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sweetkpopmusings · 2 days ago

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heart-fluttering moments with ateez <3

a/n: trying to clear through my very long list of drafts/ideas, and i desperately needed to write some more for ateez. hopefully these give you a nice little boost of serotonin (even if they propel you into your feelings, as they did to me) <3 pics not mine~

content: fluff, can be read as nonidol!ateez | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none really! | pairing: ateez x gn!reader | requests: open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

seonghwa♡‧₊˚

when he says your name.

seonghwa, always eager to catch your attention, had plenty of nicknames for you. you loved each and every one of them because, on top of classics like love and darling, he crafted special ones for you and only you. when he really wanted your attention, though, he said your name. whenever he called out to you, you’d be met by his big, sparkling eyes. his voice was always a sweet coo when he said your name, like it was his favorite word in the universe. seonghwa adored the way your whole body responded to him, alight with affection, whenever he called out to you. you never felt more like yourself than with seonghwa, and all it took to make you feel like the only person in the world was him saying my y/n~~ if only you knew that seonghwa folded twice as hard whenever you said his name. one day, maybe soon, he’d tell you his name never sounded perfect until he heard it in your voice.

hongjoong♡‧₊˚

when you tell him about your day.

hongjoong, though subtle about it, was completely and utterly enamored by you. he was not one for grand romantic gestures. he would partake in these on special occasions, particularly if you were fond of them or at least got a good laugh out of it. hongjoong, however, preferred to express his love for you through everyday actions. in particular, hongjoong loved nothing more than asking you how was your day, my love? he could happily sit there for hours, cherishing the way your voice engulfed him. he’d smile brightly, eyes locked on yours, listening intently to every word you said. if you ever felt as though you were talking too much, hongjoong would insist that his favorite part of the day was talking to you. inevitably flustered by his casual confession, he’d tease you playfully, quickly asking you to tell him more and more because he can never get enough of you.

yunho♡‧₊˚

when he tells you stories.

yunho thought about you constantly. while he was too shy to confess this unless you two were feeling extra soft for each other, it was clear to everyone around yunho that you were always on his mind. everyday, yunho would make mental notes of things he wanted to tell you. sometimes, if a day was full of anecdotes he knew you’d love, he’d actually write them down on his phone, a list full of nonsensical reminders of how he saw you in everything. as soon as he could get to you, yunho would reenact every funny moment just to hear you laugh. his heart soared whenever you called him ridiculous after a dramatic retelling of an almost unbelievable story. you thought this was how yunho was with everyone, until, when speaking with other members, you joked about a story no one else had heard before. yunho explained it to them, but not as energetically as he did for you. this was the moment you realized that he was your storyteller. yunho made you feel special in every way, and this special habit of his was no exception. you were, after all, his favorite audience.

yeosang♡‧₊˚

when he remembers.

yeosang is more often than not on his own plane of existence. his mind is one of a kind, and you are frequently entertained by the way he thinks, especially when it takes your conversations and ideas into entirely new territory. despite being a little “airheaded” sometimes, yeosang never forgot a thing when it came to you. he would remind you to restock groceries–somehow he always remembered exactly which items you tended to forget–and he always asked you about upcoming plans he knew you were excited about. one time, when he asked you about an event that you had only mentioned once months prior, you joked that it felt like he was your personal assistant. yeosang, smiling, said i might as well be. i keep a calendar of your life in my head all the time. you laughed because it sounded ridiculous, but the look in his eyes revealed that this was not a joke. when you asked him why, he answered i never want to miss a thing about you.

san♡‧₊˚

when he tells you how much you mean to him.

san’s heart was undoubtedly the biggest on the planet. his love was generous and open, never letting anyone feel anything but their best. in san’s eyes, however, your heart was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he was honored every day to have a place in it. his terms of endearment for you always reflected how much he adored you: my angel, my star, my world, and so on. san didn’t stop there. on nights he was feeling especially soft for you, san would melt your heart with the sweetest words of adoration. after laughing at your joke, he’d smile widely and say no one makes me laugh like you do. you are so special. before saying goodbye on the phone, san would sigh contentedly, asking you to promise him that you’d never forget how much you mean to him. of course, you promise him, because you would promise him everything. you can hear the joyful look on his face as he says my y/n, you are more precious to me than you’ll ever know.

mingi♡‧₊˚

when he carries things for you.

mingi was everyone’s princess, including yours. mingi, however, did not think it was fair that only he got the princess treatment in your relationship. he loved when you took care of him, all blushed cheeks and giggles and butterflies in his stomach. what made him feel on top of the world, though, was reciprocating your kindness and care. his heart almost burst out of his chest every time you smiled and said thank you. mingi thought there was no greater honor than being helpful to you. you changed so much of his life and him for the better. he wasn’t quite sure how to express that gratitude and amazement, so he figured the least he could do is carry your groceries, lift heavy objects, or hold every item as you shopped through your favorite stores. any time you asked if he wanted help, even if he was struggling to balance himself, he’d deny it. if you pushed back, saying you could carry things too, he’d look at you with a small pout and shining eyes and ask, shouldn’t i be the one who takes the weight off your shoulders? from that moment on, you let him carry whatever he wanted.

wooyoung♡‧₊˚

when he thinks of you first.

wooyoung never, ever shied away from showing his affection toward you. he’d compliment you endlessly, tease you to make you laugh, buy you thoughtful little gifts, and overall make you feel special. you were his beloved, after all. a habit wooyoung developed as you became an even bigger part of his life was thinking of you first, always. it was instinctive and subtle, but it reflected just how deeply wooyoung cared for and cherished you. he would hand you a water before you even realized you were thirsty. he’d bring your coat to you as you stepped out the door because he knew it was cold outside. he’d cover corners and guide you through tight spaces so you never got hurt. when deciding on something, he would ask for your thoughts on it, giving you his undivided attention as you spoke. wooyoung didn’t even notice that he did this, until you thanked him one day for always being so caring. he shrugged, failing to bite back a heartwarming smile, and told you no need to thank me. caring for you is my favorite thing to do.

jongho♡‧₊˚

when he acts silly.

jongho did not take long to show off his silly side to you. from early on in your relationship, he felt so safe around you. to jongho, it was very clear that you were his person. this mean that he felt like he could truly be himself, so long as you were with him. as he grew more and more comfortable with you, he acted goofier. jongho loved to see you laugh, and his favorite sound was your laughs mixed together. he always fell into a giggling fit whenever you joked around with him too. he adorees how silly you can get because, in his mind, it is even more proof that you two are on the same wavelength. whenever he is laughing with you, jongho feels at home in a world only shared with you. everyone who knows jongho can always tell when he has been with you because he is brighter. you give him energy, even on his most exhausting or difficult days. there is a reason jongho always calls you my happiness.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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geraldmariaivo · 1 day ago

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I’m like 95% sure that I’m autistic, though undiagnosed. While I absolutely experienced a lot of these, I found the communication barrier less extreme. Mostly for three reasons.

1) as a smallish child I devoured books, and my parents encouraged my reading, so they just chucked thicker and thicker books at me. And my dad has a lot of old fantasy books. Between that and my later consumption of really long fanfics online, my childhood-adolescent vocabulary exploded with big words that older people know, and mean very specific things.

2) My parents watched lots of detective and private investigator shows (think Elementary and Person of Interest). These shows had smart characters who used big words, lots of words, spoke calmly, and very importantly- got their points across in a way that I understood very clearly, and the other characters understood as they walked through their explanations. None of them were particularly good at socializing, but they could convey information.

3) growing up, my dad and especially my uncle (my dad’s older brother, and an engineer) were the single most pedantic people I knew, and they would argue semantics into the ground. I know for a fact that my uncle is autistic (undiagnosed, but trust me there’s no way he’s not), and he had the most literal mindset ever. He was the kind of guy who drilled into me to never say “always” unless I genuinely meant “every single solitary instance.” He’s loosened up with age, but my god it was so stressful to talk to him as a child. Between him and my dad, I had to figure out how to piece together sentences so there was no possible way it could be misconstrued or used against me, because anything that could be, would be.

I ended up absorbing the speech patterns, and paired it with my vocabulary to make what I said as air-tight as possible. (Example: if someone asked “Did [X] do [Y]?” and you’re 98% sure they didn’t, normal answer is “No.” or “I don’t think so.” What I had learned to say in middle school was “To the best of my knowledge, [X] didn’t do [Y], though I haven’t asked them about it recently, so you might need to.”

Unfortunately I now have the opposite problem. In the words of Red from OSP: “Why use one word, when fifteen will do!” Which also sometimes (but much less often) results in people not knowing what the fuck I’m talking about because I explained it in too much detail. This usually happens when someone is sleep deprived, extra stressed, or uninterested in what I’m saying anyway. Ironically, my dad is the one who complains about it the most, telling me that I sound weird, and need to learn how to talk like a normal person. Meanwhile my uncle is like “Ah, yes. I can understand what you’re saying perfectly.”

Funnily enough I’ll sometimes use internet shorthand when something is obvious enough that I can be confident that the person I’m talking to can extrapolate the meaning, but it ends up with me say things like “Honestly the Generation 1 Transformers theme songs are funny to me. They clearly didn’t really know what they were doing. The every season’s theme was different, and all of them had disorganized music and vocals. None of them were particularly coherent, and half the time you wouldn’t be able to tell what genre the show was by listening to it if it wasn’t for the fact that they slapped a computer-y sounding filter over the voice lines because robots.”

ironically, my dad, one of the main reasons that i Talk Like That, tells me that i have the weirdest speech patterns. It’s not particularly derogatory, but every time he does it reminds me that he knows has gained the trust of zero autistic people under the age of forty because of his boomer-ass nonsense, because every autistic person under the age of forty that I’ve met who’s heard me speak like that almost immediately dropped the mask and started using their own patchwork speech patterns. (Yes i know all naturally occurring speech patterns are patchwork due to social mirroring and the like.)

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

#Maria rambles #neurodivergent #autism

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idolomantises · 3 days ago

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What do you think of The Owl House? Like, I liked and respect Dana a lot for what she's accomplished, but I also feel like everyone is just pretending that the show doesn't have any problems, as I felt that the cast was always very poorly developed from the beginning.

I like the show, I don't love it, but i think it's pretty good. TOH has a lot of really cool world building and lore, but I also found a lot of the characters really lacking. Three of my biggest annoyances were Luz, the characters having altered personalities after one episode and the underutilization of Luz's friends.

I think Luz is actually a great protagonist, my issue is when the show really loves to tease her as this flawed and morally complicated protagonist when... she isn't? any time she does something bad, its completely accidental. It's funny when the show first came out and people negatively compared her to Mabel because Mabel actually did make a lot of selfish and careless decisions that she had to grow from.

The show also had a bizarre habit of giving characters new personalities after their first appearance, and I think Amity is the worst offender of this. Her first appearance she's the generic mean girl bully, and this is used to create conflict and for Luz to befriend Willow. But then after that, all of a sudden she's super "cold" and keeps to herself, and the characters act like she's just the popular quiet girl? and then the show has the audacity to blame a lot of the bullying Amity did on her friends and parents. I have no clue why the flashback episodes portrayed it like Amity just watched as her friends bullied Willow, SHE was a part of that! Similar issue with Hunter. Introduced as a snarky brat, and then his next appearance he's incredibly angsty and depressed so the audience could sympathize with him. Willow and the Collector were also ones that stuck out to me, but it was a change that was subtle enough that I didn't notice.

I don't know why writers do this. I like it when your characters are messy and flawed, give them unlikable traits so we can watch them slowly be better people. Don't tell me someone is flawed and then don't give them flaws and don't tell me to sympathize with a character by just giving them a new personality.

I think everyone is pretty aware of how poorly utilized Luz's friends are but there are seriously so many episodes where I was like "why aren't Willow and Guz taking Amity's place". They really feel like a studio mandate.

Also Lumity is kind of boring but honestly, I don't really think its as big of a deal as some fans think it is. Lots of cartoons have straight couples that quarrel, get together and their relationship isn't the most compelling in the world, but its still pretty cute. If anything I do wish Amity would work through her issues more than have what little personality she had disappear when she dated Luz.

With your point about how fans handle criticism, admittedly I think part of the reason why people don't want to admit the show's problem is because Disney fucked it over MASSIVELY and it feels like punching down (at least to them). I think there's a very common mentality of "is it fair to criticize a show that never really got a chance to fully find its stride?"

But I also know this is just a massive problem with shows that have queer characters in general. There's just this prevalent attitude that if you have a problem with a piece of media that also happens to have queer characters, it means you're "ungrateful" or trying to insult it on purpose. Though personally, I think TOH fans are a lot better at handling and giving criticism.

#ask quill

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solxamber · 3 days ago

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Helloo, I absolutely love you writing! Your understanding of the twst characters’ personalities is phenomenal 😭❤️

May I request both Ace and Malleus crushing on reader simultaneously, and both are aware that the other likes reader (reader is oblivious hehe). Ace gets super insecure since he isn’t powerful nor of royal status and believes there’s no way he can compete against him, meanwhile Malleus gets super jealous since Ace has been friends with reader ever since and is the most close with him.

Ace x Reader x Malleus (Love Triangle)

a/n: the giggle i let out when i saw this!! such a fun concept and thank you so much 🫶🫶

It started with a normal day: you laughing at one of Ace's jokes, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you. The storm in question was Ace and Malleus glaring daggers at each other over your oblivious head.

Ace was slouched in his chair, shooting side-eyes at the imposing figure standing too close to your desk. Why does he have to hover like that? he thought bitterly. Malleus, for his part, was casting pointed glances at Ace’s casual posture, as if silently saying, Is this the best you can do?

Neither could deny the truth. They were both hopelessly, tragically in love with you. And they both knew it.

Ace prided himself on being the guy you could count on for a laugh. But today, he was on a mission: show you how amazing he was.

“So, anyway,” he said loudly during your study session in the library, “I totally aced—get it?—my magic exam. Got full marks.” He leaned back smugly, hoping you’d be impressed.

Malleus, who had been quietly sitting nearby (because of course he was), looked up. “Impressive, Ace Trappola. But I suppose it pales in comparison to wielding centuries-old magic and commanding legions of loyal subjects.”

Ace choked on his own smugness. “Yeah, well, I bet you don’t even know how to mix a potion without turning it into swamp goo, huh?”

“Actually, I mastered potion-making at a young age. I created an elixir capable of reviving withered flora.”

“Cool, cool. Can you tell me how any of that helps the prefect with our history homework?” Ace shot back, leaning closer to you.

Malleus frowned. “History is one of my strongest subjects.”

“Oh my Seven—” Ace groaned and threw his hands up. “We get it. You’re ancient!”

You looked between them, confused. “Are you two okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Malleus said smoothly.

“Great! I was just explaining history to Deuce,” Ace lied shamelessly.

Lunch was another battlefield. Ace had secured a seat next to you and was recounting a funny story involving Grim, a mop, and a very angry caterpillar monster.

“…and then Grim screamed so loud, I think half the campus heard him! Right, Prefect?” Ace said, nudging you.

Before you could respond, the shadow of a tall figure fell over the table.

“Malleus,” Ace said with a forced grin. “Didn’t see you there. Like, at all.”

“I thought I would join you,” Malleus said, sitting directly across from you, his gaze unwavering. “Do you require assistance with your meal? Perhaps I could conjure something more fitting for your taste.”

“Okay, that’s just cheating,” Ace muttered under his breath.

“Conjuring food is a skill that requires great control,” Malleus said casually. “It’s a shame some rely solely on mediocre cafeteria fare.”

“Oh, so now the chicken nuggets aren’t good enough for you?” Ace snapped.

“They lack refinement,” Malleus said.

“Yeah? Well, you lack… I dunno, vibes!” Ace countered.

You blinked. “Ace, are you okay? You’re yelling about chicken nuggets.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” Ace mumbled, shoving a nugget in his mouth to shut himself up.

The tension boiled over during a school festival. There was a dance competition, and both Ace and Malleus signed up for one reason: to win your attention.

Ace went first, pulling off a routine filled with flashy moves that he definitely stole from a popular video. The crowd cheered, and you clapped the loudest.

“Not bad, right?” Ace said, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Bet I’m the first guy you’ve seen dance like that.”

Before you could respond, Malleus stepped onto the stage.

“I shall now perform a traditional dance of my homeland,” he announced.

It was graceful, mesmerizing, and undeniably magical—literally. The lights dimmed, and green flames swirled around him as he moved with perfect precision. The crowd was silent, utterly captivated.

Ace stood next to you, slack-jawed. “I… I can’t compete with that.”

You turned to him with a smile. “I thought your dance was amazing too.”

Ace lit up like a firework. “Y-Yeah? You mean that?”

Malleus, mid-spin, glanced at you both. His expression darkened.

Eventually, the competition escalated to new heights of absurdity. Ace baked you cookies, only to find out Malleus had hand-carved you a jewelry box. Malleus enchanted roses to bloom eternally, and Ace countered by organizing a surprise karaoke night with all your favorite songs.

But when you tripped and both of them scrambled to catch you, the ridiculousness reached its peak.

“You caught their hand,” Malleus said, an edge to his voice.

“And you caught their other hand!” Ace snapped.

You, still mid-air, sighed. “Can someone just catch me completely next time?”

Despite their antics, one thing was clear: they both adored you. And while their rivalry was exasperating, it was also… kind of sweet.

Well, for you, anyway. For them? Not so much.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #ace trappola #malleus draconia

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dollyhao · 1 day ago

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princess!reader who has a close relationship with her personal knight abby anderson (smut, pining, tension, making out, cunnilingus)

word count: 2.4k

two years ago, your father decided that a woman guard would be whats best for you and it was the best decision he could have made. ser abigail anderson follows you everywhere, everywhere you go, she's only a step behind you, watching over you like a hawk. but there are some people in the castle that have some concerns, like how she stands so close to you, how her hand lingers on your lower back, or how she insists that she can protect you better at night from inside your bedroom.

but your father is quick to deny any concerns or accusations that people come to him with. who are they to accuse you of such a sinful act? what’s a better way to stop these insane rumors? an arranged marriage.

your father, the king, decides to bombard you with a bunch of men in the throne room, ready to take your hand in marriage. abby stands behind you as men walk up to you telling you how beautiful you are, and how these men would spoil you and give you so so many babies. abby is not only unimpressed but she’s disgusted. she looks over at your father who’s nodding approvingly at the men.

you look annoyed, finally saying, “that’s enough for today.” you say after the 7th man, you stand bowing towards your father before saying, “thank you father. this has been very insightful.” and you storm off. abby follows you to your room and as soon as you two enter, you're on her.

you push her against the door, standing on your tippy toes to kiss her deeply before she pulls away. “wait,” she says as you fumble with her stupid armor trying to get it off. “what’s wrong?” you ask still fumbling with the armor. “you don’t wanna talk about the whole marriage thing?” she asks you, helping you take off her armor. “no not really.” you say kissing her neck.

“well i do.” she says pushing you away gently. abby takes off her armor by herself, watching as you walk over to your bed and flopping down on it. “what is there to talk about? i’m not getting married.” abby sighs and rubs her fingers over her forehead, “we both know you don’t have a say in that.” abby stands in front of you in her tight trousers and long sleeve shirt that’s tight around her biceps. “so what do you want me to do abs?” you look truly sad at both of your predicaments, "what if- what if we ran away together?"

abby eyes shoot to yours, looking to see if your serious or not, “are you serious?” she leans a hand on the post at the end of your bed, “yes, im serious. how could i possibly get married to someone that's not you?” abby looks away from you, not even entertaining the idea, “princess...” she trails off and you stand walking over and grabbing her face so she can see the sincerity in your face. “we could be happy together, just the two of us.” you push her to sit on the bed while you stand in between her legs, "we could change our names, live on a farm, adopt some children, we could be together!"

"that's too risky, 'the princess and her knight going missing', people will be looking for us." your face goes sad and your eyes misty, "just think about it please... it doesn't have to be now, ok?" abby nods with a soft, sad smile on her face.

abby never expected to be placed as your personal guard when she signed up for the kingsguard and she definitely never expected to fall for you. when she was first assigned to you she was disappointed because how exciting could following a princess around be? and she was right, the job was unexciting. just following a princess—with no understanding of the outside word— around her large castle. thats all she seen for a while until you started to talk to her, rambling on and on about whatever came to your mind even when she wouldn't respond to you.

you were kind, funny and way smarter than anyone in the castle gave you credit for. when she finally started to respond to you, you asked her all types of questions about her life and you actually listened; interested in the stories she told you. and she found herself dreaming about you at night, imagining how life would be if you were hers.

it didn’t take long before you started laughing at her jokes and openly flirting with her; telling her how pretty she was, asking if she had a husband... or wife, trying to have her hang out in your quarters. she thought you were playing at first, that you were bored and lonely, and she didn't find it funny at all.

it was mean to play with her emotions like that, to have her believe that you of all people; beautiful, caring, sweet, darling you would be interested in her. so she put walls up between you two; she started walking behind you, not responding to your ramblings, not laughing at your silly jokes or the cute faces you make at her and she could see the confusion written all over your face and something her deluded mind perceives as hurt.

this went on for a week until one night while standing outside your door while you got ready for bed she heard crying coming from behind the door. abby turns to knock with a look of concern etched on her face, "princess? is everything alright?" when she gets no answer just sniffles and the sound of something breaking she bursts in completely on alert. when she does a quick look of the room and sees no threat just you in your sleep gown, standing next to a broken vase with tears streaming down your face. she closes the door and approaches you carefully like you're a scared cat that's gonna run any second.

"are you alright?" she asks as she reaches for your hand to pull you away from the glass. "am i alright?! how could i be when your being so mean?" you angrily snatching away from her. "i-i dont know what you mean princess." abby stutters at your sudden and blunt wording. "im sure you don't, ser abigail, you've just been treating me like-like shit for the last couple of days, for no reason!" you storm away from her with abby hot on your heel, "your highness! i-ive just been doing my job!"

"why wont you talk to me anymore?! have i offended you so badly you choose to act like im just some job? after all the progress we were making?" you wrap your arms around yourself, looking away from her, "i thought you liked me." with the moonlight streaming into your dark room, illuminating your figure, abby thinks you are the most beautiful woman she's ever seen. quick to reassure you and to get the hurt look off your pretty face, she quickly tells you, "i do! i like you in a way that is not at all proper for someone of my stature."

your hands fall away from your body and you're in front of her in a few long strides, "abigail, if you like me, i command you to tell me so because my heart can't handle thinking that i have wronged you to the point of hatred." you grab her hands holding them to your chest as you stare at her with wet eyes. "the only one that is wronged here is you, your highness." she says lowly, "im the one who has been having improper thoughts of you. thoughts that you cant possibly reciprocate."

abby doesn't meet your eyes but she sees your hand reach up and cup her face, "oh abby. ive never felt this way about anyone before." you mumble as you start to close the distance between the two of you. and abby closes the space and your lips are pressed to hers and they are softer than she could've imagined in her most vivid dream.

her gloved hands are on your waist as her body backs you up and presses you against your bed post. your noses are bumping against each others as you try to get her closer but her armor is in the way. you let out a frustrated whine and abby is quick to pull it off. she pulls away and your both panting, eyes locked on each other as she pulls her armor off and gloves. you stare at her swollen lips and the fly away hairs coming out of her braid.

when she finally has it off, her lips are back on yours but now you can feel her warm body press against yours. her hands roam your body squeezing and grasping at everything. you moan when her hand squeezes your breast and her thumb presses on your nipple. your hands are untucking her shirt from her pants so that your hands can trail over the hard plain of her stomach. abby shudders at your cold hands and her hips shoot forward bumping into yours and your hips chase hers as they pull back away.

"i wanna see you," abby whispers against your lips, "can i?" her hands settle on the strings holding up your gown, waiting for your confirmation. "yes-" you begin to respond before a knock at your door surprises the both of you and abby shoots away from you.

"ser abigail, are you in there?" said the voice of another knight that abigail knows because he takes on the night shift of standing watch outside of your room, while she rests. you and abigail eyes meet with scared but exhilarated expressions. she shakes her head, putting her finger to her lip and grabbing her stuff to hide it from view when you go answer the door. the knight knocks again and you hurry over fixing your gown and running a hand down your face before opening the door.

you crack the door and stick your head out, "no, ser abigail left only moments ago. she told me she was going to go get you so she could get some rest." the man averts his eyes from your form while your in your sleepwear. "oh. i must have beat her to it."

"yes, how diligent. um can you find a servant to bring me some water? my mouth is very dry." the man nods instantly and goes to find someone. you close the door again and whisper-yell for abby to come to the door. you see her come into the moonlight with her armor back on. "you have to go before he gets back!" abigail nods, placing a hand on the door turning to place a lingering kiss on your lips. you grab the sides of her head holding her against you and her other hand moves to grab at your waist.

"no, we can't! you have to go." you say pulling away only for abby to press a kiss to your cheek. you giggle pushing at her shoulders, "go!" and then she's out the door and rushing to her own quarters. you press your back against your door, breathing heavy while, waiting for the knock of the knight who hands you the water and you place it down before flopping on your bed. you lay remembering the way abby touched you and fall asleep dreaming of her.

and ever since that night, you two have been glued at the hips; secret make out sessions, notes being passed between you two, late night meet ups in your quarters. it was fun for the past year until this whole marriage thing. now your relationship is at risk and you want to risk running away together.

a week later, abigail follows you to the library in the far corner of the castle, where no one goes. once you enter the empty room your talking with a look of determination on your face. "i have it all planned out abs." you pull out papers you were hiding in your dress and place them on the table. "we can run away and i dont think my father will make a big deal about it! i mean im the youngest, and he has so many kids it wont be a big deal right? and we'll go far, i mean no one knows what i look like, i almost never leave the castle."

you gaze up at her with bright hopeful eyes. "you really wanna run away together?" you stand up straight, walking to stand in front of her, "yes," you place a kiss on her lips. "your willing to give up all the gowns and jewelry, to live with me on a farm?" she chuckles at the absurdness of it all. you frown at her laughing at you, "yes, if it means we can be together, im willing to give it all up."

abby cups your face with both hands, eyes roaming over your face and she sees all the love you've been giving her written all over it. she crashes her lips against yours, licking and biting at your lips. your breathing gets heavy as abby kisses and bites at your jaw, "abigail..." your hands are in her hair as she nips at your collar bone before getting on her knees.

she looks up at you pulling your dress up as your hands brace against the table behind you. abby's face is flushed as she lifts your leg and licks the juices dripping down your inner thigh to your pussy. you shudder at the feeling of her tongue licking at your cunt. you put one hand on her head as abby slurps at your cunt. "ohmygosh~" you jaw drops as you pant and tremble. "run away with me, run away with me please." you huff out as abby's hands grip your ass, spreading you so she can get deeper.

you moan and whine as abby's hot breath fans over your clenching hole. your hips buck into her face holding her hand thats holding firm on your thigh, "marry me, run away and marry me!" abby speeds up her actions when she feels you ready to explode. you cream on her tongue when you finish before pulling your dress back up over her head.

abby stays on her knees as she catches her breath gazing up at you like you put the moon in the sky. you both stare at each other as you catch your breaths. abby's face breaks out into a wide smile, "lets run away and get married." you beam at her.

and they lived happily ever after. thee end!

#reblogs and comments much appreciated #wlw #lesbian #the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #i 🫶🏾 abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x you

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penguicorns-are-cool · 3 days ago

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Elphaba: You’re charged with…..breaking into a pet store?

Fiyero: I thought the animals might be lonely.

Fiyero: I could kill you if I wanted.

Elphaba: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Galinda, shooing Elphaba away: Can you go be depressed over there? You’re bumming out my whole area.

Elphaba: Wait a minute, how did this happen? We're smarter than this!

Fiyero: Apparently, we're not.

Glinda : Can you cut me some slack, Elphaba? I’m sort of in love.

Elphaba: I’m sorry, but that’s really not my problem.

Glinda : I’m in love with you.

Elphaba: *blushes* Oh. That brings me in the loop a little.

Fiyero: So, how long have you and Elphaba been together?

Glinda : No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Elphaba and I are not together. No. No.

Fiyero: Really? Sixteen ‘nos’? Really?

Fiyero: Quitting! It's like trying, but easier.

Elphaba: I dare you-

Glinda : Fiyero is not allowed to accept dares anymore.

Elphaba: Why not?

Fiyero: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

Fiyero: Come on, Glinda . Nobody actually believes that Elphaba is in love with me.

Glinda , to The Squad: Raise your hand if you think that Elphaba is helplessly in love with Fiyero.

*Everyone raises their hand*

Fiyero: Elphaba, put your hand down.

Elphaba: I fell—

Glinda : From heaven?

Elphaba: No, I literally fell—

Glinda : In love with me the moment you saw me?

Elphaba: MY ARM IS BROKEN!

Glinda : Okay, but do you think I'm pretty? Be honest.

Elphaba: There are no friends when playing board games. I am here to win.

Glinda : You got a date yet Fiyero?

Fiyero: No...

Glinda : Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Elphaba: If I say I love you, will you say it back?

Glinda : Yes.

Elphaba: I love you.

Glinda : It back.

*Later*

Fiyero: Why is Elphaba crying face-down on the floor?

Fiyero: I feel like the world would be better if I'd never been born.

Glinda : Aw... that's not true.

Glinda : It'd be exactly the same.

Glinda : You're not important.

Elphaba: This is a very powerful artifact. You’d be messing with some forces we don’t fully understand.

Fiyero: That sounds like a dare to me.

Elphaba: Oh my god.

Elphaba: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Fiyero!

Glinda : So Fiyero knows about this?

Elphaba, walking away: No, this is between me and me!

Elphaba: Jellyfish have survived for 600,000 years without brains…

Fiyero: A ray of hope for me!

Elphaba: I didn't drink that much last night.

Glinda : You were flirting with Fiyero.

Elphaba: So what? They're my partner.

Glinda : You asked if they were single.

Glinda : And then you cried when they said they weren't.

Elphaba: The next time I open up to someone, it'll be my autopsy.

Elphaba: If bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why can't my dad love me?

Fiyero: I thought I was going to have to yell at you, but now I think I should hug you.

Glinda : Dammit, you ruin everything!

Elphaba: You're welcome.

Elphaba: Two years ago, I married my best friend.

Elphaba: Glinda is still mad about it, but me and Fiyero were drunk and thought it was funny.

Fiyero: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird, but emotionally? Imagine the toll!

#wicked #incorrect quotes #wicked incorrect quotes #gelphie #glinda the good witch #Glinda #glinda x elphaba #elphaba x fiyero #fiyero x glinda #elphaba x fiyero x Glinda #gliyeraba #gelphiyero #thropple

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 days ago

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How do I write mean insults that's in character for a character to say? I'm personally poor at coming up with insults that don't sound generic or would actually cut deep, being mean in general. I want to write a snarky character with a dry sense of humour when it calls for it but don't know how to go about it.

He's also recovering from a superiority and inferiority complex.

As the writer, you know your character best, and what insults would make sense for them to say (also considering the bigger context of the scene). So, I'll just provide you with a compilation of prompts and notes from different sources, and you can choose which ones are most appropriate to incorporate in your story.

Writing Notes: Insults & Dry Humor

A List of "Sophisticated" Insults

Craven - having or showing a complete lack of courage; very cowardly

Fatuous - silly or stupid; complacently or inanely foolish. From Latin infatuate, which once meant "to make foolish," but which now usually means "to inspire with foolish love or admiration."

Insipid - not interesting or exciting; dull or boring

Obstreperous - difficult to control and often noisy

Obtuse - stupid or unintelligent; not able to think clearly or to understand what is obvious or simple

Pusillanimous - weak and afraid of danger. It's been used by such notables as Ralph Waldo Emerson ("It is a pusillanimous desertion of our work to gaze after our neighbours"), and the disgraced Vice-President Spiro Agnew, who called journalists "pusillanimous pussyfooters."

Sanctimonious - pretending to be morally better than other people. It once meant "possessing sanctity; holy, sacred." The genuinely holy aspect faded, and William Shakespeare is credited with first using sanctimonious to mean "hypocritically pious or devout."

Twee - sweet or cute in a way that is silly or sentimental. Just as buddy is believed to be a baby talk alteration of "brother", twee is a baby talk alteration of "sweet". Although twee is still considered a chiefly British term, it's increasingly popular in American English.

Unctuous - revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality. Unction can mean "anointment" or it can name something used to anoint, such as a soothing or lubricating oil. That idea of oiliness led to unctuous, which can describe the slickness of false sincerity.

Vacuous - having or showing a lack of intelligence or serious thought; lacking meaning, importance, or substance

The insult would also depend on which other character it is directed at. Here is a list of "funny" insults for adults from Reader's Digest:

My days of not taking you seriously have come to a middle.

You are the human equivalent of a participation trophy.

If you were a spice, you’d be flour.

You may have a sparsely attended funeral.

I smell something burning. Are you trying to think again?

You’re like a lighthouse in a desert: bright but not very useful.

Don’t worry—the first 30 years of childhood are always the hardest.

May your life be as pleasant as you are.

You’re as useless as the “ueue” in “queue.”

Your face is just fine. It’s your personality that’s the issue.

...and for your character's significant other:

I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you.

You continue to meet my expectations.

I’ll never forget the first time we met. But I’ll keep trying.

If genius skips a generation, our kids will be brilliant.

We were happily married for a month. Too bad it’s our 10-year anniversary.

I admire the way you try so hard.

You’re entitled to your incorrect opinion.

Have you tried doing it the way I told you to the first time?

The best part of watching a show with you is when you fall asleep because then I can watch my show.

Don’t call me crazy—you’re the one who married me!

You can always alter these to better suit your character. You can read the full list here, which also includes some insults for kids, best friends, and family.

Tips for Better Humor Writing

Humor writing isn’t all about landing a good joke (except for when it is). In creative writing, the effect is usually a bit more nuanced. Here’s a few writing techniques to get you started:

Subvert expectations. Try to undermine the audience’s expectations or reform them with structural elements.

Save the best for last. Humor is often a release of tension, so the sentence builds that tension, and the pay-off—the punchline—happens most naturally at the end. This is also sometimes referred to as the “rule of three,” where two thoughts act as a build-up to the final humorous closer.

Use contrast. Are your characters in a terrifying situation? Add something light, like a man obsessing about his briefcase instead of the T-Rex looming behind him.

Use good wordplay. Sometimes words themselves are funny, and just as often, their placement in a sentence can make a difference. Some words are just funnier than others, so make a list of those that amuse you the most.

Take advantage of cliché. While clichés are something most writers try to avoid, it’s important to recognize them,so you can use them to your advantage. Humor relies in part on twisting a cliché—transforming or undermining it. You do this by setting up an expectation based on the cliché and then providing a surprise outcome. In humor writing, this process is called reforming.

Use humor as a counterbalance. If you just pile on one terrible thing after another, it starts to become ridiculous, and people won’t buy it. Using humor is a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. Remember, if a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.

Level of Intensity

There are people who shrug off an insult (“That’s just the way she is”) and people who commit murder over an insult (“I’m avenging my honor!”). Plus, of course, everything in between. Which is your character?

To be believable, consider the following:

Personality. How hard does your character take events in general? Does s/he get really excited over good fortune and really depressed over setbacks? Then we’ll find it believable that s/he gets really angry and reacts accordingly.

The second cause of an intense reaction is the nature of the specific fight that you’re creating on the page. Lily Owens lets most of her father’s insults go by (“the art of survival”). But when he starts in about her mother, the topic is too important to Lily to gloss over. Lily’s reaction is intense. She runs away. Another type of character might merely have seethed silently. Still another might have fought T. Ray more intensively, setting fire to the house with him inside.

Finally, the strength of fights is culturally determined. Where public or even private scenes are disapproved of (upper-class London, old-money Boston, “well-behaved” families), arguments may be muted, even when the subject matters a great deal. In other cultures, volatility is not frowned on, and people may feel free to scream at each other in public. In extreme cases, murder may even be considered a duty, as in avenging a sister’s sexual assault.

Where is your story taking place? Are your arguers in tune with local or family culture? Maybe not. You can create interesting effects by portraying the rebels against the local mores: the meek child born into a battling family, the furious feminist in polite 19th-century English society.

On Dry Humor

Dry humor - is all about the subtle irony of the facts being stated plainly; it is the contrast between sentiment and reality that makes the situation funny.

The technique is known for its simple, often matter-of-fact declarations that will make the audience laugh or be perplexed (humor is subjective, after all).

With dry humor, delivery and intention create a sort of comedic cognitive dissonance or contrast. Sometimes it is as simple as using a bit of sarcasm, but it can also be more than that.

Dry humor lives and dies on the back of doing less.

Less facial expressions, less props, less setup—less is often more when it comes to landing the joke. You aren’t using a big, dramatic setup or a grandiose vocabulary to make your point.

Essentially, these jokes are derived from saying the opposite of what is meant or delivering them in a way that purposefully counteracts the supposed meaning of what is being said.

Dry Humor in Writing

The function of dry humor has often been to highlight the absurd.

It is effectively executed in moments where satirization of the circumstances at play require little more than noting the facts aloud.

When writing this sort of humor, quick, cutting accuracy is key to making the jokes land.

Simplicity is king, and an honest statement of the facts will always lead the way to finding the funny.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Humour ⚜ Laughter & Humour

Hope this helps with your writing!

#writing reference #humor #writing notes #on writing #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #dark academia #writing prompt #spilled ink #light academia #creative writing #literature #character development #dialogue #writers on tumblr #writing resources

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loveriotss · 15 hours ago

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hiiii! i've read all of your texts and bf headcanons with the mha and i love them so much!! i was wonderin if you could maybe do one with kirishima with a s/o with a quirk like spiderman?? thanks so muchhh and stay safe <33

HCS + TXTS WITH HIM AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ⸻ ejirou kirishima

INCLUDES — gn! reader, spiderman-like quirk user!, fluff, crack, headcannons, social media au

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

: ̗̀➛ click here to read other character versions

very nice and funny on text.

sometimes y'all will text in class, phones under your desk before aizawa confiscates them.

always matches your energy!

doesn't really use brainrot/slang a lot but is aware of it.

thinks your quirk is awesome! he admires how you swing around with agility and ease.

keen on learning more and would absolutely love to make an ultimate move with you.

big quality time lover!!

sparring dates gym dates yoga dates self care dates alll the time. he really prioritizes health and enjoys taking care of himself and you!

big foodie too so trust he'd take you to places that serve the most bomb food.

sometimes he will ask you to help dye his hair. he gets embarrassed when his roots starts showing and appreciates when you touch them up for him.

when it's exam season, he will take you out on study dates. to a quiet library or a small cafe with your favorite drink and dessert already ordered or just casual reviewing in your room.

although he get's a bit distracted he really tries his best to revise quietly and not disturb you.

very open and shows you off to everybody! his lover is so awesome and cool it would be a waste not to brag (his single friends hate to see him coming).

social media is very active. mostly pictures of his workouts or of you are seen floating around.

first person to like, comment and favorite your posts. literally half your comments are filled by his compliments alone.

NOTE — it's not a loveriotss fic without a yagami yato ref

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rambles-on-dragon-age · 2 days ago

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The Veil Jumpers were founded by the Dalish but the Dalish aren't their only members. Did you skim past the literal intro to the Veil Jumpers when you were making your character? Arlathan Forest is riddled with reality warping magic and it's incredibly dangerous. They know it's incredibly dangerous and they risk their lives being there and exploring. There are still deeply mistrustful Dalish clans in the area re: the ones being massacred by the Evanuris that escaped that they're trying to help, that's just not the faction we meet. And if you forget, it is crawling with Tevinter Agents (the Venatori) as we have to fight them constantly.

I suggest you play the intro again because they don't meet Bellara and then walk into the bubble; they have already been in the bubble by time they meet Bellara. That's why her intro speech includes "hey, would love to go back with you to Veil Jumper camp, but we can't leave the bubble. Can walk in, cannot walk out. We are stuck." You comment on the funny fog you're walking through before you find her which is the "shell" of the bubble. You are already trapped in there with her, the resident expert, and probably only person that can free you. She has the upper hand in every respect and she knows it; she's just also, as a character, very open and curious and trusting through the rest of the game. You think it would be "more interesting" for her to act out of character and like she's still in a Dalish clan and doesn't like anyone she meets. You're projecting your personal desires at a character and situation that doesn't fit them. That's not the writer's fault, that's on you that you think all Dalish need to act the same. Then again, that gives you purchase to write all the fic you want to rewrite the scenes for your enjoyment.

Also, what proof would they give that they're from the Veil Jumpers besides the inside knowledge that Strife sent them (the name of their leader) because she's the best at elven magic (she is)? That stuff's probably not things that a massacring Venatori crew much cares about. Like what, a lil note from Strife that says "They're not evil." "Hey they're cool." "Trust me bro." or like a hall pass/badge that they give to their newest outsider friends? Arlathan forest has been long picked through of the best stuff and treasure hunters; what's left is incredibly dangerous and the Tevinter gits that try to steal it usually die in the process. Being a Veil Jumper is dangerous after all and the forest doing things it shouldn't is why the Veil Jumpers were founded.

And yes, you are missing the context. 10 years of in-world context apparently. Dragon Age is a mixed media franchise. There's an anthology of short stories, Tevinter Nights, that set up some of the factions and some of our companions and NPC friends and a four volume comic series, The Missing Collection, that details some of Varric and Harding's adventures before picking up Rook (that they picked up cause The Missing makes it obvious that Solas knows them too well and they need a new person that would throw him for a loop). You don't even have to buy them if you can't, you can find where people reupload them for free and share the download link. You can also read the wiki page and get a quick synopsis of each story instead if that's too much work. It'll give you a pretty good idea of the big themes and actions, though you'll miss the good little details. Dragon Age has never contained all of the story in the games. (see, setting up Celene and Briala and meeting Felassan in The Masked Empire or the fact that it's Fiona that's Alistair's mom and Duncan's old friend in The Calling.) Ruins of Reality (free as part of the Dragon Age Day celebration) shows Strife and Irelin getting involved with some of that dangerous awakening magic in Arlathan forest and can be safely viewed as a precursor to why they founded the Veil Jumpers. Between that short story and The Missing is when the group is founded.

But skipping all of that, we learned at the end of Trespasser that Solas was out in the world and has spent 10 years freeing slaves and spreading the news of his self and what he's working towards. He tells the Inquisitor much of the same information he's going to share with others when they catch up to him at the end of the game. Strife and Irelin are the ones that tell you the Evanuris were bad news when you meet them (Rook: OH joy I thought Solas was lying); safe to say, that means it's more likely to be common knowledge now between Solas and Morrigan running around then not. Bellara felt the fuckening happening with the Veil and the magic all starting back up again; it's an easy to accept explanation that that fuckening and the sky getting all weird a few days ago was Solas's ritual that went wrong and the gods busting out of their prison. Gods that they already know are bad news.

You're upset that the faction that welcomes anyone into their ranks with a common goal isn't acting like a Dalish clan when they are not a Dalish clan. It's not shallow writing, it's you getting an idea in your head of how you wanted their meeting to be and then calling it shallow writing.

We do, actually, see slavery in the slavery capital. Even though Neve tells us to our face in no uncertain terms that we are in the poorest part of the city and people here can't afford to have slaves. We walk through multiple homeless camps. There are people in cages and chains down by the docks. You have a mission to kill mercenaries capturing people to sell as slaves. You need to clean up the Blight in that tunnel under the Shadow Dragon hideout because that's a path they use to get slaves out of the city. There's notes about their other escape paths crumbling and needing work so they can keep going. "There's no slavery in Minrathous!!" you walked into a closet and asked why there's no toilet in this bathroom. There was slavery in Minrathous; they just didn't take us to the rich part of town and rub our faces in it to make sure people wouldn't miss it.

The Crows are putting on their best face to their new ally cause they would really really like help with their occupation problem. Crow!Rook and Lucanis have banters about how deadly and grueling and cruel their training was. Lucanis is the last of his family because of infighting slaughtering the rest. Illario straight sold him out to a blood mage, kills that blood mage before she can snitch, and then sells out the other crows and kidnaps/fakes the murder of his grandmother just because he wants to be first crow. There's more, I'm just not hunting it down. Someone else already compiled a post about all the banters showing the Crows are still a bloody problem. Again, the game didn't rub our faces in it so it's magically not there? It's there, it's just not in the limelight right now because of the whole "escaped gods trying to destroy the world" thing happening.

The factions themselves don't even interact until the final battle and only if you've helped them all. And things are kind of cut to the bone by then; it's do or die on a global scale. The cultural conflict does happen between your hired coworkers though. It's mostly in banter so you have to take the time to get to it (like most of the best details in these games tbh) but again not rubbing our faces in it doesn't mean it wasn't in the game.

Not everyone is super devout to their religion in real life either; we are in the North of Thedas instead of the South. Dorian never seemed as religious as the others, either. In fact he thinks they're going to think he's influencing you in terrible ways Inquisitor. Tevinter has never sounded as religious as the South seems and the South is where we've been. (Exluding Kirkwall, but they are operating like the Southern Chantry so it's safe to lump them in with Southern Chantry Behaviors.) How do you expect the writers to shoehorn the Black Divine into the game? Like, where would it have been appropriate? What would the Black Divine have to do with the little people and back alley factions we're working with here outside the Mourn Watch? Tevinter has long established that their Chantry is basically a figurehead and that the Magisterium is the ones that have the real power and do all the actual "work". We don't have any devout Chantry employed people like we have in past games, either, for them to bring it up and talk about it. *EDITING TO ADD A CORRECTION* It's no longer kind of hinted by conversations and codex entries, The Viper/Ashur is the Black Divine. We literally met the Black Divine and didn't even know it because they don't advertise it. Makes sense cause like if that's common knowledge then he'd probably be assassinated. But this man literally looked at the Magisterium, realized it was failing the people, and started an organization with one he could trust after they were stripped of their title to take direct action. Why couldn't he just give orders and do that as the Divine? Because as Divine he doesn't have political power here. Like. It was right there. He is actively among the little people as himself because his political self as Divine was powerless.

How would you expect them to arbitrarily shove in and retread the exact same stuff for a fourth time? EA set them up for an impossible task, repeatedly hamstrung them and their team, and they still produced a good game.

It felt shallow to you but it also sounds like you barely scratched the surface and didn't really bother taking the time to thoroughly explore what the game offered because you were so offended it wasn't what you, personally, wanted out of it. Which is fine, just say it's a bad game. But absolutely flying past what the game does have while you insist it doesn't have those very things?

a really cool part about dragon age veilguard is the first scene where you meet bellara, especially if you're a shadowdragon mage and you have neve with you

so to set the scene: bellara, the dalish elf who's devoted her life to the conservation, discovery and protection of her people's lost and ancient history, meets two strangers, two tevinter mages, in sacred arlathan. They tell her, hey your gods are back in the world but also they suck and we gotta kill them, and instead of telling them "fuck off you vile enslaving shem, you defile this land with your presence" like most normal dalish, not only does she instantly believe them that her gods are bad for some reason, they're back among the people and need to be stopped, she also happily starts telling them all kinds of secrets and valuable knowledge about ancient elven magic and is even so kind to, without question, take them on a grand tour of this very historically important and sacred ruin in arlathan to find a truly priceless artifact, a one of a kind archive of ancient elven knowledge thought lost forever, because really, what could these unknown tevinter mages possible want with that!

...

are these writers smoking crack?? is that it? theyre smoking crack??

#fandom critical #veilguard spoilers

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fear-is-truth · 12 hours ago

Note

the evans with a reader who is usually very stoic and/or serious laughing at something they said or did?

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans x stoic!reader .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel

a/n: damn this is relatable. me & my resting b!tch face

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

if tate was trying to be really serious and you broke out laughing, he’d look down and rub the back of his neck, giving you a shy smile. “you’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” he’d say softly, but there’s no malice in his voice—just that gruff, bashful tone he gets when he feels a little flustered.

he’d become a more of a little shit around you, pulling pranks or insulting the other ghosts just to see if he can crack that serious expression again. he’d love the challenge and would become determined to make your laughter a regular occurrence.

completely obsessed with the sound of your laughter. he’d think about it when you’re not around, replaying the moment in his mind like a victory. you being serious and stoic most of the time would only make your laugh feel more special and rare, like a treasure he was lucky enough to uncover.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit would initially be confused if you laughed at something he said seriously, especially since he’s a pretty earnest and straightforward guy. he’d give you a puzzled look, trying to figure out if you’re laughing at him or if he accidentally said something funny. but he’s not the type to get upset over it—if anything, your laughter would make him smile too, even if he’s not sure why you’re laughing.

“oh, so i’m a comedian now?” he’d joke affectionately. kit has a good sense of humour, so once he realises what’s happening, he’d be more than willing to roll with it and laugh with you.

he has an easygoing nature, so once he realises you’re not mocking him, he’d start chuckling along with you. he’d grin at the sound of your laugh, that soft, affectionate look in his brown eyes as he watches you.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle is that guy who thrives on making people smile, especially his partner. if you’re stoic or serious by nature, it wouldn’t discourage him—in fact, it would motivate him even more. he’d see your seriousness as a puzzle to solve.

the first time he gets you to laugh, kyle’s face would light up like a christmas tree. “oh my god, was that a laugh? did i—wait—did i just make you laugh? you’re way cuter when you smile.” he’d wear that as a badge of honor for weeks

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

jimmy would take it as a personal mission to make you laugh. he’s a natural charmer and wants to bring out the light in you.

“c’mon, pretty girl’, i know you’ve got a smile hiding in there somewhere,” he’d say with that trademark wink of his, trying to coax a laugh out of you.

the first time you actually laughed at something jimmy said, he’d light up with joy. his reaction would be so genuine and full of pride that it might make you laugh even more. “there it is! i knew you had it in you!” he’d say, beaming as if he’d won the lottery. he’d tease you a little more after that, but all in good fun, because seeing you happy would mean everything to him.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

calls you his “little marble statue,” while delighting in how you manage to maintain your ice queen front.

would never mock your seriousness or make you feel bad for being stoic. “you carry yourself with such grace, my dear, but surely even a creature of your caliber deserves a moment of levity,”

when you finally did laugh or let out a small giggle, james would be positively delighted. he’d coo softly in your ear, his voice full of affection and lavish praise, “my sweet little dove, gracing me with her joy.”

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

kai is a scary dude but he always manages to say the funniest shit with a straight face.

he’s used to people agreeing with him out of fear, so hearing you laugh—especially at a time when he’s worked up—would throw him off balance.

he’d feel like you weren’t taking him seriously, and that would irritate him, bruise his ego. “what the fuck is so funny?” then demand to know why you’re laughing, even if it was something he unintentionally said that just came out funny. despite his annoyance, kai secretly likes that you feel comfortable enough around him to laugh. he’d never admit it, though. on some level, he feels a bit of pride that he was able to make you laugh.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

he wouldn’t get too frustrated if you didn’t laugh right away. he’d just keep cracking jokes, hoping that even if you didn’t show it, you at least thought some of his antics were funny. “oh, so you’re one of those people, huh? the ‘too-cool-for-laughs’ type. i get it.”

if you suddenly laughed at something he did, peter would be ridiculously ecstatic. “whoa… did i just do that? did i just make you laugh? hold on, someone get a camera this is a historic moment!”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

would poke fun at himself to lighten the mood. “you know, i might be a detective, but apparently, i can’t detect a sense of humour. how’s that for irony?”

if you actually laughed at something colin said, he’d be genuinely surprised and a little flustered. his ears would turn pink, and he’d look away with a bashful smile. “oh, you liked that? uh, cool, yeah. i mean, glad you found that funny,” clearly thrilled that he managed to make you laugh.

even if you laugh at something he didn’t intend to be funny, colin would secretly love it. he’d pause for a second, just to take in the sound of your sweet laughter. it would warm his heart to see you so relaxed and carefree, and that would be a bright spot in his day.

#american horror story #ahs #kai anderson #evan peters #tate langdon #ahs cult #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson x y/n #james patrick march #kit walker #colin zabel #peter maximoff #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #jimmy darling x reader #kyle spencer x reader #jpm x reader #kit walker x reader #peter maximoff x reader

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captain-huggy-bear · 6 hours ago

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Late Bloomer

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn finds out he's your first boyfriend in your mid-20s, you're expecting him to freak out.

Notes: In honour of still being single at 26 nearly 27, for all my late bloomer girlies, you're fine. (I didn't have my first kiss till 24, so you'll be fine, we'll be fine)

"You're my first..."

"What?" It's not that Quinn hasn't heard you, of course he has. Your head is in his lap, he's so close he can hear every breath from you as you lounge together on his couch. It's that he doesn't quite believe it. That this talk of past partners summarily ended with you admitting he was your first, you? How could he be your first when you're the dream for him?

He looks dumbfounded above you and you can't help the embarrassment that floods you, cheeks feeling warm as you scramble out of his lap and towards the other end of the couch. He reaches for you on instinct before you get very far, hand wrapping around your ankle to tug you back lightly.

You're embarrassed by it, mid-twenties and a self confessed late bloomer, your first kiss not long ago and Quinn your first boyfriend. It makes you feel immature, silly. You're prepared for the usual questions; what was wrong with you that you didn't have a partner before him, had you just not been interested or was there some sort of skeleton in your closet that he didn't know about. You only admitted it because he was asking about past partners and you refused to lie to him, couldn't possible lie to him.

"Hey, hey, where you going?" His voice has gone soft, eyes softening at your retreat, like he's calming a skittish animal as he tugs you back to him. You're still keeping some distance, not quite as close as before but not so far either.

"It's weird, isn't it?" You avoid his eyes, arms crossing over yourself protectively.

"No, I'm just surprised, sweetheart..."

"Right...cause it must mean there's something wrong with me, right? Why else would I be in my mid twenties and only just in my first relationship...it's okay, I know it's weird." Every single person who'd ever told you it was weird, questioned your singledom seemed to pop into your head in that moment. Every date who got weirded out by it and ghosted you. Every time your mother suggested that you might just never find someone. Every person that gave you that look of pity then whispered behind your back. In that moment you can't comprehend that Quinn's being genuinely, that he doesn't actually think it's weird or at least not in the way you think.

"Baby," He's laughing at you lightly as ramble out your words, hand pressing under your chin, thumb and forefinger gripping gently to raise your face to meet his eyes. "It's not weird, I mean...okay, it's not weird like that. I just...i'm surprised no one else snatched up before me, y'know?"

You're a little stumped by the way he's smiling at you, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he pulls you closer, your legs resting either side of his lap.

"You're just...you're funny," He presses a kiss to your cheek, the scruff he's been growing this season scratches pleasantly as his voice rumbles in a hum of sorts, "kind," a kiss pressed to your forehead, "intelligent, so smart its actually embarrassing for me," a kiss to your other cheek, nose nuzzling just a little before moving on, "brave," the tip of your nose is the target this time, "insanely pretty," your chin gets a peck, ", and completely perfect for me".

His breath hovers over your lips, waiting for your eyes that had closed to reopen before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's perhaps the sweetest kiss he's ever given you as his hands curl over your hips and a happy rumble escapes his chest like a cat purring.

"You...you mean all that? You're not weirded out by it?" You ask the moment he pulls away, that hesitancy still there. Your desire to not ruin this new, sweet thing you have so very strong. He's all you ever wanted and you don't want to ruin it just because you're inexperienced.

"Baby...i'm actually kind of glad...can I say that? Not to sound like an asshole or anything, but....I like that i'm your first boyfriend, that I get to be that for you." There's this possessive little thing in him that loves it, loves that no other man has made you feel the way he does, that there are so many firsts he gets to share with you, that no other man gets to claim you were his. It's stupid, old fashioned, practically cave man. He knows you're not a trophy, an object, he doesn't think you are...but he also hates the idea that you might have loved someone else.

"You jealous?" You tease, shoulders relaxing as your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He'd been growing it out over the season and you were tempted to pay every barber in the city to refuse to cut his hair.

"Of other guys who might have loved you? Oh, yeah...want you all to myself, forever." His fingers rub circles into your outer thigh, where your sleep shorts have risen. Every other circle interrupted by a random shape or pattern.

"Forever?"

"Forever. If you'll let me?" There's no doubt in his mind that you're it for him. He's been gone from the first moment, all consumed. His life used to be strictly hockey and then you stormed into his life, suddenly he wants to take breaks, hates roadies because he misses you, and looks for a familiar face in the crowd. He could see it, you, him, forever. You, him, a few little kids running around, a couple of cats, a house in the suburbs.

You grin at him, humming as if it's a hard question to answer, something that requires a lot of thinking. "Mmm, I'll think about it,"

Your teasing is cut short by Quinn's fingers finding their way to your ribs, tickling you in your soft spot as you shriek and try to pull away, "Hey! Quinn!", his right arm holds you tight to him, even as you squirm while laughing so hard you worry you might be sick.

"Say it!" He demands, torture not letting up for a single moment even as he grins down at your scrunched up face, at the way you try to squirm away as you laugh.

"Okay, okay!" You finally concede, trying to catch your breath as his fingers still, your arms wrapping tight around his neck, foreheads pressed together. "Forever."

"Good."

He might be your first boyfriend, but he's also pretty certain he might be your last. At least, if he has any say in it.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #huggy bear writes #quinn hughes/reader

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nonuniverse-tarot · 19 hours ago

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Recent Thoughts Your Person Has Had Of You

*All my reading are for 18+ regardless of the nature of the reading. If you're below 18, then this reading is not for you. Thank you for understanding*

What the titles says - we'll be looking into their recent thoughts AND as an extra their reaction to those thoughts!

A. B. C.

Their most recent thoughts about you is how much peace you bring them, but it's the thoughts they have of you that bring them peace. With the Prince of Pentacle and the Princes of Cups here (looking at energy not gender so take it how it resonates) it shows me that the two of you haven't been in much contact lately. The Prince has an old radio that he's listening to, but he's disconnected. The Princess has a blindfold on (funny message that popped up but they might see you as their Gojo) and moving along in their path.

They have thought about you a lot and how you two are moving at different paces, not so much different paths. In between these thoughts, they've acknowledged that they don't have what it takes to have you by their side. I'm sensing a - not blockage - but more so closed door they're trying to open up in regarding to their emotions and feelings.

They're motivated to become rich in all aspects. The Ten of Pentacles and the Prince of Wands show their determination to become better and make their dreams/goals a reality for you and them. They daydream a lot about a family with you, whether that's having kids and dog, or just finally being able to be with you.

I feel the need to clarify that they don't jus want to sleep with you. They want the whole love story. I don't feel much sexual energy from them, doesn't mean they don't have those thoughts, it's just that it's not their main focus.

Their reaction to these thoughts was one of motivation. They think of you when they think they deserve a 'treat' or a pick me up when having a bad day. They might get red in the face out of excitement/giddiness so they usually think of you when they're alone. They feel more powerful and with hope for the future.

Song: A Little Messed Up - june

They've seen and feel like you've been working very hard. On what you've been working on depends on the individual. Could be on yourself, work, personal project, or anything else that resonated with you. My hands got super warm with your reading so it could be possible that you've been working with your hands a lot more.

They think of you as knowledgeable and concrete. Stable would be the best way to describe it, but your person thinks of you as concrete, that's the word that continues to pop up. They can't see what you see.

Where is this work of yours going? They assume/know you have a clear image of where this'll take you, but they can't see it. The High Priestess and Sun are how they see you - knowledgeable and bright. To a level where they don't understand your point of view because to them, the two of you are standing on different levels.

Their reaction to these thoughts is wanting to support and help you, but because of the difference of levels that they feel, they don't know how to helps and support you. The Knight of Swords appeared reversed - in this reading to me it indicates that they won't yap about things they have no clue about. They know where they stand and how much knowledge they have, they're not about to give you tips and tricks about things they know nothing about.

Weirdly enough, they do see you above them, but they don't feel inferior. They feel like you're a higher rank, but that they'll reach you one day. I'm getting typical shounen protagonist energy from them, ha! (Side note: what's up with all these anime related messages?)

However, with the Knight of Wands Upright - they will support you and help you in any way that they can, without causing intentional harm in the process.

Song: Wild Ones - Flo Rida feat. Sia

Their most recent thoughts of you is about a fight that the two of you had. Or an issue that you had with them. Let me paint the picture - you were closed off and defensive about something (it'll be different for everyone reading) but it seems like you've already worked out that issue as a couple/team. I am sensing that most people who chose this pile are in a relationship with your person, if not then the two of you or really close.

They're thinking about how great of a time you're having together. It seems like their past relationships/crushes would become rocky or straight up end after an argument or an issue happened. They're honesty happy this worked out so great! You've proven to them that there is a way to fix things.

It could have been a little disagreement that you had with them, but again in past relationships (of your person), that's all it would take for the relationship to end.

I got dizzy reading this pile! This realization hit them like nothing before! Their reaction to these thought's involved a drastic change of how they view all relationships in general. This gave them a lot to reflex on and that for some of those past connections (with family, friends, lovers, etc.) they weren't always to blame for how things ended.

Song: All This Time - Louis Tomlinson

Let me know if it's hard to read because of the color of the text so that I can change it! Thank you for being here 💙💜💙

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick an image

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iceman-kazansky · 3 days ago

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I've come back here again. It's midnight, I am up early tomorrow, but I can't stop thinking of this fic. I need to write my thoughts out.

I will not deny that I got into F1 because I thought the drivers were hot. I saw Senna and was infatuated. I was reading fics before I fully understood who he was or even watched any of his races. But, it was that infatuation that led me here– to this. This fic at first was something I never knew would leave such a lasting impression on me as a reader. It actually sparked my full-on interest into Formula 1 upon my second read. I didn't understand everything mentioned, and I wanted to know more. I had a hunger growing in me for knowledge and understanding. This feeling, once I'd acted upon it (I watched the Senna documentary, read the wiki, watched interviews, etc.) was one of the reasons I began to admire Ayrton for who he was, what he did, and everything else besides what I had initially– his looks. And it changed how I viewed other drivers, too. Yes, I still found them attractive, but knowing their stories painted something for me. An internalized artwork of sorts.

"Funny how you can miss someone you never met, right?" That sentence in your authors note. At first, I didn't get it. I didn't quite fathom the depths of it. Yet, now, as I write this, I believe I fully understand it. I wasn't alive to watch Mr. Senna race. I wasn't alive when he died, either. Despite this, I get this ache in my heart, like it's heavy, whenever I think about him. I can remember something, good or bad, and there is this hollow feel to my chest, and it makes me want to cry. And it's not like how I get sad over Michael Schumacher or Niki Lauda or even Brocedes, which are also some of my favourite things in this sport. This weight in my soul feels heavier than the weight of all the oceans combined. It wasn't something I was initially accustomed to, and it shocked me, because how could I miss someone I'd never even gotten the chance to meet?

That last thought made me remember this fic. The authors note. I came back. Admittedly, it's brought me back every time. I've read this fic countless times. I've cried every time. It is so violently sad in a way that it is so bittersweet that it makes me want to read it over and over for all of eternity. I want it engraved into the very forefront of my mind. The way you detailed this, the way it was structured and plotted, the dialogue, the characterization, the perfectly depicted pre-existing characters who you stuck to their genuine personalities and aspects, everything. From the first letter to the last period. This fic is, in my opinion, the definition of perfect. I was given a bite-sized portrayal of how devastated the reader was at the beginning of the fic, and it left me wondering how and why. Through each memory, you made me feel a stronger connection, and each return to the current setting tore a chunk out of my heart and soul. By the end, I was weeping.

I will never regret reading this fic. For taking the time to comprehend every word written here and to come back and do it again. It's definitely one of my, if not my #1, all-time favourite. Not just because it was the first fic to make me cry, but because of the future emotional attatchment I'd grow towards Ayrton. I will forever be grateful to you, the author, for probably introducing me to the greatest thing I could've never even imagined– the world of F1. Thank you.

saudade | as12

funny how you can miss someone you never met, right? my heart was aching today a lot and i cried even more while writing this so yes, it is long and it is sad, so you decide if you wanna read this or not. if you do, please enjoy if its even possible to enjoy bawling your eyes out lol

oh ayrton, you will always be missed

summary: during senna's funeral y/n has flashes of their shared past and what they could have together

warnings: for sure its intense, 5.6k words of pure sadness, thats it basically

pairing: fem!mclaren!driver x ayrton senna

It was a warm, pleasant day. The beginning of may didn't disappoint with the weather at all. A light, warm breeze swayed the flexible branches, on which fresh leaves were green. The sun was pleasantly warm, but it wasn't unbearable heat. Birdsong could be heard, but so could crying. On this day, mourners outnumbered the blossoming buds on the trees.

A crowd of people had gathered in front of the church, but it was nothing compared to the crowds still on their way. Everyone was dressed in black, and the only point of color in the black mass was a yellow dot, which from a bird's eye view resembled a sunflower petal, thrown onto the black, fertile soil. It was a helmet, a yellow racing helmet, which no one gathered there needed to be introduced to. In trembling hands, a young girl held it, never once moving it away from her chest. She held it against herself so tightly, as if she wanted to feel the warmth emanating from it, but it radiated coldness, like the inside of the church she was about to enter, barely able to keep herself on her feet.

Inside the chapel, it hadn't yet become crowded; the military made sure that the family and friends entered the church first. Inside, there was a grave silence, broken only by the occasional blowing of noses into tissues or a stifled sob.

The girl was aware of what was happening, she knew where she was and why she was there. However, her brain stubbornly avoided connecting the dots and completely pushed the facts out of her consciousness. If it had, she would probably have thrown the held helmet deep into the church, and it would have stopped only when it hit the wooden, solid coffin. The girl's gaze never once lifted towards her.

"Y/N, can you hear me?," the girl flinched when Ron's words reached her for the umpteenth time, "You know you don't have to be here, we can be outside."

The girl blinked several times, and at that very moment, her brain stopped pushing away the facts. Ron held her arm, his eyes swollen, his face even redder than usual. She herself pressed the helmet to her chest, so tightly that only when she moved it away from herself a little was she able to fully breathe. She raised her eyes and looked around. She stood in the front row of benches, where at the very top, just in front of the altar steps, stood the coffin. A large, carefully ironed Brazilian flag lay on it, its freely hanging ends touching the fresh flowers lying beneath it.

"Y/N…," the man began again, this time quieter. He saw tears in the girl's eyes, and he was about to continue, but she pressed the helmet tighter to her chest and started walking forward. She only moved the helmet away from herself when she placed it on the coffin. Y/N fell to her knees and began to sob, pressing her forehead against the hard lid. However, the lid of the coffin wasn't the only thing that separated her from her friend. The worst was death.

It was a brisk february morning. Silverstone Circuit had not yet woken up, there was no deafening roar of engines in the background, and the smell of burnt rubber didn't hang in the air.

Although it wasn't a race day and only a handful of people were milling around the facility, unlike the tens of thousands who usually flooded in for the weekend races, this day was expected to be exciting and full of emotions too.

Certainly, it was so for the 23-year-old Theodore Racing driver, who, sitting in the passenger seat on her way to the circuit, nervously picked at her nails. However, she should now be referred to as the "former Theodore Racing driver" because on this day, she had a test day at McLaren, with whom she signed a contract two weeks ago. In the past two months, the girl's life had changed dramatically. A few days after her birthday, she became the European Formula 3 World Champion, winning the title by just one point. One! The fact that she was so young and the only woman to rise so high meant that many people had their eyes on her and followed her every move. However, most people who hadn't seen her driving at over 200 kilometers per hour thought that being a woman automatically disqualified her from the sport. Ron Dennis, the head of McLaren, was familiar with her skills, though, and seeing how well she performed in the lower levels, he decided to take a risk and give her a chance. One of his proteges, however, wasn't so sure about this decision.

"Girl? You want to replace Prost with a girl?"

Senna, upon hearing the candidate to replace Alain, who, after five years of dealing with him, decided to quit and move away from McLaren, only shook his head.

"Yes, that's exactly what I plan to do," Ron lit a cigarette and shifted his gaze from the car to the disgusted face of the Brazilian, "Maybe she'll calm you down a bit. It's a miracle I found anyone to take Prost's place, no one wants to work with you!"

Ayrton snorted and shook his head again, unable to believe that his boss wanted to do something so idiotic. Silence fell in the garage, none of the mechanics intended to interrupt their conversation. Just like everyone else in the team agreed with Ron that it was a miracle to find anyone willing to take Prost's place, the same majority couldn't imagine a woman starting to race in Formula 1. Especially alongside a driver like Senna.

"A few races, and she'll quit on her own," the Brazilian muttered, "You'll see."

"Pray that she likes you and wants to race for us."

When the car stopped in the gravel parking lot, the girl got out and put on her sunglasses. Tom, her manager and a close friend of her father, just glanced at her and rubbed her back. He knew perfectly well how stressed she was. No one would be prepared for so much in such a short time.

"Everything will be fine."

"You don't have to say that."

He sighed and just pointed with his hand towards the entrance to the facility, letting her through the glass doors. He didn't convince himself too much. Shortly after, after receiving the appropriate instructions, they reached the paddock. Here, the sun didn't glare in her eyes, so the girl took off her glasses, looking around. An empty Silverstone was something unheard of.

"Good morning, welcome, good to see you,"

Ron, standing in front of the garage, as soon as he noticed the girl, broke off from the conversation with one of the mechanics and smiled at her, shaking her hand. She showed up for the tests, so he thought she deserved a shot. Maybe this would work.

The girl made an effort to smile and nodded at him. Fortunately, she didn't have to engage in a conversation with him because he was immediately engaged by her manager. She was glad that in moments like this, someone else could spare her from meaningless chatter.

"Good morning."

She greeted, approaching the car where a few men were working on the wheels, wing, and cockpit. Some of them spoke up, while the rest just nodded at her. She immediately felt unwelcome, and barely a minute had passed since she appeared in the garage. However, this was nothing new to her, she would lie if she said she was surprised. But the most important thing for her was that Ron treated her as an equal, or at least didn't make her feel like she didn't belong here. That gave her a sense of comfort. She didn't need a crowd standing behind her; she only needed two people who had her back.

The girl slowly walked around the car. The new, ready-for-the-season MP4/4 looked very good. Next to the car marked with her number stood another, practically identical, differing only in the number painted in red on the front.

However, the owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, at least not in sight. Y/N hadn't had the opportunity to meet Ayrton personally. The drivers' presentation with the car was scheduled for the end of the month, so it was quite likely that until then, she would have time to mentally prepare herself. She knew Ayrton from stories; she could watch his battles both on and off the track on television, the domestic war he waged with Alain Prost which ended with the Frenchman's departure to Ferrari.

Y/N knew she would have to face many things, one of which was Senna.

"Ready?"

Ron's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, he held a helmet and jumpsuit for her in his hand. She nodded and took the items from him, going to change. When she returned, she took her place in the cockpit, and after some time, when everything was ready, she followed the instructions and took her place on the track. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands on the steering wheel, staring at the start lights. When they went out, the girl sped off with squealing tires and the roar of the engine.

Ron and Tom stood next to each other, watching her movements on small monitors. After some time, the mechanics also began to glance at the monitors, seemingly more interested in whether she hadn't crashed yet than in her results. What surprised them was the sight on one of the displays showing her current lap time, which now stood at 1.38.412 seconds. Ron smiled and shook his head in amazement. The young girl was incredible.

The car itself wasn't handling badly. Besides feeling like a huge boat, to which she was definitely too small, it was actually a well-engineered machine. A few more laps, and she should be able to tame it completely. Although this fact was reassuring. When the girl spotted the checkered flag, she obediently pulled into the garage. She turned off the engine and unfastened her seatbelts, but she didn't get out of the car or take off her helmet because Ron was already beside her, hugging her tightly.

"Young lady, you flew in that car!" The man helped her out of the car, and she took off her helmet and balaclava, taking out the earplugs. "I told you, you did amazingly. Unbelievable lap time, great driving."

The girl wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and blew a strand of wet hair from her forehead.

"It's a really good car, sir."

"A good car without a good driver is just a good car, and a good car with a great driver is a masterful car," Ron shook her hand again, "Brilliant job."

The girl returned his smile, and when she glanced at Tom standing a few steps away, he was also smiling, his smile was the kind of "I told you so."

Y/N gave appropriate feedback to the mechanics and strategists, who now seemed to pay attention to her significantly more than when she first appeared in the garage that morning. Their faces still tried to remain impassive, but nevertheless, they noted everything she had to say. When it was all over, the girl went to change. She washed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror, clenching her hands on the cold sink. She did it.

When she managed to cool down and calm herself down a bit, clutching her helmet under her arm and holding her jumpsuit in the other hand, shortly after she left the bathroom. Suddenly, she bumped into someone, and that someone turned out to be someone she sincerely didn't want to meet that day.

"Watch where you're going."

Senna muttered, holding a lit cigarette between his lips. He gave her a quick glance and disappeared through the doorway, his jumpsuit rustling as he walked away.

The girl squeezed her helmet tighter under her arm and returned to the garage, putting things back in place. After receiving the last praise and handshake from Ron, she said goodbye and left the paddock with Tom. Ayrton pretended to be too busy preparing for the start, so he didn't honor her with even a single glance. When he heard Ron praising her driving, he only snorted under his breath and shook his head. When the garage fell silent again, Ayrton took his place in the car, getting ready to drive.

"1.38.412"

Senna looked up when Ron spoke above his head.

"1.38.412," he repeated calmly, "The lap time of a twenty-three-year-old after her first drive in a Formula 1 car."

The Brazilian snorted and lowered his gaze, putting earplugs in his ears.

"I hope you'll be better than the girl."

Ayrton didn't hear his words anymore because he put on his balaclava and helmet. He didn't believe the girl had achieved such a lap time. And even if she did, it only spoke of the car's capabilities, not her skills. Senna hoped he would be faster by at least a few seconds. He had been racing in Formula 1 for almost five years; he was incredibly fast, and above all, he was a man!

When the tests ended, and he returned to the garage, satisfied with himself and his driving, the first thing he did was to look for Ron's reaction, wanting to see his expression when he rubbed his nose in it. However, the Brit looked at him indulgently, and Senna, not knowing what he meant, quickly tried to free himself from the seat belts. The Brit simply turned the monitor towards him and pointed with his finger at something that, according to Ayrton, was a big mistake.

Between him and the girl, there was a difference of a few seconds, indeed. But Ayrton was slower.

When Senna freed himself from the car, hastily took off his helmet and balaclava, and removed the earplugs, he was about to say something when Ron stopped him, pressing a cassette to his chest.

"Here, watch it tonight and see how the twenty-three-year-old beat you."

Ayrton squeezed the cassette in his hand and only watched him leave, unable to utter a word. It was some kind of absurdity!

Absurd or not, Senna spent the evening in front of the TV. He sat on the couch, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He frowned and carefully watched the recording from the camera placed in her cockpit. He saw how she aggressively entered corners, braking as late as possible, and how quickly she stepped on the gas when the centrifugal forces stopped working. He took a drag and blew smoke from his mouth, rewinding the tape from the beginning, just as it ended. The recording lasted twenty minutes, and he watched it for the seventh time, counting each lap on his stopwatch. Every time, the result was the same.

He couldn't wrap his head around what she had done, but he decided to consider it just a stroke of luck. She had a better day; he had a slightly worse one. Moreover, it wasn't the testing session or even the qualifying rounds that determined the winner, but the race itself. Driving on an empty track without rivals wanting to take your position was one thing, but racing in a competition where everyone wanted to beat you was a completely different matter. If someone had told Ayrton then that four years later, that girl would shed tears at his funeral, he would have told them to fuck themselves.

Y/N felt a strong arm around her waist, trying to lift her. Ron's heart broke seeing her in such a state. However, he couldn't help her even if he wanted to.

"Y/N, please…," he began, but she shook her head, overcome with tears. Wet stains of tears were visible on the flag covering the coffin. The girl was trembling all over, it was a miracle she could breathe. Since the accident, it seemed like Y/N was handling the tragedy very well, just being sad and quiet. No one had any idea what was yet to come. Everyone who saw Y/N by the coffin, this sight of a broken girl, felt nothing but sympathy. The bond she had formed with Ayrton seemed stronger and much richer in emotions than any he had with any of his partners. Ayrton wasn't just her teammate, he wasn't just a friend or sometimes her biggest enemy. From the very beginning, Y/N mattered to him, and if he said otherwise, he was simply lying.

The official skills assessment test for the girl was scheduled to take place less than three weeks after her first visit to the McLaren garage. Now, however, an official presentation awaited her at the reception hosted by the team. One evening at the company headquarters, a banquet was held, attended by far more people than initially anticipated. Most of them were journalists who had to announce to the world the phenomenon that was a woman at the top level of motor racing.

"It's more crowded here than I thought," the girl admitted when she entered the team headquarters with Tom by her side.

"Everyone is curious about you. There are even a couple of journalists from Australia, believe it or not," Tom said.

She looked at him in shock. "And they flew here specifically for this presentation?"

He smiled and nodded. "They'll be talking to kangaroos and kiwi birds about you," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. And it worked because she giggled at his words. However, her smile faded when she noticed Ron talking to Ayrton and two other men in suits.

"Everything will be fine. You did well on the tests, so you'll do well here too," he said softly, rubbing her arm when he noticed her expression.

"There weren't any sharks in suits and piranhas with cameras there," Tom was about to add some words of encouragement when Ron spotted them and raised his hand with a glass in it, trying to get their attention. They approached him, and he greeted them, introducing them to the directors. Ayrton, standing aside, was mindful of how many people were now watching him and wondering if his new teammate would share Prost's fate. However, the Brazilian had no intention of making an effort for gestures he didn't intend. Nevertheless, courtesy demanded it, so he extended his hand, which she hesitantly shook.

"Senna," he said, his Brazilian accent strongly evident in his last name. "Welcome to the team."

The girl introduced herself as well, but it was hard for her to maintain eye contact. Not because he was almost half a head taller, but because of the confidence emanating from him. It was his team, his place, and his time, and she was just a guest. There was no room for discussion.

Fortunately, the awkward situation was soon interrupted as the drivers and management were invited onstage. Ayrton gestured for the girl to go ahead, and she began to walk in front of him.

"I hope you don't grip the wheel as weakly as you do hands," he murmured behind her, quietly enough so no one else would hear, but loud enough for her to hear his words.

Y/N lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of heat wash over her. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn't. He caught her completely off guard.

As they stepped onto the small stage, they stood behind one of the cars prepared for this season. The girl intertwined her fingers behind her back and straightened up, standing next to Ayrton. He might play his stupid games on her, but she had no intention of showing that she would easily give in. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and almost believed that his comment had gone unnoticed, but her cheeks were flushed. Normally, he would probably snort under his breath, but now he kept his composure.

After a few words from Ron and the board members, the floor was given to the drivers. The two of them remained on stage, each with a microphone in hand. Now it was time for the media, for their pressing questions and burning issues.

Ayrton sat relaxed, almost bored. His legs were bent at the knees, slightly apart. One hand was around his waist, resting his elbow on it, holding the microphone in the other hand. He answered questions briefly and to the point, not dwelling more than necessary. His attire alone indicated that today's banquet was just a formality; he wore a suit, but instead of a shirt, he had a white T-shirt, and on his feet were sports shoes.

Despite her best efforts not to stress out, Y/N was far from as calm as Ayrton. She sat up straight, one leg crossed over the other. Although her red dress practically touched the floor, she glanced occasionally to make sure nothing was out of place. She felt like every move, even the smallest one, was being watched and analyzed. She felt she wasn't focusing on the content of the questions but on how she appeared.

The girl blinked several times, trying to find a sensible answer to the question that had been directed at her a few seconds ago.

"Could you repeat that?" she asked, feeling a bit embarrassed about her inattention. Ayrton, however, heard the question well.

"I asked if you think you're good enough to compete with men or if you're just here for publicity? Racing is still a male-dominated sport, and it seems like you're just trying to prove something rather than compete," the man in glasses squeezed the voice recorder in his hand and looked at her expectantly. Seeing her confusion, he sighed, "I see you're not too bright, so let me ask directly - do you really think you belong here? Do you have what it takes to keep up with the boys on the track?"

The girl panicked a little; this question completely threw her off guard. Emotions overwhelmed her, and she couldn't utter a word. But there was someone who could speak and had an exceptionally sharp tongue.

"I see that, Mr. - again, for whom are you writing?" Ayrton spoke up, furrowing his brows.

"John Ruffleck, Guardian."

"Ah, of course, the Guardian," the man clicked his tongue indulgently. "Clearly, you are the one that didn't shine with intelligence, asking last year's Formula 3 world champion if she fits in here." Y/N was shocked to hear that Ayrton stood up for her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite still sitting calmly, the Brazilian was ready for a verbal battle. "If I fit in here, then the 23-year-old who set a better lap time than me during the tests also fits."

Ayrton bluntly silenced the journalist, who merely muttered a quiet "Thank you" and lowered his head.

Several more questions were thrown in by Ayrton, steering the conversation away from sexist undertones. By the end of the conference, there were no more questions about sexist issues. The drivers got up from their seats, and Y/N turned off her microphone, placing it on the sound table as Senna did the same.

"Thank you," she said, looking at him. He also looked at her, but this time his expression didn't express annoyance or boredom, as it did two times before when their eyes met.

"Don't thank me," he said, taking two glasses of champagne from the waitress. "You are allow to drink, right?" he asked before handing her one of them. She nodded and took the glass from him. "Don't thank me, just learn to counter such nonsense. If they're rude, we can be rude too."

Y/N took a big sip of champagne. Her mouth was dry from nerves.

"I don't want to be rude, it's not proper," she said.

"Not proper?" Senna scoffed. "Because you're a girl?"

"Because they'll think poorly of me"

"Do you really care what that bunch of idiots thinks?"

The girl lowered her gaze. Ayrton was right.

Did she really care? She was a driver; she was supposed to deliver good results. She wasn't supposed to please the audience.

She was about to reply when Ron approached them, cursing the Guardian journalist's stupidity. He was so caught up that he didn't even notice Ayrton sending the girl a final glance and then finishing his champagne, taking out cigarettes from his back pocket, and walking away towards the exit. Y/N only watched him go. At that moment, neither of them had any idea how much she would learn from Ayrton, or that he would gladly take on the role of a teacher himself. No one would have even thought of it then.

When Ron managed to lift the shaken girl, she reached for her helmet again and pressed it to her chest. When she looked up, across from her, on the other side of the coffin, she saw a man in a wheelchair. Frank Williams looked at her in silence, but his gaze was apologetic, his face sad, and his eyes looked like he hadn't slept for days.

"Why?" Y/N whispered, but she wasn't sure if anything managed to leave her lips. Williams didn't need to hear her; her eyes said it all. Even if he couldn't hear her question or look into her swollen, tear-filled eyes, he would know perfectly well that she blamed him for his death. "Why, Frank? Why?" Maybe even more than she blamed God.

"If you can hold on to me for longer than five seconds, I'll let you pass," Ayrton said, exhaling smoke. He sat on one of the crates outside McLaren's garage, wearing sunglasses. The weather for the upcoming race looked exceptionally good, but Senna wouldn't mind rain.

"Are you challenging me?" the girl asked, squinting and looking at him against the light. They were sitting outside, where it was quieter, as the mechanics worked inside the garage.

"Why would I?" the man chuckled, taking another drag. Seeing her uncertainty, he offered her a cigarette, trying to reassure her with his gesture.

Y/N took the cigarette and inhaled the smoke, which tickled her throat, making her cough. She wrinkled her nose and after a moment handed him back the cigarette.

"Don't you want to test my braking skills and eliminate me from the race?"

Ayrton laughed and shook his head. "So, I do have a bad reputation after all."

"Definitely not the best," the girl said softly, smiling uncertainly. Ayrton playfully nudged the crate she was sitting on with his foot. He genuinely liked this girl; in fact, he could and wanted to work with her. Now he was even willing to let her win the race if she showed that she could keep up with him. She had demonstrated many times that she could drive at an exceptionally high level, so Senna was willing to show some humanity and let her achieve her first victory, especially on home turf. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, taking off his cap and placing it on her head, pulling it down over her eyes.

"Five seconds," he repeated, walking away as she adjusted the cap on her head.

The girl decided to take up the challenge, realizing that such an opportunity might never come again. Ayrton and collaboration? They were complete opposites after all. Y/N, who started the next day from the last place on the podium, managed to fight her way up to second place at the beginning of the race. She spent the next forty laps chasing after Ayrton, wondering if there was any point in chasing him if she couldn't overtake him. Seeing his familiar helmet in the side mirror, Ayrton smiled. He added a bit more throttle and began counting to five, but the girl's car didn't seem to be falling back. When the agreed time was up, much to everyone's disbelief, both on the track and in front of the TVs, Senna slowed down and obediently let her pass. Unable to believe her own eyes, the girl pressed the gas and took the lead, crossing the finish line with him.

She only believed in her victory when Ayrton offered her his hand and helped her onto the podium.

"Five seconds," he said, smiling at her.

"Five seconds," she replied, returning the smile.

How much she would give to see Ayrton again, even for five seconds. To be able to hug him for five seconds, see his smile. Five seconds now would last like an eternity, for which she would pay any price.

The church was filled with people, mostly family and friends, individuals directly connected to Ayrton. The remaining people were outside, surrounding the church, also gathering along the main road. There were talks of crowds, thousands who came to bid farewell to their hero. They too would give much to see Ayrton even for five seconds. Whole, alive, before the Imola accident.

Y/N held the helmet on her knees, looking at it with vacant eyes. She ran her fingers along the edges, tracing the stickers and sponsor names. She squeezed the soft padding inside. She closed her eyelids. Five seconds.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Ayrton said, loud enough to make the girl jump. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a bikini top, with his helmet on her head, visor down. She waved a piece of cardboard towards the grill, trying to ignite it better and not wanting the smoke to get in her eyes, deciding to use whatever she had at hand. And hoping Ayrton wouldn't get mad that she used his helmet for this.

The man smiled and shook his head, placing the wood he held in his hands next to the grill. Standing next to the girl, he lifted the visor and looked into her eyes. She looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It suits you," Senna interrupted, smiling. "Possibly even more than me."

"Do you think so?"

The man nodded. His hair, damp from swimming in the lake, fell onto his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled. Ayrton had been looking at Y/N like this for some time, in a way that many would describe as tender. Certainly, the girl wasn't just a teammate to him, as who would invite a teammate to their hometown to meet their closest family. Certainly not Ayrton.

"I love you, Y/N,"

He confessed as he lay on the jetty, gazing at the starry sky, where there was no trace of the hot Brazilian sun anymore.

The girl laughed and took a sip of beer, lying next to him and leaning on his arm. Both were drunk, so she was sure Ayrton was joking. However, when his confession was met with silence and he turned to look at her, his face was deadly serious.

"I mean it, Y/N. I love you,"

"You can't love me, you have a girlfriend," she replied, still laughing. There was no way he was serious.

Ayrton got up and without a word, kissed her, wanting to prove his words. When he pulled away after a moment, there was no smile on the girl's face. He was about to say something again, but she touched his cheek and returned the kiss, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly in his arms. That night, they would find out how much they meant to each other.

Senna meant a lot to the girl, there was no doubt about it. He also meant unimaginable things to all those who took part in the funeral ceremonies, not only in Brazil itself but worldwide. It might have seemed like the world had lost an incredible man, someone who in life had already become a legend. Who would have thought that this living, almost mystical legend was just a man? A man who is mortal. Surely no one looked at Senna that way. Certainly not Frank Williams, who eventually decided to agree and accept Ayrton into his team, bearing an incredible burden now. Senna was supposed to lift his team to great heights, and his tragic death dealt a blow, not so much personal as it was business-related. However, at that moment, that mattered least.

Y/N and Ayrton sat at the kitchen table, eating a late dinner in silence. They were in their shared home in Europe, but for the past few months, the walls of the house seemed to be becoming more alien with each passing day. The atmosphere was as thick as it is now, when none of the people sitting at the table even bothered to steal a glance.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go to Williams?"

The girl asked, stirring the contents of her plate with her fork. Ayrton tightened his grip on the glass and took a few sips from it.

"Ayrton-", "Why did I have to tell you?" he entered her words and looked at her, "Just to make you try to stop me?

Y/N blinked several times. She was shocked. She had the impression that the man sitting opposite was a complete stranger and someone she had never known before.

"To stop you? I'm your girlfriend, I should be the first to know about your plans, not hear from strangers."

"Did it change anything? Did something happen that you didn't find out from me?"

"Yes!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. She was so done with all of this. "I'm fed up with you treating me like an enemy for several weeks!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" he stood up, leaning over and pointing his finger at her. "You have no idea how much I had to do to get that offer, how much it cost me!"

"I have no idea, because you don't tell me anything!" she also stood up, pushing his hand away, which he was aiming at her face, "Fame has gone to your head, you're acting like a complete idi-" She didn't get to finish because Ayrton slapped her across the face. He didn't realize when his open hand met her cheek. Y/N grabbed her cheek and looked at him in shock. At the moment of the strike, he also seemed to snap out of it, as if he had been hit himself.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said calmly, trying to approach her, but she backed away a few steps, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"But you did," she said with a trembling voice, tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't recognize you anymore, Ayrton".

As the funeral rites began, the last thing on Y/N's mind was their recent arguments, of which there had been plenty lately. Nonetheless, since the incident when he raised his hand to her, Senna understood he had crossed a line. The only upside of the whole situation was that they had started talking again, and Ayrton had come to realize that Y/N was not his enemy. Yes, on the track, the girl might be someone he now had to defeat even more than usual, but she was still his friend, his girlfriend, his partner. Speaking of partners, many women appeared at the funeral, but four of them spent exceptionally long periods by the coffin. They had a lot in common, yet none of them deigned to exchange glances. Each of Ayrton's partners, even today, on such a dramatic day, looked at her as if she were an enemy. Viviane made sure none of them sat on the bench where the family was seated. Y/N belonged to the family. She didn't intrude, Ayrton invited her himself.

"Maybe you should take a break?" Sid Watkins persistently tried to persuade Ayrton and Y/N to withdraw from the upcoming race. "Two weeks, you'll come back to Monaco in better shape, with lighter minds."

Senna sat on one of the crates behind the Williams garage, elbows resting on his knees. Y/N repeatedly wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hand holding a cigarette. An hour ago, the qualifying session for tomorrow's race was interrupted by Roland Ratzerberger's serious accident. The man was taken to the hospital, but many said he was taken from the track already dead.

"This shouldn't have happened, there shouldn't have been talk of such an accident," the girl repeated, almost hysterical. She was in tremendous shock, having witnessed the accident herself as she was the one who followed Ratzerberger's car.

"They need to cancel the race," Senna said dryly, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. "We can't race here, not after something like this."

"And if they don't cancel?" Sid looked from Ayrton to Y/N. "Will you race in such a state? You won't sleep over this until tomorrow."

"If they don't cancel, we'll race for him. I'll drive the best I can to honor him with a victory," Ayrton decided, raising his gaze and looking the doctor in the eyes.

"You like fishing, right? Why don't you go back to Brazil, catch some fish, relax. If you want, I'll come with you, I could use it too."

Senna rubbed his face with his hands, intertwining his fingers and pressing them against his lips. Again, he fell silent. He knew they couldn't not race; he certainly couldn't afford to tell Frank after months of effort that he wouldn't start tomorrow. He couldn't do that.

"I don't want to race," Y/N admitted, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ayrton, he, Roland-" the man rose without a word and hugged her tightly. He enveloped her in a strong embrace, stroking her hair. Watkins saw that Senna was thinking intensely. And no matter what he said or did to convince him to skip the race, he would do it his own way.

"Think about it, Ayrton. Just think about it," he said one last time. Senna looked him in the eyes and nodded in silence.

Late in the afternoon, Ayrton and Y/N returned to the hotel. They didn't talk much; Y/N occasionally wiped her eyes with a tissue. Ayrton held her hand a lot. When they lay in bed, Senna laid on her stomach, wrapping his arm around her waist. The girl began to run her fingers through his damp hair.

"I don't want to start tomorrow, Y/N," he said softly. He was facing away from her, she couldn't see that he was crying too. "I have a bad feeling."

"You know nobody can force you to do it," she said calmly, her other hand stroking his cheek. "Maybe Watkins is right? Let's fly to your parents, spend time with the kids. It's been two months since you've seen them."

"I can't," he said, wiping his face with his hand. "I can't, nobody needs a driver who doesn't race."

"Ayrton—" "Just hold me," he interrupted, sitting up. The girl obeyed his command, sitting between his legs and hugging him tightly. Both were silent; Y/N tenderly stroked his head and tense back.

"This will be my last season," he said, not moving an inch from her. "I've done enough; I don't need more. I want to focus on something else, on more important things."

"On what, my love?" she asked gently, still stroking his hair.

"I want to be a dad,"

Senna surprised her with this confession. The girl smiled.

"Would you like to have a son or a daughter?"

"A daughter, oh, how I'd love a daughter," he said, pulling away to look at her face. "Would you like to have a child with me? And become my wife?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "You know I would."

Ayrton returned her smile and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply.

"Te amo, querido,"

"I love you too, Ayrton. And i will always do."

"And i will always do," Y/N said qiuetly, watching as the coffin slowly descends into the ground. Nothing can destroy such love, certainly not death.

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