#fashionable always felt excessive

[mariamagdalenaposting]

🎉🎉🎉 FIXED MY BIKE 🎉🎉🎉

[salem-witch-slut]

Behind Closed Doors (18+)

Ellie Williams x Abby Anderson

SYNOPSIS: Abby and Ellie are always at each other's throats and everyone can safely say that they hate each other. But no one ever sees what happens when the doors are closed and their hidden away from the world.

WARNINGS: Excessive swearing, dom!Abby, sub!Ellie, pussy eating, aggressive scissoring, hair pulling, spit swallowing, hate sex, no aftercare, Ellie being a rude bitch

WORD COUNT: 3.7K

A/N: I just love these two. This one was a personal favorite because it's just so damn dirty. This is NOT a continuation of Unrequited. Just a similar preface.

dividers made by @cafekitsune

Everything was going her way right now. She had woken up on time, she had enough time to take a shower even, and she was able to get breakfast before patrol! The sun was up, and the autumn air was comfortably cool, enough for her to wear her thin hoodie all day long. Everything was going good… And then she saw her assignment.

“Unfuckingbelievable…” Ellie’s hand went to the board where she saw she was running the Hoback Pass trail with… of all the people that she could go with, why was it her?

“Damn, you got Abby?” Ellie looked over her shoulder to see Jesse standing right behind her. A deep sigh left Ellie’s throat as she ran her entire hand across her face and tried to calm down. She knew it was too good to be true. And she knew that the second they were deep inside of the patrol route, her and Abby would be attacking each other like wild animals. It was always inevitable.

Shimmer was being pulled in from the paddock as Ellie went to retrieve her rifle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joel and Abby’s dad, Jerry, leaning against the fence on the far right with mugs in their hands and casually talking, clearly enjoying their day off. Ellie envied them, but at the same time she felt bad for Jerry. He had the world’s bitchiest daughter.

“Where even is she?” Ellie checked the chamber of her rifle and made sure it was loaded before a hand curled around the barrel. A very large, veined hand that she could recognize with her fucking eyes closed.

“Don’t fall in the lake again,” Abby remarked, her hair in that same stupid braid it always was. She was wearing a flannel that she cut the sleeves off of and underneath was a black compression shirt with a few tears near the collar. She sure was adapting to that Wyoming fashion after being here for like… five years now.

“Oh my, god, that was one time,” Ellie rolled her eyes and yanked the rifle out of her hand, slinging it over her shoulder with her backpack. Abby simply scowled and went to get her own rifle while retrieving her horse.

As usual, Jesse gave the morning talk like he always did before he jumped onto his horse and the gates opened up. Ellie noticed that Dina was riding with Manny today; that’s good. They got along great and shared stories about Mexico, and New Mexico.

Ellie looked at her partner and saw that Abby seemed more than eager to get this patrol started. What was going through her mind right now?

“You ready for this?” Ellie scooted Shimmer closer to Abby’s stallion, Artax.

Abby looked over at Ellie, and smirked. “Try to stay quiet this time.”

Attacking each other like wild animals was almost an understatement…

Everything was going like normal, with Ellie and Abby clearing out their routes, taking down any infected that was nearby and making sure the paths were clear… And as soon as they reached their first lookout, Abby snapped.

Seconds after Ellie signed them in, Abby was pushing her face down into the table and grabbing a fistful of her auburn hair, leaning down low enough to whisper into her ear in just the right way that it drove Ellie crazy every time. “Wore those fucking jeans on purpose, didn’t you?”

Ellie couldn’t stop herself from whining from Abby’s gravelly voice, basking in the warmth from her body heat and leaning back against her. Ellie knew that the blonde loved these jeans, and for some reason, she just couldn’t help herself when grabbing them this morning. They hugged her ass almost perfectly.

“Y-you fuckin’ wish,” Ellie teased, her heart racing at Abby sliding her hands down in order to grip her ass with her immense strength. What was it about this damn woman that made Ellie want to submit but give attitude at the same time?

Abby’s veined hands slid into the back pocket of Ellie’s jeans before her thumbs traced the crease between her asscheeks, teasing the redhead to no end as she moved her hands down and dragged the tips of her fingers across the denim crotch. Abby didn’t miss the way Ellie shivered at her touch. And Ellie couldn’t hide how wet she was even if she tried.

“Fucking sad, isn’t it?” Abby taunted, her right hand sliding back up to grab at Ellie’s hair hard enough to make her eyes water. “You hate me… and I’m the only one that can fuck you good enough.”

“S-Shut up,” Ellie demanded. “J-Just stop fucking talking.”

“Oh, but you like it when I talk,” Abby taunted before her hand curled into the waistband of Ellie’s jeans and started yanking them down over her rear. For some reason, Ellie knew this would happen… and she had this sickening suspicion that Abby was prepared this. “You love it when I degrade the fuck out of you and split you open on my fingers, don’t you?”

Ellie stayed quiet, trying to deny her and biting down on her lip in order to stifle the sounds that were escaping her against her will. Abby wasn’t having it. Her massive hand came down and smacked directly against Ellie’s ass. A loud yelp left her and she looked over her shoulder and stared Abby down with a simmering glare. Abby was grinning.

If Ellie wasn’t careful, Abby might get angry enough to rip her jeans in the process… it’s happened a few times in the past before, and that was an awkward walk back to Jackson. Falling in the river? Yeah, that’s why she trashed her jeans, not because the seam was ripped right over her cunt so Abby could have easy access to her.

Tried to blame Ellie’s shaking legs on the cold water… But Abby knew the truth.

The blonde was waiting. She wanted to hear Ellie say how desperate she was for her, but Abby was going to need to try harder than that. She knew Ellie and knew that she was a stubborn little shit until the end.

Ellie tried to blame the sweating on the hot weather, but that wasn’t fully true. Her shirt was sticking to her bare skin uncomfortably, and normally Abby would have her almost completely naked by now, but the blonde was holding back. She was torturing her, and Ellie didn’t know if she loved it or hated it.

“You gonna say it?” Abby leaned down, her braid tickling the side of Ellie’s neck as she breathed against her skin. Ellie scowled, looking at Abby with narrowed eyes and resisting the urge to spit on her cheek like she’s done in the past. Their dynamic was so fucked, but so much fun that they just couldn’t stop themselves from sinking into madness. When Ellie curled her lips downward into a mocking snarl, Abby scoffed and grabbed a fistful of her hair once again, yanking her off the table and pushing her down onto the couch against the wall.

Ellie can’t even remember the number of times they fucked on this couch. And now another one was about to be added to their mental list. Abby put the sole of her boot into Ellie’s chest, forcing her to lean all the way back against the couch. Once she was satisfied, Abby removed her foot and stepped forward, standing between the auburn-haired girl’s legs and reaching down with her right hand.

“Open,” Abby demanded, her fingers gripping Ellie’s jaw as she huffed, and denied Abby what she wanted. In retaliation, Abby lightly swatted her cheek with her hand, forcing Ellie’s head to cock to the left as she whined. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Ellie opened her mouth, and Abby immediately slipped her fingers in, dragging her index and middle digit across her tongue and teasing her mouth in the most torturous way possible. Ellie drooled, saliva slipping from her tongue and down her neck as Abby pushed her fingers a little further into her mouth and made the girl gag.

“That’s it, good girl,” Abby praised, seeing the way Ellie shivered when she gave her the positive words. She knew that Ellie loved it when she praised her, but Abby loved to tease… And she loved to degrade. And while Ellie loved sweet words of affirmation, she also loved being treated like a slut sometimes… and by sometimes, she means every time with Abby. “Head back… just like that…”

Ellie sat there obediently and whined as Abby leaned forward and mercilessly spit into Ellie’s open mouth. Ellie’s heart was racing with every passing second as she did exactly what the blonde wanted. Abby pressed a kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips and released her jaw. “Swallow.”

She gulped without a word of disobedience.

“Oh, fuck this,” Abby looked frantic as she got down on her knees in front of Ellie and began yanking down the girl’s jeans as fast as she possibly could. She almost ripped the denim, wrestling with Ellie’s dumb converse as she yanked them off and left her in just her shirt and socks before leaning down and grabbing Ellie’s thighs with both hands. The veins flexed in her forearms and Ellie huffed pathetically.

They’ve done this dance so many times before. Ellie was so familiar with Abby’s touch by now that she knew what to expect when the woman was desperate. Her tensed fingers gripping at Ellie’s flesh was making her tremble with anticipation as the blonde dived down like she couldn’t take it anymore. It was only a few seconds before Abby’s tongue was on Ellie’s pussy.

“OhmyGOD,” Ellie arched upward, her eyes rolling to the ceiling as she fell against the back of the couch. It always felt like the first time, and she could never get enough of the blonde’s mouth on her for as long as she lived. Ellie looked down, seeing how Abby’s brows were pulled in almost anger as she lapped her cunt from her hole to her clit, drinking in her arousal and pushing her legs up so Ellie’s knees nearly touched her shoulders.

Abby loved being in control. She had no problem folding Ellie’s limbs around so it was easier for her to take advantage of her body and have her lay in the perfect way so she could reach her deepest parts and get Ellie to make the sweetest sounds. Not once had Ellie topped Abby, but it didn’t seem like an issue. She always made Abby cum so it didn’t matter… Ellie loved being used by her like this. It was a part of her that she was allowed to lose and give to someone else; a piece of control she could relinquish willingly to the strongest person she knows.

Ellie didn’t voice that she trusted Abby, but it was wordlessly affirmed for her almost every time.

Abby was drowning in her. Ellie’s heavy taste was making her moan, her tongue dancing between the girl’s slick folds and feasting on her pussy like she was the most delicious thing she’s ever put in her mouth. Ellie wasn’t allowed to touch her yet… not until Abby said so.

The blonde’s fingers squeezed her thighs harder, and Ellie let out a squeak that was so pathetic, Abby almost felt mercy for a second. She broke away from her core for a small second, panting and looking down at how the girl’s cunt was glistening with pleasure and her drool. God, Ellie was so fucking hot that it was painful. Abby was ignoring the pulse in her own cunt as she looked up and latched her lips around Ellie’s clit, sucking hard and making Ellie’s body jerk forward off the couch.

“FUCK!” She sounded like she was in pain, her eyes squeezing shut and her thighs shaking as she bent forward and wrapped her arms around Abby’s head. Fuck the rules, she wouldn’t survive this if she couldn’t touch her. Abby allowed it, and hummed with approval at Ellie’s nails scratching on her scalp. “Fuck, shit… A-Abby…”

The blonde wiggled her head from side to side as her tongue provided delicious stimulation for the tattooed girl at her mercy. She was drowning and loving every second of this… but Abby wanted more. Oh, she wanted so much more that it was painful.

Ellie was in ecstasy, but it was immediately ripped away when Abby broke off from her cunt and leaned back, looking at her and bringing her strong hand down to deliver a swat to her glistening pussy, right over her exposed clit. Ellie screamed, and immediately covered her mouth. If she was any fucking louder, the lookout would be swarming with infected… that would be beyond embarrassing to explain to everybody.

“Abby w-what the fuck is—” Ellie complained, now angry that the blonde stopped. But her complaints died on her mouth when she saw Abby stand up and unbuckle the belt on her hips, pushing her cargo pants down and unlacing her boots. “Can’t wait, huh? I’m that irresistible?”

“Shut up,” Abby bit back, grabbing at Ellie and pulling her off the couch. She laid her down over the sleeping bag that was left from the last patrol that had to stay here, pushing her down onto the ground and kicking her boots off, along with the jeans and underwear hanging off her ankles. “Shut up and do what I fucking say for once.”

“And if I don’t?” Ellie barked, staring Abby down with a fire behind her eyes. Abby didn’t like that answer and she immediately began to pull away, almost like she was about to get dressed again. Ellie began to panic, and she reached out, gripping Abby by the front of her shirt. “Okay, okay, you win!  Fuck, I’ll do whatever you say, just please—”

Abby smirked, caging Ellie with her arms for a brief moment as she bent down and captured Ellie’s lips with her own. The kiss was soft, gentle, the opposite of what these two were with each other. That was one thing that always felt wrong, but so right… It didn’t matter how hard Abby fucked her, or how aggressive she was with her… Ellie always gave her the sweetest kisses that had Abby’s heart racing and it made her tremble with some forbidden emotion that she swore she didn’t feel for Ellie.

“You even beg like a whore,” Abby teased, resulting in Ellie biting her bottom lip. The blonde responded with gripping Ellie’s hips and pushing her upward a little before she used her right knee to lift the girl’s leg up a bit. “Come on, behave. Leg up, on my shoulder.”

Ellie obeyed, and she wasn’t sure if it was because her cunt was pulsing angrily, or because Abby smelled so good when she leaned forward and trailed her lips down the outer column of her neck. Ellie lifted up her leg, resting her calf against Abby’s broad shoulder as the blonde wasted no time in crawling over her body and slotting herself perfectly between Ellie’s legs.

“God, just fucking look at you,” Abby taunted, dropping forward and listening to the way Ellie groaned as she felt the blonde’s slick cunt slide against her own dripping pussy. Why did these two completely opposite women fit together so perfectly, like puzzle pieces from different boxes? Abby reached forward and pushed Ellie’s bangs out of her face, basking in how her green eyes sparkled with tears that threatened to fall. “You want me to fuck you so bad, you look stupid.”

“T-Then fucking do it already,” Ellie snapped, her fists curling into the front of Abby’s shirt as she yanked her down, veins bulging from her hands as she showed that aggression that Abby adored in her little spitfire so much. “Fuck me like you fucking mean it.”

Abby fell forward, her hands slamming into the floor behind Ellie’s head as she rutted down against her. The mix of their juices together provided the most perfect friction that Ellie couldn’t stop moaning, even for a second.

Normally she wasn’t this loud, but for some reason today, Ellie was overly whiny and vocal. It was like she was more sensitive than normal, and everything that Abby did was sending her into overdrive. She was wetter, her heart was racing faster, and her muscles were trembling with every single thrust of Abby’s cunt against her own.

Ellie reached up, grabbing the back of Abby’s neck and biting her lip as she did everything in her power to stifle her sounds, but it just felt too fucking good, and she didn’t even sound like herself! Ellie has never made these kinds of noises before in her life… Abby was practically drooling.

Everything was going just how Abby wanted it… and then Ellie grabbed her braid. A rough yank to her hair had Abby’s head snapping back and she gaped, eyes widening as she looked down and stared into Ellie’s green irises that seemed almost playful as she tugged on the braid again.

It was like a trigger as Abby just moved her hips faster, and ground herself down against Ellie’s cunt harder. She felt Ellie’s clit rub against her own in the most perfect way that Abby’s pace was beginning to falter, and her hips started stuttering. She hasn’t been able to cum in almost a week… Abby was just as sensitive as Ellie.

“Shit, El…” Abby huffed, her heart slamming against her ribs as Ellie’s fingers began aggressively curling in her hair. It didn’t take long for Ellie to unravel the braid, long blonde waves falling over and framing her face in golden curtains. Ellie loved seeing Abby with her hair down… it made her look even more beautiful than before. “Fuck… b-better cum f’me…”

“A-Abby… Abby, please…” Ellie sobbed, falling back to the ground. One of her arms went over her eyes and she arched off the floor, trying to meet Abby’s movements and slip herself along the blonde’s beautiful pussy. Abby was having none of it.

“No,” She grabbed Ellie’s wrist, pushing both arms down onto the floor and towering over her. She was really testing how far Ellie could stretch as she nearly forced the girl into a split. “Don’t you f-fucking dare look away from me… Want you to look me in the eyes… w-when you fucking cum— Jesus christ…”

Ellie couldn’t bring herself to disobey even if she wanted to. It was like a hot shower after falling in a frozen lake. It warmed her from the outside in, sending Ellie into sudden trembles that quickly took over her entire body.

“Fuckfuck— Ohmygod Abbyyyyyy…!” Ellie pressed her forehead against the blonde’s her eyes rolling back as her orgasm brought her to literal tears. Abby wasn’t far behind as she rutted against Ellie’s cunt that was getting wetter and wetter with every second.

Abby stopped moving, her hips jerking forward as low, violent groans of pleasure left her throat. “F-Fucking take it, baby… Making a fucking mess of this pussy…”

She could only hold herself up for so long. It didn’t take much for Abby to fall, her arms giving out as she pushed her face into Ellie’s sweat stained shirt. She carefully moved Ellie’s leg, listening to the poor girl cry out as her thigh cramped up and she fully lowered her limb down onto the floor. Her breath was labored, and her heart was racing and pounding hard enough that Abby could hear it and feel it against her face.

Both of them were quiet for a long time… What exactly are they supposed to say about it? It was always slightly awkward after they fucked each other speechless. This part never got any easier to deal with. A sigh left Abby’s throat as she looked up, trying to gauge Ellie’s expressions, but as always, she was an expert at schooling how she was feeling on the outside.

“You okay?” Abby asked, sitting up slowly and looking into Ellie’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated and to anybody else, they could assume she had gotten high. Abby began to remove herself from Ellie, her face turning red at how their bodies stuck together in the most vulgar fashion. “Ellie, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Ellie remarked, rubbing at her face with both hands as she sat up off the floor, only to fall back on her palms when a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I’m always fine…”

“Yeah,” Abby muttered wordlessly, reaching for a towel inside of the emergency duffel bag that was kept at every lookout. She slowly wiped off her inner thighs and stomach before she went to clean Ellie up, only for the redhead to stop her. “Would you just—”

“I’m not a fucking baby, I can do it myself,” Ellie snapped, wiping her legs off and making sure the remnants of Abby’s slick wasn’t left on any part of her skin. “See? Fully capable.”

“Just…” Abby looked like she had more to say. Ellie waited, pressing her thighs together to try and regain some sort of modesty, but Abby just scoffed, reaching for her jeans and tugging them back on. Ellie looked disappointed. “We gotta get moving.”

Ellie knew she was the one in the wrong. Abby always tried this every time. She would ask if Ellie was okay, and if she needed anything. Abby always tried to clean her up, whisper words of praise, even tried to kiss her once when it was over… But Ellie wasn’t having it. She was cold, aggressive, and pushed all forms of aftercare away from the blonde like being fucked by her was the worst thing she could think of.

Abby refused to tell Ellie just how much it hurt her. Every time Ellie denied her advances, Abby felt her heart ache all over again… Funny, isn’t it? How the biggest, baddest person in Jackson is the one pining after the rudest bitch to ever walk the streets.

Abby was embarrassed for the rest of the patrol route. She felt angry, dirty even, as she watched her patrol partner act and kill like nothing had happened, and nothing was wrong. Like she didn’t just have Abby all over her and against her…

Would Ellie ever let Abby in? Would Abby ever stop simping for Ellie? Or the bigger question…

Would they ever admit to themselves just how badly they were in love with each other?

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Pretty P.A. Chapter 7

Summary: Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion modeling agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  **curvy reader** **Y/N/N = Your nickname ** Warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from Bucky), some violence, blood, smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Y/N knew she needed to talk to Bucky, but couldn’t get the courage to do it.  Two weeks later Olympus was reached out to by Vogue, wanting to do a story about Bucky being a supermodel turned agency director.  He agreed and they found themselves being flown to Lake Como in Italy for a photoshoot.  Bucky looked pristine in his all-white outfit, getting doused with water to look like he’d just come out of the lake, his long hair meticulously placed as they wetted it.  Y/N smirked at how handsome he looked.  He’d promised her a fancy dinner that night, and she couldn’t wait to get him to bed with the cool spring air and the amazing views of the area.  

“God, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” one of the other assistants on the shoot, Yelena, said as she walked up to her.

Y/N huffed a laugh as they watched him once again pull himself onto the dock, the camera going off a million times.  He stood and pushed his hair back.  “Yes,” she agreed.

“You’re so lucky to get to work for that,” Yelena whispered, gesturing towards Bucky’s body and giving Y/N a suggestive nudge to her arm.  Y/N just smiled.  She was very lucky.  “Is he, uh, seeing anyone?” Yelena asked, licking her lips.

Y/N silently sighed.  This was a constant question she had to shield every time they went somewhere for work.  She wanted to scream, to stomp her feet, make a scene, but she merely shook her head.  “He’s very private about those kinds of things, so I wouldn’t know,” Y/N said noncommittally.  

Yelena hummed and shrugged.  “Well, I’ll just have to figure it out myself,” she winked at Y/N and started walking down the pier towards Bucky and the team behind the camera.

Y/N subtly glared at Yelena as she approached Bucky and fixed his hair again, her fingers lingering along his jaw before she turned and talked to one of the other assistants.  Bucky gave Yelena a quizzical look but focused back on the camera as they caught a few more shots.  Y/N waited until they called it quits, but Yelena stayed back and talked with Bucky for a few minutes.  He was being polite and friendly, as he was with everyone, but she kept touching his arm, pushing his hair back again as it dripped water, and laughing excessively at whatever he said.  Y/N’s jaw ticked, aching with how hard she was clenching it.  Yelena was beautiful, short like Y/N but slender.  She and Bucky weren’t exclusive, but she felt the jealousy and frustration rage inside her as he dismissed himself but she followed him up the pier.  Y/N tried to keep her face neutral as he walked up to her and smiled.  “Hey babes,” he greeted her.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the pet name he reserved for private times, and Yelena blinked in surprise.  “Hey,” Y/N said, pulling out his water bottle and handing it to him.  “Did they give the all clear?”

“Yep, we’re finished,” Bucky said, gulping down the water before handing it back to her.  “I’m just gonna get cleaned up then we’ll go to dinner.”  Y/N nodded with a side smile.  He turned to Yelena.  “Thank you for your help today.  I look forward to seeing the final product in a couple of months.”

Yelena looked a little put out but nodded politely.  “Of course, thank you for coming.”

Bucky quickly linked his arm with Y/N and led her towards the beach house that they were staying in just a short walk away from the pier.  They didn’t say anything to each other on the way, and when they finally reached the door Bucky led her inside then locked it behind them soundly.  He suddenly grabbed Y/N and pinned her to the door, his head dipping down to start kissing at her neck while his hands wandered around her body.  “Jealous, babes?” he muttered.

Y/N squirmed and pushed him away, but he kept smirking at her.  “No,” Y/N said.  She dodged his arms and walked around him, leading the way to the bedroom.

“Oh come on, Y/N, it’s okay,” Bucky chuckled as he followed her.

Y/N kept walking, ignoring him as she went to the bathroom and turned on the shower for him.  “Clean up,” she instructed him before turning to leave.

“Woah, babes,” Bucky said, suddenly serious.  He grabbed her by the shoulders and made her face him.  “Hey, I was just teasing.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, keeping her gaze at his chest.  “We never specified if we were exclusive.  You’re free to do whatever, or whoever, you want.”

Bucky scoffed and let go of her shoulders.  “Are you seeing other people?” he asked with a bitter tone.

“No,” Y/N said, glancing at him.

“Neither am I,” he said, stepping toward her and pinning her against the sink.  “Look at me, babes.”  Y/N sighed heavily then met his gaze.  He watched her for a moment, the shower making the bathroom start to steam up.  “I don’t want to be with anyone else.  Only you.  I don’t want you with anyone else.  Only me.  And I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear before,” he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.  “We were just…happy.  I didn’t think I’d need to.”

“Well you do,” Y/N said quietly.  

Bucky sighed this time, his smirk coming back.  “You’re mine.  I’m yours.  We belong to each other.  Exclusively.  You wanna be my girlfriend?  Great.  You’re my girlfriend.  Though that seems like a pale description of what you mean to me.”

Y/N frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Bucky smiled fully at her question.  “What words could possibly do you justice?  You are my everything.  My center.  My sun.  You are the greatest thing that has happened to me.  My greatest achievement.  Not because I conquered you in any way, but because I somehow won your heart, and it's my most prized possession.”  Y/N could feel her eyes fill with tears.  “I told you that first night.  All I want is you, babes.  Whether that means as my girlfriend, my fiance, my wife, though none of those words will fully express what it is you mean to me.”

Y/N’s tears finally fell and Bucky quickly wiped them away.  She had never cried in front of him before, so it felt very vulnerable, but she smiled up at him.  “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispered.

Bucky’s smile widened.  “I mean it.  Every word.”

“I love you,” Y/N confessed.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned his forehead against her forehead.  “God that feels so good to hear,” he whispered.  He opened his eyes and gazed at her.  “I love you.”  Y/N cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down to kiss her.  He happily reciprocated, his arms winding around her waist and holding her tight to him as he deepened the kiss.  They stayed there, almost swaying as they kissed, until he chuckled against her lips.  “Now you’re all wet,” he said, looking down at his wet clothes soaking up her outfit.

“Looks like we’re both going to need to clean up,” Y/N smirked suggestively.

Bucky groaned at her tone, quickly stripping them both and leading her to the shower.

@calwitch @hzdhrtss

[piastrixpole]

viii. a world alone

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!oc (daisy shaw)

genre: written

based on the 2023 season

prev/ masterlist/ next

twitter!

Daisy didn't know what she was thinking when she agreed to this. Scratch that - she didn't even remember Stella telling her about this in the first place so she was likely drunk or delirious, possibly both. The aftermath of Australia was messy to say the least so she knew she'd likely agreed when she was hungover and anxious out of her mind on the plane back.

Normally she headed back to her place in Newcastle when there was enough time between races to make it worthwhile as her mum was there and so was Faith but before the drama Daisy had arranged to visit the factory to complete some sim work for the team and she couldn't exactly back out of it now. Really it was the last thing she wanted to do - show her face at the factory when she had openly called out the unfair treatment and criticised the team on the radio but Daisy wasn't afraid of them either. Let Klaus come track her down and make excuses - it'd be a free comedy show for her.

To combat the negative attention she'd been receiving online, mainly from Daniel's fanbase and some of the more old fashioned minds on the grid who were absolutely thrilled at the turn of events as they could skew that incident to be their justification as to why she didn't deserve her seat on the grid, Stella had somehow worked a miracle and landed her a possible partnership with Jo Malone who were looking to expand their consumer base. And she'd fast tracked Daisy's upcoming Dior cover to flood the media with good press to move things on from Australia.

So now she was in the back of a car with Stella running through a list of potential questions they might ask her for the accompanying article to go with the shoot and the PR approved answers. Did she normally take them with a bit of salt? Yeah, yeah she did because it was more fun that way but given recent events Daisy figured she had to keep to the script as much as possible.

Being photographed and interviewed for a cover feature for one of the biggest luxury brands in the world was surreal for Daisy and something she had never seen coming. She wouldn't lie and claim that she couldn't model more if she wanted to - she was pretty and an athlete so she was always in good shape but her usual style wasn't exactly what brands were looking for.

Daisy was accustomed to harsh, dark eye makeup, excessive chunky jewellery, wild hair, and mainly black clothes. Her style was a far cry from the polished, elegant aesthetic typically associated with luxury brands like Dior. She couldn't help but wonder if she would fit the mould they were looking for.

Listening to her friend's meticulous planning, Daisy resolved to toe the line and play by the rules, at least for now while it was fresh news. She had to present a polished good girl image to the world while her team dealt with the tarnishes the race weekend had brought.

The photoshoot actually ended up being pretty cool. Not that she wasn't aware that it was an experience most people could only dream of but she'd never modelled before and while she wouldn't admit it to anyone, Daisy had been nervous. Over getting her picture taken of all things! She could drive a car around at over 300 kilometres an hour with ease, whipping around sharp turns like there was no tomorrow, but the idea of posing for a photographer was stressing her out.

To her utmost surprise Daisy learned that the artistic team at Dior wanted to honour her darker and more edgy aesthetic and were planning a look inspired by that rather than paint her out to be someone she wasn't. The looks were mostly monochromatic. Lots of black with the occasional pop or white or red. And her absolute favourite - the final outfit they had shot her in was this sharply tailored suit reminiscent of her own racing suit.

She might have felt like a fish out of water there but at least she looked the part.

From the moment she stepped foot in the factory Daisy found herself in high demand. It was a whirlwind of activity with people seeking her out from basically every department. One minute she was en route to the simulator to carry out the work that had been requested of her by the engineers, and the next she was intercepted and dragged off by the media team to film for 'Grill the Grid.'

"Sorry, Daisy, but we need you for filming a 'Grill the Grid' segment," one of them explained, a sense of urgency in their voice.

Daisy sighed inwardly, knowing that her day was about to become even busier and that any hopes of her leaving the factory at a reasonable time had just died.. Despite her reluctance, she followed the media team to the designated filming area, mentally preparing herself for the rapid-fire questions and challenges that awaited her.

She was barely in the door when she was swiftly ushered away by members of the media team to prepare for the shoot by changing into her race suit. Slipping out of her casual attire she took the suit off the clothing rack where it had been waiting for her and she pulled it on. It always felt weird to be wearing it when they weren't at the track. Daisy quickly checked her appearance in the mirror before she left the makeshift changing room.

As Daisy settled into the filming setup, the media team outlined the challenge for the day's episode of 'Grill the Grid.'

"Today's challenge is all about naming a race winner by surname for each letter of the alphabet," the host explained, a mischievous glint in their eye. "And remember, you've got to think fast as there's a 2 minute time limit!"

Daisy's confidence surged at the prospect of showcasing her racing knowledge in such a fun and competitive format. With a determined grin, she nodded in response to the challenge, her mind already racing to recall the names of past race winners from every corner of the globe.

As the filming began, Daisy's quick reflexes and encyclopaedic knowledge of Formula 1 history were on full display. With each letter presented to her, she effortlessly rattled off the names of iconic drivers who had triumphed on the world stage, showcasing her prowess as a true aficionado of the sport. Being a know it all when it came to F1 history as a result of far too many condescending men asking her to name the world champion from specific years and other more obscure records came in handy sometimes, and this was one of them.

Grill the grid 2023

EP 1 -> A-Z Challenge

Producer: I think you'll be good at this Daisy.

Daisy: Really subtle way of calling me a nerd thanks guys, but you're absolutely right - I've been training my whole life for this with people asking me to name 5 songs off my band shirts and name world champions so sorry to the boys, but it's so over for them and I fully intend to honour Seb though by knowing absolutely everything just to annoy people.

Producer: Confident words, I like it! Well in that case, your two minutes start...now! First letter - A

Daisy: Alonso, rookie of the year am I right?

Producer: That was fast.

Daisy: Yeah well my mum was like in love with him. When we were growing up we used to have one of those candles, like the ones for saints? But it was Alonso so who knows maybe in another life he's my stepdad or something.

Producer: Have you introduced them in the paddock?

Daisy: I haven't yet, managed to keep mum away from him last year at Silverstone but I've a feeling if I don't this year Jenson somehow will.

[CUT TO ZHOU AWKWARDLY LAUGHING]

[CUT TO NORRIS]: I'm stuck already

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Alboreto?

Producer: Yes, exactly!

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]; Andretti

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Alesi?

[CUT TO ALBON]: Alesi? Is he one?

[CUT TO GASLY]: Alesi

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Alesi

[CUT TO LECLERC, MAGNUSSON, STROLL]: Alesi

[CUT BACK TO ZHOU]

Producer: Someone on the grid now...

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Alonso

[CUT TO OCON, PEREZ, SARGEANT, NORRIS]: Alonso

[CUT TO A GRINNING ALONSO]: ...Ascari

Producer: You can skip

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Yeah, pass

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Skip

☆

Producer: 'B'

[CUT TO DAISY SMIRKING]

Daisy: JB baby! Justin Bieber...I mean the supreme slag, Jenson Button. Wait can we even keep that in?

[CUT TO GASLY]: Brundle?

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

[CUT TO ALBON]: Not Brundle, I imagine

[CUT TO A VERY SELF ASSURED LANDO]

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Barrichello

[CUT TO A CONFUSED PEREZ]

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Next

[CUT BACK TO DAISY]

Producer: Fernando skipped this one you know

[DAISY ROLLS EYES BEFORE GRINNING CHEEKILY]

Daisy: Not even the Fernando Alosno can escape early onset dementia apparently. Hope that doesn't cause too much of a lover's quarrel with him and Jenson.

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Skip

[CUT TO ALBON]: Oh! B! Button

[CUT TO OCON]: Button

[CUT TO STROLL]: Button

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Button

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Bottas

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Bottas

[CUT TO GASLY]: I don't know

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Bottas

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Brabham

[CUT TO LECLERC]: Berger

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Brabham

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Brabham

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Brabham

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Barrachielo

☆

Producer: 'C'

[CUT TO ALBON]: C? Skip

[CUT TO A BLANK HULKENBERG AND ALONSO]

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Uhhh Col....?

[CUT TO A THINKING STROLL]

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Charles..but that's not a surname

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Charles...it's gotta be a last name though right?

[CUT TO LECLERC]: Chiroun?

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

[CUT TO A SURPRISED LECLERC]: Ah, he didn't win no?

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Pass

[CUT TO DAISY]: Clark

[CUT TO ALONSO, OCON, MAGNUSSON, TSUNODA]: Pass

[CUT TO A HESITANT HULKENBERG]:C...Coulthard?

[CUT TO GASLY]: Coulthard

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Coulthard

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Coulthard

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Coulthard

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Coulthard

[CUT TO STROLL]:Coulthard

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Clark

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: I don't know

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Skip

☆

PRODUCER: 'D'

[CUT TO A THINKING SARGEANT]: D....

[CUT TO A BLANK FACED PIASTRI]

[CUT TO A SILENT HULKENBERG]

[CUT TO A CONFUSED LECLERC]

[CUT TO AN EVEN MORE CONFUSED ALBON]

[CUT TO BOTTAS MAKING AWKWARD EYE CONTACT WITH THE CAMERA]

[CUT TO GASLY]

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: I don't know

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Davidson?

[CUT TO STROLL]: Davidson?

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

[CUT TO SAINZ WITH NOT A THOUGHT BEHIND HIS EYES]

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Pass

[CUT TO OCON]: Pass

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Pass

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Pass

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Pass

[CUT TO STROLL]: Pass

[CUT TO GASLY]: Skip

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Skip

Daisy: Depailler? There's only been him and De Angelis right..

Producer: That's correct! I think you're the only one who got that

Daisy: Huh, these boys need to up their game

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Skip

☆

PRODUCER: There's no E, moving onto F

[CUT TO SAINZ, ALBON, LECLERC]: FANGIO

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Farina

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Fittapaldi

[CUT TO GASLY, PIASTRI, ZHOU]: Fischella

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO NORRIS, MAGNUSSON, PEREZ]: Pass

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Skip

[CUT TO OCON]: FITTIPALDI

Daisy: Farina

[CUT TO STROLL]: Pass

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Pass

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Skip

☆

PRODUCER: 'G'

[CUT TO ALBON]

[CUT TO NORRIS]: 'G?'

[CUT TO LECLERC]: 'G,G.G'

[CUT BACK TO A CONFUSED ALBON]: 'G...?'

PRODUCER: Think of someone current on the grid

[CUT BACK TO LECLERC]: G? Gug?...

[CUT TO A SILENT HULKENBERG]

[CUT BACK AGAIN TO ALBON]: G..as a surname?...Currently... uhhh

[CUT TO STROLL]

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: I'm blanking now

[CUT TO ZHOU]: I can't remember any

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: No grosjean...

[CUT TO PEREZ]: G

[CUT TO NORRIS]: I don't know

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Pass

[CUT TO STROLL]: Pass

[CUT TO SAINZ]:...Ga

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Which team is he?

Producer [laughing]: I can't tell you that

[CUT TO A SMILING GASLY]: Pierre Gasly

[CUT TO A FRANTIC LECLERC]: Gasly!

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]:..Gasly

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Gasly

[CUT BACK TO ALBON]: Oh! Pierre Gasly

[CUT TO BOTTAS, VERSTAPPEN, ZHOU]: Gasly

[CUT TO OCON]: Gasly -  Ahh its race winner not world champion ah ok,ok,ok

[CUT TO A STILL UNKNOWING TSUNODA]: Umm skip.. Giovanazzi?..

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Pass

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: GASLY!

Daisy: That would be mr liked by Pierre Gasly himself

Producer: Have you been liked by Pierre Daisy

Daisy [nodding with a coy smirk]: many times, but you know who I've been liked by more?

Producer [laughing]: Do tell us

Daisy [now winking at the camera]: His girlfriend, hey Kika if you're watching, we should go out sometime

[CUT TO GASLY]

Producer: As a heads up I think you may have some competition for your girlfriend Pierre

Pierre: Really?

Producer: Yeah, they're quite confident too

Pierre: It's Daisy isn't it

☆

PRODUCER: 'H'

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Heikkenen

[CUT TO NORRIS]: I don't know anyone

Producer: You don't know anyone?   

[CUT TO PEREZ, PIASTRI, ZHOU, GASLY, ALONSO]: Hill

[CUT TO ALBON]: Lewis Hamilton

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Hamilton

[CUT BACK TO A SHEEPISH NORRIS]:..Lewis Hamilton

[CUT TO LECLERC]: It's impossible with the cameras!

[CUT TO SARGEANT, SAINZ, MAGNUSSON, STROLL,TSUNODA]: Hamilton

Daisy: Sir Lewis Hamilton

[CUT BACK TO A FLUSTERED LECLERC]: Hamilton..oh my god!

[CUT TO OCON]: Hamilton

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Um Hamilton...wouldn't have been good if I didn't get that one

☆

Producer: 'I'

[CUT TO PIASTRI]:

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Skip

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Nah

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Pass

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Why is this so hard?

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Skip this one

[CUT BACK TO PIASTRI]: Pass

Daisy: Irvine

[CUT BACK TO SARGEANT]: Pass

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Irvine

[CUT TO ALBON]: Irvine, Eddie Irvine

[CUT TO GASLY]: Ickx

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Irvine

[CUT TO STROLL, SAINZ, BOTTAS, HULKENBERG]: Irvine

[CUT TO LECLERC]: Eh Irvine

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO OCON]: Pass

☆

Producer: 'J'

[CUT TO LECLERC]: JJJ

[CUT TOBOTTAS]

[CUT TO ALBON]:J..um.. skip

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: I don't know

[CUT TO OCON, ALONSO, PEREZ]: Pass

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: No

[CUT TO NORRIS]: No idea

[CUT TO STROLL]: No..I don't know

[CUT TO GASLY]: Uhh I don't know

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: I keep thinking of first names

[CUT TO SAINZ]:Jaques- no, no

[CUT BACK TO SARGEANT]: J, J, J, uh I pass

[CUT TO ZHOU]: Skip

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Pass

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Jabouille

Daisy: Jones

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: J.. Uh Alan Jones

☆

Producer: 'K'

[CUT TO ALBON]: Um..K? Kimi oh no - skip

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Keke Rosberg

[CUT TO GASLY]: Keke Rosberg, haha ok pass

[CUT BACK TO PIASTRI]: I don't know

[CUT TO LECLERC]: K, K

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]:

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]:

[CUT BACK TO HULKENBERG]: No

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Did Kovalainen ever win?

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Kovalainen

[CUT TO OCON]: Kovalainen

[CUT TO STROLL]: Kovalainen

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Klean? No

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Keke

[CUT TO BOTTAS, ALONSO, PEREZ]: Pass

Daisy: Kubica

[CUT TO NORRIS]: I dunno, I dunno

☆

'L'

[CUT TO ZHOU]: No, Lando is N

[CUT TO NORRIS BLANKING]

Producer: One of your good mates

Lando: I don't know people's surnames

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Lauda

[CUT TO OCON, MAGNUSSON, GASLY, SARGEANT, TSUNODA]: Lauda

Producer: Someone you race with..alongside

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN GIVING A DEADPAN STARE]: I'm terrible

[CUT TO LECLERC]: Leclerc

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Ah yes, sure, Leclerc

Daisy: The prince of monaco

Producer [amused]: is that your final answer?

[DAISY NODS]: yep

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

Daisy: Oh come on! That's robbery, it's rigged! How is that wrong?

[CUT TO ALBON]: Leclerc

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Leclerc

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Leclerc

[CUT TO BACK TO LECLERC]: I'm so selfish, I was waiting for the 'L'

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Pass

[CUT TO STROLL]: I don't know

☆

Producer: 'M'

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Magnusson?

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Mansel

[CUT TO A VERY SERIOUS NORRIS]: Mustache

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Mansel

[CUT TO OCON]: Mansel

[CUT BACK TO SARGEANT]: Mansel

[CUT TO GASLY]: Mansel

[PRODUCER TO LANDO]: Come on!

[CUT BACK AN UNAWARE LANDO NORRIS]

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Mclaren

[CUT TO NORRIS AGAIN]: Ehh

[CUT TO ALONSO]: It has to be...

[CUT TO ALBON]

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO ALBON]: Montoya

[CUT TO LECLERC, TSUNODA, SAINZ]: Massa

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: I've lost everyone's surnames now it's terrible

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO HULKENBERG SHAKING HEAD]

[CUT TO STROLL]: Pass

☆

Producer: 'N'

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Hmm

[CUT TO LECLERC]: N-N

[CUT TO SAINZ]: N-

[CUT TO ALBON]: God this is hard

[CUT TO NORRIS]: My brain doesn't work with this kind of stuff

[CUT TO PEREZ, TSUNODA]: Norris?

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

[CUT TO OCON]: Norris?

[CUE INCORRECT BUZZER]

[CUT BACK TO OCON]: Oh not yet

[CUT TO ALBON]: No Lando you haven't won yet mate

[CUT TO HULKENBERG, VERSTAPPEN, MAGNUSSON]: No

[CUT TO PEREZ, STROLL, PIASTRI, GASLY, ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: I've got nothing

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Nannini

[CUT TO DAISY]: Nilsson right?

☆

Producer: 'O'

[CUT TO TSUNODA]

Producer: It's recent

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Recent?

[CUT TO STROLL]: How recent?

[CUT TO ALBON]: Oh god - next

Daisy: Ocon - Hungary 21 right?

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: No, I'm blanking

[CUT TO PEREZ, PIASTRI, BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Pass

[CUT TO SAINZ]: I don't know this one

Producer: He's on the grid

[CUT BACK TO SAINZ]: Ah yeah

[CUT TO LECLERC]: On the grid..

[CUT TO ALONSO GRINNING DEVILISHLY]

Producer: Might have been a teammate of yours...French...tall...   

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO SAINZ AGAIN]: No don't tell me,..Olonso?

Producer: Won in Hungary, French

[CUT TO LECLERC]: Ocon

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Ocon

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Ocon

Producer: Teammate

[CUT TO GASLY]: O... Esteban Ocon

[CUT TO OCON]: O, Ocon

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Ehhh I don't know

[CUT TO STROLL]: O..Ocon

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Ocon

[CUT TO NORRIS]: Oh yeah..:I'll skip it anyway

☆

Producer: 'P'

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Prost

[CUT TO BOTTAS, PIASTRI, OCON]: Prost

[CUT TO ALBON, MAGNUSSON]: Piquet

[CUT TO GASLY, SAINZ]: Patrese

[CUT TO STROLL]: Patrese

Daisy: Prost

[CUT TO NORRIS, TSUNODA]: Perez

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Uh Checo!

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Perez

[CUT TO LECLERC]: P...

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO BACK TO LECLERC]:?

☆

Producer: 'R'

[CUT TO ALBON]: There must be so many with R

[CUT TO LECLERC, GASLY, NORRIS, MAGNUSSON, PIASTRI, SARGEANT] : Rosberg

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Kimi..Raikkonen

[CUT TO STROLL/SAINZ]: Raikkonen

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Rodriguez

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Ricciardo

Daisy: Russell, Raikkonen, Rosberg one and two.. will I keep going?

Producer: Forgetting someone Daisy?

Daisy:I would never. Doesn't sound like me at all

[CUT TO ALBON]: Ricciardo

[CUT BACK TO DAISY EERILY MIRRORING FERNANDOS GRIN]

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Pass

[CUT TO OCON]: I don't know

☆

Producer: 'S'

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Schumacher

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Senna

[CUT TO PEREZ]: Schumacher

[CUT TO GASLY]: Senna

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: Schumacher

[CUT TO STROLL]: Senna

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Senna

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: Senna

[CUT TO OCON]: Senna

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: Stewart

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Sainz

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Sainz

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Sainz

Producer: He drove for your team

[CUT TO LECLERC LAUGHING]: Sainz

Daisy: Well, since I can't say myself, Senna

☆

Producer: 'T'

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN:T

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: T

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Teee

[CUT TO LECLERC]:

[CUT TO TSUNODA: T

[CUT TO STROLL]:

[CUT TO PEREZ]: T T T

[CUT TO OCON]:

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: T I don't know...

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Pass

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN AGAIN]: No

[CUT TO SAINZ]: It's so difficult this game

[CUT TO STROLL]: I dunno

Producer: The most recent T was Yarno Trulli but it was quite a long time ago

[CUT TO GASLY]: Trulli

[CUT TO LECLERC]:

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]:Tambay

Daisy:: Taruffi

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Tambay

☆

Producer: 'V'

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Vettel

[CUT TO HULKENBERG]: V, Villeneuve

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: Villeneuve

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Villeneuve

[CUT TO GASLY]: V, V

[CUT TO OCON]: Hmmm

[CUT TO BOTTAS, SAINZ, SARGEANT, LECLERC, ALONSO]: Verstappen

[CUT TO VERSTAPPEN]: myself

Daisy: Vettel

[CUT TO GASLY]: Verstappen

[CUT TO OCON]: Oh my god..Verstappen

☆

Producer: 'W'

[CUT TO PIASTRI]: W...

[CUT TO SARGEANT]: W,W,W

[CUT TO ALONSO]: Pass

[CUT TO LECLERC]: I don't know any

Producer:...Australian

[CUT TO TSUNODA]: Australian...W

[CUT TO OCON]: William?

[CUT TO BOTTAS]: Webber

[CUT TO SAINZ]: Webber

[CUT TO A FRAZZLED OSCAR PIASTRI]:W, Webber!

Daisy: Multi 21 Mark Webber

[CUT BACK TO OCON]: Webber

[CUT TO MAGNUSSON]: Watson

[CUT TO GASLY]: Uhh

[CUT TO TSUNODA]:I don't know

☆

OUT OF TIME

ROUND ONE RESULTS

Daisy Shaw     Porsche    20 points

Carlos Sainz    Ferrari        16 points

Kevin Magnusson    Haas     14 points

Pierre Gasly     Alpine          14 points

Logan Sargeant          Williams 13 points

Esteban Ocon     Alpine            12 points

Charles Leclerc Ferrari         12 points

Oscar Piastri    Mclaren          11 points

Alex Albon    Williams         10 points

Lance Stroll    Aston Martin          10 points

The cameras stopped rolling once they had made their way through every letter and Daisy was dismissed by the media team. Saying a quick goodbye to everyone Daisy headed out before they changed their mind and asked her to refilm something they weren't fully satisfied with. Crossing media duties off of her mental to-do list, Daisy made a beeline for the simulator.

Settling into the seat Daisy felt herself wake up. There was something about getting behind a wheel whether it was for a race or just in the sim that put her on full alert and could snap her out of her otherwise sleepy demeanour.

Back in Australia the engineers had briefed her on a new upgrade they were looking for her to test so that if it improved performance, it could be implemented ideally before Baku but if that wasn't possible they would definitely be ready for Miami with it. Daisy had been a little surprised at the talk of upgrades when they were barely three races into the season but if it improved her chances of making it to the podium, she'd accept them with open arms.

It was a modification to their rear wing design. Daisy had been told that it was aiming at improving their aerodynamic efficiency and downforce generation and that had lead to her going on a rant to the engineers with further questions. She was sure they must be sick of her yapping all the time. After all she was there to drive, not work on the cars to the same extent like them but Daisy believed knowing the car as in depth as she did was a unique advantage she possessed.

Without sounding like too much of a diss to Daniel, Daisy hadn't seen him having a nerdy freak out over corner grip and the potential stability improvements to the car in the high speed sectors like she did, although she sincerely doubted anyone else on the grid got as excited about little discussions like that as much as she did.

The simulator came to life once Daisy kick started it, the high definition screen transporting her to the circuit in Baku. Ideally they'd have this upgrade in time to help them keep up the pace at the high speed circuit full of tight corners. If it worked as well as they were all hoping it did, there'd be another chance at fighting for a podium, maybe even a win to compensate for the one she just lost.

With the new rear wing configuration loaded into the simulator, Daisy gripped the steering wheel and began her test runs on Baku. Pushing  the car to its limits, she feels the subtle changes in handling and stability introduced by the upgraded wing.

As she navigated the virtual track, Daisy's focus was unwavering, her years of experience in the cockpit guiding her every move. The upgraded components responded to her inputs with precision, and she could feel the subtle improvements in handling and performance with each lap.

The engineers monitored her progress from their stations, analysing the data streaming in real-time. Daisy's feedback was invaluable as she provided insights into how the upgrade affected the car's dynamics and overall behaviour on the track.

Despite the controlled environment of the simulator, Daisy approached each corner with the same intensity and determination as she would on race day. Lap after lap, she pushed the limits of the car, exploring its capabilities and fine-tuning her driving technique to maximize its potential.

After several test runs and adjustments to fine-tune the wing settings, Daisy completes her evaluation of the upgrade. The engineering team gathers around the simulator, discussing the data and Daisy's feedback to determine whether the new rear wing meets their performance targets.

Daisy was about to join them to take a look at the raw data for herself as well because everything had felt so promising as she was driving but that hope was promptly ripped away from her as the unmistakable figure of Klaus Muller appeared in the doorframe.

If you asked her back in Jeddah Daisy would have nothing but positive things to say on her team principal. She'd always appreciate the gamble he took in signing her because she knew it had ruffled a lot of feathers in the paddock that a rookie team was bringing in a rookie driver, and not just any rookie - a girl. He'd faced a lot of heat and pressure for his decisions but Daisy had never not felt valued at the team. Up until last week when she was clearly sabotaged just to placate the other driver.

"Daisy," he called loudly "we need to talk."

Even his voice was irritating her in that moment and to be honest she didn't want to hear the half arsed excuses from him. So much so that she gave him a response that would definitely have Stella ripping her hair out if she heard it. "No we don't Klaus. You need to talk to me but I have absolutely nothing to say to you."

"Look Daisy," he sighed "it was for the good of the team and for Daniel's morale. Getting him a podium at his home race worked wonders."

Daisy actually saw red when those words left his mouth and even though she knew it was probably going to across as bratty and self cantered she couldn't help herself in giving him a snappy reply "and what about me Klaus? Would getting my first win not have been even better for the team? Screw that! Would a fucking double podium not have been a dream for everyone? Yeah it would, but I guess we'll never know for sure since you were clearly so unconfident in Daniel keeping the podium that I had to play second fiddle to him for the end of that race. I'm more of a fool I suppose since I followed the stupid orders but I'm telling you now it's not going to happen again. I'm not a second driver Klaus, I don't care how long he's been in the sport or how badly you want him to succeed."

Klaus Müller didn't get visibly angry often. He carried more of a quiet authority and rarely raised his voice but there he was standing in front of Daisy, face tinted red and bordering on shouting "It's a team effort Daisy. You'll follow the instructions or you can find yourself another seat for next year."

She scoffed at that "if it was a team effort both of us would have been treated equally, forcing me to stay back so you can favour Daniel is nothing but selfish so don't try say I don't care about the team. And Klaus, you might be saying that a threat but I fucking promise you that I will find a better seat if this happens again. I'm sure plenty of teams would be dying to crown the first female world champion."

"Careful Daisy," he scowled "you'll have to win a race first for that to happen."

Clenching her fists Daisy sneered at him "and whose fault is that? Oh wait! It's yours. Get fucked Klaus."

Turning on her heels for the exit Daisy stomped out of the room, ignoring the calls from team principal. Perhaps starting an argument with him wasn't the wisest of moves considering he could literally fire her or not resign her for the following season but Daisy was so annoyed by her win getting snatched away from her for a singular third place finish. They traded a win for mediocrity!

Immediately Daisy paced through the corridors to get to the main entrance so she could leave. She physically couldn't spend another minute in the factory or else she'd punch a hole in the wall, or Klaus' face. Whichever was closer.

With her seat possibly in risk after her little blow-up with Klaus, of course she didn't know for certain how personally he'd take it and if he was fully serious with his threat, she figured she should definitely text Jenson to start formulating a back up plan if that did happen. She could practically picture the man's hair greying at the text she sent to him - what could she say. She loved the drama.

messages!

daisy heyyyy bestie🥰

jenson what did you do

daisy woah

not you immediately assuming i'm the problem

jenson am i wrong though?

daisy eh it's debatable

he had it coming🤷‍♀️

jenson you're actually going to be the reason i go grey daisy

daisy now that's just uncalled for

i'm a little angel jense

but i might have had a proper go at klaus...

jenson not gonna lie i was expecting worse from you

like it's not ideal but I'm not saying you weren't justified and that he didn't have it coming after that shitshow

daisy YES KING‼️

supporting women's rights and wrongs

as you should

jenson my husband is literally a war criminal it comes with the territory

daisy HUSBAND??

not you calling fernando your husband yourself🤭

that's my job old man

get up! your mancrush is sooo embarrassing

jenson sometimes i wonder how much easier my life would if i managed literally anyone else on the grid

daisy lying isn't a good luck on you jense

you know you love me and the drama is a little bonus! you'd be bored out your mind if you were working with anyone else

jenson whatever you want to think daisy

on a serious note though don't worry about klaus, i'll talk to him and if things are similar next race we'll start reaching out to other teams for next year

daisy thanks dad😌✨

☆

loading new message...

unknown number so how about that coffee

daisy logan?

unknown in the flesh

well not really but yk what i mean

unless you were expecting someone else? then this is really awkward

daisy nope :) i don't usually give my number out

unknown number CHANGED TO logan

logan you're in the drivers chat though..

daisy with a different number💀

they use it way too much

this is my personal :)

logan woah should i be honoured to have THE daisy shaw's number

daisy definitely, it's only for pretty boys

logan consider me very honoured then🤭

daisy baku? i'm flying in early on the tuesday

logan same!! see you there :)

[kittttycakes]

red currant

Read on AO3 here. No one can outrun grief, not even Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless. Grief is patient, and it will wait, even in the aisles of a grocery store, to take him into its arms and hold him tight. contents: Dreamling, human Morpheus, post-Kindly Ones, mild gore, brief discussion of food-related issues, grief

At first, Morpheus was too busy dealing with a body that needed things. It was often too cold, its joints ached terribly, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to recognize what hunger and thirst actually felt like. The latter came with their own host of indignities, not least of which was the seeming inability to properly digest dairy, and a strong aversion to certain textures, no matter how appealing the food in question might be in theory. 

Hob both understood, and didn’t. He was always warm, something Morpheus deeply envied, even if he wouldn’t admit to it aloud. He too struggled, sometimes, with food, albeit in a much different way; the cupboards were often overfull before being carefully culled for in-date products to donate away, and he ate to uncomfortable excess on occasion, as if he forgot that there would be more for the foreseeable future.

There was also the question of fashioning a life out of nothing. Morpheus was dragged to a tiny shop in an out of the way street and photographed for a passport purchased in cash, along with all other relevant cards and certificates that made someone human. He was, with great effort, persuaded to allow the doctor with kind eyes who still made house calls to examine him, who pronounced him to be in fair health and left him with a number of pamphlets on proper nutrition. He came to know how to use a phone in practice, instead of merely in theory. 

But Hob couldn’t stay with Morpheus in the flat forever, and Morpheus threw himself into the process of becoming human. He spent long hours reading, books he once would have known simply by touching their spine, learned instead page by page and word by word. He slept more often than he thought an adult human might need, and he spent time submerged in the bathtub, topping up the hot water the second it began to grow tepid. He played music on Hob’s speakers, any album that Hob owned, and didn’t stop to think why he couldn’t bear to sit still without distraction. 

Because Morpheus was fine. He had been trapped in a human body in a glass cage for a century; being suddenly and irrevocably shoved into the same form, pieced back together lovingly by hands he could not bear to contemplate, was almost a familiar feeling. He had not felt hunger or thirst or pain in that prison, but to discover them for himself was not mind-breaking. He endured, and he allowed Hob to care for him, and he did not let himself be otherwise. 

But all things, as he came to know, must change. 

He was alone in the shop around the corner from Hob’s flat. In exactly seventy-four minutes, Hob would be home for tea, and they were, inexplicably, entirely out of jam, which meant that he could not have jam on toast for tea, and that was entirely unacceptable. 

To Hob’s unending surprise, Morpheus liked the shop, just as he liked the park at noon when all manner of people were milling about, and the pub of an evening when it was full and loud and bright. He did not want to speak with people, but he wanted to be within them, surrounded by them, the rise and fall of their voices, and Hob hadn’t asked him why. He had, instead, shown him a website dedicated to ambient noise, and told him that he could have the coffee shop in the flat all day if he wanted, if that was what he liked. 

Morpheus was standing in front of the shelves dedicated to all manner of spreads, contemplating the relative merits of strawberry (a known quantity, which he liked very much) or red currant (unknown, untested, but also free of any bits, which he disliked very much, and red, which was a promising color when it came to foods), when he reached for a jar to peer at it up close, and instead met the hand of the shopper beside him, who had crept up without his awareness and reached for the exact same jar at the exact same moment. 

He withdrew his hand, out of courtesy, and began to offer an apology as the woman beside him did the same, and neither of them kept hold of the jar, which fell, end over end, until it landed with a very final sounding smash at their feet. The woman stepped back with a small cry of alarm, and Morpheus stood, as if rooted to the very ground itself, and contemplated the slightly wobbling red mess in front of him. Vaguely, he was aware of the woman stepping to the end of the aisle to catch the attention of a shop worker, who would undoubtedly gather cleaning supplies and in fifteen minutes, it would be as if it had never happened at all. 

There was a scent, a cloying sweetness that rose from the shattered remains of the jam jar, a scent that Morpheus was unsure anyone else had noticed, or that was perhaps unique to him as he stood, still and unmoving, a buzzing in his ears, like the whine of a particularly persistent fly, and he moved his hand as if to shoo it away and clean up the mess besides only to blink and see—

Viscera, deep and red as rubies; he was walking through a field of carnage, each step staining him further, gore working its way over his feet to his ankles—why had they bled? they were never flesh and blood (but that was a lie, a lie he told himself again and again and again—they had been flesh and blood to him) and he was walking towards the end of all things, or maybe just the end of himself, and it was quiet, so quiet, an unearthly silence so vast that it nearly swallowed him whole and he felt it, a physical thing, the shattering of all that he was, all that he was ever meant to be, but it hurt less than he thought it might, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought it was over, the power gone, until—he had never felt so hollow, and he tried to reach out, to feel the warm familiarity of uncountable minds of his creation and those entirely independent of himself, human and creature alike, and found only an unending void, he had thought it quiet before but this, this was true nothingness, an abyss in which there was only him, and him alone and he was nothing, nothing, nothing at all—

“—all right, duck? Just a bit of jam on your boots and trousers, nothing that won’t wipe right off, I’m sure, and no staining to worry about, not with that very sensible black, hides a world of sin, doesn’t it?” 

The woman was standing near him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her, and once, he would have known her name. She was not touching him, only hovering a hand quite near him, as she continued, voice even more gentle. 

“Let’s just step to the side, and we can get out of everyone’s way while they clean up.” 

For one horrible, painful moment, he thought she might say more, might even offer to call someone for him, the look in her eyes well-meaning, but horribly perceptive. He could not bear to be seen. It was enough to jolt him into motion, and he nodded, somewhat stiffly, and moved away from the puddle of jam. The arrival of the shop worker, complete with cleaning supplies, distracted the woman long enough for Morpheus to enact his escape, abandoning any thoughts of tea or toast as he made his way, with single minded determination, back to the flat.

It was too quiet on his walk back, and it was too quiet inside the flat, the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the gentle hum of the refrigerator not enough, never enough. Hob would be home in fifty-three minutes, and it was not enough. 

He burnt the paper in the sink, watching it crumble in on itself and smolder into ash, not knowing if it would even work, being as he was. Morpheus waited, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the sink, his knuckles nearly white enough to match. She would understand, his sister. She would know what it was like. She could tell him what to do, how to live, now, that he was apart from the only piece of himself that he had ever cared for, no matter how imperfectly he had done so. He could not abide being so terribly, horribly alone, with only the sound of his own voice in his head to keep him company. There was no consciousness within him, save for his own. 

Morpheus did not hear her enter the flat. She had always been so good at silence, slipping into spaces like smoke. Her hand, when she laid it over his own, was slightly clammy, and so painfully familiar that it made his chest ache. 

“Brother,” she said, and he tried to speak, to greet her in return, but found that he could not force the words past his lips. She would know, he thought, she would understand. 

She led him to the couch, pulling him to sit beside her, and Despair enfolded Morpheus in her arms. 

[xjulixred45x]

We need more Yandere females damn it. I hope I am not too late to ask. I can request for a Yandere Nobara drabbles wherein she drags reader around the shopping district dressing them up to her hearts content

YEEEESSSS NOBARA MY QUEEN!!

Yandere Nobara Kugisaki x Reader: Dress up Darling

Don't look at anyone in particular...don't talk to anyone too long...don't smile in public, don't talk in public...not until she arrives.

is what reader repeated to herself, while waiting for her "girlfriend" in one of the department stores that she frequented while she went to get them some food.

A part of her felt like she should be grateful for the time alone, since Nobara tended to be a bit...overwhelming whenever they got together for this type of date (shopping for clothes, thanks to Kugisaki's interest in fashion AND her partner. ) but reader knew better.

The only thing more deceptive than Nobara's carefree attitude was the false sense of security and freedom it gave.

reader was well aware of the darker side of her "partner", even without having done anything excessive, even without having hurt her, Nobara found ways to make her see the extremes she would go to to reach her...

including going after the people she loved.

Therefore, reader was forced to be the mediator, the one who brought peace, to the displeasure of her family and the joy of Nobara. She was as accommodating as possible with her to avoid incidents, but she also gave her opinion. She tried to give sweet and "romantic" gestures of her own but that were genuine to a certain extent.

and most importantly, she made it clear that she only had eyes for Nobara. nobody else. That way no one would get hurt. It was the best way to handle the situation.

and Nobara was obviously thrilled with this. It was the closest thing she had to a "normal" relationship with her beloved and she didn't even have to resort to more brutal methods. She was HAPPY with this.

To be honest, if Nobara had not shown this darker side of her, reader would have seriously considered getting involved with her.

There were good moments between them. Nobara was overwhelming, yes, but the constant attention and affection was something new and even...flattering to a certain extent.

These types of dates, the clothing ones, although they were also so that Nobara could dress her in nice clothes, also felt like a moment to feel good about herself, because Kugisaki showered her with compliments and nice words about how she looked. It made her feel...good in a way.

It was so strange, and sick.

-"Hey cutie! Did you see something you liked? We can go see it when you finish eating"-

Looking at things in retrospect, if no one said it, both of them just seemed like a couple of normal girlfriends rather than a stalker forcing her victim to be one. and sometimes that was the difficult part, pretending that it wasn't like that.

Nobara took the reader to eat in one of the corners of the square with fewer people and simply watched her eat (it seems like she already ate on the way to the store?) with a smile on her face. To Reader disconfort.

Once she finished, she began what, for Nobara, was the "real fun", dressing her up.

Nobara took her to the little store that reader had been "browsing" and picked out some clothes that she thought would look good on her "girlfriend" while reader did the same for Nobara. It was a part of this custom that always made reader nervous, because although Nobara was never angry with any of her choices, she was not as knowledgeable about fashion as Kugisaki, she was afraid of causing some bad moment.

Normally the outfits that Nobara chose for reader were pretty cute or pastel things, with the occasional urban touch, it wasn't what reader would normally wear, but she couldn't say that she didn't look good.

Every time Nobara saw her in a new outfit she would clap lightly while saying things like:

-"You look absolutely adorable!"- or -"You look beautiful baby!"- things like that.

and no matter how many times they had done this, reader was surprised at how Nobara seemed to genuinely like the clothing options she had chosen for her, even going so far as to wear them on later dates or give her kisses on the cheeks every time she gave her one...

At the end of the day, as usual, they ended up carrying more bags than they could carry, and Nobara called this friend of hers (Yuji?) to do it for her, threatening him that she would gouge out his eyes if he looked at reader or He dropped some of the items she bought for her.

At this point, reader did not know if it was a mere exaggeration between colleagues or a fortuitous threat.

She only knew that this relationship was more fucked up than she thought. Because everything wasn't so bad after all.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Fair warning, after this i'm gonna get some drabbles from HADES bc i got a new obsession. But this was real fun to write!

Thanks for the Request ❤️

[toomanydrafts]

Betrothed.

Summary: You, a northerner of House Glover with some distant Valyrian ancestry, are betrothed to Daemon Targaryen. When your childhood companion Cregan Stark visits, seemingly saving you from the southron court you detest, you become his amicable guide. How could Daemon’s jealousy not be sparked by you taking such pleasure in another man’s company — after all, who else can have you, but him?

Notes: My first time; heavily edited recently.

Warnings: canon-typical misogyny, coarse language, sexual references, implied age gap, Daemon Targaryen

In Deepwood Motte, the home of your house, you detested late summer snows. They ate away at the first summer of your youth, when you were not yet out of leading strings. You had always envied Winterfell for the boiling hot water that ran through the castle walls, the blood of the castle’s gargantuan body, and rejoiced each time your family stayed there. What you had envied most as a child, however, was the warmth of the south. Now that a quick winter had come and gone, and you were well a woman grown, arrived in those sweltering southron lands, you missed the late summers snows of the north.

King’s Landing had felt unbearably hot the first moon’s turn you spent, but now that detestable feeling had simmer down into discomfort. Still, servants brought you iced milk each day, sweetened far beyond your liking with honey. Worse than heat and sugar were the ladies of the court. There was much frivolity in the south. The north had always been a more somber place. Your family were not exceedingly wealthy, and nor did they, as it was the southron fashion to do, attempt to imitate the exceedingly wealthy. You were educated by your septa in all ladylike things, even becoming accomplished in song and dance, as well as achieving proficiency in the lute. Your life was surmounted on how well of a match you could make, and so you had learned the necessary skills. It was, in small part, how you came to betrothed to Daemon Targaryen. Yet, you always suspected your betrothal was due in far larger part to your Valyrian ancestry.

The southron ladies of court, whom you were obliged to accompany, often and loudly bragged of their luxuries, their silks, their sweets, and all other forms of careless grandeur. To hear about it endlessly was draining — sickening, even. The young, new Queen Alicent, though modest and austere, in her silent complacence endorsed the ladies of court.

Your only true respite in this blasted place was your betrothed, Daemon Targaryen. He was not overbearing as the ladies of court, though certainly assured and arrogant, you rather found common aspects in your values. Often you would take strolls together, or stand linked by the arms amidst the court in the Great Hall, whispering and smiling about each pompous lord and his presumptuous wife. Once, he convinced you to ride with him atop his great Blood Wyrm, Caraxes; he flew you across Blackwater Bay, as far as Dragonstone, and you even spent a brief moment on the island’s stony expanse.

This day was no different. The summer sun bore down over King’s Landing, and despite the shade provided by the expansive leaves of the garden plants, sandy canopies and parasols, you were hot. Cupbearers poured chilled wines, iced milks, and sugared lemon juice to all the ladies that were attended this outdoor luncheon, servants fanned us all excessively, and a slender fool in feathered motley danced atop the table.

“These cakes are rather nice,” a southron lady, rather large in stature, commented as she slid a plate full of thick, layered cakes that smelt so strongly of sugar you might’ve smelt them beyond the Neck, across the table. You wished, suddenly, that Daemon was here to rescue you, to hold you close as you walked or gossiped far away from all these ladies — and yet, you remained trapped between a rock and several smothering southerners.

“Thank you, my lady,” you smiled politely, nibbling only the slightest bite of one with a false smile, but convincing enough to satisfy your companions.

The conversation never lulled, but did halt momentarily when another large lady loudly declared, “my word! I have forgotten to share the most interesting of news with you all!” She was old and heavily powdered, with too much colouring on her cheeks and lips, with her hair covered even in the heat by a traditional hood. “I did hear that House Stark was coming down to the south for a visit. I believe they shall spend a week’s time in King’s Landing. For what, I cannot say. A most unusual occurrence. I cannot recall but the names of the Starks.”

All the negativity of the day evaporated from you; how could you help but be excited at the thought of seeing the Starks once more? In your childhood you had become closely acquainted with the lot of them, and had spent many of your first years as a proper woman in their company.

Speaking more than needs be for once, you ask, “do you know when they are to arrive?”

The lady shrugged, sipping her wine, “would that Queen Alicent were here. She is awfully little, almost ridiculous with her belly so round, but I would wager that it is soon. Perhaps by the morrow there will be wolves amongst us.” Her haughty tone was not lost on your ears, but you ignored it, and ignored the laughs — some raucous and some polite — of the other ladies.

The day the Starks were set to arrive you dressed in northern fashions; a gown of grey over white, lined with a thin trimming of fur. The south favoured silks and samites in rich colours, the north had always been simpler. On your collar you pinned the silver gauntlet of Glover.

Excitement had overcome you, and you ate nary a bite of your morning meal, which for once you took in the company of other ladies of court, almost enjoyably. Before noon the Starks had arrived, and all the world (or so it seemed) had assembled in the Great Hall to witness the procession. For it you stood by Daemon, your sweet betrothed, awaiting eagerly the party of Starks. It had been nearly two years since you had last seen the Lord of Winterfell, the youthful Cregan Stark, never finding cause to visit before your betrothal, and finding it impossible to do so after.

“Eager, are we?” Daemon hums, noting your excitement. It is not a particularly keen observation — you’re practically jumping up and down in anticipation.

You look up at him with an abashed smile, saying, “I’m afraid so,” before turning your gaze to look down the length of the throne room, disappointed when there are no northerners marching down the hall. “Whilst the south has it's certain... qualities,” you add on, and you are sure Daemon knows you are speaking as generously as you might, “it has been difficult not to miss the north.”

Daemon only chuckles in response, and you take it for his amusement at your desire to be polite, even in his company.

When the Starks first enter the hall, everything suddenly hushes, and the silence is deafening. But once they have knelt before their King and Queen, and have been as warmly welcomed as they deserve by both, talk and applause spreads like wildfire through the crowd. You are not afforded a chance at a proper conversation with Lord Stark nor any of his accompanying, only a kind smile from beside your betrothed.

A reception of the Starks is hosted in the garden passage that leads to the expansive godswood, and it is there you finally make conversation with Lord Stark.

“How good of you to make the trip, my lord,” you smile as you speak, genuinely though you are surrounded by court, “I must confess, I have been missing the north terribly. It is a relief to see such a familiar face.”

Cregan laughs, lightly so, at my comment, and with all the charisma the two years since you last saw him seemed to afford, spoke, “and the north has been missing you, my lady. Your house is morose with out you, and your family seems terribly small when you are not there to accompany them. It is a shame, indeed, for you would make a fine lady of the north.”

“You are too kind, my lord,” You laugh, almost bashfully, “and I am sure my brothers and sisters are still perfectly capable of becoming a nuisance without my added assistance.”

“Hm,” he hums in agreement, a smile that you cannot quite read on his face. “If you ever feel inclined to visit, Winterfell would be glad to have you — but, until then, it would be good to have a northern lady accustomed with southron ways to keep me company.” He extends his arm for you to take. “If you would be so kind, my lady?”

You have always been too kind to decline any request, even one that you most certainly would detest doing (such as indulging the southron ladies of court), but one from a northerner you care for? You give him your prettiest smile and take his arm.

“Of course, my lord. I’d be honoured.”

Perhaps it was the way he spoke to you, how he made remarks about your closeness in youth, how he incessantly spoke of what a fine lady of the north you would make, how he constantly sang your praise and his gratitude for you playing the guide. Perhaps it was the light touches he gave you, never more than friendly, but friendly touches often led to more than friendly places. Or, perhaps, it was the fact that for the last two days he had spent within the Red Keep, you had been subsumed by him, that made Cregan Stark not sit quite right with Daemon Targaryen.

He knew it gave you great joy to keep company with a northerner — how could it not? You had spent your entire time in the south discomforted by the customs, by the people, by the very earthly nature of the place itself. So, he had taken to clenching his fists and gritting his jaw, ignoring the way the two of you laughed together, the obscenity of time you spent together. He knew, or had convinced himself, that you would not look twice at the slobbering wolf if he did not remind you of home... and yet, he could not help but be pushed to the brink of criminality at the fact that it was not he who reminded you of home.

His patience was wavering thin through all the festivities his elder brother had, for some godforsaken reason, thought the Starks deserved. It had come to it’s breaking point by the time night fell and the feasting was finished, and the dancing had begun. He watched with narrow eyes as the Stark boy asked you, ever so coy, for your hand in a dance. Daemon knew that you were too kind to ever refuse, too polite to risk being rude, and it came as not surprise but disappointment when you took to the floor with Stark.

The dance was jovial, and the floor had become so crowded that he lost sight of you half the time, and glowered at the way the pair of you danced together the rest. Westerosi dances were never very intimate, for fear of a woman’s virtue, but there were enough brushes between you both that he was very nearly enraged.

But when Cregan Stark dipped his head down and whispered something to you, too close to your ear for his liking, making you through your head back in laughter, Daemon had enough. In a quick swallow he emptied his cups and stood up, movements too sharp, sending his chair scraping behind him. Forcing his way through the crowd, pushing over a drunken fool grasping at a serving girl, sending the carafe in her hands to the ground, till his hand was on your shoulder, tighter than it ought to be.

“Lord Stark,” he addressed, entirely unkind, “you would not mind if I shared a dance with my betrothed?”

“Of course, my prince,” Cregan conceded, though to Daemon it was clear he was disappointed to go, but before he did, he had the nerve to lift up your hand and place a delicate kiss at your knuckles. “I do hope you enjoy your time together.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, ever the sweetheart, as he took his leave, and Daemon understood you to be too young and naive to properly understand Stark’s foul intentions.

When you dance again, he is relieved at last. It is he who gets to be your partner, to share brushes and smiles with you, and it is almost enough to make him forget about Stark... but not quite.

“You seemed to be enjoying your time together,” Daemon crooned, looking down at your face with his devilish eyes. His voice is sweet for you, but even you can tell that he is not entirely pleased.

“I suppose I was,” you say, meeting his gaze with a shy smile, and though you did not intend to share more than a polite answer as you often did, you cannot help but concede, “It was nice to have a touch of the north again.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, and he lets out a short hum, his head tilting to a side as he watches you. “Did you not find the little lordling to be overly affectionate? Overbearing?”

Your soft expression furrows into one of confusion, and you let out a slight scoff — not so much angry at Daemon for the jealousy that has suddenly become apparent to you, but at disbelief that such a thing would ever be thought; “Lord Cregan is merely a friend, Daemon, he has no improper intentions.”

“My sweet thing, you should not be so naive. Surely you’ve seen the dog eyes he gives you — needy, desperate. It is disgusting.”

“Lord Stark is respectful and kind,” you argue, “as are his intentions towards me, a woman who is already betrothed.”

Daemon cannot blame you for how quickly you jump to his defence; you cannot see the world the way he does. The ladies of Westeros are often too sheltered, made to think that every lord is genteel, and are struck by the harsh realities of the world so suddenly. He wanted to protect you from those realities, truly he did, but how could he let you walk around with another man who desires you? You were his intended. By the law of this world, you were his.

He ran a hand gently down your cheek and offered you a smile in part kind, and in part condescending. You come to realise that the dance has stopped, and the celebration does not feel quite as festive as moments ago.

“My little princess, your betrothal only makes him want you more. Strays sniff for food they will never receive too often — and it does not matter how pleasant they may otherwise seem.” He tilts up your chin.

“Even if what you say is true,” you pause for a moment, contemplating that there might well be truth in his words, “I would never entertain his desire.”

“Of course not,” he says, voice soft but eyes dark, and picks up your hands to dance once more, “why walk a bitch when you could ride a dragon?”

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: October Wrap-Up.

Gr8 news: I am no longer very far behind on my NaNo prep reading!! I had to drop JUST LIKE HOME (reread) and HOUSE OF LEAVES, but I got through the rest of my Haunted House and/or Aliens and/or Parasite/Fungus TBR. Here they all are!

Photos and/or reviews linked:

SHRIEK - ★★★★ I think SHRIEK Is my favorite volume of the Ambergris trilogy, taken as a whole--the one-way conversation Duncan was having with Janice was a really neat narrative choice, and then the reveal in the Afterword's Afterword was, in true VanderMeer fashion, mind-blowing.

FINCH - ★★★★ I was actually surprised by how much I liked this one. It helped me figure out a LOT about what kinds of power dynamics I enjoy in borderline-dystopian fiction, and what intrigues me most about limited agency. It wrapped the story up almost too neatly, for a VanderMeer, but I did still have a good time and blitzed through it quickly. Given this one and SHRIEK, I'm counting the Whole Series as a Four-Star read--I'd like to reread it someday, now that I know what's going on.

LEECH - ★★★★★ (reread) STILL ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVES, OFFICIALLY!! It's very gothic and heavy and fucked up, but it does FASCINATING things with POV, and worldbuilding, and storytelling frameworks. PLEASE check the content warnings, but if none of those are hard no's for you, definitely pick this one up. I suspect anyone for whom Animorphs was a Formative Influence will adore this (but so far my sample size is really only 1)--please prove me right.

A HOUSE WITH GOOD BONES - ★★★½ This was fun! Not my favorite Kingfisher (that award still goes to HOLLOW PLACES), but I had a good time--I laughed, I squealed over vultures, I blasted through pages to get to the end.

STARLING HOUSE - ★★★★ Alix E. Harrow always manages to write exactly my catnip, somehow. Maybe it's the ADHD, but I'm constantly finding connections to my own writing projects in her work, and STARLING HOUSE was no exception! I liked that this one was more modern, and the sibling dynamic was precious, and I love weird sentient houses where space is more of a suggestion than a hard and fast rule. I'll probably reread this one for Driscoll purposes!

WOODWORM - ★★★½ So much rage in such a tiny volume, and I was Absolutely Here For It. I don't tend to read much lit fic, but I do try to read a lot in translation, and I thought this one did very cool stuff with Spanish--the prose felt natural in English, but I loved the linguistic details the translators left in Spanish and how much depth that added. I feel like this one might be a good fit for Carmen Maria Machado fans, too.

HOW TO SELL A HAUNTED HOUSE - ★★★ Call this a low 3, from me. It was Fine, I guess. I liked what he did with the act structure (labeling parts as stages of grief was very cool), and I liked the family dynamics and history, but a lot of the humor didn't land for me (I got a few sensible chuckles, but a bunch of it wasn't funny), and the "oh this author is A Man, huh" moments made me roll my eyes (seriously: Who thinks about their ~breasts~ when an angry taxidermied squirrel is clawing down your shirt?? No One With Breasts, Mr. Dude). This book did at least teach me that I'm not really interested in gore (it's just boring, unlike body horror, my beloved). I might still pick up HORRORSTOR, but I probably won't look into most of his other stuff, if this one is indicative of his general style. Meh.

THE ART OF EXCESS - No rating (didn't read the whole thing). At the end of ALWAYS COMING HOME, Richard Powers mentioned this book as the reason he finally committed to ALWAYS, so I was curious what this Tom Leclair dude had to say about it back in 1989. I had a heck of a time tracking down a copy (it's very out of print, and my local library had to source it from the Library of Congress for me), but I didn't want to buy it to read just the preface/intro/epilogue, because I haven't read any of the other texts he analyzes. Leclair's style was very readable, and I was intrigued by his framework, but I found some of his conclusions eye-rolly, given his sample size. I posted this one because I think Library of Congress books are fun, but I didn't add it to my Goodreads.

BLACK TIDE - ★★★½ This one had me rolling my eyes in the first couple chapters, and I was afraid I wasn't going to like it, but once Fucked Up Shit Started Happening, the momentum really picked up and didn't stop--I blitzed through it way past my bedtime on a school night. It was fucked up and weird and tense and bloody pull-no-punches horror, but it ALSO made me laugh, and I loved our two fuck-ups surviving the apocalypse together. NOTE: Dogs (and Gulls) Are Not Safe, and the cast is small enough that it matters a lot :( if you can't stomach animal harm/death, skip this.

A HALF-BUILT GARDEN - 81/338 pages read; will report back. Enjoying it so far! Glad I put it on my NaNo prep reading list, though not quite for the reasons I planned--the reflections on motherhood as well as parenting outside the binary have been interesting, so far (and that's relevant for my own haunted house endeavors!). A much gentler ride than BLACK TIDE, and the immersive tech reminds me of Murderbot's world, just Earthbound.

Overall! Fabulous month for reading! Anytime I think "wow I need A Break™ from writing or life," this is the type of reading I mean--where I can spend a couple weeks annihilating books within a day to Refill the Words Reservoir.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. I am refining this as I figure out my wrap up posts (epiphany of last month: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[monochromaticbeans]

A Line, Once Crossed (Part 1 of 3)

🔞 NSFW, my very first published smutty piece. But it's smut with plot. 😘 Not intended for readers under eighteen. I placed the 'keep reading' line above the adult content on all three parts, just to be safe.

‼️Spoilers for my main story "Sakayume." The entire completed work is posted on my AO3, linked here. This short has three parts, all set during the Bonten timeline. Each part is an extended, detailed version of three memory flashes Hikari experiences when she leaps into a hardened, hollow version of herself as a part of Bonten. The latter is the Hikari we see here.

The club throbbed with a low, insistent bassline, each beat pulsing like a heart buried beneath the floor. Neon lights streaked across the room in lazy loops, painting the haze of cigarette smoke in streaks of violet and electric blue. It smelled of expensive whiskey, sweat, and the faint tang of hot wiring—an odd alchemy that somehow felt welcoming.

The Haitani brothers spared no expense. Even in this world of seedy deals and sharp-edged alliances, their nightclub was a temple to excess. Chandeliers hung from a ceiling tiled in black mirrors, catching shards of light and scattering them over the crowd. It was easy to forget where you were inside these walls, the way the music and the lights erased time. Maybe that was the point.

Hikari weaved her way through the throng, her heels clicking against the slick marble floor as she approached the VIP area. Her black dress was short and simple—a deliberate choice that let her move through the sea of bodies unnoticed, just another shadow in the crowd.

In the corner, Sanzu sat flanked by the Haitanis, their postures a study in contrasts. Rindou leaned forward, swirling a half-empty tumbler of something amber around in circles on the table. Ran lounged back, one arm draped over the plush seat like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he did. And then there was Sanzu, legs crossed, head tilted in his signature mix of sharpness and apathy, watching her approach like he’d been waiting all night.

“Fashionably late,” Ran drawled as she slid into her seat. His grin was as slick as the gel in his hair.

“Traffic,” she said, matching his smirk but offering nothing else.

“Sure,” Rindou muttered, his voice half-lost beneath the music.

Sanzu passed her a drink without a word, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. Whiskey, neat—he always remembered what she liked. Or maybe he just liked keeping track of things that way.

The conversation that followed was unremarkable. Information exchanged, deals confirmed, the usual dance of agreements and veiled threats. Hikari played her part as always, sharp and efficient, her words slipping into place like puzzle pieces. She felt Sanzu’s eyes on her the entire time, like he was studying her for cracks, waiting to see what kind of light might spill out.

The Haitanis left before long, Rindou muttering something about another meeting, Ran tossing a careless “Have fun” over his shoulder as they disappeared into the crowd.

And then it was just her and Sanzu, the music buzzing around them like static electricity.

“You staying?” he asked, his tone casual but his smile anything but.

“Why not,” she replied with a light shrug. She hadn’t planned on it, but the night seemed to have a gravitational pull of its own, dragging her further into its orbit.

The drinks came faster after that. Shots, mostly, bitter and clean-burning. Sanzu slid a small pill across the table at one point, wordlessly, and she rolled it between her fingers before tossing it back without hesitation. It was easier that way, easier to sink into the haze and forget for a little while.

At some point, the music shifted, the beat slower and heavier, as if the night itself had grown more relaxed and uninhibited. Hikari felt the pull of it in her chest, in the heat rising beneath her skin. She stood, wobbling slightly, and held out a hand.

“Come on,” she said.

Sanzu’s grin widened as he took her hand and followed her onto the dance floor.

The crowd moved like a single organism, swaying and undulating beneath the lights. Hikari let the rhythm take her, the bassline threading through her veins like a second pulse. Sanzu stayed close, too close, his hands hovering at the small of her back, then her hips, his fingers brushing the edge of the black velvet dress like he was testing its boundaries.

Their eyes met, and the space between them seemed to shrink all at once. His pupils were blown wide, a sure sign the pills had kicked in, but there was something else there as well, something sharper. The kind of look that made her pulse quicken for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t, maybe even shouldn't—name.

It wasn’t long before the club felt too small, and the air too thick.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Sanzu didn’t need to be told twice.

---

They stumbled into her apartment half-laughing, half-out-of-breath, the door slamming shut behind them with a finality that echoed through the hallway. The city lights filtered in through the windows, painting everything in faint shades of gold and gray.

Sanzu was on her before she could even kick off her heels, his mouth hot against hers, his fingers finding the zipper of her dress with practiced ease. She didn’t stop him.

Her dress was the first to fall, pooling in an inky puddle on the floor near the doorway. Her heels clattered to the floor one by one, abandoned like forgotten artifacts. Sanzu’s waistcoat followed, crumpled against the back of a chair where it was carelessly flung.

They stumbled through the space in a feverish dance, each step marked by the quiet whisper of lips meeting, heavy breaths, and fabric against skin. His tie and shirt came next, leaving a trail as they backed toward the bedroom.

Somewhere along the way, his belt hit the hardwood with a metallic clink, the sound sharp and fleeting in the quiet. Her stockings draped themselves, one by one, over the edge of the hallway table, and by the time they reached the doorframe, her bra had already found a home tangled around the doorknob.

The bedroom waited beyond, dark and inviting, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine and lingering heat.

His hands slid down her back, cupping her ass, lifting her slightly off the ground as he carried her to the bed. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist while his tongue explored her mouth with a possessive urgency.

A thought, fleeting as it was, occurred to her. She and Sanzu were about to cross a line they'd never even toed in all the years they'd known each other. There was a tiny part of her telling herself she should care about it more than she actually did. But that little voice was silenced as his lips trailed hungry kisses along her jawline and down her neck.

As he laid her back on the bed, his eyes roamed her body, taking in the tattoos and piercings adorning her skin. A sly smile played at the corners of his lips as he hovered over her. “You really are exquisite, you know,” he said in a low murmur, his fingers gliding up her side. “I had no idea.”

His eyes burned with an inner fire as they met hers, his hand cradling her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple and coaxed a soft moan from her. "You like that, don't you?" he teased.

Heat pooled between her legs when he kissed his way down her neck, over her collarbone. Giving it a little nibble with his teeth, his lips found their way to her breast. “Oh gods,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and sultry as his fingers slipped between her slick folds. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don't you fucking dare stop.” It was just as much a threat as it was an urgent plea.

“Yes, ma’am,” he purred. His fingers moved in achingly slow circles, driving her mad with need while his tongue teased her nipples into hard peaks. He wanted to taste her—he had to taste her—and it quickly became an obsession. His head dipped lower, following the path of his fingers.

None of the random men she'd been with were anywhere near as talented with their tongues as Sanzu. She whimpered and tangled her fingers in his pink hair while he devoured her, sending her into a heated frenzy of pleasure. The apartment could be on fire and she wouldn't care. As long as his mouth stayed exactly where it was and he kept doing that thing with his tongue, she'd be perfectly fine with burning to a cinder.

He felt her legs trembling and her fingers tightening in his hair. She was close and he knew it. Fuck, she tasted so damn good—he could eat her for hours and never have his fill. But he wanted more than just a meal, so much more.

She whined in protest as he pulled away, denying her that sweet release. Just as she was about to chastise him for his cruelty, his lips ghosted their way back up her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hardened length brushed along her inner thigh, creating a fiery trail of anticipation before lining himself up against her wet entrance.

“I want you, Hikari.” His voice was raspy in her ear. “You got any rubbers?”

She shook her head. “Don't you have one?”

“No,” he answered with another low chuckle. “Do you care?”

He had her so worked up that any sort of rational thought was non-existent. “No. Not really.”

If she didn't care about it, neither did he. With a hum of approval, he eased inside her, burying into her heat. He held himself there, savoring the feel of her around him.

Her breath hitched and a soft moan escaped as he pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips, driving himself deep inside her.

“I wanna hear you scream my name,” he whispered into her ear before pulling back and looking at her with an intense gaze. “Over and over…”

Her hips rocked against his, her eyelids fluttering as lust overtook her. That tiny voice in the back of her mind returned, asking her what in the hell she thought she was doing fucking Sanzu. She shoved it aside, banishing the thought in favor of the immense pleasure he was giving her.

Her nails raked over his back, spurring him on. And when she wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him plunge deeper, he groaned low in his throat. “Fuck, Hikari–”

He couldn't deny having imagined what it would be like with her. He'd thought about it more than just a few times. What she feels like, how she tastes, the sorts of sounds she makes… The view of her writhing in pleasure beneath him. His name on her lips when she came.

Speaking of which, she was getting close again. He felt her legs trembling once more, squeezing tight around his waist. She whimpered and whined, her breath erratic and heavy. He changed the angle of his thrusts just enough to hit that sweet spot of hers, sending her tumbling over the edge.

“That's it…” he whispered roughly. “Come for me.”

She cried out, moaning his name as the wave of pleasure overtook her. But it was far from finished. Sure, she'd called out his name, but he wanted to hear her screaming it. Loud enough for the neighbors to know she was being thoroughly fucked into oblivion.

“Up,” he told her, pulling out of her. “On your knees.”

Her chest heaving, still glowing from her orgasm, she rolled over and lifted herself onto all fours. She arched her back as his fingers ran down her spine and settled onto her hip.

Guiding himself back inside her, his hands gripped the soft flesh of her hips as he began to thrust again. Her sounds of pleasure mixed with his own, blending with the slapping of his hips against her ass cheeks. He drove into her, harder and faster, his tip kissing her cervix each time.

She pushed back into him, her moans timed with his thrusts. It wasn't just his tongue that was blessed with talent, it was the rest of him as well. Who knew how amazing he was in bed? She did, now. He was creating an addiction to him, making her want—no, need—more and more of him.

The bed creaked underneath them, the headboard slamming into the wall in a steady, heavy rhythm. Without a doubt, the entire apartment building was awake by now. Hikari didn't give a shit. If she had to listen to the neighbor's dog barking at every little incursion, they could put up with hearing her and Sanzu.

People get together and fuck. That's how it is. That's how it's always been and always will be. It's as natural as breathing, but infinitely more pleasurable. If two old friends want to dive into bed together, who the fuck cares? Nobody's business but their own.

Sanzu collapsed onto his back beside her, both of their chests heaving, both of them covered in a sheen of sweat. “Fucking hell,” he whispered in raw voice. “I should've tried getting into your pants years ago. God damn.”

He rolled over, reaching for his pants on the floor, digging a lighter and pack of cigarettes from the pocket. Picking two from the pack, he lit one and passed it to her before lighting one for himself.

Hikari took a long drag, smoke curling into the air over the bed. How long had she and Sanzu been friends? Almost fourteen years now, or close to it. While their friendship had seen its share of phases, ending up in bed with him wasn't something she'd ever anticipated.

“Is this going to make it weird between us?” she asked, her eyes watching the smoke linger over them.

“Nah…” Sanzu held his cigarette between his fingers, guiding it to his lips and taking a nice, slow drag. “Not unless you fall madly in love with me or something,” he answered in a teasing tone, giving her a side glance and one of his sly smirks.

Hikari scoffed lightly, drawing in another puff from her cigarette. No way was she going to fall in love again, not with this scarred heart of hers. Hell had a better chance of a blizzard snowing in all the demons, forcing the devil to wear a thick, wool coat.

“You don't have to worry about that,” she replied.

Sanzu's smirk widened. “Then, it'll be fine.”

Part 2 ➡️

[schtrawberry]

oh, to dress as your venus sign.ᐟ

[!] featuring my aries venus in the ninth house.

brief description: focusing on the more malefic side of mars in comparison to my previous post. in venus, aries is boyish and energetic— leaning heavily into bright reds to combat various shades of monochromatic blacks, whites, greys, and paler shades.

short hair, short cuts, and an even shorter temper.ᐟ

rather than the vibrant pinks and neons i've mentioned before, this venus in aries uses varying shades of red to cut through dark purples, greys, blacks, and army greens.

felt incredibly inspired by this picture from the musier paris spring 2023 lookbook— the use of grey leather on plain white with the model's very sleek pair of black boots made for such a carefully-monochromatic outfit that allowed for her red hobo bag to absolutely shine through. and the hair! just the perfect amount of short and playful that i associate with venus in this sign.

in this interpretation, venus in aries is a minimalist. yes, there may be a mix of revealing cuts and varying textures of leather and denim, but the colors always speak for themselves. sparkles, crazy patterns, belts, and excessive pieces of jewelry are to be kept at a minimum (but not forgone) in order for the singular addition of red to be the forever star of the show.

leather, cargo, and denim are truly the primary fabrics that bring body to each outfit for this sign— layered on top of cotton or modal to create emphasis for these more structured fabrics.

brands that come to mind: BAPE, maje paris, musier, AMI paris, zadig et voltaire, A.P.C, this piece from the isabel marant spring 2024 collection, jil sander, helmut lang.

brief description: venus in the ninth house is big on travel and expanding their horizon by visiting unfamiliar places. in this house, venus seeks pieces of clothing that make moving easy and comfortable— preferably in muted blues, pinks, greens, and oranges but with a loud pop of red to show their bright, jupiterian spirit.

something to camp in, something outdoorsy, something easy to move in.ᐟ

the ninth house also represents ethics; making this sign highly attracted to fashion brands that make use of eco-friendly fabrics and materials. they have a soft spot for brands that put special effort into ensuring that they are operated in an ethical manner.

colorful knits and sturdy hiking boots as seen in this aries x ROA hiking collaboration! such a perfect blend of comforting knitwear and natural colors to support the rugged life of their dreams.

too keep up with this sign's active spirit, i also envisioned a more boyish and sporty wardrobe and felt particularly inspired by the most recent sporty & rich x adidas collaboration. cotton tees, jersey shorts, and bejeweled sambas that are best for movement and activity!

in terms of jewelry, a charmed anklet first comes to mind. this sign is also a minimalist to, so they would rather put their energy into accessorizing their shoes with charms, bags with trinkets, and beltlines with functional pouches.

more energy moves towards functionality in this sign; with multi-pocketed jackets and pants, compact crossbody bags, and shoes that can be paired with a multitude of outfits.

brands that come to mind: forét (fw24), adidas sambas, aries x ROA collab, thinking mu, AMI paris, sporty & rich, marni, pangaia, comptoir des cotonniers.

[naavispider]

Merciless - part 2

(Part 1 here)

In which John Mercer stops by Bridgehead during the events of ATWOW. When he hears of the human boy raised on Pandora with the natives, his curiosity gets the better of him.

The sound of his clunky footsteps echoed down the pristine corridor. John Mercer had never been down in this section of the RDA’s largest stronghold. It all looked the same as what he was used to however; the hallways and signage were presented in a similar layout, and the gleaming metal walls just barely reflected his determined gait as he made his way down to the boy’s cell.

Technically, he didn’t have clearance to be down here, but thankfully for him, years of service and being a veteran of Pandora meant he had fingers in a few very important pies. He stopped when he reached the sign displaying ‘Socorro, Miles’. 

He laughed to himself - Quaritch always did have an extremely large ego. How did he expect to keep it quiet that this was his boy with a name like that? He stopped short of the cell entrance, opting instead for the observation room next door. Stepping into the dark viewing space, his eyes took in the monitors and discarded notes, still attached to clipboards with coffee mug stains on them. He shook his head, marvelling at how amateur the whole operation was. 

Thankfully, no one else was here, so he took a seat behind the double sided mirror. 

It was quiet inside the cell. The boy was in a corner, sleeping with his head resting on his knees. The first thing Mercer noted was how big he was. From what he understood, the kid could only be around 16, yet he was larger than the average fully grown man. Even sitting down, it was obvious he was over six feet tall. And strong too. He was perfectly toned all over without an inch of excess body fat. He was probably in better shape than most athletes. 

Aside from the tarzan-style fashion choices, the boy looked like a formidable opponent in the field. Mercer glanced at the camera footage, playing on one of the monitors while the boy slept, which showed Socorro first being brought in. His suspicions about the boy’s strength were confirmed at the sight of four men struggling to drag him into the room. Socorro used every asset available to him to fight and resist his captors until he was eventually overcome by sheer force of manpower. Curious, Mercer fiddled around to unmute the footage. Had the boy developed language? Could he speak Na’vi or English? It would be interesting to get a glimpse into his psychological state. 

Socorro seemed to scream and shout a lot, most of it unintelligible. That was definitely an American accent though. Interesting. Even the youngest of his previous students never lost their Na’vi accents. Further evidence that the indigenous were less adaptable than humans due to their more constricted vocal chords. 

The tingling sense of excitement that Mercer hadn't felt in a long time started to return. Finding this boy was like finding a goldmine. It would be a complete and utter waste to use him for anything other than research purposes. There was no doubt in Mercer’s mind that the boy held the key to advancements for mankind. Maybe it would even be enough to rebuild his tattered reputation within the RDA and prove once more the worthiness of his projects. It was a sham how TAP ended, and Mercer wouldn’t be blamed for it for one more day. Socorro spelled redemption. 

A warm flare had sparked to life in Mercer’s belly, one he knew too well. It would grow and grow, burning in the background until it finally blazed hot down his veins. 

He took a deep breath, regaining some control over his runaway thoughts. He couldn’t get overexcited. Ardmore wasn’t budging, and neither would Colonel Quaritch. 

Just then, his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the door clicking. He spun around to see a woman with brown hair wearing medical scrubs enter the dark room. 

“Oh! Sorry…” she said when she saw him, frowning in confusion at his presence.

“Don’t be.” He offered her a slick smile. “I’m only observing.”

“Right…” she still looked unsure as to why he was there, which perhaps explained why she hadn’t moved from the doorway. 

“Please, don’t let me get in your way.”

She entered hesitantly, bringing out a clipboard and viewing the boy from the mirrored glass. Her name badge told him her name was Janine. 

“Is he in good health?” he asked, suddenly concerned there was an unforeseen issue.

She sighed. “Generally, yes. The neuroscanner is taking its toll on him though.”

“What are the side effects?” 

“Headaches, nausea… that type of thing.”

“Anything permanent?”

She turned to look at him. For some reason, Mercer got the feeling that she was judging him. What for, he couldn’t possibly predict.

“No. Nothing permanent.”

The air suddenly became very still and cold between them. Satisfied that the boy wasn’t going to be permanently damaged by Ardmore’s interrogation techniques, he decided that stepping out and introducting himself was better than remaining here with the nurse with a stick up her ass.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the corridor outside, he once more took in the strange sight of the half-naked, feral hybrid sitting behind the glass. 

“Miles?” he asked, his heart beating rather faster than usual. It felt strange to call him that. 

The boy’s head lifted from his knees, and Mercer had to contain his gasp. Miles’s brow was furrowed and the expression of disgust was so akin to his father’s that it threw him temporarily off guard. 

“How are you doing in there?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in even further suspicion. “Amazing, asshole.”

A sense of humour too - this was the dream project. 

“How long have you been in there?” He kept his tone light, but was careful to fake enough concern. 

Miles scoffed. “Why do you care?”

“It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

The boy scoffed again, shaking his head. “What do you want?”

“I want to introduce myself. My name is John Mercer. I used to work on the Western Frontier.”

Miles scrunched his nose up. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“No,” Mercer chucked slightly. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“Whatever,” Miles retorted. “You’re a coloniser. Congratulations.”

“I know why you see it that way. But my line of work was a little more… political than all that. I wanted to build bridges, not tear them down. I did a lot of work for SciOps.”

“You’re a scientist?” The boy didn't look impressed, but Mercer could tell he was curious.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Miles’s eyes were beginning to lock onto Mercer’s. Somehow, Mercer’s words were working. He'd surprised even himself.

“Did you know Dr Augustine?”

Grace Augustine? How the hell did this kid know about her? She died around the time he was born, if Mercer’s timeline was correct. 

“Not personally.”

Some of the fire behind the kid’s eyes seemed to die down at this news. He slunk back against the wall. 

“Listen, Miles-”

“That’s not my name,” the kid hissed. 

Daddy issues too? Perfect. 

“Okay. What do they call you then?”

The boy grinned conspiratorially, as if by withholding his name he’d won some kind of strategic standoff. 

“Okay,” Mercer said slowly. “Your file says Socorro. So let’s use that shall we?”

The kid’s eyes flashed dangerously in his direction, but he didn’t speak. 

“Ardmore’s drilling you pretty hard. You don’t want to give up everything and everyone you’ve ever known. I understand that. But she’s not your problem.”

Socorro was playing the part of the moody, uninterested teenager well, but Mercer knew he was listening closely. 

“The recombinant out there? That’s not your father. And you being here causes him a few issues.”

Socorro glanced up, ill-hidden confusion written all over his face. 

“Think about it. Don’t take this personally, but your existence is embarrassing for him. You shouldn’t have been born. He broke a huge safety protocol and will have to face the consequences. Second, if you’re not going to talk, then you’re useless to him and them. They won’t keep you around for long.” Suddenly, Mercer felt sorry for him. “I know this is a hard situation for you, but there’s no use forming an attachment with someone who’s going to have to terminate you.”

Socorro hissed loudly at this, catching Mercer off guard. He truly was a feral little Na’vi after all. 

“I’m sorry to put it so bluntly-”

But he was stopped in his tracks by a large, cold hand gripping his shoulder from behind and spinning him around, bringing him face to navel with the intimidating figure of Miles Quaritch. 

“What the hell are you doing talking to him?” 

Quaritch’s hand was vice-like on his shoulder, and Mercer tried his best to not let the strain of it show in his face. 

“Colonel Quaritch. I’m afraid I couldn’t control my… professional curiosity. Is there a problem?” He recounted what he had just said to the kid, trying to work out whether Quaritch had a right to be mad. From the looks of him, whatever he’d heard, he didn’t like. 

Quaritch’s face was seething with barely repressed anger, his clipped ears pinned down almost flat against his skull. His eyes darted from Mercer to Socorro, before settling on burning a laser hole through Mercer’s own eye sockets. “Get. Out,” he growled, his voice deadly. 

With that, Mercer was shoved out of Quaritch’s way so forcefully he stumbled and almost fell. Behind Quaritch stood Wainfleet, who Mercer was not surprised to see still acted as his boss’s obedient dog. Knowing his time was over, he stood up straight and dusted down the front of his previously crisp shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from Quaritch’s grip. 

“Gentlemen,” he said more confidently than he felt, and then turned his back on the cell and the recoms, his mind spinning with everything he had just learned.

It was so interesting to write from Mercer's perspective and give him and Spider some interaction! I have ideas about where this fic could go... but I won't commit to anything right now! As always, big thanks to @hyperfixatedfandomer for being such a huge source of inspiration!

[thetiredasthmatic]

The Twisted Fairytale [Welcome Home Fanfic]

Synopsis: Only one person could be Mx. Darling. And it was the time of year where suitors were chosen. But...how did they get here? And more importantly....how do they get out?

Au: Royalty Au (Also Human Au!)

Word Count: 1.5k (4 and a half pages!)

Warnings: Scopophobia, Stalking, excessive eye contact (it's wally so it's expect lol), obsession and devotion, kidnapping.

A/n: OH BOY DO I LOVE A GOOD TWISTED FAIRYTALE- I'll talk more at the end. Hope Ya enjoy!

edit: I may or may not be continuing this or not, it was kinda just a one off idea i had in my head. I'll probs be focusing on writing other stuff more and take a mini break from writing for welcome home! and I don't want to be disrespectful by continuing to write for this series! I hope you guys understand and stick around to see what else I have in store!

“Y/n! Y/n! You should go! What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don't know, Ms. Joyful…”

Your boss, Ms. Julie Joyful huffed. You worked for the fashion designer in the west district of the kingdom of the Welcome, a beautiful and colorful land filled with amazing people.

Ms. Julie was bestfriend with the Prince of this land, so she was something of a royal advisor, so she got the scoop of when things were happening in the kingdom.

It just seems that today she found out that they are looking for a suitor for the Prince. She explained her reasoning for wanting you to do it, as she thinks you’d make great royalty and you’d be wonderful.

But you, a commoner from the farming district knew better. 

That and the prince creeped you out a bit…but you weren’t going to tell her that.

You hated it whenever you had to go to the castle with her. You always felt like you were being watched, judged, like someone was waiting on you to make everyone move...

Hell, besides that, you still were in shock how you managed to get this job working alongside Ms. Joyful, so you could only imagine what the competition for the Prince’s hand would be like.

“Well! Whether you like it or not! You’re going Y/n! I don’t want you to pass up this opportunity! Plus, Sally and Poppy recommended you too!”

You wanted to slowly disappear.

Like maybe you could go hop in the river.

Or you could ask Eddie Dear to ship you off to Alaska.

You wanted to be anywhere but here right now...

Ms. Sally was an amazing actor who over saw the entertainment district alongside Barnaby, the prince’s right hand. She was always coming to you so she could get more ideas for scripts or costume designs for her latest plays!

While You already knew Ms. Poppy was going to recommend you as well, she was like a mother type figure to you.

When you arrived in the farming district of Welcome, you had little to no memory of where you came from, just your name.

It was strange when you try to remember it, you remember being pulled somewhere and falling before you ended up falling face down in Ms. Poppy's garden.

She took you in and showed you the ropes when it came to farming, and the rest is history. She was the reason why you worked alongside Julie as she saw you had talent that shouldn't be wasted with farming.

You should have know they were gonna throw your name in the bunch.

You could only sigh in response.

“So when do I leave Ms. Julie?”

“Um..Now actually! Barnarby has been waiting on us this entire time!’

You whipped your head around an low and behold there stood the large, blue haired male with a big grin on his face. He gave a sheepish grin as Julie marched over to him, handing your bags to him.

“Come one! I’m gonna take you up there!”

“Y-yes..ma’am..”

You allowed yourself to be led by the two, your fate resting in their hands until you arrived at the castle. But you felt a burning sensation in the back of your head, almost as if your body was trying to tell you something.

Like it was trying to tell you that this was a bad idea…

—------------

When the three of you arrived, Julie walked through the halls of the Welcome Palace with you, entering the meeting room and passing a trio of other women.

They glared at you with filthy glances until they jumped at the shrill yell Julie let out.

“WALLLYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! I BROUGHT MY CANDIDATE CHOICE!!!”

It was silent for a bit after her yell before a Monotonous voice could be heard coming down the hall.

“Coming! You don’t have to yell Julie, I already knew you had arrived!”

That voice belonged to the prince, and you quickly joined the others as he rounded the corner. You felt like your breath had been taken away.

Prince Wally Darling, or Prince Darling as he so lovingly went by, is a beautiful man, glowing brown skin, pretty dark blue eyes, well done hair and a handsome face to seal the deal. 

He knew how attractive he was and he was not afraid to use it.

He then walked over to Julie, engaging in conversation with her, and you let out a sigh of relief.

Until she pointed at you.

You felt your body tense as his eyes followed Julie’s finger and you could’ve sworn when you made eye contact his pupils dilated a bit before returning to normal.

You wanted to go back to the time when you didn’t know he existed right about now.

Wally then tilted his head in confusion before turning to Julie. “I thought it was supposed to be seven, not five?” Wally asked and Julie giggled,

“Sally and Poppy chose Y/n as their choice too! She’s just that lovely!”

You could feel the other girls glare at you at Julies statement.

You wanted to roll your eyes and yell that they could have him, that you were forced to be here really.

BUt one other one looked at you with a sheepish look. 

You knew her from your time in the farming district, Her name was Viola Vibrato, a pretty dark skinned woman with pretty green hair and matching yellow-green eyes. She was your only friend in the entire kingdom besides Julie and Sally.

She was an amazing singer so it was weird to see her here.

And it appeared she didn't want to be here herself...

She seemed to look uncomfortable as well, and she quickly made her way over to you.

“Psst. Y/n can we talk real quick?”

“Yea, Sure!”

Viola then grabbed your hand and headed in the direction of what you could only assume were bedrooms. A pair of eyes following you as you were pulled along.

Turns out Viola was the first one to be brought to the palace for this little suitor selection, so she had a room in the Palace already. She hurriedly pulled you into the room before closing the door.

You took notice of how she was acting…She seemed a bit…

Paranoid.

“Vio…are you okay?..” You asked as you watched her check around the room.

It was liked she was looking to see if someone or anyone was listening in on you two. She checked every part of the room until she felt comfortable. 

When she finally stopped she grabbed your shoulders.

“Y/n. we need to get out of here.” 

You were shocked by her words and tilted your head in confusion, prompting her to continue on.

“We don’t belong here Y/n…”

“I mean of course we don’t were farmers in a royals-”

“No! There’s something off about this place! About the prince! Hell even about the advisors!”

You stared at her, reading the worried look on her face. 

“Don’t you find it strange that you don’t remember anything about your past life? That we woke up here in this sunshine and rainbows kingdom!?”

You then averted your gaze to the ground. She was right. Viola had explained how she had also woken up in the farming district, barely being able to remember a thing about where she came from until she started having these weird dreams.

Dreams of being chased down by something unknown yet all seeing..

The feeling of eyes just on her, even when she was out in the open she felt eyes on her. Or how she had met others who felt the same way that she did, but when they brought their feeling up, they disappeared as quick as they arrived in the kingdom.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we of all people were chosen to be here? It’s like they’re setting us up for something…” Viola finished and you gave her a nod.

You had always thought this castle and the kingdom was a bit odd. 

You questioned how the district ran if people never paid for anything, or how the shops were able to keep their stock high, despite not charging a thing for their goods. Why did the kingdom only have one scientist and one mailman, or how did Wally even become prince?

“So what do we do, Vio?...we can’t just get up and leave!”

“We fake the funk until we can figure out what the hell is going on.” She answers quickly.

“We fake it until we can-”

A rapid knock cut Viola off followed by Barnaby’s voice.

“Umm, Ms. Viola, it is time for bed! I have to show Ms. Y/n to her room.”

Viola looked at you, before nodding and allowing you to leave out the room, the situation you already didn’t want to be in seems like it just got worse…

When you did reach your room and bid Barnaby goodnight, you still felt like eyes were on you. Though you knew you were alone in the room.

You sighed and decided to finally sleep it off, especially with the information that Viola had just told you. You snuggled up in your bed and hoped and prayed that nothing was coming to get you in your sleep…

—------

‘Y/n….Darling…

You slowly opened your eyes, only to find yourself in a dark void. You let out a shriek of fear as you realized there were eyes in the void. And said eyes were staring at you.

‘My….darling…you’re not leaving me are you..?’

You were frozen with fear as the eyes bore down on you.

‘You don’t get to leave…not after i did all this work to bring you here…’

With that phrase you quickly scrambled away, where you were running? You didn’t know but you just wanted to get the feeling of eyes off your back.

‘Don’t leave me! Where are you going!?’

You covered your ears, you felt like someone was watching you, that the voice you was hearing was in your head, so no matter how hard you try to block it out, You could hear it booming in your head.

All you could do is effortlessly run and hope that you would get away wake up

Wake up..

Wake up.

No matter what you do you need to WAKE UP-

You jolted away, only to be met with the black void of your room. You quickly reached over to turn on your lamp.

Suddenly, You didn’t feel like sleeping anymore….

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

"Do you like her?..."

......

"Yea...She's not like the others...she's the perfect piece.."

....

....

"Do you really think so? You think she'll become my Princess?.."

...

.........

"Okay. I can't let this one get away.."

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: OKAYYYY I hope you all enjoyed! I do like to take time when working on these longer fics and I take great care whenever I'm developing a universe! So there will be small things that I may come back and change! But I hope you all enjoy!

Also Don't forgot to leave requests for me or if you just want to say hi and talk about other ideas! Don't be afraid to!

Till next time <3 Take care of yourselves and I love you all!

[harveyguilleniconodelamoda]

i've noticed that harvey tends to go for wide leg pants for 'fancy' occasions and i wish he wouldn't

I honestly can't relate, Anon! He looks so fucking good in a wide-leg pant. That silhouette works soooo well on him, he's so gorgeous and present and powerful!

But like...I get it. We all have our preferences when it comes to clothing! Style is intensely personal. So if you don't favor a wide-leg pant, that's fine! You do you. He also rocks a skinny or tapered-leg pant at a lot of events, and looks amazing there, too! But I'd like to take this opportunity to talk a bit about why I absolutely love the wide-leg pant look.

Comfort

A wide-leg pant is just damn comfy, in my opinion. The ease of movement, the air between the fabric and your skin allowing it to breathe. It's just comfy! Comfort only helps with confidence, and as we know...confidence is the single must-have ingredient that will make or break any outfit. Even more so, I'd imagine, when you're under bright lights with a hundred cameras pointed at you!

Legs for days

This is somewhat dependent on the waistline and hemline, but I think Harvey and his stylist(s) have that down. A wide-leg pant can really elongate your legs, which is great for looks where you want to emphasize your sense of presence (like, say, when representing yourself and your work on the red carpet). It also just looks very cool in motion!

Taking up space

Fashion can be used to emphasize features, change proportions, project a certain shape or image...and in general, I think that's fine. But the vast majority of fashion advice for plus sized people for decades has been centered around how to make ourselves appear smaller, as if we can become thin via the power of optical illusion. We're supposed to stay away from anything too eye-catching, anything too big or attention-getting. We can't (according to conventional wisdom) wear anything too tight, or too bright, or too loud, or too big.

No slouchy or oversized styles, wide-leg pants, big sleeves, sparkles, bright colors, loud patterns, billowy capes, bows, etc...anything with excess fabric, especially. These are all things we're often told to stay away from as plus sized people because it'll make us "look bigger." And the subtext of that in a fatphobic society, of course, is that we're already unacceptably large and should want to minimize that as much as possible. Like we have to apologize just for existing.

WelI, I say fuck that. The thing that finally made me feel good in my body? When I stopped trying to take up less space and make myself small. It wasn't doing me any favors. It just looked--and felt--like I was trying to hide. Because I was!

And apparently, Harvey shares at least some of that sentiment! He embraces all of those "forbidden" things and always looks fabulous doing so! He takes up space. He draws attention to himself. He is a presence that cannot be ignored, instead of fading into the background and radiating apologies for his size. He doesn't need to apologize. His size is a gift and he's beautiful.

Anyway...those are my thoughts. To close, have some photos of Harvey in wide-leg pants over the years, looking gorgeous and taking up space.

[lieutenant-teach]

Cody and Obi-Wan are getting prepared for a Rebellion mission. Reminiscences of the past, flirting and gaudy outfits. CodyWan edition of ‘Star Wars Summer Vacation’. Warning: Lego-style humor! Part 2\5 [part 1], [part 3], [part 4], [part 5].

The way to the destination was quite uneventful, learning about each other’s lives during these ten years, about the chips (Obi-Wan had always known there was something suspicious – loyal and kind men couldn’t just turn into cold-blooded murderers in a span of seconds!), about the state of the Rebellion (Cody working with his remaining brothers such as Rex and Wolffe as their own cell alongside the others like the Fulcrum and the Ghost crew). For his own part, Obi-Wan didn’t have any news to share except, well, being alive.

 – So, that’s the plan: we come into Jabba’s palace, blend in, find information about coaxium, find this coaxium, steal it, go away, - Cody summed up as they were approaching the Hutt’s palace, decorated excessively richly with colourful ribbons and broadsheets with ‘Happy birthday, Jabba!’.

 – ‘Find information’? – Obi-Wan still was dubious about a bright pink shirt with printed neon flowers Cody dragged from the depth of his ship and all but tugged on him. Cody himself was still wearing covers all over his face sans eyes and a ghastly coloured tunic (‘Rex is as gracious as he is.’), complemented with a hat similar to Cad Bane’s. Not that Obi-Wan didn’t trust they wouldn’t stand out – after all, this was the day anyone could enter the Mighty Jabba’s palace, and that means, anyone, even with questionable choice of outfits and with no fashion taste whatsoever. No, he just didn’t enjoy Rex’s humour.

 – Just asking around, even flirting, you know the drill, - Cody shot a bit surprised look. – You’ve done it million times.

 – Don’t wish to disappoint you, dear, but after ten years of almost complete secludedness, having only an eopie for a companion, I’ve lost all my charm, - the flash of Cody’s wonder, longing and warmth so strong it hurt didn’t slip Obi-Wan’s senses echoing his own feelings locked far far away in his soul for so long. And, just like ten years prior, it wasn’t time, it wasn’t place. But the endearment just slipped off his tongue and felt very natural. Not wandering from the mission at hand, compose yourself, Kenobi! – After all, who would even like to flirt with such an old man like me?

Judging by Cody’s glare and disagreeing huffing from behind the scarf, he didn’t buy this self-deprecating chuckle.

 – Firstly, you’re not that old. What are you, around fifty standard? Secondly, you look really good for a man who’s lived last ten years in a desert, - the defensiveness in Cody’s voice and feelings touched Obi-Wan, making him smile softly. But he couldn’t help from retorting:

 – Are you giving me a master-class in flirting? – teasing rolled off his tongue as natural as ten years ago.

 – Come on, learned from the best in this art, - Cody was as quick to banter as ever. – After all, you did call me ‘always handsome’ back in the cantina.

 – Found guilty, and regret nothing, - Obi-Wan raised his hands jokingly and earned a warm chuckle from behind the scarf which made his heart leap.

As they were approaching the gate, they noticed a couple of familiar stormtroopers near the entrance. One was balancing on the ladder trying to hang another broadsheet with congratulations, the other was giving very helpful instructions from the ground. They both didn’t even look at ‘just a married couple enjoying their vacation’ passing by.

 – You didn’t even get to flirt, - Cody sounded disappointed, as they spotted the coaxium almost instantly. The pile of vials with highly explosive material was nestled cozily right near Jabba the Hutt’s cushion. – Now to the plan: we must steal it.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows:

 – I presume you already have an idea how to do that?

 – Yes. You’re going to sing.

[4ddi3addie2005]

hiiiiiiiii, i was wondering if your requests were open, and if so, could you do a hair braiding fic with Wally Darling x gn!reader? like. wally has No Idea how to braid hair because his hair is always, Like That and the reader teaches him how and then he does their hair and they're both blushing and,

accidentally went off the rails and wrote 2k+ words and i forgot the prompt halfway but here it is :”D i literally have no idea how to braid hair or fix hair. tried to learn before i chopped it off and literally cried sooo there’s no tutorial in here djdvshdvsh super fun to write!! sorry if it wasn’t what you expected aha

cw: touch-centric, maybeee non-consensual kissing?? reader is cool with it but no questions were asked, mild implications of mind-reading, mentions of blood and needles

Desc: Wally X Human Reader,,, julie and wally style your hair before the former needs to leave due to a butterfly-related emergency. it’s just you and him.

No horror this time lol

Everyone in Home was just so fascinated with your hair! Especially Julie. She was pretty handy with her own locks of yarn, so when you strolled in with those thread-thin layers (no, thinner than thread!) she was lightning-fast to sink her hands into it and start suggesting styles! Poor girl nearly exploded when you told her she could go crazy with it, you didn’t mind! You were at ease just letting her run a comically large comb through it, but you were yanked from your serenity when she pulled out the needles.

Turns out, the citizens of Home have a unique way of grooming, involving pins and sharp bits, string, a bit of dexterity…

Her scream was as instantaneous as your yelp. You grabbed the back of your head and felt a hot dewdrop stick to your palm.

Honest mistake, really. You told Julie she was fine! You should have thought of it sooner, haha. There was a teary-eyed apology and a hug. You’re never going to get used to their empathy, you think.

Later, she was recalling the strange story to her friends, noting that their new buddy is slap-full of paint! It hurts for that paint to spill out, apparently! Wally was listening.

Little guy creeped you out, honestly. It wasn’t like you didn’t like spending time with him, you just always felt like there was something brewing behind that permanent smile. No one else seemed to notice or care.

And he was on to you, too. Your mind felt… strange when he was around. You don’t know how to voice these concerns, so you didn’t.

You were fast friends either way. There was a mutual understanding of… something. You knew you two were kindred spirits right when you laid eyes on him.

Anyways.

You loved that big ole’ ball of yarn he had. “Hair” was a strong word, it was all stitched in, but it was even better to bat around or give a little squeeze! And he sure didn’t mind at all! Sometimes he’d even ask you to run your fingers through it or stitch something back into place. He trusted you a lot with his pomp. You think it has to do with your agile fingers, or your nails. (Your nails were a big hit in Home! You gave the best scritches, according to Barnaby.)

You eventually rescheduled that hair-styling date with Julie, more than a few times. The neighbors were never far behind, but Wally tagged along the most. His passion for fashion was no secret so he and Julie collaborated often to dress you up like a doll. You’d get the chance to style them, too. They thought your preferences were unique for a number of reasons and marveled at their transformations.

Today was one of those days. You had your head hanging over the sink, squeezing out shampoo. You had brought your own products because fabric softener didn’t agree with your… anything, really. You were washing out the absolute excess of spray, gel, glue, and whatever the heck Julie had plastered to your skull for your latest look. Your scalp was screaming for emptiness, but sweet Jul still had some fire left in her and was intent to braid your whole head while it was damp, as she was basically dreaming to see you with a head full of curls! You’d do anything for her, so whatever.

Wally was sitting on the counter, gazing at himself in a small hand-held mirror with the larger bathroom mirror blatantly behind him. His lips were moving silently in accordance to a song playing idly from the record player in another room.

Julie was beside you, also bouncing along to the distant melody, doing her makeup. She was in an orange mood today, she said.

“Alright, Jul, I’m ready.” You stood straight up and attempted to straighten out your aching back.

“Oh! But my…! Give me a second, just wring it out; I’m almost there.”

You took a towel and gave your hair a good squeeze, having a brief vision of folding it on the floor like a pillow and going to sleep. You prayed she’d have you sit down.

“Okie-dokie!” She slapped her pallette down on the counter. Wally looked up. “I’m ready.”

You yawned and you felt your eyes unfocus in the mirror. Standing on a stool to reach you, she ran her hands through your wet locks until it reached some sort of satisfactory position, and started from the top. You could feel her precision in your skull.

Wally’s attention drifted away from himself and he leaned in; his lazy gaze looking very similar to your own at the moment. “Now how’re you doing that, Julie?”

“It’s super easy! You just section it out, like so…”

Her explanation was lost on you. You were fantasizing about a nap.

“You try it!”

You floated back into reality when gentle hands sifted into your hair. With Julie, debatably a professional, styling and cutting for you all the time, you could easily sense the inexperience. The process began again, albeit slower, clumsier, and Julie started to tap her foot.

“You take that side, and I’ll take this side! We’ll be done in no time.”

Braid upon braid was piled onto your head. You focused more on the progress on your left, where you actually saw Wally squint in the mirror. Julie worked so fast that you couldn’t even feel it sometimes. Wally had his soft fingers against your scalp, tugging gently at the strands tight to your head for closer coverage. Julie stopped to help him every once in a while. You closed your eyes.

A commotion from the living room. Doors being thrown open.

“Julie, by stars, we NEED you!” Frank had rushed into the bathroom with the frenzy of someone being chased by an ax murderer. “A-27 is emerging and has requested you be there! For her, Julie!”

Julie gasped and dropped the hair she had so delicately braided. “Chryssabellum? She isn’t due for another week! Oh, um Wally!” She ran backwards out the door and flicked her hand. “You finish that!”

The door was swung halfway closed and the two were gone in a flash. You just stared.

“Hi, Frank. Okay, Julie.” Wally said after a long moment of them being gone. He hadn’t even looked up from braiding.

“Wow.” You breathed. Okay. “Can we sit down?”

“Sure. You look very very tired. I would be too, I think.”

You let out the most satisfying sigh ever and sank to the floor. The cold linoleum was heavenly in contrast to the balmy air. With only being twelve apples tall, Wally could still easily reach the top of your head. You planted your hands on the floor and leaned your head back, resting it on your shoulders.

His progress didn’t shift at all. He kept at it, slow, careful, learning, folding your hair over and over again.

Now that you think about it, Wally’s never fooled with your hair before. He was more of a wardrobe guy. “How’s it going back there?”

“It is going much!”

You let out another dramatic sigh. “She worked me today, Wally. She really did.”

“I can tell. You looked nice though. And funny.” He went for that spot between your neck and your skull, making little scratching motions to bring the hair closer to him before starting to braid. You let your eyes slip shut. He got on his knees for a better angle.

Yet another sigh. You got off your hands completely, preferring to lean back into his lap. Unbothered, yet hindered, he took his hands away, gazing down.

“You got sweet little hands, man.” You iterated by taking one in your own. It was damp from your hair. His whole outfit, including him, was now dampened by your hair.

“Thank you. They’re mine.”

“They are.” You repeated, smiling. It was sadly taken away.

“Sorry. Julie told me to finish.”

You huffed lightheartedly. “Can you manage upside-down?”

“I can try.” He straightened his legs, placing each at your side.

So you rolled over, crossing your arms over his thighs (or the equivalent) and laying on them. Your forehead was comfy against his abdomen. Finally satisfied, your eyelids dropped.

He started working on your hair again, adapting to the new position quickly. You were lost in the motions once again before the record player, for the first time that night, caught your attention.

It was playing something slow, emotional. Not quite sultry, you think. Goodness no. Just… passionate. Wally was humming along. You could feel the tiny rumble coming from somewhere inside him as he did so. Every once in a while, he’d whisper a breathy strand of lyrics that had you… thinking.

Everyone in Home was about as shy as a golden retriever. Embraces like this were not uncommon. In the time you’ve existed here, you’ve been hugged, kissed, cuddled, coddled, and just plain handled more than you ever have in your entire life.

So why were you all of a sudden funny about it? It’s not like your position was scandalous. Could be misinterpreted among humans, but it was very very very difficult for puppets to be scandalous. You appreciated that. You’ll forget about these fuzzy feelings later, you reckon. Hopefully.

He must have finished, or was close to it, because the lovely little motions stopped and he had one braid between his fingers.

“It’s like a paintbrush.” He positioned the end to mimic the act of painting his hand. “You’re full of them.”

You smiled against his legs. Now that he didn’t have an objective, you lazily looped your arms around him, further crushing yourself into his middle. He folded his hands in your hair.

Wally didn’t feel the need to make conversation or small talk, or anything like that. You were fine, there was no pressure on you to do so either. He was content to stare holes in the back of your head. You imagined that he was painting you in his mind, picking out a shade for each thread of your hair, envisioning just the right stroke at just the right speed so he could fully capture the wonders of you. Maybe he’d even paint with your hair. That’d be a fun exercise.

You got bored of imagining and flipped over. He never let go of you, which translated to his hands lightly traveling to your cheeks. You were met with deep black vaults, barely outlined by white, connecting with your own. Startling to a stranger, slightly less startling to you.

With his hands on either side of your face, you couldn’t help but feel something other than fear. You reached up and poked where his nose would be. He returned the gesture by brushing his thumbs down the slopes of your nose. The record player continued softly.

“Sorry for getting you all wet.” His damp hands felt nice though. Like getting a facial. You wouldn’t be surprised if your skin was a tad shinier after this.

“It’s fine. You’re still warm.”

Your face sure felt warm.

It slowly dawned on you that this interaction was getting less and less friendly. In the best of ways. Would he even know what you were talking about if you brought it up? Probably not. You’d sound like an idiot if you were too direct.

“What’re we doing here, Walls?”

His smile barely widened, in a half-laugh kind of way. His thumbs moved to smooth your cheekbones. They ached from your smile.

“The funny things you’re thinking about… that’s what we’re doing.”

You were just about to ask what he meant.

“Muah.” He said, against your teeth, catching your open mouth just in time. You felt fuzz on your tongue. His departure somehow caught your bottom lip. It tapped back to your teeth unceremoniously. Over before you knew it.

Very not friendly, you realized.

“Wally!” You flicked him on the shoulder, playfully offended. “Some gentlemen you are.”

He giggled, mirth wrinkling his eyes and your own.

“Did I do good?”

You licked your lips unconsciously. “Yeah, yeah. That was fine.”

His hand found your chin, barely tugging at your lip. It didn’t even expose your teeth, just serving to drive you absolutely insane.

“Are you sure I did it right…?” He asked.

“You usually open your mouth.” You finally said, quietly. Your hands and fingers and nails found the back of his head, burrowing under the yarn of that stitched in hair-do.

“Oh. That’s it, then.” His volume matched your own. You were lowering him towards you. Of course he’d have his eyes open, wide and starry. You got ready to close yours. You had just the faintest idea of what you were about to do.

A commotion from the front door.

You meant to yank your hand out of his hair and act as natural as possible when your finger snagged and you ended up snatching his head to the side.

“Oh! N— Wally I am so sorry.” Poor guy looked completely bewildered.

You automatically glanced at the door to see Julie’s befuddled gaze that clearly asked ‘Am I interrupting something?’ She said nothing, but cracked a grin as you hastily untangled from his pomp and addressed her from his lap way too casually.

“So, how did it go!”

“Um, good! Good. A little rough at first. Chrysabellum has a pattern on her wings that we haven’t seen before…”

She was definitely asking you about this later. And you definitely weren’t going to know what to say.

[clbenvs3000f24]

｡˚·ꕤ⋆Blog 5｡⋆❀

I’ve always been aware that my relationship with our earth is one very intuitive and enlightening by nature. I didn’t realize how heavily this would tie into my future career and role as a nature interpreter until this semester. As a biology and business major (BAS), I enrolled in this course with interest from a scientific and academic approach; however, as I answer each weekly prompt, I realize the sacred views I have of nature are not inherently how everybody feels about it. I’ve always felt a sense of belonging and “oneness” outdoors, surrounded by the ethereal and whimsical elements of nature and wildlife. Similarly, this blog has become an outlet for me to reflect and connect with individuals who share the same love for the natural world. I wasn’t quite sure of what to write for this week’s open topic. I considered talking about the detrimental impact fast fashion has on our environment, as it’s something I’ve always been pretty vocal about. After some thought, I realized I’ve been excessively reflecting on and comparing the differences between my opinions and experience to that of my peers. I’ve asked myself the questions “is it really that deep?” and “is my perspective not scholarly enough?”

While browsing through the collection of my peers’ blog posts, I’ve read about various perspectives of “nature interpretation” and how those views were formed through different life experiences. I’ve been captivated by photographs and entries written by a wide range of individuals, each telling tales of their own unique encounters with the outdoors all over the world! I’ve noticed a decent percentage of my peers are in environmental studies and expressed interest in future roles educating the public in national parks and museums. It’s evident that majority of us aspire to have future careers immersed in nature, encouraging others to increase their awareness to current environmental issues and preaching appreciation for nature as a whole. Likewise, I also envision a future for myself educating the public, but my passion for nature has always been tied to wildlife conservation and raising awareness for all species on our planet.

I’ve resonated with and related to numerous entries in the past four weeks, specifically with classmates who’ve expressed a significant emotional or spiritual connection with nature. I agree with everyone that nature can be very healing and physically/mentally soothing, but it goes far beyond that for me. Nature isn’t something I view as a place to go to escape the busyness and stress of life in our society, but something I wholly identify with.

To me, nature is mystical and enchanting: It’s debatably magical. I feel validated and connected after reading that some of you also see it through this transcendental lense! My introduction to this philosophic ideology was the first time I had considered the significance of maintaining the harmonious aura that connects nature and mankind. I can thank my grade 9 English teacher for introducing me to Henry David Thorough: I even glued the quote “All Good Things are Wild and Free” on my high school graduation cap.

𓅫