’s heart jumped into her throat. She turned to find Max standing there, his expression teasing but with a hint of something else—something unspoken. His eyes glinted with a playful confidence, but there was a tenderness in his smile that made her stomach tighten. The same feeling from earlier had resurfaced—the pull she couldn’t explain. “You’re not backing out, are you?” Max teased, his gaze intense, though his tone was light. Casey’s mouth went dry, but she quickly recovered. “I never back out of a challenge, Verstappen,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Let’s see if you can keep up.” Max laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “I’m pretty sure I can handle a slow dance, Casey. But if it’s anything more than that, you might be in trouble.” Her lips curled into a smile. “We’ll see about that.” Max extended his hand toward her, and without hesitation, Casey placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrap around hers. The simple touch sent a jolt of energy through her body, and her pulse quickened. There was no going back now. She could feel the eyes of the room on them as they moved toward the dance floor, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Max led her to the center of the floor, the string quartet’s music flowing seamlessly into the space between them. The song was slow, a gentle waltz, and Max took her hand with a confident ease, guiding her into the rhythm. His other hand found its place on her lower back, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, the familiar feel of his presence grounding her. They moved together, slowly at first, tentative as they adjusted to the closeness. Casey could feel the heat of Max’s body beside hers, the steady press of his hand on her back, and the way he moved—fluid, almost effortless, like everything about him was meant to be in perfect harmony. His gaze never left her face. He watched her with a quiet intensity, his eyes soft but focused. Casey could feel the electricity between them growing with each step they took, each shift in their bodies. She had danced before, of course, but never like this—never so aware of the person she was with. The sensation of being so close to him, of feeling his every movement, was unsettling in a way that made her heart race faster than she cared to admit.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she said, trying to mask the growing tension with a teasing remark. Max’s lips quirked up into a small smile, but there was something almost shy about it—something rare for him. “I can do more than just race, you know,” he replied, his voice low, but not joking. “It’s all about the rhythm. Racing and dancing. Both need a good sense of timing.” Casey tilted her head, intrigued by the depth in his words. “You’re saying I need better timing?” Max chuckled softly. “I think your timing is fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But we’ll see how well you keep up with me.” Her breath hitched slightly at his words. Keep up with him? She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the dance or something else entirely. Her mind raced as she followed his lead, but her thoughts felt scattered, jumping between the rhythm of the music and the subtle intensity in the air between them. Max’s hand on her back shifted, his fingers pressing just a little firmer as they moved in sync with the music, guiding her through the steps with a smoothness that almost felt rehearsed.

For a moment, they didn’t speak. Just the sound of their feet gliding across the polished floor, the faint rustle of her dress as she turned gently in his arms, and the music surrounding them, weaving an almost dreamlike atmosphere. But then, Max broke the silence, his voice softer now, as though the dance had given him permission to speak with more vulnerability. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be this nervous tonight,” he admitted, his tone quiet but earnest. Casey met his gaze, surprised by the honesty in his words. “Nervous?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You? You’re never nervous.” Max shrugged, his eyes flicking away for just a moment before returning to hers. “Not about the racing. But about this—about… us.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I don’t know what this is, Casey. The way we’ve been working together, the way we’ve been… getting closer. I don’t want to mess it up.” Casey’s heart skipped. She hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t sure what exactly to say. There was so much left unsaid between them, but was it the right moment to address it—to acknowledge whatever this was? 

“Max,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.” The words came out without thinking, but once they were out there, she couldn’t take them back. Max’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something more—something beyond the confident, sometimes cocky teammate she had come to know. His hand at her back seemed to hold her just a little bit closer, his fingers gently pressing against her as if grounding her, anchoring the moment. “I’m not worried about you leaving,” he said quietly, his voice low and sincere. “I’m worried about screwing this up. Whatever this is.”

Casey’s breath caught. The vulnerability in his voice was something she wasn’t used to hearing from him. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this—open, uncertain, almost vulnerable. She’d always thought of Max as someone who never let his guard down, who was always in control. But tonight, something had changed. And she wasn’t sure if it was the dance, the evening, or something deeper, but the tension that had been building between them suddenly felt impossible to ignore. “I don’t think it’s something you can mess up,” she replied, her voice more certain now, though her heart was still racing in a way she couldn’t explain. “It’s just... us, Max. No expectations. No pressure.” He held her gaze, his expression thoughtful, almost as if he was testing her words, seeing if they were true. Then, as if a weight had been lifted, he smiled softly, the warmth in his eyes returning. “Good,” he said, his voice filled with quiet relief. “Then let’s just… keep going, yeah?” Casey nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Yeah. Let’s just keep going.” The music played on, but in that moment, the world outside of their small bubble seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them, moving together in sync, sharing the same rhythm, the same quiet understanding. The dance had started as a casual challenge, but now it felt like something more— something that neither of them could ignore. As they swayed together, Casey realized that this wasn’t just about the dance. This wasn’t just about racing. This was the beginning of something neither of them had fully acknowledged until now. 

The heavy Belgian clouds hung low over the legendary Spa-Francorchamps circuit, casting a shadow over the pit lane. The fans were restless, their excitement palpable as the final race before the summer break loomed. In the paddock, Casey Winters stood at the edge of the Red Bull Racing garage, her helmet in hand, her eyes fixed on the track that had become her proving ground. This was more than just another race—this was her chance to cement herself as a force to be reckoned with, not just in sim racing, but in Formula 1. Behind her, the soft hum of conversations filled the air, but in that moment, everything felt quiet. 

Her teammate, Max Verstappen, stood a few meters away, his helmet resting on the top of his head, his hands clasped in front of him as he scrolled through data on his tablet. Despite his usual confidence, even he was aware of the significance of this weekend. Max was the favorite—he’d won here the last two years and had dominated in every sense. But there was something different in the air this time. Something that felt like it could swing in a different direction. And Casey? She had already been a revelation this season, being a rookie, a woman, and earning podiums even after a rough start. But today, on this track—this track she had conquered virtually, this track where legends were made—today, she had the chance to show the world that she was ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with the very best.

Today, she was starting second on the grid, just behind Charles, while her teammate had been relegated to P6 after a 5-place grid penalty for an engine change. It was going to be a fight. The lights went out and Casey launched off the line like a coiled spring, her car immediately feeling connected to the track as she powered through the first corner at La Source, holding off Leclerc but keeping an eye on the rapidly approaching Max, who had already passed two cars by the time they reached Eau Rouge. Max was in full attack mode—there was no time to waste. His aggressive strategy would bring him forward quickly, but Casey was just as aggressive from the start, staying right on Leclerc’s tail. The Ferrari was quick off the line, but Casey’s Red Bull was sharper, with superior downforce giving her the edge through the high-speed corners. Eau Rouge was a thrill, as the two of them powered up the hill, the crowd roaring in appreciation as they braved the famous climb. By the end of Lap 1, Casey had already gained a few tenths on Charles, but the Ferrari driver remained a tough competitor, holding onto the lead.

By Lap 5, Max had already worked his way up to P3, passing both Mercedes, George Russell and Lewis Hamilton with ease. His pace was relentless, and the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc ahead of him was now in his sights. It was only a matter of time before he closed that gap. Casey was holding strong in P2, just behind Leclerc, with the gap between them hovering around a second. She could feel Max’s presence behind her—his speed was evident, but she wasn’t about to give up easily. The first round of pit stops came early for Casey. Ken called her in, warning that the softs were starting to wear, and it was time to swap to the hard tires for a longer stint. As Casey entered the pits, she could feel the nerves of the crew and the heat of the moment. The Red Bull crew was sharp, executing the stop in 2.3 seconds, a fast but safe time. She was back out on the track, in P2, but now with a fresh set of tires and a clear path ahead. 

By Lap 18, Charles had been holding onto the lead for over a dozen laps, but the pressure was mounting. Casey, despite starting second, had been relentlessly hounding him in the high-speed corners, and it was clear she wasn’t going to let him dictate the pace for long. The Ferrari was quick in the straights, but Casey had the superior car balance through Eau Rouge and Raidillon, where the Red Bull’s downforce allowed her to close the gap each time they reached the crest of the hill. Each lap, she gained a few inches, pushing harder and harder, determined to make her move. Her radio crackled with a calm, yet encouraging message: “Casey, keep pushing, you’ve got this. We’re stronger on tire wear. Focus on the exit out of the corners.” She nodded in the car, taking a deep breath. She knew the moment was coming. 

On Lap 20, Leclerc's pace began to fade slightly. His tires were beginning to lose grip, and with the track still dry but the rain threatening, Casey could feel it in the air—this was her chance. As they entered Les Combes, Leclerc understeered just a fraction, giving Casey a window to make her move. The Red Bull surged up the inside of the Ferrari, but Leclerc was quick to close the door, blocking her on the exit. The tension built, both drivers knowing how much was at stake. The next chance came at Brussels, a tight right-hander where the cars had to brake hard. Casey, having been slightly more aggressive with her braking earlier in the lap, managed to close the gap again. As they came onto the long, sweeping Puon corner, Casey found the line. Leclerc had a slight wobble as he fought for grip, and Casey used the slipstream to gain a crucial advantage. With a daring, but calculated, move, Casey slipped up the inside at Stavelot, taking the racing line and forcing Leclerc to yield. But that wasn’t enough. Leclerc fought back hard, using the power of his Ferrari engine to pull alongside her on the approach to Blanchimont, the high-speed left-hander. They were side by side, the tension unbearable. The crowd held its breath.

In a move that showcased both her racing skill and cool-headedness, Casey refused to back out of it. She positioned her Red Bull perfectly, making sure she kept her foot in it, maintaining a wider line through the corner and allowing the car’s grip to carry her through. Leclerc tried to hold on but ultimately had to back off slightly, letting her slide ahead of him. Now, on the final stretch before La Source, Casey had taken the lead. The crowd’s cheers were deafening as the Red Bull sailed past Leclerc into the lead of the Belgian Grand Prix.

Having overtaken Leclerc, Casey immediately shifted into defense mode. The rain had started to fall, and tire management became even more critical. Leclerc wasn’t about to let her have it easy, though. Over the next few laps, he kept close, hoping for an opportunity to retake the position. But Casey was calm. She was ready for this moment. Every lap, she adjusted her pace, managing the tire degradation that was beginning to affect both of them. Max, who had been charging through the field after his pit stop, was rapidly closing in on them. It was going to be a three-way battle for the win.

Casey was determined not to let this chance slip away. But Charles wasn’t backing off. The Ferrari driver, despite his tire wear, was still fast and hungry for the win. With the rain beginning to intensify, the grip levels were becoming unpredictable, making every corner a test of nerve and precision. Behind them, Max was in full attack mode. Having made his way through the field after his earlier pit stop, he was now P3 and closing in rapidly. His pace was breathtaking; he was pushing hard, his Red Bull slicing through the wet patches of the track with razor-sharp precision. Max’s confidence in these conditions was unmatched, and he was bringing the fight to both of them. As they entered Eau Rouge and Raidillon, Max was visibly faster. He was finding extra grip where others were losing it. Leclerc, struggling with tire wear and the wet conditions, lost a few tenths through the steep climb, and Max was right there, stalking him. By Lap 26, Max had made his move on Leclerc, passing him with a decisive overtake on the long Kemmel Straight, using the DRS advantage and his superior wet-weather handling. The Dutchman was now in P2, but Casey was still ahead. 

With Max now in second, Casey had to focus even harder. She knew Max would be a threat, especially with the rain starting to fall harder. The tire wear was becoming a big factor, and the drivers’ ability to adapt to the changing conditions was key. Ken came over the radio: “Casey, we expect the rain to worsen. Manage your tires—Max is right behind you. Focus on the exits and avoid mistakes.” Max, never one to give an inch, was already on the hunt. As they passed through Blanchimont, he was closing the gap, using the Red Bull’s superior grip in the wet conditions. Casey was still in the lead, but it was now a cat-and-mouse game between the two teammates.

By Lap 32, Max was less than a second behind her, putting pressure on her through every corner. The crowd’s excitement was palpable, with the roar of the engines and the rain pouring down on the circuit, making every lap feel like a new battle for survival. Leclerc, despite being passed by Max, had dropped to third but wasn’t out of the picture entirely. If either of the Red Bulls made a mistake, he would be right there to pounce. With just a handful of laps remaining, Casey had to manage both her tire wear and Max’s relentless pursuit. Max was quicker in the low-speed corners, but Casey’s Red Bull was slightly better in the high-speed sections, especially through Eau Rouge and Raidillon, where the wet conditions made it trickier for everyone.

Max was now fully focused. He could see the gap to Casey, and despite his best efforts to get around her in Les Combes and Brussels, Casey was making all the right moves. She didn’t give him an inch. On Lap 38, Max finally found an opportunity on the Kemmel Straight, using the DRS zone to pull alongside Casey. It was a classic Verstappen move, taking the inside line at Les Combes and putting his car in front. But Casey wasn’t finished. As Max completed the move, she held her line, using the better exit speed out of Les Combes to slingshot back at him down the next straight. It was neck and neck through the Brussels corner, but Casey held her ground and reclaimed the lead. 

The tension was at a boiling point now—Max, who had been relentless all race, was starting to get desperate. His patience was running thin, but Casey was as calm as ever. With the rain coming down harder, it was now about who could make fewer mistakes. With just three laps left, Max knew this was it—if he didn’t make a move soon, the race would slip away from him. The two Red Bulls were almost evenly matched, and it was all down to the last few corners. Max was getting impatient. He pushed harder through Blanchimont, diving into the corner slightly later than Casey, trying to force a mistake. But Casey was already thinking two steps ahead. She kept her car tight through Blanchimont, not giving Max any chance to pass on the outside. As they approached the final sector, Max tried to dive down the inside at La Source—but Casey was ready for it. She covered the line perfectly, forcing Max to back out and settle in behind her.

Now, with only one lap left, it was a question of who would blink first. Max was pushing hard, but every time he came close to making a move, Casey shut the door with perfect defense. Through the Les Combes and Brussels, they were still nose to tail, but it was Casey who had the advantage in the final stages, her tire management giving her the edge. Max’s final attempt came at Blanchimont, where he had found a little more pace earlier. But Casey held her ground, her experience and sharp instincts in these conditions carrying her through. She executed every corner with precision, even as Max put his car in places where it had no business being. As they rounded the final hairpin and came into La Source for the last time, Casey Winters crossed the line first.

"And we’re heading into the final lap here at the Belgian Grand Prix... What a race it’s been, folks! Casey Winters, the sim racing sensation turned F1 star, has held onto the lead through a series of relentless attacks from Max Verstappen. The rain’s been coming down harder, the tires are beginning to wear... It’s a battle for the ages!"

"Absolutely, Crofty. I have to say, I’m really impressed with the way Casey's handled herself today. She’s had Max right behind her for almost the entire race, and with the weather conditions getting trickier by the lap, it’s been a real test of nerves and skill. But she’s been brilliant. Max, of course, isn't one to give up easily, but Casey’s been flawless in defense!"

"Here we go then, the final corners. It’s La Source... and it looks like Max Verstappen is running out of time. Can he make one last-ditch effort to overtake? No, he’s trying, but Casey Winters has covered every move! The gap is still less than half a second... But Casey is hanging on!"

"This is incredible. Max was hoping for one final shot, but Casey just isn’t giving him an inch. She’s driving like a seasoned veteran. What an impressive debut season it’s been for her—and now, it looks like she's going to make history here in Spa. Casey Winters is going to do it!"

"It’s the final sector now... Casey Winters, the second woman to ever win a Formula 1 race, and the first in 43 years, has nearly controlled this race from start to finish, and she crosses the line to take her first-ever Formula 1 victory! Unbelievable scenes here at Spa-Francorchamps!"

"What a moment for Formula 1! Casey Winters, the sim racing phenomenon who has proven herself time and time again in the virtual world, has now proven herself in the real one. The Belgian Grand Prix winner in 2023, Casey Winters—an absolutely remarkable achievement!"

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Casey parked her Red Bull in the first-place spot in parc fermé. It felt surreal. The race was over, the tension of the laps, the tire management, the strategy calls—it all came down to this moment. Still inside the cockpit, her heart was pounding, her hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. She took a deep breath, letting the reality of what she’d just accomplished wash over her.

And then, without a second thought, she climbed up balancing on the top of the car, standing tall and victorious for the world to see. She pumped her fist in the air, a wild grin spread across her face, not that anyone could see more than her eyes at the moment. The crowd roared in response, the energy of the Spa-Francorchamps faithful sending waves of adrenaline through her veins. She waved to the fans, her heart soaring with every cheer. This was it—her moment, her history-making achievement. When she climbed down from the car, her legs felt slightly unsteady, but she forced them to carry her over to the Red Bull team, who were already waiting by the barriers, their faces alight with pride. The team had been there every step of the way, working tirelessly, supporting her in her transition from sim racing to Formula 1. And now, their hard work has paid off. 

She was immediately surrounded, their congratulatory pats on her helmet and back almost making her dizzy with the sheer warmth of it all. Max was nearby, his face beaming with pride despite his second-place finish, as he was about to be interviewed.   Christian Horner gave her a hearty slap on the back. “Incredible, Casey! You were perfect today. Absolutely perfect.” Then it was Ken’s turn as he patted her on the helmet. “You’ve made us proud, Casey. The car was great, and you absolutely drove it like a champion.” With a final, proud glance at the team, Casey removed her helmet, running her fingers through her hair. The cool Belgian air felt refreshing against her skin as she took in the moment—this victory was hers. But she quickly remembered there were still media commitments to take care of. A team member handed her a bottle of water, which she eagerly took, gulping down a few mouthfuls before wiping her lips with the back of her hand. The taste of victory—mixed with the crisp water—was sweet, but she knew it was only the first step. There was still more to do.

The call came for the brief interview before the podium. She made her way to the awaiting announcer, still feeling the buzz of the race coursing through her. Standing in front of the media, Casey felt like the spotlight was brighter than ever. But she was no stranger to pressure. She had raced against some of the best in the world—Max, Charles, and others—but this was her time to shine. “Casey, congratulations! history made today! First female driver to win a Grand Prix in over 40 years. What does it mean to you?” Casey’s smile deepened. She wasn’t going to downplay this moment. She had worked so hard for it. “It’s... honestly hard to put into words. But this victory isn’t just about me. It’s about everyone who believed in me—my team, the fans, and especially all those young girls who look at this sport and wonder if it’s for them. I’m proof that anyone can make it, no matter where you come from or what obstacles you face.” The announcer smiled and thanked her for her time before she was ushered into the cool down room. 

The door closed behind her with a soft click, and the noise of the paddock and crowd seemed to fade away. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter, cooler—almost surreal after the chaos of the race. Casey took a deep breath, shaking off the last remnants of adrenaline. The moment she had dreamed of had finally arrived. She had won a Formula 1 race. But as the emotions swirled inside her, she was grateful for a moment of calm. The room wasn’t empty. Max and Charles were both there, helmets off, and their racing suits slightly disheveled. Both had already spoken to the media, but they were here now, in this private space, away from the cameras and fans. Max, leaning back against the wall, looked over when Casey walked in, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, well. Look who made history today.” Casey, still processing everything, managed a playful roll of her eyes. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel real yet. I just… I can’t believe it happened.” Charles, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up with a smile and shook his head. “Believe it, mon ami, because it was one hell of a race. You earned that victory, Casey. We were both pushing you, and you never flinched.” Casey felt a mix of pride and disbelief wash over her. Max had been hot on her tail the entire race, and Charles had been fast, too. But to hear them both acknowledging her drive meant more than any podium finish. 

The cool-down room was equipped with a large screen showing highlights of the race. It flickered to life just as the trio settled into their seats. Casey watched as the replay of the final laps appeared, showing her flawless tire management and the way she held off Max’s attacks. Her hands were still trembling a little, but she couldn’t help but smile as the footage played. “Okay, that was crazy. I can’t believe I actually held you off, Max.” Max grinned. “You did more than hold me off. You were driving like a seasoned pro, keeping that pace up after every restart. I didn’t make it easy for you, but you deserved that win.” Casey glanced at him, feeling a rush of gratitude. Max, her teammate, had been relentless all race. But there was no denying that his competitiveness had pushed her to raise her game.

“You were fantastic, Casey. But honestly, those last few laps… I thought I might have had a chance to catch you. But you just had the car in a sweet spot, and the strategy was spot-on. You really timed your pit stops perfectly.” Casey laughed. “I was trying to calculate every second, but I swear it was like trying to predict the weather at Spa. You can’t. You just have to trust your instincts.” Max chuckled, leaning forward to look at the screen. “And you trusted the team, too. That strategy was one of the reasons you came out ahead. It wasn’t just about speed—it was about smart decisions. You made all the right calls.” Casey nodded, the gravity of their words slowly sinking in. She’d never felt more like a part of the team, more connected to the collective effort that had led her to this point. She was still in awe that this was her life now, but it felt earned. She was in this world, not just observing it.

The tone of the room shifted slightly as Charles leaned back in his seat, looking between Casey and Max with a more reflective expression. “You both made it look easy, but that race? It wasn’t easy. The strategy, the tire management—it was all on a knife’s edge. But what stood out to me was how calm you stayed, Casey. You didn’t crack under the pressure of the restart or Max’s constant attacks.” Casey smiled softly, appreciating Charles’s words. “I had to stay calm. Max was always there, and I knew if I made one mistake, he’d take it. I just focused on what I could control—the pace, the tire life. Everything else was in the hands of the team.” Max nodded, “that’s the difference between just being fast and winning.” Casey looked at both of them. There was no animosity between them. They had pushed each other, but today, they were all part of a greater achievement. They had created a race to remember.

As the race replays ended, the energy in the room was still high, but Casey knew it was time to get back to the chaos of the podium ceremony, more interviews, and the celebrations that would come after. “We’ll see you up there, Casey. Enjoy it—you’ve earned it,” Charles tells her. “Don’t get used to it, though. I’ll be back on top next time,” Max smirked. Casey grinned, standing up to leave the cool-down room. “We’ll see, won’t we?” As she walked out of the room, she could hear the faint echoes of the crowd still cheering, but the noise felt different now—softer, more distant. Her first Formula 1 win was still sinking in, and there was a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that this was just the beginning.

The deafening cheers of the crowd reverberated through Spa-Francorchamps as the podium ceremony began. Casey could hardly believe it. There she was, standing on the top step of the podium, her heart racing, the bright red of the Red Bull Racing suit contrasting against the green and yellow banners surrounding the podium. She had just won the 2023 Belgian Grand Prix, the first female driver in over 40 years to take a victory in Formula 1. As the national anthems played, her eyes watered a little and her mind kept drifting back to the race—her perfect tire management, the flawless strategy calls, and the way she had held off Max through the final laps. The Belgian crowd's applause was deafening as she stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in. The medal was placed around her neck and then she was handed her trophy, to which she held it up for everyone to see and was met with cheers and applause as Ken, her race engineer was handed the constructors trophy. Max and Charles were handed their trophies and finally it was time for the final part of the podium ceremony, the champagne spray. They set the trophies down and grabbed the bottles and the three drivers, now fully in the spirit of celebration, popped their corks in unison. The champagne sprayed into the air, and the crowd went wild as it rained down on them. Casey laughed, wiping a few droplets from her face, and with a mischievous smile, she aimed it toward Max, who tried to shield himself but was inevitably hit by a stream of bubbly. “Hey!” Casey laughed harder, her laughter infectious. “All’s fair in love and war, Max.” She then turned on Charles and sprayed him. The bubbly continued to rain down, soaking all three drivers but the celebration was just beginning. The sight of Casey Winters on top of the podium, with Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc flanking her, was one for the history books. 

Fernando was leaning against a Red Bull team truck, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes flickered up when he noticed her approach, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look like he was in any rush—he understood what this moment was for her. “You looked incredible out there today, Casey. You really earned it.” Casey stopped in front of him, still feeling the weight of everything that had happened. Her hands were still slightly shaky. “It feels unreal. I don’t even know what to say. It’s like I’m still trying to catch up to everything.” Fernando’s smile softened, and he uncrossed his arms. He looked at her for a moment—this young woman who had gone from racing on simulators to standing on the top step of the Formula 1 podium. There was a certain pride in his eyes, but it was mixed with something deeper, something that went beyond just congratulating her. “You don’t have to say anything. Just feel it. This is your moment. It doesn’t matter if you can’t put it into words—this is the validation for all the work, the time, the sacrifices you’ve made to get here. Not just today, but all the years before it.” 

Casey exhaled slowly, looking out across the paddock, still buzzing with the afterglow of victory, but already starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. She had dreamed of this day for so long, but now that it was real, it was almost too much to comprehend. She turned back to Fernando, who was watching her with that knowing, wise gaze. “I didn’t do this alone. Max… the team… they’ve all helped me get here. I wouldn’t have made it without them.” Fernando nodded. He’d seen so many drivers in his long career, and he knew the value of a good team and a strong support system. But he also knew how easy it was to get lost in the noise, to forget that it took something special to truly shine. “Of course, a good team is everything. But it’s also about you. What you’ve done today—holding off Max, managing the race, staying calm under pressure—that’s not something anyone can teach. That’s inside you.” Casey smiled, the weight of the moment hitting her more now than it had before. She had just won her first Formula 1 race, but there was so much more to it than just the victory. There was the journey. And hearing it from Fernando made it feel more real. “Thank you, Fernando. You’ve always been there for me… even when I was just a rookie, a ‘sim racer,’ and no one else took me seriously.” 

Fernando’s eyes softened, and he gave her a brief, approving nod. “I saw your potential long before others did. You’ve got something they can’t ignore anymore. And you know what? That’s the beauty of this sport. It doesn’t matter where you start, as long as you’re good enough. And you, Casey, you’ve proven that you’re more than just good enough. You’re a winner.” Casey felt a lump rise in her throat, a mixture of pride and gratitude. The road she’d taken had been anything but easy—she’d faced skepticism, isolation, and doubts from every direction. But now, here she was, and it was finally paying off. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said it but I still can’t believe it.” Fernando smiled. “You will. One day, you’ll look back, and this will just be one of the many moments in your career. But tonight? Tonight, you own it. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both looking out toward the track. The energy from the race still lingered in the air, but in this quiet moment, there was only the sound of distant celebrations and the soft hum of the paddock. For Casey, it was a rare moment of peace in a world that often didn’t allow for many. Fernando had been her mentor in more ways than one—his experience, his perspective, and his belief in her had been invaluable. “You’ll have a thousand more races, but this one? This is the one you’ll always remember. It’s yours.” Casey turned to him, her heart full, her eyes meeting his. She knew, deep down, that he was right. This was the start of something bigger. And for the first time in her career, she felt like she truly belonged in the world of Formula 1.

“Thanks, Fernando. You don’t know how much that means to me.” Fernando opened his arms and pulled her into a tight hug. “Enjoy the moment, Casey. You’ve earned it. But remember, tomorrow’s a new day. And tomorrow? You’ll keep pushing. That’s how you stay at the top.” With that, they shared a brief, understanding look. Fernando gave her a final nod of approval and left. As she turned to walk back toward the team, the weight of the victory finally sank in—this was her time. The air had shifted. 

taglist: @dreadity @sweate-r-weathe-r

[bytherosebushlaughing]

one fine star away

Rating: M

Pairing: Emma Swan/Regina Mills [SwanQueen]

25/50 chapters; 130k words

Rating: M

Summary: The relationship between Emma Swan and Regina Mills has been subject of much speculation since hit television series "Once Upon A Time" ended abruptly in the 80s. No one knows for certain what happened between the two actresses. Rookie journalist and writer Henry has loved "Once Upon A Time" for years, and like the rest of the world, has been dying to know the truth behind the end of his favorite show. With rumors of a cast reunion for the first time in decades circulating, Henry is thrust into the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to write an exclusive tell-all article about Emma's time on the show and the truth about her relationship with Regina.

Upon her return to Los Angeles, Emma is giddy with excitement over the fact that she and Regina are going to have an actual summer together for once. She tries not to imagine all the late nights together in her apartment and secret excursions along the coast, tries not to imagine finally getting to be with Regina every day like she hasn’t since the beginning of the show.

And it’s a perfect plan in theory—except for the fact that they barely see each other most of the summer. Regina’s career and image might be on the line right now after all that business with Rob Loxsley, but Emma’s career is shockingly revived after one of those stupid romantic comedies that Ingrid made her audition for last year really takes off at the box office.

So instead of spending her summer wrapped up in Regina and sharing secret moments tucked away in Emma’s ridiculously overpriced apartment, Emma spends most of her summer jetting around the country doing press and going to ridiculous events to keep up her relevance in the media.

The auditions start rolling in again too, only this time there’s no way of talking herself out of this one; Ingrid won’t hear of it, not when her career is thriving with no signs of slowing down.

“Regina Mills’ loss is your gain,” she insists over the phone. “Now get out there and show everyone that Emma Swan is here to stay.”

*

She may not be seeing lots of Regina over the summer—in fact, she’s barely had time to return any of her phone calls, which are short, stilted, and barely last five minutes—but she has been seeing a lot of Killian Jones.

By chance, their careers seem to have taken off at the same time; one of the thriller movies about vampires that he was in earlier this year has gained a cult following of teenage goths around the country.

Unfortunately, this means running into him at almost every single outing Ingrid’s forced her to attend. Which also means being forced to endure a conversation with him, where she has to pretend not to hate him and be polite because they are castmates after all and Once Upon a Time has had enough drama surrounding it as it is.

On this particular evening, they’re at some kind of exclusive party for some network bigwig when Killian spots her from across the room and immediately excuses himself from whatever conversation he’s having to rush over and greet her. She’s pulled into an awkward hug, which she stays in for the appropriate amount of time, hoping that this is not going to be a photo that is splashed across every magazine in existence.

“Fancy seeing you again, Swan,” Killian remarks cheerfully, guiding her through the room towards an empty table. “One of these days, maybe we could show up to these events together instead of meeting like this.”

“You wish,” Emma scoffs in disbelief, fighting every natural instinct not to roll her eyes at him.

“I’m not sure what the harm is,” he continues, feigning hurt over her disinterest. Unfortunately, so many run-ins has only made him cockier and more irritating. “The two of us are both quite dashingly gorgeous. Many people think so based on the noise around the show. All I’m saying is that perhaps they’re onto something.”

Saying yes to him would be an easy out to get him to lay off a bit. It would make Ingrid happy, too. Ingrid had already been not-so-subtly implying a PR relationship with him to help boost the ratings of the show as they prepared to head into the fourth season.

But Emma is nothing but stubborn, and the last thing that she wants is to be stuck dealing with Killian more than she already is. He actually likes her. There’s no way that she can tell him the truth about her and Regina without him blabbing to Page Six about it, and after the whole Rob Loxsley ordeal, she isn’t sure if her relationship can handle another beard.

“Think about it, Swan,” Killian says with a smug grin, standing to take his leave. “I won’t wait forever, you know.”

In your dreams, buddy, she thinks, taking a healthy gulp of alcohol as she watches him strut away.

read more on ao3!

[sunnysideaeggs]

hi babes this is my ep 3 review. this is a lil monday tradition i love to yap

lmao rhaenys subtly gagging rhaenyra and calling her out. i’m liking her more and more compared to the first season, she seems more rounded and actually a figure of peace instead of coping

now rhaenyra is coping lol. ‘a little boy murdered in his bed’ ‘but my throonee :((((‘

rhaenyra parentifying rhaena and making her go to her mother’s place of death to safeguard her sons 🙄 not even recognizing the burden she is putting in her. a white woman giving her children to raise to a black girl smh

i like a lot what they’re making with rhaena, giving her actual thoughts that often contradict her ‘side’. go get your hightower husband girl

why no one remembered that larys, yk, the greens’ master of whispers, is lord of harrenhal? like of course it is a green location? where is he? isn’t he a memeber of the council? why does he never attends council meetings?

lmao not daemon wishing to be called king when the proper title is king consort. let me just get a meme:

i just realized that alicent now dresses less ‘richly’ maybe to indicate frugality during war to the people. ‘look, we’re not having feasts while you starve’ kind of vibe. the green queen beloved of the smallfolk

and she is also less structured because she doesn’t need to cover herself for viserys. i enjoy her having the freedom to dress as she likes

as a sansa lover, i must say i love rhaena. go gentle princess with a good who feels everything too much and wears courtesy as a weapon. i love u

if they’re diminishing helaena’s grief and they’re not going to give me helaena taking revenge in dreamfyre istg 🤨🤨🤨

I KNEW THE ARMOR WAS VALYRIAN STEEEEELL 🔥🔥🔥 that’s why it doesn’t fit him it literally isn’t made for him. i hope it’s fireproof

egg promoting his lads 😭 medieval networking

lol larys is the kind of guy that suddenly comes to you with the weirdest true crime facts that leave you feeling icky. i love him

aegon did the alicent disappointed face to his kingsguard. neat party trick

not making baelon cheat on alyssa 🙄 our one successful sibling marriage and they take it from us

tbh if i was dyana you wouldn’t catch a glimpse of me after the meeting with alicent. fuck king’s landing, that stinky city. i would have alicent get me a little house in oldtown. a job as a cook. no chance of any dirty man getting his hands on me. why keep victimizing a character for no reason condal?

any dragonseed should zip it for good, unless you get something for your heritage. my mom was a lyseni whore, that’s what i would say. nobody asks you questions when you say your mom was a lyseni whore

aegon 🙄 i thought we were getting past this. i hope he apologizes, i’m tired of this aemond slander.

i dislike the full frontal scene with aemond. literally gratuitous, no one asked for it. and we know there’s awful people saying shit about ewan’s body, they now get another chance of making fun of his most intimate parts and aemond’s intimate moments. why.

finally some class conscience exploration with criston? are my prayers being answered?

lmao not rhaenyra getting another girl daemon. i dislike baela’s hot head since ever but if it gives me comedic relief i’ll take it

rhaenyra is his father’s daughter. not a compliment

i love how daemon barricades his door just to… open it when he thinks someone wants to get in. and gets out. big forehead not big brain.

MILLY APPEARS YAYYYY 🥰🥰🥰 jaehaerys noooooo 😭😭😭

i could see jae’s actor kinda winking, his little lashes twitching. he’s a baby and he’s doing his best omg 😭💕 it could be the candles tho

yes daemon cry i hate you

imagine you’re a kid and they tell you your job is to be still and have a pretty lady hum at you and touch your cheek. so comforting tbh

ALYS APPARITION YAYYYY 🥰🥰🔥 she’s as stunning and disturbing as i imagined her. devoured. ate him alive. as she should.

lmao of course alicent would think war is to be averted after seeing her grandson without a head 🙄 and if she does she’s dead to me istg

yes rhaenyra threaten a queen 🙄 of course she will react well and think of making peace with you. at gunpoint. classical targaryen.

also she literally smuggled a weapon into a church. threatened to spill blood in a holy place. then ask why people don’t believe you have any morals or respect for anything.

alicent asking her if she’s surrending it’s so funny loool

once again, alicent talks about a child’s murder. rhaenyra brings up the throne. i’m done with her tantrums.

did you betray him at your very last, alicent? don’t you know you owe loyalty to your rapist and jailer, alicent? don’t you know you’re not allowed to want, alicent?

that’s how rhaenyra sounds.

i love how rhaenyra doesn’t spare a thought to surrender yet wants to pretend bloodshed concerns her. lmao.

alicent, i’m back. go green queen.

[blindbeta]

Hi! Incredibly specific question here, if it's not relevant, that's okay! Can you write in braille with random tools you could find at a party? I'm writing a story with a scene where one character, L, runs into her old friend, C, (who happens to be blind) for the first time in years. L's undercover at a gala for reasons and thankfully isn't recognized by C because she manages to avoid talking to her, but she wants to leave her contact information discretely in a way that C could read, rather then risk talking to her and blowing her cover. I was thinking of having her use random things she can find at this gala to write a note in braille (like a business card and a toothpick/fork/something) before smuggling it into C's pocket or purse. Is freestyle braille even realistic in the slightest? Or should I have them reconnect in a different way? Any tips?

I’m not sure about at a party specifically, but I can speculate on what tools the character might plausibly be able to use.

The first that comes to mind is a slate and stylus, as that what people use generally. I don’t believe a character who isn’t blind would carry one on them, unless they are making an effort to routinely practice Braille. Maybe she is currently challenging herself to learn to write with a slate and stylus, as some people struggle with writing backwards.

The first thing they need is paper. If they don’t already have that, a study notecard or card stock might do the trick. Notecards tend to be thicker than regular paper. Thickness is important because the resulting Braille will last longer and be easier to read over time. This may not be as important for the situation you’re writing about. Thickness also helps prevent poking holes into the paper or tearing it. A business card might be similar to a notecard in terms of thickness.

Another idea is rolls for labeling, especially because these will be smaller and easier to pass to someone else without many people noticing.

Perhaps your character could find these things in a study or something. Since this takes place at a gala, I imagine business cards would not be uncommon, nor would access to quality stationary materials as long as your character can sneak in to get them. Perhaps a kitchen might also have notecards for dinning seating chart purposes or for waitstaff?

The main issue I’m running into is the stylus. Again, your character may not have one on her. If the character she is giving her contact information to is also a guest at the gala, she is unlikely to have a stylus with her. Unless she is mainly there for networking purposes and adapting notecards she receives to make them accessible? If she has one on her, your character could borrow it and return it when she slips her the contact information.

Does anyone else have ideas for a stylus stand-in that wouldn’t simply poke holes in the paper or be impossible to read? I have no ideas.

If your characters are friends, your character might be able to send it to the blind character’s location after the party since, if she can improvise this at a party, she might be resourceful enough to do.

Edit:

@ionized-alpaca replied:

in sturdy paper (cardstock thickness or so), poking a hole with a pin (maybe the character is wearing a lapel pin or brooch?) will also create a palpable bump. but since the bumps are created by the paper deforming as it's punctured, they aren't the neatest. it might have to be more spaced out than normal braille to be readable.

Thank you for adding this information. Guess I need to try poking holes through business cards lol

[mazzystar24]

Bestie im worried again, like I’m glad Eddie looked proud/supportive of Buck for the kiss, but I can’t shake the feeling that they’re going to continue on with that and just have him be “supportive best friend” even though that would make no sense after how he was acting at the party.

I feel like they keep luring us in with subtext and setting up plots, just to flip the script completely and rip the rug out… like they did in ep 4 with building up the fact that Buck wanted Eddie’s attention the whole episode and then suddenly out of the blue…. it wasn’t Eddie’s attention he wanted?

None of it is making sense to me, and I’m scared they’re doing what other network programs always do and are just baiting us with the ship most of us want when they’re just going to leave us with something rushed snd watered down that has had like zero buildup or foreshadowing… like Buck’s sudden devotion and interest in Tommy came entirely out of left field and it feels so weird to me thst they’re keeping him here because it just doesn’t make sense.

Hey bestie!

I wouldn’t worry babe like it makes sense for him to be supportive even if they do go the buddie route, like he loves loves loves him, so the fact that he saw him not a week ago awkwardly lie to HIM and doubt himself sm he asked “is that weird” when coming out to him and now seeing him happy and carefree and coming out in the most buck way imaginable? No matter what he may feel or whether he realised it or whatever else, he’d be feeling enormous amounts of pride because that is his best friend and someone he truly loves regardless of anything else

As for episode four I think the fact that Eddie is SO heavily embedded in the episode was so hopeful for us, like the man’s name being used hit a record high in that episode istg😭😭 (saw someone say it’s the bechdel test except try not to talk about Eddie edition and that is the funniest and truest thing😭😭)

Like before 7x04 came out even and people were speculating bucktommy being a thing I was saying that the second they make one of them queer I would feel more sure that buddie canon is coming or is rather more definitely on the table and nothing I’ve seen since has changed my mind tbh

As for buck being suddenly devoted to Tommy, buck falls hard and fast like we know this about him so it makes sense I’m not saying that like oh yeah he’s in love with him and yada yada butttt he is enjoying his time and this new relationship and that’s good to see. Like the audience is meant to kinda feel what Buck feels so every scene with that relationship gives you that new relationship energy where it can go either way you know?

Anyways I’m yapping but the point is I honestly think that things have been looking up for buddie fans and I would be cautiously optimistic 🫡

[dollyrps]

📞 ❛ … 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥incoming! 🍒®

it had been over a month since cherry last worked a club, she’d been focused on regrouping since being indefinitely suspended from magic city back home in atlanta due to a fight that broke out between herself and two other dancers. however, in the meantime she did work an industry party or two—networking and putting her name out there for future opportunities in the hollywood space. with growing fame came the likeliness of going viral, but the internet was the least of her worries. her main focus was finding a consistent income of money to take her to the level of luxury she’d only dream.

seven lounged in her robe around an empty hotel room she’d been staying at while out in california, a towel wrapped around jet black bundles until her iphone rang. it was her dad, but she ignored the call with a roll of the eye—the same way she’d been avoiding communication with both parents ever since they messaged her about stripping at key glock’s album release party the month prior. apparently, someone uploaded a video of her stripping herself topless at the industry event and the evidence landed right in their lap. to her parents’ knowledge, she moved to georgia to pursue modeling—so imagine their surprise seeing their baby girl in such light. after she ignored all 50+ text messages within the past month and a half, you’d think they would’ve given up by now, but no—he called again, this time she answered at the very last ring.

“hello?” “sev, where the hell have you been? your mother and i have been blowing your phone up for a month straight! i know you’ve seen our texts.” silent sigh escaped lush lips while holding the device up to an ear, leaning back into the patio chair with her opposing hand palming a wine glass. “i’ve been.. busy? i’m sorry, daddy. what’s wrong?” she attempted her usual ‘daddy’s little girl’ way out, but it fell flat for the first time ever. “too busy to let your family know you’re alive? too busy stripping and showing your body at some rapper’s party?! what’s wrong is not knowing where your daughter is after seeing a video of her shaking her ass in a crowd of men! we raised you better than that.” silence, awkward silence. is this why she answered—to hear the same lecture she replayed in her head before picking up the call? no, but it was too late. the least she could do is face the music … and tell the truth. kinda.

“i know, i’m sorry—but it isn’t what it looks like. i promise! i met a couple girls under the same modeling agency as me and they invited me to this industry party. we went together and i just got too drunk,” sometimes a little lie is okay, right? “i never intended on getting naked, i blacked out and regretted it the next day. i didn’t know phones were recording me, but that’s why i’ve been m.i.a. i checked myself into a rehabilitation center for a month and they held our phones.” was she as crazy as her lie? yes, but she was only a girl who wasn’t ready to tell her dad about her job as a stripper yet, or ever. it wasn’t something she was proud of—just a source of income until she made it big. “but i’m back home now in atlanta and i feel so much better, daddy. they treated us so good, so don’t worry ‘bout me!” seven’s words ran a mile a minute to prevent him from cutting her off to comfort her, shifting the subject ever so smoothly. “i’m good and i can’t wait to tell you all about it. life has been so crazy since i moved, i came to pursue modeling but then i found myself in the studio rapping. i just have a lot going on. i’m sorry for scaring you and mom like that. it won’t happen again, but listen, i have to go now. i’m at the nail salon and it’s rude to ignore the manicurist. i love you, dad. bye!” she clicked on him—sigh of relief exiting full lips while downing the last corner of pinot grigio. “i mean.. fuck.”

[isagrimorie]

[initial reactions] Star Wars: The Acolyte 1x08

- I need to sit on this episode more. I love Star Wars and I love the Jedi but my problem with this episode finale is that this is not a season finale nor was it a series finale. It was a midseason finale.

- I am all in for the story of Osha and her journey to the Sith side because this is what it was sold as being.

- I didn’t imagine that right? There was mention a few years ago of the Acolyte being something about the Sith? I’m not entirely surprised the Jedi came out of this muddied and less than stellar.

- The fights were fire and again all live action should follow suit. But also, they were the least interesting part of the episode.

- The Acolyte is all about how the sins of the past coming back to hunt the Jedi.

- The cover up is always worse than the crime.

- The Jedi allowed a lie to live and it became a crack in their foundations. It poisoned the well for everything else. As much as we all hate the hardass bosses on TV, the Jedi team on Brendak needed someone like that.

Sure Sol meant well but he shouldn’t have been rewarded with Osha as a Padawan. Until he found a way to make amends. Osha should have known what happened from the start with how Venestra (almost) came clean to Mae.

- Sure the Jedi involved in Brendok self punished but that doesn’t mean a thing because no one but them knew what that was all about.

There was no accountability because no one was holding the Jedi accountable, the hardass Senator was right about that. The Jedi should have oversight.

And I like the Jedi and this is the Jedi at the height of their power. Even more than the prequel era because they’re not accountable to anyone.

- Maybe the Jedi should have a Prime Directive after all.

- Possibly none of this would have happened if there was a clear hierarchy in the mission and Indara had the authority to order Sol, in no uncertain terms that he should not move from his spot.

- All this could have avoided if the clearer heads in this whole situation sat down without the impatient hot heads around them, in both parties.

- Episode 7 as it was, was not needed. The episode that should have been running through the season.

- There clearly should be a season 2 greenlighted already. I don’t know why it’s not. This is a midseason finale and not a season finale. Please, someone who knows how to break and structure for a network TV show sit down with Star Wars writers!

This is an Ahsoka problem too!

Again, my problem in this show is structural and I never thought I was this person but I miss the formula and structure of a network show.

I miss the five acts, and having one story having its own identity while serving a larger story.

The bones and foundations of the Acolyte is great but they need a great editor or someone to bring it up.

The Acolyte isn’t bad! But oh, it could sing and fly more with someone shape it into crisper shape.