#but it does hit hard sometimes to realise that she really. really would have been happier if she never had vi and I

[malachitezmeyka]

What's that one quote that goes like "I had a dream of my mother with the love of her life and no children. It was the happiest I've ever seen her", because... yeah

[dakogutin]

hiiii i just binge read all your fics and obsessed is an understatement!!!

idk if u take requests but i had an idea and it’s driving me crazy i just had to put it somewhere.

okay so i thought of it while reading the fic in which remus and sirius hear each other in bed at night.

well…. james and lily share quarters when tnehre head boy and girl, i know they don’t share a room exactly, but i was thinking: with all their tension building up throughout the years, especially that year, one of them hearing the other even if it was so so quiet would drive them crazy and i’d love to see your interpretation of how it goes.

i really hope you consider writing this but if you don’t thank you so much for all you’ve given the fandom!

ive never been thanked for giving to a fandom🥹🥹thankyousosomuch!

havent written exclusively jily smut yet but this one's for you anon<3

[cw for cute plot but with very filthy m/f smut below cut]

=-=-=-=-=-=

Head Boy and Head Girl. That was definitely one way to have her final year at Hogwarts, Lily thinks to herself. For one, she was forced to work with James Potter often. But the surprises didn't end there as she's progressively making sense of why James Potter became Head Boy.

In the first month she could still deny it, but with their rounds scheduled together, the endless meetings, and their regular check-in with Professor McGonagall, she can't avoid it anymore. James Potter was surprisingly and unfortunately... she shudders... responsible.

She tries-- very hard-- not to let anything show, especially knowing James Potter will run with any reaction he'll get from her. But the realisation hits her harder than a Hex sometimes. And it had been too much lately.

Like that time when they were deciding on which Prefect to assign on the fifth floor corridor. It's where their DADA professor had hidden a "secret special dark creature", and no one was permitted to use that floor for their own safety. The task of keeping that corridor empty fell on the Prefects. Lily had names ready, which included Lupin. She watched James' reaction and sure enough, he protested. He and his gang were always weirdly protective of that quiet Lupin.

"Davies can take Lupin's place."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "No one gets special treatment, Potter. I wouldn't have you use Lupin for whatever kind of mischief you otherwise reserved him for."

Potter held out his palms in the air and let out a small chuckle. "None planned, I'm afraid. Just that Davies is rather, how shall I call it..." He shrugs. "A bit of a pompous sod."

"And you'd rather have a pompous sod keep check of whatever dark creature is in there?"

"If the choice is either that or Peeves, Evans? Yep."

"What does Peeves have anything to do with this?"

As though he was waiting for that exact question, Potter leaned his head on the pillar as an arrogant grin on his face matched his tone. "Lupin is one of the few people who can go toe to toe with Peeves. There's Sirius, but he's out of the question. Not a Prefect and all that. Of course, I'm another option but I'll clearly be occupied, won't I?"

No words come to Lily. He was right. To think she was too caught up with the smaller picture of using Lupin to spite Potter.

"And," James adds, "Davies loves his authority. If anything, students passing by that floor wouldn't think twice in following what he says. While Lupin can help the first years get to their common rooms without being tormented by our resident poltergeist."

It's this point that Lily failed to contain the awe from her face.

"I know. I'm rather brilliant." James waggled his eyebrows.

She simply rolled her eyes in response then.

At present, she couldn't help but have all those other similar instances where James Potter surprised her of his maturity and dedication to his role fill her mind as she went searching for him. He just had to have Quidditch practice at the same time with their meeting, so now the task of passing him the minutes of meeting fell to her as Head Girl.

She could wait until tomorrow of course, but the thought of an unfinished business with James Potter didn't exactly sound appealing. She'd much rather be done with it as soon as possible.

The pitch was empty when she reached it. Practice must've been over. For a moment she dreaded the more complicated prospect of searching for James in the entire castle, but that was when she spotted Sirius Black.

"Where's your other half?" she demanded.

"Evans," he noted. "Good morning to you too." Then he proceeded his steps.

"Black, wait." Lily held out the paper. "Why don't you give him this."

He stared at it for a second, then glanced up to her. "I'm allergic to official documents. Sorry."

"Don't be an arse. I'm just asking you to pass it to him since you're attached at the hip anyways. And it would spare me the trouble of having to look for him."

"Do it yourself." Black grinned. "He's in the changing rooms, doodling the team's strategy like a proper swot."

Lily sighed. "Why can't you do it? Please," she added, begrudgingly.

Black shrugged, already walking off. "I'm not the Head Girl."

He was gone before she could even form a retort.

After dragging her feet to the changing rooms she found it as empty as the Quidditch pitch. Lily debated simply sending her owl, but in the end she decided against it since the Owlery is in yet another tower. She cursed Sirius Black in her head, dismissing this as some stupid prank. Honestly, why hadn't she expected that?

She then heard a distant noise. Someone was inside. Lily proceeded further and was about to call out Potter's name when she recognised the sound of water spraying down on tiled floors.

If this person really was Potter, he was in the middle of a shower.

Lily clamped her mouth shut and cursed Sirius Black again, retracting her steps as silently as possible.

As she turned for the exit she heard a noise from the shower. She thought it had been a hum-- that maybe James Potter was one of those people who sang while showering...

Except it was too faint and too guttural to be a hum.

When Lily heard the noise again, she was more than certain he wasn't singing. The noise shot right through her, leaving a shudder. She needed to leave. Now.

But as another soft moan echoed in the small room, Lily could distinctly tell it was indeed James Potter's raspy voice. And that just made everything worse.

Her face heated as it became harder to breathe. Suddenly all she could picture was James Potter-- just a few steps away-- completely naked, sopping wet... and touching himself. Her treacherous mind reminded her how he's always been showing off about his form and how he worked hard during the summer, plus with playing Quidditch all these years. The thought of that form he worked so hard on right now?

Lily swallowed, and that's when she realised her mouth was watering. She was mortified as much as she found herself frozen. Another moan slipped out from behind her, deeper and gruffer. And just like that her mouth wasn't the only thing that's wet.

She needed to go. She needed to go. She needed to go. "Fuck!" she hissed a whisper. This was wrong on so many levels.

One foot was out of the room when-- she dropped her wand.

Horrified, she didn't waste time picking it up and bolting out. She could only hope James Potter was... too busy... to have heard that.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Lily stayed at a deserted hallway overlooking the Great Lake for Merlin knows how long just collecting herself, questioning her life choices, and wondering if she should Obliviate herself. The thing is, distraction was just about impossible. She'd find herself circling back to all those sinful thoughts, and those sounds.

A voice broke through her spiral. She jumped at the unexpectedness but failed to make out the words. Turning to face the person, her knees almost gave out to the sight of none other than James Potter. He was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, which only sculpted his indeed very fit form. Why? Wasn't his practice over? Hadn't he already showered? Why did he have to wear that now?

She stared at him for a while and she saw how he was still expecting a response. "What did you say?" she asked dumbly.

Hands shoved in his pockets and grinning slightly, he stepped closer. "I said, are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" "Lily felt her breathing become unsteady once more and internally cursed herself. "And... why would you just come out of nowhere to ask me that? How did you even find me? What do you want?"

"Right," Potter chuckled. "You seem tense."

Lily took a deep breath. "I'm just tired. Look, I only meant to give you this." And finally, she was relieved from her task.

"Thanks, Evans." He said without sparing more than a second's glance at the paper.

"Sure." She then fixed her bag over her shoulder and walked past James Potter.

"Wa- where're you going?" He called behind her.

"Erm..." She hated that she didn't have an immediate reply. Anywhere was honestly better, with all those feelings she'd just shoved down already coming back to the surface as Potter looked at her with those round searching eyes. "My room."

"It's 4 in the afternoon on a Saturday."

"Your point being?"

Potter shut his mouth, whatever he wanted to say was left in his thoughts. "Nevermind."

"Okay... well, I'll see you around." Lily turned away once more.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

"The answer is still no, Potter."

He laughed. "Not that." He stepped closer again, taking away the distance Lily just made.

"What is it..." She could smell his aftershave this close.

His glasses were skewed as his eyes scanned her. For the first time Lily felt an impulse to fix it on his nose. "Have you been looking for me?" he asked.

Lily had no idea how to deal with a James Potter like this. He was speaking in a softer voice and he was giving her a gentler gaze. It was far from his usual loud and uncaring tone along with his brazen grin. "I was," she replied. "Just to give you that."

"Right. And you were at the Quidditch pitch?"

She didn't like where this was headed. "Yeah. You had practice, of course that's where I'd look." At that, he simply nodded. "Why do you need to know?" she challenged.

James Potter's grin was back. "Guess I'm just curious."

Don't answer. Don't answer. Don't answer. "About what?"

He shrugged. "How long you can avoid what you know I'm talking about."

Lily decided to play his game. "What are you talking about?"

"Sirius told me he saw you," he said, stepping closer.

Lily held his gaze. "Oh? What else did he say?"

"That he told you where I was."

Nope. She couldn't do it. "Have you no shame?" Lily turned away, her cheeks heating up. "Whatever, okay. I didn't see anything."

Potter broke into a laugh. Of course he had no shame. "I didn't mean to make you... tense."

Still refusing to meet his face, Lily replied, "I'm perfectly fine."

"Evans," he called soflty, "I can tell your face is red."

"Maybe because this topic is largely inappropriate!"

"Alright, sorry," he said with another wave of chuckles. "I'm letting you go now."

Lily sighed in relief. "Thank you." She made one move to head off when Potter spoke once more.

"Just thought I'd let you know, I'd recognise your perfume anywhere."

There was just no way she was getting out of this unscathed. It became clear she should just stop resisting. Lily turned. "So, you knew I walked in."

Surprise was evident on Potter's face. Perhaps he expected Lily to walk away. "Not at first," he admitted.

"But you continued anyway." Lily took slow but consistent steps like a prowling cat, stopping right in front of Potter. He followed her every move with his gaze alone, half-lidded eyes trailed down to hers. "Would you do that if anyone else had walked in?" she added in a murmur.

Potter tilted his head. He had a dazed look, and his lips were parted. "You know I wouldn't."

Already this close, it didn't take much for their lips to meet in a kiss.

A shudder spread through Lily's skin in hearing a pleased but muffled sound from Potter. The thought of drawing more of those sounds from him filled her with dark anticipation. Big warm hands caressed her softly as she tugged on his hair. Too lost with the slick heat of James Potter's mouth, she gasped at the sudden solid brick of the wall against her back. James was crowding her there-- in the middle of the hallway where anyone could pass by and see.

"James..." she mumbled against his lips.

He responded with a groan, strong arms squeezing her. It was remarkably secure in his hold, and she could definitely feel his form. She took a self-indulgent moment to let her hands explore, never leaving his lips. From his sturdy chest to the narrowing of his waist. Merlin, she could do this for hours.

"Mmph..." James let out a deeper moan, and she felt it on her neck. "Lily..." His voice this close to her ear was nothing compared to hearing it in the shower. And for him to moan her name...

Lily's knees threatened to give out, and the certainty of being held firm by James almost convinced her. Instead, the palm on his chest pushed him until their lips were apart. "Not here," she whispered.

James stared at her for a while, still caught in a daze. She watched as her words settled in his mind, dilated pupils scanning her until they widened in realisation. Then, a smirk stretched his swollen lips. He looks as though the disbelief hasn't left him. That this really is happening. In all fairness, Lily couldn't believe it too.

"Wipe that stupid expression away and find us somewhere private, will you," she said with a chuckle.

His smirk stretched into a grin. "Yes, ma'am." He stole one last kiss before stepping back, pulling her with their linked hands.

James led them to an empty classroom. With a wave of his wand the lock clicked, and he was instantly back on her like a starved man, guiding her to the nearest desk. Lily welcomed every kiss before pulling his tight uniform over his head. "You found this room really quickly, huh." She couldn't help but notice.

"Hmm?" His shirt was now off, his hair was messier, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose.

Finally, Lily fixed his glasses. "I just said, you seem to always know which places to look. You found me easily too, just earlier. I had to look for you for hours!"

Two blinks until he managed a response. "Oh." He shrugged. "Just... great sense of direction. May I?" he asked, glancing to the buttons of her shirt.

Lily gave him a look. "Since when were you a gentleman?" she said, then proceeded to unbutton herself. Much to her satisfaction, his eyes never left her hands.

"Since," he swallowed thickly, "since you bothered to find out."

"That doesn't make sense." Lily let her shirt fall from her shoulders and perched on the desk.

James' breaths were heavier. "No, it doesn't." His eyes stayed stuck on her breasts. He would lift his gaze to her eyes but they'd constantly fall back down. It was adorable.

With a fond smile straining her cheeks, Lily reached for James' hand and placed it on her left tit. "You can touch me, you know." She then pulled him closer, parting her legs to make space. "I want you to touch me."

A surprised laugh left James' throat. He bit his bottom lip, if only to contain his wide grin. "Fuck, Lily..." James surged forward into a desperate kiss, pressing down until Lily was lying back. Her skirt hitched up until it was now loosely around her waist. She could feel everything in this position, the most prominent being the erection against her own wetness, and the thrilling fact of being separated only by a few layers of clothing.

She bucked her hips impatiently, grinding against James. The groan she elicited from him went directly into her mouth. It's then she zeroed in on one goal. She needed to hear more.

While James' hands were otherwise engrossed with feeling up Lily's tits, she trailed hers downward, reaching for a buckle. James noticed with a gasp and pulled off to shoot her a look of pure want. Hooded eyes, heaving chest, and swollen lips curled into a grin. He was the image of a wet dream.

James watched as her deft fingers unbuttoned him, tugged his pants to pull out his hard cock. It fell right between her legs, sitting on top of the wet patch of her panties. Then, she stroked.

She was rewarded with a shaky moan from the man on top, his head dropped to rest on her neck as she found a rhythm. Right next to her ear, she could hear the shaky sighs and the small whimpers whenever she twisted her wrist just so. Then, an idea popped in her head.

"This was what you were doing in the shower?" she cooed.

"Oh, fuck..." he drawled before dissolving into a short laugh. He rocked his hips, aiding Lily's fist. It caused his cock to graze against her clit. She jolted in surprise just as a moan escaped her lips. "No," James continued, now gazing down at her. "This is infinitely better."

"James..." she whined, pleading. She didn't know what exactly, just that she wanted him to do something.

It's as though she flipped a switch in James' brain. He pulled up from lying on top of her, closed one hand around his cock and used his other to dip inside Lily's underwear, finally sliding his finger through her slick folds. Lily sobbed out a moan, her head falling back.

The finger stopped teasing and finally rubbed her clit. With Lily's mouth hanging open, she reconnected their lips until they swallowed each other's moans. Her hand that was still around his cock started jerking him off in time with his fingers. It prompted James to slip them inside her waiting hole and her other arm instantly flew around his shoulders, gripping tightly to ground herself from the whirlwind of pleasure.

They stayed in that perfect dance for a while as James' fingers tested different angles and eliciting different responses from Lily. When he found that delicious spot inside her, and she cried out from beneath him, he pulled out. Then, he got off her completely.

Before Lily could even form her protest, getting on her elbows to find exactly where he is, she was met with the sight of James getting on his knees between her legs. He delicately slid her knickers to one side-- then licked a stripe up her wet cunt.

Her head fell back down as she moaned hoarsely, a distant thought crossed her mind that hoped no one passed by this classroom, but it was quickly replaced by that same wave of arousal when she felt two fingers slip inside her again.

Just as she'd thought it couldn't get any better, James would moan-- and the vibrations went directly where his mouth kissed and sucked. It was too much.

"James!" She panted. "James, fuck, I'm... I think I'm go--" But James wasn't interested in helping her finish her sentence, speeding up his fingers, sucking harder, and moaning louder. She didn't stand a chance. Lily came in waves and waves, writhing in place as she was powerless to James' firm grip.

When the high subsided and she felt one with her body again, she didn't waste time pulling James up to his feet and smashing their lips to a heated kiss. Her hands crawled to his neglected cock, hot and leaking, and stroked him with all the intent to see him fall apart. His jaw fell slack and all he could do was turn into a mess of whimpers and groans.

A twitch in her hand told her he was close, and then he was coming a rope of hot white on her. It seemed forever that he recovered from his peak. "Fucking hell," he said after taking his first breath. "I don't think I came this hard in my life." He shook with laughter. The sight prompted a surge of emotion in Lily's chest that she couldn't help but drag him back into a long kiss.

The only coherent thought in her head was this couldn't be the last time this happened. "Ask me again, Potter," she said breathlessly, fixing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

It took him a long while to figure out what she wanted him to say, until finally, he grinned. "Lily Evans, will you go on a date with me to Hogsmeade?"

She mirrored his grin. "I'd go on a date with you wherever, James Potter."

The elation on his face could light up the entire castle on Christmas day. He let out one huff of laughter before collapsing on top of her and drowning her in kisses.

[anjelicawrites]

request/ask: i've been thinking of non!poly Osferth and fem!reader and i was just watching "the last kingdom", season 4 episode 2 and realised 'baby monk' really likes to... watch? he was enthralled by the spanking the priests we're receiving and i feel like he'd be into *light* impact play (teasing swats on his bare cheeks, slapping his face – but not too roughly!) but throughout their relationship they reach a new level of trust and vulnerability which is spanking, he also might like the idea of mutual masturbation, exhibitionism and voyeurism! also with how how wide his eyes went when he saw one of the whores ladies on top giving, riding, i think he'd enjoy that too? x

Yes! Nonnie yes!

NSFW and 18 plus please!

He's interested but never truly had the chance to try any sort of impact play with anyone? And his Lady Love hits him by mistake? She was supposed to swat his chest but it lands on his cheek? And he feels something stir in his loins? So he tries to make it happen again and again, until his girl understands and starts doing it on purpose? And he gets an erection every time? Plus he stays hard even after he's come into her, because she is still lightly slapping his cheeks? And she gets progressively harder when she spanks him? And he begs for it and thanks her? Growels at her feet like he would at the Altar.

And mutual masturbation and exhibitionism go hand in hand (lol), because they have to sleep around the fire huddled with the others and that's the only thing they can do sometimes? And it gives them a thrill that they might be discovered? Osferth comes so hard he always has to bite on something to stifle his moans? And he spies on his girl when she's washing herself on a river bank: he can't get enough of her body and curves and the way she touches her own body. He ends up hard and needy and has to be fucked on the terrain, her on top, her hands pushing on his chest to keep her balance as he lets himself be taken and used for her pleasure. He comes so hard at the thought he's pleasuring her, that he's making her feel good he doesn't care about his own end. She takes pity on him every time: how can she not, when he's moaning and staring with those big blue eyes? Praying to her the way he does in Church?

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Ways in which I could see the main party members betraying us:

Neve: becomes disillusioned with the ability to truly make a difference, believes Tevinter society isn't worth saving, throws her lot in with Solas either during the game or before it (her meeting Varric and Harding in the comic wasn't actually coincidence)

Taash: honestly I could see them pulling a Qun with her. We just had bull outright tell us so we won't expect her to be sneaky with it and the war with the Qun is v big in Tevinter at this point in the timeline. I could fully see her being an agent like Tallis or Bull that's got caught up in all this. (I hope if they do do this route though they give us a more sympathetic view of the Qun like in Dao and Tallis in da2)

Davrin: okay so hear me out...Qun also? I'm saying this because I think it would be a fun twist AND I could imagine Sten putting some qunari into the grey wardens after everything now he's the arishock. I think if this is the case Davrin will be mostly chill about it tho. Like again, I don't think it'll be The Betrayal just a twist. However, I think they wouldn't be this fun with it and he'd be more likely to be a corrupt grey warden as per inquisitions line aka it's not his fault and the blight controls him somehow

Scout Lace Harding: she's been a deep agent or Solas for a LONG time. Or she was made sympathetic to his cause after getting her cool magic powers and realising that the fall of the veil would be cool. I honestly think this would be really interesting and mean that whole "we find people Solas doesn't know" thing hit hard, considering the person who does know Solas is the turncoat

Bellara: I don't want her to be on Solas's side at all because that's too basic, but I wouldn't mind her being quite driven by finding out about the past a la Merrill sometimes to the detriment of those around her because she's just Too Intense About It.

Lucanis: the crows have been contracted by Solas; he's an assassin come to get YOU a la Zevran except unlike Zev it's a long con. Like Zev you can either change his mind or kill him. I think this would be a really awesome plot line actually.

Emmrich: something about Nivarna here...like I want some kind of religious reason he'd be interested in siding with the Elven gods or solas...something about the dead coming back from beyond the pale and that being the true meaning behind everything etc. etc.

[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt8}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: angst, descriptions of a crash, mentions of religious trauma Word count: 1246 Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @topguncultleader@vellicora @ystrolllll 

Part 8 of the Mamma Mia series

After Japan, you operate on auto-pilot, the days all blurring into one. At work, your colleagues leave you be, however, your best friend sees right through you, especially after you cancel on her for a third day in a row. So Jasmine does what any best friend would do: she lets herself into your apartment with the key you had given her, only to find you curled up on the couch, staring into space as the sun sets, drowning you in twilight. She forces you to get changed out of your work clothes while she puts the kettle on.

“Talk to me. This is not like you,” Jasmine says, putting a mug in front of you.

“I don’t even know where to start..” you mumble.

“Start with what’s got you so heartbroken that you’ve become a recluse,” Jasmine offers. You shrug, feeling another wave of tears threatening to spill.

“I broke my own heart. I should never have agreed to their plan,” you say. You tell her all about the last couple of weeks, about the dates they had been taking you on. About how you tried so very hard to not fall in love.

“But I did. I fell harder than I think I ever have.”

“How does that lead to you breaking your own heart? Shouldn’t you be over the moon and disgustingly in love with your man?” Jasmine asks you.

“How can I be happy when I love all three of them?” you throw out, a sob wrecking through your body as you bury your face in your hands, “I am such a greedy whore for wanting all of them,” you whisper.

“No. Stop that right now,” Jasmine says, moving her chair next to yours and pulling you against her chest.

“Sometimes I really curse your parents for the religious trauma they subjected you to. Babe, we’ve talked about this. There is nothing wrong with being a slut or a whore, as you put it, as long as it is your choice to be called that term. Nothing wrong with a little consensual degradation in the bedroom. But loving more than one person does not make you a whore. It makes you polyamorous,” Jasmine responds, rubbing a hand down your back. 

“P-poly-what now?” you ask as you look up at her.

“Polyamorous. Oh babe, for someone with a double master’s degree, you really are clueless sometimes. It means someone who’s in a relationship with more than one person at a time. It just means you love differently than the heteronormative norm.”  

You’re quiet for a moment, letting your friend’s words sink in. She’s hit the nail on the head with her comment about your parents. You went no contact years ago, but your religious upbringing sometimes still haunts you even now that you’re an adult and no longer believe in the church as an institution. A tiny spark of hope flickers alive in your heart at the knowledge that there is a world in which you don’t have to choose between them, before it gets squashed by the realisation that you might have burnt that bridge before you even got to cross it. 

“What if it’s too late?’ you voice your biggest worry out loud, “What if they don’t want me anymore?” 

“Unfortunately there is only one way to find out. You gotta talk to them.”

Jasmine made it seem so easy, but finding the time to do so is proving difficult during the next race weekend. Due to the sprint race, the weekend is even busier than normal. By the time Sunday comes around you are convinced it won’t happen. Kevin seems to be avoiding you —and you can’t blame him for that—, Lewis is busy preparing for two races, and Mark is filming for Channel4. You throw yourself into your work, trying your hardest not to think about how your chest constricts every time you catch a glimpse of any of them on the screens in the garage. It’s not until Sunday’s race has well and truly started that you can’t use work as an excuse anymore. The latest bits of sim data have already been analysed so you really have no reason to stay in your office. You hide away in the back of the garage, out of sight for most of the cameras but you have a clear view on the screen with the F1 world feed. Your chest feels tight with anxiety for this race; the heat has been brutal for everyone involved and the tyre management put in place by Pirelli doesn’t fill you with confidence either. 

The first 30 or so laps go by relatively smoothly, but just as you allow yourself to exhale for the first time in what feels like an hour, things go horribly, horribly wrong. Logically you know the whole thing won’t have lasted for much longer than several minutes, but it feels like everything slows down as you watch one of the RedBulls collide into Lewis’ car while trying to overtake in the straight between corners 15 and 16, sending the latter spinning into the barrier on the right before getting bounced to the other side of the track like a ping pong ball before it comes to standstill against the wall. The RedBull tries to correct its own course but can’t help losing control again and sends the Haas that was behind them into the gravel where something seems to snap from the back of the car, causing the driver to lose complete control and slamming sideways into the barriers. Miraculously, the RedBull remains on the track, although it’s obvious the car has some major front wing damage, and makes it into the pitlane without much of a fuss. You keep watching the screen breathlessly, hoping for any signs of movement while you vaguely hear Lewis’ engineer ask Lewis if he’s okay. Instead of confirmation, it remains quiet. Your chest feels too tight to catch your breath as panic claws its way up your throat when you realise that the Haas currently in the barriers is Kevin. Ripping your headset off, you make your way outside and into the pitlane. Air, you need air. Leaning against the wall, you inhale deeply, trying to use the breathing techniques from yoga to calm down. They’re gone, your brain very unhelpfully supplies and you cover your mouth with a hand to stifle the scream that’s threatening to come out. You hear someone talking to you but the words don’t register as his body blocks you from view. Looking up, you see Mark’s concerned face looking back at you and the realisation that Lewis and Kev got hurt hits you all over again. A sob wrecks through you as your knees buckle.

“I’ve got you,” Mark murmurs, pulling your body against his. “They’re gone and I-.. I will never get to tell them-.. Mark-..” you sob into his chest. Mark rubs a hand down your back, letting you cry into his shirt as he tries to sooth you. You thought the heartache you felt after Suzuka was bad, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You can’t breathe, can’t think; the only thought going through your head is how this baby will never get to see their dads, how you lost the loves of your life and that you will never even get the chance to tell them that, how it’s all your fault. And that thought rips you apart all over again.

For maximum emotional damage, may I suggest playing Gracie Abrams' Cedar on loop while reading this? Because that song broke me

@curiousthyme this chapter would not be what it is without you, so thank you

Please let me know what you think. Your comments, tags and likes mean the world to me 💜

[harley-sunday]

Feels Like Home [03]

Summary: When an unexpected three-week break between Monza and Singapore finds Daniel back on his farm in Perth he’s desperate to use this time to clear his mind, figure out his future in Formula One, and find his way back. He didn’t expect a new neighbour, a sassy two-year old, and three alpacas would make him realise that sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 4.6k

AN: Daniel in this chapter is just... Oof. I hope you like it, if you could take some time to leave a comment that would mean so much :) ♥

Masterlist

“Alright, Boss,” Daniel jokes with a wide grin, “tell me what to do.” It’s his first official day as her farmhand and even though she told him yesterday what she expects from him he might have been too busy looking at her to really hear anything she said. 

“Well,” she draws out, looking from him to the alpacas and back, “it’s Sunday, so it’s time for their weekly bath, maybe you could-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Daniel eyes the girls suspiciously, not sure how he feels about bathing three killing machines who could take him out in a second. Try explaining that to Blake, he thinks to himself with a wry smile.

“Well yeah, I mean, they’re outside all week long, so I usually take them down to the river on Sundays and give them a nice wash.” She nods towards her truck, “There’s a bottle of shampoo and a brush in my truck.”

Ok. He’s got this. This is nothing compared to driving a race car at three hundred k’s per hour, right? It’s just three alpacas, and they’ve probably been bathed lots of times before, and if she can do it he surely can. Right? Daniel swallows hard, mentally preparing himself for the task at hand by taking a deep breath, trying not to show fear because he’s convinced the girls will pick up on that and- Ok. One at a time. He'll start with Blanche, she's definitely the least threatening, then Babs, and Betsy last.

“I usually take all three of them at the same time,” she says then. “They get a little antsy when they’re separated.”

Oh. Ok. He risks another glance at the girls who are huddled together in the corner of the paddock, eating some grass and probably having a better time than he is right now. But. One alpaca or three alpacas, same difference, right? So why does his voice come out all high and squeaky when he tells her, “Yeah, nah, no worries.” 

Next to him he can hear her let out a laugh and he’s about to tell her that this might not be the best idea but then her hand is on his arm and she looks up at him with a mischievous smile, “I was just messing with you, Daniel.” 

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes before he composes himself. Or tries to, anyway, “I mean, I was going to do it but-”

“Yeah, nah, I could totally see that,” she jokes, her hand squeezing his arm as she winks at him. “Why don’t you fill up their feeder inside and I’ll get started on cleaning out the shed?”

“That I can do,” Daniel agrees easily enough. He takes the bucket of grains out of her truck and starts making his way over to the shed. As soon as he opens the gate he can see the alpacas hurrying over to him and so he makes a quick dash to the shed to avoid being trampled to death by a herd of angry alpacas. Or at least, three very hungry ones. Still they catch up with him and he lets out an embarrassing yelp when Blanche head buts him in the back, “Jeepers, Blanche!”

“She likes you,” she says from where she’s leaning on her pitch fork. 

“I like you too,” Daniel tells the white alpaca in a soft voice, trying not to spook her, “but I’m gonna need you to keep your distance, ma’am.” 

***

When you hit the call button you take a deep breath, trying to settle the nerves in your stomach that have formed a nice little knot there ever since Granddad suggested asking Daniel to help you out and gave you his number, and bite your lip while you wait for the call to go through. 

He answers with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Hi Daniel, it’s-”

“Well, hello neighbour,” he says then and you swear you can feel his megawatt smile beaming at you through the phone. “Everything alright? Is this you calling me to tell me what an excellent job I did today?”

“Uhm, no-” You can’t help but laugh, “But sure. Thank you for today, Daniel. You did an excellent job.”

“Thank you, that sounded very genuine and not at all prompted,” he laughs.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I uh-” you clear your throat, trying to get rid of your pinched voice, “I wanted to ask if you maybe could do me a favour tomorrow?”

“Hmm,” he hums in reply and you think you can hear him sit down somewhere, “that depends.”

“On?”

“On what the favour is. I’ve got no problem feeding the girls but if you’re going to tell me that because it’s Monday it’s time for Oscar’s his weekly bath I might-”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, “No.” A little cheeky then, “That’s not until next Friday anyway.” He chuckles and you can feel your nerves settle down a little, “I do have to take Granddad into town tomorrow though. The doctor wants to see him for a follow-up and so I was wondering if you maybe could watch Ellie for an hour or two? Mrs Mackenzie was supposed to watch her but she’s not feeling too well, so- Normally I would take Ellie with me but it’s right around her nap time and she gets a little grumpy when she doesn’t get enough sleep so I’d rather-”

“You want me to hang out with Miss Ellie?”

“Well, she’d be asleep for most of it,” you try to reassure him because he sounds a little- hesitant, maybe. “Really it’s just babysitting her for two hours tops but if you don’t-”

“I’d love to,” he interrupts you quickly. “What time do you need me to come over?”

“We have to leave at one-”

“I’ll be there.”

You can’t help the smile that grows ever wider, “Thank you so much, Dan. I really appre-”

“Stop it,” he counters, no doubt with a grin. “I’m happy to help out.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep from thanking him again and so instead you simply say, “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yep. Catch you later, neighbour.”

***

“Thanks for another great workout, Mikey, it’s been swell,” Daniel says once they’re done with their Monday morning session. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Michael eyes him suspiciously, “You’re awfully chipper today-”

“What?” Daniel chuckles and shrugs, “Am I not allowed to enjoy working out?”

“You are,” Michael draws out, “it’s just that usually you don’t.”

“It was a good workout, mate,” Daniel says as he claps Michael’s back. Of course he knows exactly what brought on his good mood, because he’s been looking forward to babysitting Ellie all day, but he doesn’t necessarily need Michael to know that. 

“Sure,”

“What?” Daniel says again. “Don’t doubt yourself, Mikey. Your workouts are great!”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Michael says, circling his finger in front of Daniel’s chest, “but keep up with the flattery, mate. It’s better than your usual complaining.”

“Awesome.” Daniel risks a quick glance at his watch then and sees it’s already a quarter past twelve and he still needs to shower and- “It’s been swell, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” Michael agrees bluntly. He narrows his eyes at Daniel then, “Do I need Blake to schedule a drug test or something?” He lowers his voice, “Are you involved in illegal activities, Dan? I mean, I’m not against the use of CBD oil but I don’t think smoking weed is-”

“Out!” Daniel pushes his friend towards the door with a shake of his head even though he can’t help the smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth, “Don’t be a nosy Nellie, mate. It doesn’t suit you.” 

Michael gives him the finger but then heads to his car and so Daniel turns on his heels and heads for the shower, and if he’s already picked out the outfit he’s going to wear, so what? It’s efficient.

He’s out of the house twenty minutes later and when he pulls up in front of Oscar’s house there’s still ten minutes to spare. Daniel knocks and then lets himself in like he always does, finding his neighbour in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea, “Hiya Oscar.”

“Hi Danny,” Oscar replies, his face lighting up with a smile.

“How you doing, mate?”

“Not too bad,” Oscar agrees easily enough. As always he’s a man of little words and doesn’t really elaborate. Instead he nods to the ceiling, “She’s just putting Ellie to bed, shouldn’t take long.”

“Oh, that’s ok,” Daniel says as he sits down in one of the kitchen chairs after helping himself to a cup of coffee.

“Listen, Dan,” Oscar starts and for some reason Daniel knows whatever comes next is important, “they’ve been through a lot, both of them. It wasn’t easy when Ellie’s dad-” Oscar shakes his head, “That’s not really my story to tell but I need you to understand that she doesn’t trust people easily, so for her to ask you to watch Ellie, the one person who means more to her than anyone, well-” he locks eyes with Daniel, “It’s a big ask from her and a big responsibility for you. Don’t muck about, son. Ok? Not just now, with babysitting Ellie, but with her as well. I might not be as quick as I was before but I won’t hesitate to hunt you down if you ever hurt her.”

“Understood,” Daniel says with a nod because he does. He could tell she was hesitant to accept his help when he first offered it and even more so when she called him yesterday and so he wants to do anything but hurt the trust she’s put in him. 

“Good,” Oscar says, taking another sip of his tea.

When he hears her coming down the stairs he leans in a little closer to Oscar and tells him, “I’m not gonna let her down, promise.”

“That’s a big promise to make, Danny,” Oscar counters with his eyebrows raised.

“I know,” Daniel gives him a big smile, “but I intend to keep it.”

It’s then she walks into the kitchen, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Daniel beams back at her, a little taken aback by how different she looks out of her normal work clothes because even though she’s wearing jeans and a simple black top she looks absolutely gorgeous. He clears his throat and tries not to stare when he asks, “Ellie’s asleep?”

“Yep,” she nods. “Out like a light. I doubt she’ll wake up before we get back but just in case there’s a bottle of milk in the fridge that you just need to heat up and if she wants she can have a banana.”

“Gotcha.”

“You have my number so call me if there’s anything, ok?” She waits until he nods before she casually adds, “She likes you so I don’t think she’ll mind you being there but if she does throw a little tantrum-”

“I’ll call,” Daniel adds, trying to reassure her that he’s got this while still basking in the fact that Ellie likes him. 

She turns towards Oscar then, “Ready to go?”

Daniel helps Oscar to her car and promises once again to call if there’s anything before he heads back inside and settles on the couch with his phone, making good use of his time by catching up on some emails.

Ellie wakes up somewhere around two-thirty and Daniel’s on his feet at her first cry, a little nervous when he walks up the stairs to where Oscar told him her room is. The little girl is sitting in her cot, looking at him with big eyes and so he lowers his voice, trying to let her know it’s ok when he says, “Hi Miss Ellie. How you going?”

Ellie looks up at him, her little eyebrows knitted together as she studies him for a moment, but then she must recognise him because she holds out her hands to him, “Danny.”

“That’s right,” Daniel says as he picks her up and kisses her cheek. “How you going, sleepyhead?”

She leans back a little in his arms, looking over his shoulder, “Momma?”

“Momma’s taking Granddad to see the doctor, sweetheart,” Daniel explains as he gently wipes her hair out of her face. “She’ll be back soon.”

Ellie seems to think about it for a second but then seems content with his answer and lets her head rest against his shoulder, “Milk?”

Daniel laughs, “Yep. Let’s go get you some milk, huh?” He pokes her side then, “And maybe a banana?”

Ellie’s head shoots up, her eyes wide, whispering a quiet, “‘Nana?”

“Banana,” Daniel confirms quietly as he turns around. He makes his way down the stairs carefully before he walks to the kitchen and sits her down in her high chair. 

Ellie’s quietly singing to herself as he waits for the microwave to heat up her bottle and at first he can’t make out what she’s going on about but then the microwave beeps and it’s quiet in the kitchen again and he hears her loud and clear, “Danny, banana. Danny, banana. Danny, banana.” 

Daniel presses a kiss to the top of her head as he puts her bottle down in front of her, “You’re the coolest kid ever, Miss Ellie." When she smiles up at him he grins back at her, "Don’t tell my niece and nephew I said that, ok? Our little secret.”

***

It’s close to three when you pull up to the house and part of you wants to rush inside, to check up on Ellie, and Daniel, but you know you can’t just leave Granddad behind. Instead you turn to him, “I’ll go ask Daniel to come help, ok?”

Your granddad grunts something in reply and you can’t help but smile because you know it’s nothing personal, know it’s just because he hates not being able to do something as simple as getting out of a car on his own and if anything you admire the way he still cares about his independence. 

You hear him continue his rant as you step out of the car but don't really pay it any mind, music coming from the house drawing your attention instead. When you walk past Homer, who's curled up on the old couch on the front porch, he looks at you as if to say he doesn't know what's going on either. You pat his head and tell him, "Good boy," before you let yourself in and head for the kitchen.

The loud music means they haven't heard you come in and so you allow yourself a moment to take it all in - Daniel with the sleeves of his t-shirt pushed up, excitedly showing off his tattoos to Ellie, pointing at them and explaining to her what they are. Ellie seems absolutely enthralled by all the pictures etched into his skin, her little fingers now tracing the lines of a cupid on his arm. You feel something settle inside of your chest as you watch your daughter and Daniel together, both of them so at ease, and it's something you haven’t felt in a long time. Before you have time to explore it some more your daughter spots you and so you push yourself off from where you were leaning against the doorframe and walk over to where Ellie’s sitting in her high chair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “Hi bub. You having fun?"

Daniel nods, "She's been like this ever since she woke up half an hour ago," just as Ellie points at Daniel’s tattoo, “Cupid!”

“Yeah, that’s a cupid,” you agree with a smile, trying your hardest not to stare at Daniel's tan arms but failing miserably and so you clear your throat to distract yourself. 

If Daniel notices anything he's kind enough not to mention it and instead puts his sweater back on. Once that's over his head he looks at you with a grin, "What you do to the old man? Leave him behind at the nursing home?"

You laugh and shake your head, "He's in the car. Would you mind helping him out?"

"On it," Daniel says with a click of his tongue, pointing a pair of finger guns at the two of you before he pulls a face and turns around. 

Both you and Ellie watch in silence as he walks out of the kitchen, Ellie letting out a quiet, "Danny," when he turns the corner and you letting out a heavy sigh at the same time. When Ellie looks up at you, you smile back at her, drawing out a "Yeah."

Ellie, bless her, claps her hands in response and then blows a raspberry at you.

You comb your fingers through her hair absentmindedly, "Same, bub-" Another sigh then, "Same."

Daniel and Granddad make it inside not much later, but it’s only Daniel who returns to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair as he says, “He asked me to put him in the living room.”

“He’s a little grumpy,” you whisper with a wink. “Hasn’t had his afternoon nap yet so-” you see-saw your hand and let the rest of that sentence hang in the air unspoken.  

“Gotcha,” Daniel says with a grin, looking a bit unsure of himself. He shakes his head then and points at the window, “I don’t know about you two but maybe we could go for a walk? It’s nice enough outside and I don’t mind stretching my legs for a bit.” 

You look down at Ellie, “You wanna go for a walk, bub?”

Ellie’s eyes light up and she whispers a happy, “Yeah,” before she looks at Daniel, “Come with?”

“Yep,” Daniel nods. “I’m definitely coming with, my friend.”

“I’ll just go get her changed real quick,” you tell Daniel as you pick Ellie up from her seat. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll wait outside for you,” Daniel offers with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the old man during his nap.” 

When you come down a little later, Ellie in a pair of pale green dungarees and a fleece made from Alpaca wool, you find Daniel sitting next to Homer on the porch swing, albeit with some distance between them. You can’t help but tease, “Cautious of the dog too, Ricciardo?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a nod, rubbing his hands on the fabric of his jeans. “Although I trust him more than I do the alpacas.” 

You click your tongue, “Better not let the girls hear that.” Ellie starts wriggling in your arms and so you put her down, watching as she wobbles over to the apple orchard, where Granddad put up a swing for you in one of the trees when you were Ellie’s age. You look at Daniel and shrug, “Guess we’re going that way.” 

Ellie’s surprisingly quick on her little legs and already waiting for you at the swing by the time you catch up with her. Daniel doesn’t hesitate and picks her up so he can put her into the seat, gently pushing her once she’s in, drawing excited giggles from her, his own smile growing wider with every push. 

You and Daniel talk about the farm mostly, how it was back when you were a kid and how much has changed since your grandmother passed away a few years ago. When he asks if you could ever see yourself moving here full time, you hesitate, “I’m not sure.” You shrug then, “I think I could manage what little livestock we have now but I’m not sure if I could be the best mum to Ellie if I have the farm to worry about.”

“Hmm,” he agrees quietly, encouraging you to go on.

“It’s a lot of work,” you explain. “I mean, if it wasn't just me maybe it’d be different but-”

“Can I-” Daniel stops himself but when you nod, because you know what he’s going to ask, he clears his throat and continues, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where’s Ellie’s dad?”

“Dunno.” You smile to let him know it’s ok, “We were together for six or seven months before I found out he was married, so I broke it off and told him I never wanted to see him again. Two months later I found out I was pregnant.”

“Does he-”

“He knows about Ellie, but he already has a wife and kids so-” You look at Ellie, “He signed away his rights when she was born and asked not to bother him anymore.”

“Wow,” Daniel shakes his head. “What an a-” He looks at Ellie and corrects himself just in time, “What a despicable human being.”

You shrug, “It’s fine. For me it’s better this way but-” you swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump that has started to form in your throat, “I worry about the day Ellie’s going to ask about him, you know? Can you imagine? ‘Oh yeah, funny you should ask, kid, but your dad doesn’t want anything to do with you.’” You scoff, “I hate that he’s put me in that position but on the other hand, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have her so-”

“If it’s any consolation,” Daniel says with a hesitant smile, “she’s a carbon copy of you, both the way she looks and her personality. People will always know she’s your kid.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you,” you tell him with a warm smile.

Ellie decides then she’s had enough of the swing and holds up her arms, “Out.”

You can’t help but laugh and nod at your daughter, “You heard her, Daniel. She wants out.” 

Daniel laughs and picks up Ellie, lifting her onto his shoulders before he turns to you, “Why don’t you show me your favourite place on the farm?”

“My favourite place,” you echo slowly, trying to choose between the little creek over in the Burned Oak paddock or- Looking at your daughter then, who is giggling with glee from being so high up, the choice is easy, “Ok. Let’s go.” You lead Daniel through the orchard to a field that at first glance doesn’t look like anything special but you know in a few months time will look completely different.

When you reach the gate you look at him from over your shoulder, “This is it.”

“Ok,” he draws out, probably not sure if you’re joking or not.

“You’ll have to come back in December,” you tell him, without thinking much of it, without fully realising you actually want him to come back, want to have him in your life for more than just the two weeks you’re promised now, “the entire place will be covered in poppies. It’s beautiful.” You poke Ellie’s side then, “It’s why her second name is Poppy.”

“Because you love the flowers so much?” Daniel guesses.

“That and because she was born on December third, when they are in full bloom.” You take your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans and pull up your picture gallery, scrolling back to a picture of Ellie’s second birthday, where you took a few pictures of her surrounded by thousands of red poppies. You angle your phone to Daniel, “See?” 

“Oh wow.”

“Right?” You smile at Ellie, “A very pretty girl in the middle of some very pretty flowers.” 

Ellie yawns in response and when you look at the time on your phone you’re surprised to see it’s already close to five. You look at Daniel, “We should probably head back. Don’t want the wrath of Granddad unleashed on us because of dinner being late.”

Daniel laughs, “Yeah, nah, we could do without.”

***

It’s been less than a week since Daniel offered to help out on the farm, but already you’ve settled into an easy rhythm. You still do your chores around the house in the morning, make lunch, put Ellie down for her nap, and spend some time outside until your granddad calls, have a coffee break, head back outside again together with Ellie for an hour or so until it’s five o’clock and it’s time to make dinner. Or, well, warm up dinner. The meals Daniel brought you only require a few minutes in the microwave and save you so much time. 

Daniel usually shows up around five-thirty, entertaining Ellie long enough for you and Granddad to finish your dinner in relative peace before you take Ellie upstairs to get her ready for the night while Daniel and your Granddad drink a cuppa and gossip about the neighbours and whatever footie game was on that day. By now Granddad is a lot more independent around the house, but getting him ready both in the mornings and at night is still something you need to help him with. He seems a bit happier though and in the end that’s all that matters.  

Once Ellie is asleep, you and Daniel head outside, taking your Granddad’s ute out to Eagle’s nest to tend to the alpacas. More often than not, Homer jumps into the back of the truck once you set off, having taken a special liking to the alpacas ever since they arrived on the farm a few years ago. 

It’s where you find yourself today, an unusually warm Wednesday evening, with Homer dozing off next to the fence while you and Daniel clean out the shed so you can put in fresh hay later. The warmer weather means both you and Daniel have ditched your jackets, Daniel even going as far as taking his sweater off and working in only a t-shirt and so you keep finding yourself stealing glances at his arms and the way his tattoos stand out against his skin. 

Of course Daniel catches you looking, “Like what you see?” 

Is he flirting with you? If he is, it’s working because you feel the heat rise to your cheeks but try to shrug it off, “I’ve seen better.” 

“Hmm,” he teases and throws you a wink. “Let me know if it’s too distracting, babe. I’ll put my sweater back on.”

Babe? Oh God. He really is flirting with you. Fine. Two can play that game, you decide as you lean on your pitchfork, “Are you flexing right now?” You laugh when he seems confused and tease him some more, “Oh my God, you are. You are actually flexing your muscles.”

“Am not,” he shoots back, throwing his spade aside and taking on one of those ridiculous bodybuilder poses, one leg bent as he turns his torso towards you and pumps the muscles in his arms, “Now I am.” He goes through a whole array of poses and ends up with his back towards you, flexing his butt cheeks.

You hate the giggle that escapes you and so you try to play it cool and applaud his efforts instead, holding up an invisible sign, “Ten out of ten, Danny. You have impressed the judges.”

“Judges-” he echoes, “or judge?”

Biting your bottom lip you scrunch your nose, “It takes a lot more than that to impress this judge-” then, because why not, “-babe.” 

“Oooh,” Daniel draws out and puts his hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt by your comment, “way to kick me down, boss. Jeepers.”

“You wanna impress me?” You nod towards the last of the dirty hay, “Clean that out for me and then we’ll talk.” 

“Or,” Daniel starts, taking a step closer to you and making you look up at him, “I could take you out to dinner on Friday.”

You nod, your throat a little dry from how close he’s standing, “Or you could do that.” 

[missmungoe]

Editing the update for Bind Me to the Tide (Shanks x Makino Soulmate/Shared Pain AU), which has somehow become two chapters. ETA this week, but in the meantime, have a snippet, because Luffy is giving me a lot of feelings in this fic:

It became a routine, as the days of their stay lengthened to weeks—he’d be up with the sunrise, the first one through her doors, and the last to retire, his heart as light as her laughter, which Shanks spent most of his days looking for ways to coax out. And aside from the initial excitement surrounding their arrival, the following days were mostly uneventful. Peaceful, and without any notable incidents involving windmills or sharp objects.

With one exception.

The sniffling was making it hard to hold the needle steady, and, “Sit still,” Shanks said gently, angling his chin a bit.

Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Luffy held his breath.

His look softened, and, “I’m not going to scold you,” Shanks said, as he continued stitching the cut in his cheek. It was a good thing the knife had missed his eye. “I’ve done more reckless things with a knife when I was your age. But speaking from experience, you should treat yourself with more care, if not for your own sake, then for your soulmate’s.”

Luffy sniffled, but, “My soulmate?” he asked.

“Everyone’s got one, right?” Shanks asked, with a smile that recalled his self-assured declaration, weeks ago now. “So even if you’re the one who's hurt, someone else will have felt it, too. And the stitches.”

It was punctuated by the needle piercing his skin, but Luffy seemed to have found a distraction in the topic of soulmates.

Focused on stitching the cut, Shanks didn’t ask, but then it was a private matter, even without counting the fact that he was talking to a six-year-old, but then, “I feel them,” Luffy said, and with a grin, “They get hurt a lot.”

His own smile was startled, but then it couldn’t be serious injuries if he sounded so delighted about it. “Maybe they’re a little hooligan like you, getting into fights.”

Luffy seemed delighted by this prospect. “Yesterday, it hurt here,” he said, pointing at his front tooth, his voice muffled as he said, “Like shomething phfell out.”

“They might have lost a tooth," Shanks said. "It happens at your age.”

Horrified eyes stared up at him, as Luffy asked, distressed, “Do they come back?”

He chuckled, “Yes." And with a look, “But only once. When you’re fully grown and you take a few too many punches, you’ll end up with gaps in your teeth. This is why I don’t fight with my fists; it would be a crime to ruin these pearly whites. Although there are some pirates who exchange them with gold.”

Luffy’s eyes rounded, his horror exchanged with delight. “Gold?”

Realising that he might have made a mistake, “If anyone asks, I did not put this idea in your head,” Shanks said.

Grinning, Luffy didn't seem to find any cause for concern. At least he wasn’t thinking about the stitches.

He was quiet for a beat, as Shanks continued, before he touched his chest, over his heart. “Sometimes it hurts here.”

His smile tilting, “Yeah,” Shanks said, gently. “Mine does that sometimes, too.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Pain isn’t just from cuts and bruises.”

He absorbed this, but then, “I like it,” Luffy said, smiling. “Having a soulmate.”

“Yeah?” Shanks asked. He was focusing on the stitches, but then he was trying to make it so it wouldn’t scar too much.

“Mm,” Luffy said. “I don't feel alone when I feel them.”

It hit him so hard he had to pause what he was doing, but looking at Luffy only found him smiling.

He didn’t reach for the bond, or Makino where she was in the storeroom doing inventory. And he’d been lucky, growing up, never lacking in company, but like the little boy on the barstool beside his, he thought about the little girl who’d grown up here, and wondered if there’d been a time, before Teach, and before she’d been so afraid, where she’d thought of him that way, not as a burden but as a companion.

“Can you have more than one?” Luffy asked then, as he resumed stitching the cut.

“Soulmate?” Shanks asked, and when he nodded, “I haven’t heard of it happening. For most people, feeling one person’s pain is more than enough.”

Luffy grinned, undaunted by this. “I’d have more if I could!”

“Yeah?” he chucked. “How many?”

He thought about it, before he declared, “Ten!”

Shaking his head, although his grin couldn’t be helped. This kid...

“That’s a whole crew,” Shanks said.

Luffy’s eyes widened, before he grinned and said, fiercely, “Even if I can’t have ten, I’m still gonna try.”

“Try?”

Luffy nodded, and said, “To feel when they’re hurt.”

His hands stilled, but then he hadn’t been prepared for that, although Luffy didn’t seem aware of the profundity behind that simple statement, but then for him, it probably was that simple.

“That,” Shanks said, with a rough chuckle, and saw him wince as he pulled the needle through, “Sounds like something a captain would say.” And with a smile, “But you’ll have to toughen up,” he said. “Can’t cry at every little pinch if you’re going to share the pain of your whole crew.”

It was punctuated by him snipping the thread, and, “All done,” Shanks said, tilting his chin to inspect it. “It’ll scar, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” Smiling, he lifted his brows. "Your soulmates might even recognise you when they see it.”

He realised what he’d said a second too late, but Luffy only looked emboldened by this.

Those wide eyes lifted to his own scars then, as he asked him, “Where’s your soulmate, Shanks?”

As though the Fates had been listening, Makino returned from the storeroom, her smile softening as she came up to the counter where they were sitting, reaching for Luffy’s chin as she inspected the stitches. She was standing between their barstools; this close, Shanks could count the pale freckles on her shoulders where the sleeves of her blouse bared them. She wore a new bodice today, sunflower yellow with wildflowers embroidered along the laces, the dark red petals bringing out the brandy in her eyes.

Turning towards him dragged his eyes up from her waist, as Makino said, “You’ve done this before.”

He might have felt a little ridiculous for his own reaction if he hadn't been so arrested by the gentle admiration on her face, and grinning, he waved his fingers. “Steady hands. Well, unless I’m drinking, but in which case I really shouldn’t be holding a needle to anyone's face.”

He saw her eyes darting to them, before she quickly looked away, and clearing her throat, “Hungry?” she asked Luffy, running her fingers through his hair. “I could make your favourite. Nothing heals a hurt like a good meal.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Lucky,” Shanks said, and saw her grin where it lifted her cheeks.

Bouncing off his barstool, his stitches already forgotten, “Food!” Luffy cheered.

“You can keep the captain company while I cook,” Makino said, a smile thrown his way. “If he doesn’t mind.”

“Always happy to have good company,” Shanks said, with a wink at Luffy, who’d climbed back onto the barstool. "And someone ought to keep this little troublemaker in check. Not me, but someone. I say we get into a bit more trouble, eh, Luffy?"

Eyes round, "What kind of trouble?" Luffy asked.

"Oh I'm sure we'll find something," Shanks said. "Always some trouble to be found, even in little ports like this."

Looking at Makino found her watching him, her eyes holding something that made him pause, although before he could inspect it, she'd blinked it away, and with a flustered smile, excused herself.

Shanks watched as she made her way to the kitchen, a last glance offered over her shoulder to him before she disappeared through the doors, leaving him by the bar with Luffy, and a feeling that had grown progressively harder to ignore, despite his continued attempts.

He wondered if it was his imagination, and that he was just seeing what he wanted in her reactions. And he didn’t consider himself a delusional man when it came to attraction—he was aware of what he looked like, and hadn’t exactly been lacking in attention where that was concerned. Even Makino had conceded, if only by prim omission, that she found him visually pleasing, which would have been all the encouragement he’d need, usually.

But attraction couldn’t always be helped, and it didn’t mean she’d welcome anything more. And given how comfortable she was around him now, he didn’t want to fuck it up by crossing a line there was no coming back from.

Even if the way she looked at him sometimes made him wonder if she would mind crossing it.

“Shanks?”

“Hm?”

“Why do babies hurt?”

He blinked, and turning his head found Luffy watching him expectantly. “What?”

“Yasopp was telling Ma-chan that it hurt when Usopp was born,” Luffy said, cocking his head. “Why? What happens?”

Shanks stared at him, his train of thought derailed so thoroughly, he had nothing to offer, and so only managed a very articulate, “Uuuuh.”

“Oh, and what’s a cervix?”

“Uuuuuuuuuh.”

“And what does ‘tearing’ mean?”

“Hey, do you want to play a round of bartop hockey?”

[scenetocause]

🧡 for norrussell please?

omg i was really hoping someone would ask for some genders georg. set in the every colour illuminates cinematic universe. this goes a bit beyond kissing so like, m or whatever.

"Hi."

George feels the bed shift, as much as Lando moving. It's light, behind his eyelids, which means he's slept in as long as the jetlag or apparently Lando will allow.

"Hello, you." Cracking his eyes open enough to see his husband looming over him jumbles his brain for a second, wondering when Lando got so big.

He seems much more normal-sized when he snuggles down onto George's chest, under the duvet, wriggling until he can lie between George's thighs. "Missed you."

It's hard, Lando not coming to every race, now. It's better for Lella, it's insane to drag a three-year-old across the world with them and she deserves better than being stuck on 14-hour flights every other week but George got so used to them always being there it's really hurting, to be apart.

"Missed you too."

Lando wriggles down on him again, like he's pleased, was worried George might not care. Even though they've been calling each other every possible opportunity, suddenly realising how much they had to say as soon as they couldn't do it casually.

Like Alex is such a fucking headache in qualifying, George never knows how he's going to beat him, until he does. Lella's getting really good at Mario Kart (and the things they don't say, that maybe it's starting to be time for her to try it for real) and Lando's got some new designs. The pygmy goats are definitely gonna have whatever goat babies are called again. Did you know Natalie Pinkham's leaving Sky?

Turns out you can get very used to having each other on tap. To picking up the conversational threads they've been weaving for years, that other people would only get tangled in.

"You can sleep in," Lando's sort of mouthing at his chest, just above his right nipple, in a kind of lazy way that feels like he's just checking George is real. "I've checked on Lella, she's watching cartoons."

"Oh really?" He can't help the slightly smug tone. Normally Lando would be bringing their daughter straight in to see George, so this means he's got other plans.

"Yeah." Lando props himself up, still strong even if he's a little bit softer around his hips, now. "Gonna fuck you back to sleep."

George knows he's a bit of a stereotype, all that British uptightness but him and Lando have always been filthy. Still, it's a shock to have Lando on top, Lando actually topping not just writhing around on a strapon or begging George to let him rub off on his abs or something.

It's getting George interestingly wet. Maybe they should try it again, when he's less tired. Just for the data.

"Ok, sounds good."

"It does, yeah?" Lando's got a bit of a cocky air to him, pleased like he knows he's turning George on. "Let me-"

George does, spreading his legs easily. It's still, sometimes, weird when Lando touches him like his but it feels safe, in their bed, in their house. Lando's big fingers gentle, where he's working them over and into George, rubbing inside him.

"Are you-" George tries to get his own hands on Lando, find his dick but he gets them batted away.

"Of course I fucking am. Do you know how hot you are?" Lando dips his head down, hiding it against George's chest. "Watched the podium like fifteen times, thought I was gonna have a wet dream before you even got back."

He can't help giggling, even when Lando's hitting the good spots and there's definitely a sense of urgency starting to overtake them. "Fuck - well, I'll try and win again, for you."

"For me." Lando sounds happy about it, mumbling into George's skin. "Fuck, c'mon."

Lando's tongue presses into George's mouth at the same time his cock goes inside him and it's easier to enjoy it, with the distraction of less complicated penetration. It's always been easy, with Lando.

They don't need to say they love each other, mouths too busy with every familiar curl of tongue, Lando's tooth gap sharp against George's lower lip. It's enough to make a man ludicrously wet, that they know each other so well. That Lando's panting, frantic after less than two minutes and has to break the kiss because he's that fucking turned on, whimpering into George's shoulder while he reaches a hand down to actually get him off.

It's over quickly, for them both, everything sharpened by having been apart from each other for what feels like the first time in forever. George forgot how much they need each other, how they'd almost started taking time together for granted.

It pulls an embarrassing sobbing noise out of him, when he comes and Lando's just as bad, sighing and whining against George's neck when his hips rabbit a few, last, jerky times. Ludicrous, is what they are. Always have been.

Lando kisses him again and George doesn't call out the fact his face is wet, clearly feeling the same emotions.

"Go back to sleep, I'm gonna take Lella to buy bagels." It looks like it takes a monumental effort for Lando to roll off him. Even though it's George who's still an athlete, he's definitely not capable of that right now, melting back into the sheets as Lando tucks him in.

"Y'should shower first," he suggests and Lando flicks his shoulder, through the duvet, for it.

"Thought I'd just wander to the bakery stinking of sex, actually." He probably won't but there's something still-cocky about the way he says it.

George smiles inton the pillow, eyes already closed, when he hears Lando add. "Bet none of them have ever fucked an F1 driver."

[h8t3-d]

I just realised something about The Goldfinch movie and book version. In the book there is a part where Theo decides to commit suicide in Amsterdam, but he doesn’t succeed and when he wakes up he almost gives himself away to the police. Then Boris runs through security just to see what is with Theo because he wasn’t answering his calls or text messages. But in the movie they made this scene differently by making Boris come to Theos room while he was unconscious and quickly hoisting him up and basically saving his life.

I think that the movie version wanted to make it more clear that it was actually Boris that saved Theos life because it was very subtle in the book.

Let me elaborate, even though the book version of Theo didn’t die he would have given himself to the police which is Theo still wanting the worst for himself and punishing himself for something that he didn’t have to be punished for. But after Boris came, told him that his painting was safely stored and they had that talk about how sometimes even though you do something good it can do more harm to other people around you than doing what you’d think is bad. And how Boris says that everything he did and does is out of love and he believes that that is the best he can do for himself and people around him. This all meant a lot to Theo and even though I remember him saying that he didn’t want to get philosophical or he wasn’t getting anything of what Boris was saying it really got to him and he might’ve been just pretending not to understand to hide his reaction, but he surely understood everything in his last monologue.

And I just have to say that it is very sweet of Boris that every time when Theo gets in his depressed haze he tries to distract him by telling him stories. For example right after he found Theo in his room and noticed that he looked unwell he started telling him the story about how he got high on weed and that it hit him too hard. Which was very random but it loosened up Theo a little bit. Another thing that I noticed was that Boris was the only one mentioning how badly Theo looked and always trying to go get food with him whenever they were together. Maybe it doesn’t sound so special but considering that not Hobie, Pippa, Kitsey or Mrs. Barbour seemed to care about how badly Theo looked because they didn’t really try to help him or even mention it. Only time Kitsey mentioned Theo’s drug abuse was to say that she knew about it and that she just didn’t mind. So Boris was really the person that cared about Theo the most.

That is why I think Theo didn’t even write a suicide note to Boris, because of all those people he would understand why he did that. He didn’t need an explanation or some sad story of his past. Boris was there with him at his worst moments so there was really nothing left to write. That is why Boris was so caring of Theo he saw how hurt he was and wanted to overcome the worst which was his suicide.

[namazunomegami]

okay so yuta coming back makes sense. i can get on board with that. i was pretty sure he wasn't dead anyways, that's cool

but shjfkglsdg "yuta uses kenjaku's curse technique to steal gojo's body" is a whole new level of wild.

it's interesting that gojo says to yuta what sukuna said to yorozu. "i totally would not lose but if i did i'd be dead. doesn't matter what you do with my dead body."

i'm so impatient for the full translation because damn, what did gojo mean by "catching up" on that panel of geto? is he like, trying to be an idealist like geto was, and "follow his path to the end" along the lines of what geto said? and that whole "becoming a monster" thing?

is he talking about potentially killing megumi? gege doesn't show us enough of gojo being isolated and lonely in the modern day for yuta's "he had to be a monster" line to really hit hard enough, imo.

he is just a silly guy with his students and sometimes murderizes evil curses or gets testy with the higher ups (even then he only bitches at the higher ups! he doesn't kill them!).

cw: me being angry for a hot minute, possible grammatical errors due to me being an impulsive bitch who’s mindlessly typing on her phone

Sadly, as I saw on tiktok and in the leak tags (I also found links to twitter porn, bruh, pls go elsewhere), some fans overestimate Gojo's relationship to others. Some of them, well… oversimplify human relationships. You can love someone but at the same time can’t understand them or can’t agree with them and even hurt them willingly or unwillingly. Humans are meant to be complicated.

We shouldn't forget about Gojo’s isolation, both in a physical and emotional sense. His connections are superficial at best (no, I refuse to believe that he’s a father figure to Megumi, he didn’t adopt him just supported him financially), he has no strong sense of identity. He didn’t know the answer to Geto’s ominous question.

I understand that a lot of fans are hurt because “everybody treats him as a weapon not as a person”. Umm… girliepop, Gojo wasn’t doing his best to improve the quality of his interpersonal relationships or even doing anything to stop others viewing him as a multipurpose tool. He might as well identified with the title of the strongest completely because that’s the only thing he has to center his personality around.

Like... a lot of people expected Shoko to object to the whole body hopping thing. Maybe Shoko didn’t expect him to lose? That’s why she smokes a whole pack of cigarettes during the fight like the self-destructive queen she is? But I dare to mention that to me, their relationship never felt that deep or meaningful. Sure, Gojo is respectful towards her compared to the rest of the characters but I could always feel a little resentment from Shoko. Gojo basically excluded everyone out of the collective tragedy of Geto becoming a curse user. He made it all about himself. It's his pain. His trauma. Nobody’s loss can be compared to his. He unwillingly isolated himself from everyone in that sense.

That’s entirely my hot take nobody’s obligated to agree with it.

I know that he’s the fandom’s darling boy but some fans give more dimension to the character than the canon sources do. Some of them have their idealised version of his character living in their head without all his flaws (you can love flawed characters, you can love said flaws too, you can love morally fucked up ones too it doesn’t make you a bad person). I’m not surprised, I’m not mad, but what they did to Yuta is honestly disgusting.

Yuta is actually the closest to know what Gojo has been through. He understands his loneliness, he went through almost the same experiences in life. Their relationship is much more intimate than the fandom realises. Heck, maybe Yuta understands him more than Geto does. Geto did view him as a weapon for a minute before his departure. You know, when he talks about how his goals can be easily achieved with his power. How he can make such impossibility turn into reality. But ofc that doesn’t mean that their conversation is not inherently about Geto making Gojo question his place in the corrupt jujutsu society, giving him a reality check and pointing out the hypocrisy in his statements.

For Yuta, taking Gojo’s body is not a choice. But a must. And a lot of people forgot about how Yuta has zero self-preservation. He was suicidal, he was ready to sacrifice himself in jjk 0 if it meant to save his friends from Geto and to free Rika. And he's ready to do the same again. Even if it meant to become a monster. Gojo has monstrous moments, and Yuta is his official successor in every aspect and it was told throughout the story over and over. This moment is his succession, officially taking his place on top of this weird sorcery food chain, carrying Gojo’s burden when he can’t do it anymore. Nobody’s “worthy” enough, except him. And this is actually the loveliest part of Yuta’s character: he’s a force to be reckon with, he has the ability to be a monster but his heart is filled with love, he strives to be humane, putting everyone’s needs and feelings before himself even in this dreadful moment.

At one point, Uraume says to Hakari that they can only win this fight if they abandon their humanity. Now, they have no other choice. Using Gojo's body is a mean to an end. Ofc, it's tragic, but it's tragic for both Yuta and Gojo. And we shouldn’t forget about that sorcerers are not good guys. They’re very fucked up guys actually. They’re emotionally and mentally damaged because they literally need to harness intense negative feelings for their power to work. Having a few screws loose is not just a mere expectation it’s a fucking requirement. They’re not morally good, they never have been.

I do want to be wrong when I say that jjk peaked in Hidden Inventory and Shibuya. You know, all the thought, nuance, symbolism and such.

Story wise and in themes I think Hidden Inventory and Premature Death is peak. Pacing wise I think Shibuya is a perfect arc.

But now I think Gege lost trajectory in his own writing. What’s the overall message of this story? Love and how it can turn into a twisted curse if not handled properly? How the youth is always forced to fix the mistakes of the previous generation?

What the hell is even Sukuna’s goal? Being evil for the sake of evil hardly works in a satisfying way in this era of writing.

My biggest beef with Gege is that he can’t handle his own characters (especially if they’re women), he can’t develop his characters and build their arc in a consistent manner. But now… my biggest beef is: from the moment he started this arc, he gave us no exposition, no buildup and no other story elements but instead immediately jumps to the action. It's utterly chaotic to me, like he didn’t do any planning beforehand and now just squeezing important details between fight scenes whenever he comes up with them.

Like, anything that happened in that one month before Shinjuku is shown through flashbacks, instead of you know... writing a whole ass buildup to the final fight, spend some time with the characters, showing us how they prepare and such so we can feel the desperation, we can know that this fight has stakes and requires tremendous sacrifice from the gang.

Maybe Gege writes the fight in this particular way because of shock value. And let me tell you, I hate pointless shock value. It reminds me of GoT season 8.

And maybe if Gege wouldn't use flashbacks as the only tool for writing, this arc wouldn't be memed like "oh shit, this character died too, who's going to face Sukuna after them? We're running out of cast lmao".

[softie00]

STAR

pairings; lee know x reader

warnings; hurt, unrequited love, feelings after years

words; drabble

summary; you think after some time you might get over the person you always fell in love with but you haven't. You struggle till this day knowing minho will never be yours.

It's been 2 years since Minho had gotten into a relationship. Something you never really saw coming, wait. You did. Of course it was going to happen one day. Minho was perfect with a beautiful heart who loves taking care of others and showing affection in his own cute ways. And perhaps, you was one of them people too.

However you took his way of showing love differently from the rest. Not that you ever meant to. But how could you not? When all he did was listen to your worries, have late night deep thoughts and sharing vulnerabilities amongst each another.

You felt special. You felt like you really knew him as a person. As much as Minho is still perfect in your eyes, he has his own flaws too. But you even fell in love with those flaws of his. You would kiss them flaws and tell him everyday of what a kind hearted person he is despite what others say.

He has been nothing but gentle with you. Not realising how slowly he made his way in to your protected heart as he opened it with such care, only to leave you with broken pieces instead.

It's not his fault, no. It's yours.

How stupid of you.

You really thought he could fall in love with you?

Be with you?

You vividly remember these thoughts flooding your mind as he finally told you he liked someone else. Someone who isn't you. Feeling shattered yet keeping a painful smile up for him. You hummed as he spoke.

You still see each other from time to time and for your own sanity not as often. It's hard to start faking smiles as your face muscles ache. How could you smile when the one you always wanted fell for another?

Though it seemed like it worked. Because Minho has not been able to tell at all with your expressions. A relief yet it hurts you too. A part of you wished Minho could read through your eyes and know the truth. But he never has and probably never will.

It upsets you because as someone who's very observant why has he not? You could easily tell when Minho's mood has been affected by the littlest things, he sometimes does that cute pout which brings his lips up and-

Oh. Oh.

Reality hits you once again.

Because he's never fallen in love with you.

He doesn't watch your every action, he doesn't know how to see your emotions through your eyes and how sadness lingers through them for time, he doesn't know how to read your thoughts before you even speak, because he just doesn't love you like that.

The way you do.

Dear diary

Why does everyone says time heals everything yet each day increases my sadness more. They said it'll take time but how much more longer can I take? How do I stop myself from falling in love when he smiles like the brightest star above the skies and lights up my dark universe. It doesn't get better with time, they all lied. It gets tiring to keep a false act up, to smile when you feel like dying, the heavy heart that continues to bleed away in secret. I want to be selfish, I do. Sometimes I want to tell him the truth and set myself free from it. A hidden part of me only to see if he'd react the way I'd want. But will he really?

No.

I need to stop. I feel almost pathetic. First it was weeks, then months and now years. She keeps him happy and he deserves that. To smile. To be loved and cherished.

But, don't I deserve it too?

copyright ©2023 softie00

[lockedtombbrainworms]

That Eighth House art I just reblogged has me thinking: do they know this is a risk? Does Colum know what might happen and object to being siphoned because of that? Does Silas know what he's risking?

Ianthe sure as hell seems to have some idea what's going on when Colum's body gets possessed, and she knows enough to be able to take down the demon. Mercymorn references "an outside predator" and implies something might possess Harrowhark's body while they're in the River, so presumeably the lyctors and John have some idea this can happen. On the other hand, Kiriona says she (and presumably everyone else involved) didn't realise what was happening on Antioch immediately, and thought they had "a weird disease", so while "something fucked up can happen if you siphon someone too hard" seems to be a somewhat known fact, the exact form that fucked-up-ness takes may not be. My related Eight House Thought is that Silas is wearing mail, which is odd enough for a necromancer that Gideon's narration comments on that when she sees him for the first time. It's not the greatest armour in the world if you're dealing with blunt force, but it's reasonably cut-proof and is more use against stabbing attacks than people sometimes think. Is that because an eighth house necromancer is intended to fight while their cavalier is out of it, like we see Silas do when he takes on Ianthe? Or is it because an eighth house necromancer might have to deal with a demonically-possessed cavalier getting up in their shit?

Silas' arc hasn't been wrapped up after he Hit Da Bricks from the river bubble in HtN, and something similar to what happened to Colum is now happening to a whole bunch of people. Mayonnaise Man is coming back in AtN in some form. Also while I'm rotating these weirdos, how did Colum lose a finger? Aiglamene lost her leg fighting for the Cohort, but according to the Cohort Intelligence files, Colum was bred to be Silas' cavalier and was paired with Silas basically at birth. Would the Eighth have risked one of their specifically-bred cavaliers for their Master Templar sending him off to fight in the Cohort? Colum's in his thirties, Silas is like 17, so they might well have been paired before Colum hit Cohort age anyway. He lost that finger doing something fucky and eighth-house-related. We can reattach a finger with modern medical technology, so presumably the Nine Houses can do at least that much if you lop off a finger in a training accident or crush it in a door or something. Also Colum's leather armour apparently looks like it's seen some use as well. There's more than meets the eye with those two, and I really hope we get some idea what it is in AtN.

[lucawrites11]

Hi!! Hope you’re doing well!! I was just thinking, and does Evie at any point when she’s older think about just how young all the women who played a role mother in her life were? Lucy’s sister was a literal teenager. Then, if I’m not mistaken, Lucy was around 24 when she got her. In her case, it was her niece, so of course she had a choice, but kinda not so much.

But in Keira and Ona’s case, they chose to be with someone who had a child (in Ona’s case not even a baby, but a child) and, in different capacities, they chose to take care of said child, not doing the bare minimum, but going beyond the basic needs, and thinking about her wants and loving her.

I don’t know, I was just thinking about that.

lucy's sister was a teenager and when evie turns 16 and is really starting her career she has a moment. she goes to the box that lucy gave her because she's thinking about whether her mum would be proud of her and she rereads everything and realises she is the same age as her mum when she had her and has this huge moment of wtf lucy finds her looking at herself in the mirror and a photo of her mum holding her and having a moment about how similar they look

it also triggers evie to ask someone questions lucy had been avoiding. she's like if i were in that situation right now, i'd want my mums. why was she with you? and lucy has to explain the reactions and running away and also how izzy did forgive evie's grandparents in the end. it really changes her way of looking at the world quite a bit and she has a bit of an identity crisis over not feeling adult at all, like anytime she does something 'child' or 'adult' she has crisis about how she should be doing it

eventually laura sits her down and tells her no one ever really feels like an adult and evie starts to feel a little better but she also has a newfound appreciation for her parents because how are they so good at adulting

it also triggers asking lucy why she took her and instead of the glossed over kids version, lucy gave her the truth about already living with her and loving her and what izzy wanted. evie asks a question about if she was scared or whether it was what she planned and lucy is like "sometimes the best things in life are surprises, you were like a little surprise present" and evie shoves her like "ew you're being too cheesy" (because she's still a teenager) and lucy tackles her into a hug

she then asks keira the same about becoming her mum and keira tells her she knew that she was coming and she fought hard to be her mum. evie is relentless though (it's a long couple of weeks in the respective bronze and walsh households) and is like but you dated my mum knowing she had me why because a kid is a lot of responsibility and adulting and keira was still young. keira tells evie that she didn't know how serious her relationship with lucy would get but when she fell in love with lucy, she also fell in love with her and after that there was no turning back. keira knew it was always a possibility and she was okay with it happening. ona and laura say similar things and evie is like having a huge realisation (and minor crisis) about how many people love her

she has a few more moments like that in her life. she has a lot of people who love her. it mainly comes in the big moments when she has to think about who to thank or who to credit in speeches or a big success when she sees them in the crowd or when she goes through a break up and realises how much her mums shielded her from when she was younger in their break up but also begins to respect them because she doesn't know how to ever talk to her ex again let alone coparent with her and see her with her new girlfriends (that first wlw break up hit HARD - keira, lucy, ona and laura had to have a crisis meeting about how to help evie)

(and also in writing this i changed my mind about something in evie's future and i think people will like it)

[dearest-painter]

Yandere madrigal family x reader? They invite the reader over and are going to kidnap them. But the reader realises and trys to leave, but get kidnaped anyway. I'm sorry if this made you uncomfortable.

Imma make it a bit softer but I can do it! Been a long time since I’ve done encanto also sorry for the long wait! Been busy with school!

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior,unhealthy relationship,abusive relationship,abusive relationship,kidnapping…kinda?(look I write for softer Yanderes so you’ll understand soon),flashing words for the gif, Stockholm Syndrome, DO NOT SUPPORT ANY OF THIS! I AM WRITING THIS FIR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES!

You don’t remember how you became apart of the Madrigal family or how you got here but all you knew was that you were apart of the Madrigal family even if you didn’t have powers. The village people acted iffy with you as if you weren’t always there but they tried to act like you’ve always been here. You never asked as it would upset your family. Your father was Bruno so maybe thats why they act iffy with you. You don’t really remember anything int fact,you don’t remember your birthday or family time. Everyone said it was because you hit your head to hard which is believable.

You and Mirabel share the nursery as rooms are made for a specific persons gift but sometimes you’ll be in Antonio’s room. Going downstairs with Mirabel hand and hand you waved at casita and abuelo,you don’t remember much stories of abuelo but Alma speaks highly of him. “Morning papi” “morning my little rat” It was a nickname as you also love the rats thus gaining the nickname little rat. You helped set the table like every day expect you just stared outside,you’ve been outside many time but for some reason you want to go beyond the hills,it’s possible because you’ve done it once with your cousins but you want to go alone. “Y/N,you okay?” “Hm? Yes sorry just zoned out” Dolores nodded her head.

She’s married Mariano and he treats you like your his own child,you two are inseparable makes Bruno jealous of the fact someone else is acting like your dad when HE’S YOUR DAD! “Morning little sun!” You hugged Mariano,he made the nickname little sun out of boredom and it just stuck with you. Bruno hated how close you two were as he was your father after he saved you from your old home. Dolores just smiled seeing her two favorite people interact. Everyone was happy that you were happy after you finally forgot about your old family,but that does not matter now as your with your real family now!

[canmom]

having just read an enormous metafiction about tabletop roleplaying games, i ended up reflecting a bunch on how I play them - what my characters are to me. a discussion which ended up as a segue into a discussion of what an rpg 'system' actually means in practice.

...happy new year!

as a GM, I tend to be far more improvisational than Joon of Worth the Candle, but I have an affinity for how he does things - one of my most successful games had the players ultimately ascend to usurp me as MC of my Apocalypse World game, which is essentially the structure of WtC.

as a player... my characters are usually ways of experimenting with ideas or conflicts, reflecting some aspect of me, attached to some kind of cool image. my characterisation has been a bit weak for a long time, but I'm growing out of it.

sometimes I've played with groups who found it very easy to see what my character is 'about'. sometimes not. in one sad story - nothing Fel Seed level, don't worry - I struggled fruitlessly to find a way to mesh with the type of story desired by the group and create a story I found compelling. every time I thought I'd hit a groove, I'd press other people's buttons in a bad way. eventually I was asked to leave, and after doing a session where I retired my character, which felt at the time like reading out a false confession before my execution, except I had to improvise within bounds, I left the group and server and basically never spoke with them again.

looking back on it... I was going through some shit. not on the level that Joon was, and I didn't deliberately try to hurt people or lash out in frustration, but I wasn't able to see beyond what I was struggling with (at that time, the surface presentation was my discomfort with the need to make violence in fiction out to be justified, like 'evil races'). I didn't realise that the concepts I found compelling kept hitting another player's no-go list, which sucked for both of us - her to have a frighteningly opaque person who seemed determined to press boundaries, me because it seemed like every time I finally came up with a good idea and thought I had a handle on my character, the DM would quietly ask me to shut it down. nowadays I hope I would have understood all this and recognised the group and game was not right for me and quit sooner, but at the time it seemed like a deep personal failing. it's still a little sore.

nowadays I'm blessed to have a really good group of players with a great DM and everyone invested in the game, and I'm playing a Baru Cormorant knockoff who's the best realised character I've ever come up with I think. and like those previous characters, "Silene" is someone who exists to help me explore some shit. I can invest her with beliefs and attitudes I find repellent but could imagine another me believing, use her to examine arrogance and disregard for others. she's kind of an evil Bryn, and I can slip into playing her like a glove to get a different angle on these kinds of feelings, and then take the glove off later. and for everyone else, she hopefully comes off as an entertaining, strongly defined character that gives good handles to play off.

it's an interesting double consciousness because I absolutely get invested in what she wants and try to make her cool, but also ultimately I think she's wrong and I want to show it. and yet... I put stuff I do like into her, or follow ideas that come to me in the moment. her playful enthusiasm for 'natural philosophy', her loyalty to her friends - she's got an endearing side, she could grow out of it. i ended up 'discovering' that she has a lot of discomfort with rejection, which isn't a character choice I made consciously, but something I felt when other characters responded appropriately to the offputting character I had deliberately created. and it works, it's a good trait for her.

sometimes I get afraid that Silene is more of a true portrayal of me than I want to admit, or that I've been playing her too hard in a way that's unpleasant out of character too. I'm lucky that my friends are understanding and willing to reassure me in this situation. it can be a fraught thing to play this kind of character, but that's why it's interesting!

at university a long time ago, I played an industrialist character, "Sarus Tarr", in a game of Burning Wheel. that was another great game with a GM who was honestly much more astute than I was, probably than I am.

Sarus Tarr was not a good person. he was "about" the costs of technology, the industrial revolution - at the time I was much more straightforwardly a transhumanist true believer, so I made his conflict honestly a bit too simple, about the people chewed up by his factories as they changed the world with cheap iron goods. (the transition to modernity has been an obsession for that long I guess!).

I listened to the Clockwork Quartet a lot in that period. I was fascinated by the doctor who builds increasingly elaborate contraptions to save his comatose wife, replacing more and more of her - "what nature has neglected, the fruit of modern science will provide". I didn't really know much about the industrial revolutions, but I knew a little about the Luddites.

I remember one scene from that game the GM arranged a conversation battle scene in which Tarr was forced to defend his factories, using Burning Wheel's elaborate system. I wasn't sure I was up to it, but with some encouragement, I went for it, and surprised myself, getting into a good flow arguing - one of the most intense sessions I've played, but that was what made it so great. I defended Sarus Tarr's factories as thoroughly as I could. I can't remember what I had him say, but there was a choice about whether he was lying about some point he made about the safety of the factories, and I had him tell the truth. on the rules layer, I did my best with an unfamiliar system, weighing up options and FORKing in skills where I could.

in the end, Sarus won, and the protestor was forced to change his beliefs, the stake of the battle. if I'd lost, Sarus would change instead.

I realised that this didn't feel right. Sarus shouldn't have won. I didn't change my beliefs on the spot and instantly become an anarchist or a Marxist or something, that came later, but I think I learned something important, whether about the sorts of characters I like to play, or about what I really thought about factories.

nowadays I love the spotlight and I have to be conscious to make sure other players get their moment and I don't hog it. a lot of good RP is just improv comedy principle when you get down to it - making and taking offers, 'yes and'. your first idea is rarely as good as the idea you can make by bouncing off another player. why is that hard? there's something addictive about RP, a mindset I can access every week, where creativity just flows. ideas come, you respond to the prompts, you kind of inhabit another mind for a bit - it's not for nothing that hardcore LARPers talk seriously of 'bleed'. being in the hotseat with no time to think too hard, and just going for the idea that comes to mind from whatever is simmering in the subconscious, is fantastic. it cuts through all the barriers and blocks, and you get to see the response immediately, from people who each have an entirely different perspective on what this story is about and a different palette of ideas.

that flow state, the positive feedback, is hard to build and a little fragile. you need people with the same sort of wavelength, it's hard to find with strangers. you need to feel safe - it's a very vulnerable act. you need to be attentive to the other players. there's so much unspoken.

the 'Forge' and 'story games' movements did their best to translate those best practices for creating that kind of intense game into rules and procedures. I don't think it made bad games at all, it's hit and miss like any paradigm, it's more... most of the stuff that makes a TTRPG work is stuff you can't make into formal protocol.

but one of the good ideas to come out of those movements was the need to view a 'game system' (which 'Does Matter', ron would like you to know) as not just what's printed in the book, or the formal system of rules, but the actual way which people interact at the game table. accordingly, they made experimental games which played with ideas like sharing the right to have a final say on what's true, game mechanics which adjust the fiction based on drama rather than internal logic, or formally structuring conversations around scenes and phases and times for picking from lists of prompts.

for me, this was great. I struggled a lot with doing prep, since it's been hard to concentrate and hard to come up with a new image when one is filling my head. writing and drawing is a way of releasing them so more can grow. having a structure to facilitate an improvisational style has been an incredible boon.

but as it turns out, a book - which is not some perfect formal system but a prompt that players lean on while creating the 'actual game' - can only do so much. you can only playtest and wordsmith so far.

that's great. every Apocalypse World or D&D game I've played (to focus on the systems I've gotten to use more than once) has been completely different, arising from the dynamic of the group I'm playing with and the skills brought by the players. and yeah, cultures will develop - the Actual Play podcast is a powerful machine for aligning expectations, the D&D forum egregore acts as a weird sort of dialogue partner for many groups, there are many floating expectations of what a game is supposed to look like - but ultimately it's a weird inscrutable alchemy created by the ritualistic social space where you make up a story with another person and each let out some of the stuff you're carrying under the surface.

that's why people care so much about their characters. and it's why telling a good story about an RPG session is hard in most of the same ways telling a good story about a dream is, though you usually have a bit more shared context to lean on with an RPG.

my very first in-person RPG group was when I was what, 15 or so? maybe younger. we played D&D 3.5. I was by far the most invested, and I'd built up an idea of what D&D is like from the Giant in the Playground forums. we played through Sunless Citadel and then various brief games under rotating DMs while I tried to cook up an Eberron game, which... never really got off the ground and now I think about it, one of the players tried to have their character do a rape, and that probably had something to do with it. (i tried to negate it IC bc I was young and stupid). this was in the heyday of 4chan and my friendship group were all big channers so the humour we shared was very "15 year old teenage boys in Somerset who know about encyclopedia dramatica". I was Quite Autistic and often oblivious or hyperfixated and kind of the butt of a lot of jokes, but my friends found me endearing I guess, and were willing to indulge me in playing D&D and get into Warhammer. I would sometimes pretend to run out of the room and commit suicide as a joke. one time I misunderstood the word 'elope' and implied a relationship with another player character, and while it would be nice to say I played it cool and was like yeah we eloped that good with you~, I actually ran upstairs and printed out a replacement version and tried to pretend it didn't happen. teenagers!

anyway, we played "D&D". the rules were functionally pretty much what I said they were because nobody else cared that much and digging into one of those tomes is like... instant screeching halt to the session. I would print off maps and try optimised builds from the stack of splatbooks that absorbed all disposable income. mostly it was a pretext to just hang out. the players were trying to wind me up as much as anything. I played the role of exasperated DM who wanted tob keep the game on track. nobody cast magic missile at the darkness but that's the vibe.

I would also run games of "D&D" online over the Giant in the Playground forums. this was a strange ritual. the first step was that someone would write a forum thread with a pitch. then, players would bring complicated builds and pages of backstory. if I was the DM... ostensibly I'd be selective but I hated rejecting people so I'd start a second group of necessary. we'd start the IC thread. I would set a scene, then everyone would describe the appearance of their characters for several paragraphs. Some light character interaction would happen - slowly since you had to deal with different schedules and time zones, hence the paragraphs. Hopefully nobody would lose interest already, and we'd get going.

eventually we might reach a point where a dice roll is called for. this would take a couple of days to resolve if there was a timezone difference. at worst, the player would state their intended action with a paragraph of flavour, the DM would ask for a specific dice roll, the player would roll it and report the number, the DM would resolve the action.

if that sounds slow as shit, imagine how much it would bog down when you actually started combat. you'd have to establish initiative, everyone would need to take their turns, and if someone was away for some reason? you just gotta wait, or maybe bump the thread with a nagging message.

for this reason, games would very rarely get past their first combat. the fate of just about every single one of these games would be to fade away after some player stopped responding and the rest gradually lost interest. the game was more about... suggesting the idea of a game, and agreeing that idea seemed cool, and a token gesture at playing it.

(the much more robust form of forum RPG was the 'god game'. these would revolve around a pantheon of gods creating a world together. they would usually start on farflung parts of the map and build civilisations that would eventually interact, if the game got that far. the need for back and forth was minimal. posts would be enormous, each one looking more like a short story. the players had a lot more leeway to make decisions but direct interaction was rare. in short it was a form of parallel play.)

both of these 'games' as rituals have little resemblance to what D&D is supposed to be, as declared in the books and suggested by people who had real, dedicated in-person groups of the kind I have now. they were almost a kind of meta-roleplaying? everyone agreed that the activity we were doing in each case was 'playing D&D' though, and we really were responding to the D&D rulebooks.

every time I've played Apocalypse World, even in friend groups where talking about sex is pretty normal and comfortable, the 'special moves' on each playbook that trigger upon sex were implicitly or explicitly off the table. it would be weird. it's definitely part of the design that Vincent and Meguey seem to have intended, though. maybe in their group that is chill. moreover, i tend to neglect the inter-session planning methods, threat clocks etc., and refer to the list of MC moves much less than I'm supposed to. I would still say the games we've played are Apocalypse World, even if it's not exactly the Bakers' well polished machine.

in one game of D&D I played, I started creating an elaborate 3D map of the zone we were exploring in Blender as we played, which I streamed live on Twitch. (the creative energy of an RPG seems to feed into visual art somehow - or maybe just the sense of confidence it engenders). that became a core part of the game procedures for us: @barnacleheretic would describe a scene and I would take a minute to add a model of it to the map. you could never write that as an explicit game mechanic in a published book, but it did a ton to anchor the group and make the setting feel substantial. likewise, I always draw every group I'm in, and if the game goes on long enough, scenes that feel particularly vivid. drawing forces me to pay attention to detail.

the actual process of creating a character and inhabiting them is... very hard to teach except by giving people examples of other players and space to figure it out for themselves, I guess. playbooks and classes help with the blank page problem, but to get to the point where you launch away from the list of numbers and start to get a feeling for how your character thinks and what they mean to you? that's art, and thus as hard to teach as any art. all you can set up is the scaffolding, a gamut from combat stats through beliefs and tags and flag systems to whatever the hell chuubo's is doing, and rely on the social skills of the players to engage each other and get the engine turning, juices flowing.

I hope I continue to play RPGs for the rest of my life.

[ihatecoconut]

kaleidoscope eyes

Also on AO3!

The next time he sees her, Hob has drunk probably far too much, but that is one of the drawbacks of living above a pub you own. He’s agreed to lock up and shooed everyone out, laughing and in good spirits.

Christmas is coming.

He wants his staff to spend as much time with their families as they can, urges them to and promises the pub will be closed from the 23rd through to the 28th. Plenty of time to visit any relatives that might be further afield as well.

His thoughts turn slightly more maudlin as he knocks the lights off and retreats behind the bar, staring out at the empty seats.

“Sad.” A voice says behind him, and it’s probably a good thing he wasn’t holding a glass or he would have thrown it at her in surprise.

As it is, he just slips where he had been leaning against the bar and hits the floor pretty hard.

“Ouch.” She says, helpfully, and offers a hand to pull him back up.

Hob gives her his hand, imagining that he will have to pull himself up and just let her pretend, and almost overshoots her when she pulls him up with little to no effort. She steadies him with a hand on his shoulder and blinks up.

“Better?”

He snorts a laugh. “Sure, kid.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Still sad?”

“A little.” He admits. “It’s kind of the thing about being immortal, all your family dies out.”

“Family.” She repeats, and maybe Hob is just projecting, but it sounds like there’s a wistful note to her voice.

“Yeah.”

They stand silent for a few moments.

“So, who are you?” Hob asks her. “You didn’t tell me last time.”

She clambers up onto the bar next to where he’s leaning – the charity store vomit jumper from last time is gone, instead she has black fishnets on her legs and arms, plus green and pink almost psychedelic patterned t-shirt and shorts on.

“Sometimes I forget.” She explains. “Lots of things, they float.” She waves her hands above her head.

“Who are you today?” Hob asks, feeling like he may have just hit on the last piece of a puzzle he was trying to put together.

“Delirium.”

“Delirium?” It’s obvious that she’s not human – the super strength and ability to appear in locked places has kind of shown Hob that already – but it seems cruel to call a child that.

“Mmmmmmmm hmmmm.”

“That’s a cool name.”

“It didn’t used to be.” She replies sadly. “But I forget lots.”

He reaches out and squeezes her knee. “It’s ok, I forget as well. Today I realised I can’t remember my sister’s face.”

“I have sisters.” She replied. “Death and… and Despair.”

Apparently the naming convention stretches to the whole family – although something approaching an alarm bell is triggered in the depths of Hob’s mind at that. He’s too drunk to give it any attention.

“Wow, is it just the three of you?”

“No. There are… there… Hob?”

“Yeah?”

“What is the number that comes between the six and the eight? The one that ate nine?”

“Seven?”

“Yeah. Seven there are of us. Sort of.”

Hob thinks that this might be pushing into territory that he doesn’t want to touch. “Sort of?”

“I used to have twoooo whole brothers.” She told him.

“Used to?”

“Mm hmm. One of them went away and the other is somewhere secret.”

Hob does not ask if they are dead, but the urge is there. “I’m sorry.”

She hums in response, and then, “Dark.”

Hob follows her gaze to the window. “It is.”

“Sleepy.”

He can’t stop the smile spreading across his face at that, “You’re sleepy?”

She frowns at him, like he’s being deliberately obtuse. “No. You.”

The realisation that he’s being told to go to bed by a child hits him like a slap in the face and he laughs, loud, quick and shocked. “Ok, ok. Bedtime for Hob.”

He leads her up the back stairs to his apartment, tripping several times and making her laugh. It isn’t mean, her laughter, nor malicious, just a child taking joy from something silly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, “laugh it up.” But his heart isn’t really in it and he thinks that she laughs an awful lot like Robyn did.

The Christmas tree lights are on when he opens the door and Hob sighs. “Forgot I left those on.” He’s not even really sure why he put it up, it’s not like he had plans to invite anyone round for Christmas or at all, and all they really do for him is remind him that he’s missing things.

“Oh!” Delirium says when she sees them, and then she vanishes from just behind him and reappears kneeling in front of the Christmas tree. Her hair briefly flickers through the colours of the lights and then settles into red and green, pulsing faintly.

“Guess I put them up for you, then.”

She isn’t listening, but that doesn’t really matter.