#but i do have snippets of like other interactions

[curioud-epic]

(Continuation) Epic au (crack) where odysseus becomes a tiny man while they are sailing back to ithaca (he probably got cursed by a certain god) and now he has to deal with that while trying to safely get his men back home.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Next (probably)

maybe i should make pov for the other characters while this was happening haha.

- they're finally at the cave. I didnt show it but somehow inanimate objects that tiny ody uses becomes tiny too (for convenience! and also no it does not turn back to normal - or maybe it'll turn back to normal size when he gets back)

- was gonna make a scene where polyphemus sees tiny ody and similar to the lotus eaters reaction is to take him (look at that fluffy hair ;;v;;) thats why he wants him to stay too

- odysseus convinces the cyclops to drink first and maybe hell change his mind or hell consider it.

- of course, he rejects it and asks that they leave. and yeahhh, it doesnt go well.

thats about it ^^;; no idea how im gonna continue this, i mostly just drew snippets of what i think would happen.

fun fact: this wasnt the original idea i had for this au. The original was that, the crew and penelope see him as he was before he changed but for some reason EVERYONE ELSE sees ody as this tiny man.

like this was fueled by the sheer image of circe, after turning back his men, looks at eurylochus with fury and shouts at him for letting a child become their captain.

eurylochus looks at the captain confused and looks back hands raised placatingly and explaining that his captain is the king and is competent enough to be THEIR captain.

and some crew members just shouts back to defend the captain and second in command saying things like "Yeah the captain is just shorter than the rest but he is NOT a child."

"... maybe?"

"i mean lord poseidon did ALSO get angry that were letting a child lead us..."

"...but were not?"

"I meeeeannn--"

and now everyone is starting to make some crazy conspiracy theories.

[housemdork]

so. i know that fighting on the wilson defense squad is a little taboo around here...but i still want to share the germ of a thought that i've had, which i'll definitely expand on in the future.

does anyone hear me when i say that so much of wilson's work is silent and unseen?

i mean this, first, quite literally regarding his practice. it's a rarity, seeing wilson interact directly with his cancer patients without being called in for a consult. we hear about his patients all the time, just not often by name. but whether because we're in house's POV, or because the show aligns with house's belief that "cancer is boring," we don't see wilson practicing oncology that much in the grand scheme of things, even compared to the snippets of ER and surgery life that cameron and chase move on to, respectively.

house pokes fun at wilson's oncology all the time, and pretty definitively in 2x04 when he makes fun of medical specialists. to house, things are simpler for them; house views them as existing in a box, much smaller than his grand purview over things. wilson's work is relegated away from the main text of the show; he operates in isolation, which hurts in the long run.

wilson's own cancer experience is profoundly impacted by the pain of loss he's endured over the years, watching his patients die. he rattles off their names, their cancers, their ages, and the dates they died to house from memory. we never saw these patients. house probably never did, either, so we can only learn of this pain afterwards. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

finally, the work wilson puts into his friendship with house is often invisible. i won't ever paint wilson as the ideal friend - that would completely ruin any interpretation of his character - but i find it disingenuous to ignore the strain house puts on him, however self-inflicted. what starts out as trickles of jokes and subtle hints (the loans), evolves into the season 3 medical license debacle, which evolves into wilson's repeated responsibility for house's mental health (which isn't even mandated by house, but by those around wilson and house), which finally evolves into house attempting to control wilson's last wishes. repeatedly, wilson is nominated, especially by dr. nolan in season 6 and foreman in season 8, to be house's steward, and who else would do it, but him?

big example: we never see the decision for house to move into wilson's place, but all the energy in the world is put into wilson asking house to leave. it's first presented as a natural assumption, then a mortal sin.

unlike the other characters surrounding house, the origins of wilson and house are usually only hinted at. their history unfolds across the entire show, and that includes the good and the bad parts that are only heard about in passing and in retrospect. at the start of season 5, wilson, at his most honest, breaks the hardest news to house yet - that he's leaving PPTH because of him.

"i've enabled it for years. the games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls...if i've learned anything from amber, it's that i need to take care of myself."

again, we learn of this long-term pain afterwards, once house takes a beat to digest it. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

say what you like about what wilson asked house to do in 4x16 (it kills me, personally). i cannot completely fault wilson for telling house this ^. as much as house needs to change, wilson does, too. amber was right about that. we can gauge the strain that house has in his relationships based on how many work out long-term: one.

and later, funny as it is in the moment, wilson is the one to go to physically check in on house in 7x01 when it was VERY apparent that he should not have gone home alone (not to dismiss foreman's attempt in 6x22 to be there for him, though). house's fake voicemail message attests to this: "if this is wilson, i'm fine, not suicidal, not on drugs, coping very well with the loss of my last patient, so feel free to go about your day without worry."

i understand why he crawled through that window! after six seasons of this, i would have done the same!

i argue the same about house that i do about wilson - these 2, despite how messed up they are when it comes to human goodness and love - could not do what they do if they did not have the capacity to love. they're both rewarded in their own, twisted ways; house is gratified that, if nothing else, his brain sets him apart and preserves his sense of self, while wilson gets to feel loved in the way he can never quite fulfill elsewhere. does that cancel out the lives they save and soothe along the way?

all of this is to say that it's easy to brand wilson with a red "morally corrupt guy who pretends otherwise" stamp across his forehead because i think that's what house md tempts us to do by mandating how, when, and what we see of wilson's life. trust me - i'm trudging through season 2 right now and fast approaching his rendezvous with grace. but over time, i think the show invites us to treat him with sympathy and nuance in the same way it does house. if we penalize wilson too much for returning to house, and for needing his neediness, that may just imply that house doesn't deserve that sort of love. and we know that isn't the case.

isn't there more poetic irony than the oncologist getting cancer at hand? what about cancer as the silent-killer? what about cancer eating at every part of the body, slowly, over time? unseen and unheard?

[inkwitchgames]

Do you think the demo for neon//byte or fivesaken will be released first? (I love the sound of both so I'm just curious-no pressure!) I feel like going by the size of them it might be fivesaken?

(Ramón romance spoiler snippet in this post; if you want to go in blind, don't open the cut!)

The scale isn't even comparable with these two LOL. NEON//BYTE is a LOT of work with a lot of different paths, and the three origin chapters alone are gonna make this a huge undertaking.

Right now I've been working for three days on a point in the prologue where there's branches inside the branches, and then different variants depending on your facility defiance stat (3 variants), your bond with Ramón (5 variants), your reaction to a certain event (10 variants), and the personality-based option you pick (misc variants). I'm not even halfway through.

It's a lot right now. But things will almost certainly speed up out of the prologue and origin chapters because these stats I'm dealing with rn won't have SUCH a big impact once we're in chapter one. I won't have to account for them in every single interaction.

I like that the prologue will have so much replayability to it, though. I like that if you're romancing Ramón at this point there's entirely different romantic conversations depending on the other variants. It's been fun to think of all the different ways Ramón can be disgustingly smitten at an inappropriate time lmao.

In comparison, there's no 'three different intro chapters' for Fivesaken, and the scale for pretty much everything is pulled back. A lot neater. Less stress.

So the probability of Fivesaken's demo coming out first will be HIGH! I hope that doesn't upset people, but that's just the way things are looking!! It's my much-needed escape from coding hell, but I'm still chipping away piece by piece :)

[bumblingbabooshka]

I have an idea for making Seska and the Kazon more interesting (less Klingon-lite) and it's by making it kinda Seska v Chakotay (based on the episode where Chakotay helps that Kazon kid) Basically, the Kazon are this severely fractured group of historically disenfranchised and preyed upon people (they were literally enslaved by the Trabe who took their homeworld, kept them living in squalor while the Trabe lived in luxury, and are still trying to kill them. This is canon and it's insane that the Kazon are still the bad guys overall. Like, they're painted as this incorrigibly innately violent mass of idiots it's SO bad.) Basically my idea is that Seska, as a Cardassian and a spy, is someone who's used to infiltrating and subjugating groups. So I was picturing Voyager being attacked by the Kazon and accused of helping the Trabe again. Voyager says they absolutely would never help the Trabe or anyone else kill people and learn that swaths of Kazon have been being killed and captured and that all the evidence leads to Voyager. The Kazon Voyager interacts with from here on are acting notably different. Far more paranoid, cagey, and gruesome in their violence. B'Elanna remarks that it feels almost Cardassian. This (Voyager's involvement) is eventually revealed to be a Trabe plot (they're pissed Voyager backed out of helping them assassinate the Kazon's leaders) but what the audience knows and Voyager doesn't yet is that Seska is working WITH the Trabe. Playing both sides. As a spy within the Kazon she can make them more vulnerable to the Trabe and the Trabe have WAY more power and resources so of course Seska's gonna be on their side. Chakotay is the first one to figure this all out and he can't believe that Seska would do something like that. Not Seska specifically, anyone. Here we get more into the Maquis and Chakotay's thoughts and feelings on why he initially joined and how he feels about the movement now (still very passionately positive I refuse to believe otherwise). I hate the idea media LOOOVES to push that people who use violence in pursuit of noble goals 'pollute' that 'pure' goal or are 'just like their oppressors'. Shut uuup kill Cardassians kill the Trabe.

So Janeway's like this is incredibly unfortunate but now that we've cleared Voyager's name we really can't interfere with whatever's going on. Chakotay thinks Seska's doing something but we don't know for SURE and I don't wanna involve us unnecessarily let's just go. Chakotay argues against this and there's a tense moment during the meeting where it seems like there's gonna be a fight but Chakotay momentarily lets it be and instead speaks to Janeway one-on-one where we get much the same result. Ends on a sour note where Chakotay says he respects Janeway but their 'blended' crew is looking a lot like a Starfleet one. (He means this sort of behavior is exactly what he left Starfleet over: Inability to do enough good in his eyes due to a desire to remain more Neutrally Benevolent.) Later we get a scene of Chakotay talking in private to Neelix. They're using vague, mysterious language bc it's tv. After this we get hints that Chakotay's been talking to people in secret but we aren't told who or why. Eventually, several episodes later, Voyager is in a pinch and at the climax of the conflict someone helps them out of an impossible situation. The Kazon! Two different sects in fact which is highly unusual. It's revealed that Chakotay has been communicating with the Kazon behind everyone's back. He obviously hasn't told them anything about Voyager or given them anything which Neelix (who's been helping him) found hard to believe. He, along with all others in the delta quadrant, didn't think much of the Kazon but with one stone we've showcased both that the Kazon are like, people. Who want to live peacefully and are capable of working together which canon and the Trabe say is impossible. AND that Chakotay is excellent at convincing and uniting people. Honestly, Janeway and Tuvok conspired behind Chakotay's back enough that he deserves to do it at LEAST once and it's for an excellent cause. The Kazon show Voyager proof that Seska's been playing both sides using Cardassian tactics the Maquis recognize. She has the ear of the strongest sects as well as the Trabe. If Voyager doesn't help the Kazon, they're all going to be wiped out or enslaved again, the Trabe taking their homeworld. Someone points out that the Kazon just saved their lives. Chakotay points out that since Seska's behind this and he brought Seska here- Janeway interrupts. We brought Seska here, commander. If she started this, we'll be sure to finish it. [to the table] Together. The crew, united, (along with the Kazon!) all agree enthusiastically. Ideally, you know, there wouldn't be these third parties coming in to help the Kazon as if they Kazon are incapable of helping themselves but I'm formatting this as a Voyager plotline so that can't happen entirely - the main characters have to be involved BUT leaving off with them having two sects as allies gives us room to have Kazon characters interacting positively with the crew and each other. Maybe there could be two reoccurring characters from different sects and them slowly getting along in a genuine way acts as like a microcosm of what the Kazon can do (and parallels Starfleet v Maquis). I want it to be made clear through this plotline that the image of the Kazon as violent thugs is largely manufactured by the Trabe and their guarding of and constant quest for more resources is due to their background of having nothing. I hope connecting them to the Maquis in how they're painted and the Bajorans in how the Trabe and Cardassians exploit them also makes it seem less like the Kazon are idiots with no culture besides violence and more like this could happen to any marginalized group. Also Seska seems like such a villain to Chakotay specifically that I think they should get to fully duke it out. Ideologically.

[walkingstackofbooks]

Trying to clear out my drafts and have come across multiple barely-started thoughts that I'd forgotten about but also do want to finish 😅

this one's so devastating it needs to be a fic you don't understand no I can't elaborate

hell if I can connect these thoughts but it'll come to me someday probably I hope

I think this might have been the one that ended up with them sounding Julian and sucking him off at the same time but I actually can't remember ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

This sounds just SO familiar, did I actually end up finishing this post elsewhere or have I just imagined many variations on a theme? Idk

Finally, one I can delete! Yeah I have no idea what this meant either XD

[mzcain27]

The worst genre of like podcasts and YouTube channels and whatever is where they’re like “welcome to our podcast about *thing* we LOVE *thing* it’s our favourite thing to talk about we love it sooooo much and we can’t wait to discuss it with you guys” and then they just talk about how much they hate everything about it all the fucking time

[tsunomenom]

my fault: lando | ln4 smau

♡ summary: you star in my fault: london and the internet can’t stop comparing your onscreen love interest to your real life boyfriend, lando norris

♡ pairing: lando norris x singer/actress!reader

♡ warnings: use of yn, fluff, established relationship

♡ faceclaim: asha banks

♡ a/n: i watched my fault london and couldn’t stop thinking about how fun a smau with asha as the faceclaim would be 😭

masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

𝜗𝜚

yourusername

🎵 YN LN • Feel The Rush

Liked by lando and 635,789 others

yourusername My Fault: London is OUT!!!! AGHHH 😭🥲 i’m so proud of this movie and everyone who worked on it!! plus my song Feel The Rush is in the end credits (WTF 🥹🥹🥹) so go WATCH GUYS!!! and if that’s not enough to convince you there’s a mclaren cameo 😏

tagged: primevideo, primevideouk

View all comments

user854 “mclaren cameo” got me thinking lando just gonna pop up 😪

user206 but no queen meant an actual mclaren 🥲🥲

user173 ACTUALLY PEAK WATTPAD CINEMA 😍😍

user035 wattpad cinema is crazy 😭

pietra.pilao talented girl 🥰

yourusername love you p 😚🙃

mattbroome3 vroom vroom 🏎️ ♥︎ by author

user840 ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED

lando MY BEAUTIFUL TALENTED PRETTY TOTAL BABE OF A GIRLFRIEND EVERYONE 😍😩😝

maxfewtrell damn mate could you be anymore whipped

yourusername shush you muppet (don’t stop keep complimenting me) 🤭😝

yourusername maxfewtrell literally stfu who invited you 😒

user387 FAVORITE WAG EVER (she ate in this guys go watch it 🥹🥹🥹)

user218 guys hear me out nick is eerily lando coded….

user876 STOP CAUSE I THOUGHT THE SAME THING 😭😭

user321 THEY LOOK ALIKE FFS 💀

lilymhe best movie every pretty girl 🫶🏻

yourusername MWAH LOVE YOU BIG 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

lilyzneimer i’ve watched this way too many times i fear 🫣😭

yourusername BYEEEE ILYY

user530 the sequel is a NEEED 😭

primevideo buckle up

user408 she’s actually so pretty 😭😪

user032 when she can’t escape guys who drive mclarens >> ♥︎ by author

user321 ICONIC TBH

hattiepiastri can lando fight?

riabish no 🙂‍↔️

yourusername no (but he’d try) ☺️

maxfewtrell no he can’t

lando literally wtf 😀

hattiepiastri movie eats and so do you!!!

yourusername MWAH MWAH MWAH 😚😚😚

—— twitter

replies—

user912 ITS SOOO GOOD (BUT THE MCLAREN)

user773 THE FUCKING MCLAREN & THE LICENSE PLATE 😭😭😭

user912 LIKE THEY DID THAT ON PURPOSE 💀 ♥︎ by author

user775 YN LOOKED SO GOOOOD 😭

user773 HONESTLYYYYYYY

user925 THE NL LICENSE PLATE MADE ME CRASH OUT

user021 IT WAS CRAZY BEHAVIOR

user044 the actor even lowkey looks like lando 😭😭

user773 no cause they have some similarities it’s kinda scary 😭😭

user923 yn’s onscreen version having the same type as her irl is real af though

user773 honestly if you’re gonna kiss someone in a movie might as well be your bf’s lookalike 😭😭

user856 ITS SUCH A GOOD MOVIE I LOOK PAST THE WATTPADYNESS OF IT 😭😭😭

~~~

user550 BYE THATS DIABOLICAL 😭😭😭😭

user773 i hope yn sees these tweets cause this is wild 😭😭

user410 DONT WISH THAT ON ME OMFG-

user887 lando and matt ignoring that they’re kinda twins: 🧑‍🦯 ♥︎ by author

user444 yn’s too chronically online for you guys to be this bold 😭😭

user410 whoops 🥲

user923 mad respect for coming up with that one

yourusername STOP STFU 😭😭

user410 NO LOOK AWAY MY LOVE IM SOOO SORRY

user773 OH HI QUEEN 😭😭😭

user076 STOP U GUYS SCARRED HER SHE’LL NEVER INTERACT WITH US AGAIN 💀

yourusername GUYS NO DONT MAKE THIS A THING WTF-🥲🥲🥲

user923 ml i fear this is already a thing 😬

user176 LOOK AWAY LOOOK AWAYYYY

—— interview

snippet of YN LN & Matthew Broome youtube interview for My Fault: London

(pic 1: interviewer: now i'd be remissed if i didn't ask... YN how do we feel about fans online saying Nick and Lando have similarities? Matt: *laughs* YN: I honestly still don't see it! but i showed Lan a few of the tweets i saw and we all have seen many tiktoks—)(pic 2: Matt: i sent her and lando a few on instagram and was like this is f***ing nuts mates and we had a proper laugh about it YN: *laughs* it got worse when lan's siblings started seeing the comparisons and told him "he has your f***ing license plate!" but honestly i think we all just find it a funny coincidence! i mean nick does have a mclaren with a custom license plate *you shrug*)(pic 3: Matt: *laughs* although she's not a fan of me and lando calling each other twin which we have started doing just to mess with her! YN: it actually makes me mental it's the worst! Interviewer: *laughs*)

Comments —

user807 STOPP THEY THINK THE COMPARISONS ARE HILARIOUS

user776 YN is so unserious i love her 😭😭😭

user446 matt and lando calling each other twin is fucking hilarious 😭😭

user007 it honestly makes me so happy 😭😭

user310 okay but the similarities are so glaringly obvious 😭😭

user820 i love that lando has always been close to yn’s costars

user885 its boyfriend goals tbh

user431 such a good movie and the offscreen chemistry is adorable (platonic obvs)

user522 YN CALLING LANDO LAN FUCKS ME UP ISTG 😭😭😭

user032 MUM AND DAD HONESTLY

user001 love that she was probably giggling over the tweets with lando 😭😭😭😭

user045 f1 winter break has us so bored we all watched a movie because the main guy looked a little like lando norris 😭😭

user465 speak for yourself i watched for my fav wag yn‼️

user777 drop the sequel 😩😩😩😩

—— instagram

yourusername

🎵 Charli xcx • Vroom Vroom

Liked by pietra.pilao and 856,708 others

yourusername 1 week of My Fault: London!!! as a treat for streaming enjoy my lando cosplay 😚🙃☺️

tagged: mattbroome3

View all comments

user281 giving f1 driver 😍

user021 YN could drive an f1 car but lando couldn’t play Noah 😌😌 ♥︎ by author

mclaren contract is on its way 📝

yourusername mwah admin 🥰 (i will win the wdc for you bby)

lando you can’t give her my job… admin..? zak..? andrea..?

mclaren lando sorry who is lando norris? we only know YN LN 🤷‍♀️ ♥︎ by author

user630 i have watched it four times (ITS AMAAAZZZZINGGG) ♥︎ by author

lando i’ve watched it 10 get on my level 🤨

user630 lando pack it up nick leister wannabe

yourusername user630 BYE 😭

user388 ICON LEGEND GIVE HER THE WDC ALREADY HONESTLY

lilymhe woaaah racing driver 😍

yourusername 😝😏

alex_albon i- wow

lando you soooooooooooo pretty 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

yourusername omg it’s lando norris 🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢

lando u single????? can i have ur numberrrrrrr 😍😍

yourusername noo i have a bf 😨😨😨

lando yourusername NOOOOO 😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓

maxfewtrell sometimes you make me question why i’m friends with you 🙂‍↔️

yourusername maxfewtrell wdym? aren’t you his wag??

user995 SOOOO PRETTYYYY 😍

mattbroome3 quick like norris quick like lando norris 🏎️🏎️

lando hey that’s me 🫢

mattbroome3 lando wait- twin… is that you?

yourusername don’t be slow stegosaurus..? 🏎️

yourusername mattbroome3 stfu 🙂

pietra.pilao missed opportunity to use sports car as the song 😪

yourusername YOURE SO RIGHT 🥲

user886 actually obsessed 😭😪

user930 ICONS

user765 so… anyone else think these two look cute together??

user176 no. that’s just you.

user004 hey so she has this really really cool bf and doesn’t enjoy being shipped with costars! hope this helps! 🙂

user032 go away.

lando some people shouldn’t have the internet.

yourusername NO THEY REALLY DONT 🙂

yourusername lando istg 😭😭

riabish actually best racing driver i’ve ever seen 🤷‍♀️

yourusername it’s true get me in that mclaren zbrownceo

lando yourusername hey so that’s my boss 🙂

yourusername lando i know 😊

user912 she’s gonna pull the race scene this season and race for lando 😭😭😭 ♥︎ by author

user321 ik this is a joke but pls could you IMAGINE 😭😭😭😭

user995 this photo is actually papaya’s lineup this season

user039 all i see is best driver ever and walmart lando 🏎️🏎️

user995 user039 WALMART LANDO IS CRAZY 😭😭

lando YOURE CRAZY IF YOURE NOT STREAMING THE SHIT OUT OF THIS MOVIE‼️‼️‼️‼️

yourusername guys… i think he might kinda like me 🤭🤭🤭

~~~

lando.jpg

🎵 Tate McRae • 2 Hands

Liked by lnfour and 255,890 others

lando.jpg movie star 🏎️

View all comments

user921 HE REMEMBERED THE PASSWORD TO SHOW OFF HIS GIRLFRIEND YASSSSS 😍😍

lnfour our favorite movie star!! ♥︎ by author

pietra.pilao the models hot can i have her number??

lando.jpg no.

yourusername yes 🤭

maxfewtrell yourusername you can’t steal my girlfriend!

user982 he remembered his password ‼️‼️‼️

user765 give her all the awards‼️ ♥︎ by author

primevideo movie star? or supermodel? 😍

yourusername omg 🤭🤭🤭

lando.jpg watch it 😒

quadrant we 🫶 YN

user254 coolest movie star in the world 😍😍

user087 my fault is such a good movie and YN slayyed 🤩

mattbroome3 omg guys twin posted‼️

yourusername STFU 😭😭😭

lando.jpg ITS MY TWIN ☺️☺️

maxfewtrell lando.jpg i thought i was your twin 🥲😕

user470 using 2 hands on a pic of his gf is so real 😭😭

user708 i love him for that tbh

user003 it’s fucking iconic 😭😭

user034 MOM AND DAD FRFR

user007 OBSESSED FAVORITE WAG TALENTED QUEEN 😍😍

user517 models are lucky YN chose acting and singing for a career cause DAMN 😍😍

user021 HONESTLY

lilyzneimer ITS MY FAVORITE RACING DRIVER YN LN 😍😍

yourusername FLATTERED AFFF 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

oscarpiastri this just… this just hurts 😕

lando.jpg damn that’s cold 😭😭

lilymhe mm real af mine too 🤭

alex_albon lilymhe OKAY—

yourusername AHH I LOOK GOOD 🤭🤭🤭🤭

lando.jpg YOU ALWAYS LOOK GOOD 😍😍😍😍

yourusername i love youuuuu this is so cutesyyyy 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

lando.jpg MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD TALENTED AMAZING BEAUTIFUL I LOVE YOU TOO 🥹🫶🫶

[kianamaiart]

Growing an audience takes time and getting people to care about your characters can often take more time. I've done a bunch of OCs in the past but none of them really got traction until my IDWTBAMG OCs. I steadily grew my social media following for well over a decade. A lot of checking socialblade, looking at analytics and generally drawing/posting everyday. I have a whole doc available about this type of stuff.

There's no particular shortcut other than happening to go viral or getting really lucky. But I will say "branding" or carving out a niche for yourself over time helps. Although I've been in a number of different fandoms over the past 15 years I've been on the internet, the kind of art I do has been pretty consistent. Lots of shorter, light hearted comics or vignettes highlighting relationships (be them romantic, platonic or familial) and people started enjoying my work for my writing style more so than just what fandom I was creating for.

Finding your community, creating stuff that aligns with those communities and engaging with others is huge. A lot of my work prior to IDWTBAMG centered queer people (specifically sapphics), Black and Asian folks and stylistically is very anime/modern western cartoon inspired. It's what became known for in fandom spaces and what people were following me for. So when I finally did make IDWTBAMG, a concept with anime influences, in a western cartoon style, with two Black, sapphic leads, it just fit right into what I was already doing. Like if you grew your following from doing cute, slice of life stuff, then suddenly dropped a psychological horror comic, chances are it's not gonna grab a large part of your audience. Might bring some new folks in, but you're ultimately kinda starting over and pivoting (that's why rebrands are hard to pull off). This may not be the best example but hopefully you get what I mean. Appeal to the communities you've fostered!

I hate using corporate speak for art but if you ARE trying sell your ideas to people and get your work out there, you do kinda have to learn how to market yourself and your art to some extent. Get in the head of a marketing agent or a brand manager. What's popular right now? How can I use that to my advantage? What times should I be posting my artwork to get the most eyes on this? Who is my target audience and how do I effectively appeal to them while staying true to my own work? Stuff like that. Genuinely, studying how social media managers operate as well as just observing how businesses market their products helped me a lot. "Okay I'm making this animatic, but it won't come out for the next four months. How do I keep people interested and hyped for that amount of time leading up to the pilot's release? I'll keep doing comics here and there so people connect with the characters by the time the pilot comes out. Once I get he VAs recorded, I'll make posts to get people hyped for the casting. I'll upload snippets and behind the scenes stuff to give people a taste of what's to come. I'll release during Black History Month since this is a Black led project with Black characters. I'll have a specific upload time at peak hours to get a good amount of people watching for the premiere and to give the pilot a good running start." This was all stuff I was taking into consideration and planning for.

Then generally, I think people connect to characters more than anything. You can have a cool concept and fun world building ideas but if your execution is bad and your characters aren't compelling, what's the point, y'know? IDWTBAMG isn't a particularly novel concept imo, but I think its strengths lie in the characters and how they interact. The concept is just a tool to give the character dynamics and relationships legs to stand on. So few of the comics I've done with these guys have to do with their lore, it's just small interactions of the girls in class, at a convenience store or just talking to each other in a void. Even though it's simple, that's often the kind of thing people connect with.

Then there's just the technical aspect of having appealing drawing! Getting better at your craft, if nothing else, is good for catching eyes and helping with your execution of your project. While it's not always necessary, I think it helps a lot. I know there's a lot of people who follow me just because they personally like my art style and character design.

Not sure how helpful this actually is LOL. It really does just kinda take time. We all have to start somewhere. I was a "small artist" too at one point. It was years of trial and error, mental breakdowns, finding my own artistic voice and posting artwork almost daily for like 5 years straight. I do think that's why IDWTBAMG ended up being so special to me. It really does feel like a culmination of everything I've learned and all that hard work up to this point and people can kinda feel that.

[blade-liger-4ever]

Why I think Miko Nakadai is arguably the best human character in TFP

Don't misunderstand, I know Miko was handled haphazardly throughout the series' run. That said, aside from her skipping off into the battlefield, she was actually a great character - and, in my personal opinion, the actual audience surrogate character in TFP.

Now, let me explain.

Although Miko's backstory is told and not shown - a rich daughter who had everything she could ever want, up to and including two pure-breed cats and piano lessons from age three onwards (which, coincidentally, tells us she's brainy despite her antics) - much can be inferred from what snippets of her past we get, along with her interactions with the Autobots. For one, she obviously can't stand most adult supervision, which is likely because of a few things. For one, back home in Japan, Miko would have had to be proper and polite, always restrained, and had to do what she was told. While this is normal (to an extent) in the West, in the East this is etiquette that needs to be obeyed, especially if you're as well off as she is; her actions, specifically in Japan, will reflect on her parents, but to a far lesser extent in America. Thus, when presented with the freedoms of the USA, Miko not only jumps at the chance for an exchange program that will give her the mobility she craves, she also chooses the place that has the least amount of glamor. By extension of choosing to settle in Jasper, Miko's also displaying two other traits: she's not afraid of going to a place vastly different from her home, and she isn't disgusted by a small town with very little monetary value to it.

Secondly, Miko's disregard for authority from adults but deference to the 'Bots teases us with an insecurity - namely, an insecurity that no adult ever gives her a chance to make her own decisions.

Just think about it: All the times Miko's blown off the human adults, it's when they've tried to decide her life for her. Miko has, from what we can see, had her whole life dictated, up to and including those piano lessons. She may be a prodigy at almost everything, but her preferred instrument is the guitar - and yet, she wasn't given lessons in that from the time she was a toddler. Therefore, she feels confined and controlled by the authority of her elders. And so, while Miko may be able to sway Bulkhead into getting her out of detention and consistently slip past the watchful eyes of the 'Bots, it's out of a desperate motivation to control her own life. Now, she does hold too much interest in the battles and getting to watch them, but wouldn't you have that same eagerness if Gundams or Jaegers came to life before your eyes? Yes, she knows their lives are in danger, that they couldn't come home, but there's still a fantastical element to all of this about the Autobots. And it remains so because while she loves them all, Bulkhead is the only one who, while giving her life advice and trying to keep her in check/alive, lets her make her own decisions and take control of her life and her actions.

And that's why she keeps going to the field. That's why she only listens to the reprimands with half an ear and why she recovers so fast from Optimus' near death experiences, as well as Raf's close call with death.

And that's why Miko's world shatters when Bulkhead is left in a half-dead coma from his fight with Hardshell. Because the one person in the universe who gave her freedom and care without deciding her life for her was not just seriously injured, but possibly on death's door.

That's why Miko runs around without a care until the S2 episode "Hurt": because she wants autonomy to decide her life, even if it's stupid choices that could get her killed.

And after "Hurt", we see a new Miko. Yes, she remains gung-ho and fierce, but she stops running onto the battlefield. She takes less enjoyment from the War. Because now, with the reality of war fresh in her mind, she knows the risks and the stakes involved, and she will never take that or her friends for granted anymore. This is further proved when Miko 'sneaks' along for "Chain of Command", but with a twist: she asks Wheeljack if she can come along - and if memory serves, this is the first mission Bulkhead's been on with herself present since the events before "Hurt". Clearly, Miko is still worried about losing Bulkhead - only, this time, she values the words of the 'Bots, and now seeks permission to join a mission, though she wisely asks Wheeljack for this blessing.

This is the beautiful part of her arc, crowned by her battle with Starscream and his Seekers (which is also just straight up awesome.) When she's kicked the afts of everyone, and Starscream tries to intimidate her with his usual "I killed Cliffjumper" speech, Miko's response is this calm, slightly rough, retort:

"Big whoop. I snuffed Hardshell."

In this moment, Miko Nakadai is shown to have grown from an excitable child into an unyielding, but mature, adult warrior. She no longer treats the War and the 'Bots like a game, or a release. She treats them as her friends who she will gladly risk her own life for.

And that, in my opinion, makes her the best human protagonist in all of Transformers: Prime, and Transformers media in general.

As for what I said earlier about her being the true audience surrogate, be honest with yourselves: If any of us were given the chance to meet the Autobots, wouldn't you be just as irrepressible as Miko, as eager to help as she was, and tempted to go to the battlefield to see the action/make sure your 'Bot wasn't going to die? That's what I mean when I say she's the audience surrogate - Miko acts like we would, and learns as we would about the War and the 'Bots if we suddenly came across them.

That's my two cents on Miko, and why she's the human character I respect the most in Transformers...probably of all time. If you liked it, I'm glad; Miko deserves better, and I hope I explained why well.

Til next time, folks!

"Autobots, transform!"

[ssa-dado]

Burgandy Swim Cap

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: meet-a-cute but you're mainly just ogling at Hotch as he swims in a speedo. Summary: You know those encounters that last, like, five seconds where literally nothing happens but still manage to blossom into a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. Partly because you're chronically single. Partly because you’re starved for attention. Mostly because you saw him in a speedo. A tight speedo. A tight, half-metallic speedo. A tight, half-metallic, very low-waisted speedo. So really, it’s not a crush, it’s cause and effect. Also… he’s a dad. Too. Warnings: objectification of the Hotchner body (called out twice for not having an ass, affectionately), implied age gap, sexual jokes and cuss words Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: I genuinely don’t know how to tag the reader... but she’s giving me fleabag energy… so, uhmmm, let’s roll with that. Huge thanks and smooches to @hotchology for developing and proofreading the snippets I dropped in your dms at 11 pm unprompted 🧎‍♀️

masterlist(s)

It’s not your fault you’re staring out the cafeteria window that just so happens to overlook the pool. You’re literally facing it. What else are you supposed to do - dislocate your neck inhumanly to look the other way?

That window was meant for people-watching.

Specifically, for anxious parents to spy on their kids mid-paddle without interrupting the lesson every time little Aiden coughs. It’s not your fault you’re childless and currently repurposing the feature to ogle burgundy-swim-cap guy in lane four.

You’re just… respecting the building’s original design intent.

You needed the distraction. Desperately.

Because beside you, your friend is once again delivering the extended director’s cut of that five-minute interaction with the guy she’s allegedly, absolutely, 100% over.

The conversation happened three months ago.

You know this.

Because she has broken it down line by line for three months.

Every pause. Every blink.

So maybe you are a bad friend. Possibly a terrible person. Because while she unpacks every microscopic detail of his “Oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your toe”, you’re mentally calculating burgundy-swim-cap guy’s exact height.

From twelve feet up. Through water. And glass.

And okay… maybe it’s not just the height.

Maybe it’s also the length of his... arms.

Arms.

His arms.

Long, sinuous things slicing through the water like art. Like poetry. Like that one ballet you pretended to enjoy but secretly napped through.

This is different. This is science. You’re just appreciating form. Physics. Hydrodynamics, anatomy, geometry… all the -ometrics.

You’re not objectifying. You’re observing. A selfless academic pursuit, really.

Especially when he glides under one, two, three lane dividers in a single breath, back muscles shifting and flexing with each kick.

And God… his back. You can’t stop staring at it.

Wide. Solid. Disproportionately large, especially considering the man has absolutely zero ass. None. Negative ass. Just ten uninterrupted feet of legs. Stunning.

But it’s the manners that do it.

Because the moment he reaches the ladder and sees the lady from lane one headed there too?

He pauses. Actually waits. Even though he got there first. Doesn’t try to squeeze past her or pretend he didn’t see - no, he stops.

Gives her space. Gestures her to go. Looks away, even.

Eyes politely drifting up the tiled wall, to the stands below you where the suburban invasion of moms has taken hold, to the bright flags swaying just behind the cafeteria window -

Until he lifts his head a little too high.

Fuck… did he just catch you mid-stare? You can’t tell. The goggles - those hideous, mirrored cheap goggles - reflect everything and nothing at once.

Maybe he sees you.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe your face is just a blurry little ghost in his periphery.

Either way, your entire body goes hot and rigid. You peel your eyes away - casually, discreetly, nod to your friend to pretend you’re still listening to her - but not entirely.

You still watch. You have to.

Because he’s about to rise from the pool. And you need to see it.

For research purposes.

For the sacred cause of scientific accuracy. You have to confirm if your earlier measurements were correct the moment he steps out of the water.

They weren’t.

Because he’s bigger. So much bigger.

You can’t tell exactly by how much, though, because the moment his biceps flex - thick and veiny - as he hauls himself up the ladder, your brain just… packs its bags and leaves.

Bye.

All higher function is instantly rerouted to the way the water clings to him - refuses to let go, even gravity is struggling to move on.

(Honestly? Fair. You wouldn’t want to let go either… you’re actually kind of jealous.)

Jealous of how those droplets trace his body - how most of them drip obediently, following the grooves of his muscles, but some linger. They pool in the thick mat of dark curls across his chest, clinging for dear life.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s covered in them.

A slick, glistening mess of wet hair clings to his pecs - dark curls matted down and glinting under the pool lights, looking so soft and stupidly biteable you could probably get arrested just for thinking about it.

Then the curls start to gather. Real organized.

Forming this tidy relatively thin line that runs straight down the center of his chest, gliding over the elegant suggestion of abs - not shredded, but sculpted. Classy, if that’s even possible.

The line of hair dips past his belly button and practically screams into your long-gone neural functions: lick here.

(And you would. With honor. For science. For the flag.)

Because then the trail spreads at his waistband, curling out along his obliques, a pair of sirens luring you to the main event: his very, very low-waisted speedo.

Duo-chrome. Black and something... metallic. Wicked.

The black half pretends to behave.

It lies to your face, “Look at me, look at me,” it says. “I’m discreet. I’m functional. I’m keeping things tasteful.”

But it’s a filthy little traitor. Because right next to it, the metallic side is doing everything but staying subtle. It wasn’t camouflaging a damn thing.

Topography: fully visible. The contour. The definition. The godforsaken outline.

Traceable. With a pencil.

Or your tongue.

Preferably your tongue.

Preferably slow. Possibly kneeling. Definitely grateful.

Because whatever anatomical miracle is happening beneath that lycra – truly might be the eighth wonder of the world built between two hipbones.

These are sickeningly good dick proportions.

Burgandy Swim Cap guy peels off the ugly goggles.

Be fucking damned. That is a hell of a face.

The suction rings frame his eyes - tender little indents where he clearly strapped those goggles too tight.

He’s a try-hard.

A confirmed overachiever - you can tell. It’s in the way he did those laps earlier - efficient, ruthless, mechanical - and in the speed too. Like every stroke was on a timer. Like there was something at stake.

Is burgundy-swim-cap guy training for something?

Maybe he’s a professional swimmer.

Maybe he’s training for a triathlon. The 2012 Olympics in London. A shot at some world record no one else cares about.

Maybe he’s an eldest son.

Maybe he’s got a dad who never said “I’m proud of you” without a follow-up critique.

Maybe he’s still trying to earn praise that never came.

Maybe it’s daddy issues - maybe it’s mommy issues. Issues… in general.

Maybe he’s spent his whole life needing to be exceptional just to feel enough.

Maybe he’s been through a heartbreak. A divorce. A loss.

Maybe he just has a lot of feelings and refuses to talk about any of them unless he’s actively swimming them to death.

Or maybe he’s just that guy - the kind who doesn’t do anything unless he can do it at 120%, even when no one’s watching. Especially when no one’s watching.

Maybe he holds himself to impossible standards because he doesn’t know how not to. Who swims like this because it’s the one place he can fail in private.

Who knows. Who cares.

He’s just a guy.

A man.

A stranger you’ve never even spoken to.

You don’t know his name, his voice, anything.

And yet, there’s something about him.

Something in the slope of his nose, in the way his flushed cheeks are still chasing the rhythm of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest. It’s not bodybuilder-big, not exaggerated - but it feels massive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him.

Because every breath he takes stretches that hairy chest just a little wider, a little broader, until the space around you feels like it’s shrinking, like there’s not enough air left in the room that isn’t his.

You’re fine. You are totally fine.

You’re also clenching your thighs for absolutely no reason. None.

Until - he removes the burgundy swim cap.

Now you do have a reason.

Because beneath it is this obscene head of raven-black hair.

Thick. Damp. Unruly.

Some of it’s clinging to his forehead, but the rest is sticking out in a thousand different directions like it doesn’t give a single shit about streamlining or aerodynamics.

He looks deliciously messy.

But he doesn’t let it stay.

No, he runs his hand through it almost immediately, slicking it back, a man who cannot stand the chaos of hair across his eyes, he can’t stand being out of place.

Control freak. Freak in general.

That tracks.

Still hot.

Hotter.

And still, he doesn’t play to the crowd.

He could - he should - scan the room, make eye contact, maybe throw in a wink or a casual flex. He could at least give a nod to the fact that half the people on this side of the glass are currently 1,461 words deep into mentally drafting smutty fiction with him as the main character.

But no.

He just looks down, slides into his pathetic little (from where you’re standing… sitting.) pool slippers, and rushes toward the changing rooms like he’s late to something.

A loser. An absolute loser.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re completely captivated - so much so that, when your friend finally finishes her emotional postmortem and disappears down the corridor toward the pool, you subtly change seats to get a better view of the hallway.

A strategic move, just in case burgundy-swim-cap guy decides he’s earned a post-swim coffee after all that aquatic foreplay you projected onto him from the safety of your horny little imagination.

Well. You’re getting coffee, at least. You deserve a reward. A hot, mildly burnt one.

You’ve been through a lot.

Except it’s possibly the worst line you’ve ever stood in because you had the genius idea to go for caffeine at the exact same time the children’s swim class ended.

Now you’re trapped - shoulder to shoulder with a damp, shrieking mob of underdeveloped humans all demanding hot dogs, pizza, cheeseburgers, and, from the look in one child’s eyes, possibly the cashier’s soul.

You’ve entered a purgatory of sticky fingers and pure indecision, where time slows and the line somehow clogs even more with every passing second.

It’s not their fault - children are absolute demons in Crocs. They don’t know what they want. They pause. They backtrack.

One child is negotiating for “just the cheese from the cheeseburger, but on a hot dog bun,” and you are watching, in real time, the unraveling of Western civilization.

…You hate that you respect the innovation.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You just really, really don’t want to miss Burgundy Swim Cap Guy if he happens to pass by - maybe in jeans, maybe (if there’s any justice left in the universe) grey sweatpants, or a hoodie two sizes too big.

Something casual. Unassuming.

Something that dares to cover everything you now know is under there - and somehow makes it worse.

Something that’s the reason your mouth is dry and you’re stuck in this line, mentally begging for something warm to wrap your lips around and feel vaguely hydrated again.

You’re trying to be patient. You’re trying not to hate the one kid crying because his juice is too red and his dad fumbling with his wallet.

You’re a monster. The worst kind of person.

These kids are innocent.

They’re not responsible for the slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they fantasy you’ve constructed entirely in your touch-starved brain - just to distract yourself from the fact that you haven’t been held in actual, human arms in months, your last situationship ended because they ���forgot they weren’t single,” the closest thing you’ve had to intimacy this year was a barista remembering your name – once - and, okay, technically there was also that one time a man with a van asked if you “liked adventure,” but you don’t count that unless you're feeling especially pathe-

“That’ll be $2.50,” says the cashier.

Snaps you instantly back to the cruel reality where the only thing you're taking home tonight is a stupid plastic bracelet that’s already cutting into your wrist and the lingering scent of disinfectant.

(Good luck taking that away.)

You hand him a twenty.

He looks at you, deadpan, like he’s about to ask if your sad little wallet also holds the answer to the mental math problem he just did in half a second - the kind of calculation only a man with a degree in math or engineering could do, now tragically stuck working in a depressing public pool cafeteria.

Not even a cool street café. No latte art. No jazz music. Just chlorine and despair.

You give him a sheepish half-smile.

The twenty is all you had.

Okay - technically you had 50 cents too.

Maybe.

In loose change that’s probably fused with gum wrappers and lint at the bottom of your bag but explaining that feels like a one-way ticket to having a burnt cappuccino tossed in your face.

It’s 2011. Surely cafeterias still carry change.

…Apparently not.

“Card?” he asks.

You have exactly $1.78 on your card. You know this because you checked this morning, like the responsible adult you pretend to be.

This is bad.

This is humiliating.

This is the exact kind of character-building moment that turns into a core memory your brain will randomly replay at 3 a.m. for the next seven years.

The kids behind you are screaming. (Except one. One child is calmly and confidently negotiating a pizza-inside-a-burger situation with his father, who looks like he lost custody in the divorce and also in this conversation.)

And then there are the dads, too. You can feel them. Judging you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

Which is a shame, really. Because you love dads. You’re hopelessly, helplessly, filthily attracted to dads.

Hot dads? Daddy dads? Men with crow’s feet and deep voices who say things like “I’ll take care of it” and mean it? Slightly emotionally unavailable men with strong forearms, guilt complexes, and unresolved trauma they process exclusively through precision lawn edging and Sunday barbecue duty?

Inject that straight into your bloodstream.

You want them tired. You want them emotionally repressed. You want them to carry patio furniture like it weighs nothing and grunt when they sit down. You want to be a problem.

But these dads?

Their suburban dad disapproval is so potent it might as well be playing on loop over the intercom right between announcements for lost goggles and swim meet fundraisers.

These dads would ask about your five-year plan, nod thoughtfully, then ghost you via a LinkedIn message.

These dads are not for you.

These dads can go.

And so you panic. Sweat. Freeze. Until-

A hand.

A large hand.

Chubby-fingered, hairy, left-handed and wrapped in the crisp white cuff of a very expensive white shirt, peeking out from an even more expensive black suit jacket.

There’s a Rolex on his wrist. A real one.

That same hand, gentle and unbothered, slides a credit card (which looks comically small in those thick fingers, by the way) right into the reader, where $2.50 is already floating on the screen.

“I got it,” says a voice.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s deep. Unreasonably deep. The kind of voice that should be illegal before noon.

And soft, too, absurdly soft for how deep it is because the vibrations travel straight from your ear to your… there. There, there.

You turn. Slowly.

And there he is.

A man.

(Surprise!)

Not just a man – a Man. Capital M, bolded, underlined, possibly trademarked if your bank account could handle the licensing fee.

He’s in a suit. In a full suit. Black jacket. White shirt. Burgundy tie.

You blink… wait is that- no way.

It’s him.

It’s Burgundy Swim Cap Guy.

Now in Burgundy Tie.

He matched.

Goddamn it. What a loser. What a hot, meticulous loser.

Oh, Burgundy Swim Cap man.

Yeah, let’s get that correction in there. Man.

Because up close, in proper daylight and expensive tailoring, he’s clearly way older than he looked in the pool. Deliciously older kind of old.

… And here you thought he was your age. (You were wrong. Again.)

All the better.

You barely recognize him in this polished version of himself - drenched in a cologne that costs more than your monthly grocery budget and somehow isn’t obnoxious.

It’s that expensive.

It’s not that aquatic bullshit guys in finance wear.

No. It’s warm. Inviting. Woodsy. A little smoky.

Expensive in the way that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale until you black out while pretending you weren’t about to fall in love over his clavicle. (Yeah… too specific?)

And beneath it - just a trace - chlorine.

God help you.

You’re going to die here.

He even has a cowlick. A perfectly smoothed cowlick.

The kind that clearly took time, effort, wrist action, and probably a round brush.

He blow-dries.

He has a routine. A regimen. He has systems.

He’s probably terrifying in the morning. The kind of man who folds things. The kind who knows where his passport is right now.

Now, now.

But now he’s looking at you, brows thick, slightly furrowed.

Do you have something on your face? No. Can’t be.

No, you’ve just been staring at him like a feral raccoon. You still haven’t spoken.

…right.

“…Thank you,” you manage, barely audible - just as his phone starts ringing in his jacket pocket.

Drowned out by technology. Your gratitude swallowed by a default ringtone, who would have ever guessed.

He pulls the phone out, and just before he lifts it to his ear, you catch something - someone’s voice on the other end. A name? His? Yes they’re calling him it must’ve been his. Something clipped, ending in -chh or -shhh.

Josh?

Oh. Huh.

…Kind of disappointing.

You thought his name would be more... posh. Like something that comes with personalized cufflinks and generational trauma

….but Josh? That’s a guy who texts “you up?” at 11:48 PM from his blackberry pearl.

You hoped for more… syllables.

Whatever. What really surprises you is that Burgundy Swim Cap Man-slash-Josh-slash-Posh doesn’t say a word during the call. Not one.

He just holds the phone to his ear and stares - intensely - at a spot inside the glass food display. Not blinking. Not moving.

You’re genuinely concerned for the sandwich he’s glaring at. (It’s about five seconds away from bursting into flames.)

And you - you ache for that stare.

You want it on you. Burn it into your skin. You’d commit actual, punishable crimes for that kind of violent visual attention.

“Garcia, send me the files. We’ll brief the team as soon as I arrive,” he says - voice all business, clipped, calm, so authoritative it almost makes you bite your lip on reflex.

Then the phone disappears back into his pocket like it’s never existed, and without missing a beat: “An Americano, please.”

…Why doesn’t this surprise you? Could he be any more predictably boring? Go on, order a plain bagel and a side of unseasoned guilt while you’re at it.

But his eyes flick to the pastry shelf instead.

Brows furrow, slightly, sexily, offensively; he’s clearly doing some kind of emotional calculus about whether his swim earned him the moral right to a treat.

(He probably didn’t get many growing up.)

“And, uh… can I get the rainbow muffin to go?” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger toward the kids' menu.

You follow it (like an idiot).

And there it is. The muffin. Rainbow-sprinkled. Rainbow dough. Probably tastes like chemical vanilla. Pastel wrapper. Comes with a bubble blower, too.

A muffin. With a toy.

…This man.

You hate him. You want him. You’d marry him on sight.

He picks up the phone again. Dials. Calm. Efficient.

“Hey, can you pass me to Jack?” he says.

The frown - just a flicker ago, all sharp lines and no-nonsense jaw - melts. His face softens like he’s been flipped to a different setting and you actually flinch a little because how is that the same face?

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh. God, his voice. It goes soft. Stupidly soft.

“I’ve gotta be at work a little earlier today,” he murmurs, gently gripping the phone. “But I got you something… did you finish your homework?”

May you be absolutely, irreparably damned.

He’s a dad.

“Good job, buddy. I’m coming home soon, okay? Got you a surprise,” He glances down at the rainbow muffin. A little fond. A little sad, even. “Yes, you can do movie night with Aunt Jessica if I don’t manage to be there tonight…”

You wander how many other movie nights he missed.

“Yes, buddy,” he chuckles (you want to bite through drywall), “No, I didn’t forget the popcorn this time. You can have them with Aunt Jessica, she knows where they are… Yes, with salted caramel too. But don’t eat too much, alright?”

He pauses. Adds, with a soft little dad scold, “Make Aunt Jessica have some too this time. Save a few for Daddy, okay?”

Daddy.

Your knees give out.

No, not literally. You keep standing. But spiritually? Morally? Muscularly? You’ve dropped to the floor.

And then, casually, cruelly, he reaches for his coffee. With his ringless - yes, ringless - hand.

Not that you’re thinking about it. Not that you noticed. Not that you checked. Twice.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta go,” he says. His voice lowers again, not serious, just softer. Like he doesn’t want to hang up but he’s used to having to. “I’ll see you tonight. Be good, okay?” And then he smiles. To his phone. Like his whole face is a love letter.

Dimples. Of course. Of course this man has dimples. A loser dad with dimples.

“Love you too, bud”

And that’s it.

Phone call over.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But now you’re locked in that awkward limbo of mutual acknowledgment - the cursed micro-social contract that binds all humans in public spaces: you made eye contact, you must now exchange a minimum of one sentence to confirm shared reality.

He turns to you.

You are sweating. You are visibly short-circuiting.

No one is saying anything.

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have listened to his very personal call to his very personal son.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You shouldn’t have stared so hard you could recite the ingredients list on that muffin.

Fuck.

His shoulders look even broader in the suit.

Not just handsome - no, broad. Imposing.

Too bad the slacks are hiding his massi-

“The bubble blower’s for my kid,” he says, suddenly.

A preemptive strike. A full-grown man in what has to be his mid-40s, clarifying that he is not, in fact, personally invested in aquatic toy acquisition.

Funny, though - he didn’t feel the need to defend the rainbow pastry.

Interesting.

Bad for him.

“The muffin’s for the dad instead?” You nod toward the sad pastel pile in his hand.

(You’re a bit of a mean flirt - not because you’re heartless, but because it’s the only way you know how to hold on to a little power when someone makes your brain turn to mush.)

If you can’t stop yourself from falling for them, at least you can make sure they’re a little off-balance, too.

“If the dad’s lucky, he’ll probably get just a bite,” he replies, deadpan - like, completely expressionless except for the slight raise of his eyebrows at the end. You don’t even know where the voice came from. His mouth barely moved.

…Ventriloquism, probably.

Then he glances down at the linoleum floor. Smiles, almost shy.

“My son has a sweet tooth.”

Fucking hell.

This man is gushing about his kid to a total stranger in a pool cafeteria. No hesitation. No shame.

You are two seconds away from him flipping open his photo gallery and showing you twenty-five nearly identical pictures of a child covered in chocolate frosting, all while holding the phone in those massive hands.

God, his hands.

You really need to stop noticing them.

“Get a muffin for yourself too,” you say, tossing it out like a joke. Half-meaning it. Mostly-meaning it.

He chuckles, raises a hand, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

“Scared of food coloring?”

“No, no,” he laughs again. “Just…” He shrugs. Doesn’t finish. Leaves it there, hanging.

Is it because he doesn’t think he deserves a little treat?

Or because he’s afraid of getting that crisp, probably dry-clean-only shirt stained with rainbow frosting?

“How much is one rainbow muffin?” you ask the cashier.

(You two are best friends in your head now.)

He barely looks up. Dead inside. “One seventy.”

(This friendship might be one-sided.)

You blink.

$1.70 for frozen dough and a toy that doubles as a choking hazard… meanwhile, your cappuccino cost more than a gallon of gas.

Fucked up economy for real.

Then you glance at the cashier’s hands… he’s already typing it in.

Okay. Take it back.

That’s the real sign of late-stage capitalism: rainbow muffin doesn’t even require your consent to be rung up… but hey, at least you can afford it.

You’ve never been happier to be $1.70 poorer in your entire adult life.

You pull out your card.

He notices.

He pulls his, too.

Two cards. One slit. (Now this reminds you of your browser history from last night-)

“No, please, I got it,” he says - again.

Oh no, a damsel mustn’t pay for herself. (You hate him. You want to climb him like a tree.)

Watch her do it anyway. With confidence and $1.78 in her account.

You both arrive at the card reader at the exact same time.

Hands bump. Wrists brush. The tension is… stupid.

It’s awkward. It’s ridiculous. It’s… romantic?

Maybe.

Or maybe you’re just touch-starved.

Still-

You win.

Swipe clean. Transaction approved.

Victory, feminism, and low blood sugar all in one swipe.

“Enjoy the bubbles,” you say, smiling as you hand him the pastry and the overpriced soapy water.

He takes it, eyes flicking between you and the muffin, and for a second he gives you that look.

That slightly tired, slightly amused look men give right before they tell you you’ve done something reckless. Or charming. Or both.

He looks like he’s about to scold you. Fatherly. Disgustingly (hot).

He doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll cherish them.” (Who even uses ‘cherish’ in the 21st century?!) And then, at the very end of it, a smile. Small. Real.

He opens his mouth again, “I-”

A breath.

“I have to go.”

One last smile. Quick. Tight.

And he’s already turning. Already halfway to the exit.

You stare.

Helpless.

Unwell.

For a second, you hope this modern-day Cinderella in a suit might drop one of his wildly expensive Italian leather dress shoes so you’ll have something to hunt him down with across D.C.

Track him by scent and shoe size.

But no. The shoe stays on.

He probably triple-knots them like the terrifying overachiever he is.

He does stop, though - just for a second - to check the time on his very expensive Rolex.

Hot. Unforgivably hot.

This brief, chaotic muffin-flavored detour has probably set him back exactly one minute and twenty-one seconds, and you know he’s internally recalculating his entire schedule down to the microsecond.

And yes, the panic is subtle. But it’s there.

In the clench of his jaw. The twitch of his temple. That microscopic furrow in his brow that says: How dare I entertain myself with flirtatious nonsense when I have 7,000 emails to check by 5 P.M.

Incredible. You’ve rattled a man with a watch that costs more than your rent. You’ve won.

You are going to be insufferable about this when your friend finishes her class.

Forget “stepped on your toe” guy. That man is dead to the narrative.

This dad is going to be the main character of every single conversation you have for the next four months.

You will tell her everything. Every glance. Every gesture. The muffin. The bubble blower. The nonexistent ass. From the moment you first locked eyes with this burgundy-swim-cap man named-

“…Aaron,” the cashier mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“That’s his name,” he says flatly. “Aaron. He comes here a lot.”

The cashier really doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Aaron.

Wow.

Two syllables.

“FBI,” he even adds casually, like it’s no big deal, as he hands a slice of pizza tucked inside a cheeseburger to a damp-haired five-year-old.

So.

Aaron owns a pair of handcuffs.

Government-issued. Handcuffs.

That tracks.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[dragonsondragons]

Prologue - Hard To Resist | You Should Probably Leave series

In which Jack’s therapist challenges him to enjoy the daytime and he admits he has a work crush.

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, tons of therapy, working through trauma, Jack on his #healingjourney, angst, unspecified age gap. 

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Enjoy the first little snippet of this story! This part is solely Abbot's POV during a therapy session, but next part we will see him interacting with reader and the rest of the Pitt crew. Yay! Let the yearning begin, hope you enjoy :) This series is based on the song You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton, I would highly recommend giving it a listen before/while reading.

(I thought this gif from Chicago PD was so Jack at his therapists office lol)

[Next part] [Masterlist]

Jack’s therapist had recommended that he try to get more comfortable in the daytime. His relative ease in the darkness of the night was a useful coping mechanism for a time, she explained to him one session, but he didn't have to be in fight mode anymore. She was encouraging him to seek out safety and connection in the daytime so that his past had less control over his present. 

Jack had scoffed when she said that. Because what else does his past do than rear its ugly head every moment of every day? And did he even want to forget it? All of those soldiers he couldn’t save? They deserved to be remembered. 

“This isn’t about forgetting them,” she reminded him, “but rather processing your past experiences so that they are less distressing in the present. Putting yourself outside of your comfort zone of the night could be empowering. It could give you enough space to hold those people with you and move forward living as full of a life as you can. In their honor.”

“In their honor,” Jack echoed, mulling it over. He could do that. He wanted to do that. Move forward. That’s why he was doing all this work in therapy. But one thing he had come to find out, is that actually changing is a lot harder than knowing you want to. 

“Any ideas on what could be your first attempt at enjoying the daytime? Maybe some sort of social interaction,” she led him with her question. Her and Jack had talked about the power of improving social bonds before, how they can create community and give someone a deeper experience of life. Jack promised to give it a try but admittedly doesn't follow through much on that one. Jack didn’t really want a deeper experience of life if that meant opening yourself up to feeling all the pain that comes along with it more deeply, too.

“I don’t know, doc. I don't have many friends.” 

“Outside of work, you mean?” she said, surprised at his statement. He spoke of his coworkers all the time, they seemed plenty friendly.

“Well…there’s Robby. We hang out outside of work.” By that, he means that they push each other around at beer league hockey when their work schedules allow it and then grab a beer after. Other than that, their main points of interaction are admittedly at work, often on the roof of PTMC. 

“Yes, there’s Robby. But that's not exactly out of your comfort zone. That's pretty firmly within it from what I know.” Jack was silent, not keeping eye contact like he usually does. She could see there was something he wasn’t letting on. She never forced Jack to talk about anything he wasn’t ready to. That's something he appreciated about his therapist. But she also knew when she could push him a little bit. “Anyone else, then?” He’s silent again. She let it simmer, waiting for him to fill the gaps.

“There’s someone I work with,” Jack blurts out, his ears turning red. His knee was bouncing up and down. 

Your face flashed in his mind and he wrung his hands together. Jack was usually good at composure, but he found himself starting to crumble at the mere thought of you.

“You seem a little nervous. Care to tell me more about this someone?”

“Uh, well…yeah, she makes me a little nervous sometimes. But mostly she calms me down.” He wasn’t letting on much.

“Hmm, what about her calms you down?” his therapist hummed, encouraging him to continue.

“She's a social worker in the ED. Smart, caring, great at what she does,” he rambles. “We eat lunch together sometimes. If the timing works out on shift. When I'm having a shitty time at work… sometimes she makes me feel better. Just her being there.” He thinks about your knee brushing against his under the table after he made you laugh. Some stupid story about a guy who broke his femur literally slipping on a banana peel.

“So what about her makes you nervous then, if she makes you feel better?” 

“I mean– she's beautiful, that's mostly what makes me nervous.”

I can’t believe I just said all that, he facepalms internally. With all the respressing Jack does, sometimes a feeling will just catch up to him out of nowhere. There are a lot of things he used to distract himself throughout the day. From working in the ED or drowning out the silence at home with the police scanner, to working out until his whole body ached and volunteering at the VA. But there was never enough to fully distract him, eventually whatever it was he was trying to prevent floats to the surface.

After losing his wife years ago, after losing his brothers in a desert overseas, Jack had played it pretty close to the chest with his feelings. If he doesn't show his emotions, even to himself, then he could try to pretend they don’t exist. That the pain doesn’t exist. 

But that's why he’s in therapy, because the pain still very much exists. And one day he finally realized he couldn’t go on any longer without doing something about it. That was more than a year ago now. 

For this to work, you have to be honest with me, he remembers his therapist saying in their first session. But most importantly you have to be honest with yourself.  

If he’s being real honest with himself, he likes you. He had barely even admitted it to himself before today, but god he likes you. And with each day you were getting harder and harder for him to resist. 

Now, he had practically announced the crush to his therapist. Admitting out loud that he has some type of feelings for you made him more nervous than anything else. He couldn’t deny it now. Time to be honest.

“Maybe you should invite her to do something with you,” she proposes with a knowing look. 

“I don't know if that would be a good idea,” Jack says earnestly. Maybe he had admitted the crush but that doesn't mean he was ready to do something about it. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because she probably doesn't want anything to do with this,” he gestures around himself vigorously, slightly worked up. “I’m a little fucked up, and scary, I guess… I’ve heard people say.” And old, he thinks to himself, too old for her at least.

“Did she tell you she wants nothing to do with you?”

“No.”

“Then you don't know that. You said you eat lunch together. If she chooses to spend her valuable break time with you she likely enjoys being around you.” His face is full of apprehension. “You’re allowed to let yourself have good things, Jack.”

“There’s this part of me that wants to believe that,” he admits quietly. He’s opened this door now and there’s no closing it. He can’t help being drawn to you anymore. “But there's also a louder part of me screaming run.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, head hanging and taking a deep sigh.

“Remember that the brain’s automatic response is not always logical. Sometimes the loudest voice is actually the most illogical. And if you listen to it, it can cause you to spiral.”

“I've been thinking about that one, doc. I’ve been trying. To stop the spiral.” That’s one of the biggest challenges for him. To not let flashes of dark moments spiral into a category five hurricane. To take back his agency over his thoughts.  

“Good. How is it going?” He blows out a long breath, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Not so great. For a long time, my automatic thoughts,” he puts up air quotes around the phrase, “My instincts, they saved my life. Saved other guys lives in the med tent. So it's kinda hard to rewrite that pathway.” A lot of the time, he couldn't help but feel like ordinary decisions still meant life or death. So much anxiety had built up inside him that it felt like if he chose the wrong thing at the grocery store a bomb would explode.

“You’re not at war anymore though, Jack. Letting yourself enjoy this woman’s presence in your life won’t get anyone killed.” 

“Yeah.” Again, he’s quiet, remembering. 

“Part of processing is not letting past trauma control the now. Remember, things can be different this time. You’re encountering a whole different set of challenges in the present that don’t always require the tools of the past.”

“My shrink, always so wise,” Jack jokes.

“I asked you not to call me that,” she scolds him.

“Sorry, got a lot I'm working on at the moment.”

This gets his therapist to crack a smile, glancing down at her watch. “Time to wrap up. Keep working at that– making the choice to challenge your automatic thoughts. What's important is that you try to recognize them as they pop up and inquire as to why you may think that it’s true. It takes time and repetition, but you’ll get there. You’re doing well, really.” 

“Thanks, doc.”

“And don't forget your homework. To do something out during the daytime. Not errands or the gym, but something you’ll have fun doing.”  Jack rolls his eyes. She must really think I'm a snooze fest, he thinks.

“I know you can have fun, Jack. You’re human, just like the rest of us.” Sometimes he felt like a cyborg forged for war that would never be wired for civilian life ever again. But that’s all he was now, a civilian. A doctor. Not a cyborg, just a man. Through the sludge of his past– all that he’s seen and felt– what he has to do now is figure out how to live again. Too many years have passed him by in a haze.

“Whatever you say doc.” He does a loose salute with his fingers as he gets up from his chair to exit her office. “See ya next week.”

“See you then,” she responds, scribbling down notes from the session as he steps out the door.

“Oh!” she yells after him. “And I’ll give you extra credit if the fun involves this woman from work.” 

Jack only scoffed in response, then blushed in the elevator all the way back down to the lobby.  

————

Driving from his therapist’s office to the pit, he brainstormed what he could do for his “daylight assignment”. Just the thought of it was setting him on edge. All of the people and noises and atrocities that happen while everyone is awake. He’d do whatever this is in the day time, sure. But firmly in the afternoon so that the comfort of night would come soon enough and greet him, he decided. 

He wants it at his own house too, in his own space, to help dull the anxiety inside him. That would have to mean inviting people over. At least it would be people he chooses to invite, another element he could control. Robby, Dana, Shen, Ellis— they knew Jack, didn't expect too much from him. 

Then there was you. You who had boundless empathy for any patient that walked in the door and extensive knowledge of any resources that could help them. He admired your commitment to the patients and their families, in supporting people outside of just their medical needs. And of course, you radiate beauty like a goddamn emergency department Snow White. 

Your presence simply made Jack feel at ease, and in a place like the Pitt that was a very welcome feeling. But as much as he craved it, Jack was not used to feeling at ease. Eventually, his mind would rebel and tell him to retreat; that the peace was too good to be true. He couldn’t let himself have this. It was too risky. He had to resist.

Automatic thought! He warned himself. Ugh. Jack was tired. Tired of having to be so vigilant even inside his own head. Tired of whatever devil was on his shoulder always whispering in his ear. No, not whispering. Yelling. His therapist was right, the thoughts were loud. What had she said? Inquire why you think these thoughts may be true, he recalls. 

Why does he think he has to resist? Because everything good he’s ever had falls apart. Usually he was the one who ripped it apart. Never on purpose, just through being who he was, who life and war had made him.

Things could be different this time, Jack reminds himself, drumming his thumbs over the steering wheel. He sighs deeply, groans.

As much as he was spooked by the revelation that he couldn't contain his desire for you so well anymore, he was also enflamed by it. He wanted an angel on his shoulder. He wanted you. 

The voice inside of him saying that wasn’t harshly yelling, there were no flashing lights or sirens. It was steady, calm, all encompassing. And pure warmth. Maybe that’s how he can tell it's the right voice to listen to. 

Fuck it. He decided. I’m gonna throw a party and she’s gonna be the goddamn guest of honor. 

[f0point5]

Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader Masterlist

She’s still bejewelled - Y/N finds out F1 wag pages are once again speculating she is dating her best friend, Max Verstappen

It’s (not) a cruel summer - Y/N and Max enjoy the summer break

August slipped away - Y/N does a Q&A to catch up with her followers after summer break

Burning red- Lando puts his foot in it

Holy ground - Fans discuss their excitement to see Y/N and Max interact at Zandvoort

I’m the one who understands you - A window into Max and Y/N’s home life

It turned into something bigger - Y/N’s comments about her childhood friend, Mick Schumacher, lead to a social media firestorm

They’d say I’d hustled, put in the work - A look at Y/N’s podcast, Dirty Air(time)

Shake it off - Determined to forget her worries, Y/N goes out parting with Max and Lando

They say home is where the heart is - Fans discuss how Y/N and Max love being roommates

(We’re) in the club doing I don’t know what - Fans look back on Max and Y/N’s Club Rat Renaissance

Pauses, then says, (he’s) my best friend - Y/N spends the day in Amsterdam while Max does press at Zandvoort

How evergreen, our group of friends - Snippets of Y/N and Max’s other friends on the grid and beyond

We’re faster and never scared - It’s a dramatic Friday in the Zandvoort paddock

I watch Superman fly away - The drama continues as Y/N and Mick have a run in in the paddock

Long live all the magic he made - Y/N supports Max as he equals the record for most consecutive wins

Remember the footsteps - A look at Y/N and Mick’s lifelong friendship

He has his father’s eyes…his father’s ambition - A look at Y/N’s relationship with Jos

I love your handshake, meeting my father - Fans discuss Jos’s perspective on Y/N, and her relationship with Max

And maybe it was egos swinging - Everyone speculates about the cause and consequences of Y/N and Mick’s falling out

I fell from the pedestal - Y/N becomes the subject of internet trolling after her fall out with Mick becomes public

Don’t know how long it’s gonna take to feel okay - Unable to deal with the stress and trolling, Y/N goes home to Switzerland, cutting off Max

My reputation’s never been worse so - Y/N’s absence sparks concerns amongst those closest to her

If someone comes at us, this time I’m ready - Y/N’s friends publicly support her as the hate continues

You don’t want to know me, I will just let you down

My words shoot to kill when I’m mad - Mick and Y/N finally talk

Something in your eyes says we can beat this - Max has a tough start to an important weekend, but his luck is about to change

(We) saw something the can’t take away - Y/N is there as Max wins at Monza and breaks another record

This is life before you know who you’re gonna be - Netizens discuss Max and Y/N’s enemy era

20 questions, we tell the truth - Y/N catches up with her followers after a hectic couple of weeks, and meets a man in Monaco

On a Wednesday, in a café - Y/N’s podcast with Daniel leads to some interesting revelations

Do you really want to know where I was? - Y/N and Max spend a day at the factory as rumours begin to swirl

I make it look oh so easy - Y/N and Max choose different confidants as they both attempt to avoid the elephant in the room

You’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes - It gets harder for Y/N to keep her secret

Slow motion, double vision in rose blush - Y/N gets back in the saddle while Max watches from the sidelines in more ways than one

Carnations you had thought were roses - Two of Y/N’s secrets are revealed

Didn’t it all seem new and exciting - Max leaves Y/N behind in Monaco as she reflects on her date

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time - Y/N heads to Switzerland for a special appointment as her relationship with Max is put under a microscope

I don’t wanna miss you like this - Y/N and Max deal with the distance between them differently

Your finger on my hairpin trigger - Tensions run high as Max has a bad day on track and Y/N gets defensive

Takes one to know one - Y/N’s much needed talk with Elliot is interrupted by an explosive qualifying in Singapore

I want to tell you not to get lost in these petty things - Max’s streak comes to an end and he and Y/N look ahead to Suzuka

Forever going with the flow, but you’re friction - Max asking Y/N to fly out early to Japan leads to tension and Y/N turns to Daniel for advice

I drive down different roads - Fans, and Y/N, speculate about her budding relationship

(They) knew what it was, he is in love - Netizens set out to prove that Max is in love with Y/N

(We) counted days, I counted miles, to see you there - Y/N arrives in Japan and is reunited with Max

Balancing on breaking branches - Max receives an unexpected delivery as Y/N answers questions from the media and her mother

It’s you and me, there’s nothing like this - As Max gets back to business as usual in Suzuka, wag social media does it’s thing

My (baby flies) like a jet stream - Max has a good day on track and Y/N’s Vogue article goes live

I can read you like a magazine - The internet reacts to mentions of Max in Y/N’s Vogue article

He’s passing by, rare as a glimmer of a comet in the sky - Red Bull securing the WCC is overshadowed by the revelation that Max hates podcasts

The lingering question(s) kept me up - Y/N does an Instagram Q&A

I just may like some explanations - Y/N answers more questions

How you held me in your arms that September night, the first time you ever saw me cry - Set in 2017, we learn what led to Y/N’s dad being dropped as Max’s sponsor, early in their friendship

People started talking, putting us through our paces - When Y/N is spotted out with Elliot, Instagram, Max, and Lando react

I don’t wanna touch you - Y/N finds herself short of breath on her padel date. Later, she appears on Max’s stream

(I) will never make my parents’ mistakes - Y/N’s dad hears about her dating life, and her mother weighs in

Drinking on a (yacht) with you all over me - Y/N and Max kick of his birthday celebrations with a day on the water, while Elliot changes his tune

I’d pick you up and we’d go back in time - Y/N and Max bring in his birthday somewhere special

We’re gonna be timeless - It’s Max’s birthday, but Y/N isn’t the only one planning surprises

Take the moment and taste it - Max enjoys a birthday boat day with family and friends, and Vic makes an accidental discovery

There’s glitter on the floor after the party - It’s the morning after night before. Max and Vic discuss Y/N’s letter

Movin’ on was always easy for me to do - Y/N and Elliot meet up to talk and Y/N’s friend weighs in. Y/N’s tweets irritate Max

Your eyes look like (being at) home - Y/N goes riding, Lando proposes plans, and Max has plans of his own

No I didn’t hear the news, ‘cause we were somewhere else - Max and Y/N arrive in Doha, but rumours about Max’s Monaco exploits follow them

You heard the rumours from (your friends) - Max attends Media Day while Y/N hangs out with an old friend

‘Cause they don’t know about the night in the hotel - Max’s GQ interview exposes an interesting part of Max and Y/N’s past

I was dancing around, dancing around it - Y/N and Clara celebrate Max’s on track triumphs

(You) stand up, champion tonight - Max becomes a three time world champion

This life is sweeter than fiction - Max wins in Qatar in a physically gruelling race

Life makes love look hard - Back in Monaco, Y/N is seen out with Elliot, and he makes a bold suggestion

Can we always be this close? - Y/N and Max have a chill day at home and while Twitter notice Max made an admission in an interview, Y/N makes an admission to Victoria

Inescapable, I’m not even gonna try - Y/N and Max spend a day at the factory, where both realise they may have something to work on

You go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me - Y/N’s podcast with Oscar comes out, on the same day she finally films one with Max. Meanwhile, Max uses the sim in an unconventional way

Yes, I remember what you said last night - Y/N’s plans for COTA baffle Christian, and Y/N learns an unexpected fact about the past

Take out, then take me home - Y/N prepares for Austin, and an interview with Max comes out

Love’s a game, wanna play? - Y/N tries her hand at padel after watching Max compete, and Max steams with Redline

Rosé flowing with your chosen family - Clara and Y/N spend the day together, and Clara becomes determined to finish what she started in 2017

(We are) a flight risk, with a fear of falling - Y/N and Max head to the US

Ain’t it funny, rumours fly - Y/N heads to a Ferrari gala as rumours swirl about Max’s next career move amid reports of infighting at Red Bull

As if I don’t already see (it) - The circus settles in to Texas and Y/N’s dad weighs in on Elliot

Can you see right through me? - Y/N and Elliot make a king and awkward paddock debut

I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty year dark night - Y/N sheds light on her dating history while she and Elliot struggle to adjust to life in the paddock

It’s morning now, it’s brighter now - Y/N reaches out to an old friend for support. Meanwhile, Daniel tries to support Max

The moment I could see it - Max takes another win in Austin while Elliot reaches his breaking point

You’ll find the real thing instead - Y/N and Elliot have an honest conversation

In the name of being honest - Bonus part where Y/N answers Instagram questions after the Austin GP

I’m asking you why - More of Y/N’s post Austin Q&A

You’ve got a girl at home and everybody knows that - Y/N and Max are suspects in the wildest paddock rumour yet as they wrap up their trip to Austin

You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded - Y/N gets brutally honest with Mick as Max plays goalkeeper twice

You saw the truth in me - Max cuts it close before media day as reports surface of security threats in Mexico

They tell you that you’re lucky, but you’re so confused - Max attends a gruelling media day as Y/N deals with the heat of Mexico

Laughing with (your head in my) lap, like you were my closest friend - Everyone has a tough quali day

This is the golden age - Maxico delivers another win, and Y/N celebrates with tequila

(You would never) me darling, but who could stay? - Y/N and Max arrive in Brazil for a short break before the race

No one has to know what we do - Max and Y/N fall off the map and enjoy some private time

I can’t say anything to your face - Max and Y/N continue to leave each other flustered and Max starts press for the Brazilian GP

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm - Max takes pole in difficult conditions and Y/N gets near her breaking point

We were cards sharks, playing games - Max wins the sprint and Y/N wins games of her own

🚨I’ve had to add a second masterlist for all posts after this point. That can be found here 🚨

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: you were meant to be just a bargaining chip for the decepticons, someone who could be easily discarded. but soundwave has other plans for you. (consider this snippet as a base for further stories.)

cw: obsessed!soundwave, kidnapping, isolation, stockholm syndrome?? not really but reader does have a soft spot for him, reader's pov, soundwave is fucking terrifying, this is just an excuse to write about soundwave interacting with you lmao

word count: 750

[part 2]

The automatic doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the owner of these small quarters. You lifted your head from the tablet, wanting to confirm that your routine remained unbroken — that you would survive one more day. Seeing the familiar silhouette, you exhaled in relief. The same titan as always had returned. You’d live to see tomorrow.

“Hi,” you greeted, well aware you’d never receive a verbal response. The titan was fiercely silent.

He nodded, and that was the end of your “conversation.”

Your interactions hadn’t always been like this. They weren’t always this warm. Going from trembling in fear at just the sight of him to saying “good morning” of your own free will had taken some time. Not that you had much choice in terms of social interactions, which the reptilian part of your brain still craved. You’d only seen other members of his species once, on the day of your abduction. Accepting that this was now your life, indefinitely, hadn’t been easy, but after many months, you’d adjusted. Humans were made to adapt to new conditions, and you were no exception. The will to live had won.

You returned to reading an e-book on your tablet (a reward for good behavior) but quickly paused, noticing the robot had stopped at the desk, right by the small corner arranged just for you. You looked up—he seemed to be looking straight at you. Even with the screen covering his face, you could feel his optics on you.

He was enormous, terrifying, and the lack of human-like facial features, which you’d noticed on others, only heightened the fear factor. He looked like a xenomorph. But your alien was real. And he wanted something from you.

“What’s up?” you asked, uncertainly.

He moved his hand, slowly, calculatedly, and pointed at the tablet as if he genuinely cared about what you were doing, as if he cared about your existence. By now, you understood perfectly what he meant, having gone through this countless times when he returned to you after a few, sometimes several, hours of absence. This was your little ritual, a remnant of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal.

“I didn’t manage to read much,” you sighed. He tilted his head slightly. It was almost cute. Almost. “I just can’t concentrate today. I’m having kind of a rough day.”

It would certainly be better if you were spending your time at home, with family and friends, rather than as the pet of your captor, but of course, you couldn’t say that to him. Not when you’d worked so hard for the privilege of a tablet and your own little human corner.

“But it’s nothing big,” you continued, fearing he’d decide it was his fault. “Humans sometimes have days like this. Tomorrow should be better.”

He shook his head.

Did he not believe you? That was a terrifying thought, one with unpleasant consequences, and it sparked a flash of fear. Fortunately, that spark faded as quickly as it had appeared when an image popped up on his face — a silly meme of a cat holding a rose with hearts around it. You stared at the absurd sight for a moment, trying— and failing —to understand where, why, or how. Finally, you gave up. Laughter escaped you for the first time in a very, very long time. You knew you shouldn’t be laughing; this creature should never be a source of comfort, shouldn’t make you feel better by doing the bare minimum of showing you a silly meme made by some grandma.

But, unfortunately, he succeeded. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so miserable, so pathetic and dull. You felt human.

“Okay, that was actually funny.”

The cat was replaced by a smiling face. His strange, flat hand moved toward you, but slowly, so as not to scare you. A slender finger stroked your head, gently, with silent affection, then slid down to your chin. It lingered there. The gesture was almost romantic as if performed by a lover rather than a giant, silent robot. The image on his face flickered, showing another picture—a heart.

There were so many things you didn’t know about this being. You didn’t know his motives or intentions, the reasons for his actions. You didn’t know what he was or what else he was capable of. But this intention was unmistakable.

Beneath his tenderness, beneath every gentle gesture, laid feelings for you. And that was more terrifying than unfamiliarity — because now you knew you’d never escape this place. You'd never escape him.

this is what he showed you btw:

[ficsbb]

Moments with John Wick II

》 Pairing: Loving!John Wick x Reader

》 Warnings: pet names, gross misconduct of lovey doviness

》 Word Count: 1.3k+

Part 1

Note: I've been overthinking about these snippets for too long, so here I go, I release them! 🤭 Enjoy! Apologies for any error in tense use, spelling, grammar etc. Credit to @toastray for the cute dividers!

It was hard at first, getting to know him better. You could feel the heaviness of his grief all around him. It was in everything he looked at and everything he touched, lingering in doorways after he'd walk through. He knew you could see it. It was all in your eyes and how you interacted with him during moments the sadness gathered in his throat.

“I'm okay,” he says, “I promise.” You put your hand on his cheek and nod.

"I know."

He doesn't know what it is with your touch, but it unravels that monstrous grief with ease. You watch him close his eyes briefly and bring your palm to his lips, letting out a sigh, followed by a kiss.

“You save me.” It's genuine, and every part of you knows it's true. There's been a lingering doubt with others, but never with him. When John tells you this, time and time again, it makes you feel lighter and warm.

“What do you think?” You're leafing through a pamphlet for a train vacation. It's not something you would have expected John would like. In fact, you were the one more inclined to do something like this.

“When are you thinking?” He lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you're interested at least. He's waiting for you to spot the destination on the trip he circled, the one he knows you've always wanted to go on. John pauses, waits a moment and then sees your eyes glow.

You look up at him, “Is that the one we're going on?” He nods. “Like, we're actually going, for real?” You watch as he laughs, head tipped back and adam's apple moving slightly. It warms you up just as a nice cup of hot chocolate always does.

“What about work?” John shakes his head, knowing you'd ask.

“I can work anywhere, but I'm taking a full break for the trip. I don't want to miss a moment with you.” He watches your eyes flutter, your breathing change. For a second he's worried he said the wrong thing. He worries about that all the time, but when you pull him into a tight hug, arms around his middle, he feels that pull of the string. The way it snaps straight from the center of his chest to yours and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Thank you, John. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, beautiful.”

A phone call comes through in the middle of the night. It startles you awake and you feel John put his arm over you. He knows when your nervousness or anxiety is heightened more than usual. It didn't take long for him to notice your mannerisms when you're under stress while you've been together. These things were part of his work and work has had some ways of bleeding through. Whether it was through his clothes or in the ways he could keep you safe, it bleeds through.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, voice laced in sleep. You rub at his arm as he pats your stomach a couple times before he sits up. Your eyes are adjusted to the dark as you sit up with him, watching his hand sift through his hair. He hates these moments. Similar conversations come to mind, blurred and racing as the quiet around you both becomes deafening.

“A job. I have to go.” 

“Oh.”

“I know.” 

He hates these moments. He hates the way your sleep is interrupted and the sadness so easily conveyed in the ‘oh’s’, ‘right now?’, ‘when will you be home?’ gnaws at him. 

“I'll have to be on a plane soon.” You nod, quiet, rubbing at your arm. Self soothing. John turns over to look at you and it doesn't get any easier for him when he sees that shimmer of tears gloss your eyes.

“Come here, sweetheart.” You take a deep breath to brace yourself and get out of bed to go to his side. He leans back slightly as you stand between his legs, both hands on either side of his face. His eyes close. You know he loves when you do this. It calms the both of you down in a way and any chance to touch him is a chance you'll grab at greedily.

“How long will this one take?” 

“Not long. A couple of days.” You kiss his forehead as he pulls you in closer. When he rests his head on your chest, he can hear your heartbeat. It's a little fast, but it's comforting. It's a song to him, the melody striking and forceful always swallowing him up. As he pulls back, he looks up at you and wipes at the rest of the tears you seem to have messily swept away.

“How about you come with me?” 

“Is that allowed?” You're genuinely surprised since he's never asked. John tells you very little about these things, hoping that sparing you details will keep you safe.

“I'm allowing it.” A rush of heat goes to your cheeks and he smiles when that twinkle is back in your eyes.

“May I kiss you?” He pulls you both into bed so you're lying down again.

“I'll allow that too.” You laugh, and he kisses you.

You slam the back door behind you and walk purposefully to the shed. It's a crisp and foggy evening. You've left John in the house somewhere, calling after you.

“Fucker,” you say under your breath, exasperated. He knows you hate big gatherings being popped up on you. While it's exhilarating being at his side at events, it also comes with your own anxieties about being seen. Apart from that, you've already made plans with close friends that you hadn't seen in a long time and it makes you angry that he's forgotten again.

“I'm sorry.” His voice startles you a bit, your thoughts swirling in an irritated bubble around you. John's voice always breaks through. You grab a bag of dirt to prep for the plants in your greenhouse.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, his voice closer than before. You sigh and pause scooping the dirt from the bag into your own mixture.

“I hate this.”

“I know, I'm sorry. I really am.” You continue what you're doing, preferring to stay quiet instead of saying something you'll regret later on. It's not long before John is right next to you, bringing his sleeves up and mixing the dirt by hand. It softens you up. The sight of him helping you always has really, and it makes you smile despite yourself.

“I can do it, John.” 

“I know you can. Let me.” You stop what you're doing and watch his hands. Watch how they sift through the dirt like he was mixing butter into a short puff pastry. So delicate and without any thought, just as natural to him as it is to breathe. John can see you from the corner of his eye. You've seemingly forgotten the mixing altogether and are leaning closer, almost shoulder to shoulder. 

“I like being here with you,” he starts, taking a used rag nearby to wipe his hands, “I can lose my focus and it doesn't cost me a life. It feels freeing.”

“I didn't know that.” You move things out of the way, cleaning as you go.

“Well, I know this is your space to get away so I try not to barge in.” He wipes some dirt from the tip of your nose.

“I always love when you're here with me.”

“Even if I upset you by being a dumb, forgetful man?” He sort of pouts and a giggle bubbles out of you. John smiles, hoping to hear that sound every moment of his life. He finds a wayward hair falling out of place and tucks it behind your ear.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He pulls you into him, enveloping you completely. There's nothing else for you to do but fall in deep, deeper still. The smell of him calming all of your senses and somehow, some way you feel that peaceful quiet making you sleepy.

“How about this? We go inside, warm up with some hot chocolate and put on a spooky movie.” 

“Yes, please.” You say, taking his hand and following him back to the house.

You’ve never been one to push him on expressing his feelings. You learned quickly that John would come to on his own, as did you whether you realized it or not. It took an accident, a simple fall really. You were out on a walk and something struck you in how these tiny flowers, or weeds, really, stuck out from the side of the road you were walking on. The Sun shining pointedly at them and they seemed to have pointedly been reaching out to you. John had a meeting to take somewhere in town even though it was supposed to be your vacation together, so as soon as you woke in the morning to find him gone and a beautiful note at your bedside, a walk was due.

You only meant to pick a few to press when you got back to the rental, but before you knew it, your ankle rolled and you found yourself tumbling in the ditch. It wasn’t deep or far off at all, but when John found out, you might as well have fallen straight to the Earth’s core.

“You should’ve waited until I got back,” he started, pacing in the hospital room. The nurse was tending to your ankle, gently. “What if you got really hurt? How would I have known?”

“I was clumsy. I can be clumsy, John. I’m okay.”

“And if you weren’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t be.”

For some reason, that stops him. You still wonder what it was you said that calmed him down, but you remember him kneeling down in front of you and softly, deftly, taking your sprained ankle into his hands. You were going to stop him from unraveling the nurses' handiwork, but stop yourself and let him, curious. He looks you over, careful not to cause any pain or discomfort, and wraps it back better than it just had been.

“You’re okay.” You nodded, understanding what he needed at that moment. He sighed heavily, looking up at you and saying, "Getting that call scared me. I don’t want you getting hurt ever again.” And there it was.

“I can’t promise that.” You both laughed quietly. He placed a kiss on your ankle and stood up.

“I know, but do it anyway. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You'll never forget that look in his eyes. Brown eyes, matching yours, shimmering with so much love. You swore in that moment that if you had reached out to put your hand on his chest, your hearts beating would be indistinguishable from the other. Not a single wave, lurch, or pulse different in any way. How curious all of this was. How lovely. How lucky.

"I promise, John." You remember saying again and he kissed you. A soft and sweet kiss that always lingers, still.

[kookooluvr]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE — PART 6.5

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 5k

warnings: sunghoon, sunghoon and more sunghoon !!! teenage oc meeting her first love, lots of new warm, fuzzy feelings, cheating 😤😤😤 sunghoon is honestly just a piece of garbage, enter oc's knight in shining armour: my sweet, precious angel baby jk at the end 🥹

a/n: hey cuties !!! 6.5 is just a little flashback to show some snippets of oc's relationship with sunghoon. nothing we don't already know, just some backstory. i'm sorry for taking so long to post this one but i promise part 7 will be out as soon as possible 🫶🏼

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @puppybunnyjkay @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer @annafarrr @in-out-inbetween @mar-lo-pap @123xxx0o

SERIES MASTERLIST

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

At the ripe age of sixteen, you're not the kind of girl who goes to parties. Your parents are strict and you're responsible. The kind of responsible that means curfews are followed, grades are prioritized and lying to your parents is an absolute no-go. Until tonight.

"You need to relax," Jihyo mutters as the two of you squeeze through the house's front door. The party is already in full swing. Music blares from the speakers, bodies are pressed together in a mass of sweaty teenagers, and the scent of cheap beer and cologne lingers in the air.

"I am relaxed," you grumble back, even as you pull your sleeves down over your hands, suddenly feeling out of place and self-conscious in big square glasses and dirty Converse.

Jihyo snorts. "Yeah, and I'm the queen of England." You huff, rolling your eyes. "We shouldn't even be here."

"Correction; you shouldn't be here. I, on the other hand, am thriving." Jihyo grins, already scanning the room for familiar faces. "Oh! I think I see Haeun! I'm gonna go say hi. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as she disappears into the crowd before letting out a sigh and making your way toward the kitchen instead. If you're going to be here, you at least need something to keep you occupied, preferably a soda. The idea of drinking alcohol at a party where you know almost no one is far too terrifying to risk.

You squeeze past a group of people and reach for a can of Coke from a cooler box filled with ice and drinks in the middle of the kitchen. You crack it open and take a sip. You take a few sips before realizing how awkward you must look, so you get your phone out and pull the only move you can think of; pretend to text someone and check the weather app every few seconds.

"You don't look like you want to be here."

The voice is smooth, casual and dangerously close. You freeze and tilt your head to find a boy standing before you, leaning against the counter with the kind of confidence that makes girls' knees weak.

Park Sunghoon.

You know who he is before he even introduces himself. All the girls here know Sunghoon. He's a senior and quite popular apparently. He's the kind of guy who always has someone's attention on him, the kind of guy who never has to try too hard because everything seems to come naturally to him.

And right now, he's looking at you. You of all people.

You grip your can of Coke a little bit tighter. "I'm fine," you mutter just a tad bit too quickly, realizing that you sound far from fine.

Sunghoon tilts his head, not trying to hide his amusement. "Uh-huh."

You shift under his gaze, suddenly feeling small. "I'm just here with my friend."

"Jihyo, right?"

You blink, surprised. "You know Jihyo?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. I'm friends with her cousin."

You nod, feeling a bit unsure of what to say next. He studies you for a moment before speaking up again. "You don't come to parties often, huh?"

You hesitate, mentally kicking yourself for making it so obvious. "Not really, no."

"Do your parents know you're here?" He chuckles, sounding almost like he's mocking you.

Your face burns hot, your eyes drifting down to your sneakers. "Of course they do."

"Liar," he whispers.

You swallow thickly, feeling your pulse jump in your throat.

Sunghoon grins, his eyes softening at the evident nerves in your body language. "Don't worry, I won't tell," he teases, taking a sip of his beer.

You stare up at him, wondering why he would possibly choose to stand here and talk to you when there are so many other girls. He's smooth, too smooth, too effortlessly charming. It's dangerous, yet you can't help but welcome the butterflies in your stomach every time he looks at you.

"Come on," he says suddenly, reaching past you for a big bag of chips on the counter, his arm brushing against yours in the process. "If you're not gonna talk, at least eat something."

You blink up at him. "What?"

Sunghoon tears the bag open and holds it out for you. "Chips," he deadpans. "I know you've been standing here trying to look busy. Eating is the easiest way to do that."

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to deny it, but you know he's not wrong. Reluctantly, you reach into the bag, plucking out a single chip. "This is stupid."

He grins, popping two into his mouth at once. "Maybe. But it's better than awkwardly pretending to text someone who isn't texting you back."

That almost makes you choke on your chip. "Excuse me?"

His eyes twinkle with amusement, his grin growing wider. "I saw you earlier. Very convincing performance, by the way."

"You're insufferable," you mutter, glaring at him before shoving another chip into your mouth.

"But I'm right," he chuckles.

You hate that you can't think of a comeback. You hate that the look in his eyes makes your heart pound. You hate that you don't mind spending the rest of the night speaking to him.

It happens on a random Thursday, the kind of day that usually comes and goes without any significance.

You're sitting cross-legged on his bed, flipping through one of your textbooks while he's sprawled out beside you, absentmindedly tossing a baseball into the air and catching it.

It's been a while since you officially started dating, and even though you're still getting used to being someone's girlfriend, it's been fun and easy.

The window is cracked open, letting in the crisp autumn air. The faint sound of distant traffic hums in the background, mixing with the rhythmic thump of Sunghoon's baseball hitting his palm. You underline a passage in your notes, trying to focus on studying, but your boyfriend's movements are distracting.

"Do you ever take university seriously?" You sigh, not looking up from your notes.

He snorts. "I'm a third-year, baby. I've earned the right to slack off sometimes."

You roll your eyes, highlighting another sentence. "Yeah, must be nice, hm?"

He hums, catching the baseball one last time before tossing it into the drawer of his nightstand. He shifts, turning onto his side so he can watch you study.

You try to ignore the weight of his gaze. It's impossible.

"You know," he muses, reaching out to toy with the hem of your sweatshirt, the one he gave you, slightly oversized on you, the sleeves bunched at your wrists. "I think you secretly like spending all your time studying just so you don't have to pay attention to me."

You scoff, flipping a page. "You're delusional."

Sunghoon smirks, tugging lightly on the fabric of the sweatshirt. "Seriously. I could be dying over here, in desperate need of love and affection, and you'd still choose your stupid textbook over me."

You raise an eyebrow. "I think you'll live."

He sighs dramatically. "I guess I'll survive."

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. "You're such a baby."

"You're so mean to me. You're lucky I love you."

Your breath catches. You look up, startled, and that's when you see it, his expression shifting, his playful smirk faltering like he just realized what he said.

He blinks at you, his confidence wavering for the first time since you started dating. "Uh..."

You stare at him, your heart pounding.

Sunghoon lets out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head like he messed it up. "Shit, that wasn't how I meant to say that for the first time."

You're still frozen, slowly processing his words, watching as he hurries to sit up, looking restless all of a sudden.

"I was gonna wait," he murmurs, looking disappointed with myself. "Make it special. Maybe plan a big date or something." He looks at you, his face suddenly serious, his eyes searching your expression. "But...I don't know. I was looking at you just now and it just...it just slipped out. But I mean it."

Your lips part, but no words come out.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. He exhales sharply, visibly pulling back. "Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

That snaps you out of it. "No."

"No?"

You shake your head quickly, setting your textbook aside. "No, don't take it back."

His eyebrows furrow. "But-"

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, your grip firm. "I love you too."

The tension in his shoulders disappears immediately. His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn't expecting you to actually say it back.

"Yeah?" he murmurs softly, squeezing your hand with a wide smile on his lips.

You nod, feeling an intense warmth start to bloom in your chest. "Yeah."

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, cupping your face in his hands. "I love you," he whispers, his voice full of something so warm, so certain, that it makes your chest ache.

And when he kisses you, soft and slow, you think, 'This is it. This is forever.'

You never thought moving in with your boyfriend would be easy, but standing in the middle of Sunghoon's apartment, surrounded by boxes labelled in messy handwriting, you realize you underestimated just how chaotic it would be.

"You own way too much stuff," he grunts, setting down the last of your boxes by the couch. He wipes his brow, glancing around the room like he's just now realizing how much space your things take up.

You place your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow at his tone. "Excuse me? I only brought the essentials."

Sunghoon snorts, lightly kicking one of the boxes with his foot. "Unless you consider twenty scented candles an essential, I think you're lying."

"I like my apartment to smell good, thank you very much," you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He grins, stepping closer. "Our apartment," he corrects you, playfully tapping your chin.

Right. Our apartment. That's crazy. It's not just his apartment anymore, it's yours too now.

Sunghoon studies you for a moment, his expression softening. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just...taking it all in, y'know?"

He smiles, reaching for your hand to lace his fingers with yours. "Come on, let's unpack later. First, I think we need to do something important."

"Like what?" you ask, tilting your head.

He grins and starts tugging you towards the kitchen. "Finding a space for all your mugs."

-

By the time you finally finish unpacking, mostly unpacking, it's late and you're exhausted.

Sunghoon stretches his arms above his head while he walks to the bedroom, letting out a big yawn. "Okay, I vote we officially stop being productive for the night."

You groan in agreement, flopping onto the bed. It smells like his detergent mixed with his cologne. It's so distinctly him and you love it.

Sunghoon chuckles and plops down beside you, rolling onto his side to look at you. "This feels kinda surreal, doesn't it? Like, you actually live here now. I can't kick you out when I get sick of your yapping."

That earns him a pinch to the bicep.

"Regretting it already?" you scoff.

"Are you kidding? I've been begging you to move in for months," he grins, scooting closer.

You giggle as he nudges your nose with his. "You're ridiculous."

He smiles, genuinely smiles, before propping himself up on his elbow, his face turning serious. "This is just the beginning, y'know."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Beginning of what?"

"Of our life together," he smiles, cupping your cheek in his hand. "I'm eventually gonna make you my wife and have you barefoot and pregnant in no time."

That earns him another pinch.

You smooth down the skirt of your dress for what feels like the tenth time, glancing around the restaurant with wide eyes. It's the nicest place you've ever been to. Marble floors, candlelit tables, waiters in black vests who speak softly and pour your water with practiced precision. Even the chandelier above you sparkles like it's been polished specifically for tonight.

"You didn't have to go this all out," you murmur, glancing at Sunghoon from across the table.

He leans back in his chair, looking far too relaxed in his tailored suit, his hair styled perfectly, a glass of red wine cradled in his hand. "Come on," he scoffs with a soft grin. "You're always saying I don't take you anywhere fancy."

You let out an amused snort, your eyebrows raised. "I meant, like...movie theatres with reclining seats. Not this."

He smirks, taking a sip of his wine before setting it down on the white linen tablecloth. "This is better though."

You look around the restaurant, your eyes wide. "This place probably costs more than our rent."

"You should be proud, ___. I'm interning at one of the top law firms in Seoul. We might as well live like it," he scoffs.

You smile but something in your chest twists. You've noticed the change in him lately, how he carries himself differently, speaks more carefully, drops names you're unfamiliar with. There's a polish to him now, like he's already halfway to the man he's trying to become, and you don't know if you're even worthy of that man.

"I am proud of you, baby," you mumble, trying to lighten the mood. "This just...must have cost a fortune. You know I would've been happy with takeout and a movie for date night."

"I know." Sunghoon leans forward, taking your hand in his. "But I wanted tonight to be more special than that."

Your eyebrows furrow. "Why?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out a small black velvet box and places it on the table, unopened.

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, your heart pounding, your mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. You can't speak, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"Look, I know we're young," he murmurs, looking a little nervous. "And we still have so much ahead of us...but I also know I don't want to go through any of it without you."

Your breath hitches.

"I've known for a long time that I want to marry you, ___."

He opens the velvet box. Inside is a diamond ring, big but classy. It's classic and simple, and it looks expensive enough to make your heart race and your head spin. Sunghoon stands up from his chair and moves toward you, dropping to one knee beside the table. The whole restaurant feels like it fades to a low hum.

"___," he murmurs, his eyes shining, his voice steady. "Will you marry me?"

Your eyes grow glossy. You've talked about the future, always in vague, hopeful ways. You've talked about maybe moving to a new city someday, maybe getting a dog, maybe getting married and having a baby.

But this is suddenly so real.

He looks so sure, so ready. When you look at him, you don't just see a boyfriend anymore. You see someone successful, someone who wants to be with you forever, someone who could give you a life that looks like this.

You say yes.

Because you believe it's right.

Because you love him, and you want to love him forever.

You're balancing a bag of groceries in one hand and your keys and purse in the other when you unlock the door to the apartment.

It's later than usual, but not by much. You told him you'd be studying late at the library but you finished early and decided to surprise him with a nice dinner, something warm and comforting to break through the tension that's been sitting between you both for weeks now.

Grad school has been intense. Between classes, research, your thesis work, and the never-ending string of appointments for wedding planning, you've barely had time to breathe, let alone focus on the growing distance between you and Sunghoon.

But tonight, you want to try. You want to remind him that you still choose him, even when life is chaotic.

You're toeing off your shoes when you hear it. A soft, breathy sound. Muffled. Familiar.

Your stomach knots. You take a few tentative steps down the hallway. The bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Then—

A moan. A voice you recognize. Too well. You freeze. Your heart drops.

No. No. No. No.

You push the door open and there they are.

Sunghoon and Minji, one of your old university friends. She's straddling him, his hands gripping her waist, both of them frozen in horror the second they see you.

The grocery bag slips from your hand, apples and a carton of milk crashing to the floor.

Minji scrambles off of him, trying to cover herself. "___, I...I didn't know you were-"

"Get out," you whisper.

She hesitates, glancing at Sunghoon like she expects him to fix it.

"I said get out!"

Minji jumps, grabbing her clothes and bolting from the room. You're left standing there with shallow breaths, hands shaking, staring at the man you're supposed to marry.

Sunghoon stares back at you, sheet around his waist, mouth opening like he wants to say something but nothing comes out.

His lips part. Then close. Then part again. All you can hear is the ringing in your ears. The room spins. Your stomach churns. You feel like you might be sick.

Suddenly, you turn and walk straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and locking it. You barely make it to the sink before the sob rips out of your chest. Your hands clutch the porcelain as you struggle to stay upright, the weight of what you've just seen, what you know, crashing over you all at once.

The betrayal feels like fire, burning through your ribs, crawling up your throat, threatening to swallow you whole. Your mind keeps playing it on a loop. His hands on her. Her voice. His face when he saw you.

You drop to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, tears streaming down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. You cover your mouth with both hands, trying to muffle the sounds clawing their way out of you.

This was supposed to be the man you were going to marry. The one who promised forever. The one you trusted. And he threw all of it away.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You don't know. You sit on the cold tile floor, hugging your knees to your chest, your eyes red and puffy, your entire body wracked with silent, aching grief. Eventually, your sobs quiet into nothing. You don’t feel better. Just empty.

Numb.

When you finally unlock the door and step back into the apartment, the silence greets you like a slap.

You walk out slowly, your legs stiff and heavy beneath you. You find him sitting on the couch, fully dressed now, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looks up when he hears your footsteps, eyes red, hair a mess, guilt hanging from him like a second skin.

"___," he mutters softly, like he doesn't know how to say anything else.

The pain bubbles up again, but this time it's sharper, steadier. You cross your arms, standing a few feet away like you can't bring yourself to get any closer.

You stare at him, feeling completely hollow. "How could you?"

He rises from the couch, cautiously stepping toward you. "I wasn't thinking. I- there's no excuse. I fucked up. Please, please, let's just talk about this-"

"Talk about what?" you snap, fresh tears building again. "How you cheated on me? How you fucked her in our bed? Fine, let's talk about it."

Sunghoon runs his hands through his hair, pacing desperately. "I know...I know I messed up. I never meant to hurt you."

"You never meant to-" You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. "Sunghoon, you fucked someone, my friend of all people! In our bed! You fucked everything up!"

He stops pacing, jaw tightening, expression darkening like he's been holding in frustration and resentment and he just can't hold it in any longer.

"Maybe everything was already fucked up, ___."

"What are you-"

"I felt alone, okay?" he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. "You were never around."

Your brows knit together. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I needed to feel like I mattered again!" he snaps. "You never made time for me!"

You shake your head, completely stunned. "I was working my ass off to build a name for myself, a life for us. I was doing it all...for us, Sunghoon!"

His expression contorts, bitter and broken. "Every time I looked at you, you were buried in your books or talking about centrepieces or venue options. You never stopped. Your degree, the damn wedding planning, it all mattered more than me and my needs!"

You laugh, cold and hollow. "Don't you dare stand there and act like the victim. You cheated on me. For God knows how long."

"I know I did," he mutters, but the guilt starts fading from his voice, replaced with something harder. "But you weren't giving me what I needed. I needed someone who actually made me feel like a man."

Your heart twists, a mix of pain and rage clawing its way through your chest. "So, this made you feel like a man? Is that it? You needed to fuck someone else, someone I considered a friend, so that you could feel like more of a man? You couldn't talk to me and try to fix it?"

He exhales, turning away from you. "I tried."

"No," you mutter shakily, your voice breaking. "You didn't try hard enough."

You stare at the man you thought you'd spend forever with, and he doesn't look like the boy who you fell in love with. The boy who promised to never hurt you. He just looks like a stranger now.

"I was loyal to you," you scoff, tears blurring your vision. "Even when it was hard. Even when I was exhausted. I chose you every single day, even when you made it so hard to. Even when you lost your temper, even when you would scream at me, even when you made me feel bad about myself. I still chose you, Sunghoon!"

Your voice turns into a sob, your cheeks stained with mascara, your bottom lip trembling.

"Why couldn't you choose me? Why couldn't you think of our future?"

"It stopped feeling like ours a long time ago," he mutters, his voice growing softer. He looks away, looking ashamed for a fleeting second before he doubles down. "You did this to us."

The silence that follows is deafening.

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. You almost laugh, almost, but it sticks in your throat, tangled in heartbreak and disbelief.

"I did this?" you echo.

Sunghoon's expression is tight. "I'm not saying I was right, but I felt alone. I felt like I didn't matter to you anymore," he mumbles, looking down at his feet.

Tears slide down your cheeks, hot and silent. "You were everything to me."

He looks at you, regret starting to crack through his pride. "Baby..."

Your mouth parts, but the words catch in your throat. You want to scream and break something. You want to rewind time, go back to just an hour ago when you were standing in the grocery store aisle debating whether to buy basil or parsley for the dinner you never got to make.

He takes a step toward you but you shake your head, backing away. "I can't believe you'd do this. After seven fucking years. I really hope she was worth it."

His eyes glisten but it's too late. The damage is done. And just like that, you know there's no coming back from this. No amount of apologies or explanation can undo what he did. So you turn around, walk to the bedroom, and start packing a bag. You walk over to the nightstand, the one where your wedding planner notebook still sits, pages dog-eared and scribbled with half-finished ideas.

You slip your ring off without hesitation. It's heavier than you remember. You place it down on the wood with a soft clink that sounds louder than the city traffic outside. It's final, inevitable.

Without looking back, you turn and walk out.

The guest bedroom in Jihyo's apartment smells faintly like lavender and fabric softener, but after almost two years, it no longer feels temporary. Her place is bright, filled with colour, yet you feel like a shadow haunting it.

You wake up slowly, sunlight filtering through pale curtains, but it doesn't fill you with warmth. Some days are harder than others. There are still days you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until your chest aches. Days when food tastes like cardboard, when your body feels too heavy to carry, when the memories creep in—him, his laugh, his scent. Jihyo's been your main support system. There are still days when she has to physically drag you int the shower or sit beside you with a spoon to your lips to force you to eat something.

This morning feels better, even just slightly.

You pull yourself out of bed and walk to the kitchen where Jihyo is already buzzing around, dressed and ready for the day. Her presence, as always, is a source of comfort.

"Big day!" she exclaims, pushing a fresh cup of coffee into your hands.

You take it with a grateful smile. "You mean terrifying day."

She gives you a look. "You'll be great. Just don't cry in front of the students. They're probably still hungover from the weekend and dealing with their own shit."

"That's...fair," you snort.

Jihyo tilts her head, her voice growing gentler. "You sure you're okay to do this?"

You nod, looking determined. "I have to be."

You have to be ready. You transferred to Yonsei for a fresh start. You have a new job, apartment hunting, maybe thinking of getting a cat to keep you company. There are no more wedding plans taped to the fridge or a ring on your finger. It's scary, but you're ready. You have no other choice but to be ready.

-

Standing in front of the main entrance to the building, clutching a leather folder to your chest like it's the glue holding you together, you take a deep breath to try and ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

When you walk in, the hallway is filled with a soft hum of conversation in the distance, the low shuffle of students moving from class to class. You're so caught up in the quiet rhythm of it all that you nearly run into someone rounding the corner.

"Oh- sorry!"

You step back quickly, your folder nearly slipping from your grasp. The man in front of you blinks, just as startled.

He's tall, dressed in slacks and a pale blue dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. His hair looks soft, a little tousled like he's been running his hands through it all morning. His glasses sit on the bridge of his nose and his eyes, round and kind, widen slightly when they land on you.

He's handsome in that kind, unassuming, doesn't-know-he's-hot way.

"No, no, I'm sorry," he rushes to say, bowing politely. "I didn't see you there."

You shake your head, offering him a faint smile. "It's okay, I wasn't really watching where I was going."

The awkward tension only lasts a second before he smiles, gentle and warm.

"Are you new? I haven't seen you around here before."

You nod. "Yeah. First day."

He nods in understanding, adjusting his glasses before offering his hand. "I'm Jungkook. Professor Jeon to my students. I teach economics."

You shake his hand. His grip is firm but not overpowering. His palm is warm, comforting.

"I'm ___. Professor ___ to mine," you murmur. "Political science."

"Welcome to Yonsei," he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "We don't usually do hazing rituals for new staff, unless you count being thrown into an 8am lecture with uninterested students."

His smile makes something flutter in your chest. It's not romantic per say, you're not ready for that, but there's something safe about him. Something reassuring, like the soft hum of music you didn't know you needed to hear.

"Thanks," you murmur, shifting the folder in your hands. "Still trying not to get lost."

He grins. "I still get lost, and I've been here a while."

You laugh, the sound catching you off guard. It's been a long time since you've done that.

You look at him, taking in his slightly crooked tie, the way his glasses slip down his nose when he glances at your schedule peeking out from your folder. He kinda reminds you of a puppy.

He clears his throat. "If you need anything, uh...printer passwords, coffee recommendations, a tour of the faculty lounge, I'm happy to help."

Your lips twitch. "Is that all a part of your job description?"

He chuckles. "It is when the new political science professor looks slightly terrified."

You roll your eyes, but you can't keep the smile from tugging at your mouth. "Not terrified. Just...mildly overwhelmed."

"Mildly," he repeats, nodding like it's very serious business. "Got it. In that case, I'll keep my offer for coffee on the table."

You laugh again, softer this time. "I might take you up on that."

"Good." He pauses, then gestures towards the hallway. "You headed to class?"

"Yeah, but I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to be," you murmur sheepishly.

His eyebrows raise, the corners of his mouth turning upward. "I can walk you to wherever you need to be...if you want."

You hesitate, but only for a second.

"Sure."

As the two of you start walking side by side, something loosens in your chest, ever so slightly—the knot that's been there since the breakup with Sunghoon.

You're not ready for anything big. You're still healing. Still learning to exist in your own skin again, but for the first time in a really long time, something flickers quietly in the back of your mind. Maybe, not today or tomorrow, but someday something good can start again.

And maybe it starts with a boy in glasses and a crooked tie, holding open the door to your new life.

PART 6 || PART 7

[141n3]

laito rant

I hate when people dumb down laito’s character to just a sex-obsessed pervert. Hes literally so much more than that and i see so many people jsut completely missing the point of his character and *why* he acts the way he is for reasons other than the way the anime made him to be another otome trope. 

First of all, laito was groomed throughout his entire childhood by his mother, cordelia. She would rape him (not sleep with. Rape. Stop saying stuff like “had sex with” and “slept with” because he was a CHILD it was rape) consistently and told him that sex and lust was love- this caused laito to have an extremely twisted vision of what love is and how he expresses his love to the player/yui. 

I think that Laito is very misrepresented in the anime, probably because they didnt have time to get all the characters lore in or else the show would be as long as one piece, but still. He’s not even given a little snippet of a backstory like Shu with Edgar, all we see of his past is him as a little kid where he barely even interacts with his mom which we see in Yui’s nightmare. 

Im so tired of people tearing his character down to just a pervert. Because he’s not- he’s a traumatized kid (idk about kid- wiki says 17 in human but hes like 200+ im pretty sure so idk) whos a victim of manipulation, incest, and rape. It’s not his fault that he’s like that when he was literally convinced by the person you trust the most growing up- his mother, that love is sex. 

Throughout his childhood and mostly teenage years he has thing feeling of emptiness that he feels after having sex (whether it be after being raped by his mother or having a fling with a classmate) where he asks himself something along the lines of “if this is love, why do i feel so empty?” And he mostly has sex to try and fill that void that he has inside of him.