#george witnessing the chaos

[raapija]

Nando was NOT having a good time after quali 😭

Peepaw complained to EVERYBODY about the wrongdoings committed against him. Lance... come get your man, he's causing a scene again

[mclacedes]

Shameless (LN4 SMAU)

3. i'd rather say... unforgettable

warnings: suggestive content

summary: in which Lando prolongs the night with Y/N after his maiden victory in Miami

pairing: lando norris x fem!singer!stella!reader

face claim: camila cabello / kendall jenner

WC: 2.1k

✧ previously • next up

the monopoly game had turned into a chaotic mix of wits, jokes, and increasingly ridiculous bets. unsurprisingly, lando was loving every minute of it. each roll of the dice seemed to land in his favor, and he was absolutely shameless about it. his grin grew wider with every new property he snatched up, while the rest of you exchanged tired, defeated glances.

“i swear, you’ve rigged the dice,” max fewtrell grumbled, staring at the board like it was some kind of conspiracy. “how do you keep landing on unclaimed spaces?”

lando leaned back, balancing on two chair legs with that smug grin of his. “it’s not rigged, mate. it’s just skill.”

“it’s literally dice, you idiot,” verstappen shot back, shaking his head. “you’ve just got dumb luck, that’s all.”

lewis was the first to throw in the towel, stretching dramatically before standing up. “alright, i’m too old for this nonsense. you lot can stay up ruining each other’s lives, but i’m going to bed.”

“because you lost,” lando teased, earning a sharp look from lewis.

“no, because i value my sanity,” lewis replied, waving him off as he walked out.

soon after, charles and pierre called it quits, muttering something about needing beauty sleep. “good luck, y/n,” pierre said as he passed you, his tone half teasing, half pitying. “you’re going to need it with this one.”

“i don’t need luck,” you shot back, even though your dwindling monopoly money suggested otherwise.

the night dragged on, and the group continued to dwindle. george and verstappen left together, grumbling about their losses and promising vengeance next time.

lando’s reign of terror continued, but even carlos had his limits. with a tired yawn, he pushed himself up. “alright, i’m done. unlike some people, i’d like to wake up tomorrow feeling human.”

“lightweight,” lando teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.

carlos ignored him and turned to you. “don’t let him get away with everything, y/n.”

“i’ll try,” you replied with a smirk.

when the door closed behind you and lando, the silence of the hallway felt almost unsettling. you turned back to lando, who was now lazily stacking his fake bills in a showy display.

“well, congratulations,” you said, crossing your arms. “you’ve officially ruined monopoly for me.”

“ruined?” he asked, feigning offense. “i’ve elevated it. you’ve just never played with someone as talented as me before.”

“you’re insufferable,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh.

“and yet, here you are,” lando replied smoothly, standing up and grabbing the bottle of jack daniel’s from the floor.

his gaze flickered toward you, a mixture of mischief and challenge in his green eyes. “the night isn’t over yet, cinderella.”

you followed him to the elevator, the soft hum of the hotel filling the quiet between you. the building felt oddly calm compared to the chaos of the game.

“where’s your room?” he asked, pressing the button for the 10th floor.

“10th floor,” you replied.

“we're in the same floor. that's nice.”

lando nodded thoughtfully, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a grin. the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside, you following close behind. the soft hum of the elevator filled the silence as lando pressed the button without saying a word.

“you think the night’s over?” he asked, his grin still intact.

“well, i’m cinderella, am i not?”

“i thought you hated that nickname.”

“i do, norris. but if the shoe fits… you really need to stop calling me that, though.”

“no chance,” he said quickly, leaning his head back against the elevator wall with a smirk. “you’re like a fairy tale princess—just a little more sarcastic.”

“and iconic, thank you very much.”

“i’d say… unforgettable.”

the elevator ride felt unusually long with the playful tension swirling between you two. lando’s eyes, usually bright with humor, seemed to linger on you a bit longer than normal, but he said nothing, as if waiting for you to make the next move.

finally, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, and you stepped out into the quiet hallway of the 10th floor. lando gestured toward the hall with a casual sweep of his hand.

“after you, princess,” he teased, his voice warm with an edge of genuine amusement.

you shot him a mock glare but walked ahead anyway. the floor was quieter than the others, and the soft carpet underfoot absorbed the sound of your steps as you reached his door. lando opened it with a quick swipe of his keycard, the door clicking softly as it swung open. with a smooth gesture, he motioned for you to step inside.

lando’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the city outside filtering through the curtains. it wasn’t much different from your own, but there was something oddly intimate about being in his space, something that made the air feel charged.

the room had a laid-back vibe, reflecting lando’s personality in every little detail. modern furnishings lined the walls, and the city lights cast soft shadows, giving the space a quiet, almost cozy feeling.

you glanced around before turning back to him. he tossed the bottle of jack daniel’s onto the counter and poured himself a generous amount into a glass, clearly not needing to measure anymore. he’d done this enough times to know exactly how much to pour.

“one more drink?” he offered, holding out the glass.

“you never stop drinking, do you?”

“you talk as if i’m an alcoholic... ouch.” he smirked. “i don’t usually drink much, but i just won my first race. and the night isn’t over, you’ve just said it yourself, babe.”

you hesitated for a moment before shaking your head. “well, i don’t drink whiskey,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“wine, then?”

“yeah, much better. but only because you owe me for that monopoly humiliation.”

“fair deal,” he said with a grin, grabbing a bottle of wine from the mini bar and uncorking it with practiced ease. he poured a generous amount into each glass, handing one over to you. he clinked his glass lightly against yours. “to your valiant, albeit unsuccessful, effort.”

“cheers,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips.

you took a sip, enjoying the smooth taste of the wine, though your mind was still on the game. “so, what’s the plan now?” you asked, leaning against the desk.

he paused for a moment, his eyes on you, as if weighing something in his mind before returning to the counter.

his eyes were locking onto yours with an unspoken challenge. "what if i said i was planning on making sure you didn’t leave until you’ve had your fill of fun tonight?"

you raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he was being serious or just messing with you. "and if i say i’m fine with just having one drink?"

you chuckled and took a small sip from your glass, the warmth of the alcohol mingling with the chill in the air. you hadn’t expected the night to go like this, but something about it felt... right. comfortable. easy.

as the minutes stretched on, there was a quiet shift in the atmosphere, one you couldn’t quite put your finger on. lando’s usual teasing tone had softened, and you began to notice the little things—the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than normal, the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you acknowledging it.

you realized that this wasn’t just a casual drink. it was something more, something that you weren’t entirely ready to define yet.

lando’s voice broke through your thoughts. “you know,” he said, his tone a little quieter now, “i’m glad you decided to come up here. you make the night a lot more interesting.”

you met his gaze, your smile faltering for just a second as the weight of his words settled in. “i’m glad i did too,” you said softly, the playful teasing fading into something deeper, more sincere.

the conversation flowed easily, just as it always did with lando. he had a way of making you laugh even when you wanted to stay mad at him. but beneath the jokes and teasing, there was something quieter—an unspoken tension that neither of you addressed.

at some point, you found yourself sitting on the edge of his bed, the soft clink of your glass against the nightstand breaking the silence. lando leaned against the wall near the window, his gaze fixed on you.

“you’re surprisingly quiet,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“just thinking,” he replied, his voice low.

“dangerous for you,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

he chuckled, but his eyes didn’t lose their intensity. “you’re different tonight.”

“different how?”

he tilted his head, studying you for a moment before shaking his head. “i don't think i should...”

you frowned, but before you could press him, he straightened up and walked over, sitting down beside you.

“thanks for sticking around,” he said softly, his tone sincere in a way that made your chest tighten.

“someone had to make sure your ego didn’t completely inflate,”you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

lando smiled, but his eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of how close you were. the air seemed to shift, the silence between you heavy with something unspoken.

“cinderella,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?”

he didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “nothing. just… thanks for tonight.”

you smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart raced. “you’re welcome, norris.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “you really know how to ruin a moment.”

“someone has to keep you grounded.”

“lucky me,” he murmured, his voice carrying a warmth that lingered long after the words left his lips.

you both sat there for a moment, the weight of the silence between you thickening. your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the tension rising in the air. lando's gaze never wavered from yours, his expression unreadable, though there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.

without thinking, you leaned in just a little, a small shift that seemed to change everything. lando’s eyes flickered down to your lips before he moved closer, his hand reaching up to gently touch your cheek, as if he was asking for permission without saying a word.

you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, and before you could second-guess yourself, your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. it was brief at first, a simple brush of his mouth against yours, but it sent a wave of electricity through your body.

lando pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely audible. “you sure about this?”

you took a deep breath, your hand reaching up to rest on his chest. “yeah,” you whispered, “i’m sure.”

and this time, when your lips met again, it was deeper, more urgent, as if the world around you had melted away.

THE MORNING AFTER

the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room as you slowly stirred awake. your head throbbed painfully, a reminder of last night’s overindulgence, and you blinked against the haze clouding your mind. you were still in the same dress from the previous night, though your shoes were nowhere to be found. the bed felt unfamiliar, yet oddly comforting as you slowly sat up, the sheets sliding off your legs.

the soft sound of running water reached your ears, and you realized lando was in the bathroom, the sound of his shower filling the silence of the room. your thoughts were a blur—flashes of laughter, the heat of his kiss, the tension that had built between you two—and you couldn’t help but wonder just how far things had gone last night. everything felt like a blur, a dream that was slipping through your fingers as you tried to piece it together.

your head was pounding from the hangover, and the confusion only made it worse. you ran a hand through your hair, sighing as you tried to shake the lingering fog from your mind. there was no denying that something had happened between you and lando, but the details were fuzzy, and you weren’t sure what it all meant.

without overthinking it, you stood up, your legs feeling a little unsteady as you glanced around the room. you didn’t want to deal with it now, not with the pounding in your head and the uncertainty clouding your thoughts. without another moment of hesitation, you grabbed your shoes from where they were discarded on the floor, quickly slipped them on, and quietly left the room, trying to ignore the pit forming in your stomach.

INSTAGRAM

ynstella

📍who invited hangover

❤️ by landonorris, mclaren, bellahadid and more

ynstella: turns out a night doesn't end after midnight for this cinderella. thank you, miami. you're unforgettable ❤️‍🔥🏹

tagged: landonorris

click here to open comment section

landonorris: "congrats lando" would be nice yk

ynstella: i feel like that's all i've said these past hours 😭

landofan1: a hard launch???

ynstella: what does that even mean?

ynfan2: MOTHER HI

ynfan44: shut down those rumour mother

landofan66: girl that caption is only shutting my system down

landofan17: i wonder who took that first pic...

landonorris: tried to shift my focus by looking pretty and all but you still owe me some money for last night

ynstella: i'm never playing monopoly w you again norris

maxverstappen1: i'm never playing monopoly w you again norris

carlossainz55: i'm never playing monopoly w you again norris

georgerussell63: i'm never playing monopoly w you again norris

lewishamilton: yeah same

ynstella: BREAKING! ancient man breaks a chain and gets beaten up by a singer

bellahadid: SO PRETTYYYY pls let's get married

ynstella: going 🏃‍♀️

landonorris: what about me tho?

oscarpiastri: they're gonna take your phone again

mclaren: speak louder osc

bellahadid: oops... 🤭

ynfan67: that's my wife right there

landonorris: hey bolter, nice to see you

ynfan6: the aesthetic 😩

ynfan18: can we talk about these comments tho?

ynfan19: lando's comments specifically

ynfan20: there MUST be something going on

landonorris: cute caption 🙃

landofan5: what is that supposed to mean sir???

ynfan23: EXCUSEZ MOI???

ynfan20: i'm dying.

ynfan21: girl i'm already dead.

[moon-lit-petal]

From Chaos to Comfort Pt2

George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summery: George becomes acutely aware that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Fred's pranks

Warning: enemies to lovers(?) George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol Also Y/N is a little mean to George ngl

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: N/A

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

-----------

For the first time in his life, George Weasley found himself at a loss. It wasn’t a prank gone wrong or a mischievous scheme that had backfired. This time, it was his own feelings that tangled him up, leaving him uncertain and confused. He had never meant to fall for Y/N—it had started as a vague curiosity, something small that grew each time he saw her, each time he noticed something new about her that intrigued him.

At first, it had been her quietness. She was unlike anyone else in their chaotic world of Hogwarts, someone who didn’t seek attention or the spotlight. Then it became her strength—the way she handled herself, always composed even when the world around her erupted into laughter or chaos. He noticed her resilience, the way she would stand tall despite the pranks she had endured. But it was her mysterious nature that had really captivated him, the way she seemed lost in her own world, as though there were secrets she held close, secrets he wanted to understand.

The more George watched Y/N, the more he realized how much she had begun to mean to him. He saw her in moments of solitude that he felt privileged to witness. Sitting by the Black Lake, her eyes focused on the horizon, Y/N had an almost ethereal quality—completely absorbed in her own thoughts, a peacefulness surrounding her that drew George in. He’d catch glimpses of her curled up in a chair in the library, lost in a book, her brow furrowed in concentration. She never looked more beautiful to him than in those quiet moments when she thought no one was watching.

But George was always watching, and each time he did, his feelings deepened.

The problem, though, was painfully obvious: Y/N despised him.

Whenever he worked up the nerve to approach her, she would pull away. She would tense up or avoid his gaze, and in her eyes, he saw nothing but wariness—anger, even. He had tried, time and time again, to catch her alone, to explain that he wasn’t like that, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But every time he got close, she shut him out, cold and distant, as though she had built walls around herself, walls that George couldn’t break through.untill recently. He had begun to see the cracks in thoes wallsand was willing to wait for them to crumble completely. 

It frustrated him, this constant push and pull between what he wanted to say and what Y/N seemed to think of him. She still saw him as one half of a troublemaking duo, equally responsible for every prank that had caused her humiliation. And George knew that Fred’s relentless antics weren’t helping his case.

George’s internal struggle gnawed at him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to let her know that he admired her, that he had fallen for her despite everything. But how could he, when she clearly disliked him, she barely tolerated him. He knew that if he tried to confess his feelings, she would shut him out completely, maybe even think it was another prank.

So he kept his feelings hidden, silently watching her from a distance, hoping that one day, she might see the truth—that he wasn’t Fred, that he wasn’t the person she thought he was. Until then, he struggled, caught between his growing affection and the wall of misunderstanding that stood between them.

----------

Y/N had always lumped the Weasley twins together—Fred and George, partners in pranks, equally responsible for her ongoing torment. It was easier that way, to think of them as a single, mischievous entity, both of them causing her misery and feeding off her humiliation. She had spent weeks avoiding them, shutting down any interaction with either one, her anger growing with each new prank Fred managed to pull off.

But lately, she had started to notice something different.

George had become quieter around her. Unlike Fred, who seemed to delight in keeping up the mischief, George no longer laughed as hard, no longer grinned when a prank went off successfully. There were moments when he seemed almost hesitant, as though he were holding back or unsure of himself whenever she was near. It was subtle, but Y/N’s sharp eyes caught the difference.

It happened again on one particularly stressful day. Y/N had been dealing with an overwhelming amount of homework, her nerves frayed, and her patience running thin. She was making her way to class, trying to keep her mind focused on the assignments piling up in her bag, when she noticed something odd about the floor ahead of her. It shimmered slightly, almost imperceptibly, and she recognized it instantly—one of Fred's classic tricks. The enchanted floor would send anyone stepping on it flying into the air with a loud "pop!" and land them in the middle of a roaring crowd of students. Y/N, already exhausted, couldn’t handle another public humiliation, not today.

But before she could turn around or find a way to avoid the prank, George appeared, his eyes darting between her and the enchanted floor. Y/N tensed, waiting for the inevitable, fully expecting George to let the prank unfold.

But to her surprise, George stepped forward, his wand flicking with a quick movement. The shimmer disappeared, and the trap was gone as if it had never been there. He looked at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before he turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there, shocked and confused.

It wasn’t like George to undo a prank—at least, not the George she thought she knew. Why would he help her? Did he feel guilty? Was this some kind of trick? The questions raced through her mind, but the answers eluded her. Suspicion gnawed at her. It could easily have been part of a larger joke, some elaborate setup to make her drop her guard.

But something in the way George had looked at her—his eyes steady, not mocking—made her pause. Maybe, just maybe, there was more going on than she realized.

That thought lingered in her mind long after the moment had passed. She tried to shake it off, but later that day, in the Great Hall, she felt George’s eyes on her again. When she glanced up, she found him already watching her from across the room. For a second, their eyes met, and the world around them seemed to fade into the background.

There was no smirk on his face, no mischievous glint in his eyes. Instead, there was something softer, something hesitant, almost vulnerable. He held her gaze longer than necessary, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. Her instinct was to look away, to brush it off as another moment of misunderstanding, but something about the way George was looking at her made her pause. It was as if he wanted to say something, though no words were spoken.

Y/N felt an odd pull toward him—an unsettling feeling that she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t anger or resentment, but something unfamiliar, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. The idea that George might be different from Fred, that he might not be responsible for all the pranks, threw her off balance.

She finally broke the eye contact, her heart still racing, but the confusion remained. Could she have been wrong about him? Could George be more than just Fred’s partner in mischief?

Y/N didn’t have the answers yet, but one thing was clear: the more she noticed these subtle changes in George, the harder it became to hold onto her anger. And that realization only added to the swirl of emotions she wasn’t ready to confront.

----------

It was almost curfew, and the library was nearly empty. Y/N sat hunched over her parchment, her quill scratching furiously as she tried to finish an essay for Transfiguration. She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching.

Looking up, she saw George hovering near the bookshelf. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but his presence wasn’t accidental. He had been passing by more frequently these days, always offering her a smile or a casual greeting that didn’t seem forced.

“You’re out late,” George remarked casually, glancing over at her table. “Mind if I join you? I’m hopeless with this Potions essay.”

Y/N hesitated, but after a moment of contemplation, she sighed and gestured to the chair across from her. “If you don’t talk too much.”

George smirked, sitting down and pulling out his parchment. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

For a while, they worked in silence. The quiet between them was comfortable now, and Y/N found herself more focused on her essay than on the awkwardness of his presence. Every once in a while, she would glance up to see him frowning at his notes, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

Without realizing it, Y/N broke the silence. “You’re doing it wrong.”

George looked up, surprised. “What?”

“Your essay,” she said, gesturing to his paper. “You’re using the wrong order for those ingredients.”

He blinked, then glanced at his notes. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, and before she could think twice about it, she reached across the table, turning his parchment so she could scribble a few corrections. George watched her with quiet admiration, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Thanks,” he said when she finished.

Y/N shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

They returned to their work, but something had shifted. The silence between them wasn’t just comfortable now—it felt like the beginning of an understanding.

----------

One late afternoon, Y/N found her usual spot by the Black Lake occupied—by George, no less. He sat on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him, lazily tossing pebbles into the water. He noticed her standing a few feet away and smiled, patting the space next to him.

“I didn’t know this was your spot,” he said, tilting his head in a half-apology.

Y/N hesitated, but after a moment, she sat down beside him, leaving a respectful distance between them. “It’s quiet here.”

George nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

For a while, they just sat together, the soft sounds of the lake lapping at the shore filling the air. The late-afternoon sun painted the sky in hues of gold and lavender, casting a warm glow over the water.

“I never thought you’d be one for quiet places,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

George chuckled. “I have my moments.”

They both looked out over the lake, the easy silence stretching between them. For Y/N, it was strange but not unwelcome. George’s presence didn’t disturb the peace she usually sought here; in fact, it almost added to it.

After what felt like hours, George finally broke the silence, his voice soft and thoughtful. “Do you ever feel like you’re trying to figure out where you fit in? Like, even in a place like Hogwarts, where everyone seems to know their role, sometimes you’re just…lost?”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by his honesty. She didn’t expect such a vulnerable admission from someone like George Weasley. But she found herself nodding. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

George looked at her, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you, you know. With all the pranks. I didn’t realize…what it was like for you.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned back to the lake, watching the ripples spread out across the surface. “I know,” she said eventually, her voice soft. “I’m starting to see that.”

Another silence fell between them, but this time it was different. There was an unspoken understanding between them now, a sense that they were both beginning to see each other for who they really were.

----------

A few days later, Y/N sat in her favorite spot in the library, a window seat tucked away behind a row of dusty shelves. She had always loved the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting warm patterns across the worn pages of her book.

To her surprise, George appeared again, though this time he didn’t sit across from her. Instead, he stood near the window, looking out at the grounds with a contemplative expression.

“I’ve never noticed how nice the view is from here,” he commented quietly.

Y/N glanced up from her book, surprised. She hadn’t even realized he’d seen her here before.

George turned to her, his hands in his pockets. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, nodding toward the spot next to her.

Y/N hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

He sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them as usual. For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, side by side, the soft rustling of parchment and the distant hum of the library the only sounds around them.

After some time, Y/N spoke without looking up from her book. “Why do you keep coming around?”

George didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual. “I like being around you.”

Y/N froze for a second, her heart skipping a beat. She turned slightly to look at him, but George was staring out of the window again, his expression unreadable. His confession hung in the air between them, quiet but significant.

Y/N didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Instead, she let the moment pass, and they returned to their comfortable silence, their shoulders almost—but not quite—touching as they sat together by the window.

----------

It was a rare sunny afternoon when Y/N found herself in the courtyard, sitting on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. She had her nose buried in a book, as usual, when she heard footsteps approaching.

Glancing up, she saw George again. This time, he didn’t ask to sit. He just stood there, looking at her with an amused grin. “Do you ever take a break from reading?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was no malice in her expression. “Do you ever take a break from bothering me?”

George laughed, sitting down beside her without asking this time. “Fair point.”

They sat in silence for a moment before George spoke again. “I wasn’t bothering you, was I?”

Y/N hesitated but then shook her head. “Not as much as you used to.”

George grinned at that, clearly pleased. “Progress.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, just a little. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised by how easily he had started to grow on her. Despite everything, he had a way of breaking down her walls—slowly but surely.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel the need to push him away.

----------

The atmosphere in the Quidditch stadium was electric, students buzzing with excitement as Gryffindor faced off against Slytherin. Y/N sat among the Hufflepuffs, trying to immerse herself in the thrilling game, but her mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the confusion of her feelings toward George. She had tried to shake off the memory of their charged moments together, but the flutter of uncertainty remained lodged in her chest.

As the match progressed, however, Fred had other plans. He’d been plotting something big, something he believed would be the ultimate prank—one that would draw the attention of everyone, including Y/N. She noticed Fred whispering to some of his fellow Gryffindors, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart sank. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the target, and she wasn’t wrong.

With a loud bang, Fred unleashed his prank just as the match reached its peak. A loud cheer erupted from the stands as a massive enchanted banner unfurled above the pitch, displaying a giant caricature of Y/N, her face comically exaggerated, with the words “I Love Fred Weasley!” written in bold, glittering letters underneath. The banner was charmed to hover above her, casting a spotlight of shimmering light down on her, drawing the attention of everyone in the stadium.

The laughter from the crowd rang in her ears, a symphony of mockery that made her heart drop. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, both from humiliation and anger. She sat there, completely exposed under the glaring light, her worst fears coming to life as her peers erupted in laughter.

“Look! It’s Y/N, the love-struck Hufflepuff!” one student shouted, and the crowd roared with laughter.

Y/N wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground and escape the relentless eyes fixed on her. In that moment, her fury toward the twins reached new heights. Fred’s laughter, buoyant and triumphant, cut through the air like a knife, while George’s horrified expression, watching from the sidelines, only added to her anger. Why hadn’t he done anything to stop it? Why did he let his brother humiliate her again?

As the enchanted banner began to twirl around her, she felt her heart racing. The fabric flapped loudly, and it felt like the entire school was watching her, waiting for her reaction. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could vanish from the spot where she sat, utterly covered in embarrassment.

Immediately Y/N stormed away, her heart racing with a mix of fury and shame. She barely registered the teasing remarks from her peers, her mind a whirlwind of betrayal and anger directed at the Weasley twins.

Just as she turned to leave the stadium, she felt a gentle grip on her arm. It was George, his expression filled with concern, his blue eyes wide with remorse. “Y/N, wait! I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t!” she snapped, pulling her arm away from his grasp. “Don’t you dare say anything to me, George! You’re just as bad as he is! You both think this is funny!”

“Y/N, I didn’t know—” he started, but she interrupted him, her voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

“You didn’t know? You didn’t know what he was planning? You’re supposed to be his brother! How could you let him do this to me again?” Her voice trembled with emotion, tears threatening to spill over as she felt the weight of the humiliation crashing down on her.

George’s heart sank. The guilt he had been carrying since the day of the library prank intensified, and he felt it clawing at him now. “I tried to stop him, I really did! I didn’t want this to happen to you! Please, just listen—”

Y/N shook her head violently, her anger boiling over. “Listen to what? More excuses? I can’t believe I thought you were different, that you actually cared. You’re just as cruel as Fred! I hate you both!”

With that, she turned on her heel, her heart racing, and stormed away. George stood frozen, helpless, the raw pain in her words cutting deep. He could feel the weight of her accusations like a leaden weight on his chest. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, and yet here he was, unable to prove to her that he wasn’t exactly what she thought.

“Y/N, wait!” he called after her, desperation creeping into his voice, but she didn’t stop. He reached out as if to follow her, but the chasm between them felt insurmountable. His heart raced, guilt washing over him as he realized just how badly he had failed her.

He watched as she disappeared into the distance, the echoes of laughter from the crowd still ringing in his ears, and at that moment, George understood—things had changed between them forever, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever repair the damage that had been done.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

[redux-robotix-llc]

REDUX ROBOTIX AU

Masterlist for all things Captain Underpants: Redux Robotix LLC AU! (Run by Sketch-22!)

-> Introduction to the AU <-

But TL;DR, Five-year-old George Beard gets bumped to the 3rd grade when he first enrolls at Jerome Horwitz Elementary School (as mentioned in Book 9). Due to this, George and Harold never meet in Kindergarten and, as a result, George becomes a sole, anonymous prankster, Harold Hutchins remains a quiet and timid artist, and Melvin Sneedly, witnessing the failures of the American school system via Harold getting bullied, becomes disillusioned with authority and begins inventing recklessly.

Chaos ensues from there!

————

BLOG STATUS: WIP ASK BOX STATUS: CLOSED REQUEST STATUS: CLOSED

————

Character Profiles (Under Construction)

George Beard

Harold Hutchins

Melvin Sneedly

Benjamin Krupp

????

????

Lunch Lady Edith

Redux Robotix Comix

Office Visit | Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Pt.8, Pt.9, Pt.10.

Invention Convention | Banned, Explanation, Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, School Sign, etc.

Miscellaneous Arts

Redux Robotix Trio

Hanging Out

Extra Extra!

Busted

Melvin Sketches

Trio Sketches

Krupp Sketches

Professor P Sketches

[sailtomarina]

Colourful, but Controlled, Chaos

Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Reader | fluff, humor

There wasn’t a day that went by where the Weasley twins weren’t up to something. Whether it was the Slytherins walking into the Great Hall for breakfast with mutinous expressions and lime green hair, the piercing outcry that followed Madam Pince’s discovery of stacks of Playwiz scattered across the library, or how miniature swamps appeared seemingly at random around the castle, there was never a moment of peace.

You would have laughed if you weren’t furious.

Because these pranks didn’t just occur to the deserved or only during downtime, but at all times of day to anyone and everyone. There were no exceptions to the terrors they wrought, not even towards each other.

That fairness would be admirable, you supposed, if you hadn’t witnessed painfully shy firsties sobbing from embarrassment, or been a victim yourself to a well-hidden shower charm that turned your hair a brilliant shade of lilac. You’d thought of all people you might be the special one, being as you were one of their closest friends.

Finals loomed and you knew the entire castle was on the verge of implosion. It would only take a slight nudge from Fred and George to send teachers and students alike into a war that would leave nothing but rubble in its wake.

“This has to stop. Now.” You stood before them, hands propped on your hips and wearing your fiercest scowl. 

It was the look that never failed to send Malfoy and his followers scurrying to their dungeon. The look could even silence students like Marcus Flint and Cormac McLaggen, transforming their swaggers into straight backs and shoulders.

Fred and George, however, were not so easily cowed.

The matching pairs of eyes bluer than the clearest summer sky took you in for a grand total of five seconds before they burst into laughter, louder than before.

“I mean it!” you insisted. “We only have these last weeks until break and we, I, need peace to study.”

The seriousness of your plea fell on deaf ears as they paused to peer up at you, only to dissolve into giggles once more. Even more galling to you was the fact that no matter how much mischief the two of them created, they still somehow scored high marks in nearly every one of their classes.

“Gred, I think Y/N is on the verge of hexing us.”

“I believe you’re right, Forge. It’s a good thing we’re so fast on our feet, isn’t it?”

Before you could whip out your wand and do just that, they hauled you forward into their laps. You were as helpless as a mermaid on land as they manoeuvred you across them, fingers delving towards all your ticklish spots until you screamed for mercy.

“Please, no more! Fred! George!”

Their hands let up, and you panted at the reprieve. The grins they wore were wider than ever on their stupidly handsome faces. You wanted to smack them and snog them all at the same time. The two emotions battled for control, with you the helpless party. If you weren’t so head-over-heels for them, you would have killed them by now.

When you finally had your breath under control, you fixed them with another stern glare. “I know you might find this difficult to comprehend, but there is a limit to my patience.”

“Ooooooh, that sounds terrifying.” Fred’s distinctly non-terrified smirk preceded his twin’s.

“What’s in it for us if we behave, love?” George asked. There was a dangerous glint to his eye to pair with the twist of his lips.

You could feel the heat of their hands on you even through your uniform. Your throat felt dry, and you licked your lips on reflex. There were words you wanted to say, had wanted to say for weeks now. You weren’t sure if saying them now, here, was a mistake. Maybe this was the push you’d needed.

“If…” you cleared your throat, then continued, “If you hold off on any further pranks until after tests are over, I will go on a date with you. Both of you.”

You’d heard the rumours. Knew them to be true. Fred and George Weasley didn’t do anything by halves. When they loved, they loved together. That meant that anyone who chose to be with one also chose to be with both. There was no taking one without the other.

The hands that rested across your legs and waist tightened, drawing you closer into them. There were no smiles now on their faces; only the full force of their attention on you and nothing else.

“Do you mean it, Y/N?”

“You’ll be ours?”

You bit your lip at the heat in their questions. You needed to clarify things, even if all you wanted to do was say ‘yes’. Keep them focused. “I’ll go on one date. What happens after that depends on how that date goes.”

They remained sombre as they scooched apart to help you sit up. The handshake you shared sealed the deal for peace.

One month and a single date later, they had you exactly where they wanted you–in their arms and completely theirs. You even chipped in those last few days of the school year, your guilt just as apparent as theirs as Hogwarts erupted into colourful, but controlled, chaos.

6.11.24 prompt, “I know you might find this difficult to comprehend…”

883 wc

Cross-posted on Facebook and Tumblr.

I’ve fallen off the treadmill lately with short prompts like this one due to all the fest writing I’ve been doing these past couple of months. I really want to get back into them because they make for great exercises to get the words flowing. Hopefully, you can look forward to more of these soon!

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hellur, how are uu!!! This is my first time in tumblr. And there are only a few of george clarke or arthurtv fics. Very thankful for one of the people who creates them🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

May i request a reaction for Arthur or George where all of their fans love their gf, especially she's just a normal beautiful gal 😍😍😍 what if their girl has dimplessss

hi lovely. welcome to tumblr, welcome to my blog, welcome to a safe place to come vent and chat all things arthurtv and chaos crew as well as youtube! lots of love! thank you for popping by - don't be a stranger, at all. i have so many thoughts for this :')))

G E O R G E

everyone loves her.

he takes his time to introduce her publicly because she's isn't a girl who is known - she's not a youtuber, she's not a tiktoker, she's not an influencer so he wants to slowly wean her into the chaos of his life and shield her from twitter's hate and the tiktok comments that will be written about her.

because, of course, there will always be some people who dislike her - its part and parcel of being with him and she knows that.

those that love her, she loves back. she always keeps an eye on her social media, always checks in with them, replies to their tweets and she does little q and a's on her instagram story about herself... with the occasional question about her and george or anything to do with their relationship (without going into much detail - she leaves that for his podcast).

and he definitely has her on for an episode, alongside andrew, like a couple's podcast episode where they just spill the beans on what it's like to date max and george. from the horse's mouth comments from someone who is dating someone so loved and well-known in their industry line of work.

"i'm pretty sure everyone loves yn more than they love me."

"what can i say? you're not the only one with a pretty face., georgey boy."

"it's the dimples, i'm telling you."

and she will always tease him because she knows how loved she is in amongst his followers. always having pictures taken at events they see her at, taking cute and funny selfies, hugging those who want to give her a hug and george just loves to see it happen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A R T H U R

his followers speculate before arthur actually announces that they're in a relationship...

he's much more of a soft launcher with the two of them as opposed to completely introducing her - he never sees the point in posting her alongside her social tags because she's not someone known to many in the world.

he can't hide on social media; and that doesn't stop him from being a simp for her. people go digging once they see them together in public, people see that he likes her posts, they can see his comments and he doesn't see the problem because that's his girl and if he wants to show his love for her than he can. he just chooses not to launch her hard by giving her a dedicated post so people know who she is.

so when it's been long enough, and he sees that people love her and want to see more of her, he starts bringing her onto his channel.

that's how he properly and formerly introduces her.

"yn's here with me today."

"he needs the views, figured he may as well use me as clout."

"well- no, that's not- no-"

he gets so soft in the face, cheeks going red and he stutters and she loves that he still gets giddy over how she has such witty remarks back to him.

"i'm just messing, i'm here for my five minutes of fame."

"again, not what's happening."

and it's just sweet moments where people can truly see them for how they actually are together - so sickeningly in love with each other that it's almost too sweetly gross to witness.

and, my god, the edits that come out of it are something yn could sit and watch for days because it really captures just how they are as a couple. and she's no stranger to sharing them on her socials, saving them to her camera roll, showing them to arthur when they're sitting and aimlessly scrolling their accounts, commenting how she loves them and that it's so special to have their sweet and loving moments documented in such a way.

out in public, he's so soft with her and always stands close to her on their museum dates and they're always holding hands down the busy streets of london and he always holds her close to him on the tubes whenever they need to get public transports and he's always weary of her going over to meet those who had seen the two of them in the street... people take photos, they take videos, they share them all over the internet - they can't stop them from doing that. he knows she's just being kind but he always tells her that she can never been too careful. but she loves them just as much as he is thankful for them; and of course, he sits back and watches as they start showing off how much they adore her. xx

[livelaughghoul]

FMK Toto, George, Lewis

FMK Charles, Carlos, Fred

FMK Vowels, Alex, Colapinto

FMK Kimi, Vettel, Alonso

FMK Ricciardo, Jenson, Max

I originally saw this ask on my phone and decided I needed a full keyboard to provide my answers. Therefore, they will be provided under the read more option because I'm about to justify so many of these answers.

Toto, George, and Lewis.

Fucking Lewis, marrying Toto, killing George.

I feel like this is pretty obvious if you've been a witness to the chaos that is whatever the hell I do here. We all know that I have a thing for the older men on the grid. Lewis wouldn't be someone I could be with long-term at all, so I think it would need to be a one-time thing. We all know I'm in love with Toto, of course, I'm marrying him. Unfortunately, I love George, but not enough to spare him over Lewis.

2. Charles, Carlos, and Fred.

Fucking Charles, marrying Carlos, and killing Fred.

Again, I think this is more of like, it feels like a rite of passage of obligations to want to fuck Charles, ya know? If I didn't the girlies would be angry at me. I feel like Carlos and I could make a marriage work, but it wouldn't be healthy, and honestly, that could be fun. Fred can't control his team, he wouldn't stand a chance with me. I feel like I could be doing everyone a favor with this one actually.

3. Vowles, Alex, and Franco.

Fucking Vowles, marrying Alex, and killing Franco.

HEAR ME OUT, HEAR ME OUT, OKAY? It's a hate fucking, there is nothing gentle or loving about what would take place between James and I. We're both going to need ice packs and pain killers because it's going to be so hateful. I love Alex, and I would absolutely marry him with no hesitation. I know I could send him tiktoks and he would actually watch them (this is a jab at my husband btw). I'm sorry, y'all know I love Franco, but there is no desire to fuck or marry him, so he must go.

4. Kimi, Vettel, and Alonso. THIS IS MEAN, YOU REALLY WANT ME TO PICK BETWEEN KIMI AND ALONSO?!

My joke answer is that I'm killing myself because I can't pick between them. My real answer is that I'm fucking Kimi, marrying Alonso, and killing Vettel.

While I love Kimi, I couldn't see myself marrying him at all, it would be a one-and-done, get it out of my system kinda thing. Alonso the love of my life, I would marry him so quick. Vettel, sorry, but the bees will remember you fondly.

5. Ricciardo, Jenson, Max

Fucking Jenson, marrying Ricciardo, and killing Max.

Again, I love Jenson but he is too like, Dad coded for me, and that's saying something. Ricciadro, similar to Alonso, could make me do anything. No one comes close to Alonso, but Ricciardo is close. I know that Max comes with three cats, but like, I don't think I could handle him for more than like, five-minute intervals.

[forthetwins]

m.list

fred weasley

serious spells and silly surprises.

i'm only loving you, hope you'd love me too.

grey skies, stones and sweet serenades.

between wit and wisdom.

flickers of fantasy: whispers of love and magic.

spoiled fruit, spoiled mood.

lakeside pages.

blind as blast-ended skrewt.

care in the chaos.

headcanons.

a twist in time.

pocky.

a light in the dark.

george weasley

the art of longing.

cozy corners and cheeky kisses.

twirling by the stairs.

george in the box.

mischief managed: a love tale.

breaking bread, building bridges.

the aftermath of the bludger.

hoots and heartstrings.

tension and comfort.

solace and sobby secrets.

headcanons.

pocky.

finding home in you.

whimsy and sympathy.

brush strokes and beliefs.

lost in a book.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

request from anon: for logan weekend, could you 8, 12 and 16 from the smut list or 9, 10, and 20 from the fluff list? which ever is easier for you to write!

here is the fluff one, if you’d like to read the smut it can be found here

send in logan blurb requests (sfw & nsfw) for logan weekend

9 : realising they're feeling much better when they know that the other is happy

10 : enjoying making the other smile

20 : "come on, it can't come as a big surprise to you." *when in fact, it's the biggest surprise to themselves*

Alex and George were the best of friends, constantly causing chaos wherever they went. As George’s personal assistant you became close to Alex as well, enjoying his bright, upbeat personality, and sharp wit.

When Alex started inviting his rookie teammate to his hangouts with George, you were immediately drawn to the blonde driver.

He was quiet at first, possibly an introvert? Shy enough that he kept close to Alex whenever he could. He began opening up to you slowly. With every interaction he grew a little more comfortable around you, eventually purposefully seeking you out in a crowd.

What once was merely a friend of a friend became a close companionship.

Logan was seemingly everywhere around you. Leaving your hotel? Logan just so happens to be in the lobby. Hanging out with a few of the other drivers after a day of work? Suddenly Logan actually attends these get togethers. Walking to the Mercedes garage with George? You can expect to bump into Logan on the way there.

It was sweet, the way he’d give you a shy smile, his blue eyes sparkling, whether it be from the sun or the city lights.

Though you were George’s assistant, Logan had started to become some sort of assistant to you. He made himself always available for anything you needed. He brought you cups of coffee from the Williams building if he knew you were too busy to get any for yourself. He was quick to drape his blue jacket over your shoulders if you forgot your black one. Some might call him crazy, a Floridian giving up his coat in weather his body was not built for, but seeing you smile up at him made it all worth it.

Alex had started to become annoyed with his teammate. He could handle the pining at first. It was honestly cute how hard Logan had fallen for you. But after months he wanted nothing more than to lock Logan in a room with you and force a confession out of him.

He scoffed at you when you fawned over him and Lily, telling them how perfect they were and how you’d kill for a relationship like theirs.

“If Logan would just man up you could have a relationship like ours.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, or at least loud enough for you to hear.

“What? What does Logan have to do with anything?” You ask.

Lily sighs. “Oh, Y/n…”

“What?”

“You seriously don’t see it?” Alex is shocked. “He’s head over heels for you! Basically in love!”

“No he’s not…” You shake your head.

"Come on, it can't come as a big surprise to you. He constantly brings you snacks and drinks. He just so happens to be there to walk you to the Mercedes garage every single day. He’s constantly whining ‘where’s y/n? why isn’t y/n here?’” He throws his arms up dramatically.

“He doesn’t do that.” Lily laughs.

Alex crosses his arms over his chest. “He does it internally. I can see it.”

“Oh my god… Logan likes me…” You feel your heart beat speed up and a smile start to grow on your face.

[20doozers]

★Home again★

TW: fluff, surprises, being really lonely, small age gap, gn!reader but can be read as masc or fem, basically just really sweet fluff for you guys, nicknames like “baby” and “sweetheart” etc

You were in Highschool and Georg was in college, there was a two year age gap but you two had been friends for forever and dating for almost three years at this point

Well recently georg had been away at college across the country so you could barely ever see him, only during FaceTimes or when you two would text eachother. You missed him a lot, he was your whole life, and with everyone of your friends and classmates getting dates to homecoming you just felt lonely all over again,

You were at home one night just chilling and watching a movie in the living room, your parents were out at a fancy dinner so you were just home alone. You really missed georg, curled up on the couch with a hoodie you could barely smell him on from how often you wore it.

Eventually you heard the doorbell ring, thinking it was just a Jehovah’s Witness or the neighborhood kids playing ding-dong-ditch like they usually did you just ignored it, but then you heard the doorbell again and again. You finally got up to answer it with an annoyed groan, just wanting to relax after all of the chaos at school.

Yet when you opened the door you found a tired looking Georg with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of what you assumed was just snacks and stuff. You froze, unsure of what to say, you didn’t even care about the flowers or snacks, you just cared about georg. You basically tackled him into a hug, making him stumble a bit and drop the flowers before he scooped you up in a hug.

“Hey.. shhh… it’s okay to cry..” He murmured into your hair, pressing multiple kisses to your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and cried from how much you had missed him.

When you two finally broke from the hug he saw the tears streaming down your face and he quickly cupped your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Shh.. it’s okay.. I’m here now.. I’m here sweetheart..” He gently kissed your forehead, letting go of you to lead you over to the couch and pull you into his lap. You curled up against his chest with small sniffles and hiccups as he held you close.

“I- I missed you..” You hiccuped into his chest, tears still streaming down your face.

“I know you did.. but I’m here now, okay? I’m not leaving again for a long time..” He said softly, pulling you into a gentle kiss to calm you down.

Once you calmed down Georg pampered you for the rest of the night, a warm bubble bath, clean pajamas, snacks and candy galore, a movie, and most importantly, cuddles. You had curled up in his lap, his arms around you as the two of you cuddled. He was gently rubbing your back, your head burrowed in the crook of his neck and your hands gripping at his hoodie like he’d disappear if you let go.

“Schatz.. just relax.. I’m not gonna disappear.” He reassured as he combed his fingers through your hair which was still damp from the bath.

“I’m sorry.. I just really missed you..” You murmured into the crook of his neck, your grip on him loosening yet still clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Goodnight baby..” Georg whispered quietly as he kissed the top of your head, your asleep self still cradled against his warm yet oh so familiar body.

“Sweet dreams..” Georg murmured before turning off the bedside lamp, the darkness overtaking the room as he drifted to sleep as well, the two of you sleeping in each others arms, no longer lonely.

YAY! I finally finished this one, it’s been in my drafts for days since I didn’t really know how to write the ending but I’m pretty happy with it. I’ve been writing more m!reader and gn!reader recently since I’m really bad at writing fem reader. Also excuse any mistakes or bad grammar I’m really tired and a bit burnt out but I’m trying my best. Anyway, love you guys💕

Tags: @jkloserdazai @itsmealaiah @goreishgorinthgoreofshits @madzandmore

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; vampire blood violence

2023

“Now, remember,” Xavier Marcos Padros instructed. “Señor Leclerc is a very important client of this firm. His family has been with us for nearly 100 years, and we don’t want to cast a poor impression on the newest generation.”

“No, sir.” You agreed, nodding at your boss.

“That is why I want you to personally oversee the meeting.” The lawyer continued. “There is no other paralegal that I trust more with the closure of his documentation. The paperwork has already been signed by his grandfather, and Señor Leclerc just needs a witnessed signature to complete the transfer of estates and power of attorney to his name.”

“Yes, sir.” You bit back an irritated sigh, listening for the third time as your boss explained the situation. As if you haven’t already spent long hours and late nights preparing the Leclerc account paperwork for the all-important transfer and supporting the grandfather’s witnessed signature process. 

“Your work on this family case continues to impress, and I’m confident that you will represent our firm proudly.” He paused to consult his notes. “Now, Señor Leclerc has been arranged for 2100 hrs tomorrow night at his personal request.” He looked back at you unashamedly. “I assume that time won’t be a problem for you.”

Even now, your boss’ haughty words still gnaw at you. Just because the man is a senior partner in one of the world’s most prestigious law firms and you’re fortunate enough to be on his team of paralegals doesn’t mean that you’re not entitled to a life of your own outside of work. All of your clients are wealthy and successful and privileged, and you see no reason why Señor Leclerc should be treated any differently.

But at the end of the day, part of your job is client satisfaction, and your boss won’t hear of you inconveniencing a client, no matter their assets. That’s why you’re still at your desk despite the clock reading 2051 hrs. That’s why you’re still in your pristine business suit and heels while the rest of the building grows dark and empty around you. That’s why the executive conference room table contains the spread of the various official forms for Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, III to sign upon his arrival.

You exhale another sigh as you casually scroll through the newsfeed on your phone, skimming headlines and associated ledes.

DESPITE ALL ODDS, BRANGELINA BACK TOGETHER

Earlier this year saw the return of Bennifer, and now, fans are stunned at the return of Brangelina. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt famously wed in 2014, and Jolie filed for divorce from Pitt just two years later. The divorce proceedings have been anything but amiable, and despite the divorce never being legally finalized, it appears that may no longer be needed…

FAMOUS RAPHAEL, DA VINCI PAINTINGS MISSING SINCE WWII TURN UP IN BELGIAN HOME

Among the scores of artwork lost during the chaos and destruction of WWII, two of the most famous pieces have finally resurfaced after more than 75 years. Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man and da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine were last seen at the Wawel Castle in 1945, at the home of Hans Frank, who Hitler appointed as governor of the General Government in Poland. The Belgian businessman now in possession of these classic masterpieces has come under investigation as authorities seek to understand how the artwork came into his custody. Historians value the Portrait of a Young Man and the Lady with an Ermine at over €500 million and €300 million, respectively…

STAR WARS FANS SPOT LIGHTSABER-LIKE OBJECT ON MARS SURFACE IN NEW NASA PICTURES

New photos released by NASA show an object on the surface of Mars, looking like a lightsaber from the iconic Star Wars series. Despite its appearance, this mysterious item is actually a titanium tube containing a rock sample that rests on the Red Planet’s surface…

You glance at the time, not willing to risk being late, and set your phone down. Smoothing the drape of your suit jacket and matching skirt, your heels echo off the marble as you walk down the empty corridor. The elevator ding breaks the silence, and you glance out over the Monaco skyline as you descend to the front lobby.

With two minutes to spare, you offer a nod in silent greeting to the night guard on duty at the front desk and come to a stop just inside the tall, glass doors. You keep a keen eye on the street for the approach of a dark sedan or SUV, something that won’t be easy to see in the glow of streetlights. But that’s not the vehicle that pulls up to the front kerb.

Actually, you don’t know what kind of vehicle it is, but the vintage bright cherry red sports car is impossible to miss. It screams elegant taste and wicked speed, and with the convertible top down, it puts the driver on full display. His pale skin stands out immediately against the cut of his black suit and as he exits the car, closing the door behind him, it’s a devastating combination. Or, perhaps, it’s just the expertly tailored lines of his suit or the rakish sweep of his brunette hair or the mercurial glow in his green eyes.

You may spend your life catering to the ultra-wealthy and well-dressed, but this man is truly in a league of his own.

Forcing a swallow and hoping your cheeks aren’t too flushed, you step forward to push open the front door. “Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Welcome.”

He nods, offering a polite smile as he steps inside. “Thank you. And thank you for taking this meeting so late.” His crisp dress shoes echo off the marble in tandem with your footsteps. “Xavi’s office has always been gracious to accommodate my chaotic schedule.”

You nod gently even though his words give you pause. Nothing about him looks chaotic, whether in the details of his appearance or his calm, collected demeanor. In fact, he looks crisp and polished, as if his day has just started. Pushing the thought aside, you guide him towards the elevator lobby. “Of course, sir.” You say as you press the ascent button. “We’re always happy to work with our clients to assure their needs are met.”

“An admirable sentiment.” The corner of Leclerc’s mouth lifts as he motions you first into the elevator. “I think you are new to Xavi’s team as we have not met before, no?”

Your cheeks blush full red hot as you realize your breach of etiquette. “Oh, goodness – yes, I… apologies for not introducing myself.” You give your name and extend your hand which he politely accepts. Immediately, the firmness of his grip, the softness of his skin, and the chilly temperature against your own strikes you.

His eyes glitter under the elevator’s overhead lights. “Pleased to meet you. You already know this, but I’m Charles Leclerc, III. Though, Charles or ‘Charles’ is just fine.”

Even after letting go of his hand, the phantom chill still lingers on your skin. It’s not a particularly cool night outside, as evidenced by the open cockpit of his car, and you can’t put your finger on why his skin should be so chilly. 

He must sense your confusion because a small, sheepish smile comes to his handsome face as he rests a hand in his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize if my cold fingers surprised you… I should have warned you before that I’m cold blooded. I never can seem to get warm.”

“Oh no, please,” you say with a reassuring smile despite the heat rushing to your cheeks and the quickening of your heartbeat as the elevator dings. “You don’t need to apologize – I was just wondering if I could offer you some warm tea.” The words roll off your tongue as you step out of the elevator with him close behind. Thinking on your feet is a key part of your job even if it stresses you out.

“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate your concern. And you needn’t worry or be so nervous.” He flashes a hint of a teasing, yet reassuring smirk. “I’m not going to give Xavi a poor report about you this evening.”

Your eyes go wide, and you hate that he’s so perceptive. Pushing open the door to the executive conference room, you exhale a gentle sigh. “Thank you, I… I-I’m sorry that you felt the need to say something. I will work to improve in the future.”

“No need.” He shakes his head shortly. “My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

Is that what it is? Right from his opening comment on chaotic schedules to the chill of his skin, something about him has set you off-balance. You can’t even recall the last time that you forgot to introduce yourself in a business meeting, and yet tonight… tonight is quickly devolving into a night you want to drown with a bottle of wine.

You can’t find an immediate answer, instead turning your attention to the spread of paperwork on the table. “If you’d like to be seated, I have everything arranged for you here.” You watch him move around the table on silent footsteps and fold elegantly into a plush chair as you continue. “I understand that you previously had the opportunity to review the transfer of estates, accounts, and power of attorney paperwork prior to your grandfather signing.”

He nods in confirmation. “Yes, and everything was as expected.”

You nod in return as you motion at the pen resting alongside the first form. “Then, please, feel free to confirm the versions signed by your grandfather align with your understanding prior to signing.”

Stepping back to allow him a modicum of privacy, you fold your hands in front of your jacket and quietly wait. Instead of hideous fluorescent lights, the can ceiling lights emit a soft golden glow that plays handsomely off the tint of his hair and highlights the elegance of his fingers as he traces the words on the paper.

You’ve never met the grandfather – the original Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc – confined as he is in an exclusive care facility, and the paperwork provides few clues about how he amassed his vast fortune. He became a client in 1946 after rising to wealthy prominence and only continued to add to this fortune and collection of estates. His son - Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, II – passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving only his son – the man now seated at the conference table – as the sole heir. But where are the wives and mothers in all of this family business? Are the Leclercs truly so old-fashioned as to only let the men inherit the estates and conduct family business?

Of course, it’s all no business of yours whatsoever. Europe still harbors its pockets of aristocratic thought, and your job isn’t to judge them for it.

Your train of thought derails as you watch Charles reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdraws a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrews the cap. Glancing up at you, he offers another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he says as a gleaming gold fountain tip comes into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

His signature isn’t the neatest that you’ve ever seen. In fact, next to his grandfather’s, it’s downright illegible aside from the leading C and L. For someone who shuns ball point pens in favor of artistry, you’re surprised that his signature is so… unremarkable.

Wetting your top lip, you take a breath. “If I may… are you an artist, sir?”

The corner of his mouth lifts – whether with amusement or a more private sentiment, you can’t tell. “I have certainly studied art,” he says as he continues to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Admittedly, understanding the art of art isn’t something you pride yourself on. You appreciate museums and the history they hold, but you’re not all that familiar with art history or defining characteristics of art over the centuries. Slowly, you nod as he recaps the pen. “It sounds like you would have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he says at length as he rises. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

All at once, you remember the late evening hour. “Of course, sir, please – I don’t mean to keep you any longer than you need.”

“It’s no trouble, and your curiosity is not unwelcome.” A charming smile warms his face. “Actually, it’s flattering that despite this suit you would still consider me to be an artist.”

Your brow furrows as a confused smile slants the corner of your mouth. “Artists come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Just because you’re not starving and dressed in rags doesn’t mean that you couldn’t be an artist.”

“Art is what we make of it, non? As are those who create it.” He steps towards you and the door, offering the clumsiest attempt at a wink you’ve ever seen. “And that is for each of us to decide.”

Maybe it’s the sonorous tone of his voice or the light glinting in his green – or grey? Or hazel? – eyes, but you can’t look away. He’s utterly gorgeous and your body heats up in appreciation of this handsome man standing before you. The scent of cedar, citrus and earth reaches your nose – and fuck, how did you not notice his cologne earlier? It entrances you, and the longer you hold his gaze, the more you feel yourself floating…

Until he blinks away and motions towards the door. “After you.”

Shaking from your stupor, another embarrassed flush stains your cheeks as you move towards the elevator. He’s hardly the first supremely attractive man that you’ve interacted with on this job, but none of them have rendered you so stupid before.

“My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

You brush the memory of his earlier words aside, swallowing your unease as you search for something to say. “Thank you again for coming by this evening.” You finally say, sticking to the safe topic at hand. “I’ll file the paperwork in the morning, and Señor Padros will be in touch if there are any unforeseen complications with the transfer.”

“I have complete faith in Xavi, and you, by extension.” Charles says breezily as you both step into the elevator. “He has served my grandfather well, and no doubt, will continue to serve me well in his stead.”

The odd choice of words strikes you. You don’t consider yourself in the service industry and you’re pretty sure that your boss doesn’t consider himself a servant to the wealthy elite, but maybe it’s just another indicator of how old-school this young man next to you truly is.  

“As always, we appreciate your support and business.” You say on professional reflex, despite the distracting scent of Charles’ cologne that you can’t stop noticing. “I will be sure to pass along your reassurance to Señor Padros.”

“Again, there is no need.” He flashes another reassuring smile as the elevator doors open to the main lobby. “I owe Xavi a visit soon to discuss further matters and I will gladly tell him in person.”

His words beg further questions in your mind but you know better than to ask. Whatever relationship he has with your boss – professional or otherwise – is also certainly none of your business.

Your heels click to a stop near the front door and he pauses beside you. With a bow of his head, he holds your gaze as he speaks. “Thank you again for accommodating such a late meeting. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.” You nod in thanks as he turns for the door. “I hope that you have a good rest of your evening.”

His mouth slants with a wicked grin as he pushes out into the dark night. “Of course. I’m just getting started, after all.”

A shiver crawls down your spine as he saunters up to his red car and sinks down into the plush leather seating. The glass building façade muffles the revving engine, but as he shoots off into the night, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Sighing deep, you offer a good night wave to the front desk guard, focused only on getting your bag and going home. The trip back to your desk and down to the parking garage passes in a familiar blur only broken when the elevator doors ding open. Yellow light from the sodium-vapor lamps paint the concrete surroundings in a hideous, monochromatic glow. Even through the glass doors of the elevator lobby, the ubiquitous buzzing of the light fixtures can still be heard. But it’s the frustrated groans of a tall, slender man carrying a box piled high with file folders and trying to pull the doors open that draws your attention.

“Here,” you say in greeting, offering a friendly smile as you step up to assist with the door handle. “It looks like you’ve got your arms full – literally.”

“Oh, thank you.” The man turns brilliant, blinding blue eyes on you and a megawatt smile around his posh British syllables. “You have no idea just how heavy this box is.”

You hold the door open for him as he steps through, maneuvering the box and his messenger bag through the opening. “You’re welcome. Do you have a big case ahead?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod as the door closes behind you. “Boss needs recommendations by noon tomorrow and I’m so far behind.”

“Ugh,” you groan in commiseration. “I’ve been there, too – it can be so fast-paced sometimes. Who’s your boss?”

“Musconi. He’s not one of the senior partners or anything – not like Padros or Bonnington – but, well, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I’m still learning. I’m George Russell, by the way. I’d offer you my hand, but well…” He shrugs and flashes another handsome smile as he hefts the box in his hands.

“No worries, George.” You say before offering your own name. “Welcome to the firm. I hope you continue to settle in alright.”

“Thank you. Everyone’s been really helpful so far.”

You spot your car ahead and turn to offer him a wave. “Well, if I can help with anything, please let me know; otherwise, have a good evening and see you around, George.”

“Lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” He calls out after you, poorly attempting to offer a wave despite his full arms.

As you start the ignition and drive through the garage, you just catch George rounding a concrete pillar to another car.

You don’t see George open the car’s boot, depositing the box and bag before slamming the top down. You don’t see George reach into the backseat, to the dead body slumped across the backseat like someone sleeping. You don’t see George tuck the borrowed employee badge back into the man’s pocket before sliding into the driver’s seat.

And you definitely don’t hear George make a phone call as he drives off. “Yeah… Leclerc just left, and I’ve made contact.”

1940

“Quel est l’ordre, Lieutenant?”

Charles slows his steps, surveying his assembled platoon of French and Monegasque soldiers as he answers in French. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

Beaufort glares over at Charles. “Stopping here, sir?” He glances around at the splintered remains of the French woodlands, the craters in the earth, and the tree shards that litter everywhere. “I’ll roll over and get a splinter in my ass.”

“Better than up your ass!” Moreau bellows as he laughs at his own jab and a few others join in.

Charles can’t say that he disagrees, but he’s careful to keep the amusement from his face. “Either way, I suggest that you use this last bit of daylight to clear a resting place that won’t result in needing medical aid.”

A low murmur of chuckles and assent rises from his men as they start to settle into the destruction. Other platoons flank them on all sides, making similar encampments as they stretch out among the shattered trees and the growing shadows of twilight that rapidly obscure into darkness.

For days now, they’ve been marching through burned and battered countryside, each ruined village indistinguishable from the next. The Panzers prove relentless in their siege, and the Luftwaffe bombs haven’t helped, either. Charles isn’t a high enough rank to possess a map, but his basic knowledge of the sky from training indicates a steady march in a northwesterly direction.

Fall back to Dunkirk. That’s his command from on high.

He yawns as he continues to survey his men. They number so few now, and the missing faces will haunt the rest of his days. As their commanding officer, he knows every last man in his platoon, but now… only a handful remain. A handful that he is personally responsible for leading out of this hell and into the unknown.

If the Allied Forces are well and truly surrounded, what fresh horrors await them when the enemy finally catches up to them in Dunkirk? Will the British prioritize evacuation of their own troops first? What chance does he stand to ever get back home to Monaco?

But wars are lost on pointless thoughts like that. Thinking so far ahead won’t serve him well in the here and now. He just needs to solve this problem, and then solve the next problem. To stay alive and always keep moving forward.

Someday – when Charles has access to endless alcohol and a real bed – he’ll lose himself to those other dark, destructive musings.

“Merde, that’s an ill wind, isn’t it?” Severin’s voice carries low in the night.

“Sure… like ghosts are riding its wings.” Porcher agrees with a grumble as the sound of a hand slapping thick fabric becomes audible. “But no more of that talk. Between the Jerrys, your ass, and these damnable tree roots, I don’t need any extra help from nightmares for not sleeping.”

Allowing his lips to quirk in the cover of darkness, Charles turns from his men, satisfied that they’re settling in well enough for the night. He slows and steadies his footfalls, not wanting to disturb anyone as he makes his way through the dimly lit landscape.

Moments alone are truly rare, but he can steal a few to relieve himself. Counting his steps to gauge his return, the sounds of men snoring, breathing, talking and coughing fade into the breeze.

True peaceful silence at last.

Charles closes his eyes, indulging it for the space of a breath, before going about his business. His eyes roam skyward, catching glimpses of starlight through the wispy clouds. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the brush strokes to try and capture such splendor on canvas. It makes him long to return to his position at the art institute, to nurture creation instead of destruction. With a sigh, he looks back down to the war-torn ground, righting his uniform and webbing. In truth, it’s better not to dally.

A cigarette is his next order of business. It helps him forget about his toothbrush that went missing during a forward advance some weeks back.

In complete silence, strong, vice-like hands grip his shoulders out of the darkness, throwing Charles off his feet. He hits the ground hard, breath forced from his chest and stealing his voice as plain blooms in the back of his skull. His assailant looms over him, a shapeless shadow that pins him to the ground with effortless ease.

Charles kicks feebly as his vision swims, thrashing to dislodge his attacker and break free from the commanding hold. But the impossibly cold weight above him remains immobile, crushing him into the muddy ground. Surely, this must be another man… but a German soldier? Or possibly a confused Allied soldier?

Icy fingers suddenly claw at the collar of Charles’ uniform, wool and buttons shearing easily as horror creeps into Charles’ rising panic. The dark shadow above him bears down, unbothered by Charles’ desperate attempts to scratch and claw along his back. Twin points of searing pain explode in Charles’ neck as sharp, pointed teeth rip through his skin. A strangled cry rasps in Charles’ throat against the agony as the shape of the attacker’s mouth changes, and he seals his lips to Charles’ skin, supping greedily as he pulls suction.

A new sensation erupts – one of ragged, exquisite pleasure – that mixes with the blinding pain to ebb and flow through his entire body. Charles’ mind overloads at the onslaught as his body grows stiller and more pliant. His pitiful protests become sluggish as a creeping fog eats at the very center of his being. His arms fall to the ground, weakened and motionless as the delicious, terrifying pressure continues on his neck.

And then… only darkness.

Series Main List

[mastermindmiko]

Drunk (Prologue)

Pairing: George Weasley + OC

Word count: 794

Warnings: Slapping, let me know if there's anything else

an: as promised, and as chosen by the poll, this is the George Weasley fic. this is just the prologue, so there's many more chapters to come.

My masterlist

Part two

tell me if you want to be apart of the tag list for this series in the comments

Requests are open

The Lore family was one of the most prejudiced pureblood families in the entire wizarding world. The entire family were Slytherins and Juliette Lore, the youngest of the family, was one as well.

She couldn’t help but notice how surprised her parents were when she told them the news, but she assumed that they were proud. Shocked of course, she could see the way her father’s eyes nearly went out of their sockets at the news, but pleased, or at least she hoped so.

The Lore family consisted of 4 people; the father, Henry Lore, the mother, Christina Lore and the eldest child, Tristan Lore and Juliette.

Henry Lore had dark black hair and looked nothing like his age, he was almost Fifty, but he didn’t look a day over thirty two. He worked at the ministry alongside Lucius Malfoy; and he forced his family to eat dinner with the Malfoys every Friday in the summer.

He expected only the best from everyone around him, he could not handle chaos or change, and he could sometimes be the cruellest person in the world, at least in Juliette’s opinion.

Christina Lore was a brunette with highlights. Highlights that she swore to everyone that they were real and with her since birth. Juliette knew that her mother was lying since every month she would hear her mother make appointments on the phone to touch them up.

Christina, unlike Henry, looked exactly her age and maybe even a little bit older. She is forty five years old and is best friends with Narcissa Malfoy, a forced relationship after multiple dinners. Some people (meaning Juliette) would say that she and Narcissa should switch names because as she always says ‘if anyone is the true narcissist it’s my mother.’

Tristan Lore was two years older than Juliette and a seventh year. He was the preferred child as he would say and as most people would say, and as his parents made it clear every night at dinner. He was one of the prefects, but had lost in gaining the title of head boy. He was charismatic and had dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to make every female fall to her knees at the sight of him.

Juliette Lore was born in 1980, and a fifth year prefect. She had brown hair, a shade that’s unlike any of her other family members and had hazel eyes. She was a snarky, quick witted teenager and was the complete opposite of her entire family.

She’s the disappointment.

Juliette Lore was adopted and even though she knew that fact her parents refused to tell her who her real parents were. She doubted that they even wanted to tell her that she was adopted, considering that she found out the news like this;

Juliette had sat on the train of her ride back home from third year with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan. She wanted to talk about quidditch considering how obsessed she is with the sport but was not allowed to play. Her mother had told her that it was unlady-like, and even though she was not convinced; she wasn’t going to go against her mother’s wishes.

At first the Gryffindors were hesitant to talk with the girl considering her family and her house, but after a few mere moments spent with her, they realised that she was unlike anyone from her house, and to them, that was a good thing.

After the most fun train ride she ever had, her parents seeing who she was exiting the train with, they became furious. Her mother was far less composed than her father. While she could see her mother’s fist clenching and her nostrils flaring, the only hint of anger she could see off her father was from his eyes.

Fred and George had bid her farewell with a kiss from each of them on each of her cheeks and started calling her Snidget. As the snitch was invented from a reference of the Snidget bird.

When Juliette returned to the mansion she was immediately greeted with a slap on her right cheek from her mother, and several insults from her father. Her father kept muttering about how they never should’ve taken her in and then out of frustration they accidentally told her that she was adopted.

She had after a year questioned them about her parents and they refused to say a word and only told her their blood. Which was pure; that fact helped her with nothing as she already knew that Henry and Christina Lore would have never taken a non pure-blood. However, in some way, not being her parent’s child made her relieved.

[coolheadofficial]

Once you've learned to correctly pronounce every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world

Dearest creature in creation, Study English pronunciation. I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse. I will keep you, Suzy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy. Tear in eye, your dress will tear. So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard, Dies and diet, lord and word, Sword and sward, retain and Britain. (Mind the latter, how it's written.) Now I surely will not plague you With such words as plaque and ague. But be careful how you speak: Say break and steak, but bleak and streak; Cloven, oven, how and low, Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery, Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles, Exiles, similes, and reviles; Scholar, vicar, and cigar, Solar, mica, war and far; One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel; Gertrude, German, wind and mind, Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet, Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would. Viscous, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward. And your pronunciation's OK When you correctly say croquet, Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour And enamour rhyme with hammer. River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb, Doll and roll and some and home. Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour. Souls but foul, haunt but aunt, Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant, Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger, And then singer, ginger, linger, Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge, Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query does not rhyme with very, Nor does fury sound like bury. Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth. Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath. Though the differences seem little, We say actual but victual. Refer does not rhyme with deafer. Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer. Mint, pint, senate and sedate; Dull, bull, and George ate late. Scenic, Arabic, Pacific, Science, conscience, scientific.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven. We say hallowed, but allowed, People, leopard, towed, but vowed. Mark the differences, moreover, Between mover, cover, clover; Leeches, breeches, wise, precise, Chalice, but police and lice; Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal, Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal. Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair, Senator, spectator, mayor. Tour, but our and succour, four. Gas, alas, and Arkansas. Sea, idea, Korea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria. Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean. Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion and battalion. Sally with ally, yea, ye, Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key. Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver. Heron, granary, canary. Crevice and device and aerie.

Face, but preface, not efface. Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass. Large, but target, gin, give, verging, Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging. Ear, but earn and wear and tear Do not rhyme with here but ere. Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen, Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk, Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation -- think of Psyche! Is a paling stout and spikey? Won't it make you lose your wits, Writing groats and saying grits? It's a dark abyss or tunnel: Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale, Islington and Isle of Wight, Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough -- Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough? Hiccough has the sound of cup. My advice is to give up!!!

[dailybugle-blr]

"Team Red" Takes to the Streets: Daredevil, Deadpool, and Spider-Man Unite

by Clara Haynes, reporter

Photo submitted by Peter Parker

NEW YORK CITY - In a city teeming with crime and chaos, a new trio of masked crusaders has emerged, striking fear into the hearts of criminals and drawing both admiration and skepticism from the public. This unlikely alliance, dubbed "Team Red," consists of Daredevil, Deadpool and Spider-Man – three enigmatic figures with their own unique styles of crime-fighting. But as they join forces to combat the forces of evil, questions arise: are they the heroes New York needs, or are they merely another band of vigilantes running amok in our streets?

Daredevil, or Devil of Hell's Kitchen, has long been a symbol of justice, using his heightened senses and martial arts prowess to defend the innocent and uphold the law. His relentless pursuit of justice has earned him both praise and condemnation, but his commitment to his cause remains unwavering.

Deadpool, or Merc with a Mouth, brings his own brand of chaotic energy to the team. Armed with an arsenal of weapons and a quick wit, Deadpool's unorthodox methods often leave a trail of destruction in his wake. While some see him as a reckless wildcard, others admire his willingness to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

And then there's Spider-Man, the friendly neighborhood wall-crawler. With his incredible agility, web-slinging abilities and sense of responsibility, Spider-Man has become a beloved figure in the city, swinging into action whenever danger strikes. But his association with Team Red raises eyebrows among some, who question whether he's aligning himself with the right crowd.

"Team Red may have good intentions, but their methods leave much to be desired," said Captain George Stacy of the NYPD. "We can't have masked vigilantes running around unchecked, putting themselves and others at risk. It's a recipe for disaster."

Despite the controversy surrounding them, Team Red continues to operate in the shadows, taking on the criminal underworld with gusto and determination. Whether they will be hailed as heroes or condemned as vigilantes remains to be seen, but one thing is for certain: with Team Red on the streets, New York City will never be the same.

[inviisiiblelee]

The Beginning of a Lifetime

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,030 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Vox is named George Taylor, Vox is Brand New, Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, First Meetings, i love writing about first meetings, Vox died in the 40s, Probably only a handful of years after Alastor at most, Alastor Takes Vox Under His Wings, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered. Notes: Always based around headcanons. I named him George Taylor simply because its a really non-unique and generic type of name. Meant for a boring, plain little man. I thought about V names like how Angel is Anthony, but I was looking up popular names for boys born in 1890's when I headcanon Vox was probably born and wanted to stay within the top of popularity. A (late) entry for RadioStatic week day 1. Enjoy! <3 Meant to rival in name my other work, The End of a Lifetime, too.

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

George Taylor was not a violent man in life, and to be faced with so much violence immediately in Hell? He was absolutely not ready. Not only was he unprepared for the levels of pure chaos, but even his own body was beyond a little different. He couldn’t say it didn’t make some sense, he’d only died with a large television set dropped directly onto his head. Turns out that’s quite enough pressure to cause the skull to give in and be crushed completely. He had enemies, sure, while alive, it wasn’t something that could be easily avoided in the line of business he had pursued, at the end of the day. And some of those people were more temperamental than he was, but that was where his disarming charm was used the best. He could talk a majority of people down from a direct conflict, could sugar his words just right so that they would feel reassured. White lies, little seeds of doubt or warmth, a way of wriggling into their hearts and minds. He was good at it. He was just a plain, simple man, anyway. What was intimidating of someone as plain as him? Dressed well and groomed, with an easy smile and all the patience in the world. A soft voice, dulcet tones, easy airs of confidence and pleasantry. It worked.

Usually. 

His life’s final confrontation was impossible to ease down, and George was not a fighter in any way. He could be quick on his feet, but fear, while motivating, didn’t make it easy. It wasn’t as though it wasn’t a fair experience - he’d gotten the man booted from his job, needled down with debt, and serving time for something he definitely did not do, as a star witness who lied on the stand in full confidence and with the performance of a lifetime. It made sense he was murdered, and it made perfect sense he found himself here in Hell, something he did, at least, gather quickly.

He didn’t anticipate some sort of warm welcome, of course, no group of happy campers to explain how things worked or to help him out, but he also didn’t quite anticipate being jumped and pushed into an alleyway by a small group of three rough looking demons (he had to guess? Surely that was what they were called?) who threw him to the ground, searched his pockets, slammed his head against a wall, and took his slightly worn out jacket and his shoes of all things, considering he had nothing else to offer. He wasn’t sure how a television of a head could lead to the pain shooting through his back and limbs, and while he was unsure of anything else that was injured, it hurt more than he liked to admit, and trying to stand led to such severe vertigo that he slid down against the wall and just stayed there. 

He had never been so beaten down so fast while alive, even as a sickly sort. He was often ill, pushing through regardless and a little less than sturdy as a result, but he’d always been able to keep some sort of victimization at bay. Yet here he was now, exhausted already, in pretty poor shape and relative thundering pain, hazy vision and some sort of buzzing in the back of his mind that was steadily growing. It was a little distracting, really, and he sort of leaned into the sound, trying to follow it, the odd tones and shifting noise. It reminded him of an older time, before he was a television personality, back when he worked in the industry fixing problems with the tech. It was a sound mostly associated with audio problems, really. He wondered how deep the effects of having such a … changed physical form went. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to really look or examine it much before things went down, anyway.

Static was building in his head, and George was finding it hard to think. The sound of it shifted and changed every moment, pitch and tone flowing up and down like someone trying to tune an old instrument, except interspersed by buzzing and screeching of something electronic. Like a speaker ruined by water, or being in general interfered with. He tried reaching out to it mentally in some way, a sort of … internal troubleshooting. It felt weird and almost nauseating to explore, but he was trying to make any sense of it. He found he could sort of lower the volume of it, but it kept rising even when he did, steadily, and eventually he gave up, letting the buzzing, shrill feedback take over his mind. 

He barely noticed a shadow tower over him.

But he did. He saw it projected along the ground and over his person, and his heart dropped into his stomach. A soft little plea for mercy escaped him, and he realized he had been whimpering quietly for a little while now. He hadn’t noticed in the whirlwind of emotion and sensation, and something akin to tears appeared to be dripping from his screen. It felt weird. A chill settled over him, and he felt fear sink into his soul. 

George looked up at the person causing the shadow. Shades of red, black accents, a demon dressed rather formally and holding something that looked like both a cane and some sort of … microphone? The buzzing was so loud in his ears, and then it abruptly cut quiet as the looming form spoke.

“Good to see you, old friend.” A hand was outstretched to him, the friendliest gesture anyone had shown him so far, at all. 

Old friend? For a moment, all George could do was stare at him, this strange … person? Man? Devil? And then it clicked. 

Was that Alastor? They had met a couple of times over the years they lived on Earth simultaneously. A radio host, whose voice George was fairly familiar with when he would make his trips through his area. They’d met in person only a handful of times, at various functions that George ended up at per his workplace. The two had shared a few conversations, and he remembered them well, one of which being recommended to look into broadcasting himself, a compliment that George had taken quite seriously. Alastor had been a hell of a man when alive, certainly, in spite of what he thought he knew of his potential crimes. It wasn’t as though it was his job to judge, and it wasn’t as though he felt he had been in any danger. He remembered hearing about his death, finding it quite regrettable and sad, even. It was quite the accident to learn of. But Alastor was far from who he expected to run into, let alone to be recognized by.

“Alastor?” 

Idiot. It was the only thing he could seem to say, even as he reached forward and placed his own hand in the other’s. His blue fingers contrasted so starkly against the red of his old acquaintance’s. But he found support and strength in the grip of his friend’s, and Alastor helped him stand and steadied him easily when he swayed. He was smiling wide, and George wondered if he was really that happy to see him. He couldn’t help but feel a little relief - okay, a lot of it. A weight was being lifted from his chest, seeing someone familiar, someone he would happily trust in this moment. Maybe a little naive, or a dangerous line of thoughts, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“The one and only!” Alastor replied, chipper energy in the words. “You look an absolute mess, friend, what happened?”

“Oh, uh,” George hesitated to respond, but it was hard to miss the clear evidence of an attack, anyway. Or at the least, the torn clothing and dazed expressions. “Someone stole my jacket and shoes.” He said it with a shrug, and he offered his own easy smile. It was something he could do, at least. He could pretend, in this moment, that it didn’t matter. 

“How shameful of them! Come along, I’ll get you sorted out straight away. What did they look like?” The question had him blinking, and then scrambling to remember. It hadn’t even happened more than an hour ago, so he gave what description he could. Alastor simply nodded, looking away in what he thought was some sort of consideration. He placed a hand on George’s back, urging him out of the alleyway finally, leading him down the sidewalk.

“Sorry, I’m just a little out of it still,” he said quickly. “Just got here and I didn’t quite think it would all be so … immediately exciting.” Carefully chosen words as he examined his surroundings, peering around to finally get a sense of where he might be, the state of things around here. He’d barely made it a few blocks on his own, before. 

“Worry not, we’ll get you right as rain in no time at all,” was all Alastor offered, and George fell into step with him cautiously. 

Things were odd. Alastor brought him to what seemed to be a tailor, offering to cover him getting repaired and refreshed clothing for the time being. He didn’t ask for anything from George as they left, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. He noted that many seemed to shy away from Alastor for some reason, fleeting glances and then people crossing the roads, as if to get away from him. It was a weird thing to see - Alastor was still only smiling, seemingly unbothered by any of it. 

“What’s with the parting of the crowd?” George finally asked after a little more walking, entirely unsure where they were even going, now. 

“Oh, they’re merely getting out of the way,” Alastor said simply. “I’ve made a few waves here, they know to move pretty well.” He said it so jauntily, George couldn’t find a reason to mind it. If Alastor had made a name for himself already, then all the better, right? Good for him. 

They walked only for a few blocks before George realized they were within sight of the group that had attacked him. Stepping a little closer to Alastor, without realizing it, he tensed up. Alastor seemed to notice, however.

“Is that them?”

“I- I think so? The one on the right has my jacket, at least.”

“Stay here, yes?”

“Uh. Okay.”

Alastor broke away from him with a few strides and approached the small group of other demons. Alastor’s height towered over them, and they seemed very startled by his presence. George stayed where he was told, unable to hear the conversation, though it was clearly mostly Alastor speaking to them at length before holding out one hand, palm up, expecting something. A moment passed, and then something in the air changed, and the buzzing static and feedback roared in his ears all of a sudden. He saw the space around Alastor darken, saw a long, strange set of antlers begin to grow from his temples. Dark shadows formed around the trio, and those around otherwise were quick to clear away at the display, but George could only seem to stare. The shadows traveled up and wrapped around each of the demons, and he snatched George's jacket and shoes from them, as well as other belongings. The shadows squeezed harder and harder, until they were certainly pleading desperately, before being abruptly consumed into the ground without further showing. Alastor draped the jacket over his arm and returned to George’s side, holding his things out.

George blinked a few times before remembering himself, taking them from him with a rushed set of thank you’s, which Alastor only waved away with a quick dismissive comment. They fell into step together again, and Alastor asked if he felt fine enough to join him for lunch.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. What else are friends for? You must catch me up, I’m sure we have plenty to discuss, so stay close, hm?”

“Definitely will do.”

And, well. Vox would be a man of his word, for as long as Alastor wanted him there.

[maxcuntstappen]

Bestie lestappen with the reverse trope “too many beds” ????? But they still share maybe?? Could be ridiculously funny

From this. Honestly any of these would be hilarious

It's the night of the annual lock-in.

Max never understood the point of them, really.

But it keeps him away from his house and gives him more time with his friends so he's not going to bitch about it.

After the chaos of last year's 'oh let's put a bunch of hormonal, horny, overly sensitive kids in one gym for one whole night and see how it goes', the management seems to have come to their senses and split the crowd up.

Max likes it better like this, 6 to 10 people in one classroom, people you can choose to have with you with all the bonding activities left for the gym.

It comforts him, knowing that he has a place to retreat if it all gets too much.

And it does get too much. But not in the way he expects.

"MAX!!!!!" Oscar yells, snapping him out of his snooze, just in time for Max to dodge the ball heading straight to his face.

"What the fuck," Max growls, or at least tries to, it comes out as a whine instead.

He would feel embarrassed if he wasn't busy feeling so fucking tired instead.

It's not his fault that GP and Seb made the entire team run double their usual drills because one stupid fucking freshman was late to the practice.

"What the fuck is you," Lando yells, making no sense but the frustration in his voice gets the message across.

"Okay," Alex's voice declares, "We need to regroup."

The other team groans and complains but they're retreating to their side as they do.

Fucking dickheads.

Alex pulls Max to the side, leaving their team discussing and strategising behind.

"Max, you know I love you," Alex starts, and Max preens a bit, always happy with how openly affectionate his friends are with him, "But you're a damn liability, man."

Max frowns, "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," George pops up out of nowhere, cause of fucking course, "We are being absolutely murdered out there and you're not helping."

"Okay, Russell, I've seen you throw, let's not pretend you're Tom fucking Brady, yeah?" Max snaps.

George opens his mouth to snark back but Alex pushes him away, "Go. Now."

George grumbles but walks away.

Simp.

"Max, buddy," Alex says, voice gentle, "It's okay to be tired. It's late. You can rest."

But Max doesn't want to rest. He wants to be with his friends and watch them be stupid. He wants to watch Lando slip on the polished floor and he wants to point at him and laugh in his face. He wants to watch George get worryingly protective of Alex when they play capture the flag. He wants to watch Charles argue and argue and argue over one single point in one of these redundant stupid games. He wants to watch him win the argument. Because he will win the argument. Max knows this all too well.

"But..." Max begins to protest, but Alex runs his hand through Max's hair and Max fucking melts into it before he remembers himself and snaps up straight.

"Yeah," Alex says, all sympathetic and soft. That cunt.

Max sighs.

Hard-headed as he is, even he knows when he needs to call it quits.

Max nods, making Alex softly smile.

"I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Alex squeezes his shoulder, and turns to return to their miserably losing dodge ball team.

Max is practically dragging his feet as he exits the gym. He feels a tinge of sadness at the idea of missing out but it's overshadowed by the absolute fucking joy he's deriving from imagining how fucking good it'll feel to finally, finally be in a horizontal position.

He's just turned into the hallway when a voice calls out, "OI! MAX!"

Max looks back to see a grinning a bit-too-widely Daniel, holding a wide eyed, clearly trying-very-hard-not-to-blink Charles.

"Take him with you too, yeah?" Daniel says, slightly pushing Charles in Max's direction.

He leaves before Max can even get a word in.

Max sighs, running his eyes over Charles' rumpled appearance ; loose red sweatpants and a cream hoodie big enough to fit two, bloodshot eyes with mad scientist hair to match.

Max isn't the only one among his friends who had to run double the drills today.

"Tired?" Max asks, already knowing the answer.

Charles simply nods, his hoodie-covered hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

The sight makes Max feel all soft and mushy.

It's a feeling he's becoming increasingly familiar with, thanks to Charles' existence.

"Come on then," Max says, gesturing with a nod to the hallway towards their chosen class.

They walk next to each other wordlessly, both too tired to thinking of anything to talk about.

Max, surprisingly, is fine with it.

He thought it might be weird, considering just how much Charles and him talk when they're together.

But no.

This is fine too.

It's perfectly fine.

And then they reach their classroom and both of them stop short.

"Uh," Charles says, and Max agrees with that sentiment.

Because there are ten mattresses placed around the class, spread out from one wall to another.

Max so doesn't have the energy to gay panic about sleeping arrangements right now.

He never thought having too many options would ever be a problem when it came to sharing a bed with Charles.

Max glances over, sees Charles' eyes dart all over the floor, clearly trying to figure out his next move.

Max sighs, thinking, 'This is stupid'.

Cause it is.

Charles and Max have known each other since they were kids. Maybe they didn't like each other for half of that time.

But things are different now.

Even if Charles doesn't feel the same bubbly warm overwhelming feelings that Max feels for him, Max knows that Charles still likes him, still likes his company and their conversations and their time spent together.

That's more than Max's tired brain to make a decision.

"C'mon," he mumbles, taking Charles' hand in his, walking them over to the mattress closest to them.

He drops down, making Charles yelp and follow, somehow managing to not stab Max with his elbow.

It's not a big enough mattress to share.

But it's not a small enough mattress to not share.

Charles decides to stay, pressed up to Max's side.

Max is out before he can really appreciate the warmth and the comfort and the joy of the moment.

But it's okay, there will be other times.