#but no brain left for good articulation

[itsevanffs]

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Saviour of the Wizarding World

Okay this may seem not related to EMD at all but I can explain my train of thought I promise. (Also I like pretty robes and you can't take that away from me.) Read my ramblings under the cut if you'd like, but I can't promise coherency.

Is for you (again) @metalomagnetic <3

The thought behind this piece was honestly, just, Voldemort stealing Harry's identity. I don't know if we're meant to take it like that but that's what it felt like to me - Voldemort was taking everything Harry is except for his face and making it his own. The Potter name, his friends, his family; even if there is nothing there Voldemort is still filling that space with his own additions. Control is probably the goal there, but it's still a loss of identity. Harry is no longer The Boy Who Lived, The Human Horcrux, The Vanquisher of Dark Lords because effectively, whether the world knew about it or not, Voldemort still took those things away from him or made them inapplicable.

In fact, it goes further than that; Voldemort seems to have stolen Harry's public identity, too, using it to further his own agenda while Harry sits at home like a trophy husband. In this way I imagine Voldemort painting himself as the man who will turn Wizarding Britain's political shitfest around, who will bring true order and peace after decades of uncertainty and political unrest. He will be a leader and a figure of power, wisdom and grace, and therefore the borderline religious iconography.

And I do think that Voldemort, in his mind at least, would find this deeply ironic and amusing. By marrying the saviour of the wizarding world and killing him (as Voldemort himself said), Voldemort was able to take even that ridiculous title and make it his own. Now he has lifted that burden off Harry's shoulders, Harry's consent in the matter or mental health be damned, and gleefully, pridefully, carries it on his own.

(Unrelated, but I am working on a very detailed large piece for 'at the expense of the world' and I am not sure when it will be done, but probably soon? So this is a sort of heads up so you have something to look forward to.)

[caterpillarinacave]

I love Charlotte and Henry and they're super underrated. And I would VERY MUCH like to hear the headcanons whirring about in your brain.

Oh well buckle up cause literally all I think about is head cannons. Like, you know how cells replace themselves every few years? Mine have replaced themselves with head cannons. *Sorry it took me a hot moment to answer this ask, I was busy howling into my pillow whenever I tried to articulate thoughts.*

First of all, they’re very cuddly. They basically sleep on top of each other (Charlotte hasn’t needed a pillow in decades). Henry cant sleep well without Charlotte in his arms and Charlotte can’t sleep well anywhere other than Henry’s arms so it works out. Plus, they both do that thing where they jerk awake like the world is ending and scare the shit out of each other, so sleeping in a hug that basically pins them both down saves some energy at 2am. Henry’s perpetually cold and sleeps under like, four blankets, so Charlotte just wears summer nightgowns all year and wraps herself around Henry like a koala.

Naturally there’s an angsty side to the incessant cuddling because that’s just the way I role.

Charlotte sleeps with her head on Henry’s chest so she can always feel him breathing because, by the angel, she remembers when he wasn’t. She sleeps with a hand on his pulse point because she wakes up in the middle of the night and she’s still half asleep they might as well be on the floor in that mountain and she might as well still be desperately swearing she didn’t imagine his heartbeat.

While on the topic of soul crushing feelings of guilt, y’all remember from Clockwork Angel that Henry was the one who told Mortmain what a Pyxis was? And he wanted Charlotte to tell the clave that and she wouldn’t because “they already treat him so badly”? Because I do. And so does Henry.

(I’ve got a whole WIP that I love very dearly about this head cannon and this chess game hehe) There’s one random old tutor who goes to the London institute once a month-ish, basically to hand out a few weeks of homework to any shadow hunters who don’t have their own tutors. Most shadow hunters who live in a more rural area show up a few times a year so the clave knows they’re alive and at least somewhat literate. Charlotte attends them every month since, you know, she lives there, but Henry lives somewhere around Yorkshire so he shows up every few months. The professor is kind of a dick ngl. He doesn’t help Charlotte with any school why would a woman need to be so well educated? “Go on find a husband and stop worrying you’re pretty little head” sort of shit. Henry drives him insane because he’s a) some random kid who’s smarter than him and b) didn’t use any of the professors materials to get that smart. Professor Douche is constantly trying to get him to be wrong about something, or at least flustered about something and he doesnt ever do either of those things, and even more aggravating he refuses to get upset. (He honestly just assumed the professor wasn’t that smart.)

Charlotte’s a really good student of course, but she’s having a shit time with some mathematics and the professor absolutely refuses to help her with it. Eventually she asks Henry if he wouldn’t mind helping her with it, which he’s happy to do (once he figures out that’s what shes actually asking lol.)

Charlotte is incredibly distracted the entire time by Henry’s freckles (and eyes. And hands. And the way his hair curls on the nape of his neck. And the spots of gold and green in his hazel eyes that flashed as bright as the sun when the light catches them. And-), but they get through it in an hour or two which leaves them alone in a deserted wing of the institute. They end up playing a game chess. Charlottes a decent player and thought since Henry had never showed any interest in chess it would be a probably be an evenly matched game. She didn’t know what hit her. He beat her in like, eight minutes, eighty percent of which were spent on the last two moves by Charlotte who, upon realizing she was fucked, spent five minutes staring at the board trying to figure out when he even started beating her. She was sitting there having a whole crisis, (she’d been distracted by a man who probably doesn’t like her, and certainly doesn’t think much of her now after a pathetic loss like that and now she’ll have to sit hear and wallow in failure-) just preparing for him to start that whole smug gloating thing men do when they win and Henry you know. Didn’t. He just put the pieces away and thanked her for the game, in that very genuine way, with the gloomy London evening light casting a depressing shadow across the room, a shadow that he stood out against all gentle, kind, bright and brimming with a sort of barely contained passion. If Charlotte had ever doubted that shadow hunters had come from straight angels then sitting there, looking at a boy stained in soot, who she loved more than anything else to walk the earth, she would never doubt it again.

(It wasn’t until after Henry won and noticed Charlotte hadn’t said anything in a while that he remember people don’t like losing. Honestly he was playing just to be around her and he would have thrown the game if he could conceptualize how to do that on the fly. They spent like five minutes in autistic silence waiting for the other to stand up and declare newfound hatred.)

In true British fashion the a modern tea bag would kill them both.

When they were both 13 or 14 Charlotte mentioned she was dreading winter because it’s so bleak and dark (and her mom had died a few winters before, though she didn’t drop that in casual conversation). Anyways, come winter Henry brought her a marigold preserved in something like resin. She kept it in her jewelry box for years and after they got married she found out he had literally dozens of them. Whenever he came across a particularly bright flower he preserved it and set it aside. He was never quite brave enough to give them to her pre-TID, but he now leaves them for her when she’s particularly sad or stressed. She keeps them all in a drawer- they fit together like little tiles, and still look as fresh as they would had they just been plucked from the ground.

Somewhat surprisingly Henry doesn’t really lose stuff, with the singular exception being his own medical equipment. He’s lost the leg braces he wears every single day of his life before. Charlotte’s not usually speechless but she wasn’t sure what to say to that one.

Henry gave Charlotte a watch with a hands and numbers that can glow the same way a modern day one would. It’s absolutely beautiful, durable and accurate, even if Henry set himself on fire at least four times making it. (They can say with confidence that that watch is fireproof)

—-

Honestly, I could go on and on, then on some more, but technically I’m supposed to be writing a paper on gut micro biomes that’s due tomorrow, so I figured I’d cut myself of. In conclusion, I love them dearly, they love each-other dearly, they deserve the world, all I can think about is them, and the world can pry them out of my cold dead hands.

[pepprs]

and ithink that makes me. A bad person and/or bad at my job btw. like how can i so loudly refuse to learn and complain about learning and yet be an ambassador for / cocreator of a thriving denoceacynwhen learning is at the core of it. and when i literaly work in education and am a teacher or some shit. idk.

[palukoo]

I should really post more insane shit on here bc fundamentally so often what I want is to be able to say things and then have people ask me for my opinions and have them listen to my extremely rambling answers that are somehow both extremely overly rigorous for the forum and lacking in the structure or research I would feel obligated to provide in almost any other context like an academic setting or shitty podcast or whatever. unfortunately I find this somewhat mortifying and have the persistent aspirations of doing said research and structuring in order to make some kind of actually decent podcast or whatever so I don’t want to just post all of my thoughts on a topic I’d like to actually properly cover in some sort of way in the future. that said. I don’t do that. so you see my predicament.

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[mariasont]

Sending another thought that I can’t think of a way to elaborate on to your magnificent mind

Aaron Hotchner with his assistant who’s rambling (like every other day) about random stuff and she’s just like “I want kids someday” and Hotch is like “oh yea?” And she’s like “yea! And if I ever have kids I hope they’re just like Jack, he’s such a little angel” blah blah blah and poor Hotch is screaming in his mind like YOU COULD HAVE JACK??? BE HIS STEPMOM????

Sorry I’m absolutely feral for them ily bye

BUSINESS OF MAKING BABIES - A.H

a/n: i took this in a slightlyyyy different direction but ugh same im so feral for these two!!!! thank you for your most amazing request! i <3 you!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: references to baby making!!!!!!

wc: 0.6k

Aaron needed to get work done, but his focus was more trained on the delicate patch of skin that connected your shoulder to your neck, smooth and glowing like you'd just stepped out of the sun. You smelled delectably good, which was sending his neurons into overdrive. You were saying something, formulating and articulating thoughts from that perfect brain and through your also perfect mouth. 

He was concentrated on making sure you knew he was listening, nodding and humming every so often as you continued on your tangent, hands waving dramatically through the air, heels clanking on the floor in his office as you paced the room. His gaze moved to your thighs, only for a second, he was a gentleman after all. 

"And she's just, you know, popping them out left and right, and I'm over here like, Hello? Can I get a turn? I'm not asking for much, just a sweet guy who's willing to, you know, help me out with the whole baby-making thing."

You stopped dead in front of his desk, placing your hands atop the wood as you let out a melodramatic sigh. This caught his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"You want kids?" The words left his mouth before he could filter them. "Isn't that a bit premature at your age?"

"Okay, Grandpa," you giggled, plopping yourself down in the chair before him. "And, of course, I want babies. They'd be the cutest, hopefully just like Jack. He's the sweetest, isn't he?"

Hotch felt his heart plummet to his stomach, jaw clenching and unclenching as he rubbed his thumb along the rough edges of his chin. "Yeah, he's pretty great."

You sighed again, a common occurrence in this conversation, as you stood up and moved around the desk before plopping yourself down on it. Your calve grazed accidentally against his thigh. You absentmindedly adjusted a wrist full of charm bracelets, creating a gentle jingling sound that should've annoyed him, but it did anything but.

"Honestly, though, who even needs a boyfriend these days? I could totally just take the whole donor route for the baby thing. Easy-peasy!"

Hotch's response came after a brief, flustered pause, during which he seemed to search for the right words. Clearing his throat, he managed to look anywhere but at you as he carefully said, "Ah, yes, I suppose you could... do that."

In an effort to regain some semblance of control over the situation, Hotch took a deliberate sip of the somewhat stale coffee sitting on his desk. However, before he could swallow, you bounded off the desk, eyes wide with sudden realization.

"You know what? You would be a great donor."

The coffee in Hotch's mouth nearly made a swift exit as he choked, trying to comprehend what you had just said.

Hotch opened his mouth, attempting to form a coherent response, but before he could broker a single word, you had both hands on his shoulders.

Your eyes were sparkling as you took in his face. "Yeah, like, you have great hair--totally not receding--perfect eyes, great skin..."

Your rapid-fire compliments left him momentarily speechless, a rare flush making its way to his cheeks.

"Well, I--" Hotch began, but your excitement had already taken the reins before he could even navigate through his thoughts.

"I can totally see it; we'd have such cute kids!" you gushed, practically dancing towards the door as if your dreams were almost tangible in the air.

Hotch watched you leave, stuck in his chair, dumbfounded and momentarily lost for words. A bemused smile formed on his lips as he realized he didn't hate the idea at all.

No sooner had the door closed behind you than Morgan appeared, looking thoroughly baffled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking between Hotch and the door you had just exited through.

"Since when are you and Miss Pretty in Pink in the business of making babies together?"

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[privateanxieties]

sweet like wine

Summary: You realize how much you like it when Frank is vocal during sex.

Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader (no y/n);

Words: 2.1k (18+ shameless smut, aural kink, fluff, intimacy, explicit consent, mutual masturbation, sexy voicemails, dirty talk, established relationship)

----------------------

The first time took you completely by surprise.

You weren't expecting a man of few words like Frank, quiet and brooding as he was, to become the picture of an enthusiastic lover once the lights went out and you found yourselves taking the next step in your relationship. That's not to say you didn't expect a certain… level of intensity. Frank was not a bland man — simple and direct, maybe, but he brought a particular devotion to everything he did. He didn't mince actions, or words for that matter. But he also didn't use too many of them regardless of the circumstances, so you didn't expect reality to be any different when it came to intimacy with him. You imagined him to be passionate, and you were not wrong. However, in all your fantasies (and there were plenty), he was always quietly focused. Encouraging, but not with words. Filthy, but never this articulate.

You take me so fuckin' well, baby.

That's it, soak my fingers, let me feel it.

Gonna come, sweetheart? Make a mess all over my cock?

It was nice to be wrong. So nice, in fact, that you almost came untouched just from listening to him tell you what he wanted to do to you the first time you made love. The noises that escaped his lips as he barely pressed his hips into yours drove you insane. He wouldn't let you have it until you asked, slowly and languidly grinding himself against you through the satin of your panties, enough to ruin them and fry your brain, but not enough to give you that rush of pleasure you were dying to get from him. He took his time with no issue, like the clock stopped moving the second he molded his lips to yours.

"That feel good?" he mumbled against your neck, biting down in response when you didn't answer right away, too lost in the warmth of his skin and the pretty noises he was making.

"Uh-huh," you moaned, shivering as he licked a path to your collarbones and his beard left a pleasant burn in its wake.

"You want more?" he taunted, placing a kiss to the swell of your breast.

"Yes, Frank." Then, thinking it not enough, you quietly added a 'please' on the end of a breathy whine as his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You came to learn you didn't have to beg with him, unless he wanted you to — because if you thought you liked it when Frank talked during sex, he was singularly focused on making you utter words that would make a fiend blush. You were resistant at first, partly because the more you'd talk, the less he would, and you couldn't have that. Yet pretty soon you realized that hearing you speak the filth you did to him garnered an interesting and previously unheard noise from your lover.

Frank's only response as you rode his cock and told him how well he filled you was to whine.

In retrospect, you couldn't have known that would be the thing to unlock a noise you didn't think possible, but you certaintly didn't complain when his hand grasped your jaw and his lips mashed to yours, trying desperately to stifle the alluring sound by pressing it into your mouth and making you dizzy with want. That sound worked to push you over the edge just as well as his skilled fingers on your clit. It got you so worked up that sometimes just the memory of it hitting you in the middle of the day was enough to heat up your skin and make you wish you had a recording of it. Which was how the real trouble started, when Frank left on a longer assigment from his contact at the CIA.

Now, you would be fine without him for a couple of weeks. You'd done it before, and you understood the nature of his work and how it'd be woven into your relationship. You knew that when he'd leave, it wouldn't be the same as going on a business trip. There was a strict no-contact rule he enforced, both because he often simply didn't have the means to get in touch and because it was the safest thing to do. He wouldn't put you in any jeopardy because he missed you, and you'd long ago accepted that as fact and respected his decision.

And that was the reason why a voicemail from Frank arriving dead in the middle of those fourteen days away almost provoked a heart attack— twice. First, because you thought something horrible had gone wrong. He was hurt. He was in trouble. Maybe this was all he could do to say goodbye. Your blood pressure couldn't have been any higher as your thumb inched towards the play button on the message, and you thought you could drop to your knees when the first thing to come out of the speakers was a long, drawn-out groan.

This was it. You were going to lose him. He was dying somewhere, alone, and you were never going to see him again.

"God, babygirl…"

You waited with bated breath, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, and then the second uptick in your pulse occurred.

"Fuckin' miss you so much. Need to feel that tight pussy squeezin' my cock."

It wasn't hard, given how wound up you already were, for your body to make the switch from horrible adrenaline to an absolutely euphoric rush of pleasure. It happened so quickly that whiplash wasn't far behind, and you gripped the arm of the sofa as you slid down to the floor, unable to stand any longer. Heart beating wildly in your ears, you forced yourself to calm so as not to miss his next words.

"Wish you could see how you got me right now… fuckin' my own hand like a goddamn teenager," he groaned.

You couldn't have helped your reaction if you'd tried. Switching the phone to your other hand with a tell-tale tremor, your dominant one slipped down the front of your leggings and straight into your dampening underwear, fingers moving in tandem with the background noise your ears were hypnotized by. You could hear the motions of Frank's fist going up and down his cock, could make out just how easily his hand moved over himself and feel the phantom taste of him in your mouth. Your own fingers picked up the pace on your pulsating clit, mind trying to remember the sensation of his rougher digits caressing you.

"Gonna come, baby?"

Startled, your tightly closed eyes were pried open to glance at the screen, wondering if you hadn't somehow called him in your frenzy. But no. The voice note kept playing, and the pretty groans kept coming.

"You're so fucking close. I know it. You're thinkin' about me touching you. Can't stand that I'm not there to do it."

High-pitched whimpers spilled from your lips, feeling so empty and wishing he could fill you at this exact moment. You were soaked through your panties, heat turned up inside yourself so much that sweat began to build at your temples. You were a mess in less than two minutes, and all it took was a goddamn recording of his voice.

"Frank…"

Moaning his name into the empty room made you feel dirty and horribly desperate, fingers slicked up to the point you had trouble getting a consistent motion. Your chest was tight with shallow breaths, spine tingling and legs cramping from how wound up your muscles were.

"C'mon sweet girl, let go. Soak that pussy f'me," he demanded in that gruff tone he always used when he brought you right to the cliff's edge.

"Frankie, please…"

You'd lost your mind, begging him for something he could neither hear nor grant you. But he knew. He always knew. Between the sounds of his own slick motions and heady groans, a noise you loved more than anything broke through just when you thought you couldn't take any more.

He whined your name on the end of a heart-stopping moan and just like that, you were gone, vision going white as you threw your head back hard against the armrest you forgot was there. You panted wildly as your hand kept moving, not stopping until you heard that beautiful shudder fall from his lips, signaling his own release. Every inch of you was electrified, sitting there as you breathed together, hours apart but still in sync.

You didn't tell him about that moment, because there was no need. When he made it home at the end of those two weeks, he neither greeted you nor removed his shoes, simply picking you up and planting you onto the counter before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"Want you to show me," he asked, warm breath hitting the outer shell of your ear. Disoriented, all you could do was make an inquisitive noise. You'd barely had time to take him in before he was on you.

"Huh?"

"I wanna see how you did it. Want to know how you touched yourself f'me last week."

Your heart picked up in double time, knowing he was dead serious and that you'd do anything he asked. This was uncharted territory for both of you, and you were a little shy to try something like this out of nowhere. What would you even do? You weren't even that used to touching yourself anymore, last week having been a rare exception. It was nice and definitely an intense experience, but it still paled in comparison to the average night with him. Or, as it were, the average day— because he apparently expected you to do this right here, right now. On an early Sunday afternoon where you hadn't even bothered changing out of your slip dress.

Sensing your hesitation, he pulled back to look into your eyes as his hands found your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric covering them.

"Don't you worry, baby. I'm gonna guide you through it. Watch my pretty girl touch herself like I tell her to. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? You want that?"

Like I tell her to.

Fuck, yes. You wanted that. You wanted it so badly apparently that Frank saw it in your expression, because he smirked as soon as you looked at him all wide-eyed.

"I…"

"Yeah? What is it, baby?"

He must've known, by that point. With how attuned he was to your body and needs as a general rule, it shouldn't have surprised you. Of course he knew you had it bad. He knew exactly what you liked and why you liked it, and he went so far as to break his one rule in order to drive you even crazier than usual. Maybe your brain shortcircuited too severely after that voicemail, because it was only now that you were realizing…

"You sent that on purpose," you said, a pout forming on your lips.

"Sure as shit didn't send it by accident," Frank retorted, an amused snort bubbling out of him.

"I'm being serious! You knew this whole time?"

"Knew what, huh? That my girl likes a little back and forth during sex?" he grinned, delivering a pinch to your hip.

"All sex is a back and forth, Frank," you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he meant but unable to avoid sassing him.

"M'not suggesting anything different," he shrugged, eyes slipping down your body with clear intention.

Right. Back and forth. He talks and you… You struggle not to come from his words alone. A tempting proposal.

"I want to. I'm just not sure what to do," you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as you finally took a good look at him. He looked good, his beard having grown out even more during his time away.

"What'd I say? You ain't gotta worry about that. S'my job. Just gotta listen to what I say," his voice rumbled in your ear as he leaned in again, a brief but meaningful touch of his body to yours making you realize he was half-hard already.

This man was going to be the death of you, but you had no doubt: he would always making good on his promises, especially the ones he whispered in your ear.

.

.

A/N: Just the product of a horny brain. Hope you enjoyed it!

[capseycartwright]

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

ao3 link

Buck was driving himself to Eddie’s before he could really even think about it, the autopilot of his brain engaging and getting him behind the wheel, and on the road to his best friend’s house without needing much thought at all. Eddie was who he needed, in that moment – not Maddie, and her sage advice, not Hen, who’d be clever, and logical about it all. No, he needed Eddie. Eddie, who inexplicably opened the front door in his underwear and a pink shirt. Eddie, who let them sit in silence, a playlist churning out eighties rock for a full twenty-three minutes (Buck checked) before Eddie said anything at all. 

“So,” Eddie set his empty drink down, gesturing to Buck for a second. Buck twisted the cap off before he handed it over, adding to the pile on the coffee table. “What happened? You said that you and Tommy were going to the movies tonight.” 

Buck groaned, the sound loud in the quiet of Eddie’s house. “I was supposed to be,” he slumped back onto the couch. “But then he dumped me.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He dumped you?”

“He dumped me,” Buck confirmed. “Because I am a deeply unlovable individual who is going to die alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think you might be being dramatic there.”

“I’m not!” Buck protested. “Eddie, everyone I date dumps me – or leaves me. That apparently doesn’t even change when I’m dating a man. It’s not – I thought it would be different, with Tommy.” 

“Because he’s a man?” Eddie’s confusion wasn’t judgemental – no, Eddie never judged him, Buck was sure of that much. It was sincere confusion, his best friend wanting to understand where Buck was coming from.

“Yeah? No? I mean – maybe,” Buck huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate himself. “I guess – I guess I just thought that now I know who I am, that I’m like – consciously aware I’m bisexual – it might be different. That maybe it didn’t work out before because there was this part of me that I didn’t know, or understand, and that had affected my relationships because I wasn’t bringing my like, whole self to the table. But if it didn’t work with Tommy, then that’s not why. Right? Then the problem is me.” 

Eddie’s expression softened. “I don’t think the problem is you, Buck.”

“It has to me! I’m the only common denominator here.”

Buck wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down on Eddie’s couch and cry until he had nothing left – and it wasn’t about Tommy, really, because Buck had liked Tommy, but the end of their relationship wasn’t what was making him feel so devastated. It was the idea of Tommy, more than anything else – what Tommy represented. A happily ever after that Buck was falling short of all over again. 

“What did Tommy say, exactly? Maybe – maybe you’re spiralling, and he gave you a good reason that you’re not seeing.” 

“He – I asked him to move in with me.” 

“Buck.”

Eddie sounded long-suffering. Buck had earned that. He knew that much. “I know,” he knew it had been the wrong move. The words were barely out of his mouth, and Buck knew it had been the wrong move – but that was sort of his thing, to cling desperately to relationships that didn’t work because he was so terrified of being alone. “I just – I felt comfortable with him, and the whole Abby thing was weird.”

“Really weird,” Eddie agreed, wincing. 

“But not the kind of weird I couldn’t get past. Right? He came over tonight, and I told him – why be apart when we could be together. Then, he said he couldn’t move in with me, because if he did, I would only break his heart,” Buck sighed. He wouldn’t intend to. That’s what Tommy had said – but who ever planned to break someone’s heart? No one was that cruel. Maybe they were – but Buck wasn’t. He’d never wanted to break anyone’s heart, even if that had been the end result sometimes. 

Eddie was quiet for a second. “Did he say why he thought you’d break his heart?”

Buck’s beer burned his throat as he took another gulp, the sour taste lingering. “He said that he was my first, but he wasn’t my last.” 

read the rest on ao3

[animentality]

not to be such a boomer, but I think chatgpt is fucking this generation over, at least in terms of critical thinking and creative skills.

I get that it's easy to use and I probably would've used it if I was in school when it came out.

but damn.

y'all can't just write a fucking email?

also people using it to write essays ... i mean what is the point then?

are you gaming the educational system in pursuit of survival, or are you just unwilling to engage critically with anyone or anything?

is this why media literacy is so fucking ass right now?

learning how to write is learning how to express yourself and communicate with others.

you might not be great at it, but writing can help you rearrange the ideas in your brain. the more you try to articulate yourself, the more you understand yourself. all skills can be honed with time, and the value is not in the product. it's in the process.

it's in humans expressing their thoughts to others, in an attempt to improve how we do things, by building upon foundations and evolving old ideas into innovation.

scraping together a mush of ideas from a software that pulls specific, generic phrases from data made by actual humans... what is that going to teach you or anyone else?

it's just old ideas being recycled by a new generation.

a generation I am seriously concerned about, because digital tests have made it very easy to cheat, which means people aren't just throwing away their critical thinking and problem solving abilities, but foundational knowledge too.

like what the hell is anyone going to know in the future? you don't want to make art, you don't want to understand how the world works, you don't want to know about the history of us?

is it because we all know it's ending soon anyway, or is it just because it's difficult, and we don't want to bother with difficult?

maybe it's both.

but. you know what? on that note, maybe it's whatever.

fuck it, right, let's just have an AI generate "therefore" "in conclusion" and "in addition" statements followed by simplistic ideas copy pasted from a kid who actually wrote a paper thirty years ago.

if climate change is killing us all anyway, maybe generative ai is a good thing.

maybe it'll be a digital archive of who we used to be, a shambling corpse that remains long after the consequences of our decisions catch up with us.

maybe it'll be smart enough to talk to itself when there's no one left to talk to.

it'll talk to itself in phrases we once valued, it'll make art derived from people who used to be alive and breathing and feeling, it'll regurgitate our best ideas in an earnest but hollow approximation of our species.

and it'll be the best thing we ever made. the last thing too.

I don't really believe in fate or destiny, I think all of this was a spectacular bit of luck, but that's a poetic end for us.

chatgpt does poetry.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Sass & Suspenders

Legal AU: Prosecutor!Bucky x Female!Doctor!Reader

You and Bucky are both professionals in a long term relationship, but you like to mix things up once in a while despite the humdrum of life.

Warnings: smut, 18+ only, minors please leave

Word Count: 2,953

A/N: Because I have a thing for men in suspenders and I've thought about this for far too long.

Bucky groaned. But not one iota of the deep articulation of the sound that escaped his lips was rooted in any form of pleasure. You shared the sentiment. Taxes - who ever enjoyed doing those?

"Do we have to?" he whined.

"You promised!" you admonished, knowing full well that if he persisted in his protests, you would succumb to his point of view. 

The pout you received in response was almost as good as his closing arguments. It was 9pm and you had both left your busy jobs to spend an evening together completing your tax returns. Your relationship had most certainly reached the pinnacle of excitement. 

Heaving a sigh of resignation, you nudged your boyfriend towards the study you shared. The two of you had been putting off the chore for several weeks and you had finally laid down the law to your handsome attorney.

"I'm tired."

"So am I, but it has to be done. Come on."

Despite the fact that your crazy careers that kept you busy until ridiculous hours, the two of you found a way to do something together, even if it was only sleeping. Early in your relationship, there had been a number of rescheduled or incomplete dates, but the offending party would make it up to the other with their favorite cupcake the following day. In all honesty you were surprised that you hadn't gained a tonne of weight because of the quantity of cake you had consumed.

It wasn't long before you knew that Bucky was the one for you and you apprehensively admitted your feelings to him. To your immense relief, he reciprocated those feelings and in no time at all you'd moved in together and were filling out tax returns like an old married couple. It was incredible how well you synced with each other, in spite of your differences. A difference that was evident on this auspicious evening.

When carrying out a task that needed concentration and an arduous undertaking, you liked to be comfortable, meaning you immediately changed into one of your chemise nightgowns. Bucky on the other hand felt the only way to concentrate was to roll up his shirt sleeves and dig in in full professional garb. He often said that staying in ‘character’ helped him focus.

Neither of you objected particularly to the other's choices, particularly when Bucky was wearing suspenders with his suits. You would never dare admit it, but you had developed an overwhelming fondness for seeing your sweetheart in suspenders. One might even describe it as a kink.

Before meeting Bucky, you had never met anyone under the age of 70 wearing suspenders. You considered it to be a quirk of many of your elderly patients. But for some reason, Bucky made it look like the height of fashion. Many a time you found yourself wondering what it would be like to grab a hold of the elasticated straps and pull him into your arms. Today happened to be one of those many distracting occasions that left you dazed and very much aroused. It was several moments before you acknowledged the fact that Bucky was leaning across the table in an attempt to meet your gaze.

"Hey there, doll," he gave you that lopsided grin that drove you nuts. "What happened to 'we must focus' and 'get this done tonight'?"

The flush on your face deepened. 

"What's going on in that brain of yours? You're kinda quiet."

You bit your lip, treating him to a coy smile. "I just have other things on my mind."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Just admiring how handsome my boyfriend looks."

"You looked like you were looking straight through me, not at me."

"Bucky, let's get back to this paperwork."

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to tell me what you were thinking about." His tone was low and commanding. Almost as though he already knew the dirty thoughts that had crossed your mind. 

You felt your pulse quicken. "May I plead the fifth, counselor?"

"No, doll. You're under my jurisdiction now. You're under oath to speak the truth."

"The whole truth?"

"Nothing but the truth."

"So help me God?"

"I'll be the only one here that can help you. Now tell me what you were thinking."

"How about I show you?" Rising from your chair, you sauntered over to Bucky's side of the large oak desk.

Sliding into his lap, you ran your fingers along the elastic straps of his suspenders, tracing the small grooves and indentations of the springy material.

"See something you like, doll?"

The groan that escaped your lips was nothing short of sinful. You wrapped one strap in each of your empty fists and tugged at them forcefully, pulling Bucky towards you until his mouth was barely an inch from yours. All words were forgotten on your part.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice so low you could barely make out his words through the carnal desire in his voice.

His lips were so close, you could practically taste a whiff of that last cup of coffee he had swallowed before leaving work. You watched the steely blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils expanded with arousal. Bucky's hands settled on either side of your face, his skin was on fire, or maybe it was yours, it was impossible to tell.

His lips brushed against yours lightly, so soft and it sent shivers through your nerves, shivers that made your whole body tremble. “If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered. When you said nothing, he pressed his lips on yours a little harder, leaving a slightly sloppy kiss on your mouth. “How about now?” he asked. He traced a solitary finger along the line of your cheekbone. “Or now-”

The rest of his words were lost against your mouth. He kissed you gently, carefully, but it wasn’t gentleness you wanted, not now, not when it had been so long, and you knotted your fists tighter around his suspenders, pulling him harder against you. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and his arms circled you, gathering you against him.

All you wanted was Bucky, you wanted to feel him, all of him, pressing into you. You inhaled, breathing in his shaving cream, his cologne, that extra scent that was just...Bucky. The aroma was intoxicating and you were dizzy with desire to take him in. Parting your lips, you invited him. His tongue deftly entered your mouth, forcefully searching every possible crevice, teasing, tantalizing, tasting your unique flavor.

His hands slipped under the hem of your chemise, gently gliding his long digits across your sensitive abdomen, before moving them to your bountiful breasts, enjoying the way you whimpered and writhed every time he flicked one of your perky nipples. The electrifying sensations traveled through your body culminating in your arousal pooling in the meager piece of material covering your leaking lips. Before you had time to object, Bucky’s hands were splayed across the inside of your thigh, fingers creeping ever closer to your clothed clit.

"Mmm, objection," you hummed into his mouth.

Bucky unlocked his lips from yours, surprise and disappointment evident on his face. "Ok, I know, we have to get this done," he took his hand off your thigh and waved at the paperwork on the desk.

"Eager much?" your smirk insinuating at your meaning. You laughed and snapped one of his suspenders lightly. With the other hand, you swept your fingers over the bulge in his pants. "I have a counter argument."

"Oh?"

"Let me show you." Seductively, you slipped off his lap and knelt down between his legs. Looking up at his face, you watched the look of comprehension spread across his handsome features.

"Are you sure?" he asked, somewhat apprehensively. 

"Certain." The bulge seemed to be growing before your very eyes, straining at the seams of his pricey pants. "I've missed how you taste."

Bucky sucked in a breath in anticipation of your actions, eyes wide as you unzipped his pants and freed his hardening cock. Gently, you trailed your fingers up and down his shaft. "It's your turn to tell me what you want me to do to you."

"You know what I like, doll."

That you did. "I want to run my tongue over every inch of you." Lowering your head, you took him into your mouth, warm and soft, you took a moment to savor his taste. You hummed with appreciation, your tongue flickered and danced around the tip and instantly you felt him swelling and growing hard for you, his cock filling your mouth with every lick. 

You pulled back slightly as the head of his cock started to push against the back of your throat. "Tell me how good it feels. I want to hear you say it."

He groaned. The sound excited you, his body was coming alive for your mouth. You reached up to his chest, slipping your hand under the suspender strap and pushed down on his nipple.

"Oh doll, nobody has ever fucked me like you do," he cried as you worked your tongue over his frenulum. Bucky responded just as you wanted, the taste of pre-cum seeped into your mouth. He arched his back, eyes rolling backwards with pleasure.

Your free hand curled around his now rock hard member, with a loose grip, you gently moved your hand up and down encouraging the flow of more pre-cum from his tip to lubricate your actions and elicit the most ungodly moans from your boyfriend.

Hearing Bucky groaning so obscenely sent a tingle through your clit. After a pause, you tilted your head to take him further into your mouth, bobbing up and down with ease. His fingers mingled with your luscious locks as he guided your head gently as he tried not to trust too deeply into your throat. Bucky knew you often struggled to take him in completely and that he had to take care to not get too carried away in his bliss. 

It wasn't until he started cursing quietly under his breath in a way that made you come undone. You removed your mouth from his cock, "Buck, I can’t wait any longer… please I need you to fuck me."

"Doll, I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow." He stood suddenly and pulled you to your feet effortlessly.

"Buck-" you whined. "Please, I need you. Touch me."

"Turn around."

You obeyed. His erection pressed against you was more than you could bear.

"Buck, fuck me like you mean it."

"I always mean it," he growled into your ear. He pushed you forward onto the desk, forcing you onto your elbows. Your chemise rose up as you bent over the thick table, exposing your ass. His cock rested comfortably between your thighs, eagerly twitching, ready for action. Your dripping wet pussy literally begged for it.

Bucky tugged at the strip of material that was the only thing keeping him from entering you. "Is this ok?"

"Oh God, yes," you exclaimed. At any other time, you may have been ashamed of your wanton cries, but right now you couldn't care less. All you wanted was to feel Bucky pushing into you, filling you up, making you pulse with pleasure around him in that way that no one else could compare.

"Not God, just me," he smirked.

At what felt like an excruciating slow pace, Bucky stroked your slit with his tip, collecting the succulent elixir that you had made, just for him. As he touched your clit, you shuddered deeply and gasped. You closed your eyes and focused on the ecstatic sensations that shot through your body as your opening stretched in receipt of his cock.

It was a good thing you were half sprawled across the sturdy table because your legs felt like jelly and would give way at any moment. As if Bucky could hear your thoughts, he curled his fingers around your hips, the tips pressed into your flesh salaciously.

"Oh Buck! I want you all the way inside me, give me all of you."

"Is that what you like, doll?"

"Yes, you know that’s what I like."

"I hope you're ready for this, because I know I am," Bucky purred.

He certainly was. He didn't hesitate in plunging himself further into you like sheathing a sword to its hilt. The force made you gasp with pain and surprise and the grimace on your face didn't go unnoticed. Bucky bent forwards, his abdomen pressed against your back and asked, "too much?"

"Tad too fast," you answered. "I may have been a little too hasty about what I asked for."

His new position had relieved some of the pressure and you felt a lot more comfortable and ready for him to try again. Bucky's breath was hot on your back and the wave of pain was now ebbing away, replaced by your impatient longing.

"Let's try something different, shall we?"

His fingers crept around you until he found your clit. Bucky encouraged you to spread your legs by nudging your knees apart. Slowly, his digits struck up a steady pace rhythm of slow movements, starting below and dragging up again and again, until your the bundle of nerves was flushed and firm under his fingers and your juices started leaking out around him. Not until your hips start undulating did Bucky try pushing back inside you. You had to admire his self control as he made you unravel with the smallest flick of his finger.

"Buck-"

"Doll?"

"If you keep fingering me like that, this is going to be over before you get the chance to have any fun."

"Watching you cum is extremely fun for me."

"You feel so delicious inside me, but I need you to fuck me with your cock."

Bucky was only too happy to oblige. Proceeding with caution, he pushed slowly until he was fully inside you. A burning sensation radiated through you as you stretched to let him in.

"How does that feel?" he asked slightly apprehensively.

"Exquisite!" you sighed. 

You shifted to make yourself comfortable before Bucky pulled out slowly, leaving you feeling empty inside. But you didn't have to wait long before he was thrusting back half inside you, making you gasp and moan. It was almost too much for Bucky, he was already struggling to control himself but he held back, wanting to give you as much pleasure as possible for as long as possible. In and out, he moved further with each thrust until he was sliding all the way into you, hands roaming over your exposed back.

“Bucky. Buck...” you murmured.

“Doll, a little louder for those of us in the back.”

“Does it turn you on?” you smiled.

“You’ll be screaming my name by the end of the night.” He rutted against you sharply in an unexpected rhythm. 

“Haha, you’re going to have to do better than tha-ahh,” you struggled to complete your answer as he slipped one hand between your 

thighs.

"Come on," he coaxed you by edging his fingers up your leg.

"Make me cum, counselor."

"On one condition."

"Name. It."

"You know what I want doll. Let me give you a taste of what you want." Devilishly, your boyfriend slipped his hand between your folds and gave your throbbing clit a few small flicks.

"Buck-uhhhh."

"That's right doll, just a little more," he grunted, starting to come undone himself. "Oh fuck, just a little more."

"Just a little more, Bucky!"

You pushed down against the hand he had clamped over your clit as he pounded against you mercilessly, all speech forgotten. Both of you panted and pumped away each chasing your release. There is was, that all too familiar knot at the bottom of your stomach. It spread through you like lightening, permeating every fiber of your being. "Bucky, oh Bucky, I'm-" you cried out.

Your walls fluttered around him pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. His thrusts became more and more erratic as you tightened around him.  Your whole body shook with pleasure. "Bucky!"

The sound of you screaming his name in euphoria was what made him pulse inside you. Arching his back, Bucky spilled his hot milky load while chanting your name under his breath. 

Neither of you moved for the longest time, you sprawled across the table with Bucky bent over your limp form.

"Buck," you finally worked up the energy to speak. 

"Mmmm?"

"I wish you could be inside me forever."

"Wouldn't that be nice," he smirked at the very thought.

For a few more moments, neither of you moved. 

"Buck?"

"Mmmm?"

"I think my arm fell asleep."

You could feel the rumble of his laughter flow into you. He slowly extricated himself from you, now you were only connected by the thin trail of his creamy elixir.

Bucky gripped your waist as you clumsily lowered yourself off the desk. "Looks like we made a mess of this." He waved his hand at the scattered receipts that were now strewn all over the table top.

"Next time don't wear suspenders if you want to avoid interruptions," you admonished him playfully while pulling your chemise back down to a comfortable position.

"Seriously, that's what turns you on?" Bucky wiped himself off and tucked himself back into his pants.

"They make you look distinguished!" You sighed and wrapped your hands around the offending article of clothing.

"So how would you feel if I put on some plaid pajamas?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you should hold me responsible for what happens to you." Smiling, you pulled at the straps and led your bemused boyfriend to bed.

[thebibliosphere]

Hi there, ive come from your post about ADHD and emotional disregulation, firstly thank you so much for putting it into words, its such a complicated part of how i deal with emotions and i havent ever been able to articulate how to why.

Secondly, in that post you mentioned how you've used stress as a motivator and how eventually your stress regualtion broke, i was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about that? (If not, its not a problem)

I feel like the same thing has happened to me but until i read your post i had no idea that something had... snapped? I suppose? I struggle with motivation all the time and in the past id have a week or a few days left and id be able to suddently push myself very hard to complete whatever it is before the deadline, just barely making it in most cases. However now it seems that i can't find that motivation anymore, deadlines come and pass and i can't being myself to work on anything, and i just end up spiralling into shame and guilt. That motivation was the only thing that I was able to rely on sometimes for things like uni, and i conviced myself that it was just me growing lazy or trying to get out of responsibility as to why the "last minute panic-mode" doesnt work anymore.

Again, if you don't wanna tackle this can of worms or if it's something youd rather not post online i totally get it, its no biggie! thanks so much for making the original post as well, it means a lot

Hello friend, thanks for the message. I'm sorry you're also dealing with this.

The good news here is that I've already talked about this using the rubber band analogy my therapist gave me. (Stress is like a Rubber Band)

If you don't have the mental bandwidth to read all of it now, the tl;dr is "stress is like a rubber band; it can stretch to hold numerous things in place when you need to, but if you do it too often or keep adding more and more strain under the band, the elastic eventually becomes brittle and snaps, taking your mental and sometimes physical health with it too."

I've been in intensive therapy for this for roughly three years now, and trying to piece my brain back together after my last bout of stress-induced productivity gave me a total mental breakdown.

It's... odd not being able to use stress and having to actively avoid it to avoid a relapse. But it is doable. Medication would help, but alas, I've got weird health issues and am unmedicated at the minute.

(And just in case that sparks anyone to go, "Oh, you do all this unmedicated! Wow, that's so inspiring!" as sometimes parents do to me on here as they then tell me they don't want to medicate their kids, I've unfortunately also written a post about what that kind of success looks like from an unmedicated perspective and the kind of suicidal ideation I deal with on the regular because I cannot take meds. It is not pleasant reading, but it is necessary for some folks, specifically anti-med, "if you just tried harder" people.)

A book you may find helpful is Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was very validating for me to read about other people going through the same things, and made me feel less of a "this is a personal failing on my part" and more of a "Oh okay yeah, no stress literally breaks people."

It helped soothe some of my own internalized "I just need to try harder" and helped cement me on the path I was already going down with my ADHD therapist toward changing how I view myself and how I manage my ADHD.

I hope that helps! If you've got more specific questions or I didn't touch on something in my old post, I can try to answer them :)

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n chapter seven! Gosh, who would have thought that this would grow into something this big. Idk... writing this story does something to my brain.

warning: kids, mention of past trauma, wing clipping and all the horrors of Illyrian camps, vomiting, I think that's all...

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel was stalling, and he knew it. For the first time in his life, the spymaster just couldn't put the needs of his court first. He tried. Mother knows he tried hard. But every time Azriel even came close to winnowing back to Velaris, he stalled. Waited. The tug pulled him back. The need to stay in the sanctuary held him in a chokehold. Something deep within him kept telling him that if he left on his own, even if it was for a couple of hours - he would not forgive himself. And the consequences - he didn't want to bear them.

"Keep your head up", Azriel articulated in his much lower voice, "Don't tuck your shoulders". One of his hands was pressed to Axel's back, making sure the arch was right. Away from the eyes that hawked between the walls, Azriel had finally ushered Axel out for morning training. The male didn't remember anyone being so happy to wake up before the morning sun. To be out in the chilly morning wind. To train. But Axel didn't even yawn once; he didn't rub his eyes. He was here, and he wasn't going to back down.

"Good job! Just like that", Azriel fueled Axel with praising words. He gave shit to Cassian when they were sparing. But while Cassian and he worked better when they were pissed at each other. The real broody fea raging. Axel was a whole different story. He ran off of Azriel's attentive care. Of him showing up. Of him seeing the boy. "Let them rest", Azriel stated his last order firmly, and Axel, with a couple of sloppy beats with his wings, seized his movements to a halt, panting breathlessly. The leather healed nicely. Way too nice for what it should have been, but that without doubt had something to do with your powers. It had to. That was another itch in Azriel's brain. A summoner? What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he had seen you wield light, heal, and slow heartbeats, but that in one big package didn't shape one solid answer.

"You're okay?", Azriel glanced down at the boy sitting on the fallen tree trunk. The biggest smile spread over Axel's face as he nodded his head. "Do you think I'll get to fly with you eventually?", the boy pointed towards the sky, Azriel's eyes following his movements. The spymaster's heart clenched at that. He hoped that would be possible. He hoped that with solid, strong back muscles and flying lessons, Axel too would bathe in the song of the wind. "We'll do everything we can to make that happen", Azriel threw a smile boy's way, something he found himself doing a lot lately. "Does your back hurt?", "A bit", the boy admitted shyly. Azriel only nodded. "That's a good sign; it means you're doing everything perfectly", and with that alone, all doubt and fear vanished from Axel's eyes. "Come, I'll carry you back", the boy didn't miss the invitation as he leaped into the warmth, snuggling into the male. Azriel held Axel with delicate care, mindful of the sore wings. He continued to run his hand over Axel's scared back. A sickly feeling still crept through him every time he came in contact with it. Azriel could endure the pain of his scars, but seeing Axel bear it as well fueled an anger that had never raged before. So Azriel pulled the boy just a little closer as he continued walking.

"What about this? It's blue", Zofie had been pulling out dresses from her closet all morning long. You had told the kids about the invitation to Velaris. Hoping that they would refuse to go. Make your own choice easy. You hoped you could hide behind their answers so you wouldn't have to make the decision yourself; just the two of them had been over the moon. Eager to go. It was as if Azriel had hung the moon for them, and now, no matter where or what he suggested, they were swooning with happiness.

"It's your favorite", you say, looking up from your seat, pealing your eyes away from the shirt Axel had placed into your hands this morning, practically begging you to fix the hem of it. "You said you'd use it for a special occasion", you continued. Because that dress was more than special. You had made it for Zofie after she had admired that she had never had one. Only clothed in scrappy cloth bags her whole young life. "It is special. We've never gone anywhere", she said firmly, looking down at the deep blue of the tule. "Do they have a big dance floor?", her eyes darted back at you, gleaming. You wanted to tell her that Velaris was like nothing she had ever seen before. She'd find much more than just a breathtaking ballroom, but you tucked that deep within yourself. "I don't know, sweetie. You'll have to ask the spymaster of the night court". The girl tilted her head to the side, "He has a name - Azriel. You know it", she sassed back at you, scrunching her forehead slightly. Because while you pulled back, they ran straight into Azriel's arms. You weren't jealous. Well, a little. You knew you weren't being replaced. You just... You wished you could find strength in yourself to trust once again.

The door to the room swung open after a little knock, and in strolled the two boys. Both still slightly sweaty and... "Oh, this is not okay!", you huffed as you watched them both standing there with their shirts off. "What's all of this about?", you rested your hands on your hips, trying to scowl. There was no doubt that you failed miserably because it was practically impossible to ignore the way Azriel's toned chest looked. Your hands had touched that... You quickly cleared your throat, leaning closer to Axel. "Real soldiers don't wear shirts when they are in the middle of an intense workout", the boy stated so casually that you quickly tilted your eyebrows up, glancing at Azriel, who looked way too mischievous for his own good. That bastard knew what he was doing. But it was the way Axel wore the scars on his back as if they were nothing that tugged at your heart. As if they didn't weigh him down. As if he didn't care if anyone else saw them, and deep down, you knew it was Azriel that you needed to thank.

It was Zofie who washed away the prolonged silence, "We're packing for Velaris", she said, lifting her hands up and showing off her dress which was still wrinkled. Azriel's hopeful eyes darted your way immediately. You two hadn't talked about his promises. About the things he had said. You had been cold toward him. You didn't want to, but his words had struck deep, making your defense walls waver. "Do they have a ballroom?", Zofie chirped, stepping closer to the male, who almost by nature had sunk to one knee so he could be more at Zofie's eye level. "Yeah, they do. I hope you'll save a dance for me", Azriel stated firmly, and Zofie nodded eagerly at his words. Giggling as the shadows swirled around her, turning her hair into a big cloud around her, lifting it from her back as she swirled with them happily.

Azriel's smile faltered. A pain like no other struck him. She was wearing Axel's shirt, no doubt, the loose material falling off the back, as she finally collapsed to the floor, screeching. Yet all Azriel saw were two deep red marks that ran all the way up to her shoulders. He didn't need to see more to know what that meant. He didn't need... Azriel stood up so quickly that his head spun. Turning abruptly, he shot out the door. Images of that night. That torturous night when he and Cas had to pull Rhys away from the lifeless bodies of his mother and sister filled his head. Now clear as a day. The torn-apart flesh in their back. The blood. The broken bones. The gashed. Azriel didn't make it far. He bent just slightly as he leaned against the wall. His breakfast coming right up. He heaved and gagged for what felt like forever. Head pressed against the cold stone as he tried to calm his breathing. Tried to shove the image of the mutilated bodies. Zofie's lifeless... That alone had Azriel hurling all over again.

"Drink", the strong smell coming from the cup was enough to let Azriel know that it was ginger brew. And the warmth of a hand on his shoulder—enough to let him know that you were here. But he was too afraid to move. Any movement threatened to make him heave again; he was convinced of it. "You look pale as a ghost drink, Azriel", you pushed the cup closer to his lips, holding onto his jaw as you tilt the mug up. Azriel manages to take a couple of sips before pushing back. "She's...", he managed to whisper. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, "Wingless? Yes". Azriel let out what seemed to be a superseded whimper, and all you could do was lower your head. You could speak of it only because you've walked with that pain for so long and yet it still clawed at you in moments like this.

"Who?", the tone seemed pure death. "Azriel...", you said in a pleading tone. This man had proven to you more than once now that he was willing to bring hell out for the kids. Yet you still denied it. "Give me a name! Tell me what camp. I will skin him alive", you swiftly moved to cup his face as you shook your head. "Do you remember what you told me about the fact that all they need is love?", you asked, looking into his deep golden orbs. "They need the same from you, Az", the darkness plunged back into its cage. Yet his breathing was still heavy. "This isn't fair", his words spilled through his gritted teeth, his hands pressing onto your hips. His way of grounding himself. "You and I both know that life is cruel", you offered him a sad smile, but he only shook his head. "But", you breathed out, knowing deep down that you needed to say this. "Azriel... She's up there right now, thinking that she has done something bad. That Axel's scars didn't scare you, but her...", and that's enough for Azriel to pull back as he turns around, only a black mist of his shadows left in his track.

And she's there in his arms when you finally make your way up. Splotchy face pressed against his shoulder. Zofie is a tiny girl as it is, but in Azriel's embrace, she almost looks microscopic. His palm covers most of her back. She has a fistful of his shirt in her tiny fists. "You're just as special", you hear Azriel muttering under his breath. Axel inches closer to you, arms wrapping around your leg as he nuzzles into you. You're convinced that the only time this man was brought to his knees was when he was pleading to stay with that female, but in his time here, he kept kneeling in front of the two of them. And it doesn't seem to bug him. It doesn't seem to clash with the cold mask he has built.

It's hard to hear their conversation, but then it's for them alone. And the bits you do hear—"I'm sorry," "You're one of the strongest girls I've met", and endless mutters of "I'll keep you safe" and "You'll never have to be afraid anymore"—are more than enough to make your eyes sting. Because you know that Azriel would not let go of her, or Axel, for that matter. They were logged into his heart. Fully. Permanently. It soothes you that Zofie doesn't understand and doesn't remember the way things had happened. Her father had taken it upon himself to carve her tiny wings out the same day she was born. A poor baby caught an infection. Leaving her slightly sickish and way smaller than she should be for her age. But she still kicked around fearlessly. Determined to not let monsters like that win. You dabbed a tear away from your cheek quickly. Letting the feeling of Axe's soft hair pull you back out.

"Can I fly?", the girl lifted her head from Azriel's shoulder, tiny palms rubbing her eyes. You sucked in a breath. She had never thought about that or asked about it. You want to cut in; try to say something. But Azriel pulled the blanket off the bed before carefully wrapping Zofie in it. "You say a word, and you'll be soaring through the clouds", Azriel says softly, and her eyes spark with anticipation. She glances your way, and you give her a tiny nod. "Then I want to fly", she whispers, and that's enough for Azriel to scoop her up as he moves towards the balcony. Her tiny hands spring out of the blanket as she wraps them around Azriel's neck, and they are airborne. Together.

You find him hours later. Everyone has long gone to bed, but you've spent way too long tossing and turning. The pull in your chest was too unbearable. So, with kisses on both of the kids' foreheads, you let your feet lead the way. And it only hits you that you're standing right in front of his door when it opens and you see his figure. Your body seizes, just like it always does when you're in front of him. Or, well, when he's shirtless.

You lift your haze and say, "I... wanted to check on you. Make sure that it's...", you topple over your words before managing to take a breath in, "Are you okay?". Azriel says nothing; he just steps to the side, a silent invitation. He's nursing a glass of whiskey. He's been off alcohol for most of his time here, so this... This had to reopen deep wounds.

"She was ecstatic. I've never seen her eyes so bright", you try to breathe in that sense of peace in him. "How is this still happening? Rhys has put out clear laws", is all he says in return. You step closer to him, reaching for a glass in his hand, and Azriel gives it up rather easily. "These males run things by their books, and you know it, Az. The sanctuary has a dedicated armed force, and there are missions. We do what we can," you state calmly, but Azriel simply shakes his head. "Come here", he mutters, his hands reaching up for you. "I don't want you going back to these camps", his words are firm as you rest your head against his chest. "You can't boss me around, remember?", you jab at his chest painfully. "Then I'll be going with you", Azriel says, as if it's so self-explanatory. You pull back slightly, shaking your head. "Start by taking us to Velraris, foreign soldier", you murmur, and that's the first time you get to see a smile paint his lips. "While you're in a silk nightgown?", he muses, and you let out a gasp, wrapping your arms around your chest. The reality that your nightgown has been the only thing separating your bodies all this time slowly seeping in, making your cheeks grow crimson. "In your dreams, shadowsinger", you purr back at him.

The next morning is filled with anticipation. Little feet running all around the place, shoving some of the forgotten pieces into the overnight bags. Throughout the breakfast, the conversation lingered around Velaris. As Azriel pulls story after story, the two younglings gasping. The list of places to visit getting longer by the minute. You were happy for them. This chance to explore something new—that child-like thrill—made even the smallest of things seem huge.

"Bacon", Zofie quickly jabbed her finger toward the plate, making Azriel let out a light chuckle. But he makes quick work of assembling the perfect bite before carefully turning the fork towards the girl's mouth. "Good?", he asked, leaning to the side slightly so he would be able to see her face. Zofie just smiled up at him, kicking her little feet happily as she chewed. She was perfectly capable of feeding herself but more than aware that she had Azriel wrapped around her little finger, meaning that one tired look was enough for the spymaster to usher her onto his lap so he could help her eat breakfast.

"You can't carry us three", Axel said as he too cut into the last bits of food on his plate. Azriel lifted a brow in a challenge, "I bet I can". The boy shook his head, "You only have two hands; there's three of us here". The shadowsinger only smirked, "Who knew you were so good at math", Axel let out a gasp before his face grew mischievous. "Will we go one by one?", Zofie asked, turning her head to look up at Azriel. And just as always, he was quick to sense the panic in her voice. The thought of having to be at some place alone while the others came around clearly made her antsy.

"No, we're all going together. I'll winnow us there", Azriel said firmly, followed by an explanation of what that meant. "Will this hurt?", Axel was quick to cut in. "No, you'll hold onto Y/n; I'll hold onto you all,", the spymaster said calmly, knowing well that the first time might feel rather unsettling when you're not so used to the sensation. "Can we get lost?", Zofie's voice was barely audible. Azriel placed a quick kiss on the crown of her head before leaning closer to her, "No", his eyes were fully focused on the little girl, "Because I won't let that happen".

The cool air nibbled at your skin first. Pinching your cheeks and painting them slightly more pink. It was way cooler here, even if the sanctuary was in the mountains. Magic had its perks. Azriel's grip around you loosened as he stepped back, the warmth of him melting away. A part of you wanted to hold onto him for a moment longer. You two still hadn't had a proper conversation about everything. Not that there was anything much to say, but you felt like letting him know that you trusted him.

"Look up at the sky, Zo", Axel practically shrieked with excitement as he softly pulled on Zofie's dress. She carefully peeled her palms away from her eyes. Even with Azriel humming through the quick journey here, her little panic took the best of her. "You can see all the construction", Azriel pointed up at the sky as he rubbed her back softly. "Rhys is a show-off like that", he muttered, mostly for you, and you couldn't help but chuckle lightly. "Perseus...", Zofie motioned with her little finger, making Azriel nod, "That's right, we can find them all later on".

It took you a moment to look around. You haven't been here in... ever. The only time you had come down here was straight to Rhys's office. You haven't been out of the sanctuary since you were first brought in. Except for the camp. An uncomfortable shiver runs down your back. The place Azriel winnowed to felt pretty secluded. The buzz of the sitting seemed further away. The street was brightly lit, with dangling lights and flower beds blooming on every window sill. "This isn't the main house", you muttered. It didn't feel like it. A least, you had no clue how Rhys would fit a study so big in here. Azriel shook his head as he lowered Zofie to the ground. "I wanted you to warm up your feet in Velaris first", he said while shaking his head. "So, we're not meeting everyone tonight?", a wave of relief washed over you. Sure, you were excited and all, but... one can only take so many stimuli at once. And well, for the kids' sake, that was a perfect start. "I wanted you to meet someone first. Someone special", Azriel said softly before stepping closer to the door and knocking gently.

The kids quickly rushed to stand up tall, yet their hands were gripping the sides of their skirts. Putting on their best behavior. So eager to meet someone new. Someone they hadn't seen around the sanctuary. Someone who seemed to be a part of a whole new world. But it's not really what you expected. In all honesty, you didn't even know what you were expecting.

An elderly woman opens the door, the brightest smile on her face as she sees Azriel. Her hands instantly reach to cup his face, and he doesn't pull away. He basks in the softness of her touch for a moment before moving to kiss both of her palms. "My boy", she beames, and you're convinced your heart had stopped working. Or there's a blood vessel that popped, hence the roaring in your ears. No, Azriel brought you to his... "Mother, I want you to meet someone", the spymaster steps to the side to give his mother a clear view of the kids and you.

You wait for her smile to falter, but she only seems to smile brighter. "Oh, dear...", she holds onto Azriel's arm. "Aren't you two adorable", she opens her embrace warmly, and that's all Zofie and Axel need as they rush forward toward the woman. Big eyes observing her as she cups both of their faces. You bite the inside of your cheeks.

"Yours?", the woman says, looking up at her son. Almost a hopeful gleams there as she watches him. "Not by blood", the spymaster says, and he says it so naturally that you nearly feel your legs buck. Convinced your nails are drawing blood from the way you are squeezing your palms. "And this lady, must be the lover?", her soft eyes land on you, knocking the last air out of your lungs. You open your mouth, but Azriel beats you to it: "Not yet, but I'm working on it". The elderly woman hums softly, a knowing look on her face as she glances between the two of you, before turning her eyes back on the kids, "Why don't we head inside, loves? I'm making cinnamon rolls", and the two younglings don't even do a double take at you as they walk toe-in-toe through the arched wooden door.

You turn to Azriel. "You're insane", you whisper, your eyes already full of tears. "No, I'm just trying to make the right choice for the first time", Azriel says calmly, reaching out for you, but you back away. "Azriel, this is...", you breathe out. "Don't back away from me", hurt flashes in his eyes. "I know I made questionable choices", Azriel pleads. "But this feels fucking right... I can't explain it, YN, but it feels as if I was meant to be here, meant to...", he states, almost in slight disbelief himself, "Don't take this from me".

You watch Azriel for a heartbeat. One. Two. Before you just leap forward, crashing your lips against his. And it's way better than you could ever imagine. It's eager and hungry. Messy, but so... right. As if this was something that was meant to happen. Azriel brings you closer as he deepens the kiss. His palms moving straight to your hips, a habit of his by now. You arch into his touch, your body working on its own rhythm when it comes to Azriel. And when you finally pull apart breathlessly, with a slightly rosy cheek, you can't help but smile at him because maybe just maybe. This is your chance to have your person. Your home.

"If I accidentally winnow us to my apartment now...", Azriel muttered breathlessly, making you let out a laugh. "Don't you dare, soldier", you say, pointing your finger at him. "I won't... Just thinking about it...hard", he states through hazy eyes. You shake your head as you brush your fingers across his lips, trying to clean up the smudged marks of your lipstick. "In your dreams," you purr lightly. "Well, I've been dreaming for a while now, love", Azriel reaches to you, resting his forehead against yours before his lips find yours once more.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace

[jpitha]

Color Me Surprised.

Human vision is hacks upon hacks upon hacks. Forget about how our brains just make wild guesses about things we see, or how there are whole parts of your vision that your brain can't see and just does "content aware fill" on it, or how your peripheral vision isn't nearly as good as you think it is.

Our brains just make up colors because we don't like to see two colors next to each other.

Magenta doesn't exist.

****

“Ugh, what is going on?” The Gren moved to cover their eyes as they staggered back, their reverse articulated legs unsteady.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong Peni’tam?” Jalisa stared at her friend as they moved back, their 2 pairs of eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“That… that thing. It hurts to look at!“ Peni’tam finall turned away and with their back to it, opened their eyes. They looked down at Jalisa. “It doesn’t hurt for you to look at? Is it some kind of human weapon?”

Jalisa peered around Pani’tam. Behind her, on the landing platform was a starship. It was small as starships go, likely only holding 4 or 5 people. With a Flip drive, you didn’t really need a large spacecraft for anything. Most destinations were no more than two or three days away, but humans tended to build large anyway. No reason not to when space is nearly limitless. Interdiction ship probably. Military, or at least formerly military.

It was small and sleek, with very few protrusions. Currently sitting on spindly landing legs, it almost looked like an insect.

It was also bright magenta.

“It’s just a ship Peni’tam. The color is a little unusual, but humans tend to paint their ships wild colors anyway. It’s got a bit of a dazzle camo pattern, made up in two or three shades of magenta.”

“Magenta? What’s that?” Now that Peni’tam wasn’t facing the ship they were much more steady on their feet.

“It’s just a color. Like, a really bright pinky purple?” Jalisa looked down at her pad. “Here, let me see if it’s emitting something.” She touched a few points and ran a scan. “Pani’tam, it’s cold. Even the reactor is off. It must be here for a refit.”

Pani’tam turned again and immediately winced. “Ow! No, something is up. That ship hurts to look at. I don’t mean like figuratively, I mean, literally it is painful. It is doing something.”

“Well, let’s step away from it then. We can find another way to the cafe. I just wanted to pass by the pads because I like to look at the ships.” Jalisa said, wistfully.

They went to the cafe by circling around the station past the gymnasium. Inside, Jalisa saw people running and lifting weights that seemed almost comically tiny until she looked over at the sign over the entrance.

OPERATING AT THREE GEE TODAY. EXERCISE CAUTIOUSLY.

She rolled her eyes. Of course the gym nuts would find a way to use the gravity generators to make the workouts more intense.

At the cafe, Jalisa and Peni’tam got their drinks and sat down at a wide, long table. “I just can’t believe that color doesn’t hurt you.” Pani’tam took a sip of their tea. “Your vision must be completely different than ours.”

Another human at the table heard their conversation and turned. “Oh, you saw the Variegated Elegy?”

“The little magenta ship? Yeah, Peni’tam here-“ Jalisa gestured at her friend “-got a massive headache when she tried to look at it.”

The human nodded. “I’m not surprised. It’s an old interdiction ship, originally designed to strike deep into Gren territory during the war. Now that the war is over, it’s here to be refitted into a yacht, and probably repainted too.”

“Oh really? That’s too bad. The magenta dazzle camo is so interesting.” Jalisa sipped her coffee and looked at the human. She was tall, with close cropped hair on one side, and the rest was swept up almost into a dark asymmetric pompadour. She was wearing a tailored uniform without any indicators of rank and just two silver pips on her left breast. She had a scar along her right cheek as well. She looked very rakish, and Jalisa had to look away quickly.

The human laughed. “It’s pretty neat isn’t it? Unfortunately, the Confederation races can’t process magenta. For some it just looks like a very odd blue, others see a very odd red. A few races like the Gren with very accurate color reproduction get headaches and it causes them pain. The color was chosen on purpose for that particular ship.”

“A color… hurts? Also I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The woman winks. “I didn’t throw it. You can call me Tyler.”

Jalisa blushes just a bit. “Hi Tyler, I’m Jalisa.”

Tyler nods. “Works over in HVAC with Pam and Lan’urian? Nice to meetcha.”

How did she know that? Tyler continues. “Anyway. Yeah, for the Gren, when they see magenta they try and process it, but since the wavelength for blue will never be with the wavelength for red, the color can’t really exist.”

“But we see it?” Her coffee forgotten, Jalisa leans forward.

Tyler laughs. “That’s because our eyes are hacks upon hacks upon hacks. Half the things we ‘see’ aren’t real. Our brains just invent magenta when we put red and blue next to each other. We learned early in the war about Gren vision processing and were able to use it to our advantage. Now that the war’s over, we’re retiring the pain job. Gotta be good members of the Confederation after all.” Tyler rips off a sharp - though sarcastic - salute.

“So, the color of the ship itself is a weapon?” Peni’tam said, with a note of amazement in their voice.

“Yup! Pretty neat right? A weapon with no power and no ammunition and still causes nearly incapacitating pain if a Gren doesn’t look away.”

Jalisa looks at Tyler more closely. She seems so effortlessly confident. “How do you know so much about this, Tyler?”

Tyler shrugs. “Oh, it’s my ship. In the war I was an Intelligence Collection Agent and I ran the Variegated with a small tight crew.”

Jalisa nearly chokes on her tea. “You’re a spy?”

“Was a spy. War’s over, so we don’t need spy’s anymore, right?” Tyler winked again. Jalisa wasn’t sure if Peni’tam caught the gesture or knew what it meant. A wink was very situational and could mean lots of things. Tyler tossed back the rest of her coffee. “Anyway, I’m here for a few more weeks while the refit takes place.” She stands and looks down at Jalisa. “I’m free tonight. Call me, we’ll get dinner.” And without another word, she turns and walks out of the cafe.

After she left, Peni’tam stares at Jalisa. “You aren’t going to go to dinner with her are you?”

“And why not, Peni’tam?”

“She’s a spy! She spied on us during the war!” Peni’tam’s grey fur ripples and her mouthparts clack with stress.

“The war is over Peni’tam. Everyone on both sides fought it. I’m sure you had plenty of your own spies.”

Peni’tam shakes their head. The fur whooshes back and forth while they do it. “She’s so… cocky and self-assured. She practically made your date invitation a command.”

Jalisa blushed again. “I know. It was pretty cool.”

[amirasainz]

hi!! i love this series sm and can u please write baby!sainz crushing on lando and carlos noticed it ++ lando and baby!sainz cute moments. thank you! have a good day 🫶🏻

Hey loves. I'm always so happy when I receive new requests. My requests are open and feedback is always welcome. Enjoy reading! -XoXo

Three times when...

The cooking fiasco

It was common knowledge in the Sainz household that Amira Sainz did not like cooking. In fact, it was a task she despised. When the Sainz children were younger, the chores were so divided that Amira never had to cook. She would go shopping for the ingredients or clean up the kitchen afterward. But she never lifted one pretty, manicured finger to prepare a meal.

So one could understand the shock when Carlos came down to the kitchen this morning and saw his baby sister cooking. And not just something easy like instant noodles—Senorita Sainz had prepared Croquetas de Jamón, a dish that required time and patience. Two things his little sister usually did not have.

However, Carlos had to admit they smelled amazing. When he tried to take a piece, his sister slapped his hand away. “Amira, what—” “Carlitos, they are not for hermano. It took me hours to prepare them, and I will not let you eat them all just because you’re hungry,” she informed her brother with a playful smile. “Come on, hermanita. Just one tiny piece. They look delicious.” She shook her head again, packed the Croquetas away, and told her brother they needed to leave.

The Sainz siblings, armed with their bags and a little plastic box filled with those delectable Croquetas de Jamón, entered the paddock. But it was Amira’s bold move that stole the show—skipping over to Lando and presenting him with her carefully prepared culinary masterpiece. Carlos, caught off guard, stood in the middle of the entrance, his jaw practically hitting the floor.

And then came Lando’s reaction: “Darling, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Amira blushed, and Carlos was left utterly dumbfounded.

Little did he know that his bewildered expression would soon become an internet sensation—a meme capturing the moment when Carlos’s brain seemingly took a vacation for a solid 40 minutes.

2. The hat

Oh, how he hated this hat. This stupid childish hat, that Lando wore for his first home GP. Carlos’s disdain for that neon green/yellow-ish hat was legendary, and it seemed to be etched into his very soul. But when he saw his sister, Amira, wearing the same hat, panic set in. His protective instincts kicked into high gear, and he bombarded her with questions: “Amira, what happened? Were you forced to wear this? Did Lando force you? Do you owe him money? Mi preciada hermana, you know I’ll lend you all the money I have. I will—”

And then, Amira’s interruption: “Don’t you think I look pretty?” Carlos was left speechless. Of course, she looked beautiful, but why this… thing on her head? Amira explained that it was Lando’s hat—the very same one he wore during his first home Grand Prix. She wanted to show her support for him, even though her loyalty to Carlos was unwavering.

Carlos grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, his sister’s gesture was sweet, even if the hat was an eyesore. On the other hand, why did it have to be that hat? His sister looked always lovely, but this neon monstrosity…

Before he could articulate his thoughts, Lando himself appeared. “Looking good, Mira,” he praised, and Amira blushed. Then, Lando turned to Carlos. “Hey, you good, man?”

And there it was—the unspoken tension between past teammates, siblings, and that ridiculous hat. Carlos managed a half-hearted nod. “Yeah, just… processing,” he mumbled. But deep down, he wondered if this whole situation would become another meme—one where Carlos stared into space, contemplating the mysteries of life, love, and questionable headwear.

3.The cut

It was racing weekend after a two week break. Carlos couldn’t help but tease Lando about that minuscule cut—the one that had everyone talking after his wild party weekend in the Netherlands.

“Cabrón, how did you even manage to cut yourself open? I mean, you were on a boat. A boat, Lando.” The banter flowed between them like old times, and Carlos secretly acknowledged that while Charles felt like a little brother, Lando was his true confidant. Amidst the tough competition at Ferrari, Lando was the one who knew all his inner struggles and insecurities—the person he could share everything with. Lando, who knew that Carlos didn't have any offers from other teams. Lando, who knew that the offer from Audi was taken back. He just couldn't tell Charles those things. Not because he couldn't trust him as well. But he always felt the need to protect the young Monegasque and didn't want to make him feel worse about his leave.

But then, the unexpected happened. Carlos’s attention shifted from Lando’s escapades to a quick blur of pink. The exact shade his sister had worn just days ago. And there they were: Amira and Lando, arms around each other. Concern etched on her face, she asked Lando if he was feeling alright, if she could do anything for him. His response—teasing yet sincere—sent a shiver down Carlos’s spine. Those stars in Lando’s eyes, the whispered words in Spanish from her: “Oh Lando, estoy tan feliz de que estés bien”, Lando rubbing her back for comfort.

Those two friends, caught in a moment that felt both intimate and confusing. Carlos’s mind raced. Did his sister have a crush on Lando? It couldn’t be, right?

Or could it?

[sinon36]

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC

As I lay in bed, it's 5 am. My alarm is supposed to ring at 7 am. Insomnia hits again. So here we go! Enjoy the product of my foggy brain!

Warnings: fluff, some mentions of torture, curse words, insomnia, nightmares, threats, stalking but it's good natured, some mistakes ( grammar and spelling), interact at your own discretion.

-

When you first met it happened in the nonstop supermarket at the intersection a couple blocks from his apartment. It was 3 am. You were looking for coloured paper, he was looking for Kentucky burbon.

Both of you couldn't sleep for very different reasons. He just got back from a long mission, unable to sleep in his own bed, his own apartment, not as familiar as the base, always bustling with activity. The house was too quiet. Ears straining to hear something. An understimulated brain makes up sounds, that turn to memories, then night terrors. He was out in search of relief, getting so drunk he'd pass out and get some shut-eye.

You on the other hand were finishing up on materials for your little students. And then you needed coloured paper to finish. You huff and puff, and almost curse out but refrain from doing so, looking at your wristwatch you determine you have a few hours until the school day begins. Do you trudge to the intersection, hopping, begging for mercy and coloured paper.

You were the only ones there besides the half-asleep cashier. Your sound of triumph at having found what you're looking for travels to the liquor aisle. Simon's eyes point in your direction, not really sure he actually heard it or hallucinated it.

At the register, you cut him off not even noticing his dark-clad 6'3 body, whiskey bottle in hand. He let out a 'bloody hell', an almost whisper, but your teacher's instinct kicked in. 'Language' you'd said in a chastised voice eyes darting to fix him with a glare, the same you'd do to the children in class. But instead of a meager 'apologies, miss' you get a grunt out of him. You glare some more and turn away, making a barely audible comment directed at him. Naturally, he confronted you on that and you went on and gave him a lecture on how people like him make your work 10 times harder and how they are a bad example to future generations.

Both him and the cashier look at you like you've grown two heads. Honestly, the young guy behind the cash register, thought you might start a fight with the graveyard shift regular wearing a balaclava and buying alcohol well into the hours of morning.

But you didn't. After having said what you had to say you turned around on your heels, slapped the two packets of coloured paper in front of the young man, and then angrily put the money in his outstretched hand. You left in a flurry of murmurs, not even acknowledging the farewell words.

'feisty' he had commented eyes trailing on your departing figure. He chuckled at your interaction. That day he drank himself into unconsciousness thinking of you, and your plush lips spewing insults in his face, eyes alight with passion, face scrunched in barely contained annoyance.

You were a primary school teacher, that much he has gathered from your discourse. He wanted to see you again, and walking around aimlessly he came across the nearest school in the neighborhood. He started searching for your face behind closed windows. He had found you and waited for you, like the stalker that he'd turned into. He hoped you wouldn't call the cops on him.

As you near the gates, two rows of 3rd-year students behind you, loudly talking about how much fun they had with you. You laughed at their happy and springy attitude. They were the best students you've had so far.

And then your eyes met brown ones in a staring match. You'd walked closer starting to threaten him to go before you got him removed from the premises. He smiled under his balaclava, eyes watching in admiration. 'let's grab dinner...' he interrupted you. 'huh?' that was the most articulate answer you could muster. 'I owe you a proper apology. So dinner on me.' He explained in chopped sentences the voice deep and laced with a Manchester accent.

You forgot what you were saying and blushed hard, a cute smile plastered to your face. You were so easily swooned by this stranger and his interest in you. He could have been a killer or kidnapper. You threw caution to the wind. You said yes.

And now, now you were happily married, a couple years into it, actually. The house you bought is small but cosy. The living room table is always full of clippings of coloured paper and half finished materials strewn about. It's home for Simon.

He knows you're busy with schoolwork when he's deployed, so he doesn't worry about you missing him too much. But you do, and he misses you tenfold. So you make something for him, a little couloured origami frame that contains a picture of the two of you, for him to have. He carries it in his chest pocket, but only on base, where he knows it's safe to do so. Being captured with personal things like this in his possession could give the enemy leverage over him. He knows that, he's an expert in interrogation techniques. But he doesn't tell you all this, he knows you're sensitive to violence. So he instead promises that he will keep it close to his heart, all the time. His lucky charm. You're enamoured with him and he basks in your love without shame.

To be continued...

[foxconfessorandthewolf]

Okay, so I’m a bit wine drunk but I don’t think I’ve ever really articulated why I love Snarry together and I’m currently trying to finish a fic after taking a three-year-hiatus from writing these two, so this is probably a good exercise!

I’m a bit on the older side of fandom, having been a fanartist and fervent reader since 2003, so my connection was really sparked during that time between OOTP and HBP when Snape and Harry were at some of their most clashing and deeply vitriolic, forced together into hateful vulnerability by Occulmency lessons. Every scene between them was electric, laced with tension as we truly did not know how things would go, or even where Snape’s true loyalties lay. He was an unknown, tied up with Harry’s own family’s mysterious past, connected to Harry in a myriad of odd ways that few other characters were, and - as a rivals-to-lovers lover - I was fascinated by him. From that first moment when they lock eyes in the Great Hall and that frisson of pain shoots through Harry’s scar, I desperately wanted to know who the hell this man was and his story. I think a lot of Snarry shippers come to the ship with a special appreciation for Severus Snape’s character himself. He’s such an incredibly drawn character, rich with complexity, complicated and pretty fucked up, with clearly-held passions, hatreds, weaknesses, and motivations. He’s emotional in a way a lot of other characters aren’t, though I think he’d loathe to hear that. And his character voice! It’s unique and pitch-perfect. You always know exactly who is speaking with his lines. Honestly, the way he evolved from a spy/traitor stock character to become so multifaceted and enigmatic is a masterpiece of characterization, and it’s an aspect of why I’m drawn to him - there’s still so much about his origins and well, what his damage was, that we don’t know. Because of this, I especially love Snarry fics that delve into character studies of him, trying to explore all the shadows left behind. I also admit I have a preference for interpreting Snape as morally grey. I like him petty, sharp-tongued, ambitious, with an incredibly liquid definition of what is right and wrong. He’s self-interested, dripping with disdain, and really doesn’t see that as a problem. What happens to him when he deeply falls in love?

I love a ship that makes me work for it. There’s no obvious line of how Snape and Harry might wind up together, so each fic is a wealth of possibilities of bringing these two together despite their roadblocks. As I mentioned, I’m big fan of animosity in a ship. Give me rivals, give me enemies, give me the sparking passions, the sharp fury, the way they stoke each others’ emotions and seek to hurt, the racing hearts, the raised hackles, the intense emotional reaction to another person. Just throw it at me. I devour that shit. I love the messy and taboo nature of their relationship, the complications raising from their age difference, temperaments, and largely similar and shared traumas. There’s an interesting element of Snape being a foil to James Potter, and how that relates to Harry and their past. Basically, this shit is really good potting soil for incredible fucking fics, packed with nutrients.

The shared natures of their traumas, like Voldemort and each being forgotten and abused as children and how they might be able to understand each other and bond from it is also something that’s fascinating to explore. I love when a writer pushes on Snape’s bruises, looking to make them hurt, cracking his sardonic brain open and rooting around in there, and I love when they compare and contrast to Harry’s. There’s a seductiveness to how Snape is so obsessed with Harry, fixated on his Boy Who Lived heroic reputation, clearly dripping with envy. What, beyond jealousy, might draw Snape to Harry and what, other than hatred, might draw Harry to Snape?

It’s all this, the passionate, electric, dangerous nature of their relationship; the way their characters contrast each other yet have surprising connections; and the question of finding solace that keeps me here, 21 years later. I’ve had wines less complex than this ship. They’re fascinating. They’re messy. They’re everything.

[crossposted from a reddit comment I just left, and wanted to share with y’all]