#The Dark Style Fair 5

[cinnabar-cemetery]

have i ever complained about the b//sd anime key visuals on here? because i have some fucking complaints.

[sidereon-spaceace]

boy howdy that dream was a doozy

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[astra-ravana]

Cartomancy

A tarot styled divination method using standard playing cards. This oracle first appeared in Europe in the 14th century and is still used sporadically today. Practitioners of this divination are commonly called cartomancers. Cards can be laid in a variety of spreads and functions much like a tarot deck. As such, cartomancy decks should be designated and regarded with all the respect of a deck of tarot cards. The meanings of the cards are as follows:

Hearts

• Ace: Love, beginning, happiness, friendship

• King: Fair-haired man, affectionate and generous, but impetuous

• Queen: Fair-haired woman, trustworthy

• Jack: Fair-haired young person, good friend

• 10: Good fortune, joy

• 9: Desires fulfilled

• 8: Invitations/partings

• 7: Someone unreliable

• 6: Unexpected good fortune, generosity

• 5: Jealousy, indecision

• 4: Changes, travel

• 3: Need for caution

• 2: Friendship, success

Clubs

• Ace: Harmony, property, achievement, love

• King: Dark-haired man, honest, open

• Queen: Dark-haired woman, strong, helpful

• Jack: Reliable friend

• 10: Fortune, abundance

• 9: New romance

• 8: Opposition, danger of recklessness

• 7: Prosperity, potential romantic interference

• 6: Business success

• 5: Help from a friend/partner

• 4: Bad change of fortune

• 3: Good partnership

• 2: Disappointment and opposition

Diamonds

• Ace: Money, a ring

• King: Fair-haired man, stubborn

• Queen: Fair-haired woman, flirty, witty

• Jack: A relative, unreliable

• 10: Journey, wealth

• 9: Financial opportunity, surprises

• 8: Declarations of love

• 7: A gift

• 6: Reconciliation

• 5: Successful meeting

• 4: Change for the better, an inheritance

• 3: Domestic/legal battles

• 2: Important love affair

Spades

• Ace: Conflict, infidelity, stress

• King: Dark-haired man, successful, ambitious

• Queen: Dark-haired woman, seductive

• Jack: Dark-haired youth, well meaning

• 10: Grief, despair, imprisonment

• 9: Bad luck, delays, quarrels

• 8: Disappointment

• 7: Possible loss of friendship

• 6: Improvements

• 5: Anxiety, setbacks, interference

• 4: Jealousy, business troubles

• 3: Bitter parting

• 2: Scandal, gossip, deceit

Note: You may choose to include the joker to represent folly, new beginnings, the Universe and to also signify the person receiving the reading.

Bonus: Using Playing Cards to Detect Baneful Magick

This technique relies on reading either red or black cards and nothing else. It can technically be used to answer any yes/no question.

Shuffle the deck and ask, "have I been hexed or cursed?" -while you are shuffling. When ready, stop shuffling and deal out five cards in a row, face down. Then one by one, left to right, turn them over. Black indicates a 'no' response, while red indicates 'yes'. You can see the degree of the curse by the presence of red cards. All black is a clear 'no' and all red is a clear 'yes'. The spread can be read as follows:

5 Black - 0 Red: No curse or negative energy present

4 Black - 1 Red: Blip of dark energy, natural defenses can ward it off

3 Black - 2 Red: Dark energy present, possible jinx

2 Black - 3 Red: Sufficient dark energy, possible hex, cleanse immediately

1 Black - 4 Red: Significant harmful magick present, likely hex or curse. Do a purification/protection ritual

0 Black - 5 Red: Curse confirmed, take serious action to uncross/cleanse/protect. Someone has intentionally tried to harm you with magick.

[allieebobo]

College Tennis: Origin Story

Demo | Characters | Dev log | Ko-fi

Sports x Slice-of-life x Romance x Coming-of-age x Found-family x College

Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters.

Compete in nail-biting singles and doubles matches, forge lifelong friendships, pursue budding romances and make a name for yourself, both on and off the tennis court.

Will the once-great Cargill Coyotes succeed in reclaiming the NCAA Div I championship title for the first time since the 90s? Will you come into your own as a promising young tennis star, primed for the professional leagues? Most importantly, how much are you willing to sacrifice in pursuit of these dreams?

Full character customisation

Customise your gender, height, build, personality, physical appearance, languages spoken, tennis style, dominant hand, and more!

Strike a balance between: tennis, keeping up a rich social life, and maintaining your grades

Nail-biting tennis matches

Every match is different! Play matches throughout the fall and spring seasons, leading up to the NCAO championships—that is, if you make the Cargill team.

Intricate tennis game mechanics: Factors such as your condition/energy, preparation for the match, opponent's play style, doubles partner chemistry, as well as your choices at key junctures of the match etc. will affect the outcome of the match!

Craft your own distinctive playing style and make a name for yourself on the tennis court

Hone your strength, agility, finesse, serve-and-volley skill, and endurance over the course of the game!

Romance four possible characters

Rayyan Afiq, the gruff, hot-headed no. 1 seed

Guillaume/Geneviève Lavigne, the sardonic international student on your floor

Tobin Harris, the warm, unflappable team captain

Sam O'Connelly, your nerdy and spirited high-school best friend

And forge lifelong friendships with many more...

Rayyan Afiq The rival

Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Egyptian-American

Student information: Junior, Anthropology major Player information: Vice-captain, No. 1 position, Aggressive Baseliner

Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′10 (m). Lean, athletic build. Dark, wavy curls, and thick sweeping eyebrows over piercing dark-olive eyes. Tawny, honey-brown skin.

Description: Surly, intense, and proud. Ambitious and driven to excellence in everything they do. Willing to give up almost anything for their tennis career. Has a soft-spot for cats. Loves organising things, has a plan for everything, and dislikes surprises.

Tobin Harris The captain

Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American

Student information: Junior, History major Player information: Captain, No. 2 position, All-court player

Appearance: 5′9 (f) or 6′1 (m). Tall, solid build. Short black hair, warm, brown eyes and a calm, assured demeanour. Dark bronze skin. A smile that lights up the room.

Description: Kind, laid-back, selfless, and sociable. Goes out of their way to make everyone feel welcome, but has a tendency to stuff down their own emotions in the process. Surprisingly private and cautious when it comes to their own desires/wishes. Gentle to a fault, steadfast and unflappable. If not playing tennis, probably can be found cooking, hanging out with friends, or going to the library.

Geneviève/Guillaume Lavigne The exchange student

Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Half French (father's side), half French-Canadian (mother's side)

Student information: Third year exchange student, Political science bachelor’s degree. Hall-mate.

Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′11 (m). Toned, supple build. Dark, tousled hair with fair skin. Smoky grey eyes, with a smattering of freckles. Permanent half-smile.

Description: Rarely excited or enthusiastic, always armed with a dry remark. Slightly cynical, but softer than they look. Very intelligent, though they don't often let on what they're actually thinking or feeling. Rich (and intensely private) inner world.

Sam O'Connelly The childhood best friend

Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 18, Freshman Nationality/ethnicity: American

Student information: Freshman, Undecided major. Player information: No. 6 position for the UCLA Bruins

Appearance: 5′4 (f) or 5′8 (m). Trim build, with a small frame. Curly russet hair that often sticks out in all directions. Mischievous light blue eyes and an infectious smile.

Description: Excitable, with a chaotic positivity that radiates from them like sunshine. Fun-loving and scattered, and nerdy. Competent tennis player, but too often distracted by other hobbies and interests. Somehow manages to survive on a diet of Cheetos and Ben & Jerry's ice cream.

More character descriptions here, face-claims here.

[delewlew]

i think the world of you: lando norris x black fem! reader

request: can i request something of the lines of love at first sight & ready to immediately pop out a ring with lando norris but the reader is kind of oblivious, thank you 🫶

tags: childhood friends to lovers, fluff

warnings: swearing, crying, slight angst?

author's note: my first request! thank you so much anon for sending me this lovely ask. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it for you <3

"y/n, sweetheart we have something to tell you." the sparkle of joy behind your mother's eyes made you kick your legs under the table in excitement. you imagined what the surprise was, already trying to figure out how to celebrate your parents finally allowing you to get a puppy. the small yorkshire terrier puppy you'd seen at the pet store came to mind as you mentally rattled off names you'd thought of just in case. however, all of that disappeared from your brain when you heard your father say, "you're going to begin year 5 at a new school this year." the excitement in your face faded and your mouth went dry and pools of thick tears welled beneath your eyes. as if that wasn't a bad enough statement, your father continued, "and you'll be living with your grandparents! it'll be like when you go on holiday to visit them in the summer." the world around you stilled and for a solid three minutes you said nothing, the tears spilling from your eyes spoke for themselves.

the smile faded from your mother's face and she tried to console you, "sweetheart this is a great thing!" you swatted her hand off of your shoulder and shifted away from her, "no it's not. a great thing would be a puppy, not a new school. i don't want to live with grandma and grandpa i want to live here. there's nothing out there, it's kilometers on kilometers of grass!" your father chimed in trying his hand at explaining, "princess, this is for your own good. you just told us last night that your classes were to easy. your teachers have told us this new school will challenge you and it will be more fun! you even get to live at the school once you start year 9. isn't that amazing?" if you could have screamed and let out every cuss word in the book while living to tell the tale, you would have. instead you just sobbed harder, your parents tried to reason, "your grandparents have a dog too." but that only resulted in you running off to your room and crying yourself to sleep hoping that maybe they'd take pity and let you stay home.

you didn't get to stay home.

the entire ride out to your grandparents home was completely silent as you watched the large expanse of green leafed trees and bright grass for nearly 3 hours. now, your grandparents home wasn't entirely awful. for starters it was a georgian style manor house that sat a considerable distance away from neighbors which meant it was much quieter than your old london flat with your parents. the interior reminded you of the museums you visited for school trips by the amount of paintings that hung on the walls. the only difference was that instead of portraits of fair skinned women with flowing straight hair, these were paintings of women with rich dark brown skin that glowed when the sun shone through the windows. the entire home smelled of lavender from the countless rows of soft purple springs that bloomed around the perimeter of the home. the highlight of the move was getting your own bedroom that was nearly triple the size of yours back home. the first few nights you felt swallowed by what seemed like an endless sea of darkness rather than a new bedroom, but eventually you'd grown accustomed to the space. the last few days of summer break were spent running around the backyard with your grandmother watching you chase their old dog around until he grew tired and simply laid in the grass and you decided to cloud watch beside him.

when the first day of school finally came you had yet to grow an interest in the place. the building looked slightly similar to your old school which brought a slight sense of comfort. but that feeling was gone the moment your grandfather walked you inside and entered the school office. the headmaster was waiting for you with a boy who was a few inches shorter than you with light brown hair and a few moles dotted across his face stood beside the tall man. the boy's blue eyes were locked on you, looking you over with a kind of interest that exists for new kids being welcomed into a new place. the headmaster cleared his throat and greeted you, "good morning young lady, i am headmaster smith. we are happy to have you join us here at Millfield school. to help you become aquainted with the school we're pairing you up with another student who will show you around. unfortunately our female student has become sick so you will be assigned to lando instead." the man spoke for longer but you didn't listen to a single word, instead all of your attention was on the shorter boy.

the silence between you and lando was deafening, almost as if you were having a staring contest. you took the opportunity to turn it into exactly that, locking eyes with his. for a moment he seemed unaware of your challenge until he narrowed his eyes indicating that he caught on. a minute passed and your gaze was unwavering whereas his began to falter, eyes welling with tears until he finally caved and blinked causing you to smile for the first time that morning. his smile was big and toothy, like a kid who'd just grown in his adult teeth and his face hadn't quite grown into the change just yet. the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink when you finally introduced yourself once you'd been dismissed into the hallway, and to class.

from that day forward you only blossomed in school from being extremely shy and reserved to being slightly more social with those in your class. for all of year 5 your tablemate was lando and you'd become quite close, best friends even.

rather quickly you realized a distinct difference between the two of you when it came to your studies. you worked hard and earned good marks while his attention wavered and his marks showed it too. when he was called on to read out loud he stumbled over his words and paused often, earning giggles from classmates that made him sink back into his chair and want to disappear. not one maths equation made any sense to him especially fractions because why the fuck would you need 'number parts' when whole numbers exist. when people laughed at him and teasingly taunted in singsong tones that he liked you, he'd turn his back to you and pretend you were strangers.

lando realized you were different from your classmates as well. when they laughed at him for misreading a text, you whispered the text along with him so he could recover quickly. when he didn't remember how to spell a word on those weekly spelling quizzes, you slid your paper to show him the answers. when he whined about not getting the maths homework, you realized he could understand fractions by drawing pizzas and dividing them into slices on his papers. when your classmates and his friends teased you both for being best friends with the opposite gender, you threw a punch that landed a kid in the nurses office and promised the other kids they were next if they ever teased you or lando again...they never did.

on weekends he was off karting which you'd learned about fairly quickly after getting to know him. he begged you to come to one race just so he could show off how good of a driver he was after you insisted he had to be bad, as a joke of course. however, the races overlapped with the days you'd spend back in london with your parents. on those days you watched what lando called "grand prix races" on sunday mornings with your father. your best friend told you he'd one day drive one of those big cars instead of the karts he drove on weekends. there were odd weekends where neither of you were away and those you spent at each other's houses. when he was at your house you both ran around barefoot in the soft grass, lavender wafting throughout the yard. when you grew tired of playing he laid his head in your lap and demanded you read him a book because he 'liked the way you said the words on the page' more than when he did. not even three chapters into the book he'd doze off on your lap, only to be woken up with small white dandelion's in his hair. on the days you went to his house, he'd show you his karts and watched in interest as you asked about every single detail until you ran out of questions.

these were the years that you cherished most in your childhood, long before worries of university or breaking into formula one. but those days arrived and you found yourself watching his races alongside his family on the days your parents allowed. he always seemed to drive a little better knowing you were watching him, yet he wasn't exactly sure if you knew that to be true. countless pictures hung on your bedroom wall of the two of you after one of his races or after you'd won a medal in whatever club sport you'd ventured into that season. academic and athletic certificates and ribbons littered your desk while trophies were on his.

by the time you were both nearing the end of secondary school lando left school to pursue racing more seriously. you'd been the most supportive of his friends when hearing about the change, yet another reason why he cherished the friendship you two had even more...even if he wished it actually was more. you kept in contact with him but watching him race in person had long been left in your childhood years. all of your life revolved around getting accepted into a good university yet you still tuned in every race online to see his results. however, by the time you enrolled in university and lando began in formula 2, contact had dissolved completely.

years passed and lando had broke into formula one while you'd successfully graduated university and earned a spot as an asset finance associate in one of the most prestigious investment banking companies in the world. every once in a blue moon you wondered what your old friend was up to which led to tuning into a race or two, holding your breath and clutching your heart every time something seemed risky. you'd seen some videos and pictures of him clubbing in whatever city he ended up in. drink in one hand and another on the waist of some woman with a shade of blonde or brown hair that fell over her shoulders in perfectly messy waves. those nights you'd just throw your phone to the side, not wanting to let him occupy more of the time you'd already given him.

what you didn't know was that his mind always found it's way back to you on those hot summer days that reminded him of his childhood. he'd found your instagram years ago and saved the username in his notes so he didn't have to risk getting blocked if he followed you because in his eyes you might hate him. he debated on messaging you through DMs but always shied away from it remembering that time you'd called it a tacky move back in high school. he only hoped that maybe you'd cross paths and then he could have a chance to see you again. however, there wasn't much of a chance that would happen...until it did.

you looked over yourself in the mirror of your apartment, the orange tweed set with a matching blazer was the center of your attention. the company you worked for was an official sponsor of the mclaren formula one racing team, and tonight was the annual charity gala. for two years you managed to conveniently miss out on the event due to getting sick and having to visit your grandparents back to back years. but this time everyone was well, so you had to attend, no exceptions.

the minute you walked through the doors of the ballroom you made a beeline to the first person you recognized, allowing no time to potentially be approached by your old friend. for the entire night you could feel his looming presence in the building and it made you want to vomit. seeing lando wouldn't be bad and you kind of wanted to see him, what you didn't want was to see some pretty blonde girl on his arm expecting an explanation as to why he knew you. part of you didn't know why that was, but you decided it was because you didn't want him to pretend you were strangers, or admit that he genuinely didn't remember who you were.

an orchestra played soft classical music in the corner of the ballroom and you managed to duck away to the bar on the furthest side from the largest crowd of tables. you mindlessly tried to guess the composer of the classical piece while the bartender handed you a drink. a small tap on the back of your arm drew your attention behind you, and the sight nearly knocked the wind from your chest.

lando stood before you in a black suit with his white collared shirt unbuttoned at the very top. that same toothy smile you remembered from your childhood spread across his face, "y/n?" you were silent for a moment before taking a swig of your drink and responding, "lando, hi. what are- what are you doing here?" you rose to your feet and he hesitated slightly before allowing you to pull him in for a hug that he reciprocated. this hand rest on the small of your back while your arms looped around his neck very briefly until you realized the way this may look to someone watching the two of you. he laughed lightly and said, "i'm driving for mclaren, as a formula one driver now." you leaned back against the bar and sat back in your stool allowing him to sit beside you. it was now that you got a good look at him and god have mercy was he finer in person which you didn't think was possible.

those blue green eyes that stared into yours on that first day of school were brighter than you'd ever seen. his skin was tanned as if he'd just been at the beach all day before coming to the event tonight. his messy brown hair had grown longer into cinnamon toned curls that fell perfectly right above his forehead. he looked at you through thick brown lashes as he took in the sight of your matured face. no longer did you have those puffy baby cheeks that reminded him of a chipmunks, but now a more structured face that matched the rest of you.

he requested a water with lemon and you asked, "going easy tonight?" he shrugged and answered with a smirk, "i guess you could say so. how else would i look after you?" you laughed and replied casually, "i think we both know i can handle myself." he shrugged and answered, "yeah but it's what we do right? the BFP." he spoke the acronym out to where it sounded like 'Be-Fip' which made you set down your drink to throw your head back with laughter. you agreed, "oh yeah the Best Friend Pact- how old were we back then?" with a quickness you could only raise an eyebrow at lando answered, "nine.' there was a pause and he continued, "we made it after that time i realized you lied when you said you liked my new trainers." you burst into laughter again at the memory of those ugly ass neon yellow trainers he'd gotten after saving up his own money from a month of chores. you shook your head, "to this day those are still the ugliest thing you've worn." lando asked with a hint of teasing arrogance in his voice, "you've been keeping tabs on me?" you shrugged and took another sip of your drink before bumping his shoulder, "congratulations on miami." he thanked you and for a moment you saw a glimpse of your old friend, the one that came before all of this additional luxury for him.

the entire night the two of you talked about the current happenings in your life. hours flew by and eventually the gala ended meaning you both had to part ways. you pulled him into one last hug and he looked at you, "this time we're not losing contact. i swear i'll blow your phone up until you reply...in the most socially acceptable way possible of course." you agreed and hugged once more before he sent you home in a car he'd ordered for you.

months passed and you two did keep your word, you remained in touch constantly. a few texts here and there turned into a few times a week, then a day, which led to calls and facetimes which lead to accepting an invite to one race. slowly your presence in his life increased, you continued to hang out as friends, getting to know his small circle when they happened to be around. you noticed the way they glanced between you and lando, the way they whispered in dutch, french, and english which had you fully convinced they hated you. but based on the fact that their girlfriends were all friendly to you, maybe they just tolerated you for lando's sake? these days reminded you of the old ones, you finally had your best friend back.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

you looked out to where the sky met the sea, shades of tangerine and flamingo pink blurred into one another against the horizon with thin wispy clouds floating on the surface. the glittering water of the sea shimmered under the golden sun turning it a deep sapphire blue that bled into a shiny obsidian. you inhaled the warm sea salted air as you held lando's hand in your own to play with his fingers as conversation ebbed and flowed between you both like the waves that lapped on the hull of the yacht. he turned his head to still keep you in his line of vision as he watched you from behind. the long fulani style braids you wore fell behind your shoulders and down your back, the sun made your skin glow to a deep gold dipped in rich bronze that made you look like you'd been kissed by Ra himself.

"i could fall in love like this." the statement made lando sit up, all of his attention on you, "what?" you hummed softly, "yeah, bring a girl here and they'd fall for you a million times over." lando felt that same frustration settle in his mind, he'd been trying for months for you to get the hint that he was in love with you without him having to say it exactly like that. curiously he questioned, "you think so?" you nodded in confirmation, "yeah that girl we met in the club that one night? maddie? magui? she'd love this." lando swore his eye twitched when he heard it but he ignored it.

you scooted back slightly and patted your lap for lando to rest his head in the same spot he always had. the soft brown curls on his head threaded through your fingers as he looked up at you, "do you...love this?" the way your eyes didn't even look down as you replied, "yeah reminds me of the old days we'd run around barefoot in the grass and play with the dog until sunset. instead of going in we'd watch the sky turn different colors and we'd keep running around until my grandma had to drag us inside." lando smiled at the memory and added, "and the next week at school we'd be covered in bites and itching like crazy." you sighed and admitted, "i miss when we were in school together." he looked up at you and asked, "how many spelling and maths answers do you think you gave me?" you playfully smacked his leg remembering that you really did help him cheat his way through secondary school.

lando sighed once more and asked, "do you remember that time you punched that boy Rhys?" he could see the wheels turning in your head as you tried to remember, but the minute you did your eyes lit up and you let out a watery laugh, "oh my god- i do! it was because he kept bullying you and insisting that you were in love with me. you never even stood up for yourself so i decided to do it for you." lando shook his head, "can you blame me? i was a head shorter than everyone and all those kids were double my weight! i didn't stand a chance." to be fair he was completely right on that part, if he'd been the one to throw the punch he would have lost, badly.

you finally looked down at lando and he admitted, "it wasn't a complete lie anyways." when you didn't respond he continued, "they only ever teased me about it because it was true. neville and tommy knew me since we were in nappies, they knew when i was crushing on someone. of course since it was grade 5 they told all the guys about it which is how it ended up that way." again, you remained silent and then laughed, "i know you love me so it's fine." lando's heart stopped and his stomach sank to his feet until you simply hummed, "mmm i love you too." again, it was that stupid silly little careless easygoing tone that reminded him that you weren't picking up on what he'd been putting down for so long. it was when you spoke up that he nearly snapped, "and since i love you i'm telling you now that you need to get that girl's number up and ask her out on a dat-"

"i don't want her! i don't want to go on a date with that girl or any girl that you've sent me on social media. i've met them, and i know people who know them. i don't want them okay?" the outburst caused you to push him off of your lap, scooting inches away leaving space between the two of you. the last thing you ever want to do is upset the people you're close to so you proceeded with caution, "i'm sorry i didn't realize i was being overbearing with it. i didn't ever ask what you wanted...so what do you want lando?"

lando answered, "i want to be with someone i can run barefoot under an oak tree with until we're covered in mosquito bites. i want someone to read to me until i fall asleep, i want someone who will tell me every single detail about their day. i want someone who will insist i let her dance in the rain and complain that she got sick as if i didn't tell her she would, i want someone who will visit my races and ask every single question to an engineer because she genuinely wants to understand what i do. i want someone i can watch the sun change colors with until there's nothing but midnight sky and stars. and if you haven't realized i mean you. i want you, y/n. it's always been you since the day i met you in grade 5 when you came in with those plats and more bows and knockers in your hair than you probably needed and you had a staring contest with me before i even knew your name. i've loved you since you taught yourself about karting from books because you wanted to know what i liked without making me explain it all the time. i've loved you since you threw pudding on amelia's blouse and told her you'd feed her entire family to goblins after she told me i'd never make it into formula one and it was your 3rd day of knowing me. and i know you're thinking it so yes, i'm actually in love with you and no i'm not misunderstanding the way i feel. i think the world of you and there's not a day that goes by where i don't want you around me. it's you and it's always been you and i genuinely don't understand how you've been so oblivious to it all but now you know, and please just promise me that even if you don't love me in that way that we can still be friends because i can't lose you."

slowly you brought your hands up to reach out for him, "c'mere." you pulled him into your arms and he tucked his head into your neck. he basked in the comfort of your embrace, the heat radiating off of your body slowing his racing heartbeat. you pressed a kiss to his temple and breathed out, "okay..." he pulled away with a look of worry that he'd messed everything up but you continued, "no it's not bad. i just- okay. i love you too. you're my favorite person and you always have been, probably always will be unless rihanna comes out with another album then you're bumped to #2. but i love you and i promise you didn't mess anything up because i know what's going through your head. this is just a lot right now and i'm willing to do this- us if we can just take our time. i want this to work and i want to be with you but-" lando cut you off seeing you start to fidget uncomfortably, "it's okay, that's perfect actually...that's perfect." he pulled you back into his arms and kissed your forehead, "it's perfect, you're perfect."

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

the end.

[my-darling-boy]

It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

[mercurial-thrills]

I've been taking writing seriously for eight years. Here are eight lessons I've learned.

*Buckle up, this is going to be a long one*

As I squinted at my phone in the darkness, I stared at my Calendar. Blocks of red and pink were blocked into my schedule: do schoolwork, take a quick break, attend an online co-op class, sign up for a school workshop, finally read the first chapter of that thick textbook I bought.

Then, I looked above it all, the day of significance in magenta.

"Anniversary of Secrets." September 9th. The day I chose to take writing seriously. Between unfinished stories on loose-leaf paper, and untitled documents of characters on my desktop, writing had only been a spur-of-the-moment activity.

But then, September 9th came along. From visions of girls riding dragons and comments of classmates writing their own stories, I realized I could be like them. I could take writing as seriously as they did, spending more time on my stories than fixated on my favourite series.

In fact, writing became a fixation of my own. Over these eight years, I have watched countless videos, read a few books, and wrote hopefully around a couple hundred thousand words. As well, I have amassed a fair amount of writing advice. Here are eight of the lessons I learned over the years.

Lesson #1: Outline First, Write Later.

Ideas popped into my head like a game of whack-a-mole. They popped in and out whenever they pleased. I dreamed of cat-eared superheroes, of zodiac themed dystopias, of strange, American-style Isekais before I knew what that word meant.

My attempts to outline the story were inflated by my urge to write it. By the time I started writing my first official project, I decided to write the outline and FINISH the outline before jumping into the story.

Lesson #2: Embrace Diversity

If you've been on the Internet in literature or writing related circles, it's hard to avoid the topic of diversity, and for a good reason. Diverse situations and characters create new perspectives for readers and writers alike.

I learned to embrace diversity through a video made by Jenna Moreci:

After watching this, I thought more about my character's racial and ethnic backgrounds. Along with that, my characters became much more queer, and far more neurodivergent than I could've fathomed back in the day. Their backstories and family situations are more diverse as well: some of them were in foster care. Others came from big families.

The most important thing is to not do this offensively, and honour every culture you come across that's different than yours. Thankfully, there are plenty of resources online, such as Writing With Color(https://www.tumblr.com/writingwithcolor).

Lesson #3: Take Inspiration From Your Favourite Things.

My first story, Secrets, took direct inspiration from the books Harry Potter, Bone, Percy Jackson, Masterminds, and Eragon, respectively. But my second big project became a result of my Voltron obsession (which, assuming you're reading this on Tumblr, I'm sure you're familiar with).

The story formed as a space opera with alien planets I invented myself, and a human species who evolved to conditions on Kepler-22b. I'm not going to deny that I drew inspiration from the "Leakira and the Defenders Of Tomorrow" AU. Though this project is now its own being, I cannot deny where its origins came from.

Lesson #4: Do NaNoWriMo. Seriously.

First of all, I'd suggest staying away from the actual site. There have been numerous controversies, including demonstrating support of AI for creative works, and predatory behaviour on its forums. That doesn't mean we cannot still participate in writing a novel within a month.

Doing an unaffiliated one-month writing challenge will likely not help you get better at writing. Quality over quantity, after all. However, it will help to create a writing habit, and force you to think of unorthodox situations where you could write words… like, on the bus, in a bathroom stall, or in a waiting room.

Lesson #5: This is not going to be a career. Not for a while.

I was a 17-year-old, frothing at the mouth, obsessed with what my hands could produce at the click of keys. I wanted this to be my career. Badly.

However, college loomed around the corner, and I could not fathom spending so much money to learn creative writing in university, when it would have so little pay-off later down the line. Plus, I knew the field was a competitive one, and boy, I was not ready to compete.

If you want writing to become a career one day, go for it. Work hard on your writing. Focus on it like a bird focuses on looking for its worm. Keep in mind, however, whether the pay-off will be worth it for you.

For example, if you are willing to compete and set yourself apart, it would be beneficial to study English, Creative Writing, or Journalism at a university. You could become a copyeditor, a journalist, or a teacher, with some extra learning. However, what if becoming an author feels unstable? You could consider a career in a transferrable field such as office administration, library technician, marketing, psychology, or accounting.

Lesson #6: Fanfiction is good.

When I got into the game Terraria, I spent many hours traversing the right side of my world and building cube-shaped houses, and far too many hours before I thought I was powerful enough to fight the Eye Of Cthulhu. That aside, I started writing fanfiction inspired by the franchise.

Surely, there’s not much canon material regarding the NPCs whose names change when they get killed. So, I made my own. I elaborated on characters that had pre-existing relationships and made up my own where there weren’t any. It was a brilliant practice in writing when none of my other ideas seemed appealing.

I have since finished said fanfiction, but I still write about certain fandoms from time to time. It helps to have an outlet for creative ideas that would not fit your other stories.

Lesson #7: Don’t Fear The Critiquer

Reading my works aloud startled me to the bone. Thankfully, my friend clarified that this writing club gave good critique on his own worldbuilding. So, I showed up, and oh, am I ever so thankful I showed up, because it has, quite literally, changed the way I see writing.

Reading out my writing to others has made me better at sharing, and at accepting critique. I received a lot of praise, and I also realized a lot of mistakes. Most of all, I learned not to fear what people thought of what I wrote: chances are they’d like at least part of it.

Lesson #8: Every little bit counts.

After many years of taking it slow, life started to get busy again. Life became more cluttered, and I fought to balance my classes with any extracurriculars I may have had, with therapy appointments and going to the doctor’s to sort out health shenanigans, with the full time summer job I had, and with nurturing my relationships.

If you had a hard time reading that sentence, that’s what my life has been like for the past year or so. Busy, cluttered, hard to organize, but still manageable in small chunks. This is what writing while busy should look like. Little bits and pieces of writing, whether it be in a chapter or short stories.

The Big Conclusion

Plot twist: These eight lessons I learned were relevant to each of my eight years spent learning the craft. I spent them embracing the craft, learning to make good settings, and understanding how to create interesting plots. At the same time, I have yet to self-publish any fiction other than a short story.

Still, I’m happy with the progress I’ve made in these past 8 years. It’s been a long journey, but with every year, I learn so much more.

If you’re looking for where to start, this is where you should: whether it’s writing down that random idea that’s been sitting in your head, or scribbling down a drabble about the rain outside, just take one first step.

[leavemebetosleep]

do you have any good fluttercord fic recs?

OH BOY DO I. In no particular order (except of when I thought of them):

1: Non-Entity by Captain Wuzz: An AU in which, instead of being turned to stone, Discord was shot in the head with a magic arrow that takes away his sentience and magic for a 1,000 years. Fluttershy mistakes him for a wounded animal and brings him home. I loved it so much.

2: Chaotic Neutral by C-Puff: The magic is starting to fade from Equestria, and the Main 6 and Discord go on an adventure to find out why, and reverse it. A bit of AU, in the sense it was written before the show was done, so it diverts in some places because of that. Super sweet, and I love the character development here.

3: Time is Taller than Space is Wide by Dott. Can also be read on Ao3 if you prefer. Soulmate AU (?) fic with a Groundhog Day style twist. I rarely see fics play with the idea of what if Fluttershy and Discord's friendship had started when they first met, so this is fun.

4 & 5: Blank and it's sequel Reconnection by @geekcat. Can also be read on fanfic.net. AU in which, before Discord can choose friendship over ruling Equestria, Twilight remembers a "reformation" spell. He is stripped of his free will, and Fluttershy does her best to bring him back. If you don't like the idea of Twilight being a villain, you might not like this one, but I think her villain arc in this is done in a perfect way for her character. It's super heart wrenching in many places, but in a good way.

6: Our Fair Lady of the Chaos Lord, also by GeekCat Can also be read on fanfic.net. Fairy tale inspired AU in which Fluttershy is a princess who's father is pressuring her to marry noble knight Sir Big Mac. Wanting to be sure he's a good person, she makes a deal with the Chaos Lord, letting herself be "kidnapped" so she can test his character. You can guess who she falls for instead. Honestly I've enjoyed all of GeekCat's fics, so they're getting an extra mention. Check out the rest of their fluttercord fics if you like any of these.

7: The Draconequus with the Dragon Tattoo by A M Shark This is a major case of, strange premise, kick ass results. Basically an AU based off Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson, with Discord as Lisbeth, and Fluttershy as an amalgamation of Mikael and several other characters, but focusing more on the murder mystery aspect of that book, and less on the...everything else. If you're familiar with GwtDT, don't worry, there's no rape scenes. Again, it's more about the murder mystery part. If you're not familiar with GwtDT, then don't worry again, because you don't need to know the original to enjoy it. It's just Discord and Fluttershy playing detective and solving a murder together. It has two sequels, but I haven't read them yet, and it didn't feel right to rec something I haven't read.

8: The Corpse Bride by Bad Horse. Dark fic. No relation to the Burton movie. Fluttershy dies in a tragic accident, and Discord brings her back from the dead as his zombie wife. Her friends (sans Pinkie) are horrified. Has a fantastic twist ending. If you like some of the darker stuff, def worth a read.

Bonus: Comic rec: The Last Adventure by Eveeka. Taking place after the final defeat of Tirek, Cozy, and Chrysalis, Discord gets into a depressive funk after shouldering the hatred from Ponyville citizens for his latest actions, but also because his friends seem to never be available anymore. He starts to think maybe Equestria would be better off without him, as he can't seem to exist with out making everyone miserable, and decides to hide away in the Everfree forest. Fluttershy, worried when he doesn't show up for tea, asks her friends for help, only to discover there's a monster running lose there he and the rest of Equestria might be in danger from. This fic has two endings, so keep reading even when it seems like it's over. You've got one more ending left. This one nearly made me cry.

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 5)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: More angst (i'm sorry)

WORD COUNT: 2978

A / N: Me posting without a two-week gap?? Whaaaat?? I'm fine, don't worry. I was hit by the divinity of inspiration and got ahead of my messy schedule. So here's ep5! I must say, I'm proud of this one. I'm still trying to figure out their whole dynamic complexity, but I think this is a right step on their journey! Anyway, I've already started on the last episode, which I'll probably publish this Sunday tops. Yes, last one, I swear!

Also..! Natasha in this universe, like in the comics, has (a variant) super soldier serum.

Thanks for reading and have a great day <3

**

If anyone knew Natasha’s fighting skill, it was definitely you. After years of being on opposing sides of heroism—her leaning more toward the ethical path, while you were focused on taking down bad people without the pesky limitations of the law—the two of you had shared your fair share of nasty, brutal fights.

You were all too familiar with her enhanced strength and reflexes, the evidence of her unforgiving grip often leaving lasting marks and ugly bruises. It reminded you of the arachnid symbols she always carried. Her movements were swift and relentless, trapping you like an unknowing prey with complicated manoeuvres that left you immobilized long enough for her to inflict serious damage.

Her toned arms and legs weren’t just for show; they were clearly the result of delivering powerful strikes and breathless chokeholds. She had the intelligence, strength, and agility to take anyone down—of that, you were always certain.

But right now, watching her take down guard after guard, there’s a new aspect that leaves your eyes widening. She wasn’t just dangerous; she was brutal.

Her technique was clearly superior, and she applied it with unforgiving force. You even felt a pang of pity for them. It was like witnessing an entirely new side of her as the sounds of bodies hitting the ground with resounding thuds, grunts, and yelps filled the dark, empty alley—a twisted symphony of chaos.

Something stirred inside you. You recognized her moves, but not this… aggressiveness. For as much as the two of you had fought, she had never been this violent in her style. She moved like a machine programmed for maximum efficiency, eliminating her targets with practically clinical precision. 

It was then that you realized. Your fights felt almost like child’s play compared to this.

That stirring in your chest quickly transformed into boiling anger. Has she been holding back during your fights? The mere sight of seeing her like this was now making your blood simmer. To even consider the possibility that she had always been holding back like this was infuriating. You had always believed the two of you were evenly matched, but now that belief was being shattered—just like the jaws of Horvat’s men.

You had always given her your best. But was she not giving you hers? Had she been playing with you all this time? Did she see you so…so weak that you weren’t even worth her full effort? The thought alone was enough to ignite your fury.

It was humiliating.

If you were asked about it later, you might admit that your next course of action could be perceived as… well, nothing short of pity. But the indignation was so overwhelming that you couldn’t even think straight. It was too much—so raw that it prickled at your eyes, manifesting as a wave of ashamed embarrassment.

As Natasha effortlessly dealt with the guards on her own, you slipped into the shadows. Perhaps the darkness could help soothe the ugly resentment crawling up your throat.

You had been a team player all evening, but now, under the light of the moon, you were back to your solitary game. And in this game, Horvat was the one you were going to hunt. Untethering yourself from the limitations imposed by the heroes, you swiftly made your way to the emergency lift on the side of the flat building next to you.

Rising through the levels, you were granted a panoramic view of the district, your eyes scanning intently for Horvat’s getaway car. Retrieving the tech-enhanced glasses from your trousers pocket, you adjusted them and searched for the dark blue sedan. It didn’t take long to spot it.

Sighing, you focused your magic. With a wave of your arm, you conjured ice, forming a crystalline path strong enough to carry you. You modified the soles of your shoes to adapt, gaining incredible speed as you skied across the continuously growing trail of ice. The path allowed you to glide effortlessly over buildings and bypass entire streets, cutting directly toward Horvat’s moving vehicle.

It may have looked effortless, but each time you created a new solid ice structure, a sharp headache pierced your skull. Your chest heaved as you struggled to maintain the pace, each breath growing more laboured.

These…abilities weren’t exactly something you had mastered. In fact, you hadn’t used them enough to build a solid foundation of control. Years of torture and clinical experimentation designed to force you to have and use them had left their mark. The trauma lingered, resurfacing every time you dared wield them.

They were additionally deeply tied to your emotions, making them volatile at best. And on a night like this, after everything that had happened with Natasha, they felt even more unstable.

You were also aware of SHIELD’s persistent interest in capturing you because of them, likely to place you under custody. After all, SHIELD didn’t take kindly to superhuman abilities existing outside their jurisdiction. That thought alone fuelled your defiance. You hadn’t escaped one controlling organization just to fall under the grip of another. No, this time, you were playing solo—defying every group that claimed to do “good” while operating under their own brand of morality.

And right now, as you practically flew across the New York night, the feeling of freedom was exhilarating. Besides, the end of the chase would be that much sweeter. Your mind was reeling with the thought of finally catching the bastard, of making him talk.

After weaving through a few more blocks, you finally found yourself right behind the car. The driver was clearly aware of your presence, speeding up through traffic in a desperate attempt to escape. But you weren’t going to let him get away. Propelling yourself forward with icy air, you surged after them. You were so focused—so consumed with the goal of getting your hands on that car—that you didn’t hear the familiar hum of an airy engine trailing behind you.

Leaping into the air, you were about to launch yourself forward again when something barrelled into you from the side, slamming you off course and throwing you away from the street. Using the last of your strength, you managed to create a messy aspheric ice barrier around you, stopping yourself from crashing directly into the display window of a shop.

Your lungs burned as you lay there, the harsh motion having knocked the air clean out of you. Your limbs ached from the rough landing, muscles that you didn’t even know you had burning.

Trying to shake off the terrible disorientation that slamming through a window could cause, you didn’t feel the sharp glass shards or the solid concrete beneath you. No, you were pressed against something warm and soft, the faint scent of sand wool and forest causing your eyebrows to furrow. And since when did the ground breathe… wait… breathe?

Startled, you pulled yourself slightly upright, only to be greeted by red hair and half opened green eyes. Of course, you were sure she would be one of the few people in the world daring enough to tackle you in mid-air.

However, your confusion quickly turned into something else when you saw the predicament of your position. She had clearly shielded your head from making contact with the ground, turning both of your bodies so that hers was between you and the floor. Her arms remained firmly around your waist, clearly having adjusted her grip from the initial takedown to ensure you both survived the impact.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice dry but strained, “that went well.”

The protective nature of the action turned your confusion into fury. “Let go of me,” you managed to mutter through gritted teeth. Natasha, still recovering, scrunched her face in confusion but didn’t move. “Let go of me,” you repeated, harsher and more impatient. Her touch, her smell, her mere presence felt suffocating.

“Wh-what… hold on, wait—” She started muttering, trying to make sense of your sudden struggle to get away. She seemed to come to her senses when you began to push harder against her chest, trying to create some distance between you. Ugh, stupid super soldier serum.

She must have thought your desperation was to get back to chasing Horvat. But at that moment, the ex-Hydra general was the last thing on your mind.

You two started wrestling in a way that felt more like a pathetic high school fight. The humiliation you had felt before doubled as you struggled to break free.

“Get off!” You almost screeched in desperation, making the agent startle as she managed to pin you down. She had never seen you like this—desperate and so… out of control. You were worlds away from the mischievous vigilante who always got under her skin.

“Okay! Okay, just… stop! Stop, stay down.” With those words, your fight seemed to disappear all at once, your body going limp. This only made Natasha worry even more as she slowly loosened her grip and moved off of you.

She remained tense, half-expecting you to bolt. But you stayed there, trying to catch your breath. She would be lying if she said that didn’t worry her even more. The worst part? You went quiet. No remarks, no snark—just silence, alongside the sounds of gunshots, alarms, and the street’s chaotic noise.

She opened her mouth to ask if you were okay, but closed it. Right now, this wasn’t the time for that. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, finally standing up. “We’re on a mission; you can’t just take off like that—”

“Well, you didn’t seem like you needed my help,” you scoffed, grunting at the pain of your abdomen when you incorporated slowly.

“So you decided to go off the grid?” Frustration built up in her voice, her tone condescending. As if you two were partners. 

That was far from the truth, and she seemed to have forgotten it. “See, this attitude of yours is what pisses me off. Doing whatever you want, whenever you want—consequences be damned, as long as you get your way!”

Standing up as fast as you could, you faced her defensively. “I’m not one of your incompetent low ranked subordinates that you boss around. And yes, while you were putting Horvat’s men to an early grave, I decided to chase after Horvat, who, by the way…” You laughed in fake amusement. “Is getting away as we chat. You just couldn’t stand that it was me who was about to finally catch him, could you?”

Natasha’s eyes widened at the accusation. “What are you even talking about? Do you see this as some kind of sick competition? Have you looked outside?”

Confusion crossed your face. Shaking off the remaining crystals and dust, Natasha started walking away from the now-destroyed shop, gesturing for you to follow her. Reluctantly, you swallowed your anger and fell in behind her. When getting out, your eyes widened. Traces of ice were covering the street, no doubt being left behind your trace. Some of them took the shape of sharp shards that were encrusted on the pavement, alongside swerved cars with frozen bumpers. 

You didn’t even notice.

An ugly feeling made you swallow as you saw a family getting out of a partly smashed car, the tires completely covered in ice. “I… I didn’t—”

You stared helplessly, afraid of what could have happened because of your fault. “It was an accident… it-it wasn’t— fuck.” You turned around, closing your eyes while trying to regain some sense of control.

You did that. You lost control. And someone got hurt because of it. Again.

“…I guess I get it now. Why are you holding yourself back.” Letting out a single cackle, your eyes trailed down to your hands as if they weren’t your own. They are still terrible cold.

“I’m not following,” the agent confessed. There it was again, that ugly sense of incompetence hitting you square on your ego. You turned around aggressively; the least she could do was say it to your face.

“Please. This just been an annoying game for you? Hasn’t it?” You finally exclaimed, hoping your eyes weren’t betraying the humiliation you felt. “We’re supposed to be enemies, Natalia. We fight, we… I thought you at least respected that.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “But all this time, you haven’t given me your true potential. In each encounter we’ve had, I’ve had the decency to at least outdo you. Am I so god-damn weak to you that you have to pull back in such a way?”

Finally, she seemed to understand what you were trying to say, and her reaction was anything but subdued. She took a few angry steps closer, her presence suffocating and electrifying all at once. “Are you telling me this tantrum has been all because I didn’t treat you like some Horvat soldier?”

You remained quiet, giving her an answer she clearly didn’t like. “If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in the RAFT by now. Is that what you want?”

Your jaw dropped at her audacity, as if, all of a sudden, she could have caught you from the very first day you opposed her. “So what? Are you telling me I should thank you for that? Please.” You laughed, “You haven’t even come close. If you could have caught me all this time, then why haven’t you?” You snapped.

Clenching her jaw, she stopped until she was face-to-face with you. You could feel her usual controlled storm turning into a wild hurricane. You didn’t back down. “If I haven’t brought out all of SHIELD’s operatives and the rest of the Avengers to take you down, it’s because of this.”

You didn’t even have time to react as her hand reached for your face, slightly flinching as she deliberately took her time, her movements measured and slow. Your eyes widened just a little as her soft fingertips brushed away the betraying tears sliding down your cheeks, catching one and wiping it away.

“Because despite all this ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude of yours, you do. I can feel your pain, your regret over hurting the innocents you’re trying to protect… your self-hatred,” she said, her voice steady, but it carried a weight that almost made it seem like those feelings were affecting her too.

She paused, trying to choose her next words carefully. “Even if your methods are over-the-line insane, underneath it all, there’s someone who genuinely wants to do good. Even if the only way you know how is by going to a dark place that consumes you every single time.”

Her hand trailed down until she gently pushed your chest with a single finger. “The only reason I haven’t caught you by now—besides the fact that you’re frighteningly cunning and intelligent, and somehow manage to get under my skin or read me like a book…” She trailed off, her voice lowering, her eyes dropping. The slight praise made your heart flutter. You almost immediately hated it.

You didn’t dare to breathe as she tried to find her words. 

“It’s because I believe you can be so much more,” she finished quietly. 

When her gaze meets yours again, this time is softer, as if returning from somewhere. “I was like you once. Someone was supposed to stop me for good, too. But they made a different call.” The resolve in her voice is unmistakable. “Now, I’m the one making that call.”

For a moment that seemed to stretch on in the distance, neither of you dared to move. Her words seem to echo though the air, manifesting again and again in your head. You wanted to say something, anything. But what were you supposed to answer?

She was clearly giving you a white flag, a truce. But accepting would change everything. And you didn’t know if you were ready for that. Clenching your hands against your sides, you couldn’t stand the shimmering hope reflecting on the dark pools of sea foam. 

“I am not meant to be a hero, Nat.” You answered delicately, feeling like you owned her at least. 

Natasha didn’t flinch. Instead, she stood there, her silence louder than anything she could have said. You braced yourself, praying that she didn't make this more difficult than it was supposed to be.

But before she could speak, static crackled from her comms.

“We got him,” Yelena’s voice cut through the tension. “Horvat is in custody, Natasha. It’s done.”

Natasha’s shoulders went down, just slightly. You could see the shift in her expression—relief, professionalism. Her hand moved up to press her earpiece, her sharp green eyes still locked onto you.

“…Understood,” she replied, her tone steady but clipped. For a moment, it was as she answered both of you. You didn't say anything as she finally stepped back, the silence defining. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “When I was chasing you I installed a tracker on his car, my unit did the rest.”

You wanted to laugh because, of course, despite everything that happened her multitasking was unmatched. She started to walk away but paused when you didn’t immediately follow. You just stood there, watching, wondering how she always managed to build a wall between her emotions and professionalism. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire chemical balance mere seconds ago.

“Are you coming?” she asked, her tone casual, as though the weight of her earlier words hadn’t just cracked something open inside you.

Your reluctance was answer enough.

“The truce will stand, even in SHIELD’s jurisdiction, I promise,” she added, her voice firm but not unkind. “Besides, we’re processing him to a secondary location first.”

Normally, you’d call bullshit. You knew how much SHIELD hated your vigilante methods—how relentless they were in their attempts to bring you in. And yet, despite all of that, you found yourself taking a step forward, then another, until you were following Natasha.

[davesbigwhirlwind]

My forced formal transformation story - the things we do for love...

Sam was the love of my life. She was more stylish, more cultured, more intelligent. I had a reasonable job and was a fairly popular and trendy guy, but I was punching above my weight and I knew it. But we clicked. There was a connection and it just worked. I'd do anything for her. 

We'd been going out for about 5 months when she suggested I should move in to her family home. She lived with her father in a large house alongside their 2 staff. Now her father was a traditionalist, and, like her, was very well educated and informed, and I liked the fact he was very direct. He was a successful business owner and by default seemed to be in business mode, and always wore a somber suit and a serious expression on his face. His wife had sadly passed, but I respected the great job they had done in raising Sam into the fine woman she was. 

He told me that he'd be glad of me to move in - separate rooms of course - but as our relationship was clearly serious he wanted to help us, but emphasised that he wanted to help me develop both intellectually and physically, and while he would take things slowly, he would require me to embrace both the learnings and recommendations he made to help guide me towards being a good husband, should we reach that point. 

I readily agreed. 

A month later and I moved in. Stephen started straight away teaching me much of his knowledge on everything from etiquette to literature, and the art of being a good partner. He explained the man's place was not about fashion, beauty and flamboyancy, but, rather about masculinity, dependability and stability, and being understated, while allowing Sam to take the limelight. He explained that the correct appearance was every bit as important as how you act and how would help guide me through these factors over the months ahead. 

The first change came the following Monday. I woke to find in my wardrobe that all my t shirts had been replaced by good quality white formal shirts, and accompanying white vests to wear under them. And I was gutted to see that my entire trainer collection had disappeared and been replaced by 3 pairs of, very traditional, formal lace up black leather Oxford shoes. Even when selecting my smartest dark jeans, they still looked very out of keeping with the formal white shirt, and pulling on the shoes the leather creaked as my feet adjusted to being wedged into the pointy toes. I tied the laces and saw my face reflecting in the incredibly highly polished leather uppers. Walking in these shoes was a challenge, as the smooth soles meant I had to walk much more slowly and with poise, in order to not skid. 

I would never have chosen these clothes but went along with it, with Sam encouraging me. I got a few wise cracks about shiny shoes at work but that was about it. I worked in IT so it had a fair variety of oddballs, from geeks wearing cartoon t shirts, to goths, so while my change in style was out of character for me, it wasn't a major issue. 

I also needn't have worried about the jeans not looking right, as, by the end of the week, these had all been removed, to be replaced by heavy, pale grey wool trousers, tightly tailored and with razor sharp creases that hung straight down with just a small break above the seam which grazed the top of my Oxfords. A shiny black formal belt was also provided. 

This became what I wore every single day. It felt particularly strange wearing this at weekends when seeing friends, and the wise cracks at work focused on it being my school uniform, but Sam kept me up, telling me how handsome I looked. If she was happy, then I'd cope. I no longer worked out at the gym, and I controlled the time I spent with friends to ensure I committed the time to my new family and to this process.

The following Saturday Stephen announced we'd be making a trip to his barber. 

I was straight into Anthony's chair, and with a glance on the mirror I got a last look at my prized hair. Everyone loved my hair. I got lots of great comments about it. it was long, luscious, tousled and framed my face beautifully being roughly parted to drape down and across my forehead and feel flowing to lying on my collar. 

There was no discussion as Anthony combed through my hair. For years my shoulder length hair has been roughly parted above my right eye, but now a very severe straight part was created on the far left side of my head with the hair scraped to either side of this stark white line. 

Without ceremony the clippers were powered up and ploughed up the left side of my head towards the part, while Anthony used his comb to angle out the hair so that the clippers left a slightly longer length at the top, but otherwise a fine pelt of military length hair was left three quarters of the way up. This continued round my head as my ears became uncovered for the first time. And boy are my ears massive. Alarmingly so. Jug ears without a doubt, and definitely having benefited from the hair that had very satisfactorily covered them for over 20 years. Next Anthony took his scissors and was cutting the top down with massive chunks. Nothing longer than an inch and a half remained. The next shock was just what a big forehead I had. With so little hair, my facial features were really standing out. A razor then took off the hairs at the back of my neck, that had never caused an issue before, but were now clearly too scruffy to remain, while my sideburns were removed to the top of ears.

Pomade was then rubbed into my hair and a comb carefully pulled the hair across my head, while Anthony styles a small quiff at the front and showed me how to re-create this. 

He showed me in the mirror the remains of my hair. The uniformly clipped hair ran over half way up the back of my head before tapering to a slightly longer length leading to a small ridge ran round my head at the point that the clipped hair met the wet-looking slicked hair on top. This ridge dipped slightly at the back, but still remained high up my head, allowing the virgin scalp to shine through across most of my head. This was very much a short, no-nsense business man's haircut

I went to sit with my cold - and much lighter - head, while Stephen got a trim. I realised he had an identical cut. Same left part, clipping, ridge, slicked quiff. Though Stephen wore the cut far better as he had far less expanse of clipped scale due to having a much lower hairline and smaller, rounder head. While my head was very clearly very elongated and egg-like. He also had small ears that sat neatly tucked into the side of his head, unlike my satellite dishes. I ran my hand down the back of my head, which sent a shiver down my spine from the bristles that were an alien feeling. 

Sam looked genuinely shocked when she saw me. I couldn't blame her as my features seemed to have moved round my face from this brutal cut. My massive pale gleaming forehead and giant ears exposed for the first time, and the brutality of the cut showing the elongated oval shaped head that had been hidden for so many years. I felt shell shocked, but Stephen offered a rare word of encouragement by saying how positive it was that the men of the house were now setting a clear standard on grooming. I truly hated this haircut and how it made me feel and look, but a part of me also really felt proud that Stephen wanted me to take on part of his style. This really was a defining moment of moving from fashionable to formal. 

Friends and colleagues either looked in horror or laughed but told me it would soon grow. However I very much doubted this would be allowed to happen. It was the second haircut 2 weeks later that got the worst response, as no one could begin to fathom why I would inflict this same style on myself for a second time. But this became routine that ever 2 weeks we'd both be shaved, trimmed and slicked to ensure the stubble remained short enough to pass muster. 

I think even Stephen realised I needed to get used to my new look as the next few weeks were more about using my new skills, such as Sam and I attending small dinners at home with close friends and associates of Stephen.

Then, an upgrade came. A plethora of very sombre ties in shades of navy, burgundies and dark green appeared alongside a navy double breasted blazer with rows of gold buttons running down the front sides. This became standard attire, as my heavily starched shirt collars now became buttoned to the top and digging into my neck, with a Windsor knotted tie, together with tie clip as standard from morning to night and the blazer whenever with company, and fully buttoned whenever I wasn't seated. I now looked like an off duty naval officer, but it did too make me sit up straight and hold myself taller as a result. 

A couple of other hurdles came over the next month. First I was taken to the opticians for the fitting of my new glasses. It was a surprise to me I was getting glasses, as I lived constantly in contact lenses, having only a small pair of rimless frames for emergencies. However the frames that had been chosen for me were big gold framed aviator glasses that filled the width of my face, and the frames glinted in the light as I moved. However as I was so myopic the lenses were extremely thick, and the lenses shrunk down my eyes (one of my best features, which now looked weirdly small and watery and hidden by these large rectangular fishbowl lenses, with strong reflections) as well as creating a very visible cut in the side of the lenses meaning my head looked like it had had chunks taken out of it. My contact lenses were removed and these became a daily dominating feature on my face, as the world now saw me as a bespectacled man for the first time. Due to the weight of the large panes of glass that now sat across my face, they kept sliding down my nose. They were adjusted, but the result meant the arms of the glasses dug into the side of my face, creating permanent creases in the temples of my head.

I also had my tattoo on my arm removed by Lazer. It wasn't appropriate. It was a painful correction. Both in the emotional loss of something I loved and the physical agony of it being eradicated. 

This was me now, this was my daily uniform. I didn't now need to spend time thinking about what to wear or what to buy, as it was already a given. When I stood beside Sam, she looked radiant and beautiful as ever, while I remain dependable and reliable beside her. Ultimately I was grey. Yes I looked very smart and could be very charming, but no one would give me a second look beyond my formal and traditional appearance. I admit that the old me used to like the glances I'd get from women checking me out, and I would flirt with women and preen myself to be as attractive as possible. Now no one I would have found attractive would give me the time of day, and if people stared, it was now for very different reasons This was me now. Formal, nerdy, a bit ugly. From my smartly quiffed hair and geeky big glasses and smart outfit. But I was fully committed to Sam, as it should be, and that was what mattered. 

[callsignvulture]

141 + Graves Music Headcannons‼️🎶

This is based off of a conversation I had with my roommate and boyfriend months ago. Idc if these are accurate- these were just our headcanons! This took me all damn day to write, so I hope it’s…at least decently good!:]

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Bands: Shinedown, Theory Of A Deadman, Seether, Three Days Grace, Saving Abel, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed, Drowning Pool.

Top 5 listened to songs: Rx(Medicate), 45 , Just Like You , The Vengeful One, California Dreaming

In his younger years, he definitely would have joined in mosh pits at concerts. If he tried that now? God he’d be leaving out of that venue with a headache, body pains and more bruises and scars on him than when he arrived there. Because of this, he prefers to sit a fair bit away from the stage, but in the middle so he can see the whole stage.

Soap makes fun of him for it, making comments like it, “Ah cannae decide if ye're tryin' tae be somebody's faither, or if ye're just actin' like Price. Come on, LT, get wi' the times. Ye're no an auld man like Price just yet.”

But don’t let that fool you- Ghost has definitely influenced Soap’s music taste. Soap just won’t admit it.

Bonus!: Ghost would listen to…well, Ghost. Why? “‘S my name, ain’t it?”

John “Soap” MacTavish:

Bands: Twenty One Pilots, One Republic, System Of A Down, Måneskin, Limp Bizkit, Green Day, Blink-182, Weezer, Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Games We Play.

Top 5 most listened to songs: Coffee’s For Closers, Get A Job, Fairly Local , Beverly Hills , What’s My Age Again?

Had a pop punk phase he never grew out of, and was definitely a teenage dirtbag(🥁).

His whole reality breaks when he overhears a recruit call any of the late 2000s/early 2010s bands he listens to “vintage”.(Price and Ghost just laugh and tell me he’s too young to feel that way.)

Really fun at concerts surprisingly. He always tries to be in the pit at the concerts for his favorite bands, and goes WILD if he gets noticed by an artist he really likes.

Price, Ghost and Gaz don’t really understand why he likes the music that he does.

Bonus!: When Gaz listens to Kanye, he’ll blast Taylor Swift just to fuck with him. He doesn’t like Taylor Swift, he just likes to see Gaz get frustrated. “You know she’s only popular ‘cause of ‘im, right Soap?” “Ah dinnae care. Ah juist like te disturb yer peace, Gaz.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Bands: Arctic Monkeys, Rihanna, The Neighborhood, Kanye West, The Weeknd, Shaggy, Dr.Dre, Kendrick Lamar, Hozier, The Cardigans, Beyoncé.

Top 5 most listened to songs: It Wasn’t Me, Reflections, Love The Way You Lie, Knee Socks, Dark Times

God he’s a certified lover boy AGH-

Imagine: Gaz waking up in the early hours of the morning, sunlight on his skin, looking fine as hell…and “It Wasn’t Me” is playing on the radio AAAAAA-💕(like a damn scene straight out of a movie I swear-)

Gaz likes going to concerts and like Soap, will try to be front and center, but he’s not nearly as energetic and wild. He’d more than likely mellow out with some fruity drink.

Before Gaz joined 141, back when he was an officer, he would definitely make whoever was his ride along listen to Rihanna or Beyoncé in the early hours of his shift. Now when he’s on missions with 141 and he’s in control of the radio, he’s more likely to play Kendrick Lamar or Kanye West, much to Ghost and Price’s annoyance. Soap is the only one who doesn’t complain.

Bonus!: Surprisingly, Gaz is open to listening to any kind of music, even if he doesn’t like. Once sat down with Ghost in the common room and let Ghost show him the music he listened to. Obviously, he wasn’t a fan of it, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Sorry, ‘s just not my style. But thanks anyways, Lieutenant.”

Captain John Price:

Bands/Artists: Guns ‘N Roses, Metallica, Kiss, AC/DC, Twisted Sister, Ozzy Osbourne, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Rolling Stones, Mötley Crüe, Ramones, Post Malone(there’s a reason for this, stick with me-)

Top 5 Most Listened To Songs: Seek & Destroy, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Dr.Feelgood, Sunflower, Street Fighting Man

Headcanon(Thanks to my boyfriend): 141 had a movie night. Soap and Gaz wanted to watch Into The Spiderverse, which Ghost and Price agreed too(reluctantly). Price really liked the song Sunflower, and after the movie, Gaz and Soap sat down with Price and showed him more of Post Malone’s music. He’s not a huge fan of the rest of his music, but he does really like that song.

Price’s music taste hasn’t changed since he was younger, still listening to the same bands he listened to in the 80s. Definitely gets somewhat upset when he sees someone his age wearing a shirt of the band but can’t tell him any songs by the artist.

Doesn’t go to concerts anymore unless the team wants to go. Would prefer to go to a bar and listen to music while getting drinks with his mates.

Bonus!: Price is the type of guy to look at people who don’t listen to his kind of music and ask, “Oi, lads, who sings this?” “Eh...Ah havnae a clue...Guns N Roses?” “Metallica, Cap’in?” “No, ‘s definitely Kiss.”In reality, he already knows who’s singing it, and they’re all wrong.

Commander Phillip Graves:

Bands/Artist: Morgan Wallen, Tim McGraw, Blake Shelton, Bruce Springsteen, Florida Georgia Line, Carrie Underwood, Luke Bryan, Big & Rich, Jason Aldean, Sam Hunt, Luke Combs, Toby Keith, Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Top 5 most listened to songs: God’s Country, Save A Horse(Ride A Cowboy), She’s Country, Dirt On My Boots, Should’ve Been A Cowboy.

What can I say? Southern man loves country music.

He’s not allowed to go to concerts anymore due to the fact that he has gotten drunk on several occasions & had to be escorted out:(

He had a crush on Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood at some point in his life and I won’t explain how I know that.

Makes the Shadows listen to his playlist when out on missions to the point where most of them could easily identify what country artist is who.

Bonus!: Absolutely hates any non-country artist who tries to make country music. Like when Beyoncé released Texas Hold ‘Em, he was absolutely livid.

[multifandom-aroace]

Gwen's wardrobe in season five makes me sad. (I'm not the best at analysing but please bear with me)

Partly it is the fact that it just doesn't look like something she would wear. Like I get that she looks good. She doesn't look out of place in any way, but her clothes just don't suit her.

obviously she looks regal and beautifully. she looks like a queen, but she doesn't look like gwen.

I understand that what she wore before wasn't exactly what a queen should be wearing, but it feels like in costume design they went a bit too far in the opposite direction. all the colours are too dark, the details don't really fit with her personality. her costumes throughout the show are all relatively similar but once she becomes queen it feels like she changes completely. this probably reflects how her personality changes, which I also don't like. you would think that since she wasn't raised in nobility she would be fair and kind, not willing to kill a servant girl just because she overheard a conversation. it feels like they set it up from the beginning of the season for us to dislike her.

when I think of guinevere I think of costumes like these

these flower corsets are some of my favourite things she wears, and she could have worn something similar when she was queen.

I started thinking, in terms of the show, about why she might have changed her costume design so much and then I thought it might have something to do with respect. swen was a servant turned queen, and probably a lot of the people of camelot wouldn't have liked this much. you know, tradition and shit. so she probably drew inspiration from the other nobility she knew and decided to dress like that. for example, a lot of what she wears is similar to what Morgana wore.

like, obviously thay aren't exactly the same but it feels like there is definitely inspiration here.

this is probably because Morgana was respected (obviously before she because evil).

a lot of the female nobility/royalty clothing we see from camelot and the other kingdoms is Morgana, although we also see this from other visiting people, such as vivian, mithian and elena.

(best picture I could find of her full dress)

obviously elena is wearing a wedding dress here but she is literally marrying Arthur (who gwen married which is why she started wearing these clothes in the first place), and we can see that this colour and style is available to her class.

mithian and vivian are both wearing lighter, more delicate styles, and I get that these aren't anything I could see gwen wearing either but it's definitely closer than what she's actually wears. need I remind you that mithian was supposed to marry Arthur as well?

one thing I could find that is similar is literally gwen's coronation dress. while not exactly the same, it does seem very similar to somathing Morgana wore when she became queen

I feel like the purple and the gold colour scheme seem quite similar, as well as the sleeves and the general embroidered decorations.

I do also feel like this might be the most similar to gwen's original style that she goes in terms of her costumes as queen. it's a lighter colour and the gold decorations feels less heavy than when it is mixed with a darker fabric. this dress is more silky and delicate, rather than one of the first things she wears in season 5

the gold appears to be maybe a darker shade of gold especially when mixed with the maroon colour of the dress. this dress is clearly perfect for a queen, but it just doesn't feel like gwen. (not necessarily connected to Morgana jsut another point)

i guess what she was trying to do was remind the people of camelot that she was to be respected, and she knew how much people had loved Morgana. vivian and elena, on the other hand, were not. they were only in camelot for a short time but in that time they didn't really get people to like them. vivian was rude and elena was a bit 'weird' to them (not sure how else to describe their reactions to her). gwen didn't even meet mithian because she was in exile (another reason she needed people to respect her), so Morgana was the best person to take inspiration from.

the connection to morgana's outfits could also represent the connection between them later in the season and when gwen is under her control

overall, I think they did gwen dirty in the final season and she definitely deserved better.

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

#6.5 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology, gang violence | 450 words

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Yuzu’s mentor in crime, Yakuza Uncle, was losing hope. After years of retirement (at least he called it retirement, it was more of a hiding-from-loan-sharks sort of a deal), he had finally found a student, bright and enthusiastic. That very same was also Yuzu’s hamartia: too bright and enthusiastic.

He had a scary face with a scar down his eye (fell off the toilet as a kid), spiked black hair, deadshot with a gun (when he could borrow some bullets) and a muscle-pig body so admired in the criminal henchmen job market. That was not the issue, it was this: Yuzu was an incorrigible chatterbox.

“So, Uncle, do I hold the crowbar over my head and shout ‘raaaahhhhh’, or should I go for something more classic, like– ‘you won’t get away from me!’ I think the latter’s more my style, but do you think it’s too extra? I don’t want to look like a novice. Also, I met Toji a couple days ago! Yeah, I tried to rob his girl, heh-heh, I did buy her lunch as an apology though! She was so sweet, I hope Toji brings her around. Say, Uncle, I asked Rosie if she wanted to hold the gun, guess what she did. She straight up took it and shot at my chest! I just can’t with her sense of humour! Uncle, are you listening?”

“Yes, Yuzu, can’t help but to listen.”

“And Rosie thinks that we should get married next winter. I said, “Isn’t winter too cold?” and she said, “Purity of darkness lies in winter.””

“...What does that mean?”

“Not a clue!” Yuzu smiled wide, swinging his crowbar around. “Doesn’t it sound so cool though?”

“Hmph. How’s going with her dad?”

“Still thinks I’m not worth marrying her, which is fair, but she loves me too! Chamar Uncle’s gonna come around in no time once I get the Yakuza gig, don’t worry. He’ll be calling me ‘son’ come next winter. Rosie calls me her ‘pretty baby’, you know?” 

“What– What’s come over this generation? You be a man now, Yuzu! Stop grovelling at your woman’s feet! Hold your stance! Practice with the gun and no. more. talking!” 

Yakuza Uncle flexed the sum total of 8 fingers that he had left from his gangster days, trying to relax the extreme frustration that arises out of developing a student who would be just perfect physically. And only physically. 

Yuzu, head full of Rosie Chamar, shut an eye and banged off 5 rounds, hitting the bulls-eye each time. 

previous next series masterlist

a/n: why did i switch to past tense after writing the whole story in present tense up to now? my fingers say its correct-er. not gonna argue with the actual writers of the story.

Yuzu and Shiki don't get along because they both think they owe each other money. Plus Yuzu thinks Rosie might find that Shiki's prettier. Shiki hates Yuzu for the love of hating.

i imagine yuzu looks smn like this. rosie dresses him with what she thinks yakuza goons wear.

[celebrityfanfictionblog]

A Royal Indiscretion at Sandringham

The Saloon at Sandringham House on the Sandringham Estate in Norfolk, eastern England, was a sanctuary of aristocratic elegance on March 3, 2025. Britain’s King Charles III welcomed Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau after a day of diplomatic discussions, retreating to a private drawing room where the air was thick with unspoken tension.

Charles, at 5'10" with a slim to average build, bore the marks of his 76 years: a slight paunch, sparse gray chest hair, and legs with muscle definition softened by age, showing visible veins and slight swelling. His thinning silver-white hair was styled short with a side part, his blue eyes sharp yet reserved, and his fair complexion, with a ruddy undertone, showed wrinkles, age spots, and sagging skin. His slender “sausage fingers,” adorned with a wedding ring and signet ring on his left pinky, were a distinctive trait. He wore a dark gray suit, a white dress shirt, a light purple tie, a white pocket square, and dark brown suede tasseled loafers with dark socks.

Justin Trudeau, at 6'2", had a lean, athletic build, his brown hair swept back in a tousled style, and blue eyes that sparkled with charm. His fair complexion and warm smile reflected his Scottish and French Canadian heritage. He wore a medium gray suit, a white dress shirt, a dark blue tie, dark dress shoes, and dark blue socks, with a red wristband on his left wrist and a wedding ring on his left hand.

Charles sat in a high-backed armchair, legs crossed, sipping Scotch, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Trudeau stood by the window, gazing at the estate’s gardens, the tension between them palpable. “Beautiful place, Your Majesty,” Justin said, turning with a smile that held a hint of mischief. “Reminds me of the Laurentians—wild, but tamed.”

Charles set his glass down on the small table, his voice low and measured. “Thank you, Justin. It’s been a refuge for me. Though I suspect you didn’t come all this way just to admire the scenery.”

Trudeau chuckled, stepping closer, his height casting a shadow over the king. “No, I suppose not.” He paused, his blue eyes locking onto Charles’s. “I’ve always admired your… resolve. It’s inspiring.”

The air thickened with unspoken intent. Charles tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d like to show me just how inspired you are.”

It was a dare, and Justin didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees before Charles, his hands resting on the king’s thighs, feeling the lean muscle beneath the tailored fabric. Charles leaned back, unbuttoning his suit jacket as Justin’s fingers deftly unzipped his trousers. The dark gray fabric parted, revealing Charles’s 7-inch cut cock—thick and veined, already half-hard, framed by a sparse patch of gray pubic hair. Justin’s breath hitched, his own 6.5-inch cock stirring in his suit pants, but his focus was entirely on the king.

“Christ, you’re… regal everywhere,” Justin murmured, his voice husky with desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing the flushed tip, tasting the faint salt of precum that beaded there. Charles exhaled sharply, his slim hands gripping the armrests as Justin’s warm, wet mouth closed around him. The prime minister started slow, his tongue flicking delicately over the sensitive head, teasing the slit and coaxing more precum onto his palate. He savored the velvety texture of Charles’s shaft, the musky scent of the king filling his senses as he swirled his tongue around the ridge, tracing every contour.

“Bloody hell,” Charles rasped, his refined accent fraying at the edges. “You’ve got a talent for this, haven’t you?”

Justin grinned around the cock, his lips stretching as he took him deeper—3 inches, then 4, then 5—until the head nudged the back of his throat. He bobbed his head with deliberate slowness, letting spit slick the way, the wet slurping sounds mingling with the crackle of the fire. Charles’s hips twitched, urging him on, and Justin hummed softly, the vibration sending a jolt through the king’s body.

“Take it all, Justin,” Charles commanded, his voice firm despite the tremor of arousal. Justin obeyed, relaxing his throat and sliding down until his nose pressed into the gray pubic hair, the full 7 inches buried deep. He gagged slightly, his blue eyes watering, but held it, breathing through his nose as Charles groaned—a low, primal sound that echoed in the opulent room. Justin’s tongue pressed flat against the underside, feeling the thick vein pulse as he held the king in his throat, his lips stretched tight around the base.

Justin pulled back slowly, dragging his lips along the shaft, letting his teeth graze ever so slightly to draw a hiss from Charles. He plunged down again, faster this time, setting a steady rhythm. His tongue swirled around the head each time he came up, flicking the slit with precision, coaxing more precum to mix with his saliva. The taste was heady—salty, bitter, and distinctly Charles—and Justin drank it down greedily, his own cock straining against his trousers.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Charles muttered, his polished demeanor crumbling as he gripped his purple tie like a lifeline. “Suck it harder, Prime Minister.”

Justin complied, hollowing his cheeks and sucking with greedy intensity, the suction pulling a guttural moan from Charles. His hands slid up the king’s thighs, feeling the lean muscle tense beneath his touch, then moved to cup Charles’s balls—tight and heavy, dusted with gray hair. He rolled them gently in his palm, tugging lightly, feeling them draw up as Charles’s arousal peaked. Justin’s tongue worked relentlessly, lapping at the frenulum, then swirling around the head before diving back down, deep-throating with practiced ease. He alternated his pace—slow and teasing, then fast and sloppy—spit dribbling down his chin as he worked the king’s cock with fervor.

“Goddamn—don’t stop,” Charles growled, his hips bucking, fucking Justin’s mouth with short, sharp thrusts. The room filled with lewd sounds—wet smacks of lips on skin, muffled moans, the creak of the armchair under Charles’s shifting weight. Justin glanced up, catching Charles’s flushed face, those blue eyes half-lidded with lust, his ears pink at the tips, his silver-white hair slightly disheveled. It spurred him on. He deep-throated again, his throat constricting around the king’s cock as he hummed, the vibration pushing Charles closer to the edge.

“Justin—I’m—” Charles warned, his voice breaking, his “sausage fingers” tangling in Justin’s tousled brown hair. Justin didn’t pull off. He sucked harder, his tongue pressing against the pulsing vein, and Charles came with a strangled shout. The first thick spurt hit the back of Justin’s throat, hot and bitter, followed by a second and third, each pulse flooding his mouth with the royal load. Justin swallowed eagerly, gulping down every drop, feeling the heat slide down his gullet as Charles shuddered above him. A final dribble coated his tongue, and he pulled off with a soft, wet pop, licking his lips clean, a string of spit and cum briefly connecting his mouth to the king’s softening cock before it snapped.

Charles slumped back in the armchair, chest heaving, his cock resting against his thigh, slick with spit and a faint sheen of cum. “Good Lord,” he panted, adjusting his tie with shaky hands, his ruddy complexion now a deep flush. “You’ve outdone yourself, Prime Minister.”

Justin rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the red wristband catching the firelight. “Happy to serve, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice rough but playful, a smug glint in his blue eyes. He straightened his suit, smoothing the medium gray fabric, his own arousal still evident but unaddressed.

Charles tucked himself away, rebuttoning his jacket, his composure slowly returning. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we?” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at the wedding ring on his pinky. “Diplomacy has its perks.”

Justin nodded, stepping back toward the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the glass. “Always a pleasure, Charles.”

The fire crackled on, the secret sealed in the quiet opulence of Sandringham, the air still heavy with the scent of Scotch and sex.