#f: national treasure

[luucypevensie]

🏳️‍🌈 + my baby girl Lizzie? <3

Ahh thanks Fae my beloved! Tagging the moots: @ginger-grimm and @dancingsunflowers-ocs

lizzie - bisexual

abigail - bisexual (dude abigail gives off such badass bi vibes i’m sorry)

ben - you know, now that i’m thinking about it, ben gives off demisexual vibes (think about it he totally was heart eyes for abigail when she rattled off the tidbit about a secret symbol at the top right corner on the back of the declaration, he felt a connection hence the attraction)

riley - i’m sorry, but i literally can’t imagine riley with anyone else but laurens so i’m going with disaster gay for my boy

will - straight ally (he’s so supportive and goes to all the pride stuff with lizzie)

[imsrryoisin]

posted this to my tiktok but i think tumblr would have a far deeper, more autistic appreciation for it.

[dracutgrl]

Gavin Owens, I know you're Gavin's best friend and a teenager, but I'm not loving you at the moment. LOLOLOLOLOL!!

Gavin posted on his new tiktok account teasing about if he'll be returning for season 8

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[residenthughes]

opera house - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x afab reader

word count: 2.5k

tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, oral sex (m on f), dirty talk (if you can call it that?), no mention of y/n, pet names (baby, princess)

summary: reading is your favourite pastime. jack makes it harder than anticipated.

notes: so...🫣 this happened. it's a small little thing that started out with me just wanting to write about how pretty jack is only to turn into the respectful pile of filth. don't write smut much so apologies if this isn't to your liking, but hopefully i'll be back with something better. also, the sentence in italics is a quote from the book mentioned in the fic. much love! <3

As the cold November climate nips at your flesh and colours the sky in hues of grey, you nestle in the cosiness of your home, warm and sheltered with your treasured fuzzy socks on as you curl up on your bed with one of the books you’ve been meaning to read. Jack says it’s a bad habit of yours: buying books that collect dust on your shelf, to which you quickly argue that he’s the one enabling your ‘bad habit’ by constantly buying them for you - your Goodreads profile bookmarked in his phone for safe keeping. An endearing act of service, all of which he is no stranger to - gifting said books in the form of a bouquet every time he leaves for a long road trip, taking out the trash because he knows it’s your least favourite chore, curling up with you now, sweetly bundled in between your legs as you two find peace in the silence you share. It’s like a warm hot chocolate on a chilly day like today, your connection smooth and comforting, wrapping you in the warmth of its embrace.

You peer beyond the top of your book, catching an eyeful of the back of Jack’s head and his loose curls, the soft clicks of his gamer control sounding as his eyes focus on the TV screen a few metres ahead. Your sugary thoughts of how endearing your long-term boyfriend can be - always is - overflow like lava, the smile on your face terribly enamoured as your fingers card through his hair, curling the soft locks around your index finger.

Like clockwork, Jack leans into your touch, slouching further into his position in between your thighs, laying a chilly cheek against the flesh of your thighs.

You squirm against the brush of his eyelashes against your skin. “That tickles.”

“Uh huh,” he absently answers, tapping away at his gamer control. “Does this?”

A delicate kiss marks you, Jack’s head going back to laying against your thigh as he directs his attention to the game set out against the TV.

“No,” you blush. “But, that was nice.”

A huff of amusement sounds from Jack and instantly, you know what position you've put yourself in by saying that. “Bet it was. Aren’t you busy with that book of yours?”

You bite back, the muscles of your thighs tightening their grip around your boyfriend. “Sometimes a distraction is necessary.”

The clicks of his gamer control halt and silence envelopes the room, your eyebrow raised as his on-screen character dies as a result of his negligence. 

Jack clears his throat, his body shuffling against yours as he readjusts his position, restarting the game. “Maybe you’re right about that, baby.”

A pout remains settled against your lips as your eyes squint at your partner, your suspicion towards his action not enough to distract you from the habitual motion of your fingers as they thread through Jack’s hair. You raise your opened book back to eye-level, not batting an eyelash.

It’s when you’ve gotten perhaps three sentences into your book that Jack breaks the silence. “What’s the story about?”

“The book I’m currently reading?” Jack hums in reply. “Oh, it’s a spinoff of a series I’ve been meaning to read. It’s basically a college romance story about a girl aspiring to be on the national ice hockey team and her getting help from this guy she met years ago, called Ryder. Unexpectedly smutty, 10/10 would recommend.”

Jack laughs with you at your nasty comment, body vibrating against yours as his chuckle courses through him. You lower your book again.

“You and your smutty books,” Jack snickers to himself, eyes trained ahead of him. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “In what ways is it unexpectedly smutty?”

Despite how long you’ve been with Jack and the comfort you've established living alongside him, the question does make you a bit flustered, crimsoning as you look away, avoiding any view of him. “Well, it’s pretty raunchy up front. Like how they’ve done some naughty things in the shower - quite tame, but I’ve also just read that Ryder did some things when they went to go see the opera.”

“What things?” Jack asks, point blank.

Now, it’s time for you to clear your throat. Cheeks tinted. “Do I even have to say, Jack?”

The pause screen displays itself against the TV, the clicks of his controller no more as Jack shifts once again within your grasp, body turning as he lays his stomach against the comfort of the mattress, pools of azure staring into yours. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“Yes, I wanna hear what things you’re reading,” he says easily as if he isn’t inciting violence in your chest right now, the corner of his pink lips curved softly as he tilts his head against your thigh. “All of it.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room escalates from toasty warm to scorching hot, a familiar flame in the pits of your stomach igniting as you’ve somehow found yourself in such a predicament - backed into a corner and at a loss for words.

“He,” you stammer, averting your eyes because all Jack’s eyes do is look at you, his burning gaze elevating the heat that dances against the surface of your cheeks. “He fingers her in the opera.”

You whisper that last part but Jack hears you judging by the faint chuckle coming from him. “He fingers who at the opera?”

He accents his point with a kiss against your thigh, this time the gesture conjuring a polar opposite sensation as goosebumps riddle your skin. You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t known you were holding, looking again at your partner to still find him looking right back at you, eyelids heavy and eyes dark. You have to look away.

You gulp. “Gigi - her name is Gigi.”

You finally muster some sort of courage you’ve had to find within your situation when you hear Jack shift again, eyes capturing your boyfriend’s arms coming up to circle around your thighs, eyes never leaving yours as his hands find purchase against your skin, thumbs absently caressing the surface much like you did earlier with his hair. 

“Is that short for something?” Jack accents his question with another kiss, his touch searing. 

“No,” you gulp, voice foolishly unsteady as your eyes study Jack’s movements with caution. “I mean, Ryder jokes that her name is Gisele, but that’s-”

“Guys like to tease,” he kisses a little higher against your thigh as if to prove his point. “Especially with girls they like.”

“I don’t think that’s appreciated, Jack.” 

You’re talking about a completely different thing now - a conversation within a conversation. 

“I don’t know about that, baby,” whilst still staring at you, his teeth manage to nip at a small sliver of your skin, numbness plaguing your limbs. “Read it to me.”

Your brows knit together, puzzled as ever. “What?”

“You heard me,” declares Jack, his kisses abundantly littering the expanse of your thigh as your mind begins to spiral. “Read it to me.”

Your mind is frazzled, brain working overtime to comprehend the sudden turn of events, all the while Jack takes it upon himself to sit pretty in between your legs and touch you as if made from porcelain - delicate and tender, a sharp contrast to the emotions bathing you in lust. Jack glances up at you one more time, button nose nuzzling against your inner thigh as he gives you a knowing look, his lips preoccupied. You obey wordlessly, uneasy eyes still on him as you bring your book back upwards, its previous position altered so you can manage to steal a look at Jack out of your peripheral.

Out loud, you begin to read to him the aftermath of the opera scene, a more tame development following as you manage to get through the next page unscathed. Jack’s kisses at first, are a bit distracting and have your voice betray you, but they’re sporadic and by the time you’ve turned the page, you’re already used to the sensation. You even achieve some comfort in his touch, but that doesn’t last long because when you’re in the midst of your storytelling, you feel Jack’s fingers hook around your shorts’ waistband.

Immediately, you lower your book, a chill running down your spine. “What are you doing?”

He bats his long eyelashes, almost mockingly. “Listening to you.”

“Jack.” For once, your tone is firm, watching aimlessly as he inches the material past your hip bones.

“Lift your hips a little or I won’t be able to get these off you,” he insists, a convincing smile settled amongst his charming features that express his pleasure in this all. “Unless you wanna keep them on?”

It’s a rhetorical question, a trap set up to see if you’ll bite and despite it all, the excitement of what’s to come leads you right where Jack wants you. Lifting your hips with an embarrassing ache in between your legs as you lie in anticipation, continuing on with your reading as Jack goes back to teasing you endlessly.

“Gettin’ pretty worked up over this story, huh?” echoes Jack. “I can tell.”

To demonstrate the meaning of his words, he blows a cool breeze against you that makes you mewl and draw your thighs closer at the sensation. Heart thudding against your chest, your bewildered gaze gravitates back to Jack who kisses you through the fabric of your underwear and has you fumbling for words.

“I didn’t say you could stop reading,” Jack removes his lips, peering up at you with a look that melts you into a pathetic pool of yourself. “You stop, I stop. Sound fair?”

That sounds anything but fair, but who are you to say so? He clearly holds all the power in this situation, you dancing right in the palm of his hand. This has escalated beyond a point of no return and you’re not backing out now so you oblige, opening your mouth to read but uttering out nothing more than a moan as Jack pulls your underwear to the side, his fingers gliding through your wet folds. 

“So satisfying to tease you when your reactions are this good,” he rasps, followed by a low chuckle as his calloused fingertip circles around your clit, eliciting the buck of your hips and the waiver in your voice. “Anyways, you were saying?”

You’re grasping for straws here, trying to tie yourself down to the little sanity (and patience) you have as your frantic eyes try and find where you last left off, straying away every couple of words as Jack does nothing more than use his fingers to distract you. 

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he instructs, and it’s the sexist thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “We follow...”

“We follow..the people,” you falter, voice wobbly. “We follow the people in…”

Somewhere in that sentence, a hefty exhale blows past your mouth as Jack moves two fingers into you, the curl of them accentuating the end of your sentence with a moan. 

“Always sound so pretty with my fingers in you,” muses Jack, tone low and memorised as he works said fingers in and out of you, your slick building all around his fingers. “Can’t get enough of it.”

You do a subpar job of reading the next few lines as Jack’s fingers pick up the pace, moving deeper in you to milk every reaction you give him mixed in with your slurred words. Your attempt at remaining coherent diminishes completely when Jack’s lips find their way to your swollen clit, a light press of the lips against the hood of your clit before he’s sucking on the bud.

Your words come out in stutters, voice trembling pathetically as he wraps you around his fingers, making a mess of you in the form of kitten licks against your clit and nibble fingers coaxing your building orgasm out of you. His motions stop every time you get lost in the feeling of him sucking your clit, fingers tangled in his locks of hair. And with a whine, you compel with his previous instructions, reading along with the world’s prettiest distraction in between your legs. 

Somehow, you make it to the next page without much delay, Jack’s mouth trained on you as he laps up every bit of you, tongue drawing all kinds of figures against or around your clit. You’re clenching around his fingers more than you can forgive yourself for, body running hot as the sounds of your slick echo throughout the room, the pit in your stomach only growing.

“Just like that, princess,” he hums against your clit, the sensation drawing a tight-lipped whimper from you as your hips follow the vibration. “How many more pages until the chapter’s finished? I don’t think you’re gonna last long.”

And, it’s all true. Body twitching, toes curling and cunt spasming around his fingers that curl in you. Your brain can barely keep up at this point. “So many.”

Jack tsks, his thumb replacing his lips against your clit as he moves it in slow circles. “You think you can hold on till then?”

You answer truthfully, however embarrassing it may be. “No.” 

He laughs briefly when he hits that spongy part inside of you, your back bowing off the stacked pillows behind you as Jack continues to hit the exact spot that has you seeing stars. 

“How ‘bout a compromise?” Jack starts, your hips lifting to meet the insistent thrust of his fingers. “You tell me how badly you wanna come, and you get to ditch the book whilst I make you come. Sounds good?”

An awfully generous offer considering how your brain has turned to mush and can barely keep up with any of the inked words on the page right now. So, you agree. Enthusiastically.

“Please,” you mewl with a puckered forehead, gazing down at your beautiful boyfriend with his tousled hair and glossy lips. A sight for sore eyes. “Please, J. I wanna come.”

“How bad?” He doesn’t miss a beat, eyes challenge yours.

“So bad,” you keen when his other hand lays over your stomach, applying pressure to the spongy spot that teethers you on the very edge. “Fuck, it’s only you. Only you can…make me feel good. Please, J.” 

The begging works. It always works and with that, you drop your book, long discarded amidst the mess of the sheets as your fingers tangle in Jack’s hair as he sucks roughly on your clit again. Rocking up against his mouth, the angle of his fingers renders you completely at his mercy, uttering stuttery breaths as he brings you over the edge, applying pressure in all the right places because he knows your body better than you do, gushing slick flowing from you as you ride out your high, brain reduced to syrup. 

He doesn’t even wait before you’ve caught your breath that he sends you a flirtatious wink in between your quivering thighs. “So, opera date next week?”

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 | 𝐅𝟏 ❞

pairing: f1 grid (not all) x black fem driver!reader

summary: in which reader takes the f1 pilots to experience her culture and the beautiful country that is South Africa.

warnings: south african slang, cussing, social media environment, mentions of food, borderline chaotic

saint’s team radio 🎀: you have no idea how excited i was to write this. i love my country so so much and to be able to share it with all of you is a blessing. thank you @exotic-iris13 for requesting this! side note, December is in summer so i hope i don’t confuse you! enjoy!

please like, comment and reblog! (i’m watching you)

fc: @/mbbaarrhliii on ig!

tags: @non-stop-imagines @perfecttrashface @mauvecherie-writes @purplelewlew @arshiyuh @yeea-nah @alika-4466 @louvrepool @sheluvsf1

imessage: THE OFFICE 🏎️

y/n: i just got my braids done losers

charlie w a ferrari: but the season’s over, we won’t see it :(

carlito: plus didn’t you already have them done last month?

landinhoooo: no guys december braids usually mean a vacation, so where are you going? 🤨

y/n: firstly, you know wayyyy too much about the braids thing 😭

honey badger: that was oddly specific i have to say, lan

yukibae: yeah that was weird

landinhoooo: wtv 🙄 where are you going, y/n!

y/n: my mother is requesting the presence of all of you so you’re all coming back home with me 🤭

carlito: mi vida, wouldn’t that be too soon? winter break just started

kika’s bf: also how would it work? accommodation, transport, all those things

y/n: are you saying no to an african mother?

lew <3: guys say yes, she’ll show up to your house and force you

alexander!: not to mention it’s summer that side (she kidnapped one of my cats, say yes)

princess george: okay, let’s say we all go. what is going to happen?

y/n: i’m just saying, you haven’t lived if you haven’t never experienced a South African summer

mad max: I don’t know, y/n. just please don’t guilt trip us

mickey schumi: i can already feel her frown from here

y/n: i was going to pay for everything but since none of you want to go, i’m saving money 🤭

landinho: wait

kika’s bf: wait hold on

charlie w a ferrari: why didn’t you say so in the first place?!

honey badger: now that you’ll be our sugar mommy, ofc we’ll all be there

princess george: that clears out so much

y/n: you guys are a bunch of IDIOTS

alexander!: there has to be a catch???

landinho: ALEX SHUT UP WE’RE GOING ON A FREE TRIP

carlito: we’ll even dance to that one music playlist of yours

y/n: all of you have to wear my merch next season and you’ll let me win two races back to back

mad max: now y/n-

y/n: uh oh! looks like max is paying for everything!

charlie w a ferrari: JUST SAY YES

mad max: okay, you’ll win two races and i’ll slow down

princess george: i just did some quick research and y/n, you’re seen as a national treasure??? and lewis is considered Nelson Mandela’s grandchild??

y/n: well, yes! don’t question my country, okay? 🫶🏽

yukibae: yes ma’am 🫡

oscahhh: i went for a run, what did i miss??

landinho: we’re going on a trip and y/n is paying 😝

honey badger: except max, he’s paying for his own things

mad max: i’m not??

y/n: three races and i’ll get you a new console

kika’s bf: CAN I HAVE ONE??

landinho: NOOO I NEED ONE, PLS Y/N

y/n: we all earn millions every race??? get it yourself????

kika’s bf: i’m going to tell kika you’re bullying me

y/n: she’s coming on the trip too along with all the other wags 🤭

yukibae: and where’s YOUR wag, y/n? 🤨

y/n: yuki shhh pls i’ll literally buy you an island

charlie w a ferrari: NUH UH YUKI TELL US

landinho: yuki what do you know

princess george: whoever isn’t y/n’s wag, say so RN

everyone: NOT ME

lew <3: damn

landinho: I KNEW ITTTTTT

honey badger: IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW AHHH

alexander!: I HAVE TO GO TELL LILY

oscahhh: have you guys never seen them interact in the media pen? it’s like they’ve been married for 27 years

logang: and how do YOU know that

oscahhh: mate, you told me

y/n: 🙄

y/n: go pack for this trip before i shave your eyebrows 🫶🏽

y/n’s instagram story

seen by kehlani, ferrari and 34,282,722 others

-

“There’s no way you got cars for all of us.” George and everyone else really couldn’t believe that the lengths you went through to make this trip as perfect as you could. “Not to mention booking out the Four Seasons!” Carmen interjected, walking next to her boyfriend.

You watched as everyone filed into the Mercedes vans waiting for them on the airport runway where the large jet had landed. You couldn’t believe you got everyone to come to South Africa in the first place but guilt tripping them had worked a charm, complaining that you don’t have a home race and that your mom would be pissed.

Very easy to fool these guys.

The skies of Johannesburg weren’t all too clear but you could tell that it was summer. Deciding to rather catch up with everyone at the hotel a bit later, you used a private exit to the airport so that you could visit your mom and sister before anything else. Plus you knew a big deal would’ve been made if you had announced that you were coming home so posting will do for now.

“Bathong, where are your friends? I thought you’d all come here.” Your mother said whilst setting up the extremely long table in her backyard so you were sat on a pool chair just watching her.

bathong - more of an expression of confusion or shock

“It was going to look suspicious if i came here with all these people with the same vans following each other.” You replied. “I booked the Four Seasons, it should be big enough for all of us.”

“Oh okay, that’s fancy. So where’s your boyfriend?” Your mom asked with a grin on her face that earned a head shake from you.

“Ukuphi uLerai?” Where’s Lerai? (younger sister)

“Usaseskholeni. Unfuna ukuyomlanda?” Your mom replied. She’s still at school. Do you want to go fetch her?

“Yeah, i want to surprise her. So let me go and I’ll see you later when I drop her off.” You stood up, saying goodbyes to her as your mom went about what she doing.

Hopping in one of your various cars that you kept in your mother’s garages, you quickly texted your boyfriend when an idea popped in your head.

imessages!

y/n: do you want to cause a bit of chaos

lew <3: sigh

lew <3: what kind?

y/n: i’ll pick you up rn and we’re going to pick my sister up from school 😝

lew <3: should i be scared?

y/n: slightly, see you in a few 😚

-

To say you caused a bit of chaos would be an understatement. You hadn’t realised that your sister’s school was huge and this whole time, you forgot what you and your boyfriend did for a living. Picture this: a Lamborghini Urus parked outside where many high school kids are obsessed with it, you and Lewis stepping out to call your little sister, kids recognise you two, you apologise to your sister with ice cream.

You end the day off with lounging in the room with your boyfriend, laughing at the reactions of your fans to the news of you being in the country. You had planned this whole visit out, wanting everyone to get their rentals tomorrow morning then taking them everywhere.

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, bellahadid and 937,728 others

yourusername home 🇿🇦

view comments

user there’s no fucking way, YOU’RE BACK??

yourusername and i’m with my FRIENDS 🤭

youryoungersister a facetime would be nice next time 🧍🏽‍♀️

yourusername well, no!

landonorris y/n, what is a kota?

yourusername if you’re up for it, we can get some today

georgerussell okay but what IS it

yourusername DON’T WORRY

georgerussell I’M WORRIED

carlossainz55 you didn’t say it was going to be this hot

charles_leclerc she warned us mate 😭

danielricciardo btw max is still hanging out with that cat he found at breakfast

lilymhe i’m obsessed with this place, i never want to leave

francisca.cgomes you’re still in the hotel room 🫤

alexandrasaintmleux i just googled gold reef city, CAN WE GOOO PLS

alex_albon WHATS THAT

loganseargent IT’S AN AMUSEMENT PARK

user i just drove in the four seasons driveway, guys there are so many cars lined up for them 😭

user she comes to the country when i decide to LEAVE??

dbngogo stfu you’re back? 🥹 come to Konka 🫵🏽

landonorris WHAT’S THAT

dbngogo it’s a nightclub 🤭

sza CAN I JOIN Y’ALL

yourusername ofc bae

lewishamilton there’s a flower bouquet that says Mandela’s grandchild for me 🧍‍♂️

user oh fuck he knows the joke

georgerussell told you

f1 y/n bring back our drivers 😣

yourusername bring back kyalami then we’ll talk

user oop-

-

SOWETO

south western township

Not wanting to waste any time, Y/n scooped up her friends to visit her hometown, where she grew up and dreamed of this very moment.

The convoy of extremely expensive cars that sped through the route to Soweto had caught the attention of many people, including the news that announced your arrival.

Briefing the boys (and the girls) on their menu choices of your favourite foods, they all equally decided that they’ll start training when they get back home. With the food place being right across a park with a large parking lot, it was convenient for you.

Being the host for this whole trip, you went ahead and ordered for everyone, speaking through the hole in the wall to specify orders and paying a hefty price including drinks. You watched as all your friends climbed out of their respective cars, leaning and sitting on the hoods of the cars as they all bonded. The vibrant atmosphere of your home country made everything feel like summertime.

Getting help carrying all that food to the group, everyone took their orders and observed them. “So, amagwinya are fat cakes, they’re very filling. A Kota is a uncut loaf of bread with stuff inside like hot chips, sausages and other things that you can specify for your Kota.” You explained, everyone immediately digging in and their faces said it all.

“And for you, Lew, you can have the fat cakes and the hot chips. I have to say, you’ll be full for the entire day.” You turned to your boyfriend who gave you a kiss before trying the food.

Later that day, dinner at your mother’s was a success, everyone finishing their plates and sharing different stories under the Johannesburg stars.

The next day was filled with fun activities, hitting up the amusement park Gold Reef City then late night karting, the friendship between everyone was growing as smiles never left their faces.

a week later

yourusername

liked by patooward, mclaren and 3,728,912 others

yourusername south africa my baby, it’s been amazing 🇿🇦

view comments

landonorris take me back (we’re checking out of Four Seasons)

danielricciardo and what about your gf that you met? 🤨

landonorris she’s coming to the next race 🫡

maxverstappen33 three wins and that’s it

yourusername do you want me to tell on you to my mom?

maxverstappen33 no 😨

charles_leclerc i need another kota

alexandrasaintmleux we’re actually shaking for one right now

yourusername askies 🤣 sorry

loganseargent never thought i’d ever be an avid lover of amapiano

user what multiverse are we in that Logan, the most american person to ever exist, is saying this

user it’s the South Africa effect baby 😝🇿🇦

lewishamilton can we come here every winter break?

carlossainz55 can we please? all my joy is at Gold Reef City

alex_albon i just want her mother’s cooking again, changed my life

f1 y/n, what did you do to our drivers

yourusername if you add kyalami to the calendar, you’ll know 😚

lilymhe someone gave me a painting of you and i will be hanging it in my home

francisca.cgomes to complete the shrine

landonorris to our Sugar Mother Y/n

yukitsunoda i got all the recipes, i’m ready

yourusername we need 20 kotas stat! 🫵🏽

oscarpiastri even your money looks so cool 😭

user if this is not the greatest representation of our country, i don’t know what it is

mercedesamgf1 can we join next time? 😔

yourusername no

tyla I LOVE YOU

yourusername I LOVE YOUUUU

-

saint’s notes: ahhhhhh hope y’all enjoyed! mwah 😝 i tried but it feels sorta rushed?? idk, let me know

[earlysunshines]

pretty in pink

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; smut, cursing (minors, men dni)

synopsis: sana looks good in pink, you look good in sana.

wc: 2k

a/n: top sana stan nation rise

-

keeping your eyes off sana was impossible, it was a fact and everyone knew it.

sana’s face was just perfect, there wasn’t a slight imperfection anywhere.

her features were undeniably sharp, everything about her was so distinct and captivating. the way her eyes had drilled into yours was unmatched, they had a certain force in them that pulled you in with ease. down her face was her nose, and the curve of it is so incredibly flawless—if it were something to be made in a workshop; there’s no doubt that it would be crafted by the hands of hephaestus and blessed by aphrodite. you're met with her lips when you travel down her face; which, can be compared to a captivating work of art. sana’s lips were like a piece of heaven: soft and beautiful in their simplicity, but they’re dangerous in the way that they can be an irresistible temptation, comparable to a forbidden fruit.

kissing her was a treasure beyond measure, a gift from heaven—but there were times when it felt almost sinful, a delight beyond shame.

hearing sana lose herself to your touch was a sensation too good to resist; the last thing you thought of as sana moaned into your lips was how sinful it was. if nipping and marking sana’s neck until it resembled the color of roses was shameful, then you were shameless.

sana grinds against the silicone of the pink strap you have on, the one you had bought just to use on her like this. the way she grinds on it has the strap stimulating you equally as much, and the pleasure that pulses in your core has a low, breathy “fuck,” escape your lips as your senses start to overwhelm. your curses are warm on sana’s neck, almost burning with each small, breathy groan against it.

her cunt is soaked, you can tell from the way the silicone brushes against her folds with ease, and each time the strap grazed against her clit, a high, needy, and whine was heard. you needed more, you needed her screaming.

you pull your lips off her marked neck, making sure to take a moment to gaze at your crimson-colored artwork. sana has her hands around your neck, though the way you’re bucking your hips while she simultaneously gyrates against your cock has her hands moving down and scratching at your bare, toned back. her nails dig deep into your skin and it extricates small hints of a scarlet, liquid essence. it hurts so fucking good.

the sight of sana looking at you with an insatiable craving in her eyes drove you crazy. her eyes looked into yours with a sense of longing, with an impassioned thirst. her rosy, swollen lips were bitten down slightly to suppress the filthy, whiny noises that were trying to seep out—but you couldn’t let her keep quiet now, could you?

“baby,” you coo, moving your fingertips to the side of her hips and then setting your hands on them to control the motion and pace of her heat grinding against you. it elicits a sharp breath from your girlfriend. “my pretty girl… so wet for me, hm?”

sana shuts her eyes and strings of whiny, shaky dragged-out moans spill out from her puffy, saliva-glazed lips as you forcefully use your hands that move her hips to make the pink strap brush against her sweet spot in a harsh, speedy manner. the overwhelming feeling in her abdomen grew, and it felt as if waves of pleasure were rushing over her—waves that she would soon drown in.

sana’s close and you can feel it, you can hear and see it.

“f-fuck,” she sighs breathlessly as you push her against the silicone with a stronger force. “baby, i’m, oh fuck-“

with another harsh motion of your hands, sana’s clit comes into contact with the strap and she completely loses herself.

a loud cry slips from sana’s lips, and she’s gasping out something—which is completely incoherent—then slowing down the pace at which her hips move against your length. sana’s arousal covers the silicone of your strap, making it glisten a bit under the dim lights of your shared bedroom.

the sight and sound of her added to the feeling of the material against your walls, it has you following with your own orgasm soon after. you reach your high with a loud curse escaping your lips as you prop yourself up on the bed with your elbows and lean back in ecstasy, your fingers gripping the sheets.

sana bites her lip at the sight of you with your eyes closed and lips parted, she’s still trembling in your lap, but one of the hands that had been gripping your shoulders reaches up to run a hand through your disheveled hair. she moves the strands that cover your features away so that she can see the rest of your face, taking in the sight of flushed cheeks and lidded eyes.

you admire the sight in front of you, eye fucking your girlfriend and taking in her look.

the laced, pink bra she has on covers her chest, and you think you’ll let it stay on for a moment before you rip it off her later—it’d be a waste to get rid of something she looks so damn hot in so quickly.

sana also has on a pink cowgirl hat, something she’d gotten from a friend and you were glad they gave it to her because she looked so effortlessly perfect in it; your little cowgirl, all pink and pretty for you in her pink laced bra, pink hat, and on your pink, slick covered strap.

“ready to ride baby?” you ask, tilting your head and grazing her cheek with your thumb.

sana nods obediently, biting her lip and humming—it sounds more like a whine.

“that’s my girl.” you coo lowly, smirking at the lovely sight.

despite the fact that the silicone is covered in sana’s arousal, you reach for the small bottle of lube on the nightstand and put a good amount of it on your hand, and you stroke the pink, slick-covered material, coating it with lube just for your little cowgirl.

as you stroke, sana eyes you, everything is so enticing. from the look in your eyes as you stroke, to the throbbing feeling in her core, she smiles at everything, though it’s much easier to compare that smile on her face to a sly smirk. she rubs her hips against you to satisfy the craving she has as you stroke, impatient for your length to fill her.

“ready?” you ask, holding your dick in place and positioning it for her. sana nods in anticipation and hovers above it, teasing the tip with her folds. the feeling of your tip makes her gasp, she closes her eyes and her mouth opens a bit—though the sounds are caught in her throat.

“fuck,” she murmurs, wincing at the feeling of you filling her up. “it’s, shit- it’s oh, fuck, baby,”

sana’s gasps have you throbbing, and the deeper you find yourself inside of her, the more that sensation in your core grows.

your girlfriend sets herself down on your length fully, taking the time to adjust to the size and feel of it. sana breathes out with her head back and eyes shut, you move to kiss her neck.

“good?”

“mhm.” sana hums and you feel her hips start to circle. “feels good baby,”

sudden pleasure courses through you as the silicone that’s within your walls hits you in the right way, and there’s an unexpected groan that leaves your lips, making you buck your hips into her. one hand props you up while the other has a steady hold on sana’s waist as she grinds on you, the room is filled with filthy noises as you start to build a consistent pace, and god it’s so alluring.

sana’s usually the one that has the work done for her, but this time you’re letting yourself sit back and enjoy the show.

the more sana rides, the more you realize that you could get used to these rodeos.

your pupils are fully dilated as you watch sana lean back and slide up and down on your cock, which matches the color of what she has on. it’s a wonderful sight, really, you’d settle for this rather than any exhibit. sana’s expression changes with each noise that’s made from her ass slapping against your skin as she fucks herself on your cock; her brows crease and she bites her lip with each thrust, and the whines she lets out are like music to your ears, sounds that no symphony could rival, noises that make your hand grip at her ass just so the volume of each whimper and moan are louder.

you decide to stop watching and start helping sana reach her high. kisses are scattered all over her upper chest and the thought of her cumming all over your length is something that you need to hear and see.

you begin to thrust into her yourself, moving your hips up into her and filling her up even more, which elicits incoherent cries, whines, and high-pitched moans from sana. her grip on your back and shoulders is unpredictable, you feel the sharp pain of her nails pinching your skin near your upper back muscle, and then back to your shoulders every now and then as her hands start to reach out for anything; they seem to have a mind of their own.

“fuck, so- so big,” sana says in a strained voice, eyes shutting and her arm wrapping around your neck as she bounces on your cock. “baby, fuck m’ gonna-“ she’s cut off with her own cry, and her head sinks down to your shoulder, biting down on it to suppress the uncontrollable noises that flee her mouth.

sana’s pace on you slows down, but your thrusting quickens.

with each clap, there’s another sharp, shaky yelp that slips from her lips, and her breath is growing hotter every time she moans into your skin.

“c’mon baby,” you murmur. your voice is trembling a bit, even trailing off from the lack of breath you have from the overwhelming sensation in your stomach.

“oh my god, y/n, fuck please-“ sana groans. “baby, y/n, fuck,”

the two of you are close, and it’s clear.

your lips meet hers in a shuddering, messy kiss; tongues dancing and teeth biting at lips. the sounds are so sinful, the clapping echoing in the room and the stretched-out pleas—it’s so explicit, so obscene, and the both of you are so incredibly turned on that your brains are all hazy, words can’t form, and all you can focus on is the immense amount of pleasure being given to one another.

a few more thrusts and the two of you drown in a tsunami of bliss, moaning each other’s names and gripping onto each other as you tremble and catch your breaths.

lips meet one another and they’re numb, crimson, and swollen—that doesn’t stop you from making out messily, kissing lazily with loud groans in between.

the two of you pull away with lidded eyes, still smoky with desire in them. you and your girlfriend smile at each other tiredly, then you make your way to kiss sana’s jaw, mumbling something against it that makes sana’s breath shake.

“lay down for me baby, i’ll make you feel good,” you smirk against her neck, “let me fuck you till’ you’re dumb.”

sana throws her hat across the room and lets you unclasp her bra, and she knows you’re going to completely ruin her.

the thought of you ruining her makes her pussy throb again, pulsing at the husky tone of your voice. sana lets you set her down on the bed, and you do it so gently. you stand up and in between her legs, stroking the silicone and rubbing it against her folds, smirking down at her hungrily.

“that’s my girl.” you mumble, biting your lip.

feeling generous with the nayeon and sana fic back to back

[chrollogy]

LIMELIGHT | short series masterlist (on hiatus)

ft. miya atsumu x f!reader

synopsis: An inebriated one night stand in the City of Love with a mystery man loops you into the shackles of a chaotic scandal after finding out that he’s a professional volleyball player for the MSBY Black Jackals, and also a part of the men’s national olympic volleyball team. This wouldn’t be a huge problem if the tabloids didn’t stir up rumours about your relationship with a co-artist months prior. Now, the media thinks you’re a cheater.

With your reputation on the line as Japan’s treasured artist, you’re forced to navigate through the ropes of publicity stunts with Miya Atsumu—acting like a make-believe sugary couple under the watchful gaze of newshounds, and observant fans until the scandal dies down. It’s all strictly business until feelings get involved.

content warning: fake dating au, pop artist!reader, fluff, smut (first chap; mdni), drunken ONS, consensual s*x, messy scandal, implied alcohol use, angst, mutual pining, slow burn, strangers to lovers, requited unrequited love, miscommunication, implied cheating (falsely accused), suggestive themes + more tags tba!

CHAPTERS:

teaser. Exercise routine

i. Mystery man in Paris

ii. His name? Miya Atsumu

iii. A meeting

iv. tba

v. tba

vi. tba

want to be updated? fill in the taglist form! 37/50 slots (open)

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ehehehee a new tsumu series?? as usual, this will be a slow update so yeeee!!! hope u all enjoy this journey with me <3

—

© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my video.

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

My precious treasures ✦ *.✧ *.✦

✦ *.✧.* Being childhood friends with Seishiro Nagi created a world just for you and him. Then Mikage Reo comes along with his energetic charm busting it all the pieces and you don't know what to do. Word Count: 2.9k / Nagi x f!reader x Reo Tags: childhood friends to high school love birds, sfw, character study, not that beta'd ───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ───────────── A/N: My first posted story here! ლ(◉‿◉ ლ) finally... pls interact if you want more, I don't usually write short stories so sorry this is so long. Grand ideas for nsfw later hehe. Let me know what you think!

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

At first it was more of a chore to be friends with Nagi Seishiro than have what you define as a functioning friendship.

He was lazy, lazy in a way that you needed to check up on him daily just to make sure he wasn't passed out in his house. Not only that he was stubborn, stubborn in the sense that if the building was burning down vs. a high score on the newest game you definitely be attending a funeral the next day. Lastly, he's honest, honest to a fault where you have seen him deny so many confessions because 'they weren't like (Y/N).'

That always made your heart beat a little faster than healthy, but a little abnormality made life interesting right?

Ever since you were little you looked after Nagi. Whether it was coming to his empty house after his parents business trip was taking longer than usual, or after school grabbing ice cream (for yourself) then heading to the local arcade (for him).

It wasn't perfect, but it was something you gotten used to.

It wasn't until high school that your world began to shift.

You both went to the same school. A prep school known for its rounded curriculum, national sport teams and most importantly its connections.

You could find anyone here; the daughter of the Tamayo hospitality known for their five star hotels, half of the directors on the school board are wealthy investors looking for their next big venture and the most popular find would be Reo Mikage, the heir of the Mikage corporation.

A world outside her own and Nagi's.

It was by luck that you got accepted into this high school (plus countless nights of studying and coffee overdrive). Nagi on the other hand is a "genius". At least that's what his parents call him, they congratulated him with a quick three minute phone call and enough money to buy the newest game on the market.

You have never called Nagi a genius. Not that you don't agree, but it felt cold to define him as one and not as Nagi. The one who would always cheer you up by knowing your favorite sweets, turn on your favorite TV show while you be cooking at his house.

Nagi is Nagi.

He is your treasure.

A couple weeks later, spring started to turn into summer and with that beginning shift of your life.

It started with Nagi coming home with dirty cleats hanging off his school backpack and a jersey stained with grass.

"You've joined a club?"

Nagi gives a nod before flopping on the couch, you frowned, "Hey take a bath first, you're filthy." With that comment all you see is a bed of silver hair roll onto the floor with a grunt.

A short dinner later, a couple rounds of the newest Tekken game and you were off to study back at your own house. Putting on your shoes Nagi shouts from upstairs

"Hey (Y/N), you don't need to come here after school everyday."

You stop fidgeting with your shoe ties before twisting back to meet Nagi leaning against the wall. Towel over his head and droplets of water dripping down his neck to a barely exposed collar bone.

Your head whips down to your shoelaces, ears turning red. You don't meet his eyes as multiple thoughts spiral in your head, "If I don't come over who is going to make sure you eat?"

You expect a laugh, a shrug of the shoulder what you don't expect is a name.

"Reo."

You freeze. Reo Mikage the most popular guy in school, not Reo-san or Reo-kun just Reo.

It was almost as if Nagi could read your thoughts because he slumps further against the wall, "Its a pain, and football is not as fun as playing games, but Reo is ok." He says as if that explained the whole picture.

You want to ask a million questions. Oh Nagi how did you meet the heir of the Mikage corporation that literal net worth is in the billions, or why do you call him without honorifics?

"That's- um, great?" You try to compliment, because you don't know if this is a 'great' thing or not. You have never seen Nagi even touch a football in your whole time knowing him, let alone make a friend on first name basis in a week.

Nagi walks up to you as you fiddle with the unclipped thread tearing at the bottom of your shirt. He gives a small pat on the head, hesitant, the same form of love he use when you both first were 'required' to hang out with each other during your childhood days. It meant "you're alright" or "you got this" used after a tumble at the local park or if Nagi didn't go easy on you with his video games leaving you in a teary mess.

Today, it felt different.

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

When you first met Mikage Reo you don't have good impression.

He has weird purple colored hair that you aren't sure is dyed or natural, a charismatic smile used by snakes of the business world and most importantly his refers to Nagi as "his treasure".

Now that just makes your blood boil.

Boil in a way that this sparkling water that you were barely sipping, out of a champagne flute while sitting on leather seats in a six person limo, would soon turn into boiling water that you "accidentally" drop (throw) into the heir of Mikage corporations lap.

Before thoughts come into reality, you see Nagi smoothly whisking your glass away before swallowing the bubbly mess in one gulp.

Mikage-san brightens as he pours another glass for Nagi before continuing his spew about becoming the best football star in the world or something like that.

Breaking away from Mikage-san's own world you stare at Nagi his brows twisted in concentration as he swirls a full glass clear bubbles.

You lean over, chin barely reaching his shoulder as you whisper, "You like bubbly water?"

He gives a pained expression, probably read as a blank expression from someone who did not grow up with Nagi.

"I hate the taste."

You tone becomes confused, "Then why drink mine?"

Nagi looks into the glass before taking another sip, lips frowning before turning towards the window instead of answering.

He didn't touch the rest of his glass the remainder of the car ride.

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

School continued as usual. You go to homeroom as the teacher talked about the latest events happening this week. You go through the classes in similar style, homework, correction, lecture, questions until you finally be released for lunch.

Lunch, a usual fixture of leftovers you and Nagi shared from the night before wrapped with a blue cloth with printed on bunnies for cuteness. You were about to go find Nagi until purple hair entered the classroom making his way to your desk.

If only you could be swallowed by the ground right now.

"(Y/N)-san! Im so glad I found you." Clear enthusiasm shone in his eyes, he had a presence that announced himself to the whole class room. Everybody was looking at you two.

Bloody murder that what you think but you give a smile before tilting your head, "Ah. Mikage-san is there a reason you need me?"

He sits down on the chair in front of you, legs split leaning close to your unopened bento, "I was wondering if you could tell me about Nagi."

Oh. He was on first name basis also.

He looks down before smiling bashfully, "Sorry! I know it's lunch right now please eat."

You frown wishing you could be anywhere but here, as you crack open the bento revealing small rolled eggs cut into triangles and half a hamburger steak placed next to seaweed rice along with a small amount of cut out vegetables.

The boy in front of you eyes widened as you take your first bite, "Woah that looks like the one Nagi brought to lunch." A second he blurts out, "You cook for him?"

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a maid, rather than a friend and it doesn't leave a good taste in your mouth.

"It's easier to cook for two instead of one." You interject taking a mouthful of egg, hopefully you could chew this one piece as long as the lunch break.

Reo hums before continuing, "Nagi likes hamburger steak?"

"He likes crab." And you choke because why did you feel the need to prove yourself against a boy Nagi met a week ago.

Reo grins like a cat before leaning backwards, "Crab is a good choice though I rather eat steak." He looks at your meal, "What about you (Y/N)-san?"

After taking a gulp of water you beat your chest, coughing, "Ice- cough Ice cream."

Purple iris blinked before he gives a laugh leaning his head back exposing the curve of his Adam's apple- which no you were not looking just observing- before ducking your head back into your meal. He wipes a tear away from his eye, "Ice cream isn't a meal you know."

You give a shrug not wanting to continue, "It taste good." A pause and a smaller voice, "especially salty cream flavor."

Mikage-san gives an all knowing nod before he talks all about his favorite type of he emphasizes "desserts" until the lunch bell rings.

A couple days later the heir invites both you and Nagi to lunch, where it is a spread of crab dishes and lastly to clean the palate is salty vanilla ice cream.

...He's not terrible you guess.

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

Things even get more confusing as football season went into full swing. The whole school was abuzz about Aomori Dadada High, one of the best high school team playing against a prep school during before Kanto tour was unheard of.

It wasn't until you heard Reo-san at the dinner table the other night, complain about how "easy" it was to stroke those "muscle head egos" and get them to play a game later in the week, getting the upper hand on his father or something like that.

Oh. How could you forget, Nagi started to invite Reo to dinner every night after football practice (which was every night). You stared at the two of them across the dinner table, currently munching on smoked mackerel spitting out bones.

"We could have had special grade tuna tonight if you just let Ba-ya drop by the market!" The purple head complained as he stuck a fin in his mouth to suck on. You've learned earlier that the comment wasn't more about your cooking but more about "living the fullest of life". Reo-san always had the most empty plate after dinner.

"It's fine- I be more worried if I ended up cooking it wrong and Nagi eat your carrots." You point to the carrots pushed to the side of his plate.

He gives a whine, pushing them back and forwards before looking over, "But you aren't eating your tomatoes..."

You put a hand over your miso soup, three cherry tomatoes bobbing lifelessly, covering it from scrutinizing eyes.

"I- they are sour today!"

Nagi lets out a non committal hum as Reo comments, "but tomatoes are good for your skin."

"My skin is fine Reo-san."

"She's already pretty Reo."

A pause before simultaneously all of you turned a different shade of red. Reo is the first to break the silence hands flailing, "He means you could be a model! You know the ones that are on the bulletin board promoting Calpico fresh!"

The red on your cheek darkens before you mumble, "I've only seen the ads with the girls in swimsuits." On the way to school there be smiling girl holding a bottle of Calico fresh as the showed just enough cleavage to the camera but not enough to distract you from the product itself. They all had flawless photoshopped skin tucked into a tight yellow bikini.

Reo, face as red as yours now (probably remembered the same ad), cries before ducking his face into his hands, "I mean the ad with the school uniform!" Before he gives a groan, "That sounds even worse."

You look at Nagi, the instigator as he stared at the curves of his fish bones a faint cherry red painted on the tip of his ears before he mutters, "Yellow is nice."

You kick both him and Reo underneath the table as you pop a cherry from your soup into your mouth urging them out of the kitchen so you could clean in peace.

.

.

.

It's game day, and you have not wanted (or did you) to continue that conversation at the dinner table. Instead you kept your head down sipping on now a mix of orange and cranberry juice in the Mikage's limo instead of that bubbly monstrosity people says is water.

Life has gone on rather normally other than the new friendship with Reo-san. What was more noticeable was instead of the yellow bikinied girl posing on a billboard it was now replaced with a more family friendly ad showing a girl in a summer uniform, head tilting back as she drank Calpico fresh, the word "refreshing" curved on top of her head.

You blinked, staring at the Mikage heir, him refusing to make eye contact with you.

Money could do anything.

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

There was excitement in school that day. People gossiped about how Aomori Dadada high school would be arriving and that this be the spectacle of the year.

After the last bell rang you could see almost all the classroom make a mad dash towards the field. You included though behind the mass of crowd as you see figures on the field facing what seemed to be students two times their muscle build.

You're glad this wasn't American football, you know you be seeing Reo-san and Nagi in the nearest hospital.

"Miss (Y/N-san)." You turn to Reo's personal attendant an elderly lady who stood a good two heads taller than you, back hunched but suit bulking with muscle.

You give a greeting, "Ba-ya-san, weather is nice today." You look past the ocean of people noticing the kick off, "Think they will win?"

A chuckle answers your questions as she nods, "Though Mr. Mikage-sama does not agree with his son's decisions they share simmilarities, talent seeks talent Ms. (Y/N)-san."

Your eye brow rises, "That's why Reo-san is attached to Nagi? Because of talent?" The ball flies into the air as the crowd erupts into a roar you can barely hear the elderly women reply.

"Do you not agree?"

You shrug.

"No." You think about the more lively lunches, Nagi coming home exhausted with a hint of a smile, Reo eventually joining for dinner every night. You heart twinges with sadness as the whistle blows announcing the first goal of the inning. Nagi being tackled by Reo the two of them barely balancing on two feet.

"It just seems more than talent, that's all."

──────────── ✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.* ────────────

Your world is shifting, rapidly.

From a singular world that revolved around Nagi Seishiro, Reo Mikage was forcing himself in this pocket of happiness. You be lying if you said you didn't mind before, but now his presence would be missed if he stopped hanging out with you both.

Reading through Nagi's letter from the Blue Lock Project, identical to Reo's letter (other than name) felt like vertigo.

Reo had excitement showing on his face, Nagi a look of boredom and you?

What type of look were you making right now?

"It's huge news (Y/N)! This is the first step of becoming top of the world, not only that but we will be meeting other stepping stones there that will take us further." He puts an arm over Nagi's shoulder who was playing on his phone, "We will become the best players in the world."

Again, like the start of Nagi's football journey you give a congratulations, "It's- ah" You look for the words a moment before you decide:

It felt like they were both leaving you behind, because talent craves talents and you, what did you do? A world of you Nagi and Reo was not seeming that realistic but you knew you had to answer as expectant purple eyes brimming with excitement waited for your answer.

"It's wonderful."

It must of not been the right word because Reo's face drops and Nagi even pauses his game sits up shuffling closer before he reaches out for you, "Don't do that."

You frowned, "Do what?"

He puts a hand on your cheek, cold, as he gently pressing his thumb against the bottom of your eyes rubbing back and forward.

"Cry."

You laugh, a type of laugh that gets caught in your throat, "I'm not though." Nagi grey eyes focused on you keeps pressing his thumb against you cheek as Reo reaches over taking your hands pressing them together to stop them from shaking, rubbing small circles against your wrists.

You didn't even realize you were shaking.

The heir's voice dropped into a soothing voice, reassuring, "It says a couple months..." He grins, confidence flooding his face, "But it will take only a couple weeks knowing how talented I am and how genius Nagi is." He hasn't stopped rubbing circles.

You sight, leaning into Nagi's hand as he moves his hand to the back of your nap massaging the tension, "You guys will eat healthy, right?"

Reo squeezed his hands against your as Nagi hums in agreement.

"And you guys will be together? You won't miss me?"

It was instantaneous.

"How could we not!" Purple irises burn with sincerity.

"It be hard not to miss you." Lazy eyes blink.

You give a small laugh leaning against Nagi's shoulder and gave a tight squeeze against Reo's in agreement. It was hard to believe Nagi was your only treasure before Reo butted into your life, I guess now you had two.

"Okay. I'll wait for you both to come back then."

[luucypevensie]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BESTIE FAE @daughter-of-melpomene! The Lucy to my Susan, I am so grateful for you and your brilliant light everyday! Enjoy this playlist for our fave boy/Lizzie’s fave human being Laurens!

[calisources]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences has been taken from different media and soruces about life in the royal court, involving the introgue of succession, war, marriage, kings and queens and tournaments. Most of this are acceptable for all audience except one with some foul language. Chance names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.

You don't know a woman until you've met her in court.

A queen keeps a court that is spoken about. A goddess keeps a court that is never forgotten.

And you, lady? Are you a woman of conscience or of ambition?

That's a question rarely asked here at court.

Court games aren't fair. They don't judge men by their worth, and they aren't about what's just.

We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would make us believe .

Either you break the law, or the law breaks you.

There is no playacting in this court. If you stay your hand, they will cut it off.

Power does not pardon, power punishes.

Listen! The court jester's cap and bells. The King is coming!

He was a man with a vision- and an extraordinary vision it was.

The cat who lived in the Palace had been awarded the head-dress of nobility and was called Lady Myobu.

In every reign there comes one night of greatest blackness, when a King must send away his court of flatterers and servants, and sit alone in the dark with the beast called truth.

It is important to refuse to be intimidated.

They all come innocent in court.

Is that how you get propositioned at the court? 'Mylady, would you be so kind as to allow me to put my manhood in your vagina'?

They used to say that, in a battle between the lion and the tiger, the winner was the monkey, who watched from a distance.

Men love those creatures that need to be taken care of.

 If you want to tame a lioness you need to become a lion, not a goat. 

 A doe is easier to keep.

The woman did not care for empty compliments; to get such a woman, one needed to put forth effort.

I’m a terrible prince. I should put my kingdom first and everything else second, but your first. I want you by my side every second . . .

Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia.

She calls herself the Queen of Narnia thought she has no right to be queen at all.

Plenty of people have told me you are not my father.

It is necessary for a prince to have the people friendly.”

Royalty is not a right, Captain. The willingness of the people to follow a ruler is what gives her power.

Here, in this place, by this people, I have been chosen. 

These men are tired of being told whom to follow. Now they have a choice, and they use that choice to call me Princess.

I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. 

A prince ought also to show himself a patron of ability, and to honour the proficient in every art.

You should never have been only a little girl, you should have always been a crown princess.

You knew you would be sending me away?

A born king is a very rare being.

The world will need to know that I’m the last royal left. Their queen.

There’s royalty in me, but stronger than that there is adventure.

My life is the Crown and yours is politics, and I will not trade one prison for another.

Dignity is trained into royal children before they can toddle.

The first year of marriage is not always easy, especially within the Royal Family.

The real intelligence in the royal family comes through my parents .

The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.

The royal road to a man's heart is to talk to him about the things he treasures most.

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.

The winner will marry the prince.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

That is acceptable. A king is a martyr to their ideals.

f I rule the nation as king, I cannot ask to live as a person.

A wise king never seeks out war, but... he must always be ready for it.

All men need something greater than themselves to look up to and worship. They must be able to touch the divine here on earth

I am the First Imperial Princess of the Misurugi Empire! 

You can tell she's a princess, she doesn't need a crown.

You, sir, are the most uncharming prince I have ever met! In fact, the only thing royal about you is that you are a royal pain.

No one ever told her "no." 

 In no time at flat, she'll get herself established as his official mistress, with her own rooms at the palace.

These men are my bodyguards, their lives forfeit to the guarantee of my physical safety. Of their loyalty to me, there shall be no question nor doubt.

Some balls are held for charity And some for fancy dress, But when they're held for pleasure They're the balls that I like best.

Be careful of what women with gowns plan, specially in a ballroom. 

The art of husband seeking is something every woman has been trained since birth.

Many wives and consorts, of course.

Who is to rule when I am gone? You are a princess. I have no son.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Did I not mention there was another?

A king must always have an heir and a spare.

He was born to be a king... He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him.

Two knights off to rescue a princess. Sounds like a great song.

As the king's brother, you should've been first in line!

 I was first in line. Until the little hairball was born.

That "hairball" is my son, and your future king.

My parents were... rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold.

It cannot be easy being the youngest prince. To have others expect nothing from you, yet still shake their heads in disapproval.

 If my uncle attacks King's Landing I'll ride out to meet him.

You are in need of serious princess lessons.

 You're the new ruler of Mechanicsburg. You need to act like it.

Every princess needs a battle axe. Here. Use this one until we find you something more impressive.

You know what they used to write on cannons? The last argument of kings. I guess you could say magic is the last argument of queens.

A tournament has been arranged in your name, so you must attend and make yourself presentable.

They hope to find me a husband here. They said I am already a woman bled.

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Couch surfer in his 30s. Oscar winner in his 40s. Why the whole world wants Taika

**Notes: This is very long post!**

Good Weekend

In his 30s, he was sleeping on couches. By his 40s, he’d directed a Kiwi classic, taken a Marvel movie to billion-dollar success, and won an Oscar. Meet Taika Waititi, king of the oddball – and one of New Zealand’s most original creative exports.

Taika Waititi: “Be a nice person and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole.”

The good news? Taika Waititi is still alive. I wasn’t sure. The screen we were speaking through jolted savagely a few minutes ago, with a cacophonous bang and a confused yelp, then radio silence. Now the Kiwi ­ filmmaker is back, grinning like a loon: “I just broke the f---ing table, bro!”

Come again? “I just smashed this f---ing table and glass flew everywhere. It’s one of those old annoying colonial tables. It goes like this – see that?” Waititi says, holding up a folding furniture leg. “I hit the mechanism and it wasn’t locked. Anyway …”

I’m glad he’s fine. The stuff he’s been saying from his London hotel room could incur biblical wrath. We’re talking about his latest project, Next Goal Wins, a movie about the American Samoa soccer team’s quest to score a solitary goal, 10 years after suffering the worst loss in the game’s international history – a 31-0 ­ignominy to Australia – but our chat strays into ­spirituality, then faith, then religion.

“I don’t personally believe in a big guy sitting on a cloud judging everyone, but that’s just me,” Waititi says, deadpan. “Because I’m a grown-up.”

This is the way his interview answers often unfold. Waititi addresses your topic – dogma turns good people bad, he says, yet belief itself is worth lauding – but bookends every response with a conspiratorial nudge, wink, joke or poke. “Regardless of whether it’s some guy living on a cloud, or some other deity that you’ve made up – and they’re all made up – the message across the board is the same, and it’s important: Be a nice person, and live a good life. And just don’t be an arsehole!”

Not being an arsehole seems to have served Waititi, 48, well. Once a national treasure and indie darling (through the quirky tenderness of his breakout New Zealand films Boy in 2010 and Hunt for the Wilderpeople in 2016), Waititi then became a star of both the global box office (through his 2017 entry into the Marvel Universe, Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion worldwide) and then the Academy Awards (winning the 2020 best adapted screenplay Oscar for his subversive Holocaust dramedy JoJo Rabbit, in which he played an imaginary Hitler).

Waititi playing Adolf Hitler in the 2019 movie JoJo Rabbit. (Alamy)

A handsome devil with undeniable roguish charm, Waititi also slid seamlessly into style-icon status (attending this year’s Met Gala shirtless, in a floor-length gunmetal-grey Atelier Prabal Gurung wrap coat, with pendulous pearl necklaces), as well as becoming his own brand (releasing an eponymous line of canned ­coffee drinks) and bona fide Hollywood A-lister (he was introduced to his second wife, British singer Rita Ora, by actor Robert Pattinson at a barbecue).

Putting that platform to use, Waititi is an Indigenous pioneer and mentor, too, co-creating the critically acclaimed TV series Reservation Dogs, while co-founding the Piki Films production company, committed to promoting the next generation of storytellers – a mission that might sound all weighty and worthy, yet Waititi’s new wave of First Nations work is never earnest, always mixing hurt with heart and howling humour.

Waititi with wife Rita Ora at the 2023 Met Gala in May. (Getty Images)

Makes sense. Waititi is a byproduct of “the weirdest coupling ever” – his late Maori father from the Te Whanau-a-Apanui tribe was an artist, farmer and “Satan’s Slaves” bikie gang founder, while his Wellington schoolteacher mum descended from Russian Jews, although he’s not devout about her faith. (“No, I don’t practise,” he confirms. “I’m just good at everything, straight away.”)

He’s remained loyally tethered to his ­origin story, too – and to a cadre of creative Kiwi mates, including actors Jemaine Clement and Rhys Darby – never forgetting that not long before the actor/writer/producer/director was an industry maven, he was a penniless painter/photographer/ musician/comedian.

With no set title and no fixed address, he’s seemingly happy to be everything, everywhere (to everyone) all at once. “‘The universe’ is bandied around a lot these days, but I do believe in the kind of connective tissue of the universe, and the energy that – scientifically – we are made up of a bunch of atoms that are bouncing around off each other, and some of the atoms are just squished together a bit tighter than others,” he says, smiling. “We’re all made of the same stardust, and that’s pretty special.”

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

We’ve caught Waititi in a somewhat relaxed moment, right before the screen actors’ and media artists’ strike ends. He’s ­sensitive to the struggle but doesn’t deny enjoying the break. “I spent a lot of time thinking about writing, and not writing, and having a nice ­holiday,” he tells Good Weekend. “Honestly, it was a good chance just to recombobulate.”

Waititi, at right, with Hunt for the Wilderpeople actors, from left, Sam Neill, Rhys Darby and Julian Dennison. (Getty Images)

It’s mid-October, and he’s just headed to Paris to watch his beloved All Blacks in the Rugby World Cup. He’s deeply obsessed with the game, and sport in general. “Humans spend all of our time knowing what’s going to happen with our day. There’s no surprises ­any more. We’ve become quite stagnant. And I think that’s why people love sport, because of the air of unpredictability,” he says. “It’s the last great arena entertainment.”

The main filmic touchstone for Next Goal Wins (which premieres in Australian cinemas on New Year’s Day) would be Cool Runnings (1993), the unlikely true story of a Jamaican bobsled team, but Waititi also draws from genre classics such as Any Given Sunday and Rocky, sampling trusted tropes like the musical training montage. (His best one is set to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.)

Filming in Hawaii was an uplifting experience for the self-­described Polynesian Jew. “It wasn’t about death, or people being cruel to each other. Thematically, it was this simple idea, of getting a small win, and winning the game wasn’t even their goal – their goal was to get a goal,” he says. “It was a really sweet backbone.”

Waititi understands this because, growing up, he was as much an athlete as a nerd, fooling around with softball and soccer before discovering rugby league, then union. “There’s something about doing exercise when you don’t know you’re doing exercise,” he enthuses. “It’s all about the fun of throwing a ball around and trying to achieve something together.” (Whenever Waititi is in Auckland he joins his mates in a long-running weekend game of touch rugby. “And then throughout the week I work out every day. Obviously. I mean, look at me.”)

Auckland is where his kids live, too, so he spends as much time there as possible. Waititi met his first wife, producer Chelsea Winstanley, on the set of Boy in 2010, and they had two daughters, Matewa Kiritapu, 8, and his firstborn, Te Kainga O’Te Hinekahu, 11. (The latter is a derivative of his grandmother’s name, but he jokes with American friends that it means “Resurrection of Tupac” or “Mazda RX7″) Waititi and Winstanley split in about 2018, and he married the pop star Ora in 2022.

He offers a novel method for balancing work with parenthood … “Look, you just abandon them, and know that the experience will make them harder individuals later on in life. And it’s their problem,” he says. “I’m going to give them all of the things that they need, and I’m going to leave behind a decent bank ­account for their therapy, and they will be just like me, and the cycle will continue.”

Jokes aside – I think he’s joking – school holidays are always his, and he brings the girls onto the set of every movie he makes. “They know enough not to get in the way or touch anything that looks like it could kill you, and they know to be respectful and quiet when they need to. But they’re just very comfortable around filmmakers, which I’m really happy about, because eventually I hope they will get into the ­industry. One more year,” he laughs, “then they can leave school and come work for Dad.”

Theirs is certainly a different childhood than his. Growing up, he was a product of two worlds. His given names, for instance, were based on his appearance at birth: “Taika David” if he looked Maori (after his Maori grandfather) and “David Taika” if he looked Pakeha (after his white grandfather). His parents split when he was five, so he bounced between his dad’s place in Waihau Bay, where he went by the surname Waititi, and his mum, eight hours drive away in Wellington, where he went by Cohen (the last name on his birth ­certificate and passport).

Waititi was precocious, even charismatic. His mother Robin once told Radio New Zealand that people always wanted to know him, even as an infant: “I’d be on a bus with him, and he was that kind of baby who smiled at people, and next thing you know they’re saying, ‘Can I hold your baby?’ He’s always been a charmer to the public eye.”

He describes himself as a cool, sporty, good-looking nerd, raised on whatever pop culture screened on the two TV channels New Zealand offered in the early 1980s, from M*A*S*H and Taxi to Eddie Murphy and Michael Jackson. He was well-read, too. When punished by his mum, he would likely be forced to analyse a set of William Blake poems.

He puts on a whimpering voice to describe their finances – “We didn’t have much monneeey” – explaining how his mum spent her days in the classroom but also worked in pubs, where he would sit sipping a raspberry lemonade, doodling drawings and writing stories. She took in ­ironing and cleaned houses; he would help out, learning valuable lessons he imparts to his kids. “And to random people who come to my house,” he says. “I’ll say, ‘Here’s a novel idea, wash this dish,’ but people don’t know how to do anything these days.”

“Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met or a story I’ve stolen from someone.” - Taika Waititi

He loved entertaining others, clearly, but also himself, recording little improvised radio plays on a tape deck – his own offbeat versions of ET and Indiana Jones and Star Wars. “Great free stuff where you don’t have any idea what the story is as you’re doing it,” he says. “You’re just sort of making it up and enjoying the ­freedom of playing god in this world where you can make people and characters do whatever you want.”

His other sphere of influence lay in Raukokore, the tiny town where his father lived. Although Boy is not autobiographical, it’s deeply personal insofar as it’s filmed in the house where he grew up, and where he lived a life similar to that portrayed in the story, surrounded by his recurring archetypes: warm grandmothers and worldly kids; staunch, stoic mums; and silly, stunted men. “Every single character I’ve ever written has been based on someone I’ve known or met,” he says, “or a story I’ve stolen from someone.”

He grew to love drawing and painting, obsessed early on with reproducing the Sistine Chapel. During a 2011 TED Talk on creativity, Waititi describes his odd subject matter, from swastikas and fawns to a picture of an old lady going for a walk … upon a sword … with Robocop. “My father was an outsider artist, even though he wouldn’t know what that meant,” Waititi told the audience in Doha. “I love the naive. I love people who can see things through an innocent viewpoint. It’s inspiring.”

After winning Best Adapted Screenplay Academy Award for JoJo Rabbit in 2020. (Getty Images)

It was an interesting time in New Zealand, too – a coming-of-age decade in which the Maori were rediscovering their culture. His area was poor, “but only ­financially,” he says. “It’s very rich in terms of the ­people and the culture.” He learned kapa haka – the songs, dances and chants performed by competing tribes at cultural events, or to honour people at funerals and graduations – weddings, parties, ­anything. “Man, any excuse,” he explains. “A big part of doing them is to uplift your spirits.”

Photography was a passion, so I ask what he shot. “Just my penis. I sent them to people, but we didn’t have phones, so I would print them out, post them. One of the first dick pics,” he says. Actually, his lens was trained on regular people. He watches us still – in airports, ­restaurants. “Other times late at night, from a tree. Whatever it takes to get the story. You know that.”

He went to the Wellington state school Onslow College and did plays like Androcles and the Lion, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Crucible. His crew of arty students eventually ended up on stage at Bats Theatre in the city, where they would perform haphazard comedy shows for years.

“Taika was always rebellious and wild in his comedy, which I loved,” says his high school mate Jackie van Beek, who became a longtime collaborator, including working with Waititi on a Tourism New Zealand campaign this year. “I remember he went through a phase of turning up in bars around town wearing wigs, and you’d try and sit down and have a drink with him but he’d be doing some weird character that would invariably turn up in some show down the track.”

He met more like-minded peers at Victoria University, including Jemaine Clement (who’d later become co-creator of Flight of the Conchords). During a 2019 chat with actor Elijah Wood, Waititi ­describes he and Clement clocking one another from opposite sides of the library one day: a pair of Maoris experiencing hate at first sight, based on a mutual suspicion of cultural appropriation. (Clement was wearing a traditional tapa cloth Samoan shirt, and Waititi was like: “This motherf---er’s not Samoan.” Meanwhile, Waititi was wearing a Rastafarian beanie, and Clement was like, “This ­motherf---er’s not Jamaican.”)

With Jemaine Clement in 2014. (Getty Images)

But they eventually bonded over Blackadder and Fawlty Towers, and especially Kenny Everett, and did comedy shows together everywhere from Edinburgh to Melbourne. Waititi was almost itinerant, spending months at a time busking, or living in a commune in Berlin. He acted in a few small films, and then – while playing a stripper on a bad TV show – realised he wanted to try life behind the camera. “I became tired of being told what to do and ordered around,” he told Wellington’s Dominion Post in 2004. “I remember sitting around in the green room in my G-string ­thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Just helping someone else to realise their dream.’ ”

He did two strong short films, then directed his first feature – Eagle vs Shark (2007) – when he was 32. He brought his mates along (Clement, starring with Waititi’s then-girlfriend Loren Horsley), setting something of a pattern in his career: hiring friends instead of constantly navigating new working relationships. “If you look at things I’m doing,” he tells me, “there’s ­always a few common denominators.”

Sam Neill says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “The basis of it is this: we’re just a little bit crap at things.”

This gang of collaborators shares a common Kiwi vibe, too, which his longtime friend, actor Rhys Darby, once coined “the comedy of the mundane”. Their new TV show, Our Flag Means Death, for example, leans heavily into the mundanity of pirate life – what happens on those long days at sea when the crew aren’t unsheathing swords from scabbards or burying treasure.

Waititi plays pirate captain Blackbeard, centre, in Our Flag Means Death, with Rhys Darby, left, and Rory Kinnear. (Google Images)

Sam Neill, who first met Waititi when starring in Hunt for the Wilderpeople, says Waititi is the exemplar of a new New Zealand humour. “And I think the basis of it is this,” says Neill. “We’re just a little bit crap at things, and that in itself is funny.” After all, Neill asks, what is What We Do in The Shadows (2014) if not a film (then later a TV show) about a bunch of vampires who are pretty crap at being vampires, ­living in a pretty crappy house, not quite getting busted by crappy local cops? “New Zealand often gets named as the least corrupt country in the world, and I think it’s just that we would be pretty crap at being corrupt,” Neill says. “We don’t have the capacity for it.”

Waititi’s whimsy also spurns the dominant on-screen oeuvre of his homeland – the so-called “cinema of ­unease” exemplified by the brutality of Once Were Warriors (1994) and the emotional peril of The Piano (1993). Waititi still explores pathos and pain, but through laughter and weirdness. “Taika feels to me like an ­antidote to that dark aspect, and a gift somehow,” Neill says. “And I’m grateful for that.”

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Something happened to Taika Waititi when he was about 11 – something he doesn’t go into with Good Weekend, but which he considered a betrayal by the adults in his life. He ­mentioned it only recently – not the ­moment itself, but the lesson he learnt: “That you cannot and must not rely on grown-ups to help you – you’re basically in the world alone, and you’re gonna die alone, and you’ve just gotta make it all for yourself,” he told Irish podcast host James Brown. “I basically never forgave people in positions of responsibility.”

What does that mean in his work? First, his finest films tend to reflect the clarity of mind possessed by children, and the unseen worlds they create – fantasies conjured up as a way to understand or overcome. (His mum once summed up the main ­message of Boy: “The ­unconditional love you get from your children, and how many of us waste that, and don’t know what we’ve got.”)

Second, he’s suited to movie-making – “Russian roulette with art” – because he’s drawn to disruptive force and chaos. And that in turn produces creative defiance: allowing him to reinvigorate the Marvel Universe by making superheroes fallible, or tell a Holocaust story by making fun of Hitler. “Whenever I have to deal with someone who’s a boss, or in charge, I challenge them,” he told Brown, “and I really do take whatever they say with a pinch of salt.”

It’s no surprise then that Waititi was comfortable leaping from independent films to the vast complexity of Hollywood blockbusters. He loves the challenge of coordinating a thousand interlocking parts, requiring an army of experts in vocations as diverse as construction, sound, art, performance and logistics. “I delegate a lot,” he says, “and share the load with a lot of people.”

“This is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.” - Taika Waititi

But the buck stops with him. Time magazine named Waititi one of its Most Influential 100 People of 2022. “You can tell that a film was made by Taika Waititi the same way you can tell a piece was painted by Picasso,” wrote Sacha Baron Cohen. Compassionate but comic. Satirical but watchable. Rockstar but auteur. “Actually, sorry, but this guy’s really starting to piss me off,” Cohen concluded. “Can someone else write this piece?”

Directing Chris Hemsworth in 2017 in Thor: Ragnarok, which grossed more than $1.3 billion at the box office. (Alamy)

I’m curious to know how he stays grounded amid such adulation. Coming into the game late, he says, helped immensely. After all, Waititi was 40 by the time he left New Zealand to do Thor: Ragnarok. “If you let things go to your head, then it means you’ve struggled to find out who you are,” he says. “But I’ve always felt very comfortable with who I am.” Hollywood access and acclaim – and the pay cheques – don’t erase memories of poverty, either. “It’s more like, ‘Oh, this is a cool concept, being able to ­afford whatever I want, as opposed to sleeping on couches until I was 35.’ ” Small towns and strong tribes keep him in check, too. “You know you can’t piss around and be a fool, because you’re going to embarrass your family,” he says. “Hasn’t stopped me, though.”

Sam Neill says there was never any doubt Waititi would be able to steer a major movie with energy and imagination. “It’s no accident that the whole world wants Taika,” he says. “But his seductiveness comes with its own dangers. You can spread yourself a bit thin. The temptation will be to do more, more, more. That’ll be interesting to watch.”

Indeed, I find myself vicariously stressed out over the list of potential projects in Waititi’s future. A Roald Dahl animated series for Netflix. An Apple TV show based on the 1981 film Time Bandits. A sequel to What We Do In The Shadows. A reboot of Flash Gordon. A gonzo horror comedy, The Auteur, starring Jude Law. Adapting a cult graphic novel, The Incal, as a feature. A streaming series based on the novel Interior Chinatown. A film based on a Kazuo Ishiguro bestseller. Plus bringing to life the wildly popular Akira comic books. Oh, and for good measure, a new instalment of Star Wars, which he’s already warned the world will be … different.

“It’s going to change things,” he told Good Morning America. “It’s going to change what you guys know and expect.”

Did I say I was stressed for Waititi? I meant physically sick.

“Well…” he qualifies, “some of those things I’m just producing, so I come up with an idea or someone comes to me with an idea, and I shape how ‘it’s this kind of show’ and ‘here’s how we can get it made.’ It’s easier for me to have a part in those things and feel like I’ve had a meaningful role in the creative process, but also not having to do what I’ve always done, which is trying to control everything.”

In the 2014 mockumentary horror film What We Do in the Shadows, which he co-directed with Jemaine Clement. (Alamy)

What about moving away from the niche New Zealand settings he represented so well in his early work? How does he stay connected to his roots? “I think you just need to know where you’re from,” he says, “and just don’t forget that.”

They certainly haven’t forgotten him.

Jasmin McSweeney sits in her office at the New Zealand Film Commission in Wellington, surrounded by promotional posters Waititi signed for her two decades ago, when she was tasked with promoting his nascent talent. Now the organisation’s marketing chief, she talks to me after visiting the heart of thriving “Wellywood”, overseeing the traditional karakia prayer on the set of a new movie starring Geoffrey Rush.

Waititi isn’t the first great Kiwi filmmaker – dual Oscar-winner Jane Campion and blockbuster king Peter Jackson come to mind – yet his particular ascendance, she says, has spurred unparalleled enthusiasm. “Taika gave everyone here confidence. He always says, ‘Don’t sit around waiting for people to say, you can do this.’ Just do it, because he just did it. That’s the Taika effect.”

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

Taika David Waititi is known for wearing everything from technicolour dreamcoats to pineapple print rompers, and today he’s wearing a roomy teal and white Isabel Marant jumper. The mohair garment has the same wispy frizz as his hair, which curls like a wave of grey steel wool, and connects with a shorn salty beard.

A stylish silver fox, it wouldn’t surprise anyone if he suddenly announced he was launching a fashion label. He’s definitely a commercial animal, to the point of directing television commercials for Coke and Amazon, along with a fabulous 2023 spot for Belvedere vodka starring Daniel Craig. He also joined forces with a beverage company in Finland (where “taika” means “magic”) to release his coffee drinks. Announcing the partnership on social media, he flagged that he would be doing more of this kind of stuff, too (“Soz not soz”).

Waititi has long been sick of reverent portrayals of Indigenous people talking to spirits.

There’s substance behind the swank. Fashion is a creative outlet but he’s also bought sewing machines in the past with the intention of designing and making clothes, and comes from a family of tailors. “I learnt how to sew a button on when I was very young,” he says. “I learnt how to fix holes or patches in your clothes, and darn things.”

And while he gallivants around the globe watching Wimbledon or modelling for Hermès at New York Fashion Week, all that glamour belies a depth of purpose, particularly when it comes to Indigenous representation.

There’s a moment in his new movie where a Samoan player realises that their Dutch coach, played by Michael Fassbender, is emotionally struggling, and he offers a lament for white people: “They need us.” I can’t help but think Waititi meant something more by that line – maybe that First Nations people have ­wisdom to offer if others will just listen?

“Weeelllll, a little bit …” he says – but from his intonation, and what he says next, I’m dead wrong. Waititi has long been sick of reverent ­portrayals of Indigenous people talking to kehua (spirits), or riding a ghost waka (phantom canoe), or playing a flute on a mountain. “Always the boring characters,” he says. “They’ve got no real contemporary relationship with the world, because they’re always living in the past in their spiritual ways.”

A scene from Next Goal Wins, filmed earlier this year. (Alamy)

He’s part of a vanguard consciously poking fun at those stereotypes. Another is the Navajo writer and director Billy Luther, who met Waititi at Sundance Film Festival back in 2003, along with Reservation Dogs co-creator Sterlin Harjo. “We were this group of outsiders trying to make films, when nobody was really biting,” says Luther. “It was a different time. The really cool thing about it now is we’re all working. We persevered. We didn’t give up. We slept on each other’s couches and hung out. It’s like family.”

Waititi has power now, and is known for using Indigenous interns wherever possible (“because there weren’t those opportunities when I was growing up”), making important introductions, offering feedback on scripts, and lending his name to projects through executive producer credits, too, which he did for Luther’s new feature film, Frybread Face and Me (2023).

He called Luther back from the set of Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) to offer advice on working with child actors – “Don’t box them into the characters you’ve ­created,” he said, “let them naturally figure it out on their own” – but it’s definitely harder to get Waititi on the phone these days. “He’s a little bitch,” Luther says, laughing. “Nah, there’s nothing like him. He’s a genius. You just knew he was going to be something. I just knew it. He’s my brother.“

I’ve been asked to explicitly avoid political questions in this interview, probably because Waititi tends to back so many causes, from child poverty and teenage suicide to a campaign protesting offshore gas and oil exploration near his tribal lands. But it’s hard to ignore his recent Instagram post, sharing a viral video about the Voice to Parliament referendum starring Indigenous Aussie rapper Adam Briggs. After all, we speak only two days after the proposal is defeated. “Yeah, sad to say but, Australia, you really shat the bed on that one,” Waititi says, pausing. “But go see my movie!”

About that movie – the early reviews aren’t great. IndieWire called it a misfire, too wrapped in its quirks to develop its arcs, with Waititi’s directorial voice drowning out his characters, while The Guardian called it “a shoddily made and strikingly unfunny attempt to tell an interesting story in an uninteresting way”. I want to know how he moves past that kind of criticism. “For a start, I never read reviews,” he says, concerned only with the opinion of people who paid for admission, never professional appraisals. “It’s not important to me. I know I’m good at what I do.”

Criticism that Indigenous concepts weren’t sufficiently explained in Next Goal Wins gets his back up a little, though. The film’s protagonist, Jaiyah Saelua, the first transgender football player in a FIFA World Cup qualifying match, is fa’afafine – an American Samoan identifier for someone with fluid genders – but there wasn’t much exposition of this concept in the film. “That’s not my job,” Waititi says. “It’s not a movie where I have to explain every facet of Samoan culture to an audience. Our job is to retain our culture, and present a story that’s inherently Polynesian, and if you don’t like it, you can go and watch any number of those other movies out there, 99 per cent of which are terrible.”

*notes: (there is video clip in the article)

Waititi sounds momentarily cranky, but he’s mostly unflappable and hilarious. He’s the kind of guy who prefers “Correctumundo bro!” to “Yes”. When our video connection is too laggy, he plays up to it by periodically pretending to be frozen, sitting perfectly still, mouth open, his big shifting eyeballs the only giveaway.

He’s at his best on set. Saelua sat next to him in Honolulu while filming the joyous soccer sequences. “He’s so chill. He just let the actors do their thing, giving them creative freedom, barely interjecting unless it was something important. His style matches the vibe of the Pacific people. We’re a very funny people. We like to laugh. He just fit perfectly.”

People do seem to love working alongside him, citing his ability to make productions fresh and unpredictable and funny. Chris Hemsworth once said that Waititi’s favourite gag is to “forget” that his microphone is switched on, so he can go on a pantomime rant for all to hear – usually about his disastrous Australian lead actor – only to “remember” that he’s wired and the whole crew is listening.

“I wouldn’t know about that, because I don’t listen to what other people say about anything – I’ve told you this,” Waititi says. “I just try to have fun when there’s time to have fun. And when you do that, and you bring people together, they’re more willing to go the extra mile for you, and they’re more willing to believe in the thing that you’re trying to do.”

Yes, he plays music between takes, and dances out of his director’s chair, but it’s really all about relaxing amid the immense pressure and intense privilege of making movies. “Do you know how hard it is just to get anything financed or green-lit, then getting a crew, ­getting producers to put all the pieces together, and then making it to set?” Waititi asks. “It’s a real gift, even to be working, and I feel like I have to remind ­people of that: enjoy this moment.”

Source: The Age

By: Konrad Marshall (December 1, 2023)

[projectbluearcadia]

Untethered

NSFW sub!Lucifer x dom!F!MC Spice Rating 4/4 ; BDSM Rating 3/3

[ Scenario - The best way for him to relax is to let you take care of everything. And by take care of everything, I mean destroying his ass with a strap and making him cry. ]

This pretty much jumps straight into the horny shit (I guess I was eager), so... to the doms/switches who have been waiting to break Luci, you're welcome.

CW (Lucifer receiving): Spanking (open-handed, paddle mentioned), use of strap-on, use of a butt plug, mentioned public, humiliation, degradation, implied orgasm denial.

Wordcount - 2636

smutty notes (consult if you haven’t read my smut before.)

No one would have ever guessed Lucifer could make the kind of faces he made when he was alone with you. When he was getting the kind of rough sex he had craved to receive from you, his one and only precious human. It was, he would reflect, liberating to be able to put control into someone else’s hands, someone who could be trusted with it. 

---

“Luci,” you call, coming up behind your boyfriend and laying your arms loosely around his neck as he reads what appears to be a store catalog containing coupons for food, among other things. He glances up at you, his reading glasses slowly slipping higher up the bridge of his nose, and you feel the brief urge to kiss him. He doesn’t seem that startled despite your surprise attack. Boooo, you think, internally smiling at the thought. 

“Yes?” he asks, running his gloved fingers over your hands slowly. “Did you need me for something?” Why yes, I did, and I still do, you think as a grin slowly crawls over your face. You had bought him a new toy today, and you were dying to try it on him. 

“I do, yes,” you reply with a smile, leaning your mouth close to his ear. “I have a present for you since you were so good for me during our date last week…” Lucifer lets out a soft groan through his nose, leaning back against his desk chair as you slowly reach down to stroke his chest. 

“I still haven’t entirely forgiven you for doing that to me in front of the waiter, you know.” he mumbles before you kiss him slowly. “I was in the middle of talking,” Kiss. “And you just had to turn it up on me…” Kiss. “It was so hard to…” Kiss. “...get the rest of my order out.” Kiss. “I thought my face was going to explode from embarrassment.”

“I know you were embarrassed, Luci; that’s why I let you cum.” You nip his ear, and a soft, hissy growl leaves his lips. “Don’t be so wound up when that waiter had no clue what I was doing to you. And even if he did, he got to witness one of the Devildom’s national treasures on the edge of moaning his pretty head off… I’d say you did him a service.” 

“Flattering me isn’t going to… mn.” Lucifer strokes your face, not seeming to mind you kissing him as you push his tongue around, dominating his mouth. He also doesn’t seem to mind as you make him stand up while you kiss him. 

“Isn’t going to what?” you murmur against his swollen lips. 

“...evil woman. Fuck you,” he grumbles, and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Do we need another lesson on respect, baby?” you ask, curling a finger through his hair, and his dark eyes seem to burn like hot coals, ready to blaze up and set fire to you both. “Or do you just not know how to ask for a punishment?” You snicker softly as Lucifer’s cheeks scatter with blush, and he closes his eyes with a soft groan. God, those glasses look great on him. Shame they’ll have to come off. 

“MC, just because I’m not doing work right now doesn’t mean I’m not busy.” Despite saying that, his hands had settled around your waist, affectionately rubbing your sides. “I already know what kind of ‘present’ you got for me, since you made the mistake of stashing it with the other toys you keep in my study.” 

“Oh?” you hum, running your hand down the back of his neck and making him shiver in the process. “You look at your toys in your free time?” 

“It’s not…” Lucifer paused. “Okay, fine, yes, I look at them sometimes. You know how much I think about screwing around with you, and they’re right there.” He gestured at one of his desk drawers, and you have to stop yourself from giggling. 

“Really? Do you use them without me?” you purr, and Lucifer’s cheeks pinken before he looks away from your eyes. Cute! So cute!

“I wouldn’t,” he replies stoically. “I refuse to.” That just makes me want to force you to use them on yourself, you think, intensely amused. 

“It’s not the same if I’m not the one doing it to you, is it, honey?” you whisper, dragging your lips against his neck, and he lets out a nice, sweet sound for you, and he shakes his head slightly in admission. He thought about it at least once. “That’s okay… I’m here now.” You tangle your fingers into his tie, dragging it free of his collar, smacking his hand hard when he tries to take his fingers under your shirt. “Mm mm. Behave.” You stroke his face while he grumbles, disappointed as you take his gloves off and make quick work of his cumbersome buttons. 

“Are we really going to do that here? Again?” Lucifer questions softly, and you smirk at him as his pale chest reveals itself to your prying eyes. You find yourself taking a moment to admire the prominent hickies you left behind the other day, including a bite mark that was half-hidden by his waistband. 

You tilt up his chin with a finger, and his breathing lightly stutters in his increasingly horny daze before you whisper: “Yes. Unless you’re going to be too distracted tomorrow by what I’m going to do to you.” A groan leaves Lucifer’s throat as he closes his eyes, the bulge in his pants rapidly getting bigger, much to your delight. 

“No… here is fine,” he muttered, a tad shyly before he sucked in a sharp breath as you raked your nails against his thigh to palm his erection. “...hah. Are you… going to let me cum today?” Oh, god, how that question sent your blood racing with excitement as his voice broke a little. 

“That depends; how hard do you want to beg for it?” you taunt, sweeping your hand back up and over his chest, which was almost hastily becoming hotter. Lucifer leans back against his desk, his expression settling somewhere between relaxation and trepidation as he enjoys your touch against his bare skin. 

“MC, I refuse to beg,” he grumbles, although that was an outright lie. He begged a lot when it came down to it, and he was always very adorable about it, like he couldn’t have lived without whatever you were teasing him with. 

“So my sweetheart doesn’t want to cum himself dumb like I planned?” you purr, and his dark eyes widen marginally in shock, his lips parting. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to letting you make a mess all over yourself and leaving you on a crumpled heap on the floor while I leave to draw you a bath.” 

“Oh my fucking…” Lucifer groans, taking off his glasses to rub his hands over his reddening face. He doesn’t protest as you gingerly take them and lay them into their case. “MC, that isn’t fair.” You pat his face gently and condescendingly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you murmur sweetly, “because you said you didn’t want to cum tonight, and I have to honor that.” Although that is very much a bluff because you plan on wrecking him whether he begs or not. 

“I said I refused to beg for it,” he protests, swiftly becoming more embarrassed by the second, even as he lets out a soft, luxuriant moan as you go back to stroking his front, your fingers working on taking his pants off. “I… ah, ergh… I want what… what you said…” You lightly smack his thigh in response, and he flinches and gasps despite the fact that it can’t have hurt him that much. 

“You’re right, darling,” you admit huskily as his trousers drop to the ground in a heap with the rest of his clothes. “You said you refused. You know how much I love it when you beg, so I think you realize what you did wrong.” Lucifer softly pants, his fingers tightly clenched around the edge of his desk as you loosen up your collar, feeling a rush of desire as his eyes needily absorbed the skin you exposed to his eyes. 

“That wasn’t… I wasn’t…” he tries despairingly, knowing he’s already fucked himself as his cheeks redden harder. “MC, please, I can’t, I can’t be patient for another week; I really can’t.” He’s so lovely when he starts to get desperate, you think before you bite his neck, hard, as you wrap your hand around his cock and give it a few rough strokes that make him whine with some pain. 

“You know the rules,” you growl, and as his body trembles, supreme delight fills up your body and starts to drench your already moist underwear. I trained you so well, Luci. I’m so fucking proud of you. “Bend over.” 

His ears glowing, Lucifer slowly turns his back to you and lowers himself over his desk without complaint, his fingers tensing and untensing as you lay your hand against his arse, giving him a little, playful swat that made him gasp out a nearly inaudible ‘I’m sorry.’ You chuckle as you open up the drawer full of toys, withdrawing two items—a bottle of lubricant and a butt plug. Evidently, he knows what they are purely by sound, because he’s desperately trying to suppress the whimper threatening to drip out of his mouth as he stiffens. 

You lean over him, letting your body fully press against his as you kiss his cheek, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. 

“Relax, baby,” you whisper. “It’s not that big, I promise.” It wasn’t that small, either, but he didn’t need to know that. He swallows, and he relaxes a little under you. 

“Do… Do as you must,” he rasps, and you give him a loving kiss on his temple that makes him softly moan before you straighten and click open the bottle of lube, giving your fingers a nice coat before you press them against his ass. He flinches, probably at the temperature, but to his credit, he barely makes a sound as you gently prod him open with one finger. As you stretch him with two fingers however, you hear him whine, and you smirk to yourself as you grab the plug quietly and slather it in the lubricant still stuck on your fingers. And then Lucifer is shaking, groaning haltingly as you slowly push it inside him. “MC,” he gasps out as the plug hits its base and stops, and you rub his ass. 

“Feels good to have something in your ass, doesn’t it, honey?” you almost hiss before you kiss his lower back before viciously biting, and Lucifer lets out a startled, dirty cry that sounds like ‘yes.’ “And do you remember what else happens when you’re disobedient?” 

“Y…Yes,” he murmurs out, his expression foggy with lust as he leans into the desk, closing his eyes. “You… spank me.” 

“That’s right.” You squeeze his muscular glutes in your hands, half-debating whether or not you want to go upstairs to get the paddle, but you’re already starting to get impatient to fuck the shit out of him. As much as you’d like to leave him waiting in anticipation, it’s already torture to see how his cock is twitching while a few white drops dribble onto the porcelain tiles. “And how many times do you think you deserve it?” 

“Seventeen,” he mumbles, and you raise an eyebrow at the oddly specific number. He catches your gaze, his eyes consuming you. “The amount of times I thought about disobeying you in the last ten minutes.” He keeps track of that? God, he’s such a good little sub. 

“Alright. Seventeen,” you agree with a smirk before you whip your hand back to deliver a wicked slap that makes him cry out. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out. “I’m sorry, MC. I’m sorry.” You ease up on him a little as he hisses and groans. SLAP! SMACK! Your hand is already starting to hurt, but it’s so worth it to see the red imprint of your fingers on his asscheeks while he trembles. “Please, MC… MC, sto… I’m going to… ugh! I’m sorry!” Well that’s too good for me to deny him, you think with excitement racing in your loins. 

“Going to cum from getting your ass slapped, you disgusting little painslut?” you purr, and Lucifer’s ragged pants and groans rise in pitch. “Fine. Go ahead and cum.” You punctuate the last word with a particularly hard slap, and that throws him straight over the edge, his hips grinding against his desk as a wet sound reaches your ears. You imagine he came all over himself, and you watch with lewd fascination as strands of his off-white cum trickle down the front of his desk to land on the floor.  

I can’t take this; I need to fuck him right now. You almost feel like an animal as you watch him calm down, his face the picture of bliss as you start ripping your clothing off. You shove your hand back into the drawer and tear out the strap-on you bought, and Lucifer makes a small sound of protest as you take out his plug and all-but throw it on the ground. Eh, had to be cleaned anyway. 

“Don’t worry, honey; I made sure to pick one you’ll love,” you remark as Lucifer’s eyes stray backwards towards you, and for a sweet moment, you watch fear and uncertainty flicker into his eyes as he catches sight of the thing. Fear, as he watches you harness it on. You almost lick your lips at the sight of him cowering at the idea of what he’s about to get. “I’ll be gentle,” you assure, kissing his back and making him arch into you in the process. “At first.”

“That’s… fine,” he groans out, and you faintly notice there’s a little puddle of drool where his mouth was. “Please… I want it.” He’s driving you crazy, and you know full well it hasn’t escaped his attention that you’re dripping wet as you tease him with the freshly lube-slicked false penis. “Please fuck me, MC. Please. I can’t…” You can, you always can, but I’m really having a problem, you think before you work it all inside him, and tears glitter in his eyes. “Fuck me…” he gasps, his voice breaking as you grab one of his thighs. Your clit is burning with pleasant prickles as it rubs against the back of the strap-on. “Fuck me, please. Please…” 

“So needy,” you rumble as you slide it back out slowly, and Lucifer’s entire body twitches under yours before you smack his arse again. And the tears are starting to pour down his face. “Pitiful. The Avatar of Pride? Don’t make me laugh.” You snap your hips forward, and Lucifer almost yelps. “You just want to get pegged,” You spank him again, thrusting in and out of his ass harder and harder. “Humiliated,” Squelch. SLAP! “And used for my personal pleasure.” 

“Yes!” he yelled, and you tried your best not to moan, but this felt too good not to. Lucifer climaxed again just from that, and at this rate, you were going to as well. “Do it all to me! Fuck!” He growled between lascivious groans, and you let your head drop to his back, dragging your teeth over the skin as you pant. 

“I’ll do it all and more,” you gasp, keenly feeling your orgasm begging to release. A few more, and I can’t… You falter in your ministrations, and Lucifer almost whines like a puppy, bucking his hips back at you in need, and you don’t last much longer after that. And, as you orgasm, still fucking the strap into his ass, you snarl, “I’m going… to break you.” 

---

And a bonus soft scene:

“Is the water too hot?” you ask Lucifer gently as he leans his cheek against the side of the tub, and he shakes it ever-so-slightly.

“It’s fine…” he sighs. “The House of Lamentation’s water can never run hot enough to hurt me, even more so since we have you in the house.” You pause, even as you turn off the water as it runs high enough to cover most of his body. 

“Was I too rough? You sound tired.”  

“I am tired, and not just because of you,” he admits, bringing his head up from the rim. “But no, MC, you’re fine. If you actually manage to cross a line, then I’ll tell you about it.” Lucifer surprises you as he dunks his head in the water and rubs his face. I’m glad I cleaned his semen off him first. “Rather than that…” Lucifer glances at you out of the corner of his eye as water drips from his hair. “The part I’m more concerned about is being able to squeeze you after we’re done.” 

“We always…” you start before you realize he’s making a motion for you to join him in the bath. 

“Come here. Please.” 

“What am I going to do with you?” you hum softly before you sink into the water as he squeezes you close to him as requested. Cute. 

[lolahauri]

✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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Sex Crimes of Any Kind, Super Violent/Xtreme Kinks, Inflation, Feederism, Abuse, Puke, Shit, DDLG, Age Play, Raceplay, Wound Fucking, Gore, Vore, Misgendering/Detrans, CBT, Sounding, Fisting, Gunplay, Drugging, Stepcest etc...

Things I Will Write: ✔️

Genderbent Characters, Mild Yandere, Daddy/Mommy Kink, Cheating, Mild BDSM, CNC, Dubcon, Monsters, Hybrids, Sex Pollen, Legal Age Gap, Power Imbalance (Prof/Student, Boss/Employee), Feet, Armpits, Piss, Breeding, Mild Blood/Knifeplay, Cock Warming, Dry Humping, Voyeur, Public Sex, Orgy, 3somes, Sex Toys, Overstim, Edging, etc... etc... :P

Trans Reader, Tall/Short Reader, Chubby/Curvy/Fat/Buff Reader, Other Specific Characteristics. ✔️

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / OC x Reader / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on! (you can request other characters from these fandoms, but it might take me longer!)

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir. 

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Trilogy: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Beauty & The Beast: Belle, Beast/Adam, Gaston.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Good Pizza, Great Pizza: Alicante, Octavia, Dr. Keh, Nasir, Flash, Cicero, Kimmy Slice, Dr. Price.

Grandma's Boy: J.P, Samantha.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Shigaraki.

Miller's Girl: Cairo, Johnathon.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

Mulan: Mulan, Li Shang.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini. 

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Scream 5: Amber, Tara, Sam.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Bateman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stardew Valley: All Adult Humans (Except George & Evelyn)

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

~

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Guardians of the Galaxy)

Summer Field (Time Cut)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

[thepastisalreadywritten]

England, a nation of shopkeepers. 🛒

A thread of fascinating Victorian shops, each with their own individual character. 🧵

Little Victorian children smartly turned out at Guest Hosier and Draper. A good range of socks, shirts and cravats displayed in the window.

England, 1888

Mr H. Shaw. Naturalist and Fishing Tackle Manufacturer.

An impressive collection of stuffed fauna under glass domes. A huge plaster fish, a mounted bull’s head, a keep net and a coracle can be seen.

England, 1888

Anderton Jeweller and Watchmaker.

A meticulously arranged window display and judging by the hanging sign, a maker of spectacles too.

England, 1888

Samuel Juckes.

Ironmonger, tinsmith and bell hanger. The shop keeper, wearing a long white apron, stands in the doorway with garden forks, spades, baskets, broom heads, and buckets.

England, 1888

Henry James.

Large Cheshire and Cheddar cheeses and packs of margarine for 6d. Other large round cheeses are piled outside with hams hanging on hooks.

England, 1888

Moore Hairdresser and Fancy Repository.

Goods on sale include fans, wigs, chess boards, shaving requisites, whips and children’s toys alongside the hairdressing service.

England, 1888

H. Hillier Confectioner and Baker.

Displayed in the window are bottles and confectionery on the top shelf and bread and cakes on the lower shelf. Cadbury’s chocolate, hot dinners daily, and a bed for the night.

England, 1888

James F. Smith.

Oil, Glass, Paint and General Dealer. Located next to Toye Bros., butchers. A policeman stands on the far right of the photograph.

England, 1888

Dick’s Depot - Original Boot and Shoe Shop.

Repairs done while you wait and a large quantity of footwear is displayed. “Dick’s repairs are the best!”

England, 1888

—

A treasure trove of beautiful photographs captured on fragile glass plate negatives by 25-year old Victorian businessman, Joseph Della Porta.

Stunningly colourised by Jecinci Colorizations.

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 7 | 'You up for a little spelunkin'?'

masterlist ✨

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

A nice chunky chapter for you, set slap-bang in the middle of Umm ar-Rasas.

CW: blood mention, bad language, mysterious goings on etc, etc.

Word count: 5k-ish. I promise they won't continue to be this long x

“You know,” Sam says, turning back to the jeep as he watches her lean against the hood, scrawling something into her notebook, “if this place doesn’t pan out, at least we’ve got that relic to fall back on.” He points at the pen in her hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing grin.

She looks down at the biro, instinctively brushing a thumb over its chewed-up barrel. “What, this?”

“Yes, that.” Sam deadpans. “Could fetch a fortune at Sotheby’s.”

“Oh, sure,” she shoots back, flipping to another page. “And if I frame your scowl next to it, we might even make the front page of National Geographic.”

Sam snorts, shaking his head. Hilarious. She’s quick. Too quick, sometimes.

The stars are out now, sharp pinpricks of light cutting through the deepening navy sky. Sam leans back against the passenger door, finishing off a cigarette, letting his eyes wander upward for a brief moment. The quiet vastness of it was the same as always - familiar, humbling. A way to ground him no matter where he is in the world.

He could still see her grinning at him across the car hire counter, the corners of her mouth tilting in that defiant way she had when she knew she was about to win an argument.

“Now or never,” she’d said, scribbling her signature on the insurance forms. She hadn’t even looked up when Sam had muttered about her lack of experience with left-hand drive cars, though the knowing twitch of her eyebrow told him she’d heard every word.

It had been a pointless debate, of course. She got her way, as usual, and Sam - begrudgingly - let it slide. Something about the sheer confidence of her felt immovable sometimes, and hell, it was getting harder to argue with that kind of enthusiasm.

They hadn't planned to come here until tomorrow, but after Petra's dead ends and an hour or two of thumb-twiddling back at the hotel, waiting around for the next day felt pointless.

Now or never, indeed.

His lips twitched, but before the thought could settle into anything softer, Scott’s voice yanked him back to the present.

“Flirting” was all he caught at first, and his head snapped toward the younger man, crouched near a crumbled pillar, smirk firmly in place. “You two done flirting,” Scott repeated, louder this time, “or do I need to come back later?”

Sam didn’t even have to look to know she was rolling her eyes, probably already armed with some sharp comeback. Shaking his head, he forces himself to focus on the ruins and not the way her laugh carries. He clears his throat, stubbing out the cigarette on the scuffed wheel trim.

“I can flirt with you if you want, Scott?” Sam retorts, barely missing a beat - much easier to play it cool whilst deflecting. His grin lingers as she shakes her head and flips through her notes.

The stars above remained steady, and unbothered. If only Sam could say the same about himself.

“Focus, gentlemen,” she says, shifting the subject back to their search, “There’s supposed to be an entrance here - at the east of the site. Something that goes underground. Maybe a stairwell, or-”

“Or a cleverly hidden trapdoor,” Sam interjects with a teasing squint. “Right next to the neon X marks the spot.”

“You’d know all about finding those, wouldn’t you, Captain Smart-arse?”

Before he can shoot back, she’s already on the move, her attention snapped up by a cluster of crumbling walls partially swallowed by dried out shrubbery.

“I’ll check over there. You two keep looking around here.”

“You sure you want to go solo?” Sam asks, his tone only half-joking. “Wouldn’t want you hogging all the treasure.”

His eyes narrow as she flashes a quick grin in his direction - the kind that’s starting to feel like a fist to the gut. Knock it off. “Thought this was a dead lead.”

As she skips off, notebook tucked under her arm, Sam watches her go for a moment longer than necessary. Scott clears his throat, shooting him a knowing look.

“What?” Sam mutters, voice clipped as he turns back toward the ruins. He doesn’t need Scott of all people reading into this. Even if the faint flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

Scott quickens his pace with an easy smirk, catching up to help her pull aside the wispy branches obscuring part of the ruins. Sam feels something twist in his chest. His jaw tightens. Task in hand.

He scans the area with a practised eye, approaching the others, before circling around to investigate the other side of the overgrown shrubbery. Just past the dense foliage, he spots a narrow gap in the crumbling wall. It’s clearer, more accessible, and immediately promising. Finally, something to work with.

“Hey, you two,” he calls out, motioning for them to join him. “Found a way in.”

Scott, of course, decides to take the plunge into the unknown first, the cocky ease in which he slides in grating on Sam more than it should as he shines his flashlight down into the gap. He’s half tempted to switch it off as the younger man finds his footing.

“It’s clear! Come on down!”

Sam lingers by the opening, hooking his torch securely onto his belt loops, glancing over his shoulder at her.

His lips quirk into a grin as he teases, “You up for a little spelunkin'?”

She steps closer, her notebook tucked under her arm. “Is that a euphemism?” She smirks, before throwing her bag, then herself through the gap.

Sam takes a look behind him, mouth twisted into a self-deprecating grimace for a moment, before he follows them in.

The narrow passage is quiet, save for the faint shuffle of their footsteps against the worn stone. Sam’s flashlight flickers briefly, then steadies, illuminating walls etched with faint carvings. Some numbers, some characters, Scott snapping photos as they go.

They walk for a while, wandering their way through narrow tunnels, dug purposefully - though they’re struggling to find anything specific so far.

“Hang on,” she calls, skidding to a stop. Her voice echoes faintly in the confined space.

Sam halts, turning back with a curious frown. “What is it?”

She points to a narrow staircase branching off to the left, partially hidden by a jut of stone. “Stairs.”

Sam’s expression hardens slightly, his protective instincts flaring… but as Scott looks at him expectantly, most likely waiting to unleash another smart remark that Sam’s not in the mood to tolerate, he doesn’t stop her. So, he nods.

“Be careful, alright? We’ll check out this room and be down in a minute.”

With a nod, she descends into the darkness, leaving the faint glow of Sam’s flashlight behind.

As she disappears down the stairs, Sam feels himself hesitate for a second, staring into the dark before Scott’s voice snaps him back.

“She’ll be fine, y’know.”

Sam grunts, his focus already shifting back to the carvings. Fine or not, he’s sticking close.

//

The descent feels endless as you make your way down the narrow, steep flight of stairs, your free hand skimming the uneven wall for balance whilst your other tightens its grip around your phone.

The air grows colder, more biting, each step stripping away layer after layer of humid heat lingering above ground.

You reach the bottom and pause at the threshold, fingers pressed into the rough sandstone as you survey the space ahead of you.

Shadows stretch long across the sandy stone walls, shifting in the beam of your phone’s light, and you watch them recoil and reform as you tilt the light.

Hmm.

You hop down the last step, gingerly unhooking your backpack from your shoulder. You pull out your notebook and rummage around for your signature biro, tossing the bag aside as you bite off the pen’s lid.

You flick to the next empty page and write:

Little cavern: ⚝ What is it for? ⚝ Any connection to TSI? ⚝ Bedouin warnings: oooo, ‘tragedy’, ohOooo, ‘whispering walls’, whatever that means.

It’s different down here - colder, darker, and heavy with an eerie sort of stillness. It excites you. Cools you down too, thank God. So you move further in. It’s some sort of burial chamber, you think. Small. There’s a small alcove - a shelf, for a shrine of sorts, perhaps?

The harsh light from your phone reveals weathered stone. Some kind of vessel - a sarcophagus of some type, you think. Plain, bar from a few engravings here and there, but unmistakably meaningful.

You hum in thought, chewing the pen lid. You teeter clumsily as you lean the open book against your thigh, holding your phone just high enough so you can see what you're writing.

⚝ What’s it for? ✔ I’m 92% certain it’s a mausoleum.

The distant murmur of Sam and Scott’s voices fades with each letter you scribble down, until all that surrounds you is quiet. You close your notebook, using the pen as a bookmark, placing it on top of your backpack.

You let out an anticipatory exhale as a tightness sets off in your chest - slight anxiety (you’re alone, eager to impress etc, etc), yes, but also excitement. The secret optimism of finding something and being able to say you got there first.

This place might not have anything to do with Emaan. But you’re eager to find something that quashes your doubts. More eager to stick a cheeky middle finger up at Sam and tell him ‘I told you so’. Anything to see him fumble for words. It’s cute when he fumbles.

Fuck, you want to find something here - you want to show S- show them that they were right to take you on this trip.

It’s neat, this small room. As though the design has been carefully thought out, despite the sandy veneer adding a rusty tint to it all.

And that’s… odd, right? Given that this place is so secluded. And unassuming. Just like any old cavernous ruins out in the open.

You lean in closer, running your fingertips over the engravings along the lid of the sarcophagus.

There’s a plaque affixed to the stone lid - the script is slightly worn, but you can tell it was done with careful craftsmanship that probably wasn’t cheap. Though the words are foreign to you, the arrangement of them - carefully etched - is enough to give you pause.

You brush off a claggy layer of sand and tilt your phone, bending over the stone to get a closer look.

The layout of the room, the casket’s reverent placement, the beautiful tiles lining the floor - the overall disparity between care and intricacy versus the secludedness and complete lack of grandeur of the exterior location… it all sets off a spiralling of questions in your head. Who built this? Who, or what was it made for? Why here?

You lean closer still, letting the light skim across the old inscription. The Arabic characters are faint, softly eroded by coarse sand over time. Totally illegible to you. What does it translate to? You return to your notebook.

⚝ Any connection to TSI?  Who’s buried here?

With a frown, you call out up the stairwell.

“Hey, Scott?”

No reply. He must be too far away. Your mouth twists in thought as your eyes trail down the side of the sarcophagus, down to the floor.

The cavernous quiet of the tomb presses in as you kneel, one hand brushing across the dust-covered ground, flecks of debris and sand digging into the skin of your palm, making your eyes narrow instinctively as you take a moment to look at the relatively well preserved pattern on the tiles beneath you.

The torchlight follows your fingers as they trace along the rich gold and teal pattern painted on each rectangle. Again. The pattern is unique and the artistry is on point. There’s meaning behind all this that extends beyond ‘they died and I’m rich’. This was personal - money spent out of love, or appreciation, not out of vanity or the need to flaunt wealth.

Your hand moves over something rough and uneven - a ragged seam where the polished tile gives way to coarse cement, scarring the pattern. You shift the light, and there they are - dark stains splattered across the floor, clinging to the cracks in the grout, the patterns broken by the unmistakable rusted-brown of dried-

“Blood?” You whisper. Old, dried blood.

You squint to confirm your suspicion, bringing your phone’s beam closer. You pull your hand back, unsure whether to recoil or lean in, a sick, inexplicable urge tugging at you to reach out and feel it.

It’s unsettling, this compulsion - a thought you can’t shake, whispering that the blood, the room, this place, holds something meant for you. As though it recognises you. You swallow hard, resisting the pull, but you’re strangely rooted to the spot.

Something stirs. Your stomach tightens.

There, just beneath the surface grime and dust, are the remnants of something stemming from - potentially - violence, something that feels wrong amidst the centuries-old stillness.

You lean closer, squinting as the light glints across the blood, oddly fresh in a place so stale, like it’s waiting.

The urge to touch it creeps up on you, irrational and unsettling. You scoff at yourself. This place, these stains… it all feels... not lifeless, but patiently dormant, rather.

The compulsion sends a shiver crawling up your spine, but you stay there, transfixed.

“Scott?” You murmur once more, voice soft and thin in the dark.

No reply again. Only silence stretches out, taut and unfriendly. Something prickles at the nape of your neck. It almost feels like something’s here with you.

From the corner of your eye, a flicker of movement sends goosebumps rising across your forearms. Your head jerks up, scanning the room, torchlight sweeping over the empty walls and darkened corners.

Nothing. Until a small desert mouse darts across the cracked tiles, disappearing into a crevice along the wall. You flinch, heart racing, before exhaling in relief, your lips twitching in a half-smile.

You shake your head, half-scoffing at yourself. Get a grip, you think, glancing back to the floor. Though you still can’t shake the twinge of unease in your stomach.

You try Sam’s name next, but it comes out quieter, barely a murmur, and in that moment, the chill presses against your skin, heavier now, curling at your temples. You clear your throat.

A distant pressure builds in your head, dull at first. Then, almost as if you’ve lost control of your own movements, your fingertips stroke against the stained grout.

The pressure sharpens.

Then throbs.

And suddenly the colours beneath you seem too bright, too close, almost as if they’re pressing against your mind with a force not your own. You hiss in discomfort.

Your head swims, and the room blurs; an invisible weight pulls you downward and - “s-shit-”, it feels like your brain is swelling- as though something is prying your skill apart, clawing its way inside. You grunt, teeth clenched, clutching your temples with one hand as the other is fixed against the floor, forcefully, sharp grit digging into your skin. It hurts.

Static creeps at the edges of your vision, but your eyes refuse to close, held open, locked in place, forced to endure whatever is happening to you.

What’s happening?

Your fingers clench, nails scraping painfully against the grout, as you try to stop your hand’s abrasion against the floor, but your body doesn’t respond; you can’t move on your own accord, can’t cry as the skin on your palm is punctured to the point of bleeding, only watch as the walls close in around you, shadows seething, pulsing in time with your erratic heartbeat.

You try to turn your head. Open your mouth - scream out for someone to come and pull you up, but your body won’t allow it. You’re frozen in place, dizziness taking you over, and a whisper - foreign, angry, alive - starts echoing in the back of your mind - it feels like someone’s behind you. Watching your torment. Enjoying it.

Then, all of a sudden, it stops.

Your breath hitches, suspended in thick, frigid silence as the excruciation that gripped you vanishes in an instant, leaving a cold, almost hollow sensation in its wake. The pressure in your head dissipates so abruptly it’s as if it was never there; the force that had held you still simply… gone.

The grip of invisible hands lets go, and you crumple forwards, palm smacking the ground to steady yourself, feeling weakened and absolutely fucking bewildered.

Tremors still flit through your hands, your fingertips clammy against the chill of the floor, but the silence that follows is unnervingly… normal. It’s as if whatever fuckery that had stretched out and swallowed the room, that had taken a bite out of you, has released its hold and retreated back to wherever it came from.

“F-fucking hell,” you just about manage.

You look at your stinging palm - grazed as if you've tripped, skin scuffed with small pricks of blood rising to the surface. You look at the floor, tiny flecks of your own blood freshly smudged over the oxidised brown already there.

And then - footsteps. Soft, unhurried, descending down the stairs.

“Hey,” Scott’s voice carries, casual, cutting through the silence like he’s interrupting nothing more than a daydream. He appears at the top of the stairs, flashlight bouncing lazily as he peers down. “You call me?”

Your heart is still hammering, but his presence snaps you back, grounding you against the unsettling silence. You push yourself up, stumbling as you try to shake off the lingering chill.

“Uh-” you stammer, still dazed, your pulse loud in your ears. The sight of him feels surreal, a return to normalcy that’s almost jarring. You blink, struggling to focus on his words as he cocks his head, his flashlight partially blinding you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage. You barely recognise the sound of your own voice.

Scott cocks an eyebrow, hopping down the last few steps with casual curiosity. “You alright?” His tone is wary. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His tone is casual, but his eyes study you with unusual intensity. You glance down at the stained tiles, and back at him, feeling… absurdly rattled by it all.

“Yeah-” You clear your throat again, scrunching your sore hand at your side, feeling the flecks of sand and stone crumble off of your stinging skin. “I’m fine,” you reply, forcing a small, nervous smile. “Just…” Do you tell him?

No. You’re already burdening them by being here. Keep your mouth shut.

You pick up your phone, scratching your eyebrow in a deliberate display of nonchalance.

“This room is something else. Creepy. But… different compared to up there.” You say, pointing up the stairs behind him.

Scott watches you carefully, a flicker of something not entirely unamused crossing his face. He raises a brow as he waits for you to expand.

“I, uh, thought you could translate this?” You gesture to the plaque, wanting a distraction from the unsettled feeling still festering in your chest. “Hoping there’s… a name somewhere there.”

He steps down to join you, his gaze flicking to where you pointed with an inquisitive frown. He crouches, shining his flashlight over the area, his expression unreadable as he briefly examines the stains.

“S’that blood? Ominous,” he mutters to himself with an almost amused chuckle, before brushing some sand off a cracked plaque you referred to.

You let out a heavy sigh, willing yourself to feel normal again. “Where’s Sam?”

Scott doesn’t look up from the plaque. “He found some alcove he wanted to check out. Told him I’d catch up.” He pauses, inspecting the stone under his hand. “Can’t miss it.“

“Right. I’ll go grab him,” you murmur, swiping your phone before backing away.

You turn towards the stairs, focusing on the rhythm of your steps, trying to shake off the strange hold this place still has on you. But as you reach up to steady yourself against the wall, you pause.

And then there’s… wet. Something warm against your upper lip. You swallow tightly, the taste of copper thick against the back of your throat.

Your hand jerks up, fingertips coming back stained red. You watch, half-dazed, as the warm droplets splatter against the stone at your feet, starkly rich against the dusty floor.

“Shit.” You murmur, pressing the back of your wrist under your nose to stanch the flow, feeling your point of view tilt slightly as you sway in place.

The pounding headache returns with an overwhelming vengeance, and before you can blink, the dim shapes of the stairs in front of you fade.

Scott’s voice seems to echo strangely, growing distant as your pulse drums louder, drowning everything out.

“Are you-”

But his voice warps out of earshot, and everything blurs as you feel your spine smack against the ground...

The next thing you’re aware of is the throbbing throughout your head and a ringing in your ears. Then the hard tile beneath you, the relative coolness seeping through your t-shirt. After, the slight coppery taste at the roof of your mouth and a dull ache across your shoulders as you blink yourself into focus.

And there's a tightness around your wrist, just erring on painful... you’re abruptly aware of a hand clamped around it, knuckles white against your skin.

“Scott?” Your voice cracks, weak and disoriented, and he quickly loosens his grip, his expression wavering between confusion and something else you can’t quite place.

“You-” he starts, before his mouth presses shut, brow furrowed. There’s a wariness in his eyes that leaves you uneasy. “You passed out.” His eyes flick to your face, and his fingers raise in an instinctive gesture as he lets go of you, before falling away, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. “Gave me a hell of a scare, girl.”

You press a hand to your temple, grimacing. “Ugh… what- how long was I out?”

Scott hesitates, his expression uncharacteristically unsettled. “You, uh… you were gone for a good few seconds. Like I said, scared the shit outta me.”

“Great.” You sigh, wiping a smear of slightly tacky blood from beneath your nose as you pull yourself upright. You frown.

“You alright?” he asks, voice softer now, though his tone still holds the note of surprise that seems so weirdly... not like him.

“Think so.” You grimace, wiping at your nose again with the edge of your sleeve, though the motion only spreads the drying blood. You feel a rush of irritation - not just at the mess, but at the situation itself.

Humiliation, too.

Your head still feels foggy, and the skin along your spine prickles. “Well, my head’s spinning a bit, but yeah - I’m good.” you say, trying to inject more certainty into your voice than you feel.

Scott doesn’t look convinced, but before he can respond, footsteps echo from the stairwell.

“Hey, so I found a-” Sam’s voice cuts off abruptly as soon as he sees you. He locks on the blood smeared across your chin, flickering to Scott and back to you with razor-sharp focus. “What the hell happened? Y’alright?”

Here we go.

You groan inwardly, forcing yourself to muster a weak, dismissive smile. “I’m fine. Just - I lost my balance, I think.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, and he finishes his descent down the narrow staircase, his eyes scanning you with the kind of intensity that makes you want to squirm a bit.

Sam doesn’t bite. His brow furrows as he steps closer, eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Lost your balance.” His voice is low, edged with sarcasm.

“She passed out,” Scott interjects, his tone measured but still carrying a little tension. “Had a bit of a fall. She seemed… I don’t know… spooked when I came down here.”

This makes you tut.

Sam doesn’t reply right away, his eyes still locked on you, scrutiny grating on your already frazzled nerves.

“I’m fine, Sam,” you insist, though the words come out more clipped than you intend. “Really.” You turn to Scott. “And ‘she’ wasn’t ‘spooked’,” you lie, “whatever that means. I was concentrating.”

Scott purses his lips, raising his hands in defence.

Sam’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepens. “Uh-huh. And the blood?”

“Dry air. Nosebleed. It happens.” you snap, then sigh, dragging a hand through your hair. You hate how defensive you sound, but the tightness in your chest won’t ease. You’re done with this room. You need out. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Can we move on?”

Sam folds his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Not if you’re gonna keel over again.”

Your irritation spikes. “I’m not gonna keel o- Jesus.”

“Maybe some fresh air, then.” Scott adds, his voice calm. “Look, no harm in stepping outside for a bit, right?”

The patronising tone - however subtle - sets your teeth on edge. “What I need is for everyone to stop talking for me.” You stand slowly, ignoring the way your knees wobble slightly. “Here’s an idea: why don’t you two go check out whatever it is Sam found, and I’ll head back to the car? Alone.”

Sam’s frown deepens, and he glances toward Scott, who shrugs lightly. “I don’t think-”

“I’m fine,” you say again, cutting him off. “I’ll drink some water, take a minute, and sit down. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sam hesitates, his jaw working as he weighs his options. Finally, he huffs out a breath, stepping aside to let you pass but not without muttering under his breath, “Stubborn as hell.”

Oh, the irony.

Scott claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, grinning faintly. “C’mon, man.”

You ignore the subtle pang of guilt that lingers as you head back up the stairs, Sam glancing over his shoulder one last time.

You make your way up slowly, gripping the uneven wall for balance as your head continues to throb. Every step feels heavier than it should, your legs trembling faintly under the strain.

It’s not just exhaustion, though - it’s something deeper, a dull pulsating that seems to ricochet through your skull. It starts faintly, a bit like an errant heartbeat behind your temples, but it begins to intensify the closer to the top of the stairs you get.

You grit your teeth and keep walking. Maybe they’re right. Maybe you just need to rest. You’ve been thinking too hard - too overexcited. Not sleeping. Maybe it’s beginning to all catch up on you.

You pause just as you see the soft moonlight coming from the exit round the corner, leaning heavily against the wall to catch your breath. The sensation intensifies, sharper - more rhythmic now, as if the ruins are drawing you back in, pressing their presence into your skin and beckoning you near.

Like it’s saying you’re not done here yet.

The idea seems ridiculous, yet it’s impossible to ignore. Your hand drifts absently to your temple, pressing against it as if that might alleviate the strange pressure.

Does it hurt? Not particularly, though it is uncomfortable

Your logical brain protests. It’s just a wall. You’re exhausted. You need to get to the car and sit down.

But your body doesn’t listen. Mere seconds later, your fingers brushing over the edges of the stone, tracing its faint irregularities.

And as you do so, the discomfort begins to wane - only slightly, but it’s enough to persuade you to keep going.

The sensation is strongest near one particular part of the wall - a small arch no bigger than the width of your shoulders, just slightly more untidily constructed than the surrounding rock. A strange compulsion washes over you - it’s… irrational, you tell yourself, but you’re undeniably drawn to it. Just like the blood downstairs.

You press your palm against the stone experimentally. It doesn’t feel quite as solid as it should; there’s a subtle give beneath your hand, a faint shift that sets your pulse racing.

Before you realise what you’re doing, you remove your water bottle from your bag and swing it lightly against the base of the stone.

Thunk.

The sound echoes, louder than you expected. A fine puff of dust sifts down from the crack, making you cough. You glance over your shoulder instinctively, half-expecting to hear Sam’s voice berating you for still being here or Scott’s cool, curious tone asking what you’ve found. But there’s nothing - just silence. Good.

You roll your shoulders and swing the bottle again, harder this time. The metal clangs and the stone shifts further, crumbling at the edges. By the fourth hit, the brittle mortar at the top of the arch gives way entirely, and a portion of the stone collapses inward, revealing a hollowed-out niche. Dust billows out in a faint cloud, making you cough.

“Ha.” You mutter in mild disbelief, wiping dust from your face with the back of your hand.

You put your bottle down and turn your phone torch back on to shine it around inside the gap. Standing on the toes of your trainers, you try to get a better look, but the angle is awkward, and you’re still too short to see properly.

And then you pause, letting your heels drop back to the ground.

A thread of doubt curls in.

What are you doing?

You’ve been chasing a few mere sentences from a man serving tea, working yourself up to the point of passing out. Overactive imagination making a mountain out of a molehill.

Was Sam right?

Was Scott?

You were just struck with a migraine. That’s all. Was it? Ugh.

You can practically hear them now - Sam, irritated but worried, Scott’s patronising charm softening the blow.

“You’re being ridiculous,” they’d say. “You’re not thinking straight.”

Are they right? Are you imagining things, clutching at straws because you’re desperate to find something - anything - that justifies being here? That proves you belong here with them? The late nights, the over-excitement, the way your mind won’t quiet itself - it’s all spiralling into this headache, this… this irrational load of what can only be described as nonsense.

No.

You clench your jaw, swallowing the rising frustration. You’re not about to let yourself be babied any longer.

Turning back to the arch, you glance over your shoulder. Your surroundings are silent; they haven’t heard you.

What have you got to lose?

Taking a deep breath, you plant your hands against the rough stone and pull yourself up, gritting your teeth as you hook your arms over the now-broken archway, the sore skin of your palm agitated against the rock, shoes dug into the uneven stone to relieve the pressure and keep yourself held in place.

You hesitate, squinting into the darkness, the light on your phone only doing so much. Your head throbs harder now, the pulsating feeling so intense it makes you wince. With trembling fingers, you reach inside, brushing against something coarse and rough. Leather, perhaps.

Your hand curls around it, and you let yourself fall back to the ground with a dusty thud.

You look down at a small, worn book, the edges of its cover frayed and cracked with age.

Your lips part in search of words. But for the time being, you can’t find any.

It’s heavier than it looks, and as you turn it over in your hands, you notice faint embossed designs along the spine - Arabic calligraphy, though the letters are worn. The leather smells of earth and age, the scent stirring a strange, fleeting sense of déjà vu in your chest.

And then the pressure in your head eases.

Not entirely, but enough to make you exhale shakily. It’s like a taut string inside you has loosened. The hum lingers faintly, but it’s different now - softer, almost satisfied.

You stare down at the book, your fingers brushing lightly over the worn cover. Surely not. This… this has to be a coincidence.

It’s just a book.

Right?

Forcing yourself to move, you climb the last few steps and emerge into the open air. The warm breeze brushes over your skin, grounding you somewhat, though your chest still feels tight with unease.

You press forward.

The car is parked just beyond the ruins.

You make your way to it, your hand brushing over the bonnet as you lean against it and exhale shakily.

You set the book down on the warm metal and carefully flip open the cover.

The first few pages are blank, the edges yellowed.

But as you turn further, names begin to appear.

Arabic script fills the left-hand margins, and, much to your excitement, English - what you assume are - translations run alongside them in elegant, looping handwriting. The ink is faded in places, names, numbers, and currencies from all over the world are written, and some crossed out, but one name catches your eye, repeated over and over:

Emaan Sadir.

What was this book? A ledger? A diary? You’re not sure yet, but the sheer weight of its presence and the slightly sickening bubbling of excitement in your stomach makes your chest tighten.

The sound of voices echoes faintly from the ruins behind you, drawing your attention back. Sam and Scott must be wrapping up. Quickly, you tuck the book back into your bag, zipping it shut as you slide off the bonnet.

Whatever this is, it feels significant - far too significant to just brush off. And far, far too significant to give them the satisfaction of knowing about just yet.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

fun fact, I actually had a heavy nosebleed in the shower a mere 5 minutes after writing the nosebleed bit. this means that i will also fuck samuel drake for real one day.