#British devil moment

[add1rall]

You are trying so hard

[saintgoths]

ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴡʙᴏʏ

ARTHUR MORGAN, SIMON GHOST RILEY AND JOEL MILLER.

SOME PEOPLE MIGHT WONDER WHAT'S GHOST BRITISH ASS HERE FOR AND AHT! IT'S BASED ON HIS COWBOY SKIN.

THIS IS MY THANK YOU FOR 500+ FOLLOWERS POST

WARNING - NASTY SEX, BREEDING KINK AND P!LINKS

ARTHUR MORGAN

He had been so thick you couldn’t help but bite down on the pillow, this isn’t the first time you had him but whenever Arthur was inside of you, you could feel the way you had stretched to adjust to his size, normally when you had fucked men who were in fact bigger than you it was painful, but Arthur, Arthur knew how to use it, to stir you into a swirl of lustful craziness and break you into a whimpering mess.

As reflex, you had tightened around him, your cunt hot as the friction of his beginning motion began to quicken, and when you felt the arch of his cock slip deeper into you, you couldn’t help but push out a trembling sigh. “Oh fuck!” You had moaned, already overstimulated by his embrace, Arthur continued to rock his hips, focused to aid you to reach your high, he had been keen on your every movement, how you would further your arch whenever the tip of his shaft kissed a soft spot and the way you’d tightly grip the bed sheets when your moans would twist into a higher pitch.

It had always been like this, Arthur would at first be silent when it came to fucking you but as time moved on, he’d become more vocal about how good you felt around him, how tight your sex was and how he only wanted you to himself. Arthur barely showed his possessiveness, in shame you’d make fun of him, but if he was aware of how turned on you’d get whenever you would catch him staring down another suitor or belittle them, unconsciously realising he’d be doing it because he craved you, worshiped you and was a love sick fool.

You tucked your bottom lip behind your teeth as you could feel the pad of his thumb stroke your anus, he knew that always shaped you crazy, how your cunt would become wetter and slippery around his girth and how you’d thoughtlessly hump yourself backwards, greedy for his love and eager to feel his cum fill inside of you. “Like that?” Arthur moaned, his voice deep and throaty, rough like pine cones but lewd like the devil himself. “Like that babygirl?” He’d tease and when you’d nod your head, he would move his other hand to your hair, pulling you closer to him while he continued to move his hips forwards.

“Take me,” he whispered into your ear, your eyes blurry as you could feel tears coat your eyes, he was so big, but felt so good, “Take me,” he’d echo while his other hand would slip to one of your breasts, his palm cupped over it as he would circle the nub of your nipple with his thumb and finger. “That’s it,” he’d sooth as your body shook against his. Your moans embarrassingly soared as your nectar would coat around his length and spill against the bed sheets. “That’s it, good girl, cum for me, good girl, yeah? You’re my good girl,” he’d hum as he would continue to fuck you, your mouth wet with your own saliva as you had attempted to sum up words.

Yet, you had sounded so futile, senseless as he fucked his orgasm into you, his semen so hot and filling you had felt some of it leak down your thighs, but you were rapacious, desiring excessively for more of him that when he pulled himself out, you helped his level his wet and sticky cock to your arse.

REFERENCE

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

You had lost count on how many times he has made you climaxed under this one showdown, he had just returned back home, impatient but smooth with how he handled you, prior to his return you had sent your boyfriend a plethora of lewd images that had commenced him to fall into his sensual pit, the moment he stepped through the door and closed the exit behind him, he put down his bag and kissed you. Telling you how much he’d take care yet ravage you, and he had always kept his promises.

With his hand underneath your knee, he had continuously rocked his hip forward, with his width had consumed you, you couldn’t help but fall limp within his touch, over-stimulated by the excessive pleasure, you looked at him with watered eyes as you had cried out pleasured wails. “Keep doing that! Keep doing that!” You repeated before he started to moan through your nose you had yelped once you had felt his hand slap against your buttocks.

“Yeah! Oh!” You cried out, beguiled with the hot and dark look that shaded his eyes you had been completely enamoured that he had taken off his mask, revealed everything to you, his body, his scars and the beautiful and comely look he had on his face that had infatuated you every time you took a look at him, you couldn’t believe he was yours, just yours, allowing you to use him for your pleasure as he did to you, he had felt so painfully good you’d whimper whenever you’d feel him slip out of you, dangerously craving for him to fill you up with his cock, there’d be a glint that would briskly sparkle in his eyes once he’d be aware with how much you had wanted him.

“Look at you,” he’d mutter, his heavy voice buried and profound which had set you into another wave of thrill, he had known just the sound of his voice would make you cum and he’d tease you with a comment there and then, but the second he would be set to talking to you while fucking his cock so broad and deep into you, the hearth and wetness of your cunt would profoundly coat his length, making his movements more polished and slick as his cock would begin to throb.

“Taking me like that, you’re such a good girl,” he’d mutter and with your mouth wide open you could feel another crest of orgasm influx and attempt to peak. “You like that? Me fucking you like this, huh?” He’d poke and with a quick nod and eluding words you had gripped your bed sheets, your opening hot as your nectar.

Your eyes tightly screwed shut as you climaxed, agreeing to everything he would say to you. “No one fucked you like this before huh?”

“No! no!” You’d whine, relieved as you would feel his fluids seep into you, his hand that had been under your legs had softened and eventually he pulled himself out of you, his chest heavily moving up and down as he caught his breath fore pressing his lips against your mouth, with a short moan, you had placed your hand against his chest as you returned his embrace, but when you had pulled away, you had looked into his eyes. “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

“You will be the death of me,” he smiled before he kissed your nose and laid beside you.

REFERENCE

JOEL MILLER

He needed this release, so much pent-up stress and anger he had unconsciously desired to fuck out and you had been there, like a gift for his much tenacious and unyielding force. He had been unsure if you would want him, but the way your eyes looked when you had noticed the hard bulge he had terribly hid beneath his pants, had sent him the green flag, you had actually been the one to make the first move as you had always wanted to fuck him.

He was so big and strong, and you loved the sight of his muscled arms, his muscles arms that had now hung around your waists as you had bounced on his cock, mouth wide open as you had struggled to make noise due to how engulfed you were. You had felt the way his hands had now been placed on your hips as he aided you up and down his length, your sex glazing his cock with its fluids, overwhelmed by how the curve of his cock stroked against your spot, your cunt which had countlessly clenched around him in response to his rugged embrace had commenced you to dig your nails into his muscled chest.

The sounds were so bawdy and erotic, the wet racy noises that were being made by each other’s movements had heated Joel into a further passion, how your breast bounced and how you moved your hips forward as you continuously searched for your orgasm, you were like a bunny in a fever, exposed how much lust you had for him bottled up had moved Joel into an ardent and wistful state, how he had possessively clung onto you as your moans sang into his ears.

“That’s right sweetheart, keep fucking me like that,” he’d groan as he’d screw his eyes shut. “Keep going like that---you feel so good, girl,” he’d whine, his tone gruff and throaty as he could feel himself twitch beneath you, aware how you had moved one of his hands towards your breast, helping him give it a good squeeze before you started to roll your hips, your swift movements compelling Joel into a tranced state as he started to jerk his hips upwards.

He had entered a moment of silence, his mouth opened as he carelessly fucked his cock deep into you, his rough movements had helped you to find your voice again and you squealed due to how heavy and thick he had felt inside of you, how the head of his cock licked your sweet spots thus had sent you into a bubbled trance as you had stopped moving, your figure tense as you had allowed Joel to use your body and milk his cum into you, your eyes rolled backwards as your body had jerked and flinched every second to your own orgasm.

“You good there?” Joel had asked with a smirk and with a brief nod, you had collapsed your body against his.

REFERENCE

[discow1tch]

Nightcrawler Comic Recs (for beginners)

This list is designed with fans who have little to no knowledge of X-Men comics in mind and with an emphasis on what I would call "fangirl appeal". Each title is listed in chronological order with descriptions, a reading order, and my reasoning for each of them under the readmore for those who need it. In my opinion, all of them are good places to start!*

I primarily read comics on Marvel's official app (marvel unlimited) but hoopla (free through many public libraries) and comixology are other good options for online reading. If you want physical copies you'll get the best deals at your local comic shop or on ebay.

If you have criticisms, additions, or continuity question feel free to hit up my ask box!

SERIES: ❥ Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont (1975) ❥ Excalibur by Chris Claremont (1988), Alan Davis (1991), and Warren Ellis (1994) ❥ Uncanny X-Men by Joe Casey (2001) ❥ Nightcrawler (2004) ❥ Uncanny X-Force by Rick Remender (a controversial choice since this isn't main universe/616 Kurt) (2010) ❥ Amazing X-Men (2014) ❥ Nightcrawler (2014)

OTHER RANDOM ISSUES**: ❥ Guardians Team-Up #6 ❥ Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur #17 (2017)

*with the exception of Uncanny X-Force. I wouldn't read this until you have a grip on 616 Kurt's characterization.

**these are primarily team ups I discovered through my habit of buying random comics with Kurt on the cover. I'll add more if I remember them.

Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont (1975) was an ongoing team book. The sixteen years of it that were written by Claremont are the iconic building blocks upon which all other X-Men comics are built. It's the book Nightcrawler was on from 1975 to 1988 (#94-227) after he was recruited by Professor X. Unfortunately, Kurt is rarely the main character. He has a lot of standout moments but is more likely to just be part of the team. If you like a sweet, sarcastic, curly haired Nightcrawler with terrible fashion sense this book might be for you!

How to start reading it:

Giant-Size X-Men #1 (his introduction, basically a series pilot that rebooted the X-Men).

Uncanny X-Men #94 (directly follows giant-size)

From there you can read numerically.

Read as much uncanny as you want. If it gets boring/isn't for you try Excalibur!

Specific issue recs if you don't want to start at the beginning:

#110: The X-Men fight a villain of the week who traps them in the danger room with the safety controls off. It's also the first (I think?) time the X-Men play baseball together. Kurt is really fun in this issue! #123 & 124: The X-Men fight Arcade for the first time. The issues are split pretty evenly between the whole team but Kurt has some really good moments. #139 & 140: Kurt goes to Canada with Wolverine. They fight a Wendigo with the canadian super-team Alpha Flight and he becomes the first X-Man to learn Wolverine's real name. The art in this is really expressive. Kurt makes a lot of good faces. #168: This issue isn't primarily about Kurt but it is the one where he does the Burt Reynolds cosmo centerfold pose for his girlfriend. #169: Continues from 168. Opens with Kurt in the bath with his girlfriend. He then teleports around the city naked to save someone. #183: Kurt and Wolverine take Colossus out drinking after he breaks up with Kitty. Kurt is there as "mediator" because he knows Logan is mad about the way Piotr treated Kitty. They end up getting into a fight with the Juggernaut at the bar. #204: Kurt restores his faith and self confidence by taking on Arcade solo when he sees a woman being kidnapped off the street.

Excalibur by Chris Claremont, Alan Davis, and Warren Ellis (1988-1998) was a self-contained ongoing comic that ran through the late 80's up through the mid 90's. Excalibur is the British X-Men adjacent team that Kurt joined and then became unofficial leader of when he thought the other X-Men had died. Excalibur is more magic and fantasy based than X-Men usually is. As written by Chris Claremont it's also basically a sex farce. I consider this book a definitive characterization of the character. The art by Alan Davis in the first ~50 issues is the sexiest Nightcrawler has ever been and probably ever will be. If you like a classically handsome, confident, overtly sexy Nightcrawler this series might be for you.

How to start reading it:

Excalibur: The Sword is Drawn (shows the team being formed, basically the series pilot). There's a ton of Deep Lore and callbacks in it but if anything is important it will get explained more directly by narration.

Excalibur #1

From there you can read numerically

The first 67 issues are pretty consistently good but you can always stop After the Cross-Time Caper story if you want something more modern

If you want to keep reading after #67 I suggest skipping the issues written by Lobdell and going straight to the Warren Ellis era

Specific issue recs if you don't want to start at the beginning:

#4: The beginning of the Kurt/Meggan/Brian love triangle. Includes the infamous page where Kurt and Meggan nearly kiss. #16: Another infamous issue. The team land in a new universe and get separated. Kurt fights some air ship pirates before getting seduced and fucked just barely off panel by an Evil Queen. He also ends up wearing some really skimpy "battle armor" towards the end. It's truly incredible that this was even allowed to be published. #23: Judge Dredd parody. The team land in a new universe and get separated (again). Kurt has some really great fight scenes against an alternate universe human version of himself and a really heartfelt story with that universes version of Meggan. #44 & 45: The british government asks the team for help investigating a series of strange robberies in London. Everyone but Kurt is out of town on personal business and his leg is broken so he decides the thing to do is recruit the chaotic aliens helping rebuild the light house as a substitute team - his "N-Men"! If you read these issues by themselves just skip over the sections about the other characters.

Uncanny X-Men by Joe Casey (2001) (#395-409) was part of the ongoing Uncanny comic. It primarily follows a team of X-Men tracking down the Church of Humanity cult as they try to eradicate mutants. This run had a lot of different artists on it but they're all good. The aesthetics and vibes of this run are some of my favorites. Casey writes Kurt a bit more grounded and less jokey but without sacrificing any of the witty banter which I like. If you like a less human-looking Nightcrawler with glowing eyes and pointy teeth this series might be for you!

Nightcrawler (2004) is a twelve issue self-contained mini-series. It's the second of three Nightcrawler self titled minis and it's also my favorite! Kurt gets enlisted as basically a supernatural investigator by Storm after a group of children die mysteriously. He has three different love interest in this which the story even calls him out for at one point. The art is more grounded than the usual marvel house style which isn't for everyone but I personally enjoy it. If you like a softer nightcrawler or a Nightcrawler in street clothes this book might be for you!

Uncanny X-Force by Rick Remender (2010) (#20-35) was an ongoing team book. It's maybe my most controversial pick because it's the Nightcrawler from the Age of Apocalypse but I'm gonna count him because he's hot. He jumped universes to join X-Force (the X-Men's covert black ops team) in issue #11 during the period of time when main universe/616 Kurt was dead. The first arc he's in is all AoA stuff so you can skip it and start at #20 (the Otherworld arc) if you want. AoA Kurt is a darker, more violent version of the character who's only interested in revenge. A lot of Nightcrawler fans hated his inclusion on the team but I personally think he's great! It also helps that the art in this is done in this gorgeous almost abstract digital watercolor style. This version of Nightcrawler ends up dying in an event comic when the series ends but don't even worry about it. Also, maybe don't start with this one. If you like the idea of a star trek-style mirror universe Kurt try reading this!

Amazing X-Men (2014) was an ongoing team book. It's the series that brought Kurt back from the dead after his death several years earlier in a crossover event. It's a really good jumping on point for modern Nightcrawler but the plot is kind of bonkers. If you read it try not to think too hard about the implications of that first arc. Most of the weirder stuff in it doesn't really matter outside of this book anyway. The art is really good - Kurt is very pretty in this. In the early issues he also has great romantic tension with Storm and Wolverine if you're in to that! It's very intertwined with the 2014 solo so if you like this definitely read that! If you like a lanky more cartoony Nightcrawler try this series and the 2014 miniseries!

Nightcrawler (2014) is a twelve issue self contained mini series. It takes place after the first arc of Amazing X-Men but can be read independently since narration explains everything that happened. I'll be honest, this series is fun but not very memorable. The art is nice, though. If you like a lanky more cartoony Nightcrawler try this series and Amazing X-Men!

[midnightsnapdragon]

top temeraire audiobook moments in no particular order:

every single time laurence calls temeraire "my dear," rightfully the softest and tenderest thing any character says to any other in this series ever

tharkay in book three, mimicking the snotty accent of the british socialite: "you would do better to cultivate an elevated tone," the cuntiness of which defies description

temeraire in book six when Laurence volunteers to feed the newly hatched dragonet; according to the narration, he whirls around and says, "what? you would —?" in a voice "thrumming with distress and wrath," which Simon Vance pulls off really well considering he's trying to do a dragon voice

laurence in book four, now a french prisoner, when napoleon bonaparte comes up to him and kisses him on both cheeks: "your ... majesty," said a little hoarsely and with a noticeable pause between the two words (that doesn't show up in the original text) ;)

"O God, I wish I had not done it" I had to turn off the audiobook and go lie down quietly in a dark room

"the devil I am," said with every ounce of uppercrust english indignation simon vance can muster, which is A Lot

laurence in book two raising his voice at the first lord of the admiralty and the entire chinese embassy, "I will not do it, I will never do it, and be damned to you all" hearing him passionately refuse an order at the top of his lungs is what made me love the audiobooks so much in the first place!!! I have never wanted to cheer for anyone as much as I wanted to cheer for him in this scene

laurence in book seven cursing the living daylights out of one of the mutineers responsible for sinking the allegiance, "by God, you had best hope I do not think better of wasting the very air upon the lungs of a pack of misbegotten whelps of sea-dogs —" considering that the strongest fuck you we've ever heard him give anyone up to this point has been "sir, you may go to the devil" this sure was a

kind of moment.

tldr listen to the audiobooks

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING ROTTEN !!! FERNANDO A. X FEM!READER X JENSON B. (18+)

summary: for fernando and jenson, nothing is ever 'too much.' perhaps that's why they insisted that the necklace they bought her was worth it. (possible part two of something spoiled)

content warning: smut below the cut (minors dni), explicit language, dom!sugar daddies!jenson and fernando x sub!sb!reader, mfm threesome, overstimulation, dumbification + degradation, anal play, titfucking, double penetration, mentions creampie (pls don't do that)

💌re:moony's planner request: "hey i was wondering if you’d write a smut with jensen button x fernando alonso x reader maybe with one being mean and overstim and dumbification pretty please"

note: just pulling this out of my ass because i want to write something before i decide to get up at 3am to do my school work. enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

since becoming fernando’s sugar baby, she tried to get herself out of the habit of being extremely humble and indulged in one of his displays of affection. 

she was quite there, if she was being honest. but then, fernando’s ex-teammate jenson button came barreling into her life. no wait, scratch that— the british man came to her and fernando’s shared space for dinner and hadn’t even hidden the way he eyefucked her. 

so now, it was like her life involved an angel and a devil. one of them made her want to ask for more while the other made her feel so meek and shy. 

but both men had every intention to have her ask for more. they were not about to let her quiet down when expressing her wants and needs. especially since she got out of her way to meet their needs and desires.

it’s been a year since jenson joined the two, half a year since he moved in with them in a larger place, and as fernando’s season started - she became more occupied at home than she used to be. 

jenson was retired, thus he provided her with the company she sought whenever fernando wasn’t around. of course, fernando hadn’t minded - as long as he was getting videos or even pictures of their girl being fucked by the british while he was gone. 

having a lover who was retired gave fernando more opportunity to make the girl feel more lenient about being spoiled whilst gone. 

fernando would often send messages to or even call jenson whenever the aston martin driver saw something online that would look nice on her, and jenson would immediately take her shopping.

and it would often lead jenson to fuck her senselessly when they get back from shopping, after she would give him a private fashion show.

now here she was, insisting that she really didn’t want the glimmering necklace from bulgari as jenson tutted her.

the british man gave her a smug smile as she continued to eye the diamond encrusted necklace, the emerald in the middle just as big as her baffled eyes. she said she didn’t want it, yet she was ogling the necklace and its pairing earrings. 

“we’ll take it,” jenson nodded to the associate in front of them, with her snapping her head towards his direction. 

“jenson—“

“does it come with a bracelet, too?” jenson grinned widely. 

the fucking piece of shit wasn’t even listening to her protests. jenson couldn’t find himself to listen at the moment, knowing that she would look so beautiful with the parure on occasions that he and fernando would attend with her.

once they made it back to their place and jenson had put everything down, she pursed her lips at the sight of the bulgari bag as she said, “that was too much.” 

jenson turned around, his expression softening at the sight of her pout as he approached her with a reassuring smile. “nothing is ever ‘too much’ for me and fernando, baby,” he kissed her lips and mumbled, “and that means nothing should ever be enough for you too. hm?” 

“where would i even wear that whole… thing?” she mumbled back, shying away from jenson. “i know you and nando will like it but where would i even wear that?” 

jenson’s soft smile turned into a wide smirk as he nipped her skin, earning a moan from her. jenson then said, “don’t worry sweetheart. when he gets back tonight, you’ll find a reason to wear that pretty necklace and earrings of yours. maybe we’ll even get to see the bracelet, too.”

so here she was, her cunt clenching around jenson’s throbbing cock as the british man fucked her from behind. the emerald necklace dangled on her neck, shining under the chandelier while her tits were glistening. fernando’s cock pistoned in between her tits as she squeezed them. 

“mm, fuck, bonita,” fernando growled lowly, thrusting his hips up as she let out a loud moan. “even without the necklace, your tits are just as beautiful as ever,” he muttered, “fucking missed these tits of yours. i missed fucking them and i missed playing with them.”

jenson smirked as he continued to fuck her from behind, his fingers collecting her wetness and spreading it across her other hole before he began to thrust his fingers into it. 

“oh, fuck,” she moaned loudly, unable to utter anymore words as she tried to keep her composure. her elbows dug into fernando’s thighs and her palms squeezed her breast together, watching the way the tip of fernando’s cock disappear then reappear in between her pair of tits.

“you’re so tight in both holes, baby,” jenson crooned mockingly as he continued to prod his fingers in her backhole and his cock in her already overstimulated cunt. “you cummin’ again?” 

her incoherent words were music to the men’s ears. nothing felt more arousing than hearing their girl cry for them like she needed them. at least for once, she wasn’t shying away from what she wanted.

she babbled, “j- nando- ‘m- hah~ fuck…” 

fernando’s hand reached down to slap her face lightly and he mocked her, “mmm… you’re getting too dumb, princesa? is it too much? come on, tell us.”

“‘s too much,” she whined pitifully. “too much.”

“but you love it, don’t you?” fernando continued with a laugh, watching her nod eagerly. god, she was so fucked out already and she hadn’t even been fucked by both yet. “yes? you love cumming too much? you love jenson’s cock inside of you like a dumb little whore you are?” 

“yes, yes,” she nodded once more and cried out loudly when jenson added another finger. “oh fuck! hah! god, jenson!” 

“ease up, baby,” jenson murmured. “you’re doin’ so good. ‘m just prepping you, that’s all.”

“‘m gonna cum again, fuck!” she screamed silently. 

fernando and jenson both chuckled darkly, unable to keep their amusement to themselves as both of them finally pulled away once she reached her fifth orgasm.

the two older men switched places, with jenson lying on the bed and fernando moving around to get something. jenson patted his bare thigh and ordered her, “up on my cock, sweets. c’mon.” 

she couldn’t think anymore, panting heavily while she knelt on the mattress. it seemed like she was unable to process her british lover’s words, because her spanish one had to drag her lightly towards jenson’s lap before she even sunk down on his cock once more. 

a sigh escaped her lips, her cunt still throbbing after her intense orgasm. 

fernando finally moved behind her and entered her slowly, eliciting a whine from her as she murmured about how good it was… or at least, she tried to tell them but she was just incredibly fucked out. 

“mierda,” fernando cursed as he and jenson began to move inside her. his hands gripped her hips as he continued to fuck her. “you’re so tight, bonita.”

“mm— nando,” she cried out, her back arching against fernando’s chest as the emerald necklace glimmered once more.

“so fuckin’ divine, baby,” jenson groaned, watching her tits above him bounce against the jewelry she wore. “look at you- so beautiful looking so fucked out with that necklace on your neck.”

“even better when she’s begging without even knowing what she wants,” fernando added from behind her. “she’s pretty even when she’s dumb for our cocks.”

their hips began to snap against hers, earning loud mewls from her. both men groaned loudly and gradually increased their pace as they chased their highs and hers.

“oh, fuuuuuck,” jenson groaned loudly, his thumb toying with her clit. “‘m gonna cum baby. gonna cum inside this pretty pussy of yours.”

“fuck,” fernando whispered heatedly, his movements now rougher and slower as he reached his orgasm and painted her walls white. 

she whined as she reached her orgasm as well, her eyes rolling back at the feeling of fullness and her climax. 

jenson came inside her as well, thrusting up into her slowly as he let out a guttural moan.

panting heavily, both men pulled out of her and lied her down in between them. they hadn’t even minded their cums leaking out of her holes as they brought her close to them. 

she seemed content, like she actually had her wishes fulfilled. like she actually told them what she wanted rather than shying away from it. 

both jenson and fernando, however, knew that she should start speaking up about what she wanted outside of the bedroom too. because she was their girl, and she deserved the universe and more. 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129 @maxillness

[best-nun-tournament]

Semifinals Match 1

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun)

Harrow is a nun of the Ninth House. She's been described as a space goth necromancer fantasy sci-fi bone nun.

Sister Beatrice is a secret Demon-Fighting Warrior Nun of the Order of the Cruciform Sword.

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus

She’s great. She has so many fucking problems. She’s been running the goth space convent since she was 10. She’s puppeting her dead parents around. She doesn’t like tastes. She is extremely passionate about bones. She’s locked in a twisted bond of love and violence and devotion and sacrifice with her childhood best enemy. She lobotomized herself to preserve the best enemy’s soul. She’s been in love with the corpse of the Devil all her life. She goes around in bone jewelry and skull face paint. She’s a sad wet cat who was born in a cardboard box all alone, etc. She chopped another woman’s arm off and regrew a skeleton arm, in a sexual way. She has awkward little fireside chats with God where he makes millennia-old meme references at her and she does not drink the proffered tea. She saw God make a your mom joke and it “destroyed some cavern of her reverence”. She’s even gay. She’s everything.

Sister Beatrice

Sister Beatrice is perfect in every way. She had to be. When you're taught to hate what you are, when what you love, whom you love, brings you nothing but pain, all you have left is to be perfect. To hope that, if you excel enough, in enough ways, then you might be found worthy. Instead, her wealthy, bigoted, British diplomat parents shipped her off to boarding school in Switzerland for the crime of being a lesbian. From there, she joined the Church, married God, and became part of a secret order of demon-fighting black ops nuns. Being married to Jesus wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that she's fallen in love with a woman who rose from the dead, a beautiful bisexual savior with golden retriever energy and a heart of gold, and for whose training and protection Beatrice is responsible. Her best friend, no less. And roommate. Their apartment only has one bed. Maybe it is bad after all. But maybe Beatrice doesn't mind being bad anymore. Maybe she would rather worship her love, her Ava, than any God of any church. Maybe she would kill a dozen men who stood between her and her love while Ave Maria plays in the background. Maybe Beatrice would burn the world to save her. Maybe it wouldn't be enough, in the end. Maybe she would have to send Ava through a portal to Heaven, or Hell, to save Ava's life, moments after learning her love was returned. Maybe she would wait for her Ava to return too. Until, one day...

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Great points of today’s Pearl ep (a recap of my freak-outs, some of which will be getting their own posts)-

Exclusively spoilers below this line:

Cleo asking Pearl if she’s okay and Scott offering her a life if she goes red. Pearl defending herself when Scott says she keeps making enemies.

Cleo enabling Pearl and Scott trying to stop her. The eventual agreement that she can kill Gem or Joel if negotiations don’t work.

Never did I think I’d see the day but Gem attacking Pearl and Cleo responding with “She’s not done anything to you Gem!” And defending her? My neurons are firing lads.

Scar asking Pearl if shes okay?

BigB is officially fired from the GGGG, and the world possible person (Cleo) caught him doing it.

Impulse trying to do a British woman voice and failing so hard that Cleo fails to recognize her own quote.

Pearl catching Skizz and Mumbo like vermin under their base. Mumbo trying to convince her that her teammates don’t really love her because they won’t give her a life and trying to get her to betray them so she won’t snitch that Skizz is under their base. AND SHE DOES BETRAY THEM?? HELLO?

Bonus Imp and Skizz podcast except Mumbo and Pearl are Impulse in order to keep Mumbo and Skizz’ vid from being just them sneaking.

Ren wanting to kill Grian because he’s the one causing them all their pain and recruiting Pearl, Scar, and BigB… Watcher fans come get yall juice.

JOEL ALSO ASSUMING PEARL’S TEAM DUMPED HER?? Her referring to the parrots as “the canaries” and actually getting the fast and furious reference which does automatically put her in Joel’s good graces.

Mumbo and Skizz immediately sighing after they fail to kill the people coming to visit Pearl. Pearl then getting Mumbo and Skizz to reassure her that she has been making friends and her teammates are wrong.

Scott silently leading her away and telling her that Mumbo is under their base, and Pearl pretending she had no idea anyone was there and she’s been building the whole time. Mumbo lying for her???? Hello?? Mumbo trying to offer Scott the same deal he gave Pearl and Scott refusing?

“Ya know, I have no reason to go against Scott this season. I just think it’s funny. And that’s what I do every season! I do a little fun, I have a little glee, I have a little laugh and it’s, I dunno. But if you make a bunch of allies then nobody wants to kill you right? Right.”

MOON FAST! “You go moon! Look at that cousin in the sky!”

“I knew tnt minecarts were a bad idea. That’s why I don’t touch them with a ten foot pole.” VIOLENT LIMITED LIFE FLASHBACK

Pearl wanting her team’s approval of the base! Cleo calling her very talented!

This moment:

Martyn: Come on, let red Pearl out to play!

Pearl: No, look as much as she would love to, it’s too early for red Pearl. She can stay where she is.

Gem and Pearl getting along for a brief moment to watch the boys be stupid.

Pearl telling Scott not to trust BigB and Cleo saying BigB is working with the devils… Nosey Neighbor fans weep, Pearl and Cleo duo (I don’t know their name) fans cheer

PEARL SHOOTING BIGB WHILE CLEO CHEERS HER ON!!! NOSEY NEIGHBOR FANS WEEP PEARL AND CLEO DUO FANS CHEER

Pearl shooting Martyn?? Oh she’s got blood lust now!

“I’m in me mum’s car!”

Pearl, Tango, and Bdubs just watching the chaos and refusing to cross the bridge.

No Pearl deaths!!!!

[moonstruckme]

i recently found your page and i became instantly obsessed, you're such a good writer!! i'm not sure if you're taking requests rn (if you're not, ignore this hahaha) but i saw a post somewhere saying that when spencer is in love he loses the sense of direction 😭 we saw moments like those with lila and maeve (like he starts walking but then it's the wrong direction <33) and i was thinking about that with bau!reader!! they're on a case and he gets distracted by her and starts walking on the opposite direction or says something wrong and the team is all like??? because he never gets things wrong and maybe morgan teases him or something like that

sorry for the veryyyy long message!! i just thought it could be so cute, and you would write it perfectly!! obviously if you want to write it in a different way it's okay, i would be happy if you wrote it (but again, if you're not feeling it it's completely okay!! 💗) thank you and have a good day :))

Thank you sweetness <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 539 words

There’s an eyelash on your cheek. You’re staring at the board, and your lips are all pursed, and you’re sitting forward on your elbows, and there’s an eyelash on your cheek. Spencer has no idea how you haven’t noticed it, sitting there with both ends curled upward, precipitous on the curve of your cheekbone.

You’re saying something to Hotch about the overly gruesome nature of the case, how it points to a connection with the victims. Your cheek moves as you talk. The eyelash looks like it should be a breath away from falling off, and yet it stays stubbornly in place. Spencer really, really wants to get it for you. It’d be such a tiny gesture, the quick brush of his finger underneath your eye, so brief no one would have the chance to question it. He wonders if you believe in wishing on eyelashes. He’s seen you throw salt over your shoulder more than once, but you claim it’s more a habit from childhood than actual superstition. Still, you’re more a romantic than you like to let on. But the origin of the salt tossing is more rooted in Christianity, Spencer thinks, whereas the practice of wishing on eyelashes is more recent and often suspected to be rooted in Paganism. It supposedly emerged only in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when someone in the British isles spread word that blowing an eyelash off your finger was the equivalent of blowing away the Devil, and eventually the belief morphed into good luck and wishes. Spencer wonders what you’d wish for. 

“And it’s pretty clear what this is hailing to.” Prentiss’ voice is weary. 

“Paganism,” Spencer says quietly, absentmindedly.

“What?” 

Spencer blinks, returning to the room to find the entire table has turned to look at him. “Sorry, I—I was thinking about something else.” He glances at the board. “Jack the Ripper. The degree of mutilation is the same.” 

“Right,” Hotch says, instantly back on task. “And if we’re right, he’s going to act again soon. Wheels up in twenty.” 

Spencer picks up his bag, but doesn’t leave the room. “Hey,” he says as you stand, stepping closer to you. “You’ve got an eyelash.” 

You blink, almost knocking it askew, but hold still as Spencer brings a hand to your face, brushing it onto his finger. 

Your cheek pushes upwards as you give him a lopsided smile. “Thanks,” you say.

“Wanna make a wish?” 

You make a soft, amused sound. “I don’t believe in that, and I know you don’t either.” But when Spencer holds up his fingertip, you lean forwards anyway. Your mouth purses prettily, a tiny little o, and you blow softly. It’s a small puff of air, but the eyelash whirls off into the air. The both of you track it until it reaches the ground.

You quirk an eyebrow at Spencer as if to say satisfied? and go, passing your hand along his arm fondly as you exit.

Spencer follows after you like you’ve got him on a leash, and it’s only once he’s in Garcia’s office that you say “Do you need something, Spence? I just came to bring Penelope something,” and he realizes he’s completely forgotten where he was supposed to be going.

[determinate-negation]

What is important to understand about that moment was that Zionism was a political choice — not only by western imperial powers, but also by Jewish leadership. They could have fought more strenuously for Jewish immigration to the United States. And a lot of the Zionist leaders actually fought against immigration to the United States. There were a number of stories reported in the Jewish Communist press about how Zionists collaborated with the British and Americans to force Jews to go to Mandate Palestine, when they would have rather gone to the United States, or England. There’s a famous quote by Ernest Bevin, the British Foreign Secretary, who said the only reason the United States sent Jews to Palestine was ​“because they do not want too many more of them in New York.” And the Zionists agreed with this.

While this may seem like ancient history, it is important because it disrupts the common sense surrounding Israel’s formation. ​“Yes, maybe there could have been peace between Jews and Palestinians, but the Holocaust made all of that impossible.” And I would say that this debate after 1945 shows that there was a long moment in which there were other possibilities, and another future could have happened

[…]

Question: Who or what is responsible for the erasure of this history of Jewish, left anti-Zionism?

I wouldn’t blame the erasure solely on the Soviet Union or Zionism, because we also have to think of the Cold War and how the Cold War destroyed the old Jewish left, and really drove it underground and shattered its organizations. So I think we also have to see how the turn toward Zionism was understood as something that would normalize Jews in a post-war era.

With the execution of the Rosenbergs, the Red Scare of the late 1940s and ​’50s, and the virtual banning of the Communist Party, which had been throughout the 1930s and ​’40s half Jewish, for much of the Jewish establishment, aligning themselves with American imperialism was a way for Jews to normalize their presence in the United States. And hopefully that moment has to some degree passed. We can see the emptiness and barrenness of aligning ourselves with an American imperial project, with people like Bari Weiss and Jared Kushner. Why would someone like Bari Weiss, who describes herself as liberal, want to align herself with the most reactionary forces in American life?

It’s a bloody matrix of assimilation and whiteness that emerged out of the Cold War suburbanization of the 1950s. Israel was part of that devil’s bargain. Yes, you can become real Americans: You can go to good U.S. universities, you can join the suburbs, enter into the mainstream of American life, as long as you do this one little thing for us, which is back the American Empire. Hopefully, with the emergence of new grassroots organizations in the United States, among Jews and non-Jews who are questioning the U.S. role supporting Zionism, this calculus can begin to change. With the rise of Jewish Voice for Peace, IfNotNow, the Democratic Socialists of America and the Movement for Black Lives all taking a serious stance against U.S. support for Zionism, the common sense in the Jewish community has begun to move in a different direction, particularly among the younger generation. The battle is very far from over, but it makes me just a little optimistic about the future.”

- The Forgotten History of the Jewish Anti-Zionist Left

[atlasthegreatest]

A Game of Hearts and Ruins / Lara Croft x Indiana Jones! Male Reader

Which, Lara Croft crosses paths with Y/n Jones, a charming archaeologist and long-time rival, while both pursue the same ancient artifact.

Word count: 4788

The midday sun blazed mercilessly over the dense jungles of Cambodia, where the ancient ruins of a forgotten temple slept beneath layers of tangled vines and centuries of dust. Lara Croft crouched low on the edge of a broken stone pillar, her eyes scanning the scene ahead. She’d heard rumors of rare artifacts hidden within these ruins—legendary relics of power that would be a thrilling addition to her private collection. However, she wasn’t alone in the pursuit.

The soft crunch of a boot on fallen leaves caught her ear. Without looking, she smirked, already knowing who it was.

“Late as usual, Croft,” came a smooth, confident voice behind her.

Lara rose to her feet, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “If I were late, Jones, you wouldn’t have needed to follow me here.”

Standing a few feet away was Dr. Y/n Jones—a fellow British adventurer and archaeologist with a devil-may-care grin, ruffled hair, and an insufferable twinkle in his eyes. He wore a worn leather jacket over a white shirt and khaki trousers, looking every inch the reckless explorer he was. His belt was loaded with tools, and a coiled whip hung from his hip, further adding to his roguish charm.

Y/n’s grin widened as he tucked his hands casually in his pockets. “Follow you? I was here first, love. Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch up.”

Lara tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Jones.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “And you’ve always been terrible at admitting when you’ve met your match.”

Lara felt the spark between them, that familiar current of playful rivalry. This wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths on an expedition—nor the first time their competition had made things complicated. They both thrived on adventure, danger, and the thrill of outwitting each other. It was a game they loved to play, though neither would ever admit just how much they enjoyed the other’s company.

“Still planning to raid the temple alone?” Y/n asked, sauntering closer. “Or do you want to call it a truce and split the prize?”

“Please,” Lara replied, crossing her arms. “I don’t need help. Besides, we both know you’d try to take the lion’s share.”

Y/n grinned. “Of course. It’s what I do best.”

Lara turned on her heel, making her way deeper into the ruins without another word. Y/n followed, as she knew he would. They were drawn together like magnets—constantly orbiting, occasionally colliding, but never fully able to walk away from each other.

Inside the temple, the air grew cooler, filled with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. The maze of narrow corridors twisted in every direction, and both explorers moved in practiced silence, each determined to outpace the other.

Lara was quick, slipping through narrow gaps and climbing crumbled walls with the grace of a cat. Y/n stayed close, his every move fluid and calculated, as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Tell me something, Croft,” Y/n said as they entered a massive hall, its ceiling carved with faded murals of long-forgotten gods. “What’s your fascination with these relics? Is it the history, or just the thrill of stealing them before anyone else can?”

Lara shot him a sideways glance. “And what’s yours? Looking to get rich or just eager to impress me?”

Y/n chuckled. “Can’t it be both?”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. Y/n’s charm was infuriating, mostly because she found it oddly… endearing. But she wasn’t about to let that distract her. They reached the center of the hall, where a large pedestal stood. On it rested a golden amulet, glimmering in the dim light. Both of them stopped at the same moment, eyes locked on their prize.

“Shall we call it a tie?” Y/n suggested, his voice low and teasing.

“Not a chance.”

In a blur of movement, both lunged for the amulet at the same time. Lara’s fingers brushed the metal, but Y/n’s hand was already there, closing over hers.

“Not so fast,” he whispered, standing far too close.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, their faces inches apart. Lara could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the chase.

“Careful, Jones,” she murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper.

For a moment, the tension between them shifted. What had started as playful competition now felt like something far more dangerous? It was as if all the stolen glances, the teasing words, and the shared adventures had been leading to this exact moment.

Then, with a sly grin, Lara twisted her hand free and snatched the amulet. “Better luck next time.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound that echoed through the ancient hall. “You’re impossible, Croft.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping the amulet into her pouch.

Y/n shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, one of these days, I’ll beat you to it.”

“I doubt that,” Lara shot back, her expression smug but playful.

They made their way out of the temple side by side, their footsteps light and their conversation even lighter. For all the rivalry between them, neither could deny the thrill they felt in each other’s presence—the way their hearts raced not just from the danger, but from the sheer joy of being together.

As they reached the jungle clearing where they’d first crossed paths, Y/n gave her a sidelong glance. “What do you say, Croft? Same time, same place next month?”

Lara smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. “We’ll see. If you can keep up.”

Y/n reached out and brushed a stray leaf from her shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. “I always do.”

And with that, they parted ways once again—two souls bound by adventure, rivalry, and something neither of them was quite ready to name. But as they disappeared into the wilderness, each knew the truth: the next time they met, it wouldn’t just be artifacts they were chasing.

————————

Several weeks later, the humid jungles of South America set the stage for their next encounter. Lara had tracked down rumors of a jade mask—an ancient relic tied to a pre-Columbian civilization, said to grant prophetic visions to its wearer. The mask was hidden somewhere deep within a forgotten temple, buried beneath layers of rock and a thick rainforest canopy.

As she approached the vine-choked entrance, a voice echoed through the foliage, smug and familiar.

“You know, Croft, you’re starting to make this too easy.”

Lara turned to find Y/n Jones leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed, his whip coiled at his side. His grin was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and the sun caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had somehow beaten her to the site—again.

“Following me across continents now, Jones?” Lara asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had an admirer.”

Y/n pushed off the tree and strolled closer, his expression full of playful arrogance. “Who says I was following? Maybe I just know you better than you think.”

Lara gave a scoff, though her lips curled into a slight smile. Their rivalry had become a dance—one they both enjoyed far more than they admitted.

“Then you must know I don’t intend to let you take that mask,” she said, brushing past him toward the temple entrance.

Y/n’s grin widened as he followed at her side. “Tell you what—how about we make things interesting this time? Whoever gets the mask first wins.”

“And what’s the prize?” Lara asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

Y/n leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Winner picks the next adventure. Loser buys the drinks.”

Lara let out a quiet chuckle, her heart skipping a beat despite herself. “Hope you’re ready to part with some cash.”

Y/n’s laugh followed her into the darkness of the temple, a deep, infectious sound that made her chest feel annoyingly warm.

Inside the temple, they fell into their usual rhythm—both racing against each other and the ticking clock of hidden traps. The ruins were riddled with dead ends, collapsing pathways and intricately designed puzzles meant to keep intruders at bay.

Lara slipped through tight spaces with feline grace, while Y/n used his whip to swing over bottomless pits and climb crumbling walls. They traded banter along the way, their words light but carrying the weight of something unspoken.

“You know, Croft, one day your luck is going to run out,” Y/n said, watching her disable a complex trap with practiced ease.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Lara replied, glancing back at him with a playful smirk. “Just skill—and better instincts than yours.”

Y/n chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “We’ll see about that.”

They reached the heart of the temple at the same time—a grand chamber with towering statues and an altar at the center, upon which rested the jade mask. It gleamed under a shaft of sunlight that cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Both adventurers slowed their pace, eyes locked on the artifact. For a moment, neither moved, as if testing the other’s resolve.

“Ladies first?” Y/n offered the smirk on his lips suggesting he was anything but sincere.

Lara scoffed. “Chivalry doesn’t suit you.”

And just like that, they were in motion—both of them darting toward the mask. Y/n’s whip lashed out, aiming to knock the artifact into his hand, but Lara anticipated the move and dodged. With a roll and a leap, she reached the altar first, fingers grazing the jade surface.

But Y/n was faster than she expected. His hand closed over hers—just like before—and they both froze, breathing hard from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

Lara looked up, meeting Y/n’s gaze. His face was inches from hers, and for a moment, all the teasing banter, all the playful rivalry, melted away. She felt the steady rhythm of his breath and smelled the faint scent of leather and earth on his jacket.

“You’re predictable, Jones,” she whispered, her voice softer than before.

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured in return, his hand still resting lightly over hers.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—caught between the thrill of competition and the pull of something deeper. Neither was willing to admit it aloud, but in these stolen moments, the game they played felt less like a rivalry and more like something… inevitable.

Y/n’s lips quirked into a slow, teasing smile. “You always this competitive on dates, Croft?”

“This isn’t a date,” Lara replied, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

And then, before she could think twice, Lara made her move. She shifted her weight, used Y/n’s balance against him, and twisted free with the jade mask in hand.

“Better luck next time,” she said, throwing him a playful wink as she tucked the mask into her satchel.

Y/n stared after her, half-exasperated, half-impressed. “You’re going to be the death of me, Croft.”

“Maybe,” Lara called over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. “But you’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Y/n laughed, shaking his head as he followed her out of the temple. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, the jungle buzzing with life around them, he caught up to her once again.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Since I lost, I suppose the drinks are on me.”

Lara shot him a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth curling into a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/n grinned, something warm and knowing flickering in his eyes. “And next time?”

Lara gave a light shrug, though her heart was already racing at the thought of their next adventure. “Same stakes. Same rules.”

“Good,” Y/n murmured, his voice laced with promise. “Because I have a feeling our best adventures are still ahead.”

And with that, they disappeared into the jungle once more—two rivals bound by danger, drawn together by something far more powerful than either of them could resist.

——————-

Lara and Y/n didn’t part ways for long. Just a few weeks later, they found themselves standing in the shadows of the Atlas Mountains, on the outskirts of a Berber village. Their latest quarry was the Scarab of Anhur, an ancient amulet believed to bring victory in battle. A collector in Marrakesh had offered an obscene sum to acquire it, but neither Lara nor Y/n needed the money. For them, the scarab was just another excuse to outmaneuver each other—and perhaps, neither of them could stay away.

They stood together near the entrance of a remote tomb, surrounded by jagged cliffs and the endless stretch of desert sky. The sun was sinking low, casting long golden beams across the rocky landscape.

“So, what’s the plan this time?” Y/n asked with a grin as he adjusted his whip. “We race to the artifact, you leave me in a pit, and I show up at the bar later like nothing happened?”

Lara smirked, brushing dust off her cargo pants. “That does sound familiar.”

“You wound me, Croft.” Y/n placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I thought we were building trust.”

“Trust?” Lara echoed, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t trust, Y/n—it’s foreplay.”

The words hung between them, thick with implication. Y/n’s smirk faltered for just a second, his eyes darkening with something that wasn’t entirely amusement.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quieter now, “or one of these days, you might get in over your head.”

Lara leaned closer, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I doubt it.”

They stood like that for a moment, caught in the web of tension and teasing that had been growing between them since their first encounter. There was no denying it now—their rivalry was more than just a game. It was a dangerous dance, one that neither of them knew how to stop.

Inside the tomb, the temperature dropped sharply, the cool air heavy with centuries of silence. The walls were adorned with faded carvings of ancient battles, and the narrow corridor stretched deep into the earth. They walked side by side, the sound of their boots echoing in the stillness.

“So, why do you do it?” Y/n asked after a while, breaking the silence. “Chasing after these things. The artifacts, the temples… What’s the endgame, Croft?”

Lara shrugged, her flashlight beam dancing over the walls. “It’s not about the end. It’s about the journey. The discovery.”

“And the thrill of beating me to the prize, I imagine?”Y/n teased, though his gaze softened as he looked at her.

Lara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “That’s just a bonus.”

They reached a large chamber, the heart of the tomb. At the center, atop a pedestal carved with intricate hieroglyphs, lay the Scarab of Anhur. The golden amulet shimmered faintly, untouched for centuries.

Lara’s pulse quickened.

Y/n, ever-watchful, moved closer. “Shall we flip a coin this time, or are we sticking with ‘winner takes all’?”

Lara shot him a sly grin. “What fun would a coin toss be?”

Without another word, they both moved toward the pedestal—two shadows racing against each other through time.

Y/n was quick, but Lara was quicker. She reached the scarab just as Y/n lunged forward, and once again, their hands collided over the artifact. For a moment, they stood frozen, breathing hard, faces close enough to feel the warmth of the other’s skin.

“Déjà vu,” Y/n whispered, his voice low and rough.

Lara looked up, her eyes locking with his. This time, there was no witty remark, no teasing banter. Just the steady hum of adrenaline and something far more dangerous—something that had been building between them for too long.

And then, before she could stop herself, Lara leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but it was electric. The moment their lips met, the tension that had simmered between them for so long ignited into a blaze. Y/n responded without hesitation, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their hearts pounding in unison.

“Well,” Y/n said, his voice husky with surprise, “that was… unexpected.”

Lara’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But it’s been a long time coming.”

Y/n’s grin returned, softer this time. “No arguments here.”

The scarab glimmered between them, forgotten for the moment. The prize didn’t seem quite as important anymore—not compared to what they had just discovered.

Lara cleared her throat, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “So… what now?”

Y/n shrugged, his grin turning lazy and affectionate. “We could fight over the scarab. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or,” Y/n said, slipping an arm around her waist, “we could call it a draw. Just this once.”

Lara chuckled, a rare sound that made Y/n’s heart skip a beat. “You’re getting soft, Beckett.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just realized that beating you isn’t the prize I want.”

Lara looked at him, the amusement in her gaze giving way to something deeper. For the first time, the lines between rivalry and affection blurred beyond recognition, and she found she didn’t mind.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand lightly. “Let’s get out of here before we both regret this.”

Y/n grinned, following her toward the exit. “Regret? Never.”

As they made their way back through the tomb, side by side, the weight of the scarab in Lara’s satchel felt lighter than it should have. For once, the artifact wasn’t the victory she cared about.

And maybe, just maybe, the adventure they’d found together was only just beginning.

Bonus chapter:

The bonfire crackled warmly in the moonlit desert night, casting flickering shadows over the sand. Lara sat cross-legged on a blanket, sipping whiskey from a battered flask, the glow of the fire soft against her bronzed skin. The day’s adventure—their narrow escape from collapsing ruins—had left them both exhausted but exhilarated. Across from her, Y/n Jones reclined against his rucksack, his leather jacket thrown carelessly aside, hair mussed, and a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

“This almost feels… domestic,” Y/n teased, raising a brow as he accepted the flask from Lara.

Lara gave him a smirk. “If your idea of domestic includes dodging spike traps, solving ancient riddles, and nearly being buried alive, then sure—domestic.”

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and easy, sending a warmth through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. He tipped the flask to his lips and took a slow drink, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace, but I’d say it’s the perfect evening. After all, I’ve got the stars, good company…” He shot her a playful look. “And the fact that I didn’t lose—entirely—today.”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t win either, Jones.”

Y/n leaned closer, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, that familiar spark lighting between them once again. “Well, if it’s a draw, I say we call it a victory for both of us.”

“Ever the optimist,” Lara said, though there was no bite in her tone.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a while, the night wrapping around them in a quiet embrace. The stars stretched endlessly overhead, and the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind against the dunes.

For once, Lara wasn’t thinking about ancient artifacts or dangerous tombs. She wasn’t planning her next move or trying to stay one step ahead. For once, she was simply here—sharing the moment with someone who understood the same restless hunger for adventure, the same need to keep moving, always chasing something just out of reach.

“Do you ever think about it?” Y/n asked suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Lara glanced at him. “Think about what?”

“Stopping,” he said, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. “Walking away from all of this. The treasure hunts, the danger, the endless competition.”

Lara considered the question, surprised by how serious it sounded coming from him. She’d spent her entire life running toward the next adventure, always searching for the next discovery. But now, sitting here with Y/n, the idea didn’t seem as foreign—or as impossible—as it once had.

“And do what?” she asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, his smile lazy but genuine. “I don’t know. Open a bar in Marrakesh? Start a museum somewhere quiet?” He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes warm and knowing. “Maybe find someone to share it with.”

Lara’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression cool. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself. “And if you had to bet on it—how long do you think we’d last in that quiet life?”

Y/n laughed, the sound rich and full of mischief. “A week. Maybe two.”

“Generous,” Lara said with a chuckle.

Y/n leaned back on his elbows, watching her with a gaze that made her feel as though he could see past every wall she’d ever built. “But we’d have fun trying, wouldn’t we?”

Lara smiled—a real smile, not the half-smirks she usually gave. “Yeah, Jones. We would.”

They stayed by the fire long after the flames began to die, sharing stories from old adventures, moments they hadn’t told anyone else. Y/n told her about the time he’d gotten trapped in a Bolivian cave with only a compass and a bottle of rum to his name. Lara recounted a narrow escape from pirates off the coast of Madagascar.

Somewhere along the way, the space between them disappeared.

Lara didn’t remember exactly when Y/n shifted closer, or when she stopped pretending to mind. All she knew was that his hand brushed hers, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

The kiss that followed was slow, unhurried—different from the adrenaline-fueled kiss they’d shared in the tomb. This one was deliberate, a promise made under the open sky, without the pressure of stolen moments or looming danger.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and rough. “I hate to admit it, but I think I might be falling for you, Croft.”

Lara’s heart hammered in her chest, but she met his gaze without flinching. “Then you’d better keep up, Jones.”

Y/n grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

Morning came too soon, and with it, the pull of the next adventure. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cool dawn air nipped at their skin.

Lara rose first, brushing sand from her pants and adjusting her gear. Y/n followed, slinging his pack over his shoulder with an easy grin.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her as they made their way across the dunes, “where to next?”

Lara glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with that familiar glint of mischief. “There’s a legend about a lost temple in the Himalayas. Supposedly, it holds a relic that grants eternal youth.”

Y/n chuckled. “You think we’ll beat the odds and live forever?”

Lara gave him a playful smirk. “I wouldn’t bet against us.”

And with that, they set off into the rising sun—two explorers, two hearts bound by adventure and something far more precious than any treasure they could ever find.

Because for Lara Croft and Y/n Jones, the real prize wasn’t the artifacts or the glory. It was the journey. And as long as they had each other, the adventure would never end.

———————

A month later, the frigid winds of the Himalayas howled around them as they clung to a cliff face. Far below, jagged rocks peeked through a blanket of snow, promising a swift end to anyone careless enough to misstep. But the danger was nothing new to Lara Croft and Y/n Jones.

“Still think eternal youth is worth it?” Y/n called over the roar of the wind, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face.

Lara smirked, planting her ice axe into the frozen rock. “You afraid of a little cold, Jones?”

Y/n huffed. “No, just making sure you don’t lose your edge.” He swung his body forward, driving his own axe into the ice next to hers.

They had chased the myth of the Temple of Shambala through ancient maps, local rumors, and narrow escapes from rival treasure hunters. Now, only a few hundred feet separated them from the summit—and the legendary temple said to be hidden beneath the glacier.

Y/n reached the ledge first, pulling himself up with a grunt. He turned and offered Lara a hand. “Come on, Croft. I’d hate to have to rescue you at the last minute.”

Lara raised an eyebrow but took his hand, letting him help her up. “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”

Y/n grinned, tugging her close for just a moment, their faces inches apart. “Not in a million years.”

The entrance to the temple was hidden beneath layers of thick ice, but Lara had spotted faint carvings—indications of a doorway. Together, they set to work, their ice axes clanging rhythmically against the frozen surface.

When the ancient stone door finally cracked open, a rush of warm, stagnant air escaped from within, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside.

“After you,” Y/n said with a mock bow, sweeping his arm toward the dark passage.

Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “So much for chivalry being dead.”

The temple was vast, its cavernous halls shimmering with ancient ice that glowed a ghostly blue. Enormous statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their faces serene as they gazed down on the two explorers. The floor beneath their boots crunched with frost, and the air was heavy with centuries of silence.

“This place is unreal,” Y/n whispered, running a hand along one of the statues.

Lara nodded, captivated by the beauty of it all. But she knew better than to let awe distract her for long. “Keep your eyes open. If the legends are true, there’ll be traps.”

As they ventured deeper into the temple, they found more signs of its ancient purpose—symbols of renewal, carvings of stars and moons, and murals depicting pilgrims drinking from a golden chalice. At the heart of the temple, beneath a dome carved with constellations, they found what they had been seeking.

The Chalice of Shambala sat atop a pedestal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

Y/n gave a low whistle. “That’s it?”

Lara approached it cautiously, her eyes scanning the room for any hidden mechanisms. “Be careful. If the myths are right, that thing grants eternal youth—but only if it deems you worthy.”

Y/n raised a skeptical brow. “And what happens if it doesn’t?”

“Let’s not find out,” Lara murmured.

They approached the chalice together, their hands brushing as they reached for it. Neither spoke, but the weight of what they had shared over the past few months hung between them.

Y/n broke the silence first. “You know, Croft… If this thing works, we could keep doing this forever. Adventure after adventure. Just you and me.”

Lara looked at him, her expression softening. “Forever, huh?”

“Think you could stand me that long?” Y/n asked, his grin playful but his gaze sincere.

Lara hesitated, her hand hovering over the chalice. For once, the temptation wasn’t the treasure—it was the thought of what came next. She realized she didn’t want a life without him, whether it lasted fifty years or five centuries.

With a small, mischievous smile, she pulled her hand away. “I think I’d rather grow old with you.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his grin returned, warmer than the firelight on a desert night. “Well, Croft, that might just be the best treasure I’ve found yet.”

Lara rolled her eyes, though her heart swelled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before this place decides to kill us.”

Y/n grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they turned toward the exit. “Lead the way, Croft. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And with that, they left the chalice untouched, their footsteps echoing through the ancient halls as they walked hand in hand toward the next great adventure—one filled not just with danger and discovery, but with each other.

Because in the end, they realized, it wasn’t the promise of eternal youth that mattered. It was the journey—and the person they chose to share it with.

[qqueenofhades]

top ten non-fiction (general) books and top ten history books?

Naturally, whenever I volunteer to talk about books, I completely forget everything I have ever read, but we'll try to overcome this. Since it is impossible for me to pick them from all-time, I'll do this list from what I have recently read and enjoyed, including both nonfiction and history specifically since most of these fit that bill somehow:

Society of the Snow by Pablo Vierci. Just finished this last night, and it's the source material for the Netflix film of the same name, of the 1972 plane crash of an Uruguayan rugby team in the Andes and their incredible survival odyssey. If you've seen the film, you know how harrowing and also incredibly moving it is.

Pretty much anything by David Grann, including The Wager, Killers of the Flower Moon, Lost City of Z, etc. The Wager is his newest one, though people may have heard of Killers of the Flower Moon, but they're all good. He's up there with Erik Larson as one of my favorite writers of utterly gripping and novelistic nonfiction.

Speaking of Erik Larson: pretty much anything by, including Dead Wake, The Splendid and the Vile, In the Garden of Beasts, etc. Most people will have heard of and/or read Devil in the White City, but his other stuff is equally good. His newest, The Demon of Unrest, is a bit slower than some of the others IMHO, but it's also about the beginning of the Civil War and the crisis at Fort Sumter and is important reading in our current perilous moment.

Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster on the Edge of Space by Adam Higginbotham. A forensic and incredibly detailed history of the Challenger space shuttle disaster in 1986.

A Travel Guide to the Middle Ages, by Anthony Bale. This is an entertaining and readable introduction to mobility in the Middle Ages: who traveled, where they went, what they thought, and how they reacted and wrote about the other cultures they encountered, from both east and west. Definitely a good entry point for the layman who has heard the "medieval people never traveled/went anywhere" stereotype and knows it's wrong, but wants to know more HOW.

Into the Silence: Mallory, the Great War, and the Conquest of Everest by Wade Davis. Another incredibly detailed doorstopper history book that reads like a novel, exploring 19th-century British imperialism in Asia, the race to climb Mount Everest, the Great War, and more.

Emperor of Rome and SPQR by Mary Beard. These are both incredibly accessible starting points for studying Rome, written by a renowned classicist with a knack for making her historical material and concepts easy to understand and entertaining. Don't be put off by the length of either of these, as they read easily.

The Wide Wide Sea and The Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides. The former is his newest book, about the last voyage of Captain Cook, and the latter is my favorite of his other books, about the 19th-century USS Jeannette polar expedition. He is a writer of incredible skill, thoughtfulness, and detail in handling subjects of empire, exploration, colonialism, maritime history, and adventure.

Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty, by Patrick Raddon O'Keefe. A compelling, disturbing, mesmerizing, and infuriating account of the Sackler family, the creation of OxyContin, and the opioid epidemic in America.

Master Slave Husband Wife, by Ilyon Woo. Now, this one is a bit cheating since I haven't actually read it yet (it's on hold at the library), but it's won the Pulitzer Prize for history so I'm fairly sure it's going to be good. It's about 19th century slaves-turned-abolitionists William and Ellen Craft and their race- and gender-bending journey to freedom and anti-slavery activism.

[b0g-b0y]

I vomited this out in 30 min. Not good not bad just meh.

Ghost x m reader. (Shadow company)

Love You More

His eyes scanned the bigger man, it’s been so long since he’d seen Ghost. He used to work with shadow from time to time but Ghost wasn’t a solo man anymore as he joined 141. The memory of Ghost's face still stranded the hallway. The memory of his clothes, weighing on a hanger. Y/n remember that time as they were something but not together it weighed on his heart like a garden that never grew.

The way Y/n saw Ghost looked at soap hurt, why was he so jealous?

Eventually brought out of his thoughts as Y/n overheard Gaz and Soap spit out an insult about shadow company.” Nothing but we dogs they are. Not to be trusted might as well put them down” Y/n overheard one of them say. But not a word fell from Ghost's lips, it stung how he expected Ghost to pipe up and say they were not all bad. But those lines never fell from the man’s lips. Just a small chuckle.

Later that night Y/n found Ghost taking a smoke late at night. Taking the opportunity to light up his own cigarette. “ Simon… how have you been?” Y/n spoke with a small crack in their voice. “ Been good.” Ghost replied with a short gruff response. The memory of Simon stroking their hair in bed together and Simon's deep voice softly speaking that “ I’d never hurt you.” But why did that feel like a lie, what changed so much in their relationship. “ Do you hate me?” Y/n spoke as smoke fell from his lips. “ No more. Y/n. No more of this whatever we had.” Before Ghost could continue Y/n spoke up. “ I’m not Graves! So you and everyone need to stop treating me like a damn devil. I’m not Philip! And I didn’t call out those orders…” Y/n snapped clearly he’s been stuck in his head a lot recently. “ But you’re his damn dog Y/n! You're at his heels the moment he speaks.” Ghost growled. As he throughout his cigarette. “ Fine, throw away whatever you want. You're just what you said you were. You're dead from this world. “ Y/n spoke bitterly. “ I will always care for you more, even if you don’t believe me you know my loyalty is true.” Y/n's heart screamed for him to confess that he more than cared about the British man.

As days passed Y/n stayed awake hoping Ghost would come in his door. But it was never that way it seemed like it never would be like that again. Maybe he was just a dog meant to be put to sleep. Again it seemed whenever Y/n made progress of getting over Ghost he would run into him again.

Shadow Company was meant to lend a hand to 141. But just like last time things went south, how did it come to this? How did it come to this, how was Y/n sitting in an empty room with cracked walls holding his side as he felt warm liquid fall down his hand and drip onto the floor. He didn’t remember, he couldn’t remember.

Y/n's eyes felt hazy; he could barely see the figures that rushed through the door. The faint blur of a skull mask brought a small smile to his cracked lips. However he didn’t recognize the other blur next to him.

His dark brown eyes bored into Y/ns e/c eyes. “ You can tell me I’m to blame if you say you’ll stay for sure.” Y/n said as his words fell from his mouth without thinking. “I feel all the same. I will always love you more.” Y/n's voice broke as he held onto the sleeve of Ghost. “ You’ll be okay Y/n, stop speaking nonsense you’ve gone mad yeah?” Ghost spoke with a panic hidden in his voice. But it was too late and things went dark.

That garden they would have talked about would never happen. That garden would never grow, not now, not ever.

Soap put a hand and Ghost's shoulder. “ Ghost, mate it’s ok he’s just a shadow company member just a merc. Let him go.” The Scottish man spoke. “ He’s more than that Soap it’s complicated… Soap he loved me for me and I turned my back on him, I promised I’d never… I promised I’d never hurt him. I promised so much. It doesn’t matter who he bloody belongs to.” Ghost snapped. Soaps browse frowned. “ He was right he will alway love me more” Ghost said as his voice cracked.

New furniture cracked from no contact

And the garden, it never grew.

[thenightshadowqueen]

SFTH moments that live rent-free in my head, part 2 (in no particular order)

Because apparently I have more.

“Mmm, but I’m poison and you love it”

Creepy Jim 🏳️‍🌈

The hat-nose letter

“STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAAAWWWW!!!”

Sam losing his fucking mind during the expert game in HUGE

“Mr. André Beetroot, you’re my hero!” “Ah, I don’t like you.”

Luke as the horny goblin

Tom’s whole speech as Locomotion—it was so fucking gorgeous and it’s in my head all the time (especially “I’m older than the devil, sir” and “I am the Silver Line and the Silver Line is me!”)

“Don’t let the constant mental breakdowns get you down.”

The bit in the Suspicious Crème Brûlée where Sam yanks Luke around by his hair

“AJ stays with Luke…” (I’m sorry in advance for getting this stuck in your head)

Luke taking his trousers off in Nigel (and then using that to get Tom to do it in My First Bra)

“Lovely little Luke Manning!”

AJ’s rap about Disney princesses (Worst thing I’ve ever seen. 10/10.)

Tom holding up a fucking buttplug during one of the COVID livestreams????? (Also I can’t for the life of me remember which one it was and if anyone knows that would be very appreciated because I’m half-convinced it was a fever dream)

“Gavin, obviously there’s a difference.” (I don’t know what it is, but the way Tom says it has captivated me)

The Jane Austen bit in West End Big Boys

“Grab her by the face and DON’T LET GO! Because sometimes they run away and LEAVE YOU!”

“I’m just a writer, and I like to ride bikes. I’m not weird, I’m not strange; I enjoy juices, and I have a good family.”

“When the wind doth blow/to and fro/you must get your shit together/and fuck up them hoes”

The kiss in the prom Timewarp, and especially the way AJ and Tom were cheering them on

Also the kiss in the “what not to do with your coworkers” video, because the way Luke throws three of his limbs in the air at once is glorious

“Husband! Husband!” “Oh, darling, you’ve been down in the basement—” “The chinchilla’s a FUCKING NAZI!”

Sam calling AJ “CrossFit Voldemort”

On that note, “He looked a little bit like Henry Cavill if he had a wasting disease” (and Tom’s little sassy head movement in response)

“You’re keeping me on tenterhooks, like a piece of sirloin.”

The scene Tom and Sam did for Tom’s anniversary

“The camper the German, the more likely they are to win.”

“You said it was water under the bridge.” “Aye, and you know what’s good at drowning people?”

Giggly Luke from Hornchurch

The booba looba (and AJ’s glorious reaction to it)

“Can I call you Tony?” “You can, but my name’s David.” (“So, Tony—”)

Jackson from the COVID livestreams (“Sit in the well-done corner and just shut up.”)

Sam’s fucking apocalypse plan (which is still in my head despite my best efforts)

“I just wanted to have the talk.” “The talk? The boob talk?” “The boob talk that all women must have with their mothers.”

The wife from the casino scene (it’s the accent)

“Do you need a lie-down?” “I thought I already was.”

“Larger than a man, smaller than a dream”

Moriarty-Sherlock mental fuck chess

“Capitalism is blood!” “CHANGE!” “Communism is yoghurt!”

Tom bring an absolute menace during Puppets

“God bless the British Transport Police” (said in the most ‘what am I doing with my life’ voice I’ve ever heard)

“Stay on your stool bitch boy”

“Get your hand out of my car”

[umlewis]

Lewis Hamilton: I've Struggled With Depression From A Very Early Age

From Formula One glory to making a film with Brad Pitt, at 39, the sports star is more successful than ever. It's been tough, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sir Lewis Hamilton is the most successful Formula 1 driver in history, with 105 (at the time of writing) grand prix victories to his name, as well as seven championships and a knighthood in 2021. What makes this achievement even more extraordinary is Hamilton's background. He is the first and only black man to race in F1, a sport dominated by the gilded progeny of wealthy white families. A child of mixed heritage-his father, Anthony, is of Grenadian descent; his mother, Carmen, is a white woman from Birmingham-Hamilton was partly raised on a council estate in Stevenage, his family sacrificing so much to get him to the track. "I am grateful I had that experience. I remember not having any money. I remember the struggle of my parents. I feel that's an advantage," he says. "Did you fight harder on the track because it was so tough for you to get there," I ask. "One thousand per cent," he replies. We are meeting at the Kensington Roof Gardens (Hamilton has a home in London, as well as Monaco, Geneva, Colorado and New York). He is a vision in expensive beige: Maison Margiela slacks, chunky Bottega Veneta boots, a Dries Van Noten cardigan, Dior bracelets, Cartier rings, a pearl necklace he bought online, twinkly little studs, one for each side of his nose, his hands a collage of geometric tattoos. But his love of fashion goes beyond amassing a "dream" wardrobe. He has collaborated with Tommy Hilfiger on several collections and has just been made guest designer at Dior, for whom he has a debut collection coming this autumn, the palette for which was inspired by his travels in Africa, particularly Nigeria. Hamilton agrees it's a busy time for him. At the end of this season he will be moving to Ferrari, after twelve years with Mercedes. "It's been a rollercoaster of emotions from the moment I signed the contract. Telling my boss, that was terrifying. But it's so exciting because I remember as a kid watching Michael. Every driver watches that car and you're like, 'What would it be like to sit in the red cockpit?'" He is a quiet presence, boyish almost, despite his 39 years. He uses euphemisms for swearwords such as "frick" and "shoot." He doesn't drink, is "plant-based," and loves hanging out with his nieces and nephew, playing Uno and Fortnite, chucking them about in the pool on holiday. "I'm really good with the kids," he says, setting aside his oat latte. "With them I feel like I'm able to be the kid that I am."

Hamilton's own childhood was not so carefree. His parents separated when he was two, his father meeting his new wife, Linda, at British Rail, where they both worked. Sundays with his dad were spent watching Formula 1. This was the era of the talismanic Brazilian driver Ayrton Senna, Hamilton's hero. It was during a holiday in Ibiza that he first got in a go-kart. "I was hooked," he says. "The adrenaline, the chaos, trying to control it. You feel it in your chest, your emotions, through your fingers, everything." Hamilton's dad bought him a kart for Christmas when he was eight. "I think he just wanted something to do with me, this kid that had all this energy, that had no fear." He describes himself, back then, as a "Tasmanian devil," a child who didn't enjoy school, who had undiagnosed dyslexia, who was shy - but behind the wheel "something flowed through me. It was the only thing I was confident in." The family began to orientate their existence around Hamilton's racing, his father taking extra jobs, while his stepmum spent all her savings on his new passion. Hamilton won his first race when he was ten. "That was really empowering for me," he says, 'Because I was competing against a lot of wealthier families."

It was also around this time that Senna died, his car crashing into a concrete barrier during the San Marino Grand Prix. "I was with my dad; we were working on the go-kart. I remember going to the front and crying, bawling my eyes out. I couldn't cry in front of my dad. He was not that kind of guy." Hamilton suppressed his grief, in the same way that he suppressed his emotions about the bullying and racism he endured. "There was no escaping it. You experience it at school, in the parks, walking through town. I didn't understand it and my parents never spoke to me about it. They never explained what was going on. My dad was just, 'Keep your head down, hold it in, don't say anything, just beat them on the track, that's all you can do.'" So that was what he did. When Hamilton was thirteen he was offered a place on the McLaren driver development team. His father became his manager, looking after all elements of his career, including finance. "Even when I got to Formula 1, at 22, I had no comprehension of money," he says. Hamilton's first F1 season was in 2007, his first championship win in 2008. But despite all that it gave him, despite his deep love of the sport, of competing, Hamilton found the world of F1 corporate and stifling. There was a requirement to conform, a residual feeling that just one misstep and the opportunities he had been given would be taken away. "It wasn't until I'd had some wins that I started to put my toe out of the box. Each time it was, like, you make one step and that rock's safe, but that next one was wobbly or would fall away. You'd get criticism about how you were presenting yourself. But I kept punching and kept fighting." Racing, like so much competitive sport, can be a lonely business. "You're nice and friendly outside the car," Hamilton says, "but in the car my dad would say you have to be ruthless, aggressive, sharp. In the car there are no friends." He found greater freedom, a sense of belonging and camaraderie, in the fashion world, attending his first show in 2007. "Everyone was wearing what they wanted. You didn't feel like you were being judged because everyone's on their own vibe. It was the first time I got into an environment where everyone was expressing themselves and I loved it."

Hamilton tried to bring some of that creative freedom to his professional life. In 2010 he sacked his father as manager. "Obviously parents try to protect their kids, forever I guess, and some don't want to let go. My dad struggled with that. There was a point when I was like, 'Look, I've done everything you've asked me to do, now let me live my life. I am going to have to make my own mistakes.' That was a really tough process." At the end of the 2012 season he left McLaren for Mercedes. "They gave me a lot more freedom," he says. He became involved in the look of the team, bringing in Hilfiger to help redesign the clothing. "But still if I felt there were wrongdoings, I didn't feel I could speak out." That all changed in 2020, when Hamilton watched a video of the murder of George Floyd by the policeman Derek Chauvin. "The cork popped. It had me on my knees in tears. All this emotion came out. It was such a strange experience because I don't remember crying since I was really young. I knew that I'd had enough, I really needed to speak out. There are people that are staying silent, people that feel voiceless, and I have this platform. Winning championships is an amazing thing, but what are you doing with it? What are you doing with your time on this planet?" These were the questions that Hamilton began asking himself during that pandemic year, which was also when he started meditating. "I would struggle initially to calm my mind, but it's a really great way of getting in touch with myself, my inner feelings, understanding what I want to do." These days he meditates every morning, waking at five, following this with a ten km run, which he sees as an extension of his meditation, a time to have ideas, to clear his mind.

"When I was in my twenties I had some really difficult phases. I mean, I’ve struggled with mental health through my life." What are we talking, I ask. Anxiety, depression? "Depression. From a very early age, when I was, like, thirteen . I think it was the pressure of the racing and struggling at school, the bullying. I had no one to talk to." I ask if he has ever seen a therapist. "I spoke to one woman, years ago, but that wasn't really helpful. I would like to find someone today." He has gone on silent retreats and reads books about mental health, including The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman. "You're learning about things that have been passed down to you from your parents, noticing those patterns, how you react to things, how you can change those. So what might have angered me in the past doesn't anger me today. I am so much more refined." The year 2020 was a time of profound personal change. Hamilton took the knee before every race he entered that year. He advocated for change within his industry, initiating the Hamilton Commission to research the underrepresentation of black people in UK motorsport and the STEM sector. Using this information, he launched Mission 44, a charity to help young people around the world overcome social injustice, investing £20 million (he is worth an estimated £350 million) into the project.

He also started moving into other spheres with greater purpose, including fashion and music. He developed a non-alcoholic drink, Almave, and set up a film production company. "I want to be able to tell diverse stories. Film has changed my life. There is so much inspiration I have received," he says. One of his first co-productions is F1, the upcoming movie with Brad Pitt and a more diverse vision of the circuit, including a female technical director. "That was important to me. I lived with my dad, but I was really raised by my two mums and my two sisters. I grew up around a lot of female energy, powerful women. Most of the people on my team are women. The women hold it down." And, of course, there is Pitt playing a driver in his fifties. "That was a tricky part for me," Hamilton says, "because, shoot, of course we want Brad. But I was like, there is no way a 58 year old can compete with a twenty year old. These guys have got nothing going on but to race. And they're fit. So we had to work around this narrative, telling him how much harder he would have to train to get in shape." Hamilton himself is old for an F1 driver, most of whom retire in their thirties. His replacement at Mercedes, the Italian Kimi Antonelli, has only just turned eighteen. You could be his dad, I say, and Hamilton laughs like this hadn't actually occurred to him. "Honestly, right now I feel I'm healthier than I've ever been," he says. "I'm in such a good place, physically and mentally. My reaction times are still quicker than the young guys. I think I'm a better driver than I was at 22. I was just young, energetic and ruthless, but no finesse, no balance. I didn't know how to be a team player, how to be a leader. Being a good racing driver, it's not just about being fast. It's about being the most rounded. When I study the legends, they're spread between small percentages, so it's the whole package. What do they speak for, stand for? That's what I look at. I look to Ayrton Senna and Nelson Mandela, and those are the two people gelled together that I want to be."

Senna used to cross himself before every race. Like him, Hamilton was raised a Catholic. "I pray every time before I race," he says. "I pray that everyone is safe." Motor racing is far less dangerous than it used to be, but people still die. I ask Hamilton if he fears death when he drives. "I don't, no," he says. "But still, we're traveling at crazy speeds. You have to respect it. So that's why I'm conscious of the time I spend with my family, with my mum. Is this the last time I get to hug her? Because you just don't know. Nothing is guaranteed." Hamilton is single, but he would like to have a family. "One day. I wouldn't be able to do what I do to the level that I do it today with that. One of my best friends has just had a kid and I'm seeing how manic it is. And my nieces and nephew are a handful. There will be a time and a place for it, and I can't wait for that part. But right now I have some work to do."

[str4ngr]

KNEW AND NEW [ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY ]

cw: suggestive, ghost's pov/ journal-esque, sexual tension, perverted thoughts, military inaccuracies, might be ooc/ not british enough. this is part three to a series. part one. notes: more in pt.2 later hehe. bro academic trenches once again, this time it was like a 1 v. 6. words: 1,081.

Apparently, medical files were just as easily tricked by pretty brown eyes as you were. Because last time you checked, which was definitely not two or three minutes ago, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was not stated to have any tattoos. 

Blinking in surprise, you watched as the hunk of muscle dashed at the other figure across the sand, white mask reflecting the light of the sun as he moved. 

Eyes sharp, shoulders relaxed, lunging forward, I meet Johnny’s eyes as I grapple his shoulders and shove him to the ground, a laugh sounding from the man below me,

“Unfair, L.T.!”

My lips tease a smirk, growling back,

“Don’t think so, Sargent,”

He laughs when I release him, helping him back up to his feet. Usually, I wasn’t one to skimp out on training, but I’d much rather waste my time listening to Johnny ramble on about the dog he’s been thinking of getting than doing any more combative training. 

His eyes fall behind my face, his elbow coming to nudge my arm as he grins, 

“Y’know L.T. I think me and that medic—”

“Quiet, Johnny.” 

I warn, watching as his eyes go wide, the devil’s grin gracing his lips as he raises his arm and waves at her. I take a sharp breath, groaning as my hand tightens into a fist.

“Hi Soap, Ghost.”

She smiles. I could feel it, even though my back was facing her. I sigh, hoping she didn’t take it the wrong way as I glance over my shoulder, turning slowly,

“Mornin’, Doc.”

“Heya, Bonnie.”

Johnny grins, standing closer than he needs to before you. He knows, he just won’t say it. I glare to my side, staring down at his half-shaved head. It was impossible to keep my eyes away from her, her damn brilliant smile, eyes curving into half-crescents as they looked up to meet mine. 

My eyes shift back to hers, my stomach turning at the way she giggles and smiles at Johnny, at fucking Soap. How her hands rest on her hips, her hair springing out from around her head as she was mid-shift. He didn’t notice.

I did.

Her eyes were softer, her face a litter hallow as she sucks in her cheeks. Her eyes glittered with the reflection of the orange and red sunset, rounded as they watched Johnny attentively. 

“Aye, Doc,”

The words came out of my mouth before I could think of stopping them and when her eyes met mine I couldn’t do anything but stare, whatever else I was going to say slipping away from my tongue. she look at me, looks to my arm, to my tattoos, to the empty spot on my bicep. Her eyes follow every detail of the ink I need to get touched up, yet she glories it like art. I suck on my teeth, spitting out my question like a reluctant apology,

“What’re you doin’ out ‘ere?” 

There it was. 

Bloody hell, the way her fuckin’ lips turn up in a sheepish smile, glancing up at me, her eyes bouncing around nervously. I can’t help but smirk, the skin wrinkling around my eyes as I shift my feet,

“Oh, just walking around,” 

Her voice was so soft, so sweet, untouched by violence and filth of war. I nod blandly, unsure of what else to do under the probing eyes of the slippery bastard beside me. 

She smiles again, swaying her hips like she always does when she to awkward to figure out what to say next.

“How, uh, how’s your training?” 

The question was obviously for both of us, but her eyes never peeled away from mine. I couldn’t look away either, enamored by the way her eyes filled with curiosity, her cheeks round from the small smile on her face, blushing from either the sun or something else.

I was praying on the latter. 

Her eyes glimmered in the sun, fluttering between mine and Johnny’s face as the prick babbles about training. He didn’t matter, she did, an astral beauty whose face never left my damn mind from the moment I met her.

A rose too beautiful to touch, wrapped behind the protective case of her scrubs and white jacket. Too beautiful for a man like me, who spills blood and guts, who would stain her fragile petals.

“Enough, Johnny, get your ass back on the damn field.” 

I growl, my eyes meeting his in a sharp glare as he smirks at me. I watched as he pulled her into a hug, my hands tightening into a fist in my pockets as she smiled up at him. 

He’s fucking playing with me, laughing with her as he sways with her before pulling away. 

I shove the bastard over, 

“See ya’, Doc.” 

“Bye, Ghost! Soap!” 

She grins, her lips a perfect present on her gorgeous face. I turn away before I let my blood rush, my eyes closing as my eyebrows twitch. Soap talks on about something, not that I’m too keen on listening to his English interjected with nonsensical Scottish phrases. 

Even the way she walks is graceful, with each step, she’s mesmerizing, like a siren’s song. Yet here I am, a fucking mile away from being anywhere near capable of speaking to her.  

My breath felt heavy when I let it out of my lungs, desperate for escape for longer than I realized. Johnny knocks his shoulder to mine, a grin on his face as he looks at me. I groan, rolling my eyes as we lock up for another match.

⚬

Drinking with straws was more common than I had originally thought. Or maybe, my observation didn’t include enough people, since one person probably doesn’t make an accurate statistic. 

It was like that night, Two weeks ago when we all had drinks. Two weeks ago when I first saw the way the apples of her cheeks made her eyes squint with each drunken laugh. Two weeks since I saw her wrap her lips around my fucking cherry. 

All I could focus on was the way her lips moved when she spoke, how her eyes met mine and how the noise of drunkards around us at the pub dissipated into the hypnotic song of her voice. 

Every time I saw her, the way she licked her lips while she searched for her chapstick in her pocket, the way her hips swayed side to side as she looked at the clipboard in her hands. 

God, she was fucking addicting to look at, let alone interact with. 

The way she knew—yes, fucking knew because there is no way on this bloody Earth this woman pouts so sweetly with her eyes so fucking attractive and she doesn’t know it—she could sink her sweet teeth into me. And I would happily let her. 

⚬ ☠︎︎ ⚬

i don't like this one at all tbh. but, hopefully the next one will make up for it. anyways hashtab situationship goals. taglist: @141trash, @thriving-n-jiving, @agorophobicreader, @murder-hobo

EYES THAT HOLD SECRETS

directo

[pingu-4]

I've seen a lot of raven!Neil fics where neil helps jean and Kevin escape form ravens and he escapes with them/joins them later.

But what I really need to see is a fic from jean's and kevin's pov, where they escape but Neil is stuck being a raven, stuck being nathaniel.

I want to see them join foxes but still think about what is happening with Neil right now, what punishments he is getting for their escape. I want to see them scared for his well-being, while not being able to patch him up or do anything. I want to see them trying to heal, being full of guilt at the same time, because Neil, their ally, their savior, their brother is probably going through hell because of them right now and he's all alone. I want to see them guilty, because Neil has helped them so many times, he had saved them and they left him there to suffer, even though they know that if they even tried to come back to nest Neil would kill them himself.

I want to see Jean mourning his partner forever. I want to see him turining around expecting Neil to be there only to see empty spot next to him. I want to see him grabing car keys to go back to nest, to Neil, when loneliness, guilt, fear, everything is too much, only to be stopped by Kevin from doing anything stupid, from going back to their abusers. I want him trying to keep up on living, only because Neil gave up on his freedom, his life for it. I want Jean to miss his little British devil, while literally anything reminds him of neil.

I want Kevin getting himself drunk only not to think about about what it cost for him to be at foxes, not to think about who pays for it, who he had left behind. I want him to wonder why Neil sacrifaced himself for him, he understands why Neil did it for jean, but him? What did he do to deserve it? I want him to feel guilty he didn't help Neil more, to wonder why he didn't do anything when he had the chance, wonder if he would be brave enough to do anything different if he had a chance to. I want Kevin to miss this loud mouth who gave him a chance of better life.

I want them both to live with a ghost of Neil among them. To talk about him, what would he do in any situation, what they remember about him even though it causes them pain and they are trying to move on, because they are too afraid to forget about him. I want them to wonder why they didn't manage to force him to go with them. I want to see them hoping to see Neil every morning when they wake up, only to be met with harsh reality. To think every short red-head might be him. To have so many feeling when they get that one phone call from Neil. To wonder if there is any way that they can help him. I want to see them as puzzles with one piece missing, learning to live that way.

I want to see the foxes wondering who that raven jean and Kevin often talk about is. To wonder who is that guy that they never met, that had such a big impact and is so important to these two broken boys. I want foxes to see Kevin and jean and just know that they lost something, that even though they escaped and are healing, they are still grieving someone. I want them to hear stories that involve that third person, that "neil" but never getting a direct answer as to who exactly he is and what happened to him.

I want Jean and Kevin hearing the news that "nathaniel wesninski" got injured in some freaky incident and them knowing it wasn't and incident. I want them to be terryfied of what riko did to Neil. Or being even more terryfied of what if it was Neil that did something to himself. They know he is strong, stronger then them both, but what if when he is all alone, facing hell, without any support, without anyone who he has to fight for he finally gave up and decided to die on his own terms?

I want them to see other news, that he had died from these injures, and just break down not believing that Neil, their Neil is gone. Is gone and they weren't there for him in his last moment. I want Kevin and jean to wonder if he knew how much he mattered to them, to wonder if they had said it to him, made it aware to him enough times. I want them to suffer because they promised that all of them will escape one day, but while Kevin and Jean are foxes now, Neil forever will be stuck a raven, forever will be remembered as nathaniel wesninski by most people, will never be able to make Neil a real person for someone else then the three of them. I want them to think about how the one person who saved their lifes, gave them a reason to live, died himself and they didn't do anything to prevent it, didn't manage to stop it. I want them to finally spill all the truth to the foxes. To see Jean and kevin learning to live with all of it, trying to live to their fullest, maybe even dedicating their games to Neil. For them, to do it for themselves. And for Neil.

Or i want them to finally have enough, realizing that this is the last moment where they can do something to help, when they hear about the injury. To see them somehow getting Neil out and seeing how much more he is hurt, mentally and physically than he was the last time they saw him, but still being the same old neil. Being happy that he finally is with them but also sad seeing him in that state. I want them to get Neil into foxes, not wanting to leave him, worried, being very protective of him and helping him heal too. Making neil josten real. To have foxes to finally meet that Neil they heard about and being surprised to see how Kevin and jean, not very warm or open people are so fond of him, how they act so different towards him, how they finally are the way they were supposed to be. Together.