#i actually love how strong their accents still are

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language.

Notes — Sorry it's a little late, this one took a lot out of me!

2024 (Canada — Austria)

The windows were open. Late spring sun poured through them, catching in the curls of steam rising from mugs and saucepans and the folds of linen napkins no one quite knew how to fold properly. There were shoes by the door in mismatched sizes and accents bouncing down the hallway — American, British, Dutch, Australian. It shouldn’t have worked. But it did.

Amelia stood barefoot in the kitchen, pressing her hand lightly to her lower back, more out of habit than pain. She had a glass of sparkling water in one hand, the other resting protectively over the curve of her hip. People moved around her. She didn’t mind. She wasn’t the centre of attention — not exactly — but there was an orbit to it all, and she knew she was at its core.

The first to arrive were Zak and Tracey. Her dad had tears in his eyes before he’d even crossed the threshold. “He actually did it,” he said, in disbelief, running a hand along the bannister of the stairs like it might disappear. “You imagined it and he made it real.”

“I had idea,” Amelia said, quietly. “It was a complete surprise.”

“Sweetheart, you let someone love you like this.” He stressed, and then he hugged her like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

Tracey had brought a lemon cake and a box of herbal tea labeled third trimester blend. She gave Amelia a soft hug, the kind she didn’t have to brace herself for. Never from her mom. 

Then came Cisca and Adam, each carrying a desert and homemade jam in glass jars. 

Max and Pietra came in like a whirlwind of perfume and sunglasses and unfiltered affection. Pietra immediately disappeared into the kitchen to investigate the spice cabinet. Max made himself useful by lighting candles and being genuinely startled when Amelia offered him a hug. 

Oscar and Max (Verstappen) arrived together. Oscar nearly cried when he saw the nursery, but would deny it for the rest of his life. 

Max said nothing when he hugged her, just held her for a long moment and murmured, “This all suits you,” into her hair. “It is you, zusje.”

They ate dinner outside, under fairy lights Lando had strung up earlier that day with his sisters’ help. The table was full — food, laughter, crumbs, second helpings, stories from the paddock, from childhood, from nowhere in particular. Amelia sat with one foot up on a chair, tracing idle circles on her belly, watching it all. Filtering the noise. Finding the patterns in the chaos. Letting it settle.

At some point, Zak handed her a folded piece of paper — a printout of an old email she’d sent him when she was 16. The subject line read: Please don’t laugh, but I have some ideas for next season’s floor design. 

He’d printed it out years ago, tucked it into his desk. She hadn’t known.

“You were brilliant then,” he said. “You’re going to be brilliant now.” 

Lando caught her eye across the table. There was nothing showy in his smile, nothing loud in the way he reached across and brushed a crumb from her plate. But the steadiness of him — the fact of him — anchored her.

Later, when the sky turned navy and the stars began their slow scatter, Amelia stood in the doorway of her new home and just... looked.

Everyone was here. And if something in her brain still itched at the edges — still tried to catalogue, analyse, brace — she let it.

She was allowed to hold joy and anxiety in the same palm.

She was allowed to be the centre without needing to perform for it.

This was hers.

And she was home.

—

The kitchen smelled like toasted pine nuts, the air just slightly too warm from the oven being on all afternoon. A playlist hummed from the speaker tucked behind the kettle — mostly soft indie, one or two Fleetwood Mac tracks, something Lando had thrown together for their first full day alone in the new house.

Amelia stood at the counter, barefoot again, chopping basil with surgical precision. She was wearing a Quadrant t-shirt— oversized, worn thin at the elbows — and a pair of bike shorts stretched snug over her bump. Her hair was scraped up, clipped haphazardly. She looked like peace in motion.

Lando wandered in from the hallway, his socks mismatched, holding a laundry basket under one arm.

“There are so many tiny socks in there,” he said, like it was a crime against nature. “Like, how many pairs of socks will one baby need?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Enough to account for holes, spit-up, and mysterious disappearance. Standard equation.”

He dropped the basket on the dining bench and leaned over her shoulder, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Dinner smells like it might change my life.”

“That’s because you haven’t had proper pesto since last summer.”

“No offence to store-bought,” he murmured against her skin, “but I trust your pesto with my entire soul.”

She elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Back off, Norris. I’m wielding a blade.”

He laughed and stepped back, wandering over to fiddle with the cutlery drawer. A few moments passed in quiet sync — her plating the pasta, him setting out plates and hunting down the fancy olive oil she liked. They didn’t need to talk. The space between them was soft, settled.

When they finally sat down — legs tucked, chairs pulled close — Lando kept glancing across the table like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“This place doesn’t feel like real life yet,” he admitted after a beat, twirling his fork through pasta and not lifting his eyes. “Feels like we’re on holiday. Like I’m gonna wake up in a hotel bed.”

Amelia paused mid-bite. “Do you want it to feel more real?”

“No, I mean—” He exhaled. “I just can’t believe we get this. A quiet night. Good food. No planes or media or engine data or... pit lane nerves.”

She reached out, slow and sure, and tapped his wrist. “We made this real.”

Lando looked at her. Just looked. Like he’d never stop being awed by the fact of her.

“I’m gonna build you a fire pit next,” he said eventually, nudging her ankle under the table. “So you can roast marshmallows and give terrifying lectures about drag coefficients under the stars.”

After dinner, they curled up on the couch, plates abandoned in the sink. Her feet in his lap, his hand tracing lazy circles along the arch of one. The house whistled softly in the evening wind, the kind of noise Amelia didn’t mind — predictable, harmless.

She tilted her head against the cushion. “Do you think she’ll like it here?”

Lando didn’t ask who. Just nodded, quiet and certain. “I think she’ll love it. She’ll take her first steps in that hallway. Learn what thunderstorms sound like from that window. Grow up knowing that this house — this family — was built for her.”

Amelia blinked once, slowly.

“You’re a bit of a poet when you want to be.”

“Think I’m a cliche.” He whispered. “I’m a bit in love with my wife, so it’s easy.”

She didn’t reply — just curled her toes a little tighter into his thigh, and let the rhythm of the house settle around them like it had always been meant to.

—

The fire had burned down to a soft flicker, casting low amber light across the living room. The windows were open just enough to let the night air in — warm and still scented faintly with rosemary from the garden Lando insisted on planting for her. The world was quiet. It had been a long time since they’d had quiet like this.

Amelia stood near the fireplace, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other tugging at the hem of Lando’s hoodie — hers now, really, judging by how often she stole it. She wasn’t trying to be coy, but there was something in her eyes tonight, something thoughtful and electric. Lando could read her like telemetry; he knew that look.

He approached slowly, cautious in the way he always was around her these days — respectful of her space, of her body, of the changes she was still learning to live in.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

“I’m fine.” Her mouth twitched. “Just... trying to decide if I want you to touch me or if I want a bowl of cereal.”

Lando laughed, relieved by her bluntness — always blunt, always honest — and closed the distance. He gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Is there a world in which you could have both?”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Possibly.”

His hands found her waist, careful, familiar. He leaned down, mouth brushing her jaw. “Tell me what you need.”

She didn’t answer right away — just turned into him, pressed her face to his neck, and breathed him in. There were always moments like this: Amelia finding stillness through closeness, tuning her sensory overwhelm down through warmth, weight, pressure.

“I want to feel good in my skin again,” she murmured. “I want to feel like I still belong in it.”

“You do.” He kissed her cheek, then her collarbone. “You’re beautiful, Amelia. You always are.”

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. “Okay,” she whispered. “Then can you show me. Please?”

They moved together carefully — deliberately — like a familiar dance they'd had to relearn around her growing body, her new thresholds, the shifting ways her mind and skin processed the world. Every kiss was a question. Every breath an answer.

He worshipped her slowly, reverently. Made her feel anchored, wanted, known. And she let herself sink into it — not because she needed to, but because she could. With him.

And later, tangled together beneath the quilt, sweat-damp and flushed and full of quiet, she let her fingers drift over the slope of his spine.

“You always know what I need before I do,” she said.

He turned his head toward her, lips ghosting a smile against her shoulder. “I’m just reading the data.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

She didn’t say anything else — just pulled his hand over her belly and held it there, steady and warm, letting that be answer enough.

—

The nursery smelled faintly of new wood and lavender — not from anything artificial, but from the actual drawers and the little sachets Tracey had tucked into corners like some secret maternal ritual.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, a half-packed duffel bag beside her, and a checklist on her iPad open in front of her. Her fingers hovered in the air before she tapped something with purpose. “Two nursing bras,” she muttered. “Non-wired. Black. Seamless.”

Tracey stood by the open wardrobe, holding up one in each hand. “You want the ones with the clip or the ones with the crossover front?”

Amelia squinted. “Clip. They look less fiddly.”

Lando leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the two of them like he’d stumbled into a language he didn’t fully speak but didn’t dare interrupt. He smiled, but quietly — this felt like their rhythm, like something beyond him. Still, he was trying. Learning. Being present.

Amelia glanced up. “Stop hovering.”

“I wasn’t hovering,” he said.

“You are.”

Tracey grinned. “She’s not wrong, sweetheart.”

Lando made a mock-wounded face, but crossed the room anyway and knelt beside Amelia. “Fine. What can I help with?”

She passed him her iPad without even looking. “Snacks. My stuff’s colour-coded in blue. Yours is orange. You’re allowed two unlisted items.”

He blinked. “Unlisted?”

“Anything not on the list that won’t get you killed when I’m in labour.”

Tracey snorted. “That’s generous, honey.”

Lando started reading, muttering under his breath, and went to raid the kitchen. Amelia returned to methodically rolling baby vests into neat, space-efficient bundles, the movements almost soothing.

“I keep thinking I’m forgetting something,” she said quietly, eyes focused but voice trailing slightly.

“You’re not,” Tracey said gently, coming to kneel beside her, folding a muslin square into a perfect triangle. “And if you are, well, we’ll survive. You’ll survive.”

“I know. But—”

Tracey reached out and rested a hand over Amelia’s. “It’s okay to not feel completely prepared for this. I don’t think anyone ever is.”

Amelia blinked a few times and nodded, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. “I just… prefer when I can say that I’ve prepared for every scenario.”

“You’ve always been like that,” Tracey said with a fond smile. “You were five when you made a backup birthday plan in case it rained.”

“It did rain,” Amelia mumbled.

“And your plan worked.” Her mum kissed the side of her head. “This will too.”

A moment passed. Amelia exhaled through her nose.

“Are you scared?” She asked, very softly.

Tracey didn’t lie. “A little. But only because you’re my little girl, and very soon you’ll understand that.” She leaned down and kissed her temple. “But you’re strong. You’ve got your Lando. You’ve got us.”

Amelia closed her eyes. “Thanks, Mum.”

From the hallway, Lando called, “What flavour crisps are birth-appropriate?”

Amelia looked up and frowned, “Anything that doesn’t stink!”

Tracey chuckled and stood. “I’ll supervise.”

When she was alone for a minute, Amelia looked down at the baby socks in her lap. One pair had tiny embroidered stars on the soles. She pressed them to her cheek for a moment. Then folded them and placed them in the bag.

—

The bedroom was mostly dark, except for the low amber glow of the reading light on Amelia’s side and the faint spill of Lando’s phone screen casting long shadows across his chest.

They were curled into the kind of easy, practiced quiet that only came from years of orbiting each other. Her head rested on a stack of pillows, book angled just so above the curve of her belly. He was on his back, phone in hand, occasionally scrolling, occasionally glancing sideways to watch her face shift with whatever she was reading.

“Is this one good?” He asked eventually, thumb pausing mid-scroll.

Amelia didn’t look up. “It’s fine. The female lead has no spine and the pacing is off. But the visuals are nice. Well-written”

“High praise,” he said dryly.

She turned a page with a slight rustle. “I like the writing. Even when the plot is stupid, the sentences are nice. That counts.” A pause stretched. He let it breathe. Then she spoke again, softer this time, eyes still on the page. “How are we going to split it?”

Lando turned his head. “Split what?”

“The houses.”

“Oh.” He put his phone down on his chest, screen dimming. “I thought you meant something deeper, like splitting parenting responsibilities or—”

“We’ve already talked about all that,” she said. “But I was lying here thinking — Monaco still feels like home to me. But I love this new house too. I just… don’t want to feel like I have to pick one. Or like I’m abandoning one part of our life for another.”

He blinked at her, and then propped himself up slightly on one elbow. “You don’t have to pick. That’s why we have both.”

“But where do we raise her?” Amelia asked. “Where does she go to school? Where’s her bedroom actually going to be? Is it weird if I feel like Monaco is still mine?”

Lando’s voice was quiet, warm. “Not weird.”

She glanced at him with a raised brow.

“We’ve spent years living in Monaco, baby. It’s your home, your friends, your pavement routes.”

She was silent. In a thoughtful kind of way.

He reached for her hand under the covers, lacing their fingers together.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Maybe having two bedrooms will be her normal. Maybe she’ll be able to plant roots all over the world while she travels with her brainiac mummy and super-fast daddy.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched.

“We’ll just do what feels right,” he added. “Even if it changes.”

After a beat, she tilted her book closed and set it on the nightstand. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable but open. “I love that you always say ‘we’,” she said.

He kissed the back of her hand. “We’re a team. Always.”

She nudged closer, resting her forehead against his. “I want her to always know that she can come back home. Any time, any age, no matter what.”

“She won’t go running to any specific house. It won’t be here or Monaco.” He murmured. “She’ll go running to wherever her mummy is. And that’ll be the place she calls home.” 

She kissed him. 

— 

The shower had fogged up most of the mirrors by now. Steam curled around the tiles like low-hanging cloud, the water beating a steady, rhythmic tap against Amelia’s skin. She stood still for a long time beneath it, arms curled around her bump. Her hands rested low, fingertips tracing invisible shapes without realising it.

Her belly had changed shape again — harder up top now, more lifted. Lando had said it was a growth spurt. She wasn’t sure. It just felt… denser. Like her body was becoming its own kind of mechanical structure, adjusting its load-bearing capacity by the day.

“You’re getting heavy,” she murmured, not critically. Just a fact.

The baby shifted — not a kick, just a slow roll, like turning to listen.

Amelia gave a quiet snort of amusement and shifted too, stepping under the water again. She tilted her head up, then sideways, letting it cascade over her ears, dulling the world into a warm hush.

“You know,” she said, conversational, “there’s a theory that racing cars create downforce the way bird wings create lift. Just inverted. Bernoulli’s principle. I bet you’ll like Bernoulli when you’re older.”

She gently ran her fingers over her bump again, then raised a hand and lazily wiped a small circle of condensation from the glass shower door.

Beyond it, a shape caught her eye — the edge of the towel rail, with a soft, pastel towel draped over it. One of the ones her mother had folded into the hospital bag earlier that week. It had a little pattern of cartoon hearts embroidered near the corner.

Amelia blinked. Her mouth twitched.

“Right,” she said. “Lesson two.”

She placed one hand flat over her belly and shifted to sit on the little bench built into the far wall of the shower — a compromise between comfort and function she’d had added to their Monaco apartment a few months into pregnancy, when standing for too long had started to give her dizzy spells. Lando had taken the design and had it installed into every bedroom in the England house. 

Her voice was steady, like she was reading from a manual.

“So. Your lungs are under your ribs, but my ribs are kind of squished right now, because of you. My bladder is, too. That’s the thing making me pee a thousand times a day. I’m not mad about it,” she added quickly. “I understand that you need the growing room. It’s just… a bit inconvenient for your mother, is all.”

Another movement beneath her palm — not a kick, but a firm stretch. She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “That’s your legs, isn’t it? Yeah. Strong femurs, like your dad.”

A pause. She traced a gentle line down the centre of her bump with two fingers, as if sketching an invisible diagram.

“And you’re sitting head-down, which is good. It means your occiput — that’s the back of your skull — is facing the right way for birth. But if you want to wriggle around a bit more, that’s fine too. Just don’t do anything drastic, okay?”

She reached for the bottle of body wash, then hesitated, watching the water spiral around the drain.

“Sometimes,” she said softly, “I think about what it’ll be like when you can hear me properly. Not just vibrations, not just tone. But words. Sentences. I wonder if you’ll like the way I explain things. If it’ll make sense to you, or just sound like static.”

Her voice cracked slightly there, though she wouldn’t have admitted it.

She rubbed her thumb gently across the highest curve of her belly.

“I hope I don’t overwhelm you. But I probably will. People overwhelm me all the time. I just… try not to run away from it anymore.”

The baby kicked again, sharp and deliberate.

“I know, I know,” she said under her breath. “I sound like I’m spiralling.”

She exhaled slowly, then pressed her forehead against the tile behind her.

“I get a bit scared, sometimes. That you’ll think I’m strange. That I won’t be soft enough. Or silly enough. Or motherly in the way people expect. But I’ll know everything about you. I promise. Every bone, every birthmark, every favourite food. I’ll learn you like I learned cars. And I’ll never stop wanting to know more.”

She didn’t cry, not quite. But she stayed there for a while longer, curled slightly forward, listening to her heartbeat echo faintly beneath the rush of water. She pressed a slow kiss to her fingers, then to the stomach, eyes closed.

Outside the shower, the world stayed quiet. But she knew Lando was out there. Probably pretending to be asleep. Probably listening.

She smiled faintly. And let herself just be for a moment — wet hair clinging to her cheeks, knees drawn up, hands resting where her daughter lived.

—

The house felt too big, at first.

It was beautiful, of course — everything Lando had hoped it would be, and everything Amelia had dreamed aloud about in bits and pieces over the last two years. Clean lines. Warm wood. Natural light in every room. The scent of fresh paint still hung faintly in the air, mixing with lavender from the natural diffuser Lando had plugged in before she walked through the door.

But it wasn’t home yet. Not immediately.

The first morning, they made toast in silence. Not unhappily — just quietly. The coffee machine clicked and hummed while sunlight crept across the kitchen floor, and Amelia stood barefoot in one of Lando’s old t-shirts, rubbing her belly like it helped her think. Lando, shirtless, squinted at the touch screen oven like it had offended him.

The nursery was the only room that felt fully finished.

They unpacked slowly. 

His helmets were lined up carefully along the hallway wall, one of them already smudged with her fingerprints. 

The midwife came by mid-week for a check-in, and Amelia sat on the edge of their bed, answering questions about sleep, diet, swelling. Lando hovered, nervously watching the blood pressure monitor like it was a qualifying leaderboard.

“You don’t have to stand over me like I’m going to flatline,” Amelia told him.

“Don’t bloody say that.” He said. And kept standing there. 

She didn’t tell him that it made her feel safe.

Evenings blurred together — sometimes on the sofa, sometimes on the porch. They sat side by side with plates of toasties or takeaway pizza, watching the sun sink behind the fields near the back fence. 

Their families came and went day by day. 

Oscar didn’t say much when visited. He just showed up with strawberry milk and watched her doze off on the sofa with the straw in her mouth.

Lando had started packing for Canada by the following Wednesday. Amelia helped fold his socks, even though he was terrible at finding matching pairs.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said that night, curled around her in the dark.

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He kissed the back of her neck and didn’t argue.

By the seventh day, the house had started to shift — not just in layout, but in feel. The air carried the scent of their shampoo. Her cup lived by the sink. His shoes were by the door. There were fingerprints on the fridge and a faint dent in the couch cushion where she curled up after lunch every day.

—

The morning was blue-grey and overcast, the kind of moody English weather that settled into your skin and made you crave hot tea and your dressing gown. The car was waiting out front, idling gently. Lando’s suitcase sat by the door, zipped, tagged, half-heartedly stuffed with hoodies and McLaren polos. His travel backpack leaned against it like it didn’t want to go either.

Amelia stood in the doorway in socks and one of his old sweaters that had stretched across her belly — not because it fit, but because it smelled like him.

He double-checked his phone, then his passport, then his phone again.

“You’ve checked five times,” she said, voice dry but warm.

“Doesn’t mean I’ve remembered anything,” he mumbled, slipping the phone into his back pocket.

They stood there for a moment — just standing. Not talking. Not moving. Letting the moment sit.

He stepped closer and rested his forehead against hers. Their daughter kicked once, firmly, and he smiled.

“She’s telling me not to leave,” he said quietly.

“She’s dramatic,” Amelia replied. But her voice wobbled slightly. “She gets it from you.”

Lando kissed her — slow, deep, a little desperate. His hands cupped her cheeks, slid down her arms, settled on her belly like a prayer. He didn’t say ‘don’t go into labour without me’ — he didn’t need to. The plea was written all over his face.

“You’ll call me if anything happens?” He asked, not pulling away.

“I’ll call you if I so much as sneeze weird,” she promised.

“Good.” He looked at her again, memorising the curve of her sleepy eyes and the flyaways in her hair and the flush in her cheeks that pregnancy had made permanent. “You’re… god, I love you. I love you.”

She nodded. Swallowed thickly. “I know. I love you too. Don’t forget.”

He laughed. “As if I could ever”

“I’ll be watching. Look after Oscar for me.”

He kissed her again. Just once more.

Then he was out of the door. Into the car. A wave through the window.

Amelia stood in the entryway long after the car turned out of their driveway, hand pressed gently to her stomach.

“Alright,” she whispered. “It’s just us for a little while, baby-girl.”

And the house was quiet.

But it didn’t feel empty.

—

It had taken Amelia a full twelve hours after he’d left to stop expecting his footsteps in the hallway. She’d paused once at the sound of the boiler kicking in, heartbeat ticking faster before she remembered: no, that wasn’t the front door. That wasn’t him coming back with a Tesco bag of the weird array of sweets she wanted and a sheepish smile because he missed her already.

Now, barefoot in the kitchen with the late afternoon sun glowing against the pale countertops, Amelia placed her palms on her belly and exhaled.

The kettle clicked off behind her. 

“I think we’re doing alright.” She murmured. 

She’d made a small list of things to do. Routine helped. The first day, she'd organised the linen cupboard, stocked the baby’s changing station, wiped down the fridge shelves because she’d read a study about bacteria colonies and couldn’t stop thinking about it. The second day she unpacked the last of their books. Found all the annotated ones Lando had scribbled in when he was still trying to read what she read — underlining things like emotional subtext?? in red pen.

Today, she’d taken a long bath, trimmed back the rose bushes, and wandered from room to room with her fingers brushing the walls like they were pages in a story she hadn’t finished reading yet.

In the baby’s room, she opened the blackout curtains and let in the warm afternoon light. The chair by the window, a plush glider in soft earth tones, had already become her favourite place to sit.

She eased into it with a quiet grunt and settled one hand low on her belly.

“I wish you could’ve met him sooner,” she told the baby, voice just above a whisper. “I mean, obviously you’ve met him. He talks to you more than anyone. But I mean the before him. When I didn’t know people could be like that. That kind. That sure. He says he fell in love with how I think. With how I see the world.”

She paused. A small laugh.

“I told him he’s biased.”

Outside, birds wheeled across the sky like brushstrokes. She let her head fall back, gaze on the ceiling. Lando had insisted on putting glow-in-the-dark stars up there, claiming the baby would love them. She’d laughed at first — told him their daughter wouldn’t even be able to see them.

Now, looking at up them, she was suddenly nine again. Her dad was hovering, her mom quietly worried. They’d just moved to England from Florida. She’d broken a three-day period of noa-verbalness in order to ask: “Can we put the stars up, daddy?”

Lando had remembered.

He’d wanted their daughter to have the same comforts she’d relied on for so many years. 

“I hope you get his laugh,” she said after a while. “And his sense of direction. And how he always makes space for people.” She reached down and adjusted the blanket over her legs. “I don’t know what kind of mummy I’ll be yet. I know what I want to be. I want to be your safe place. I want you to always feel comfortable to be yourself around me; no matter what that looks like.”

The baby kicked gently under her ribs.

“Yeah, I know. I’m being sentimental.” She smiled faintly. “Don’t get used to that. It doesn’t happen often. That’s more your daddy’s territory.”

Later, she made dinner — toast and spaghetti and Lando’s ridiculously sugary cereal for dessert. She ate curled sideways on the sofa, wrapped in one of his jumpers, reruns of old races playing softly on the TV. His voice came through now and then in the commentary. Every time it did, her chest ached — not painfully. Just… ached. 

And when she climbed into their bed that night, she shifted a pillow behind her back, whispered goodnight to her baby girl, and traced the shape of the window frame with her eyes.

—

The baby felt heavier every morning. Not dramatically, not enough to worry, but enough to make Amelia roll slower out of bed, one palm at her back, the other at her bump, muttering soft, affectionate curses under her breath.

Her mom arrived midweek.

Tracey didn’t knock, just let herself in with the key Lando had given to her weeks ago. Amelia had been halfway through folding onesies in the laundry room when she heard the click of the front door and the familiar rustle of an overfilled handbag.

“Mom?”

“Who else would be coming into your house with tea biscuits and fresh flowers?”

They hugged in the hallway. Amelia, unsure at first, then tighter, grateful. Her mom smelled like the same delicately scented perfume she always wore, and that scent unlocked a part of Amelia that had been quietly braced all week.

“You okay, my darling?” Tracey asked softly, after a long hug.

“I think so.”

“You’re safe. He made sure of that.”

“I know.”

Tracey settled into the guest room without fanfare — just a neatly packed suitcase, a crossword book, and a container of pre-cut fruit. She moved through the house like someone careful not to leave fingerprints, never imposing, always within arm’s reach.

That night, they watched FP1 together on the living room couch.

Amelia had one leg tucked up, a bowl of cereal on her bump. Tracey kept asking polite but confused questions about DRS zones and tire graining. Amelia answered them all, engineer-sharp, still watching like she was sitting at the pit wall, but quiet.

At one point, she whispered, “That left-rear temperature is creeping up too quickly.”

Tracey blinked. “...For the orange one?”

Amelia smiled faintly. “Yes. Oscar’s car.”

—

FaceTime with Oscar came later, after FP2.

He was stretched across his hotel bed, hair messy, still in team gear. “You seeing these sector times?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. You're getting too aggressive with the throttle mid-chicane.”

Oscar groaned. “You’re not even here and you’re still doing this.”

“You asked.”

He paused. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “Tired. Heavy. But good.”

Oscar’s eyes softened. “You look alright.”

“I’m in my pyjamas and haven’t brushed my hair since this morning.”

“I said alright. Not good.” 

They grinned at each other through the screen. It felt weird, and warm, to miss him. Her best friend. Her driver. 

—

Lando called a lot. 

Between sessions. Before them. After them

Amelia was in the bath, water warm and eucalyptus-scented. When she answered, her hair was pinned up and her bump floated like a tiny island beneath the bubbles.

“You looked good in the car today,” she murmured.

“Didn’t feel good. Too much understeer in sector two.”

“Maybe try lifting off earlier before the left apex?”

“I miss you.”

Her throat closed a little. “I miss you too.”

Silence stretched.

Then Lando laughed, soft and boyish. “Your mum texted me a picture of you and her in matching slippers. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“She got them at Boots,” Amelia said.

“They’re cute.”

“Itchy.” Amelia said. She scrunched up her nose. 

Another pause.

“What are you doing after the race?” She asked.

“Coming home.”

“That soon?” She frowned. 

“I’ve been waiting to come home since I got off the plane,” he said simply.

—

Tracey made lunch. Amelia couldn’t stop pacing. The house’s open plan meant she could still see the TV while she marched from room to room, one hand on her belly, breath catching at every near-miss and overtake.

She watched Lando’s start with bated breath. Listened to Oscar’s radio. Judged strategy calls and muttered pit stop criticisms like a general in her castle.

Tracey passed her a cup of peppermint tea. “Sit down, love.”

“I can’t,” Amelia whispered. “I don’t know how to watch without being part of it.”

When it ended, Lando on the second step of the podium after a nail-biting fight at the front with Max, Oscar in seventh, she finally exhaled. 

Her phone buzzed ten minutes later. 

Lando: How did I do?

She typed back, Amazing. Come home to me.

—

That night, before bed, she walked the halls alone.

She touched the hallway wall where Lando had measured the doorframe — swearing that someday their daughter’s height would be marked beside it. She lingered in the nursery, rearranging the stuffed animals for no good reason. She lay down in bed and turned off the lamp, then whispered, “You’re going to love it here, sweet little pea.” She gave a quiet little giggle. “I already do.”

And in the hush of night, the baby gave the softest kick beneath her palm. Not a flutter — a push. Solid. Present.

“Yes,” Amelia said. “I know. I miss him too.”

—

It was just past midnight when the front door clicked open.

Amelia, curled up sideways on the sofa in one of Lando’s old hoodies, blinked herself awake. The living room was dark, save for the soft golden glow from the kitchen under-lights and the flicker of the paused race replay on the TV screen. Her tea had gone cold on the side table. The baby had hiccupped for almost twenty minutes straight and then fallen quiet — just as Amelia had dozed off, waiting.

Keys dropped into the ceramic bowl by the door.

Then soft footsteps. Two pairs.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, just as Lando appeared in the doorway, duffle in hand, eyes tired but warm. Behind him, Oscar trailed in with a hoodie pulled low over his head and the kind of look you wore after a race weekend that hadn’t loved you back.

“You’re awake,” Lando said, voice low. He looked like he wanted to melt into the floor with relief.

“Hi,” she murmured, standing slowly, her hand on the small of her back. “Hi.”

He came over, wrapped his arms around her, and didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just breathed her in, one hand on her belly, the other cradling the back of her neck. She nuzzled into his chest.

Then he pulled back slightly and turned to Oscar. “You crashing here, mate?”

Oscar nodded silently. His shoulders were tight, jaw set, a bruise visible just beneath the collar of his hoodie — nothing serious, but there. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Amelia stepped toward him and opened one arm in invitation. “Come here, ducky.”

Oscar hesitated only a beat before folding himself into her hug. He didn’t say anything either, but his fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve. She let him rest his chin briefly on her shoulder.

“You were excellent,” she whispered. “There was a lot of change to get used to this weekend. Don’t let it ruin your drive.”

He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. “Didn’t feel excellent.”

“You still brought the car home. And points, too. Some weekends, that’s the win.”

Lando nodded from behind her. “She’s not wrong.”

Oscar looked between them, weary but grateful. “I’ll just take the guest room.”

“You know where everything is,” Amelia said. “My mom’s in the one with the closed door, yeah? So use the one near the back of the house, the one closer to our bedroom. And my mom filled the fridge with snacks in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Oscar cracked a small smile at that and shuffled off with a mumbled goodnight.

When he was gone, Lando turned back to her, dropping his bag by the couch. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Didn’t think he should be alone.”

Amelia shook her head, already tugging him by the fingers toward the bedroom. “I’m glad you brought him.”

They undressed slowly, quietly, moving like people who’d done this dance a hundred times. Amelia sat on the edge of the bed to rub lotion into her stretched belly while Lando ducked into the bathroom. When he came back, he crawled into bed beside her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you too.”

The baby shifted gently between them, a little wave under Amelia’s skin. Lando reached down and rested his palm over her belly.

“She knows you’re home,” Amelia said sleepily.

“Hi, baby.” He whispered. “Missed you too.” 

—

The kitchen was bathed in slow, buttery light, the morning sun catching on the pale wood and glass, casting long shadows through the big oak tree. 

Amelia stood barefoot at the counter, toast in one hand, the other absent-mindedly resting against her belly as the kettle rumbled behind her. The baby had started the morning with enthusiastic kicks — mostly under her ribs — and Amelia had taken it as a sign to get out of bed, let Lando sleep, and start the day.

Oscar shuffled in a few minutes later, hair a mess, eyes puffy, socks mismatched. 

“You look terrible,” Amelia said, sliding a mug toward him.

“I know,” Oscar muttered, taking the tea gratefully. “You’re up early.”

“Little sweet-pea was playing trampoline with my bladder at 6am,” she said, nodding down. “And I figured you’d be up soon too. Couldn’t sleep?”

Oscar took a sip, leaned against the counter. “Keep thinking about the restart. Should’ve backed out.”

Amelia sighed. “If you had, you’d be regretting that instead. You made a judgement call. It was bold. Just didn’t pay off this time.”

“I missed you in my ear,” he said. “Can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if you were.” 

“Osc.” She said. “That’s not fair. Don’t say that. You know how badly I want to be there.” 

He winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just— hard.” 

She gave him a wry look. “I know. It’s hard for me, too.” 

Oscar smiled faintly. “I’ll get used to Tom. And I’ll start to trust him. But it’s hard when it’s not you, you know? It’s always been you.”

“I’ll be on comms next week. In Spain.” She told him gently. “I’ll have more of a say, okay? But you need to get to know them, talk to them, help them learn how you like to drive.” 

“I’ll try.” He grumbled. Then he looked around the bright, soft kitchen. The fruit bowl full of bright colours, the flowers by the window, the stack of tiny baby clothes folded near the sink — like Amelia had gotten halfway through organising them before getting distracted. Everything smelled like lavender. “I get why you both love it here,” he said.

Amelia’s expression softened. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Then Oscar asked, carefully, “You scared?”

She looked at him for a long time before answering. “I wasn’t. Not really. But now it’s getting closer, and I’m alone more often. I think about things I didn’t let myself think about before.” She glanced down at her belly. “But I’m not scared of having her. I think I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Oscar leaned against the counter beside her. “Pretty sure you won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t,” he said again, with surprising certainty. “Do you love her?” 

“Yeah.” She whispered.

He nudged her. “That’s it, then.” 

A soft shuffle behind them, then Lando’s voice, still raspy with sleep. “Are you two bonding without me?”

Amelia and Oscar turned to see him, barefoot in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair a disaster, one eye still half-closed. 

“I made him tea,” Amelia said.

Lando pointed at her belly. “Did she let you sleep?”

“She let me have a few hours, which was generous,” Amelia said, standing up straighter with a small groan. “Here—sit. I’ll make you toast.”

Lando came over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then leaned down to whisper something to the baby.

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

—

On the weekend of the Spanish Grand Prix, Amelia had the live feeds up on three monitors — driver data, timing sheets, and the race engineer channel — and her headset was synced to Oscar’s garage. Technically, she wasn’t on the box, but Tom had agreed it would be useful to have her in his ear for insights and soft corrections when needed. The engineers had joked that she was now their “AI Overlord in the Sky.” She hadn’t laughed.

On Friday, she was calm. Focused. Her notes were still sharp. She sent two voice memos to Tom after FP1 — one about Oscar’s brake migration being slightly off, the other about his low-speed understeer looking a little like a differential mapping issue. Both were addressed by FP2.

She’d tried to stay calm through quali. She sat cross-legged on the rug, notebook open in front of her out of habit, TV volume low, tea cooling untouched beside her. Every sector time hit her like a mild electrical pulse. Every camera pan to Lando’s face made her chest tighten.

And then — P1.

Pole position.

Her hands flew to her mouth. A sharp inhale. Her eyes didn’t tear up, not quite, but she blinked hard enough to clear the static of disbelief.

Her phone buzzed in her lap before she could even reach for it.

Lando calling.

She answered on the first ring. “You—” she started, then stopped, because her voice broke halfway through the word.

“Hey, baby,” he said, out of breath, voice shaky with adrenaline and awe. The sound of cheers and static hummed faintly in the background.

“You’re on pole,” she said. Flatly, because anything more emotional would tip her over.

“I—yeah.” His voice cracked on a laugh. “Can you believe it?”

She couldn’t. Not really. But she said, “Of course I can. I told you that you’d be able to do it.”

“You also told me to take Turn 7 a gear lower, and that’s when I started purple-ing the sector.”

“I’m always right,” she said softly.

Lando went quiet for a second. “I just wanted to hear your voice. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” she interrupted, already shifting to lie on her side, one hand sliding over her bump. “I wanted to hear yours too.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But you’re doing everything exactly right. And she kicked,” Amelia added suddenly. “Right when you crossed the line. Like she knew.”

Lando made a quiet, choked noise. “Tell her I love her.”

“She already knows.”

He breathed out. “Tomorrow—”

“You can win.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Another pause.

“I love you, Amelia.”

“I love you, Lando. Now go do your cool-down and get weighed before they fine you.”

He laughed breathlessly. “Yes, boss.”

—

Sunday morning was more emotionally complex. The race brought a new kind of restlessness. She stood more than she sat. Paced the hallway during the formation lap. Her hands twitched over her bump every time someone locked up into Turn 1.

The lights went out and Amelia tracked every throttle input and radio check-in with a kind of quiet intensity. She wasn’t barking orders. She wasn’t pacing a pit wall. But her brain still ticked in race rhythm.

She flinched when Lando lost a place on the opening lap, then cheered softly when he clawed it back with one of his signature perfectly-timed exits out of Turn 5. Oscar’s pace stabilised by Lap 15, and she could tell from the data that he’d found his flow. She sent Tom a discreet note about giving him a bit more encouragement.

“Tell him the tire warm-up on the second stint looks good. His brake temps are in a sweet spot — he can push.”

Her mom wandered into the room at one point, holding a mug of tea. “It’s like watching a hacker during a cyber-attack,” Tracey said, amused, watching Amelia’s fingers fly over the trackpad. “But with more swearing.”

“Only mild swearing,” Amelia muttered.

By the end of the race, Lando had secured another podium; P2 just behind Max, and Oscar brought it home in P5 after a clean, clever second stint. 

Amelia’s adrenaline was still fizzing as she took off the headset and leaned back in her chair.

“Mom!” She shouted down the corridor. “Can you make me a cheese sandwich?” 

—

Amelia sat curled up on the couch, one hand resting gently on her bump, the other clutching a mug. The quiet hum of the house felt louder than usual — a hollow space where Lando’s laughter and footsteps usually filled the air.

She’d just hung up the phone after saying goodbye for what felt like the hundredth time this week.

“No break between Spain and Austria,” Lando had lamented, voice apologetic but determined. “It’s back-to-back weekends. Hotel rooms, planes, track walks — barely time to breathe.”

Amelia nodded into the receiver, but inside she was already bracing herself for the stretch ahead.

The reality settled like a quiet ache: he wouldn’t be here. Not in the space they’d carved out together, not to brush her hair back when she was restless, not to trace little circles over her skin to calm the baby when kicks turned into restless jabs.

Her fingers twitched lightly over the swell of her belly.

She imagined the baby, warm and sheltered, moving in rhythm with the house — a heartbeat alone but steady.

Her breath hitched a little.

She hadn’t expected it to feel so hard. The days apart. The silence that wasn’t really silence because her mind was a thousand miles away, tracking every call, every message, every moment he wasn’t home.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let herself lean into the quiet.

Maybe tomorrow she’d video call Oscar and talk about strategy, or take her mom out somewhere nice for dinner. 

Maybe tonight, the baby and she would dance in the dim light, two hearts keeping each other company until Lando came back.

She smiled softly. Long nights ahead, yes. 

But also a promise — of a family waiting, waiting, waiting.

—

The Austrian Grand Prix weekend had spiralled into chaos. 

Perez pushed Oscar into the gravel on the second corner after Oscar and Charles made contact in the first.  

Amelia’s headset was on, Oscar’s comms open on one channel, the race feed on the TV. She watched the flickering screen with cool, blunt irritation, the quiet hum of the house in the background a soft contrast to the noise of engines and tyre squeals.

Lando was out there, her husband, racing wheel-to-wheel against Max Verstappen; her brother in all ways but blood. 

And now, they were both throwing everything they had at each other, in a fight that was reckless and reckless felt like a gross understatement.

She pressed a button on her headset, voice low but firm. “Tom. Get Will on Lando’s radio. Tell him to stop trying to take the outside line. He’s fighting Max on Max’s terms and losing control.”

Static. Nothing but broken hiss.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing as she stared at the dead air in her headset. “Tom, come on.”

Minutes dragged on with nothing but interference.

The race was unraveling fast—a high-stakes, high-speed chess match turned chaotic brawl on asphalt. Amelia’s gaze flicked between the TV screen and her headset, sharp and unblinking. She could see it all clearly—the tight, unforgiving corners, the relentless wheel-to-wheel clashes, Max pushing hard to force Lando wide, and Lando refusing to yield. The cars were inching closer with every lap, dangerously close to disaster.

Her voice stayed steady, cutting through the static like a blade. “Will, Tom, come on. Somebody—just pull him back! This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

She wasn’t shouting, not really. There was no hysteria. Just a cold, hard edge to her frustration—the kind that comes from knowing both men far too well, knowing exactly what was on the line, knowing the risks they were gambling with their careers and their lives.

And then it happened.

A tiny nudge. Barely visible on the screen.

But enough.

Enough to tear punctures in both cars’ tyres and send them spiralling down the timesheets.

Her heart hammered.

Lando was limping into the pits. She saw him climb out of the car, face tight with frustration and pain. Max got a tire change and he was back out there, angry and fast. 

Then Oscar stormed across the finish line—second place.

Amelia sat frozen for a moment, breath catching, body tense. The adrenaline surged through her veins, a strange mixture of panic and helplessness.

She reached for her phone with shaky hands and touched Lando’s contact. Once. No answer.

Twice. Still no answer.

A third time. Nothing.

She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling fast.

He was probably pacing somewhere. His phone was probably in a hoodie pocket somewhere he couldn’t hear it. 

Oscar’s podium flashed on the screen, but Amelia couldn’t focus.

Then, a sudden warmth crept down her legs.

She blinked slowly, voice flat and dry. “God. I’ve peed myself.”

Her hand moved down instinctively, pressing against her belly.

Confusion flickered across her face as she realised.

“Oh… oh. That’s not—That’s not pee.” She mumbled. 

A sharp tightening gripped her abdomen.

Her eyes went wide. 

Then she grabbed her phone again; called the only person she knew would never not answer her call. Podium celebration ongoing or not. 

“Amelia!” Her dad cheered as he answered, and she could hear the Australian national anthem playing in the background. 

“I’m in labour.” She told him flatly. “And Lando’s not answering his phone. So, if you could find my husband and let him know, I’d really appreciate it.” 

Then she hung up. Stood. Walked into the guest room and smiled at her mom, hands twisting and pulling and stimming. “Hi.” 

Her mom stared at her, wet pants and all, with wide eyes. “Honey—“ 

“I didn't pee." She told her, a bit indigent. "I think my waters broke.” 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Sorry if I asked I already asked but do you have anything on writing ‘pirate talk’?

Writing Notes: Pirate Talk

Our much-loved “pirate-ese” language bears little relation to the actual speech of 17th and 18th-century buccaneers.

In fact, evidence suggests that our modern impression of pirate speech is all down to Disney. Here’s why:

Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson’s adventure novel Treasure Island was published in 1883.

In 1950, the popular tale was adapted for Hollywood in what was Walt Disney’s first movie made with live actors only.

The movie starred Robert Newton as the fictional pirate Long John Silver.

Born in Dorset and educated in Cornwall, Newton based his pirate talk on his own native British West Country dialect.

His accent might not have been far off—the south west of England has long been associated with pirates because of its strong maritime heritage; notorious pirate Blackbeard was even said to have come from Bristol, in the heart of that area.

Newton’s iconic role as Long John Silver was so influential that a variation of his West Country English became the standard for portrayals of pirates on stage and in the cinema.

As historian Colin Woodard told the National Geographic in 2011, “Newton’s performance—full of ‘arrs,’ ‘shiver me timbers,’ and references to landlubbers—not only stole the show, it permanently shaped pop culture’s vision of how pirates looked, acted, and spoke.”

Pirates have been around for a very long time and come from many places across the globe. Julius Caesar fought them, and to this day, pirates are still taking ships off the coast of Somalia. Logic dictates that all these pirates would speak in many different ways.

In Hollywood, there exists only one way pirates talk:

With an exaggerated English West Country accent and a lisp.

"Piratespeak" is somewhat of an exaggerated parody of some English rural accents of the 16th century.

A "snapshot" of a moment in the language during the "Great Vowel Shift".

There are some who've argued the associating of rural English accents with seafaring folk be on account of Lord Nelson, whose contemporaries noted his heavy Norfolk accent.

But the standard "Poirate accent" sounds more like it be from the The West Country (Devon, Somerset, Dorset, Cornwall, Gloucestershire and Bristol), perhaps because of memories of famed Devon sailors like Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh. Treasure Island, which does indeed begin in that part of Englandnote , did popularise it.

It also has noticeable overlap with the distinctive "Ocracoke accent" spoken by some longtime residents of the Outer Banks of North Carolina, which were similarly frequented by sailors in the 18th century; it may or may not be a coincidence that Ocracoke Island was the site of Blackbeard's last stand against the British Navy.

Some Pirate & Seafaring Terminology

Ahoy! - Used from the 18th century to attract attention, for example, the sighting of a ship, but later to simply mean "hello there".

Avast! - In use from the 17th century, it was a command to stop a particular action like pulling on rigging to hoist a sail.

Bear Up - To keep the ship’s bow away from the wind. An expression that was then used to mean "remain cheerful".

Blackjacks - (also called bombards) Large drinking cups, originally made out of leather and stiffened with tar.

Crack On - To make good speed. The term derives from the cracking noise made by ropes and sails made taut by a strong wind.

Davy Jones’s Locker - A term for the “ocean’s bottom,” especially when regarded as the grave for all who perish at sea.

Down the Hatch - To put cargo through the hatch and into the hold. The expression was used as a toast when drinking alcohol.

Dredgie - In popular pirate tales, dredgies are the ghosts of traitor pirates who’ve met a nasty end at the hands of another pirate.

From the Seas - This was a typical pirate’s answer to the question "where are you from?" and was given to conceal their identity. It might also be given by pirate ships when entering a port for the same reason. In use from the 17th century.

Goose Without Gravy - A slang term to refer to a badly injured man who showed no sign of bleeding.

Grog - Often depicted as a potent potable popularly partaken by plunderers on the high seas. Grog may refer to any alcoholic liquor, but is often reserved for booze—usually rum—cut with water. The term came about thanks to English admiral Edward Vernon, who reputedly earned the nickname “Old Grog” because he often wore a cloak made from grogram (a coarse, loosely woven fabric made of silk or silk blended with mohair or wool). In Old Grog’s day, sailors in the Royal Navy were customarily given a daily ration of rum, but in 1740 the admiral, concerned about the health of his men, ordered that the rum should be diluted with water. The decision wasn’t very popular with the sailors, who supposedly dubbed the mixture “grog” after Vernon.

Hempen Jig - Hempen refers to something made from hemp, a plant with tough fibers excellent for making rope. In popular accounts of pirates, hempen halter is a hangman’s noose, and to dance the hempen jig means “to die by hanging.”

Hornswoggle - To swindle, cheat, hoodwink, or hoax.

Land Ho! - The cry uttered by a lookout on the first sight of land.

Salmagundi - A fancy meal of salmagundi might be served when celebrating a successful plunder: chopped meats (whatever was handy), anchovies, onions, oil—and cackle fruit (“chicken eggs” in pirate-speak). It’s a great word for “any mixture or miscellany.”

Scallywag - (or scalawag) An insult for any pirate deemed a “rascal.” Son of a biscuit-eater is “a son of solider or sailor,” with that biscuit-eater sounding an awful lot like it’s replacing a coarser word.

Shiver Me Timbers - Unlikely to have ever been uttered by an actual pirate. Instead, it is thought to have arisen from comedic literature as sailor-speak akin to “blow me down” or “by golly” or somesuch. In the 19th-century children’s novel Outward Bound, a character named Wilton is even humiliated (in brisk fashion) for attempting the phrase.

Talk Bilge - Meaning to talk nonsense. It derives from the filthy bilge water in the lower parts of a ship.

Where away? - A question meaning "in which direction?" and usually uttered in response to a lookout sighting land or another ship.

Yo-Ho-Ho - A fictional pirate expression with no particular meaning that first appears in Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1883 novel Treasure Island. It may derive from the phrase "Yeo heave ho" which mariners chanted while pulling on rigging.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Writing Notes: Pirates

Words Related to Pirates

You can find more terms and information in the sources. Hope this helps with your writing!

[maximura]

Things only an Australian STAY will understand: When homesick Chan reflects on the Qantas commercial song (and he's absolutely right and real for that. If you know you know) but for Felix, it's the O'Briens commercial song. They repair windscreens. I died. Why does he remember that? Omg lol.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.

Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.

Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”

You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.

Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.

“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.

Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.

“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.

Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.

It’s a…oh fuck.

“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.

The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?

“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.

No. No no no.

You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”

Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”

“I was drunk.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”

Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.

“I tried.”

That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.

You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”

This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”

It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.

Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”

You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”

He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”

“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.

This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”

“What?” you ask, flustered.

Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“John,” you snap.

Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”

Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.

“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.

Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.

“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”

“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.

“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”

You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.

But Price is quick.

With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.

“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.

Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”

Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.

You don’t want to admit it.

Not out loud. Not yet.

But you will be back.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.

You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”

Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.

This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.

“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”

“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”

Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.

Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.

“You remember anything you said to me last night?”

You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”

Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.

Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.

“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.

Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.

Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“What?” you breathe.

“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.

Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”

“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”

Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.

When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.

He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.

Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.

Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

“Both of you can fuck off.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Ghost.”

“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.

You frown. “Are you injured?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.

“You keep rubbing your neck.”

Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.

You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.

“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.

“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”

Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.

You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”

“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.

Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”

A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.

Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”

You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.

“You don’t know that.”

Ghost shrugs. “I do.”

His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.

“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.

“Do you remember?”

No. I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.

“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”

Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What the fuck is that?”

Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.

Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.

The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.

Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.

You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”

That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”

Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?

You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”

Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.

“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”

Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.

“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.

“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.

You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”

You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.

[ditzydoe444]

Thinking about farmhand!Jason or cowboy!Jason who works on readers parents farm. She still lives with her parents to help them with the farm work and obviously has a big fat crush on Jason. Like when he’s chopping wood sweaty and shirtless or how he can lift a hay bale with only one hand AHHHHHHHHHH. Anyway!!!actually just need Jason to fuck her in the back of the barn (probs in the haystack OOPS) and he’s covering her mouth as he’s rutting into her cuz he can’t let them get caught and let everyone know what a slut the town sweetheart is can he?

-🍼

MDNI 18+

a/n: i did cowboy jason because i love them

jason wasn’t dumb, he knew about your wondering eyes staring at his body when he chopped wood, or how you would pretend to ‘read’ outside when he took care of the farm shirtless on a hot day. you grew up in a sheltered household, living on the farm far away from town didn’t help. “jacey you need help?” you spoke sweetly as you watched him chop wood, his muscles flexing and the slight tan on his skin glistened.

“nah don’t worry ‘bout that sweetheart ‘ve got it.”

he thought your not so discrete crush on him was adorable, as you grew up isolated you had very little friends hence why you followed him around like a little puppy.

it was harmless until the two of you started fucking.

“j-jacey jacey,” you panted as he fucked you in the barn, rutting against you as you laid on the haystack. it wasn’t comfortable by any means, but having a giant man built like a greek god buried deep inside you rubbing your gummy walls making your mind go blank, how could you complain? the barn was the safest place out of the farm, the only area where your parents didn’t wander around because they thought you were too prim and proper for a dirty place like it. “so good sweetheart you’re so tight,” he groaned as his nails dug into your soft flesh.

“so deep, so big,” you mumbled like a mantra, your eyes wide and dazed from the pleasure whilst a sheen of sweat covered your soft skin. one of jason’s hand covered your mouth, “ssshh sweetheart, need to keep quiet for me alright?”

jason was well loved by her parents, they saw him as a respectable man who helped the farm, not a man desperate and greedy for their daughter’s pussy.

he watched as the bulge in your stomach moved, how your small cunt was able to accomodate to his size alone was mesmerising. he watched as your hand weakly traced his biceps, going through every little detail and tracing the veins along it. “you’re so big jacey,” you mumbled though he came out muffled due to his hand.

he chuckled softly, kissing your neck as he continued to rut into you. “just for you sweetheart, a princess like you needs a man.”

jason was a possessive man, there was no way in hell that he would have some sort of preppy boy date you. you needed a man who would pick you up on dates in a large rusty truck, one that could build the house of your dreams with enough land that you could run and giggle along, and reassure you softly when you need it the most.

he knew your parents thought about marrying some sort of 9-5 office man in the small town, but that just wouldn’t make you happy. you were a princess, you had dreams that a skimpy cooperate man couldn’t provide. jason could build you the house of your dreams, a porch with a swing so you could read and admire him as he worked, a sunroom so you could bathe in sunlight without getting out when it’s hot and sticky with the bugs and of course small pink details and accents scattered everywhere for you to find when you’re bored.

“mmm, jacey ‘m close,” you whined as you shut your eyes from the feeling on your lower stomach, his strong hands gently coaxing your orgasm as they squeezed your lower stomach. he watches as your glossy pussy clenched around him, almost milking him. “come on sweetheart you can do it, just keep it quiet can’t have the town knowing i’m fucking the neighbourhood’s princess.”

[yasministration]

Hii, I’ve read some of your poly!marauders stuff and I’m in love 😭

I was wondering if you could do one with an Irish reader who has a strong Dublin accent ( spoiler alert I’m from there) and the lads just have an awful time understanding her? If not totally ok 😭

a/n: genuinely sorry this is so short but this was all the creative juices could muster and i actually really like it like this on its own... hope it brings you justice!!

Remus blinked once in surprise, reaction more subtle than Sirius’s, with his wide grin, sinking back into the couch as he bit back a laugh. “What?” James tugged you by the waist, pulling you close to him until you fell into his lap, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. James pressed a kiss to your cheek, and he mumbled “Nothing, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, nothing. Except, could you repeat that?” You furrowed your eyebrows at Sirius’s question, watching him chew on his nail nervously, eyebrows raised at you. Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, looking at you with a guilty smile as he clarified “It’s a little difficult to understand you when you speak so… passionately.” You huffed disappointedly, shoulders slumping slightly. You'd only been complaining about the cold weather, and how you nearly froze to death during care of magical creatures, but it was still frustrating that they'd missed the important rant. “Hey, don’t look like that,” James started, a hand on your jaw gently turning your face towards him. “I’m really into your accent.” You scoffed in amusement, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated manner. 

“Yeah yeah, me too!” Announced Sirius, straightening up again, “Especially when you say that one line from Derry Girls!” You and Sirius stared at each other silently for a moment, the hopeful expression on Sirius’s face slowly dropping from his face as he realised you weren’t going to recite it for him. 

Sirius crossed him arms, muttering under his breath “Well I’m sorry Claire, I’m just not interested in you, not like that” with the best accent he could muster. The attempt had you cringing, reaching behind James to fish out a pillow which you were quickly tossing at Sirius across the common room. 

[northopalshore]

Derivative astrology

Your spouse's reputation

For this method, we'll be looking at the 4th house of your natal chart, the 4th house ruler & planets in the 4th house to determine your future spouse's (public) reputation and quite possibly what they are known for. Although not a direct link, it can also give you hints about their possible career too. Does not translate to their actual Midheaven sign or placement, it's their energy.

Signs & degrees

Do not repost on other sites! Especially on TikTok man, I see you ʕ⁠´⁠ಠ⁠ᴥ⁠ಠ`⁠ʔ ฅ 🔊 🍽️ Northopalshores' Masterlist| union persona chart| paid readings

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Common additional asks

In °0 👉🏻check for Aquarius

In retrograde 👉🏻 calmer or opposite version of non retrograde

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Aries (°1,°13,°25)

Your partner is known as quite the flirt. Not to say they are a Casanova, but something about them just oozes raw sexuality, confident and some how childish fun or innocence. They can be coy and act like they got their shit together (high nose and everything) but they're not trying to sell anyone that image permanently. They are known for their enthusiasm and energy often giving 100% of themselves into something even if it may appear measley to others. They are also protective and may get rather hot headed (have a brat streak) to them. They are a hard worker and people appreciate their strength and resilience.

🍡Possible careers: dancer, self employed, any job that requires movement or physical attraction/contact/agility & hard work or labour.

Taurus (°2,°14,°26)

Your partner is known for being a levelheaded individual with a friendly yet professional temperament. They have a warm and strong presence that eases the mind of everyone that they meet. They are always seen as presentable and expensive. People know them for their good taste and easygoing yet still strong and enduring personality. They have the ability to ease one's doubt with just their presence alone. They are seen as gracious and we'll mannered too, many will find your spouse relatable.

🍡Possible careers: Anything that has to do with children, beauty, fashion, partnerships, business person

Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | Mercury in or conjunct the 4th House

Your future spouse is know to be quite the comedian. They are someone people find incredibly entertaining and always the interesting character. It may be hard for people to peel their eyes or attention away from your spouse as they are naturally humours. They are known to be someone with a quick mind, and a knack for talking. Like, reaally talking. People could praise them for having a good voice or something about their voice just feels so good to hear or is prominent in some way. They could be the person with the funny accent, expressive speech pattern, good voice or chronic overthinker/oversharer. Witty, smart and also tend to critique themselves a lot. Either way, their voice & thoughts plays an important role in their reputation.

🍡Possible careers: Singers, musicians, teachers, writers, comedians, actors, whatever that requires talking, expressiveness, creativity and entertainment

Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | Moon in the or conjunct the 4th house

Your partner as a kind, reassuring presence. People often come to them for support or see them as an emotionally supportive and nurturing individual. They may feel like a mother in a way, even if they are a man. They are known for their empathy and compassion as well as their emotional intelligence. Your spouse gives off the energy of a caretaker and someone who is careful & considerate. Some may come off like a mom or a grandmother to others lol.

Ex: Barack Obama has natal IC in Taurus °28 Cancer. Michelle is known for her calm demeanor, and her authentic personality. She's disciplined, caring and emotionally intelligent. I should also mention he has Moon in the 4th house. She was well respected and loved as during the time she was first lady.

🍡Possible careers: Retail, home realtors, doctors, advisor, nurse, doctor, anything that requires authenticity and "soul"

Leo (°5,°17,°29) | Sun in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner has a reputation of being loud & proud (and for some, abrasive). They are a strong character on their own and do not let anything change their way or perspective about anything. They are known to have a strong mentality, they are also known as a passionate fighter. Something about their looks is always talked about or noticed as well. They could be known to look a certain way.

🍡Possible careers: entertainer, actor, model, teacher, anything that requires them to be bold and bring attention to themselves

Virgo (°6,°18)

Your future partner is known to be quite the critique in both the good way & bad. They're known to be quite and have a lot on their mind. This usually is most evident when they start getting into "the zone" and people will know not to obstruct them during that time. You partner is know to be a generally good natured individual who may come off as rather dry at times even if they are a naturally friendly person. They are know to be smart (which means more towards intuition or introspection). Your partner has quite the reliable reputation being everyone's go-to person.

🍡Possible careers: doctor, teacher, nurse, secretary, someone that works at a church or any job that requires them to help others or methodical work

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Libra (°7,°19) | Venus in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be an easygoing, likeable person with a strong sense of justice and morality. They're likely known as someone smart and persuasive too. Their looks, business, connections or relationships with other people tend to be the highlight of their reputation.

🍡Possible careers: Model, any job that requires them to deal with other people, socializing, interacting, debating or planning, group work, secretary etc

Scorpio (°8,°20) | Pluto conjunct or in the 4th House

Your partner is known as a shy, or rather repressive. They are known to be rather messy & reclusive as well. They are known to be strong and passionate and is able to endure a lot of things that come their way. They could seem rather emotionally driven, raw and powerful but they may or may not know how to control that energy. Some may be been as rather violent or have self destructive tendencies. In some cases, they may be described as "to exploit or be exploited". They could be known as scary too lol.

🍡Possible careers: anything that requires hard work, may have dangerous or controversial careers, something that requires a lot of strength or resilience from them, anything that requires them to oppose something

Sagittarius (°9,°21) | Jupiter in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse has a big personality, and someone that everyone tends to like due to how enthusiastic and friendly they are. They tend to have a comedic reputation, being someone chill yet still sharp and knowledgeable. They have the "funny man/woman" reputation. They are known to have a big or exotic, exaggerated energy about them.

Ex: Ryan Reynolds has his natal IC in Sagittarius °22 Capricorn. Blake is known to be a fun and humourous person (sort of embodying a similar energy as him in a way) though people tend to have mixed feelings about her due to her abrasive (exaggerated) nature. I don't think she was acting when she was in Gossip Girl lmao.

🍡Possible careers: anything that requires them to be the center of attention, something that requires them to think or give their opinion about often, could be a desirable job, anything related to storytelling as well like writers, actors or a lyricist

Capricorn (°10,°22) or Saturn in & conjunct IC

Your partner is known to be someone with a good head on their shoulder. Someone with a clear purpose or desire in life. People find them respectful and hardworking. They take on most of their duties seriously and may be hard on themselves as well. It's their hardwork and professionalism that people usually notice most (what they're known for).

In the °22nd degree specifically, people have very.. varied opinions of your spouse. On one hand people may really like them and find them powerful and influential yet on the other hand people can also find them to be self centered or obnoxious.

🍡Possible careers: anything surrounding business, anything that requires them to be a certain way or at more in control of themselves, a job that may be criticized or requires them to be responsible (I know it's vague asf but that's usually the case). Could also work for themselves.

Aquarius (°11,°23) or Uranus in & conjunct the IC

Your spouse is known as someone who is innovative and resourceful. They have a quick way about them, and usually they are known to think outside of the box. They may be known to be quite rebellious and brazen. May be known as quite the smarty pants too. Someone who does things their way. Their methods may be questionable, but they seem to be quite certain of it. Some with these placements may have a partner with a "trainwreck" reputation.

🍡Possible careers: the dreaded freelancer (lmao), anything in relation to the internet or technology, doing what they want, a career that requires them to express themselves as they want or are

Pisces (°12,°24)

Your spouse is known for being a kind, funny person with a mellow personality. They are also known for being a "bubbly" mutable person, that does not judge or ground themselves to a certain way or energy, they tend to have a youthful personality regardless of their age. They are emotional and sensitive but may appear rather irrational at times. They are known to be quite the sociable person as well even with strangers. Also, they have a bit of a "clumsy" reputation. Their creativity and sensitivity is what they're most known for.

🍡Possible careers: teachers, caretakers, actors, whatever that requires them to adapt themselves accordingly, dealing with children or music and creativity

Asteroids

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Mars in or conjunct the 4th house

( not an asteroid but I wanted to separate mars from the others)

Your partner may have a "hustler" grindset (mindset). They are likely known as a pathfinder too (doing things that others may not, taking more risks, doing things first). They are known to be a vitalizing presence that may act before thinking or strike when the iron is hot! They are an opportunistic person, and are seen as very passionate about whatever it is that they do (albeit annoying at times or one track minded).

Ex: Beyoncé has Cancer IC °18 Virgo with North Node & Mars in the 4th house. Jay-Z is a business man through and through. He is a way paver, and has his money on his mind.

Neptune in or conjunct the 4th House

(Again, not an asteroid but I wanted to separate it)

Your partner is known as someone very charming yet misleading. They are known to be a people person, or someone that everyone can get along with. People may idealise your partner as well for their talents, looks or personality.

Chiron in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be a self sacrificing person. They may give more to others than themselves. They have a very healing presence and are known to be rather humble. Though for some it means that they are seen as someone incompetent or easy to brush off or disrespected.

🍡Possible careers: healers, doctors, advisors anything requiring patience, support and understanding

Groom (5129) or Briede (19029) in or conjunct the 4th house

Your future spouse may be known for being your partner, people usually link their reputation to you in some way. Could also be seen as someone dedicated. If you are masculine and are attracted to the feminine, then having Briede in the 4th can result in them being more prominently noticed in as a partner or in their career life compared to you & vice versa for Groom.

Ex: Michael Jackson has Groom in Cancer °0 in the 4th house. Both Lisa and Debbie were noted as his spouse and are still known for being so married to him. He is more the center of attention in the public eye when they are together is what I mean.

Ex ii: Ariana Grande has Briede in her 4th house. Even when she's with any of her parents, she is more popular or seen as the center of attention more than her partners.

Juno in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be a very professional, yet zealous and vibrant. People find them to be very attractive (personality wise) as they look and act confident & desirable!

Starr (4150) in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse is known to be someone that people tend to idealise or admire. They are the "it" person, or someone that may seem like they have the upper hand in life & especially in their career or with their public life. They are just perceived as someone very charming & lucky.

Fama (408) in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse or partner can be quite popular, they tend to be the talk of the town or wherever that they go (for whatever reason). People could notice your partner most when you are together or they may boost your image in a way. It's not necessarily tied to traditional fame.

North Node in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be quite the workaholic. They are someone with a clear purpose in mind, and are very focused on themselves & that aforementioned sense of purpose. They tend to be people who are respected for whatever they do as well.

Lilith in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse is known to be the unconventional type. They tend to stand out the most wherever they go or wherever they work due to their distinctive energy and personality, this can make them sort of a "star player", but at the same time can mean they attract a lot of competition or jealousy as well. People tend to look or stare at them a lot. Still, I think this placement can go both ways; either they are seen as an asshole or people are assholes to them (they make others insecure).

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Hope this helps ♡

@northopalshore

[loves-n-kisses]

Hai :>

I would like to request a Katsuki fic if it’s not too much trouble.

Katsuki x the foreign exchange student from America. She knows Japanese really well but still uses English (like simultaneously switches between the languages).

Katsuki didn’t think too much of it until the reader was having a late night conversation with Shoto in the common room in English. (I head canon that he knows English)

So katsuki gets jealous and when he finds shoto alone, he tells him to back off the reader but shoto offers to help him with his English. Now Katsuki surprises the reader by joining a conversation she’s having in English.

I hope that all makes sense

OMG I LOVE THIS ONE I GOT TO WORK IMMEDIATELY. I typed in what I wanted to say into a English to Japanese translator and pasted it. I am not fluent in Japanese.

Blasting Through Barriers: Katsuki x ExchangeStudent!Reader

A story where Bakugou breaks--or rather, blasts through the language barriers separating you two.

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

The common room of U.A.’s dorms was quiet, save for the soft hum of the vending machine and the occasional creak of the couch. It was late, past curfew, but you, the American exchange student, never cared much for rules when there was a good conversation to be had. You sat cross-legged on the floor, a can of soda in hand, chatting with Shoto Todoroki. The topic? Some American movie you’d both seen, and you were animatedly switching between Japanese and English without missing a beat.

“ほんとに、that scene where the hero just explodes into action? めっちゃ cool, right?” you said, grinning. Your Japanese was near flawless, but English slipped out naturally, like it was part of your rhythm.

Shoto nodded, his calm voice steady in English. “Yeah, the pacing was perfect. The director knew how to build tension.” His accent was slight, polished from years of private tutors.

From the shadows of the hallway, Katsuki Bakugou lingered, arms crossed, jaw tight. He’d come down for a glass of water, not expecting to find you here, laughing with Icy-Hot of all people. Katsuki didn’t care about you. Not really. You were just some loud, annoying exchange student who’d shown up a month ago, always mixing languages like you owned the place. Your Japanese was so good it pissed him off—made him feel like you didn’t even need to be here, learning hero work with them. But hearing you speak English with Shoto, so effortlessly, so familiarly? That hit different.

He didn’t understand half of what you were saying—English wasn’t his strong suit—but the way Shoto leaned in, actually engaging, made Katsuki’s blood boil. Why was he the one you were talking to like that? Katsuki gritted his teeth and stormed off, vowing to deal with this later.

The next day, Katsuki cornered Shoto in the training gym, slamming a hand against the wall beside him. “Oi, Icy-Hot. Back off,” he growled, eyes blazing. “I see you cozying up with the exchange student. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Shoto blinked, unfazed. “You mean Y/N? We were just talking.” He tilted his head, studying Katsuki’s scowl. “You’re jealous.”

“Like hell I am!” Katsuki snapped, but his red ears betrayed him. “She’s just… annoying, okay? And you don’t need to be all buddy-buddy with her in freaking English.”

Shoto’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “If you want to talk to her, you could try English yourself. She likes it when people meet her halfway.” He paused, then added, “I could help you. With the language.”

Katsuki’s first instinct was to tell Shoto to shove it, but the image of you laughing with someone else—not him—burned in his mind. He grit his teeth. “Fine. But if you tell anyone, you’re dead.”

For the next week, Shoto quietly coached Katsuki in the basics: common phrases, pronunciation, even some slang you used. Katsuki was a quick learner when he wanted to be, though he’d never admit how much he practiced saying “yo, what’s up?” in his dorm room mirror.

A few nights later, you were in the common room again, this time chatting with Mina and Kirishima. Your voice danced between languages as you described some American festival. “It’s like, 超 fun, with all these food stalls and games. Kinda like a matsuri, but with, like, cotton candy vibes.”

Katsuki, who’d been pretending to read a manga on the couch, saw his chance. He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets, and sauntered over. “Yo, what’s up?” he said, his English rough but clear, his usual scowl softened just a fraction.

You froze, eyes wide. “Wait, Bakugou? Did you just… speak English?” Your grin was instant, bright enough to make his chest tighten. “Since when?”

“Since I felt like it,” he muttered, switching to Japanese, his cheeks faintly pink. “You’re always yapping in both languages, so I figured I’d see what the fuss is about.”

Mina snickered, and Kirishima gave a thumbs-up. “That’s manly, Bakugou!”

You leaned forward, switching to English. “Okay, tough guy, let’s see what you got. What’s your favorite thing about festivals?”

Katsuki hesitated, glancing at Shoto, who’d just walked in and gave a subtle nod. He took a breath. “The food,” he said in English, slow but steady. “And… winning stuff. Like, games. I’d kick ass.”

You laughed, clapping your hands. “Oh my god, you totally would! めっちゃ competitive, huh?” You switched back to English. “Bet you’d win me one of those giant stuffed animals.”

His smirk was pure Katsuki, even in a new language. “Damn right I would.”

From the doorway, Shoto watched, his expression unreadable but satisfied. Katsuki caught his eye, giving a grudging nod. Maybe Icy-Hot wasn’t so bad. But as you kept talking, pulling him into your mix of Japanese and English, Katsuki realized something: he didn’t just want to keep up with you. He wanted to be the one you laughed with, in any language.

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

Hope I did it justice!

-made with loves n' kisses 💋✨

[yamujiburo]

Hello, I’ve always been impressed by your design decisions so I wanted to ask: are there any Pokemon or trainers that have really spoken to you design-wise? Not necessarily your favorite, but left a strong impression on you.

Hope the rest of your day goes well! ^^

Aw thanks so much! I love character design, it was my first passion before storyboarding actually

Here's my faves:

RYME!!!! They nailed that older gen rapper look. Backwards cap, sequins, lots of gold and a puffy jacket! Also I'm not quite sure this is the intention with her shoes but they kinda look like grillz which is sick. I'm a sucker for a limited palette so the black, gold with turquoise accents in her nails, mic, earrings and eyes spoke to me. Also OF COURSE her hair (you're gonna se this pattern for the next two LOL). Making her locks look like a skeleton??? Genius. I love the hand bone for the front and the hip bone for the back. Literally one of the coolest trainer designs pokemon's ever given us.

GRANT! Just an immediately readable design. Oh, he looks like a rock climber, must be a rock type gym leader. Simple fit, I love a sleek black top. The carabiner, climber straps and chalk holder add a little more complexity to the design but not too much. It's a smart choice with how wild his hair is. I feel like if you do too much in the fit AND the hair, you risk your design feeling overdesigned and busy. I love that his hair is meant to look like a rock/cliffs with the holds! The holds add a nice dash of color without being too much.

AMARYS <3 It's the fact that she's in uniform but still has a design that immediately caught my eye. But to her being in uniform, I find it really cool that the other Elite 4 members really alter theirs or have accessories that make the uniforms feel like their own or really different but Amarys doesn't really. It goes to show how rigid she is and gives you the impression that she's a very "follow the rules" kind of person. Her main accessory seems to be her boots which just LOOK heavy, and sleek and look like they have bolts in them. It really makes her design feel bottom heavy and grounded which I feel is appropriate for a steel type trainer. Now, hair. Look at her hair. SO GOOD. I loveeee that pokemon is utilizing black hairstyles like this. Her hair being screws that kinda resemble banto knots is so CUTE. The could have left her hair at that but the braid across her forehead adds a nice asymmetrical aspect to her design. It's so cool that it mirrors her pocketwatch chain, creating a focal point on the school crest. And lastly her glasses! Super cute, I think it's cool that it gives the illusion of bottom lashes which makes her eyes feel a little more droopy or sad than they really are. It just really brings her facial features all together and helps sell her personality.

[tobeafangirl]

a warm welcome

Words: 6,819 Rating: M (language, underage drinking, teasing, slight exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, harry is a bit of a sub oops) Type: Oneshot (Harry Styles x Reader) A/N: This is actually an old fic I reworked, might be posting a few of those while I am writing my currents. Gotta keep my lovelies fed.

Secondary school was complicated and parties were stupid. You had only lived in London for around a month now and when it came to making friends or even being noticed, you failed. So far you have only acquired one friend, Maddy, a girl who is currently not being such a good friend right now since she was planning to drag you along to a party. But not just any party, oh no.

“It’s Jessica Knox.” You said as you smoothed down the small skirt that could be an inch or two longer. 

“She’s my friend, and a lot less intimidating than you think.” Maddy reassured me for maybe the tenth time today, you just couldn’t shake the very familiar feeling of misplacement – like you didn’t belong. “Listen, (Y/N), I was the new girl once, I was awkward, weird, and all around I felt like a walking embarrassment. But these people took me in as one of their own --- I really think you are going to fit in perfectly.” Maddy’s words were inspiring, always were. She knew how to say the right things at the right time. So, with a tug of your skirt for the last time, you announced that you were ready for whatever the night had in store.

Jessica’s house was more than impressive, delicate on the outside, huge on the inside. You wondered what it was like to see the house empty, what it would be like to roam the halls as a guest, maybe a friend. The music was loud, booming from an unknown source as various bodies swayed to the beat. It smelled strongly of sweat and faintly of cigarettes, a mix that one could get lost in, you nearly found yourself in the mystical world until Maddy tugged at your arm pulling you towards a small group of people.

Stacy was the first person to greet you. You had seen her around the halls and never had spoken, she was the wild card of the group, always too bold, loud, and yet caring in a way that proved right in her own mind. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)!” 

Next to be introduced was the party thrower herself, Jessica, looking as stunning as the sunshine. There was something about the way she carried herself, so elegant, wise, but still never put you in a position where you felt the lesser. “I really like your outfit, it has a lot more taste than some of these girls here.” She points slyly in the direction of a girl, sloppily grinding on a guy while wearing a near-to-nothing leopard print dress – as if that was still in style. Jessica rolled her eyes, it made you laugh. You were starting to think that maybe you would get along with these people after all.

Then there was Niall, the lover boy. Him and Maddy had been going strong for a while now, and honestly, you couldn’t blame her. Something about those baby blues and Irish accent really intrigued you, there was a story behind that boy and you wanted to figure it out. Although you two just met, the swift haired boy pulled you into a hug and welcomed you with literal open arms. “(Y/N)! Maddy has been telling me a lot about you! Welcome to London!” You couldn’t believe that these people were being so nice, it almost felt unreal.

The last was a boy standing with a puzzled look on his face. “This is Harry.” Maddy introduced him. His name clung in your mind in a way that was unnecessary but you tried to shake that away. He looked nervous for some reason, but it was in a cute way. Darting eyes, small pink muscles coming out to wet his lips. Nervous looked well on him. He must have realized because sooner than later a smile rose upon his face, all his features lighting up as the corners of his lips lifted. His eyes sparkled, flickering of all these colors. You were almost mesmerized, so much so that you almost didn’t hear him speak. “I think we have a class together, forensics?” His eyebrows raised, if this boy was in one of your classes, how come you have never noticed? With eyes like his, you were sure to be able to spot him in a crowd. “Yeah.” You breathed out, were you holding your breath? How embarrassing. “Staccato, real pain huh?” You tried to redeem yourself, it worked for the most part, making the dark chestnut haired boy laugh. 

“Now that we are all acquainted, let’s dance, shall we?” Maddy squealed as she took your hand, leading you out on the dance floor with Stacy and Jessica in tow. You danced, you swayed, all four of you even bounded while out on the dance floor. To say the night was going great would be an understatement. However, the night was young and those three beautiful girls found a guy to dance the night away with while you drifted away into the crowd. The one sad thing about coming to a party without a guy is being without a guy. And if you add the nerves and anxiety to the table, meeting one didn’t seem like a possibility for you. Earlier that night being proof, the way things went down with Harry was embarrassing enough.

You found myself easing your way to the outside world, the night air drawing you out like some kind of special mating call. It was nice, the light thumping of the music mixing with the calm of the night. Like a scene from a movie, you felt like a star. “You too?” You heard from beneath you, causing you to jump back a bit, startled. Laying on the grass was a Harry, a slightly drunk, smiling, adorable looking Harry. “Yeah, it was getting a bit much in there.” You commented. His hand sprawled out beside him, patting on the grass for you to take a seat. You took a moment to admire his hands, they were huge and supporting these veins that made you bite your lip in awe. Your eyes followed a few of them up until they disappeared in the flannel, making you only wonder what was underneath. You sat, finally, and his goofy smile grew wider. 

“Why here? Why London?” He asked lazily and you couldn’t fight the dancing smile on your face. “At first I thought it was for a fresh start, to get away from the dreaded town I came from but it turns out it was for a guy.” You let out a defeating sigh, as Harry brought himself up onto his elbows. He looked slightly hurt, a little sad. “Y-you came here for a guy?” he asked, looking up at you through lashes that looked beautiful and faux. “No, no. My mother did. I was just a tagalong.” You told him and you could swear that you saw relief on his face. 

“So, no boyfriend?” Was Harry’s next question. It wouldn’t have caught you off guard if his eyes weren’t filled with hope, it was enough to make your stomach feel like a home for butterflies. “No.” You answered shyly, ducking your head down as you did. You didn’t want him to see you blush. “Good.” You didn’t have to look to know he had moved. His voice was extremely close and it dared you to look up, but you didn’t have to, fingers were placed under your chin lifting your head. Bright eyes were met with dark ones and you knew what was about to happen.

Your heart was pounding, beating so fast that you were afraid he could hear it. He was so close that you could smell the warm whiskey on his breath, it was intoxicating your mind and you soon found your eyes closing on their own, beckoning for the small gap to be closed. And it was. Cold soft parted lips pressed against warm ones and it was like two opposite worlds colliding in the best possible ways. 

It was as if time was standing still. You didn’t know this boy, not a single thing about him, and yet you felt like you’ve known him forever. It took one small movement from you, a slight touch to the cheek and it was like it flipped a switch, as if he was waiting for approval before letting go. His fingers laced in your hair, pulling you into him daringly close. A shiver going down your spine as you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip. You took no time in accepting the offer, letting your tongue slip past his lips. He let out a soft hum at the sensation and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. 

“Holy shit.” Your head snapped to the side at the words, standing there was Niall and Maddy looking down at you two with probably the biggest grins you’ve ever seen in your life. Harry didn’t seem to mind the loss of your lips however, he found his way down to your neck, causing you to stifle a moan as the couple watched with raised eyebrows and sly smiles.

“Harry.” You whispered trying to get his attention, and he hummed in approval, his teeth sinking into your skin making your eyes flutter, your nails digging into his shoulder. “You like that?” He murmured onto your skin and you could feel yourself turn bright red. “Yeah, (Y/N), do you like that?” Niall asked as Maddy giggled.

Harry's head snapped up at the voice, his face and neck became blotchy with bright red, looking at you with apologizing eyes. 

“We should probably get going.” Maddy said, gripping your hand and helping you up as you situated yourself. “Yeah, it is kind of late.” You replied with a nod, putting it off as if you were tired even though you doubted sleep was in your schedule tonight. Maddy gave Niall a knowing look before dragging you through the thinning out dance floor.

“I think the real question is did you like that?” You heard Niall’s laugh as you walked away followed by a stumbling Harry. “Shut up! You know, this is why I can never get a girl because of you and your – face.” More laughter came from Niall, “How about just getting your drunk ass in the jeep?” And with a final defeat, “Okay.” that was all you could hear of the conversation before you were bombarded by questions from Maddy.

“What just happened?” Was the first.

“Was he a good kisser? Because I’ve always been curious.” Was the second, that one made your brows fly up a bit too high.

“Dish the details, girl!” The only answer you could give her was the big plastered smile across your face.

Maybe London was going to treat you well after all. 

***

It had been three days since your very eventful night at Jessica’s party and you were still dealing with the endless teasing and questions. However, the person you’d rather be hearing from somehow had disappeared from the face of the earth. You hadn’t seen Harry at all, which was odd since him and Niall were usually inseparable. You wanted to talk to him, to possibly try and salvage something between you two, even if it was just friendship.

You don’t know what came over you that night, but there was no regret on your part. His lips have been dancing in your mind for the past few nights, waking you up in a sweat just before things got heated between the two of you. Part of you deemed yourself crazy for thinking like that about someone who was technically a stranger, but another part of you was yearning to experience your dreams in person.

The bell rang and it caused you to grip onto your book a little tighter. It was time for your forensic class, the one class you had with Harry. This was the make or break moment. He was either going to speak to you or act like you were nonexistent and you debated internally on which one you truly wanted. “Here goes nothing.” You whispered to yourself, holding your head up high as you turned the corner entering your classroom.

So maybe you slightly over reacted, in fact, he was not even in class yet. You let a sigh out and took a seat, watching as the crowd grew as the class filled. There was still no sign of Harry, and you could feel your stomach churn at that. Was he avoiding class because of me? You thought to yourself as you felt your body start to seep into your seat even more than usual.

“Okay class, this will be a partnering project for today. So, without further ado, find yourself someone and get seated – We don’t have all day!” Within seconds’ chairs were filled and partners were set, you didn’t know many people so it was not as if you stood out as a potential partner for anyone. It looked as if to be another day where you would be paired up with the teacher, again. 

You placed your head in your hands, sighing for the seventh time. The guy you liked was ignoring you, no one ever took the time to get to know you, and now you had to partner with some mid-aged man who tried too hard to ‘keep up with the times’. You could have possibly catapulted yourself across the room until you felt the presence of someone sitting down beside you. Removing your hands, your eyes quickly adjusted to a familiar goofy smile sitting beside you. Harry.

It was silent, awkward. You didn’t even get to croak out the soft ‘Hi’ hanging in your throat before Mr. Staccato started to speak, giving out the instructions of what the project had in store. You watched as Harry took notes while acting mysteriously normal. It was practically eating you alive. You needed to talk to him, to know what he was thinking and what the other night meant to him.

You took a deep breath, waiting for the teacher to stop dragging on before you spoke. “I know things got a bit crazy the other night, and I’m sorry – not that I regret anything, I just don’t want things to be awkward between us. We are going to see each other – obviously, and I don’t want—“ Your rambling was embarrassing, you knew that. You knew you were talking too much and that you were probably digging yourself the biggest hole but what you didn’t expect was the reaction you got. 

You didn’t expect Harry to have a small smirk placed upon his face as he looked down at his book so innocently, didn’t expect his hand to be caressing and rubbing soft circles on the warm flesh of your thigh. Didn’t expect to be thanking all the gods that you decided to wear that daring skirt that starred at you in your closet. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, eyes widening at the boy beside you.

“Harry!” You hissed at him, which he responded to with a hum. His hand was inching up at an agonizing slow pace, causing a warm sensation to stir between your legs, you could feel yourself getting wet at the idea of what was going on and to say it was driving you insane would be an understatement. “Think you can answer the last two questions for me?” Harry whispered in your ear and when did he get so damn close?

His hand was still now, no longer moving on your skin but so close to your core that you could feel the heat from his body and it made you want to buck your hips in anticipation.  “Y-Yeah.” You nodded your head slowly. You knew you were blushing, you could feel it, and it felt like the entire class was staring at you although that was nowhere near the case.

Speaking of cases, you had to answer the last two questions on a case study that you had not been paying attention to at all. “Consulting pictures A-D what can you tell us about the crime scene?” You gasped, but not because the question caught you off guard but because of Harry fingers that were ghosting over your underwear, teasing you in all of the oh-so-right ways. 

“Uh –“ Your eyes flickered over the pictures, trying to come up with an answer. Your mind was running a mile a minute and as you glanced at Harry with the most pleading eyes, he did fuck all but smirk in response, causing you to clench your fists as you made a mental note to get back at him for this.

It was then when he applied pressure, his fingers skillfully running over your slit in the most exciting of ways. As if on cue, the bell rang as you let out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Okay class, like I said, we do not have all day. However, I do expect this to be done and completed by – You guessed it, Friday!” Mr. Staccato’s voice snapped you back to reality. Well that and the loss of Harry's intimate touch.

“You really need to start paying attention in class. We can finish this later. My place? Seven?” Although it came out as a question, he didn’t mean it as one. It was more of a demand and somehow you were okay with that. You didn’t respond though, you didn’t have to, the dumbfounded look on your face being well enough of an answer. Harry then stood, “Maybe after that, we can finish the project.” His voice was low, eyes were playful as he turned on his heels exiting the room before you could speak.

Did that really just happen? It took you a minute to compose yourself. “Shower. I need a cold shower.” You breathed, as you grabbed your things quickly walking your way to your next class. You couldn’t get what just happened out of your head, or even better what was going to happen later. Your body was still tingling from his touch before, you only wondered what else his fingers could do. 

The time seemed to pass eerily slow as you jingled your keys in your hand. You had been sitting in your car for about ten minutes awaiting the perfect time to leave. Worst part was, Harry's house wasn’t too far from yours, so you knew your drive would be short, the clock struck 6:45 pm and you cranked your car, trying your best to ready yourself for whatever was about to happen. 

When you arrived, you walked slowly up the steps, you could feel your palms begin to get clammy and by the looks of the lack of cars out front, you knew he had to be the only one home. Nervous was an understatement at this point. You knocked, the door almost instantly opening as Harry appeared. He had changed from earlier, plain gray shirt and sweatpants now covered his body and you couldn’t stop yours eyes from raking over him.

He stepped aside, allowing you in. No words had been spoken yet and it made you slightly frown. He glanced back at you, giving you the signal to follow him as you two made it up to his room. It was dimly lit, and you wondered if he had planned that out. “It’s crazy, how much you’ve been going through my mind.” He closed the door behind you two, you could feel his hot breath on your neck, sending chills down your spine as strong hands gripped your waist. “You’ve put a spell on me.” He whispered, “But I like it.” He nipped at your ear with the last word and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You turned so you were facing him, everything happening at a pace that probably seemed much faster than it really was. You kissed him desperately as his back hit the door behind him and he chuckled in the kiss. You couldn’t help yourself, all the teasing and games were driving you crazy. He had said you put a spell on him but really, he had been the one to cast the spell.

It didn’t take him long to catch up however, tongue tracing your bottom lip as you granted him entrance. He couldn’t keep his hands still, they were in your hair, waist, sliding up the back of your shirt. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you and there were no complaints. “Bed.” You said against his lips, his feet moving instantly, making sure not to break the intimate contact between you two.

Although you hated to part from his lips, the dancing images of earlier that day came flooding back to your head and you knew you had to get him back for it. Staring at him with bashful eyes you slipped your shirt over your head causing Harry to suck in a breath at the sight. You smirked, you liked that you had that power over him. Next, you stripped your pants away and you could feel his eyes boring into you, it almost made you blush. You pushed him down onto the bed and straddled him. “No fair.” You whispered as you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he got the message and took his shirt off in a hurry. He kept reaching for you, trying to kiss you, but you slapped his hands away, you were in control now.

“Please.” His voice was below a whisper and the way he sounded so shattered made you want to give in and let him do whatever he wanted to you, but you had to stay strong. “Tell me what you want.” You beckoned, leaving a hot trail of kisses down his neck. You made sure to pay attention to his sweet spot, sucking a soft red mark onto the skin. Your lips kept moving downward, connecting with his collarbone, you felt his breath hitch in his throat. His body vibrating beneath you was absolutely beautiful.

You kissed your way down his chest, taking your time and paying attention to every muscle, every inch. His body was art and you were admiring it. The whimpers that were releasing from his mouth was also a very nice feature. “You.” He breathed, “I want you.” And you debated on actually giving him that. You reached his sweatpants, hands quickly to slide under them, pushing the thick fabric down to his knees. 

Kissing along the top of his briefs, the moan that left his lips surprised you. You had been with a few guys before, but you had never had this effect on them. You smirked, eyeing his bulge before you kissed it gently. Throwing his head back against the pillows, he let out another moan. You palmed him slowly, sweet sounds escaping him. You were starting to realize this was hurting you more than it was hurting him. You had to stick to the plan.

You had to get out of there.

Stopping abruptly, you stood up. You were silent as you started to pull on your clothes. “Wh—What are you doing?” His voice was soft but you didn’t answer, just looked at him. He was sitting up and yet still sprawled out. His eyes were glazed over and he looked lost in his own world. You took mental pictures for later. “I actually have to go.” You said calmly, tugging your shirt down. “You can’t just – We were – You can’t leave me like this!” He directed your attention to the throbbing state you left him in. “So, I can’t tease you like you tease me?” You raised an eyebrow.

He connected the dots then, his eyes narrowing at you. “You’re going to pay for this.” And there was that smirk, “I’m counting on it.” You replied, taking no time to rush your way out of his bedroom door. Your body was beating you up for leaving, missing his touch already, but this was all part of a bigger plan – a game if you will, and there was no way you’d be losing. 

***

Vibration seeped through your body. It was from the continuous stomping of the people around you. It was game night and you were here to cheer on your school, it also helped there was a curly haired boy who looked pretty damn good in the light burgundy jersey. “Now it’s time to get out there and kick some ass!” Coach yelled after one of his huge pep talks, causing the boys to get riled up and ready for a good game. “Not you Horan, sit down. No one wants you out there.” You couldn’t help but smile, Harry giving you a small wave before he went to take his position on the field, you were so lost inside your own mind, swimming with the things you’d like to do to the boy, you almost didn’t hear Maddy talking to you.

“He likes you. I think it’s cute.” You laughed softly at her words, if she only knew. The last few weeks between you and Harry had been something else. It was filled with secret looks that only you two understood, followed by under the table hand jobs and hickies that were becoming too hard to cover up after 10 minute breaks between classes. The thoughts caused a smirk to appear on your face, although things had been pretty heated it hadn’t passed the threshold of no return yet. Oh no, you were saving that for tonight. 

You knew it would be perfect, the boy would be slightly worn from all the activity. He would have aches and small pains and you’d help him relax, maybe a little too much at first and he’d be somewhat confused, but he would get it. He always got it eventually, and when he did, it was like a whirlwind of excitement. His eyes lighting up, his hands becoming grabby in all the right areas. You had to squeeze your thighs tight together at the thought, pushing back your urges until later. 

Roaring applause filled your ears, snapping you back to the real world. You figured the team had scored as you watched Harry jump up into the air, his shirt lifting in a way that should be casual, but it was so much more to you. As it probably was to half the crowd. Apparently, Harry believed that no one in this school found him attractive, but you knew he was dead wrong. Would you tell him that? No way in hell. The thought of him being with someone else shot a pang to your heart.

You must admit, for something that was only supposed to be fun, you were getting a little more attached than you previously thought you would. Harry had become almost everything. He was the guy you called when you needed help with homework, even though you only ended up making out. He was the one who drove you around because you didn’t want to go home and deal with your mum. He was the one who thought about you and brought you things to brighten your day, it was like dating without the official tagline, it was something different.

The game ended with surprising results. Forty-seven to nineteen, we won. It’s not like they were horrible at the game, Maddy had said they always seemed to win and come out on top, but the difference was quite unbelievable, especially for the first game of the season, and it caused for a celebration. Everyone found themselves back at Jessica’s house as always, bodies swaying again to the mind-numbing music. This time however, it was different. You weren’t a scared new comer who didn’t know anyone, you weren’t dancing and getting to know people all at once. It was quite nice to fit in.

Your back was pressed firmly to the wall behind you, eyes drifting over Harry and he took a sip of his beer lazily. It was cute, watching sleep seep into him as he tried his hardest to celebrate with his friends. His face brightened when he saw you, excusing himself from his fellow teammates as he brought himself over to you. The smile on his face was cozy, it made you laugh. “What? Do I have beer on me?” Harry instantly started to feel himself, pressing his shirt to reveal the muscles underneath. You had to bite down on your bottom lip, that feeling from earlier coming back between your legs. “No, just admiring.” 

Lifting your hand, you raked your fingers through his slightly messy and tangled hair, causing his eyebrow to arch. You two were touchy in public, but never to this extent. It always seemed friendly, or they tried to make it look that way at least, but right now you didn’t care who looked or stared. You were going to look at him with glazed eyes, and he was going to sigh at your touch, and the people around you were slowly disappearing. A smirk appeared on his face, and he leaned down, lips contacting the shell of your ear. “Are you trying to start something?” His voice was hot and it sent shivers down your spine. “I just want to take care of you.”

Those words were all it took, Harry took your hand and led you upstairs, his tired eyes showing some gleam of light. You found yourselves in the guest bedroom, locking yourself in as the music turned into a dull thump. “Bed.” You said before he could speak, you heard a small chuckle come from him as he sat at the edge of the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, and they dared you to turn around. “Shirt off.” You demanded again, you didn’t have to look at him to know his eyebrows were lifting, probably an all too happy smile on his face. You heard the rustle of clothing, first the sound of a loose-fitting flannel hitting the floor, followed by a slight heavier thud of a shirt. You grinned, finally turning around. Eyes gliding over skin, landing on a pair of perfect pink lips that were curved slightly. 

You walked around him slowly, his neck craning to follow your every move. You crawled on the bed behind him, balancing yourself on your knees as you pressed your chest against his back. “You seem tense.” You cooed, fingers grasping his shoulders, working the pad of your fingertips into the tender muscle. Harry closed his eyes, head falling forward as a groan fell from his lips. You giggled, leaning down to press kisses along his neck and your fingers continued to work magic on his shoulders.

The sight beneath you was absolutely breathtaking. There was Harry, mouth agape as his head pressed back into your chest. Soft noises would escape him from time to time and you constantly thought about how lucky you were that it was you that was in this room with him. His eyes fluttered as you pressed a small kiss to his temple, something innocent enough, but he knew your intentions. The smirk on his face was apparent. You kissed him again, but this time softly on his lips. It causes the fluttering to stop and eyes to open. Your hands began to move, to explore the body in front of you, nails across back, light touches on chest, anything you could do to tease and drive him restlessly up a wall. 

“(Y/N)” Your name left as a moan from his lips, and that was all that you needed. You were surprised that you had held on for this long, your stomach doing flips as your lips connect to his. The position was awkward but the kiss was sweet. Sending waves down your body as you move your way around him, straddling his lap as you pressed your clothed chest against his bare hand. “Not fair.” He whispered, tugging your shirt at the bottom, indicating he wanted it off and as soon as possible. A call back, one that made her smile. You let him slip your shirt over your head, cold hands pressing against soft warm flesh. It was enough to make you suck in a breath. You could feel him hardening beneath you, and it caused your hips to move involuntarily, bucking down and colliding with his. You moan in unison, the fact that he felt this good against you and you were still clothed was a scary fact.

“Tonight. I want to tonight.” Your voice was low, you almost didn’t recognize it and he gave you a look of question. He probably thought this was still a game, probably thought you’d get so eerily close before pulling away. Maybe it was the dark intensity in your eyes, but he realized this was no longer some play thing, that you really meant what you said and his fingers gripped your hips at that, dragging your hips against his in a sweet way. 

His lips were on the move at that point, planting kisses along your jawline and down to the crook of your neck. He made sure to leave his mark this time, wanting everyone to know he finally got what he was after, that he finally got you. He left wet hot kisses down the valley of your breast, his fingers fumbling behind you, his eagerness causing a small giggle to escape you. You reach behind you, stop his frantic hands and unclasping your bra for him, allowing him to do the rest of the work. 

A smirk was placed on your face as you watched his eyes widen and he slid the straps down your shoulders. It was not your first time bare in front of Harry and yet he looked at you as if it was, it caused you to feel a bit self-conscious, having a nervous feeling coming over you as the instinct to cover yourself came to mind. He however noticed your hesitation and took a hold of your hand before you could do anything. “Beautiful.” His words were soft, “I don’t say it often, but you, (Y/N), are absolutely beautiful.” 

Maybe it was those words that set a fire inside of you that you had never felt before, or maybe it was Harry soft lips caressing you in places that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. You don’t know how it happened, but within seconds you were flipped, back pressed into the mattress. You let out a small whimper at the loss of his lips, the warmth of him being away from you causing pain. He was taking you in, the sight of you, as his fingers worked the button of your jeans and you cursed yourself for not wearing a skirt like Jessica has suggested, but you couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t take the slow sweet pace Harry was trying to set up, you reached, crashing his lips back down to yours in almost a bruising manner, this time he was the one who was whimpering. 

Finally, fabric was removed as Harry got the hint, nothing but thin material separated you two from what you really wanted and it caused a delicious sigh to leave you as Harry lips began to trail, leaving hot wet kisses down your stomach to the place you needed him the most.

Although it was not as slow as it seemed, it felt like it took forever for him to remove your final piece of clothing, the only thing that was keeping you from what you wanted. His lips felt soft and warm as he kissed up your thighs, you could feel your muscles tense at how close he was, your fingers wrapped in the sheets with anticipation, you could feel your breath start to quicken. The sharp noise that left your mouth when his lips finally came in contact with your folds was almost inhuman and you could just feel the smirk placed upon his lips as his tongue poked out, licking a long swipe up to your clit, the moans escaping you almost uncontrollable. 

“Fuck baby, you taste so good.” Your hands were now tangled in his curly locks, softly pulling and tugging as you withered on the bed, the expert workings of his tongue causing you to see white. He hummed against you, bringing one of his hands to smooth down your stomach as he brought the other to your entrance. Without warning he pushed two fingers inside of you, “Fuck, Harry!” What left your mouth was somewhat between a whimper and a moan, you could feel the knot in your stomach begin to tighten, so close to breaking at any moment, coming close to your orgasm at an alarming rate. “That’s it baby, cum for me.” His voice was low, husky, it sent chills up your spine as you cried out, reaching the edge and tipping off into a world of pure bliss and pleasure.

Harry chuckled as he kissed his way up your body, “Shut up.” You said between soft pants, his lips finding their way to your neck. You could feel him, thick and hard on your thigh, drawing a breath from you as you realized what was about to come. You felt like you had waited your whole life for this moment, to actually be this close to him, to feel him in ways that most wished but hadn’t. He didn’t ask questions, but he didn’t have to. You both knew this is what you wanted, that this was something that had kept the two of you up for the past few weeks. You both knew that this was right.

He lifts your legs, placing them around his waist as he lined himself up with you. His eyes were dark as he looked down at you with admiration, taking in the sight before him. With ease, he slid himself inside of you, causing the two of you to let a drawn moan out in unison. You bit your lip at the size of him, you knew he was very gifted in that area, but to actually feel him inside of you was another story. It took a lot for him not to be frantic, you could tell he was holding back as much as possible, wanting this to last longer than the both of you feared it would. His hips moved slowly, trying to find a perfect pace for you two. It was all grunts and moans, and you were pretty sure he had marks down his back by now. “Faster, Harry.” You appreciate him wanting to make things last but with each thrust it sends an agonizing feel of need through your body. He obliged, not even batting an eyelash as his hips started to quicken, with each trust you could feel him getting deeper and deeper, him getting lost in pure lust.

The noises alone were purely erotic, skin against skin, a competition of who could moan the loudest. His teeth were digging into your shoulder, trying to muffle his sounds while your lips pressed against his neck, possibly deafening him with the sound exiting you. The headboard was hitting the wall behind it, and if it weren’t from the loud music that was seeping through the walls, you were sure every person down stairs could hear what was happening. 

“Fuck, (Y/N).” His thrust started to get more frantic, his release nearing him as you could feel your walls begin to tighten around him, your second orgasm coming down on you fast and hard. You gave your final moan, his name leaving your lips as you pulled him as close to you as possible. It was like the world around you stopped, you couldn’t see anything but stars, your heart was beating in your ears. It was the most amazing feeling to ever wash over you. He never slowed, using this new tightness to find his own release as he let out a small cry, hips jerking at random times, his body laying breathlessly on top of you. “Bloody hell, baby.” He breathed, his body rolling off of yours. 

The smile on your face couldn’t be broken as you laughed softly. Lazy eyes looked over at you, one eyebrow lifting. “Shut up.” He mumbled, face flushed from the previous activities. You were amazed that you found him so beautiful, even with small beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, you couldn’t help but find yourself so far in with the boy lying beside you. “So,” You pressed, moving your body closer to him as you placed a hand on his chest. “Round two?” You gave him a small smirk as he chuckled, his fingers lazily tangling in your hair as he sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

[ssa-dado]

Breaking down Hotch's apartment layout until someone from Criminal Minds slides into my DMs with the damn floorplans

- CASE BRIEFING: HOW HOTCH'S APARTMENT GASLIT US ALL

As an architecture student, I have a very strong (borderline obsessive) interest in analyzing spaces and locations... especially when they don’t quite add up. And one that has always messed with my brain (sometimes in a good way, but mostly in a frustrating way) is Hotch’s apartment from seasons 4–11.

The transformation from the bare, depressing space in s5 to the warm, cozy atmosphere with antique furniture and clever spatial tricks later on… it’s fascinating.

But also confusing as hell.

Because one question has always haunted me:

Is the apartment we see in Season 4/5 (where Hotch was stabbed and possibly SA’d) the same one he’s living in by Season 10?

(And since I’m a visual learner, here are the pics, because this mystery needs solving... I'll try my best)

(05x01 ; 10x05 don't zoom in, you freaks)

Seems easy to solve, right? The civil number is the same! Great.

121

...But hold on - what’s this?

(07x23)

...Damn, Aaron, your mailman must be going through it - 121? 123? Pick a struggle.

So… is it the same apartment or not? Because at this point, I’m losing my mind.

- VICTIMOLOGY (TYPOLOGY)

As you all know, the starting point is always victimology—but in architecture, my go-to is typology.

So, what kind of apartment building does Hotch live in?

Because once we figure that out, we can finally make sense of all the architectural crimes committed in his apartment.

We get a glimpse of his building in 5x02, and - without dragging you through a full historical deep dive (unless you want me to, in which case, buckle up) - here’s what we do know: it looks like this...

The building looks pre-WWII, likely built in the late 1920s–1930s, or designed more recently to mimic that era.

My guess is primarily based on the architectural detailing of the ground floor - the stonework, arches, and classical elements that give it a grander, more “expensive” look - and the distinct visual separation from the upper levels.

Spencer Reid moment - you can skip it if you'd like -> This actually follows a common design principle (partly influenced by Louis Sullivan’s theories) where different sections of a building reflect their function. The ground floor, being more public-facing, is more decorative and inviting, while the upper floors (where the apartments are) are plainer, emphasizing privacy.

However, the upper levels look stripped down, almost too plain, like they went through a more recent renovation that removed some of the og character. While it was normal in the 1920s/30s to emphasize the lower level, the upper floors would still have had some kind of textured finish brick, terracotta, or even decorative stone accents. Instead, here, it looks like someone just painted over everything... a bit sad, honestly… much like the man living in one of these apartments. Sorry Hotch but it is the truth.

That said, based on the photos, I hypothesized a possible volumetry diagram and main floor plan of the apartment building, including its functions and layout.

Knowing that Hotch lives in 121 (or 123… whatever it is today), he could very well be on the first floor. Old man isn’t about to risk climbing seven flights of stairs, understandable.

(Or, if we lean into the conspiracy theory that he has childhood trauma related to fire, it’s very telling that he chose a first-floor unit, making for an easier escape in case of danger…)

Our lovely Emily Prentiss gave us a sneak peek at the ground floor interior in 5x01, which - combined with a study of the window placement on the facade - helped me piece together a small section of the central layout.

From what we see, I feel even more confident about the building’s era - especially because of the beautiful wooden decorated elevators (yes, those are elevators, not doors... check the buttons on the side)

And now, for another Spencer Reid moment, part two -> In the early 1900s, when elevators were first being introduced in residential buildings, they didn’t look like the modern ones we see today.

Why?

Because men fear change.

Just like with any new technology, people were hesitant, so architects and designers made elevators blend in by disguising them as something more familiar - often looking like grand wooden doors or classic entryways rather than the industrial metal boxes we think of today.

This same pattern happened with building structures - steel (and concrete too!) was widely adopted in the early 1900s because of its strength, allowing for taller buildings, but architects still hid the steel frame behind stone or brick facades to maintain the look of traditional palaces. Even early cars looked like carriages because people weren’t ready to embrace a completely new form.

So, Hotch’s apartment building? It’s yet another classic case of early 20th-century architectural reluctance to embrace modernity - which, honestly, fits him a little too well. The man bottles up his emotions behind the calmest face just like his home hides its innovations behind classic detailing.

I see you, Aaron. You’re not fooling me.

Now, you may be asking - "Phi, weren’t you supposed to expose all the inconsistencies in Hotch’s apartment and finally solve whether it’s the same place or if they changed it?"

To that, I say… we’re getting there.

Because before we dive into the madness, there’s something that really messes with my brain - the window placement in Hotch’s apartment.

But to even begin analyzing that, we first need to understand how a typical floor plan in a building like this would be structured. And once again, our queen Emily Prentiss in 5x01 unknowingly led us straight to the answer.

The bastard even has a vaulted ceiling - right where I believe the main distribution area (aka elevators and stairs) is located. You can spot it in the pictures near the exit signs.

Also, just a heads-up... in the diagrams, the apartments look smaller than they actually are because I was too lazy to make multiple detailed drawings. (But hey, if someone paid me - hi, CM - I absolutely would) So, for now, I’m using that as a quick reference.

Now… the interior! Or should I say… the everchanging interior.

In this issue, I’ll be analyzing the Season 5 version - I even sketched out a small section of the floor plan (which could be completely wrong, because things change every episode).

From these pics, we can see that his windows are on the opposite side of the entrance - which, so far, checks out.

But wait... look down here! Check out the window placement in the kitchen. Thanks to that little detail, we can hypothesize that Hotch’s apartment is located in what I’ve labeled as "Unit B" - aka the unit with double exposure (great for ventilation, Aaron, solid choice).

From this pic down here from the s4 finale, we also get a fun little bonus detail - there’s what looks like a tiny dryer (or washing machine?) just sitting out in plain sight. And right behind Hotch, there’s a door that, based on the dimensions, I suspect leads to a bathroom.

Enough details to sketch out a partial floor plan… and there you have it!

A (partial) floor plan of Hotch’s apartment in its saddest era: bare, empty, and drowning in case files from seasons 4–5

And seeing more of his apartment in later seasons should be a blessing, right? It should help us map out the whole thing, right?...

Right?

...Wait.

Is that... a full-ass door on the right that totally wasn’t there before?!

Aaron, you hypocrite - you shut down Spencer Reid’s physics magic, yet here you are summoning entire new rooms into existence in your apartment.

(05x02 ; 10x05)

Alright, fine... where does that door lead?

(10x20)

Hot damn.

Referring to the home office, of course… and here’s some solid proof of its placement. Now, I’m gonna… step away for a minute… process... this... architectural betrayal… but YOU - you make sure to study these pics. I’ll be quizzing you later, got it?

Alright… and now… now that you’ve hopefully been studying (and totally not getting distracted by Hotch’s shirt hanging on for dear life - OMG LOOK AT THE [REDACTED])… focus.

You nasty.

Window placement.

Where’s the home office window? Exactly... on the same side as the others in the living and dining area (you can tell by the way the light enters the room in the pic on the right)

And since you’re all very interested in the architecture (and definitely not drooling over a certain Unit Chief), let me ask you this:

WHY THE HELL IS THERE A WHOLE FIREPLACE IN HIS HOME OFFICE?!

Don’t worry - I’ll answer for you. Since y’all are nasty.

Can I just say that it UPSETS ME to the point where I’m considering a 30-day diet of just drywall that THAT MAN - THAT FEDERAL AGENT - HAS A FIREPLACE. IN HIS HOME OFFICE.

(HELLO?!?!?!?!?? Whore.)

Unhinged. Because:

1. A fireplace is quite literally a symbol of family and warmth (fun fact: Frank Lloyd Wright always designed homes starting with the fireplace! Oh, wait. You might not know who that is, so now this just sounds confusing. My bad. Anyway, he designed a lot of cool stuff... moving on). A fireplace belongs in a living room or dining area, where people actually gather. And considering Hotch’s building is old, there is no way it was originally designed to have one in a private office. That placement is categorically wrong. You’re a terrible designer if you stick a fireplace in an isolated office but not in the main living space where it actually makes sense.

2. The writers could try to lie to my face and say, “Oh, maybe the room was repurposed into Hotch’s home office.”Wrong. His apartment has a big open-concept living/dining area with the kitchen on the side. And unless his place is secretly Rossi’s mansion (spoiler: it’s not), there’s no way the original layout had a separate formal dining room. And even if it did, the fireplace is still in the wrong damn place because formal dining rooms are typically closer to the entry.

3. They could lie even harder and try to argue that Hotch having a fireplace in his office is some deep, symbolic artistic choice - like, oh, he’s so devoted to his job, he’d rather warm his ass doing paperwork than sit by the fire reading Jack a bedtime story like a decent human being. Like. Come on. He’s a family man, for god’s sake. Either give him a properly placed fireplace or JUST DON’T GIVE HIM ONE AT ALL.

(Less is more, people!!! Unless, of course, we’re talking about Hotch’s [REDACTED]... oof. Damn censorship. Right when I was about to say something deeply unholy. )

Goodbye. See you in the next issue.

Hopefully by the end of this series we'll manage to sketch down the entire floorplan

Phi.

[wileys-russo]

a deals a deal II l.williamson

"where'd you find this place?" you smiled in awe as you followed leah into the arcade, the blonde not missing the ways your eyes had lit up the moment the two of you had even parked outside, exactly the reaction she'd hoped for.

it having been your girlfriends turn to organize date night leah reveled in the fact that it was already seeming to be a success before it officially started, and you had to admit the older girl knew you like the back of her hand with this choice.

with both of you working full time, leah as a footballer and you as a primary teacher you both made a commitment early on, the moment things started getting serious, that despite your hectic schedules you'd still make every effort to keep consistent with spending quality time outside of work together.

and so the weekly date nights came into effect.

they weren't always big significant events nor did they always mean the two of you left your shared home, the key takeaway was quality time and so long as the two of you were focused on one another then that was guaranteed.

"lotte put me onto it, tao brought her here on one of their first dates." leah admitted as you gasped sarcastically. "and you're not even taking the credit? oh baby i'm so proud of you!" you cooed mockingly, pinching her cheeks as the taller girl shoved you playfully, the two of you making your way to the counter.

"i'll be taking credit for all the games i'm about to smash you at my girl, don't you worry your pretty little head about that." leah smiled smugly as you rolled your eyes and she hooked you both up with a large bag of tokens, even further fueling your excitement at the fact they still ran their games the old school way, physical tickets printed and all.

"oh my love me and my pretty little head cannot wait to watch you eat your words!" you grinned in response to her call out, and given neither of you liked to lose and were incredibly competitive, it was sure to be an interesting night.

there was a reason the two of you stopped getting invites to game night with leahs family, both of you banned until you learned how to behave like well mannered young women and not hotheaded impatient numpties, in the words of her grandmother.

"well either way you can consider tonight endless tokens, if you can spend them then i will buy them gorgeous." leah promised, pecking your lips sweetly with a charming smile and offering for you to pick the first game.

"mm good question babe. what do i want to beat you at first?" you pondered, stroking your chin as leah sighed dramatically at the time you were taking, tapping her foot and shoving her hands into the pocket of her jacket with a bored look written into her features.

"oh come on!" leah groaned impatiently as you pivoted away from yet another game, amused smirk on your features as you finally stopped and nodded happily.

"basketball. lets start off simple!" you decided, grabbing your girlfriends hand and dragging her over toward the game, the blonde hurrying to yank you back as a gang of young boys sprinted past almost smashing into you, leah looking after them with a deep seeded scowl.

"hey lee, need i remind you this place is actually designed for kids baby, relax." you smiled poking at her cheeks as she huffed air out of her nose but focused her attention back on you, both of you slipping tokens into your sides as the game lit up and a strong american accent yelled out the rules.

"ready...set....go!" leah counted down as the buzzer sounded, both of you scrambling to grab the balls, zoned in on your own rings as the points started to rack up for both of you.

leah snuck a quick glance to your side, bright eyes widening in shock seeing you were in the lead and by quite a significant amount. and just as you said neither of you liked to lose, which is what lead to her next move.

"oi!" you gasped as the defender leaned over and knocked the ball out of your hand, shooting with her other, doing it again and again as you reached for the basketballs.

"leah!" you laughed at her blunt competitiveness, shoving her as the final buzzer for the game sounded and the blonde cheered victoriously, pumping her fist and doing a victory wiggle having just beat you by two points.

"you are such a cheat and a shit loser." you shook your head as leah continued her victory dance, snatching her tickets from the machine and shoving them into her pocket.

"nah i'm not, cause i didn't lose." she booped you on the nose with a token as you smacked her shoulder. "right well if you want to carry on like that. would you care to make this interesting then williamson?" you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest.

"mm perhaps, what do you have in mind for a wager pretty girl?" leah raised an eyebrow curiously, cocky smirk still curled into her features.

"if i win, you do all the dishes and the laundry for a month." you stated, leahs jaw dropping and your smile widening knowing she detested the two tasks and would often offer you anything in return for not having to do them.

"a month!? nah two weeks mate max." "aw, are you that scared you'll lose baby?" "i am not! fine, a month then."

"but if i win... then you have to do that thing i've been asking you to since christmas, with my special gift." leah cocked her head to the side, storm blue eyes roaming over your body hungrily as you frowned a little in confusion before it clicked just exactly what she was after.

both half jokingly and half seriously the blonde had gifted you a very ill fitting maids costume for christmas, stating as part of your gift to her you should spend the day wearing it, claiming it would be great motivation for her to join you in doing the housework.

you only laughed and put it away, teasing that not even that would get her to pick up a dirty dish.

but every now and then leah would find it in the back of the wardrobe and the begging would start for you to live out what was clearly a fantasy for the taller girl, and each time you'd just teasingly shake your head in amusement and depart the room with a kiss, leaving her without a real answer.

"fine, a deal's a deal." you shrugged in agreement which was clearly to your girlfriends surprise as her eyebrows shot up in shock and you extended your hand, wiggling your fingers eagerly.

"brilliant. a deals a deal." the blonde echoed as she shook your hand but not before using it to pull your body into hers, stealing a kiss and nipping at your bottom lip, pulling away with a cheeky grin as your head spun and your cheeks flushed pink.

"right, my turn to pick then. and unlike some i won't take an hour to decide!"

~

"how in the hell do you even do this? its got no bloody control!" leah huffed, the two of you sat on motorbikes as you raced around the track on the screens in front of you, the girl beside you far from getting the hang of it despite it being the second time you'd raced, leah demanding a rematch after crashing her bike and earning a loss.

"like this, winner!" you cheered loudly, pumping your fists in the air as you zoomed across the finish line sitting back smugly as leahs eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown and she smacked at the handle bars in annoyance.

"loser." you pointed to her now with a wink as she flipped you off, rings glinting in the bright neon lights above.

"maybe i should get a motorbike." you teased, turning your body as leah jumped off the bike, appearing instantly in between your legs as you stayed sitting side sadle. "over my dead body, maybe focus on learning how to drive a car first babe." leah teased making you roll your eyes, her hands settling on your thighs and squeezing them with a grin.

"i'm a great driver thank you very much." "mmm but those handful of fines in your glovebox say differently baby girl." "those are parking fines leah, not driving offences." "oh i'm so sorry. correction then not only are you a shit driver but you're an appalling parker as well, can't even be trusted when the car is stationary!" leah tutted with a dissapointed shake of her head as you punched her in the shoulder and scoffed.

"sorry let me just get a score check, whose winning?" you asked, cupping a hand over your ear and leaning toward leah whose smile dropped.

"shut up." she mumbled with a small pout as you slid off the motorbike, the two of you wandering around for a moment as leah took her time choosing.

"perfect!" the taller girl grinned spotting a football shootout game in the back corner. "and how many goals do defenders normally score?" you hummed, pretending to be lost in thought as leah slotted in some tokens and rolled her eyes.

"don't be bitter that they don't have a teaching game babe, times tables aren't exactly something kids do in their time off for fun!" leah pouted sarcastically at your chosen career, you now the one to flip her off and gesture for her to start.

"right go on then superstar, dazzle me."

you had to hide your smile behind your hand as leah missed more kicks than she scored, the game clearly designed for a child with much less leg power as every ball sailed up and over the goal.

you watched as her shots became sloppier the more wound up and angry she got, only fueling her to continue to miss time and time again. "nah this is bullshit that's rigged!" leah scowled, kicking at the machine once her turn was over and grumbling under her breath.

"leah!" you scolded, moving her away from causing actual damage as she wound up for another kick.

"hey. breathe for me please, it's just a stupid arcade game, you're still a champion of europe baby. nothing takes that away!" you grabbed at her face, placing a soft kiss to her lips and feeling her body relax somewhat.

"...its just a good thing they didn't need you for any penalties because those attempts? massive yikes." "oi thats a red card for you my girl, absolutely uncalled for!"

~

"right, this ones the final game." leah glanced at the time and announced with a clap, the two of you so caught up you'd not even realized the time and how long you'd been here.

"oh how convenient, we're tied." you rolled your eyes, not believing that the 'score card' leah had been in charge of was really all that accurate, having been typed up in notes on her phone.

"and what is that supposed to mean?" "i'm accusing you of score tampering, williamson." "no idea what on earth you're on about love, i'll even be so kind as to forfeit my turn so that you choose our last game." "wow, and they say chivalry is dead?"

"mmm that one." you nodded to a shooting game in the corner you'd not yet tried, leah humming in agreement as you made your way over. "was that your stomach?" you asked in disbelief hearing a loud gurgle.

"yes! i'm fucking starving." leah moped with a huff, earning herself an unimpressed look from a mother standing at the next game with her two young kids, you smacking leah lightly and mumbling about her language.

"sorry miss." your girlfriend teased with a cocky smile as you rolled your eyes and gestured for her to take her turn. the gunner shot down 8 tin ducks out of 12 and shrugged, seemingly happy with her efforts.

"beat that, four eyes." leah smirked, flicking at your ear as you smacked away her hands and shot her a dirty look.

you only wore your glasses when you were using your laptop, reading or occasionally when teaching, and as much as leah found you utterly adorable in them the english captain also would never miss an opportunity to rib you about your poor eyesight.

"happily, noodle legs." you quipped back with a smile, grabbing the gun as leah mocked you under her breath and ordered for you to hurry up as her stomach rumbled again.

closing one eye you balanced the toy gun on your arm as the game commenced, shooting down six ducks with ease, a few more to go and you'd win still with plenty of time left to do so.

however as you placed your finger on the trigger, the timer counting down from ten, a set of hands wrapped themselves around your waist, one hand in particular slipping up the inside of your top and harshly squeezing at one of your boobs.

in shock at the unexpected touch you squeezed the trigger and dropped the toy gun, missing the ducks by a mile as the timer went off and leah's hands suddenly disappeared, your skin burning where they'd once been.

"oh that is so not fair! you. are. a. dirty. dirty. dirty. dirty. dirty. little cheat." you protested with a growl, turning on your heel to glare towards a smug looking leah, poking at her chest angrily with each word.

"i simply do not know what you're talking about gorgeous, i guess your aim was just off. and that is not my fault!" the blonde simply smiled cockily, knowing she'd now won.

though sensing your rapidly growing annoyance leah reached for your hand, pulling your body into hers and stepping the two of you in between two pinball machines, briefly tucked away from sight.

"leah catherine williamson you are an unbearably bad loser, a big child, bad mannered, short tempered and-" not even giving you the time to finish your sentence the taller girl cut you off by bringing your lips together, pressing your body against the arcade wall.

leahs hands settled themselves on your hips tucked away under her jacket you'd stolen from her earlier in the night, the defender slowly swiping her tongue against your bottom lip, taking control of the kiss as your arms wrapped around the back of her neck, tangling themselves in her recently chopped short blonde locks.

though before the two of you got any further carried away someone winning a game meant a loud siren went off behind you, the two of you jumping away from one another in shock at the abrupt noise of the machines, sharing a look before breaking out into soft laughter.

"come on hangry, lets go get you some food then." you smiled with a sigh as leahs stomach rumbled yet again, previous annoyance melting away as it always did when it came to the mischievous footballer you were head over heels for.

"no i think we should head home, i'm hungry for something else now." leah murmered quietly, thumb stroking your jaw, lips curling into a smug smile at how your cheeks flushed scarlet at her suggestive tone.

"plus i think you're due for a little outfit change baby girl. a deal's a deal and you're nothing short of a woman of your word, right?"

[justevelynnnn]

sudden love.

night crawler x afab!reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Lots of smut in the second half of this…, PiV, oral s//x, reader is written as a female as well as being chubbier, slightly mentions of reader being insecure, mention of reader being tipsy, a bit of profanity at the end

Summary: Here’s what happens when you start working for the x-men as an intern and you run into a blue demon man 💙

Note: Sorry it’s been a million years since i posted but i just got lazy🙁😕😕😕 anyways live, laugh, nightcrawler

Part 2

You wondered how you got here.

In bed, with the one and only Kurt Wagner. A man who was so focused on being holy and pure…under you, fully naked and eagerly whining. His golden eyes bore into yours as you bounced on him. His tail wrapped around your waist tight. Fingers on each side squishing your thighs…

It might’ve started when you started working for the X-men as an intern. Of course, you first had to pledge to neverrrr share any big secrets you learned or plans shared during meetings. Then you got settled. You had a little office next to Jean Grays’s. Your job was the usual boring intern stuff…following scott around and organizing files and pouring coffee. By week 4, you actually memorized all the x-men’s coffee orders.

Jean Gray liked lattes with a bit of extra sugar. Scott Summers and Logan liked theirs dark. Gross. Morph’s fluctuated, sometimes they wanted a mocha sometimes also dark. Beast liked his coffee extra sugary…

At the end of the day, you didn’t want to necessarily be an X-man. You really just needed some type of job that would except mutants. But they all had a lot of knowledge to share, and you never turned down an opportunity to listen and gain some wisdom.

It wasn’t until you were in charge of setting the danger room schedule when you met him. Did he catch you off guard bamfing behind you? Maybe. Did you feel horrible after especially seeing his tail droop? Yup.

You quickly scrambled to apologize.

“I’m so sorry! You just caught me off guard..!” You say watching him shake his head.

“Oh, it’s fine. I get it a lot. I’m blue..covered in fur…bright yellow eyes…” He says in a nonchalant tone looking at the ground. He also had this strong german accent. He also was possible being sarcastic…

And before you could apologize again he interrupted by introducing himself. His name was Kurt Wagner, or Nightcrawler. Fitting…

You’ve seen him around but mainly in the danger room flipping and bamfing around. He was also ridiculously flexible and you think he has a yoga class? He’s also said to be very devoted to his faith. You then noticed his shiny cross necklace and his golden rosary.

You told him your name and he mentioned seeing you around himself. A sweet little compliment was sprinkled in you guys small talk and then he was gone quicker than he showed up. Though, you still felt bad for your initial reaction to him later that day.

The next time you saw him was a week later in the evening. You just were sitting there reading a book, decompressing after a long day of organizing papers and sending emails, when suddenly BAMF! and now here is Nightcrawler startling you yet again.

“GEEZ!” You shout but not really at him, also dropping your book.

“Am I really that ugly?” Kurt jokes pouting a bit as he perched on the coffee table he landed on.

“No! Just you-“

“Ohhh, it’s fine..i get it..”

He’s clearly joking with you again so you laugh bit. You thank him as he hands you your book and sits next to you. You quietly take in small details of him like his pointed ears or his tail or even the slight indication of pupils in his eyes as he looked at you.

Insert more small talk here and then he’s gone again.

You figured he either really was curious about you or was bored. The idea of him having some crush never crossed your mind. But this was the Nightcrawler we’re talking about! He could have any girl, mutant or human, so why choose an intern? Especially one like you with your thick thighs and plump stomach.

But as time went on, he started to find you daily. He found any reason to speak to you and anything to talk about. Inviting you on evening strolls or even his bible studies which he didn’t mind if you went or not. He taught you how to cook german dishes once and you showed him your favorite hiding spot in the mansion.

It really felt like a spark started. He really grew on you. He was funny, sweet, warm…

His compliments became more frequent too, each one making you blush even more.

Soft touches here and there..

Hugs that lasted longer than the ones before…

Prolonged eye contact…

Then months later the topic of relationships came up. It was embarrassing to admit but you told him you never had one… yet you were a bit shocked to learn he’s had a few back in his day.

“But you’re…?”

“Catholic. I know.”

“And you even..?”

He nods but then smirks. “I was a tad libidinous before…now i just want to…settle. Perhaps even find my soulmate.”

You blush as he stares into your soul on the soulmate part. Could he be referring to..you?

Your time as an intern was wrapping up but everyone loved you so much you just decided to stay. So, you went full time which means more time for you and Kurt to bond. You wondered what they could all mean… his stolen glances and the way he touched you sometimes…

“He likes you.”

“What?!” You say turning around, wide eyed at Jean one evening. Kurt had just bamfed away, but was she standing there the whole time???

“I said, he likes you…a lot.” She smirks. “I know how he gets when he’s in love y’know..i’ve known him for a while.”

“..Love?” You say quietly.

“You’re different too. He’s nervous to say anything.” She slowly comes up next to you and smiles. “But, i can tell you like him a lot too…”

You just blush. Was it really that obvious the whole time?

Could it really be true?

Then, one evening after watching the sunset on the roof and a deep conversation later you two were sharing a bottle of wine. In his words, “It’s fine to indulge in sin sometimes, no?” Probably joking again…

He was big on his faith, for sure. He says it saved him and you could tell. His devotion was admirable.

After the first glass, you already really opened up. Still in your work clothes, but feeling more confident and loose. And by the second, you were a giggling mess. Anything Kurt said either made you blush or laugh. You never felt so alive or comfortable in your skin.

“I wish this could last forever, y’know? This moment…” You sigh as the sun sets. It’s getting darker, the moon getting brighter..stars shining.

“Ja…this was a pretty one. This sunset. ” He agrees with you and scooted closer. “But not as pretty as you, dear.”

“You’re a charmer Kurt…but I dunno…sometimes I wonder why you chose me to spend all your free time with. Like, me specifically. It’s not like I’m one of your gorgeous fan girls..” You play with the hem of your button down vest, it’s untucked now a sign of you being more comfortable.

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a bit. It makes you nervous. So nervous you accidentally pulled a few threads from your vest. You weren’t looking for pity, no. You were genuinely curious. He’s famous, well known. In great shape. Strong morals… It just really bewildered you.

Were you insecure…? Maybe just a bit..who isn’t? You try everyday to be more confident. You were working for the x-men for crying out loud! It was a big deal. But sometimes, you wished you were a bit..different. Slimmer, more graceful even.

“Y/n….” He said finally. It was a soft tone, softer than usual. Gentle…

You don’t say anything but you just look into his eyes.

“I’ve never felt so strongly for a woman before..for anyone before. You truly don’t realize how beautiful you are. Inside and out. There is something magnetic about you that draws me to you…” He takes your hand and kisses it. Your heart explodes. No one has ever talked you like this before.

“Kurt…”

“I’ve been thinking about asking for a while…getting to know you for these past several months has been memorable. I feel we’re forming a strong connection. One that can last is years…y/n, would I…be wrong to ask you to be mine?”

Everything happened so quickly next.

You drunkenly kissed him after he asked you that. In your head that was an answer. You immediately regretted it, feeling you stepped out of line but before you could apologize he kissed you right back. And passionately. Like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. It was getting dark now and bit chilly honestly but the heat of his body against yours kept you warm enough.

Then instead of a hard roof, you were suddenly on a softer surface. A bed.

Kurt’s bed. In Kurt’s room.

“Is it okay?” He asked panting as he pulled back and saw you realize what had happened. “Being here..I mean..”

“Are we gonna…?” You say also panting.

“Do you want to?”

You think for a moment. Were you really going to lose your virginity to an Xman?

He already has a condom in hand by the time you nod. He pulls off his shirt exposing his furry toned torso. He softly kisses you again and you hum. You wondered if it was the alcohol or the way his hands felt on your body was making you feel so good. You allowed him to slowly take off your clothes. Piece by piece.

He was gentle with removing everything, but carelessly threw them on the ground behind him once it was off.

He stopped admired you once you were fully undressed. It made you want to hide behind your hands. The pure look of lust he had in his eyes…eyes that glistened at this point.

He traced a finger along your curves and folds, stopping to kiss some parts. You never felt this way before. It was like he was worshiping you.

He knew you were inexperienced so he took his time. When he was between your legs getting you ready he was ever so tender. He fingered you ever so slowly. Whispering praises as you took his finger because with him one was honestly enough. Then his head was between your thighs as he licked your folds delicately as well, savoring each swipe of his tongue. He had a way of making your legs shake, your back bend and you to sing his name.

When he felt you were ready for him he ever so teasingly slow rolled the condom on and inched slowly inside of you. Of course he made sure you were ready before he started to enter you. It did hurt a bit at first, like an intense stretch with some pressure. It definitely took a while especially given..his size.

But he was patient, and gentle and understanding.

Then he started thrusting. And thrusting. And groaning and moaning and gripping and kissing. The whole bed moved as the two of you moved. He thrusted slowly but deeply, pulling out completely and thrusting his whole length back inside you.

At some point your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. You swore you saw heaven as he hit a spot on the inside.

Every part of you burned hot with pleasure. You barely registered your own orgasm several minutes later and he licked a spot he bit on your neck moments before. He didn’t finish long after, plopping next to you panting. His tail laid across you on purpose. He then smiled goofily at you like he didn’t just have you under him seeing star’s minutes ago.

Your skin was sticky and your legs ached.

But you weren’t done.

You flipped him over and climbed on top of him. He was stunned, but let you as he was once again mesmerized by your nude body. He was a sucker for breasts.

You felt dominant as you straddles him with your thick thighs, positioned him with your entrance and slowly sunk down. Again, it was a stretch at first. Kurt was definitely blessed in the manhood department, but this was a position you knew about from before and you knew it was for more experienced people. Yet, it could’ve been the liquid courage too.

As you started to move, Kurt unraveled. That confident horny man from an hour ago? The one who had you nearly cumming in his mouth from slow flicks with his tongue? Or, hell, a single wink after some dirty joke?

Well, now he’s ready to bust himself from any simple moment you make. His hands rest in the sides of your hips as he helped you but you still did most of the work. Now slightly bouncing more and quicker after growing more confident.

This is who you thought Kurt to be. It’s nice to see this shy and submissive version of him. He tilted his head back as you wiggle against his pelvis. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he held back.

It was mesmerizing to watch him come undone too. The way his mouth was parted, intoxicating noises escaping him. The way his dark hair stuck to his damp fur on his forehead. The way his cheeks darkened ever so slightly from being dominated…

It wasn’t long before he came again. His moans louder this time. Even drawing out your name.

You laid on top of him, knees even more achey than before, heart pumping so hard you swore he could feel it or even hear it.

You two stayed like that for a while. This time done for real. Both exhausted but utterly satisfied.

Kurt eventually helped clean up. He wiped you gently with a damp towel and gave you an oversized shirt to wear to cover up. Even getting you water after you used his bathroom.

“That was…hm..” Kurt said quietly laying next to you once everything was cleaned.

“It was fucking incredible.” You responded quietly. Inside you kept asking yourself…how did this happen?

“..Ja…” He sighs. “Wanna make this a weekly event?”

And after this? How could one not not agree?

[elementroar]

Analysis of Paracelsus' initial bloodlust and its longlasting effects on A.B.A (Part 2)

Analysis behind the backstory and personal story arcs of A.B.A. and Paracelsus (part 1)

So this actually started out more of a 'funny' post, but I realized that it really is a very important insight into how A.B.A. and Paracelsus function and interact, especially for his earlier days in XX/Accent Core +R

And I wasn't joking about the vore. It's not in the erotic sense...but it certainly is in the 'literally eating parts of your partner ' sense...

Also apologies for the long word dumps, it got wordier and longer than I expected.

Paracelsus (used to) REALLY love blood

It goes without saying, Paracelsus really loves blood. Well he used to anyway.

By STRIVE, he says he felt he lost his sanity whenever he gets hyped on blood in the past. To the point, he has sworn off blood (and violence) as if it was an addiction. Basically, he has managed to go clean sometime between their last appearance and STRIVE.

To not go too far into his backstory again (which you can read here), Paracelsus is a magical axe that fed on blood and increased his own power with blood; and would use warriors as hosts to cause more bloodshed and thus gain more blood and power for himself. Paracelsus doesn't need to 'eat' blood to survive (he was left host-less for about 20 years, and now abstains in STRIVE and is just fine), making the addiction metaphor seem to be accurate.

Back in XX/ACCENT CORE, he needed to drink fresh blood to transform into his superpowered Moroha mode (this is mechanically replaced by Jealous Rage mode now). Similar to his current gameplay, he could get blood and transform by A.B.A. piercing someone with his bladed end; or if A.B.A. fed him one of three blood packs she'd have on her.

He reacts pretty much like a dog getting a treat, anticipating it when she reaches into her pockets for a pack too. And he truly didn't care where the blood comes from, even if it's from A.B.A. herself.

A.B.A. coughs up blood and all Paracelsus wants to do is have a taste. Note that he barely actually reacts to her or himself getting hit or fighting in the old games. It's kind of a stark contrast to his many reactions and concern for her wellbeing now.

Make no mistake, despite being "kinder and gentler" than how he treated his previous hosts - by not completely mind controlling her into a frenzy and caring enough that he doesn't want her to die - Paracelsus was truly obsessed with drinking blood still, and all the fighting skills and power he imparted on A.B.A. was to make her strong enough to defeat opponents and gather blood for him too. Hence the 'manipulation' he felt guilty of in STRIVE.

And he gets even more bloodthirsty in Moroha mode aka what Paracelsus is without his 'sanity'.

You're the worse you when on blood

Prior to STRIVE and Paracelsus' current sludgy form, his powered-up form gave him a goat's head and his persona changes into that of his old berserker self.

This increase in aggression and bloodlust also affected A.B.A. through their empathetic bond, making her also take joy in violence and also clearly hyperventilating and tweaking out in some animations, like she's high.

Not to mention that to fight in this mode, every time Paracelsus makes a successful attack, A.B.A. also gets damaged (hence 'Moroha' mode as it means 'double-edged'). In-universe, this could mean that Paracelsus is sapping both the blood of an opponent and A.B.A. at the same time, indiscriminately as he says.

And he seems somewhat crueler in this form, as he has an even more violent and vicious state above Moroha mode called Goku Moroha mode. He enters it by consuming another blood pack, but he also seems to bite down on A.B.A.'s hand without a care and holds onto it while he transforms.

The impact of all this on A.B.A

Picking up Paracelsus was truly a double-edged sword/axe for A.B.A. On one hand, he was older and savvier about the outside world (even though he spent like 20 years just rusting away on the ground somewhere) and having him as her emotional support key and literal weapon led her to actually daring to explore the outside world, and he provided and (attempted to) advised her on things she didn't know about.

On the other hand, Paracelsus' satiating his bloodthirst was still his main objective, and it was also hurting A.B.A. Although Paracelsus was making some effort to not outright get her killed, A.B.A's additional resilience as a homunculus probably also helped her survive take being Paracelsus' host as long as she did.

Paracelsus was the original toxic element in their relationship, and it's likely over the years he's come to realize and regrets the harm he was doing to A.B.A. constantly, and why he has completely sworn off blood and violence entirely by STRIVE.

However, his bloodlust fueled and amplified the worse tendencies of A.B.A. from early on, and this seems to have stuck with her till the present in STRIVE. Her current extremely violent reaction when feeling jealousy or anxiety is likely how she's been conditioned to do so by Paracelsus, even when he himself is no longer the source of that bloodlust.

The difference now is that A.B.A.'s new powered-up state of Jealous Rage is mainly fueled by her wrath and fear instead of Paracelsus' bloodlust. Paracelsus becomes sludge now, affected by the toxicity of her unstable emotions going haywire and her will becoming decidedly dominant over his. The one who is toxic has become inverted.

What's more, it seems that the skills Paracelsus imparted on her before also carried over and stuck with her, allowing her to fight independently since Paracelsus isn't trying to encourage her to violence this time. She's become so dominant that she now can even force a new form/transformation onto Paracelsus when she does her Overdrive The Law is Key, Key is King while in Jealous Rage.

In the game files, this red form is called the "Hyoui" form, meaning 'possession'. It being red is interesting because it seems to be a callback to Paracelsus' moniker of being the Sanguine Gale. The concept art also shows the pretty disturbing way he's being morphed into it by A.B.A. when she does the Overdrive.

When in her Jealous Rage mode, the bottom half Paracelsus' where his axe blade is, somehow becomes more axe-like than it ever has been in the games. In the earlier games, his blade half didn't change, only his head does into the goat-head. What's more disturbing is that eyes already started appearing on the axe half even while Paracelsus tries to maintain his original face as much as possible.

When executing the Overdrive, A.B.A. swings with the axe half as the sludge pulls from Paracelsus' face to form this new toothed red axe head. Is it a new persona? Is Paracelsus still conscious in his face half or in the axe half at all? Does 'possession' have double meaning where A.B.A. is possessed by her own wrath, but also Paracelsus is now the one being possessed by A.B.A.'s will into forming the red axe form?

The interesting thing too is that A.B.A. executes the Overdrive with precise strikes, liked a skilled warrior. IMO, at this moment A.B.A. ironically became the exact kind of warrior that berserker Paracelsus would have wanted and caused him to even revert back into that primal early form of his that was barely sentient. They gained perfect synergy for the attack, but both are literally out of their minds.

What started this post

Just a funny thing but the reason why I even thought of, and then looked into all this, was because of A.B.A.'s biting of Paracelsus at the top of the post. I was wondering why Paracelsus doesn't say a word of protest when she does this to him, then remembered that he used to kinda drink her blood (and turns out he too has bitten her before), and I think he's prolly thinking "I deserve this".

[angel5ofp0rn]

idk, just a thought 😋

141 x Drunk!Reader / Jealous!Ghost x Drunk!Reader

TW: implied drunk sex

(idk what’s up with me and making the reader drunk all the time ???)

also idk i just like the idea of Soap being a perv and Ghost being a fuckin weirdo 🫣

You didn’t expect the guys to actually give a shit about your birthday... Maybe it was just the excuse to drink.

Still, you couldn't deny that you loved seeing the squad out of uniform and all dressed up for the night.

You even put on a little skirt and low-cut top, curled your hair and wore makeup for the first time in months.

Price bought you your first drink just as a 'happy birthday, kiddo', but it didn't stop there.

Soap got you a few shots and Gaz let you sip from his drinks throughout the night.

You were feeling pretty buzzed by the time you convinced some of the guys to move to the dance floor.

Ghost watched quietly from his spot at the bar across the room. You expected as much.

The two of you have been keeping your distance; you were basically still strangers, apart from the random glances you give each other during training.

Ghost thought of at least saying happy birthday to you, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He wasn’t exactly an affectionate man. Wasn’t great at showing his feelings.

Feelings? The fuck was he thinking?

You’re just nice to look at, that’s all.

It was strange seeing you with your hair curled and your skin showing, almost like a real woman. He had a nagging thought that if the guys weren’t around, he would've gone over to you.

You and Soap are on the dance floor, you tipsy and swaying while he holds your waist, keeping you steady as he mumbled something close to your ear.

"I don't think so." You muse, looking up at Soap. He had asked if Price was watching the two of you, knowing Price has a tendency to act like a father towards you especially. "Why?"

Soap took a moment before he spoke again, the alcohol clearly getting to him. His words were becoming more and more slurred throughout the night, although he still had that Scottish accent mixed it that kept him sounding charming... though almost unintelligible.

"Y'know yer beautiful, aye? An' th' lads, they've been eyein' ya for the whole night. 'Course ol' Price, he's been' tryin' to keep us from gettin' yer attention… But even Ghost! Ghost thinks yer fuckin’ gorgeous.”

"Ghost thinks that?" You tried to focus your eyes on Soap’s, fighting the alcohol.

Soap leaned in even close now, his breath smelling like strong liquor. He even placed his hand on the small of your back, right above your skirt as he spoke again.

"Oh, aye. But we all do… I do."

You giggled at that. Soap's arm wrapped tightly around your waist now, pulling you chest to chest and murmuring more drunken ramblings into your ear.

You quickly forgot what Soap mentioned about Ghost.

But Ghost was still watching.

He watched the way Soap leaned in to whisper in your ear, the cocky smirk on his face, how dangerously close his hand was to your ass.

He watched you drape your arms around Soap’s neck, eyelids heavy. He watched how your eyes wouldn’t focus on Soap’s eyes; they kept darting down to his lips.

Ghost didn’t watch to watch anymore.

“The steamin’ hell’r you doin’, LT!” Soap calls after Ghost as the masked man grabs your arm and drags you off.

“Let me go!” You groan, trying to pull away from his grip. When that didn’t work, you tried to stomp his toes.

No use, he had those fucking steel toes on as usual. After more ignored pleas, you resorted into trying to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes; like an unruly toddler.

Ghost didn’t miss a beat. He easily scooped you up and slung you over his shoulder as he head towards the bar’s exit.

The second he set you back to your feet outside on the pavement you tried to shove him.

Stupid idea, really. Fucker didn’t budge.

“What is your problem?” You glare at him.

“My problem?” Ghost’s voice was low. “You were about to let MacTavish feel you up in front of everyone in there.”

“Who cares if Soap and I have a bit of fun? What, are you jealous or something?” You groan.

“Of course I am!”

You froze. Your eyes locked in with his.

“You’re… jealous?” You ask again, softer this time.

You can see the subtle movement of Ghost’s jaw clenching beneath his balaclava.

“You’re drunk.” Ghost states. “You should get back to base and sleep it off.”

He’s right, of course. But you don’t listen.

You don’t fully realize you’re doing it, but you reach your hand up and touch his face.

Well, his mask.

Ghost’s breath hitches, and he thinks of swatting your hand away but he doesn’t. He lets your cup his face. Caress his jaw. Rub your thumb over the fabric covering his lips.

He even lets you pull him in closer, lets you get just an inch away from touching noses before he speaks again.

“I cant kiss you.”

You finally come back to earth, your drunken mind suddenly sobering.

“Oh.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, both silent. Both unsure of what happens now.

“Guess I’ll just go-”

“I want to.” Ghost speaks again. “I would like to.”

“Okay…”

“But I can’t.” His huge arms cross as he looks down at up. For something so genuine, he’s saying it as if it’s a threat.

“Right…” You nod slowly, your drunken brain trying its best to gauge what’s happening. “So..?”

“I can’t have you flirting with MacTavish.” He practically growls. “He doesn’t want more than a quick fuck.”

You frown at this, eyebrows lowering into a scowl.

“So you won’t kiss me, but I can’t flirt with anyone else?”

“Yes.” Ghost acts as if this was common sense.

“‘s’not fair.” You roll your eyes. “You can’t do that t’me.”

“Well, I am.”

“Are not.” You challenge. You push past him and re-enter the bar, leaving him outside and alone.

“Bonnie!” Soap calls you over as soon as he sees you.

He’s sat at a table with a bunch of other men that you don’t recognize. He pats his thigh, inviting you to have a sit on his lap.

Ghost’s warning still fresh in your head makes you hesitate.

But who is he to tell you who you can and can’t flirt with? He doesn’t even talk to you.

You try not to stumble as you make your way towards Soap, accepting the invite to sit on his lap. His arm instantly wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

“Didn’t know you had a barracks bunny.” One of the men snickers as he looks you over.

You frown, looking to Soap, waiting for him to correct them. To explain that you’re actually on the squad- no, the best sniper on the squad. An asset to the team, really.

Instead, Soap laughs along with the rest of them, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Nah, nah. ’m keepin’ this bunny all to m’self.”

You had to have heard him wrong, right? Maybe it was the alcohol affecting your hearing.

Before you could defend yourself, you felt Soap’s hand sliding up your thigh, slipping under your skirt.

Your face is burning. The guys all laugh. You feel sick.

Flirting and kissing is one thing… Soap treating you like a sex toy is another.

“Soap, stop.” You mumble, pushing his hand away.

Soap gives you a wink. He thinks you’re playing some sort of game here. His hand starts to creep up your bare thigh again. His lips press against your neck.

“I said stop!” You stand up and shove him by his chest, admittedly harder than you intended to.

Soap landed on his back on the dirty bar floor, his face a mix of pissed off and confused.

Price was by your side immediately, pulling you away from the table as Gaz helped Soap to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Price, I just-“

“I’ve got you a cab outside. Get your ass back to base and sleep it off.” Price barked.

Sober you could handle commands and threats like they were nothing.

Drunk you started tearing up immediately.

Price mumbled something that sounded like ‘for fuck’s sake, kid’ as you turned and walked outside.

Ghost was still outside, balaclava lifted so he could smoke a cigarette.

You didn’t notice him as you slid into the back seat of the cab, but he saw you.

Then he saw Soap and Price exiting the bar one your cab took off.

He watched calmly, smoking as normal while Price stood with his foot on the side of Soap’s head/face, Soap’s cheek pressed against the pavement.

He couldn’t hear what they were fighting about and frankly he didn’t care. He wondered if any of it had been the cause of your teary eyes.

•••

You lift your face off of your pillow and squint at the caller ID as your phone rang.

You’d only been back in your room for about an hour at this point and you’ve been trying to battle the spins.

You swipe to answer the call, smushing your face back into the pillow and closing your eyes again.

“H’llo?”

“Make it back to base okay, kiddo?” Price’s stern, gruff voice came through the speaker

“Mhm.” You mumble your response.

“Good. Sorry about MacTavish; drunken Scot can’t handle his alcohol…” Price sighs. “He’ll be dealt with in the morning.”

“s’okay.” You nod even though he can’t see it.

“You sure you’re alright then?”

“Mhm…”

Price exhaled a deep breath. “Get some shut eye. I'll be seeing you at 0530 sharp for PT."

"Yes sir. Love you."

You didn't fully realize that you told Price that you love him as if you were speaking to your dad.

Price was quiet for a second before his tone subtly shifted to sounding more gentle. "Love you too, kid. I'll see you at five-thirty."

You end the call and force yourself to sit up despite your still tipsy state. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep with everything on your mind.

Well… with Ghost on your mind.

You call him next, not really expecting him to answer at all. He kind of doesn’t; there’s no voice on the other end, but you could tell he was there.

“Ghost?”

“Yeah.”

“So- Why… why didn’t you kiss me?” You stand up off of the bed and pace your room. More like stumble around your room.

“Can’t.”

“But why?” You groan. “Is it because of Price?”

“We work together.”

“So?” You find a hoodie and pull it on over your going out clothes. “That didn’t stop Soap.”

Silence.

“And I… I really wanted you to, y’know? And… I think I said ‘love you’ to Price. Y’think he’ll be mad at me?” You start kicking your heels off.

“…you told Price that you love him?”

You kind of giggle at that, hearing it back. “No, I didn’t tell him I love him. I just said ‘love you’ to him.”

You think you hear Ghost snort at that. “Are we done here?”

“Well, no…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to open your door.”

Ghost doesn’t speak. You look around the hall to make sure none of the guys would see you.

“Please?”

The call ends. Ghost slowly opens his door and peers at you from the small open space.

You look up at him, messy hair and mascara smudged under your eyes. Your hoodie covered most of your outfit and you were barefoot.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Can I come in?” You ignore his comment.

Ghost hesitates but he does step aside and let you into his room.

It was so dark in his room that you almost didn’t notice that he was maskless. Too bad you couldn’t see him better.

You didn’t really know what you planned on doing now that you were in his room… You honestly didn’t think he’d let you get this far.

Ghost’s hand touched your face. His thumb wiped under your eyes, attempting to fix your makeup.

The gesture was considerate though you knew he was just making the smudge bigger.

“I can’t kiss you.” Ghost repeated his words from earlier, but this time it was softer. More gentle.

You shook your head.

“We don’t have to kiss.”

[bunnybunbun0]

robert chase boyfriend headcanons

look whos writing fro a dead fandom again?! well boo hoo,im nearly done with house,and im experiencing dr chase brain rot,so heres this!

enjoy!

-chase is the type of guy to celebrate monthly anniversaries

"happy three months anniversary baby" and he has a cake and everything

-pays attention to your bad habits in order to prevent them. Like,if he sees youre chewing on your nails hell give you a pen to hold and stim with or a sucker to distract you.

-also,he is a terrible liar,blame catholic guilt for this one.

-if youre trying to hide your relationship from house and the rest of the team good luck,because this boy cant be sneaky for the life of him.

-we all agree he is a cocky flirt right? that is until you flirt back,then he instantly becomes a blubbering mess of shyness.

-you look sad? he will have none of it! Goofy mood is activatd and hell do every silly trick on the book to get a laugh out of you.

-will do anything posible and impossible to cheer you up;pull you in for a dance,tell embarassing stories from his college days,anything!

-it goes without saying that hes very particular about his hair,yet youre still the only one who have the privillege of touching it

-overprotective at his top. Hes okay with being made fun of or treated poorly by patients or the hospital staff,but when you become the target he's ready to show how far the medical malpractice really goes.

-if youre in a point in the relationship where you share a house be ready to hear the most obnoxious songs being sung at the top of his lungs while he does chores.

-loves loves loves! showing you hes strong; cant open a jar? there he is! your water bottle cap is on too tight? super chase to the rescue!

-after cameron he gets very insecure,so he needs constant reassurance that you actually does love him!

-small action that shows hes always paying attention to you;like pulling up the lose strap of your summer dress,covering the sharp edge of the tables with his hands so you dont bump on it and hurt yourself,refilling your bottle with cold water when he sees its running out,this type of thing.

-when he has the aux on the car and a romantic song comes on he sings in looking directly at you in a serenade style,bonus if the singer has a deep voice or an accent,then hes doing a full blown impression.

-gives the best massage ever,has your eyes rolling while undoing all the tension knots on your back,and he takes pride on it.

-you two definetely have a spicy playlist and when hes in a specially nasty mood he plays a few of its songs in public to fluster you.

hope yall have liked,i loved this baby girl so much

send an ask if you want headcanons from any other character