#i started writing with no intention of this happening

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[no-144444]

wingman paul- c.leclerc

summary: charles leclerc takes a liking to you at your brothers movie premiere... paul makes it happen!

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! mescal! reader

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Did you want to go to the Gladiator 2 premiere? No, not really. Was Paul forcing you to anyways? Yes, very much so. 

Being his sister (and emotional support person), he always brought you on set, to premieres, and anywhere else. That was usually fine. The rest of his projects' premieres had either been in the Lighthouse (your favourite cinema in Dublin), or small enough that you wouldn’t get too overwhelmed. You were famous in your own right, following after your sister and writing music. You didn’t go on stage, but you’d garnered over 10 million listeners, and your album had just been nominated for a grammy, though you had no intention of going. It’s not that you were scared or shy, you were just entirely uninterested in going out in public as a ‘public figure’. It stressed you out, having people know who you are in such detail, so you just kept to yourself. You had no public social media accounts, you didn’t allow your label to post about you unless it was about the music, and you only let Paul or Nell drag you out in public for one of their events. You liked it that way, it was comfortable. 

“I’m going to go say hi to some people, you just wait here, yeah?” Paul explained as you two entered the theatre. It was huge, and every celebrity or influencer in the world must’ve been there. You nodded as he walked off and allowed yourself to fade into the background, people-watching as time passed. You noticed the beautiful architecture of the building, the way the celebrities around you mingled, the way-

“Hello.”

You whipped your head around, startled, only to be met with a face you knew quite well. “Jesus, Charles, you scared me,” you chuckled. He blushed slightly as you turned around properly to greet him. “Hi.”

“How are you?” he asked, joining you in your secluded corner. 

“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” 

“I am very good,” he smiled, showing off his dimples. “I thought you didn’t like events.”

“I don’t, Paul just asked me to come,” you explained. “My mam would’ve killed me if I didn’t go, so here I am.” 

He nodded, understanding. “I tried to find you online, but… you are not a fan of that either?”

You chuckled. “No, not really. Sorry.” 

He shook his head. “No, it is ok. I just… wanted to talk more. You are very interesting to me,” he smiled. 

“Well, thank you for the glowing review,” you chuckled. “Are you enjoying the evening so far?”

“I am enjoying it a lot more with you here,” he smiled. “But yes, I only watched the first one a few days ago and I thought it was very good, so I am excited to see how this one compares.”

“You’re sure a charmer,” you chuckled. “I hope you enjoy the film. Where are you sitting?”

“Beside Carlos?” he shrugged, an awkward smile on his face. “Carlos knows, but I don’t know where Carlos is.”

You laughed. “Are you always this disorganised?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” he winked at you and the lights started going down, you just offered him to sit next to you, hoping that Nell wouldn’t mind. 

You two sat together, enjoying the movie as the night went on, and after you found yourselves at the bar, still chatting. He walked off to find Carlos at one point, looking back with a smile as he waved, promising to come back soon. 

“When are you going to realise he’s trying to flirt with you?” Paul laughed. Your face was bright red and your jaw dropped. 

You gently (roughly) hit his chest and scoffed. “Shut the fuck up. He is not.” 

Paul laughed. “He’s totally into you! Come on, go out with him, please! I want free tickets to Grand Prixs!” 

You rolled your eyes as he giggled, and then startled when you bumped straight back into Charles. “Fuck, sorry-” you started apologising but he just shook his head. 

“All good,” he smiled. 

Paul silently slipped away with a wink, and you were faced with Charles, once again. 

“Hi,” you breathed out. 

“Hi,” he chuckled, his dimples on full show. “He was right, you know.” 

“About what?” you questioned. 

“I am flirting with you-or, at least trying to,” he blushed slightly. 

“Oh,” you nodded, unsure what to do in a situation where someone was as brazen and blunt. “Right.”

He laughed. “Can I take you out sometime?”

You stared at him, total deer in headlights, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, sounds grand. Thank you.”

You internally smacked yourself in the face for that. But he just laughed, unfazed by your awkward demeanour. 

“Great!” he smiled bashfully. “When are you free?”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gay-dorito-dust]

i need more viktor fluff 👉👈 maybe some nightmare hurt/comfort if possible?

It was hard to remember having a nightmare once you wake up, almost as if it has never happened but yet the unsettling feelings of panic, distress and fear would still thrum through your veins as a reminder that what you experienced wasn’t the most pleasant.

Viktor’s body awoke him from his nightmare as he found himself struggling to catch his breath and calm his heart that was threatening to leap out of his chest, when came your voice from beside him.

‘Viktor?’

He winced, knowing that he must’ve woken you up from your sleep but upon looking at your face, you didn’t seem to mind the disruption at all, if anything you looked to be more concerned with him and his distress that came off of him in waves. ‘Are you okay? You’re looking a little frazzled there.’ You say barely above a whisper as you wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a featherlight touch that had Viktor leaning towards on impulse, closing his eyes as he recognised that he was within safe company.

‘Just a nightmare my love, nothing you should worry yourself over about.’ He finally says for the first time that night, focusing intently on the gentle caresses you give his cheek which felt like a thousand kisses within a single caress, before reopening his beautiful eyes to get a better look of you. Your eyes were half lidded, aching for the sleep he drew you from and creased pyjamas from constantly shifting for a better sleeping position, but you still looked beautiful to Viktor in the light of your bedside lamp; highlighting your features to make you look even more like an angel.

You raised a brow, not at all entirely convinced. ‘If you know me at all Viktor then you’ll know that I’ll always worry about you.’ Viktor sighs as you shuffled closer to him, pulling him into resting his head against your chest and you rubbing his back soothingly. You were too good for him but he couldn’t help but be selfish and melt into your embrace, listening to your steady heart and wiling his own to follow by example until your hearts were beating in a calming unison. Viktor felt selfish for keeping you to himself, but no one else loved him like you did and he didn’t want to loose that; Sure he overworked himself and that meant he didn’t have much time to spend with you, something he still feels incredibly bad about, but when you hold his face and kiss it like you’ll never do so again it made him believe he was worth being loved.

‘Sometimes I wish you didn’t have to worry over me.’ Viktor admits as he closes his eyes again, they felt heavy like lead, and your presence and warmth did nothing but make him all but ache for sleep. ‘I’m not worth it.’ He adds softly, thinking you didn’t hear it but unfortunately you did and you kissed the top of his head while tightening your hold on him. ‘You’re more then worth my worry Viktor, and you’re even more worth my love too while we’re at it,’ you began as you rested your head atop of his, ‘you have no idea how beautiful and pretty you are to me that I often loose my breath near you, and don’t even get me started on how attractive you are as your solving equations and writing notes down like your life depends on it.’ You felt Viktor stiffen in your hold and rubbed his back in response.

‘I honestly have to try my hardest to not just fucking kiss you senseless when you’re hard at work.’ You chuckle to yourself as you remembered all the times where you couldn’t help how you felt towards the scientist hellbent on bettering the lives of the less fortunate, an admirable thing indeed and you couldn’t help but fall harder for his heart like you did with the rest of him. ‘God you’re so fucking beautiful that I fell at the first sight of your amber eyes and your voice. It’s like an angel singing in my ears and I’ve needed let up since.’ You finished.

Viktor didn’t know what to say, you left him speechless with your raw emotions towards him, they left him warm and weightless in the best ways imaginable, and he knew that no matter what he’d say you would always finds words and string them together so eloquently that it leaves him having to accept your words as the uttermost truth. ‘You sure you weren’t a poet in a past life my love? For it seemed that you can weave poetry without even having to try.’ He says softy as he looks at you with a smile, gracefully accepting a kiss that you planted on his lips, feeling himself becoming whole just by the sound of your laugh.

‘No, that’s just love speaking Viktor.’ You replied softly. ‘It tends to make you do things and say things that you didn’t know you could. It can make you brave but I can make you reckless at the same time, love is a double edged sword that can either enlighten your look on life or darken it.’ You kissed his lips again, smiling to yourself when you feel him chase after your lips to give you a kiss of his own. ‘And you Viktor have brightened my life in ways that I thank everyday that I have you in my life.’ You finished as you looked deep into his amber eyes and seeing your forever in them as you rest your forehead against his own, breathing in unison as the nightmare that haunted Viktor vanished within your light.

‘And I am thankful for you being in my life, my light and my muse.’ Viktor replied as he took in this moment in hopes of engraving every last detail into his mind, mainly for his own selfish purposes, before sleep overcame his mind as he buried himself back into your chest and slowly but surely drift back to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to follow suit as you kissed his head and got yourself comfortable before feeling sleep overcome you too. So you tightened your hold on Viktor and welcomed sleep in hopes of seeing him there waiting for you.

[ventique18]

Dragon couple 🐉🌸♀️

When their first son was born, Yuu unfortunately resigned to her fate that she would be the mother of children named Malware, Malaria, and Malignant Cancer.

Her husband Malleus had named their firstborn Malleus. Which was not a terrible idea given the boy was his heir and inheriting his name could be symbolic, but she was certain there were not too many words starting with 'Mal' that could pass off as a name. So imagine her surprise when he had suggested that their second child, a lovely girl, be named Agatha.

"You're not insane after all. I was going to rethink our marriage if you tried to name our baby Malnutrition, or something." Her love for him had grown a tad fiercer, if that was at all possible.

When they welcomed their third child to the world, he had named him 'Lilia' and Yuu immediately caught up to his intentions.

"You realized we couldn't possibly give a good name that starts with 'Mal' everytime, so you decided to spell it out chronologically instead? Malleus, Agatha, and Lilia..."

"Oh, but my plan isn't quite as shallow as that." He commented with an eager smile, "We need five more children."

"Five more-- eight children in total?! Are you planning to build an entire Spelldrive team complete with a coach?"

"Perhaps." He replied, his grin both mischievous and secretive.

What ever could this man be planning? Some kind of ancient ritual that required eight of his own flesh and blood? World domination? Of course he wouldn't do something as terrible as that, but why eight in particular?

Seasons passed, years crawled on, yet their love for each other remained just as strong. True to his words, they managed to conceive their eight child after a few decades. They had the most delightful names, you see:

Malleus, Agatha-- the first two letters of her name stood for the element symbol of Silver, Lilia, Laverne, Eleanor, Yuuki, Ubek (he ran out of ideas), and Ulficia. They were his greatest masterpiece, the father would brag, and so he named them after an actual masterpiece that happened to exist before they did. Since their names were variations of the people closest to him, textbooks would then write him down as a king full of love and respect for those who had given his life meaning and became his strength.

... Or so the writeup could have been that respectable, if only he did not frown while reviewing such descriptions of him and personally wrote an edit request to the publishers. For they had omitted a crucial detail from their story:

That the first letters of their children's names, when arranged, spelled 'MALLEYUU.' Their names being variations of the people he care about were merely secondary. His main purpose was to immortalize in books his undying love for his wife, Yuu.

Later on, some would call him the Mad King; not because he was insane or cruel, but because they had never seen a ruler as madly in love with his spouse as he was with his wife. Their love story would then become a classic literary blueprint for centuries to come.

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[messyoungie]

HABITS TO DROP WHEN GETTING YOUR LIFE TOGETHER

➝ CREATING UNAUTHENTIC & UNINTENTIONAL GOALS

the biggest mistakes you can make when creating goals is making goals that aren’t true to you and making goals for the sake of making goals.

it can be so exciting when you decide to get your life together. I mean, of course it is! there are so many possibilities! but when you start planning, don’t just write down the goals you see circulating on social media. what works for someone else may not be what works for you. don’t make your goals and habits based on what’s trending or popular in the self improvement community.

think about what you actually need for a minute. what is actually necessary? your goals and habits aren’t here to be glamorous, they’re here to help regardless of how simple or small they are. the point of thinking up new habits is to improve your life, so be intentional with your goals. what will practicing this habit or achieving this goal give you?

when you’re first starting out, your goals don’t have to be anything too crazy or intense. for example, let’s say you want to become a pink pilates girl and get into fitness. you shouldn’t jump right into it and say your goal is to work out for 2 hours 5 times a week. let’s consider some factors first. have you been living a completely sedentary kind of lifestyle? then try looking for exercises that’ll wake up dormant muscles. your goal should then be to repeat those exercises for how ever many times a week. then you’ll work your way up from there. (it’s important we don’t harm the body, so be mindful with your fitness goals.) what about your schedule? how much time can you actually give to working out? can your body even endure working out for that long?

anyways, hopefully you see what I mean. when creating goals, it’s not about having the “aesthetic” habits and goals that you may see on tiktok or tumblr. it’s about doing what is actually good for you and what’ll help you the most with where you are now in your journey. so please put some thought into your goals and where they’ll take you. creating unauthentic and unintentional habits will also mean you’ll be less likely to keep practicing them after a few times. at the end of the day, that doesn’t help you achieve anything and you’re left with a broken promise you’ve made to yourself. which leads me to my next point…

➝ NOT KEEPING YOUR WORD WHEN IT COMES TO YOU

let me start off by saying this— if you don’t even listen to yourself, why should anyone else? (harsh, ik)

a HUGE reason as to why people have no self confidence is because they don’t listen to themselves or keep the promises they’ve made to themselves. if you have no self trust, how could you have any self confidence?

now, building discipline can definitely be a challenge so if you want to start somewhere easy, nip your false promises in the bud and stop yourself from making them. that’s what I did when I was first trying to stop this habit. when my addiction to tiktok was at its peak I would always tell myself the usual “ten more minutes and then I’ll stop scrolling.” when I wanted to stop making false promises, I knew I had no control or discipline so the only thing I could do is be real with myself. I’d cut myself off when I heard myself say “five more minutes” because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. if I wasn’t going to quit my bad habit, then the least I could do is be honest with myself.

the things that you are constantly telling yourself, whether they’re mindless or intentional, matter.

so, stop telling yourself seemingly harmless lies. unnecessary false promises that you know are false will only fill you with tension.

➝ SEEING FAILURE AS AN INVITATION TO GIVE UP

this applies to so many things.

you wanted to be consistent with your reading goals but haven’t read a chapter in a week? dont give up. don’t tell yourself that being consistent is too hard for you, that since you missed a week this habit isn’t for you. make your goal a bit easier or give yourself another chance.

you wanted to spend more time doing art but it’s not turning out how you expected? dont give up. dont give yourself the title of a “bad artist” and never pick up a pencil again. move forward, give yourself another chance.

you wanted to quit your Instagram addiction but after a couple days you went back to scrolling for hours on ig reels? Don’t give up. dont tell yourself that this addiction isn’t gonna go away, don’t go back to the bad habit because you slipped up. give yourself another chance.

I think a lot of us (myself included) tend to give up at the first sign of failure, instead of reminding ourselves to keep going. it’d be wonderful if you could get it right on the first try. if you could read ten books a month right away after not reading a book in three years. if you could watch hours worth of tutorials and sketch the perfect portrait on the first attempt. if you could uninstall instagram for good and never feel the urge to go back. that would all be so amazing, but it’s not always the reality. expect the best from yourself and do the best you can, but also give yourself some compassion. keep in mind that you won’t always do things perfectly right away and that’s one thousand percent okay. when you feel yourself slipping up on your brand new goal, don’t end it there at the first failure. allow yourself to move forward, because the only other direction to move is backwards.

[seven-seas-of-rhye-bread]

Ahh... Lucius Verus x F!OC

Sorry for the lame title, but my brain is exhausted from writing this fic.

This was inspired by that scene in the beginning of the movie when he's sitting in that bath-- it was so rude that it only lasted a minute!!

Warning: Pure smut ahead, 18+, minors DNI please!!

Disclaimer: I am but a dreamy horny bitch, this is not historically accurate besides what I could google ( and I only read the top result, so who knows how accurate). I am here for a GOOD time not an ACCURATE time.

P.S. sorry it ends abruptly, I'm chronically bad at endings, weee.....

P.P.S-- only lightly proof read, my b

xx

Cassia stood over the amphora straining the oil from the herbs and flowers it had been stewing with. An intoxicating bloom of iris, myrrh and cinnamon floated up from the mixture and she inhaled deeply. She might be a lowly servant at Rome's most exclusive thermae, but whenever she strained the oil Cassia liked to think she smelled like an empress. 

Alba, another thermae servant, opened the door and peered around it.

"Cassia? You're needed." 

"I'm needed?" She asked, confusion clouding her face. She was never needed-- there were plenty of servants, why would someone need her specifically? Unless-- oh. It was him. The champion gladiator, Hanno. Her heart quickened, remembering the last time he was there. 

It was after his first victory, he was treated to the best private caldarium in the baths. When she first laid eyes on Hanno he was standing in the middle of the room, facing the bath beyond him, the steam rising from the hot water. He was still dressed for battle, and his shoulders rose and fell with quick breaths as if he was still fighting. Cassia was silent as she made her way into the room, as servants were only to serve and not to speak unless spoken to. As she reached up to undo his armor, Hanno snatched her wrist and turned towards her. His eyes were wild with rage and confusion. Cassia wanted to cry out in pain, his grip was more than strong, but she remained silent, afraid someone would hear. 

In a moment he realized where he was-- that he was not in the coliseum and she was not another gladiator intent on killing him. Hanno's eyes softened with concern and fear as he let go of her wrist and saw the red imprint that would soon bruise. 

"I--I'm so sorry. I didn't mean--" his words trailed off as his hand fell back by his side. 

"It's alright." she assured him with a quiet and calm voice, though her wrist ached already.

"Is it okay if I..." Cassia started to reach up to his armor again. Hanno nodded and turned back to face the pool. She was careful with him, noting the way he winced as she raised up his arms and took off the heavy chest plate. She averted her eyes to the side as she removed his belt and loin cloth, before kneeling to remove his shin guards. 

Cassia stepped back, putting his armor and cloth aside. Hanno stepped cautiously, painfully down the stone steps into the water. He hissed as he fully submerged himself in the cerulean water, a trail of blood leading from the wound on his shoulder. 

Cassia blushed when Hanno let out a satisfied, relaxed moan as he sat back against the side of the pool. She had done this time and time again when there were games happening at the Coliseum, but she had never felt bashful like this before. She stood quietly in the corner-- her eyes fixed on the mosaic floors. 

After a long moment Hanno spoke, "what's your name?" 

"Cassia" she answered quietly, her eyes lifting to meet his. 

"Cassia..." he repeated, his eyes looking heavy, now that he was relaxed. He winced when he reached up to his hair that was matted with sweat, dirt and blood. 

She went over to the  edge of the bath, taking a small amphora from the bathing kit, filling it up in the pool and pouring it over his head. A small moan escaped Hanno's lips causing a flush to creep up Cassia's face. He was sitting at an awkward angle from her so she pulled him closer to her and poured more water over him, massaging the grime from his hair. Cassia took a small palmful of clay shampoo, and worked it into his hair. His head was lofty in her care, lolling around in the sublime comfort of being bathed. 

After his hair was clean, she positioned Hanno's head back to rest on a rolled towel and took a wet cloth wiping it gently at the blood and dirt caked on his face. She thought he had fallen asleep, but then his eyes fluttered open. Hanno reached up and tucked a loose strand of her flaxen hair behind her ear. It was such a gentle action from someone who had just killed multiple competitors. Cassia could see in that moment, he wasn't meant for violence.

Hanno pulled her face gently down and kissed her. It was deep but soft at the same time, and she would have continued kissing him, if her arm that was propping her up didn't slip on the wet stone ledge and land in the water. The hot water brought Cassia back to where she was-- and what she was doing. She stood up quickly, an embarrassing crimson shadowing her face. 

"I- I have to go," she said as she avoided Hanno's gaze which followed her as she laid out towels and a clean tunic for him. 

It had been more than a fortnight since that day, and Cassia avoided him at every one of his visits since then. Though she would be lying if she said she didn't take note that he refused assistance from any other servant, a fact that quelled a jealousy she didn't know she could feel for someone after one kiss. And now, tonight-- Hanno was asking for her. 

Cassia tried to keep her breathing calm and even as she walked down the Portico to the private bath he occupied, but her heart was beating too fast to breathe calmly. 

She knocked gently before entering the caldarium, forcing herself to meet his gaze in the candlelight. He was already in the pool, sitting in the corner, his arm hanging over the side.

Cassia didn't know what to say, nor if she should speak at all. Hanno watched her intently as she stood before the bath, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted. 

"Sit" he ordered in a quiet voice and she obeyed, taking a seat on the ledge. 

Hanno sat up, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. He slowly reached for her hands, bringing them to his face, inhaling deeply. 

"Your hands smell... like a goddess's," he said after a moment. 

Cassia smiled to herself, "I was making bath oil..." 

"Sorry to have pulled you away from your task..." he said with an air of cheekiness as he once again relaxed back against the side. 

He asked, "what are your duties with me?"

"my duties?" Cassia asked, her eyebrows lifting slightly.

"What are you to do for me?" he rephrased his question.

She bit her lip and looked down to the bathing kit that sat by the ledge. 

"I'm to assist you with bathing..." she answered, surprised that she was not as intimidated by such a suggestive question.

Hanno smiled at her, "so you're not to join me? You cannot bathe with me?" 

Cassia shook her head, but a hint of a smile couldn't help but grace her lips. 

"Would you get in trouble?" Hanno asked, reaching out to touch the collar of her tunic. 

"I... I don't know, but I don't think my master would be pleased" 

He then looked her in the eyes and asked, " aren't I your master in this room?" 

She was at a loss for words, but that was no matter as he sat up and kissed her. It was more intense than their first kiss, more desperate and hungry, and it lit a fire in her.

"Join me..." Hanno whispered enticingly, his breath hot and ticklish on her ear. 

Cassia stood up, her heart beating wildly as she walked back to the door. She hesitated for just a second before locking the door. When she turned back towards Hanno he was smiling. 

She undressed slowly, enjoying the way he watched so intently, she could tell he was stroking himself as she got fully naked and walked towards the pool, descending slowly into the hot water. Cassia had never been in a bath that was warmer than tepid, and she gasped as she fully submerged herself in the water. 

Hanno reached out and pulled her into him, his leg resting between hers. She could feel the length of his cock against her thigh, instantly making her wet and lusty with desire. He moved her over to the ledge and with a small gasp from her lips, he lifted her up onto it and went between her legs, spreading them. Hanno looked up at Cassia as he planted a slow kiss on her inner thigh, and another and another before licking a strip up her wet lips. 

Cassia moaned, her eyes shutting tightly as he began working her with his tongue. She wasn't inexperienced in sex persay, but a man had seldom done this to her-- they typically only cared of their own pleasure. She felt Hanno separating her lips with his fingers before slipping one finger and then another inside her. Cassia gasped and covered her mouth, afraid that someone could have heard in the relative quiet of the thermae at night. 

She felt blinded with ecstasy as Hanno continued to lap at her and move his fingers in and out. Before long Cassia was seeing stars, and slowing Hanno's hand-- her orgasm rising through her so intensely she instantaneously became sensitive. She let herself breath for a moment, coming down from the high as he placed gentle kisses on her thighs once more. 

Cassia slid back into the pool, her head still swimming with the intense orgasm. Hanno grasped her hips and pulled her into him again, letting Cassia taste herself on his lips. She felt oddly delirious with desire for him, her orgasm making her hungry for more of him.

Hanno rested back against the side of the pool and Cassia wrapped her legs around his waist. He angled himself into her, and he cried out at his first thrust, burying his face into her neck, biting gently at her soft wet skin. 

Cassia rocked her hips back and forth, his cock stretching her walls with the slightest bit of pain that soon turned into nothing but pure pleasure. Hanno fingers dug into her fleshy hips, pulling her up and down on his cock, slowly and rhythmically, as if trying to make it last forever. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his wet curls, their kisses gentle but still hungry, as if neither of them could get enough. 

Hanno's thrusts became frantic while still deep, ramming his length into the very depth of her cunt so that she felt breathless at each one. He came with a stifled cry into Cassia's neck and she could feel all his muscles tense with his orgasm under her touch. They stayed still for a long moment like that, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing and the water trickling down from their skin. Cassia eventually pulled herself off of Hanno, and settled down next to him, his strong arms strung around her shoulders. 

They stayed just like that for some time, not saying anything, just being with each other. She felt like she could fall asleep in his arms, and with a slight pang in the pit of her stomach, she actually wished she could. 

[nottswitch]

Hey love, i was wondering if you could do 22 and 24 with sub Draco :) ? Absolutely loooveee ur work and I'm super curious to see what you come up with !!

hi babe, i’m so happy you like my work, and thanks for your request!! 💘 it’s my first time writing for draco, so i’m a bit nervous, but also excited. hope you enjoy :)

prompt list

22. "not here, please."

24. "it’s all over."

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; draco m.list ; how to request

18+ smut

dinners at the malfoy manor had always been a fancy occasion, even with just draco’s friends – he was a bit of a show-off, or a lot, depending on his mood at the exact point in time. you were sitting next to him at the generously served table, sipping on the most expensive white wine one could find in the entirety of britain and listening to the guys discussing something quidditch-related.

his suit caught your eyes again, and you turned your head to have a better look – not that you hadn’t already seen it from all possible angles, but there was something about this particular piece that made you want to ruin the perfection that was the smoothness of the designer fabric. and you knew just the way to do it.

pretending to listen to mattheo’s endless rambling about the latest falmouth falcons win against appleby arrows, you casually slipped your hand under the table. it found draco’s thigh with practiced ease, softly caressing the silky-smooth leg of his trousers. immediately, you felt his muscles tense under your touch, which made your lips tug in a smirk around the rim of your wine glass.

"not here, please," draco whispered in a strained voice, trying his best not to look as your hand started traveling up, up, up, your fingers skimming and kneading his inner thigh. you raised an eyebrow, the gesture subtle, but obviously catching his attention even from the corner of his eye. draco swallowed, obediently spreading his legs a bit further apart to grant you access – the look in your eyes told him everything he had to know, and his cock, already half-hard, twitched at the realization of what was about to happen.

you watched the situation sinking in for him, and without further ado, placed your hand right on the tent in the black, silken fabric of his pants. draco’s fingers tightened around his own glass, as tight as his teeth were clenched – he prayed to everything that was holy that none of the guys would have an idea to ask him a question right now.

you slowly palmed him through his trousers, the time spent to get him fully hard being comically short. you felt the flutter of his pulse nearly beating out of his cock under your hand, making you feel even more powerful than you already were. draco’s thighs tensed at each movement, and you could hear his breathing getting more shallow – a sign that no one but you could understand.

a few torturous moments later, his trousers were unbuttoned, the bulge in his briefs now bared to the chilly air inside the dining room. a shiver ran up draco’s spine at the sensation, and he took another sip of wine to at least appear somewhat nonchalant. his gaze was fixed intently on mattheo, who was in the process of demonstrating a particularly impressive movement of his favourite beater during the game. under the table, hidden by the cloth, your index finger was circling the tip of his cock through the briefs, feeling the spot rapidly dampen with precum.

"f-fuck," draco quietly stuttered out, immediately washing the word down with a sip of wine. your eyebrow quirked up, and the next second, your palm landed silently but firmly on his thigh, giving it a punishing slap. draco closed his eyes, his hand almost squashing the glass, to stop himself from flinching. his cock didn’t listen, though, twitching eagerly at every single brush of your hand, be it a gentle caress or a smack.

"quiet,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the chatting guys across the table, blissfully unaware of what their friend was going through. draco swallowed and nodded, leaning back against the leather of the chair and pretending to keep up appearances.

your hand went back between his legs, continuing the up-and-down movements over his warm length. you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to cum, not when he was in public like that, so to say. he kept still, but you could see tears starting to well up in his eyes from how painfully aroused he was and how much he was already aching to come undone.

a squeeze, and there it was. you could see draco’s legs shake under the table as his cock was nearly bursting out of his briefs, string after string of white seeping through the thin fabric and staining his pants. your hand was safely out of reach, so you didn’t even have to wipe it, just pull it up and rest it on the table. draco didn’t have such a privilege, discreetly glancing down and realizing he would have to either clean all of this up somehow or stand up with obvious white stains on his crotch. he glanced at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something, but the only thing you gave him was a small shrug. however, the sight of his glassy eyes made your expression soften just a bit.

"it’s all over," you murmured quietly, so that others wouldn’t hear. you leaned in, your lips brushing against draco’s ear and making the tiny platinum hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "if you clean yourself up nicely, i’ll give you a reward once everyone leaves."

it took everything for draco not to whimper at your sultry words. he knew exactly what you meant – the night was going to be a long one.

[cheemscakecat]

A slight opportunity missed.

So, there’s not a whole lot that I’d change about Hank and Connor’s storyline in Detroit Become Human, but that being said.

The story takes place in 2038, and Hank is a Millennial.

Millennials don’t have that Gen Z knowledge of new technology, but they do have a pretty decent understanding of it and some have healthy skepticism. They aren’t like Boomers, who struggle to adjust to using new tech and fall for more scams. Like AI generated photos and scam emails.

There are Millennial parents that buy IPads for their literal infants and let them get brain rotted, but Hank doesn’t strike me as the type to do that.

I think there’s a missed opportunity to make Lieutenant Anderson the type of Millennial who doesn’t blindly trust new products in tech. He’s like the sensible Millennial who thinks linking your house up to an Alexa to control the lights, appliances, and doors, is dystopian. Literally does not see a point in doing all that.

Bro probably took one look at the Metaverse trailer, knew it was gonna be dog water, and laughed at its failure. Hank probably used to mess with phone scammers like this Officer:

Another change I talked about previously is having Conner be in use before the first deviant case, helping with unrelated cases. That way it feels like the Police have a reason to trust Conner enough to include him in the Cyberlife related cases. It’s highly suspicious for them to insert a police Android during an investigation that could make or break their company.

I would write Hank as still having reservations about using Connor, since he’s skeptical of Cyberlife’s intentions. He thinks Cyberlife is using this walking, talking recording device to mine information from the Police department [Which is true].

You know that scene where Connor scans Anderson’s desk to figure out his interests and break the ice? That would literally just make Hank feel like he’s right about the data mining. I’d have him sit down, not stoked about the android but resigned to deal with it, then get progressively more frustrated by Connor’s attempts to act friendly.

Then Hank stomps to the chief’s office and starts refusing to work with the android. Only to be told he has no choice. Lieutenant Anderson disliking Connor, not just because of what happened to Cole, but because he’s smart enough to think Cyberlife is using him as spyware, would be an interesting factor in their relationship.

I think the turning point where you can actually befriend Hank would be when you show up at his house and sober him up. Because a regular machine would probably just stand in one spot and call an ambulance. But Connor very stubbornly moves Anderson to his bathroom and starts briefing him on the mission once he’s sober.

One would assume this android is programmed to wait for an ambulance and confirmation that Hank’s okay, then request a different human cop to help with the investigation that night. But Connor’s actions are much more human and “illogical” than that.

He’s impatient and stubborn, two traits that Cyberlife androids aren’t programmed with. Maybe the Traci Models, but 9 times out of 10, impatient and stubborn androids are bad for business. Any adult should know that, Hank included.

The meaner interrogation could have been written off as Cyberlife programming a bunch of dialogue into Connor based on cases and movie scenes. That was at work, and for all Anderson knows, Connor was always programmed to be able to intimidate criminals. But it’s a lot harder to write off an Android dragging you to the bathtub and refusing to take no for an answer about investigating that night.

That’s human. Illogical, stubborn, overstepping his bounds… and human. Leaving the car at the murder scene, despite being commanded to stay, could have been written off as Connor’s spyware programming too. Not attitude or impatience. But in retrospect, it would make sense as part of his personality too.

[jujus-bizarre-blog]

SOC and CK allegories for the queer characters (and other thoughts)

I was going to make a separate blog to yell about books but I decided to do it here.

I AM NOT DONE CROOKED KINGDOM AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS SO EVERYTHING I SAY IS HAVING ONLY READ HALF THE BOOK SO FAR.

The Grishaverse doesn't seem to have any form of homophobia, but SOC and CK are chalk fulllllllll of what I can only see as plots that mimic queer experiences for the queer characters in the main group.

We have four queer characters (that I know of at the moment): Jesper, Wylan, Nina, Kuwei.

So let's start with the obvious, three of the four are Grisha. Obviously not all Grisha are queer, but all the Grisha in the party are. This gives them an automatic plotline of "hide who you are".

It could be said that since Nina is Ravkan she wasn't raised that way, and no, she wasn't. However since leaving Ravka she has been forced to hide for her safety, and not only that but she is frequently told she's "too much" which sounds a lot to me like what some people say about queer people when they think queer people should be less queer. Also Matthias is all about being "traditional" and "proper" and Nina's whole thing is that she is neither. Traditional and proper sound a lottttt like some people's arguments to be homophobic.

Jesper's I think is rather obvious. His father has a clear concern for his son being Grisha since it can put your life at risk. In Jesper's argument with his dad he goes off and asks his dad why did he never let him go to Ravka where he could be himself and learn about himself and his powers. Oh not to mention the fact that him and his dad talk around him being Grisha like it's some sort of virus that can be caught by simply speaking the word.

Kuwei's took a second to hit me but when it did I was like "ah yep, makes sense" and this is probably because it took me a hot second to realize Kuwei was queer. Yeah, apparently him being jealous that Jesper only looked at Wylan a certain way didn't tip me off... ANYWAY THOUGH. Kuwei is also told to hide who he is, but his dad goes the extra length of literally making a drug to help him hide himself. Is it giving anyone else Dorian's dad from Dragon Age vibes??? Blood magic for the gay son???

FINALLY, I will talk about my baby, the character I love more than anything else. Wylan. Here's the thing about Wylan, while I was reading SOC I wasn't sure if homophobia existed in this world yet and I was half convinced that his dad disowned him because gay. While his dad obviously didn't do that, I still think at the end of the day it portrays an experience that is very similar. Wylan is shamed, hidden, and ultimately his dad tries to have him killed, all because he can't read. His dad loathes him over such a stupid reason, especially since Wylan is absolutely brilliant at tons of stuff and the cutest lil guy. But I think it's that hatred of his son over something so trivial that really lends itself to being about something else entirely, Wylan being queer.

All four of our queer characters in the main group have different plots, but ultimately they all circle around the idea of hiding who you are and being ashamed of who you are. That sounds like a very common queer experience if you ask me.

I don't know if this was intentional or just a huge coincidence. As a writer myself I am all too aware of how easily accidental metaphors and symbols can happen. But I think about it a lot as I'm reading so I wanted to shout about it either way. I also have no clue if this is a common idea or not, I just know when I pointed it out to my friends who had read the books prior, one of who loves and reads them yearly, they both kinda went "oh damn, you right," but didn't see it before I mentioned it.

Anyway, if I missed things (or you wanna yell at me about how wrong I am, which is usually the more likely option) I'd love to know thoughts :)

AND BONUS THOUGHTS

This one is super obvious but I just wanna say it. Jesper is ADHD and no one will change my mind in the history of ever. This man cannot sit still, has been described as having limitless energy, and he seeks constant immediate gratification in the form of gambling and adrenalin rushes. COME ON MAN. I know I know, there's a lore reason, something something Grisha not using magic blah blah. No. No. He is ADHD and you cannot tell me otherwise. And I love him dearly.

Also, not a theory or anything but, y'all, I love Wylan so much. I just wanna give him a hug and a lollipop and tell him it's okay. He's so cute.

[httpsdana]

How about Paulo Dybala x reader with fluff 22 and playful/teasing 2 and a lot of fluff if possible?💖

Charming Disruption~Paulo Dybala

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

2-“I swear, I tripped and fell into your arms. Pure accident,”

22-“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?”

y/n was nervous. Terribly nervous. Tonight was the night she was finally meeting Paulo’s parents. He had been excited about it for weeks, but she couldn’t shake the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. She knew how important this moment was to him, and she wanted everything to go perfectly.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down her dress, trying to calm her racing heart. It was a simple dress, elegant and understated, but she wanted to look her best. She could already hear Paulo’s voice, that sweet, teasing voice, making his usual comments about how amazing she looked.

But tonight, she needed to be composed. She didn’t want to do anything to make a bad impression. And she certainly didn’t want to embarrass him by acting too affectionate in front of his parents. She already knew he would want to shower her with kisses and hugs like always, but she just needed to keep a little distance for the sake of first impressions.

When she finally entered the living room, Paulo was already waiting for her, a wide grin on his face. His eyes instantly lit up the moment they landed on her.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” he asked, his voice soft and full of admiration.

y/n smiled nervously, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “Thank you, Paulo. But we should really be going. Don’t… don’t be too clingy tonight, okay? I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of your parents.”

Paulo’s face fell slightly, but he quickly pouted, crossing his arms. “Clingy? Me?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Never.”

She shot him a look, hoping he would understand the seriousness of the request. He nodded but still seemed a bit disappointed, though he quickly regained his usual playful demeanor.

As the two of them arrived at his parents’ house, the warmth and kindness of the atmosphere helped settle some of her nerves. Paulo’s mom greeted her with a hug, and his father smiled warmly, immediately making her feel welcome.

Dinner was delicious, the conversation flowing smoothly, though she found herself occasionally holding back her affection for Paulo—no kisses, no hand-holding, just subtle gestures. And Paulo? He was being a little whiny, but she could tell he was trying to respect her wishes, even if he wasn’t happy about it.

Later, after dinner, y/n found herself sitting on the couch chatting with Paulo’s mom about everything from food to life in general. She was so easy to talk to, and y/n was starting to relax. Paulo, on the other hand, had been hovering, clearly unable to stand the distance between them for too long. She could feel his eyes on her, a mixture of affection and longing.

Just as she was laughing at a joke his mom had made, she suddenly felt a weight crash onto her, and before she could even register what had happened, Paulo’s face was buried in her neck, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

“I swear, I tripped and fell into your arms. Pure accident,” Paulo mumbled, his voice muffled by her neck.

His mom burst out laughing, and y/n couldn’t help but let out a nervous giggle. She was embarrassed, of course, but it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked so ridiculously happy, his body pressed up against hers with no intention of moving.

“I… Paulo, you—” she started, trying to push him off playfully, but it was no use. He wasn’t budging.

“amor, you’re comfy,” he mumbled, his face still hidden in her neck, his arms now wrapped more securely around her waist. “I’m just enjoying the moment.”

Paulo’s mom grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You two are adorable. I’ll just leave you alone for a moment,” she teased, giving them both a wink before excusing herself from the room.

y/n couldn’t help but laugh, even as she felt her face heat up from the closeness. “Paulo, you really didn’t have to do that,” she muttered, but she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him close. His warmth, his scent, his arms around her—it was comforting, no matter how embarrassing the situation was.

Paulo lifted his head slightly, just enough for his lips to brush against her collarbone. “What? I just wanted to hold my girl. Is that so bad?”

She shook her head, letting out a little laugh despite herself. “I should've seen this coming”

Paulo grinned, completely ignoring her words as he snuggled further into her chest, his head resting on her now. “I just wanted to be close to you, amor. I missed you. Besides, I’m sure I look so cute right now, you’ll forgive me.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, you’re definitely cute,” she teased, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But still, you made me look like a total fool in front of your parents.”

Paulo lifted his head to look at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “No one’s going to think you’re a fool. You’re too perfect for that.” He then pressed a soft kiss to her lips, catching her off guard. “Besides,” he added, “I’m not going to let go of you now.”

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “you should be grateful I find you too cute to be mad at you” she whispered, her fingers playing with the strands of his hair.

Paulo grinned, happy to be held by her, his arms tightening around her waist. “You think I’m cute?” he teased. “Well, I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” he murmured.

[redriotinggg]

Hahahahaha thinking about zosansopp and how seeing Usopp on Sabaody again—all jacked and confident—made both Zoro and Sanji realize their feelings for him and eventually, each other.

Zoro only ever saw Usopp as a close friend, but seeing him talk his talk and have the game to back it up, while also looking like that, is doing something to his heart, mind, body, and spirit.

Usopp has always been Sanji’s closest friend, but 2 years ago he forced himself to repress any feelings towards him that weren’t quite platonic. After his time on Momoiro and coming to terms with his identity, there’s no chance of him denying his feelings in the face of a taller, hotter, more confident Usopp.

The observant marksman that he is, Usopp is quick to notice the way Zoro is initiating touches with Usopp, where before, he’d simply accept Usopp’s physical affections. He sees the difference in the way Sanji looks at him while he rants and tells tall tales. Usopp had a hopeless crush on both of them before their separation and all of his feelings are coming back full force under their new attention. But then again—is he just reading too far into things? He doesn’t think so, but he did spend the majority of the last two years without human contact so perhaps he’s seeing things that aren’t really there.

As Zoro and Sanji end up spending more time with Usopp in a bid to get closer to the sniper, they also end up spending more time together, too. They each watch as their crewmate interacts with Usopp and show their affections in their own way.

Zoro watches as Sanji fails to constrain the hearts that come in his eyes as Usopp compliments the dish made especially for him. He has to admit that the cook looks handsome when he smiles at Usopp with nothing but pure adoration in his gaze.

And Sanji appreciates how being around Usopp seems to help Zoro lose some of that intensity that follows him around since their reunion. Zoro has always been infuriatingly good-looking, but he’s really attractive now with his hard lines and wide shoulders and tender smiles he saves for Usopp.

Cue the pining love triangle, with the three of them sharing longing glances and lingering touches.

Unsurprisingly, Zoro ends up being the one saying something one of the nights where the three of them have congregated in the galley.

“Usopp. Sanji.” The use of the chef’s actual name makes both of them snap to attention. “I need to be honest. Since we’ve all reunited my feelings for you both have changed. It started with just Usopp, but somehow, along the way, Sanji, you too…” Zoro breaks his steady eye contact for a moment and Usopp and Sanji watch in fascination as his cheeks flush. “You’re both nakama and my friends but… you’re more than that. To me.”

Not to be outdone by the swordsman, Sanji leaves the kitchen and stomps his way over to where Usopp is sitting at the table. The blush on his face and the trembling of his usually steady fingers as he holds Usopp’s hand betrays how nervous and embarrassed he’s truly feeling.

“Usopp, I’ve had strong feelings for you for a long time,” he confesses, the tone of his voice sending Usopp’s heart into overdrive. “You have always been my best friend. But before getting sent away and meeting Iva, I wasn’t ready to accept that my feelings went beyond that friendship. I don’t want to hide anymore. You deserve to know the breadth of my feelings and I want to show them to you. I love you so much, Usopp.”

He turns to Zoro with an expression that is both exasperated and fond.

“And for some reason, my heart has decided to want to extend itself to the mosshead, as well. Those feelings are new and a bit weird, honestly, but I’m willing to explore them since it seems like he and I are the same page for once. So, Usopp… would you like to be with us? Both Zoro and I?”

“As more than nakama,” Zoro adds.

“B-boyfriends,” Sanji further clarifies.

For a moment Usopp just continues to blink and gape at them. He still isn’t completely sure that he’s not dreaming, right now. Somehow, he manages to snap himself out of his stupor. He squeezes Sanji’s hand as he stands and brings the cook to sit with him and Zoro on the couch. Usopp places his other hand in Zoro’s firm grip.

“I’ve had a crush on both of you since forever,” Usopp admits shyly. “How could I not? You’re both so cool and kind—and hot! And you’ve both inspired me to become stronger and believe in myself. Having you as my friends already feels like more than I deserve sometimes. The thought of either of you—much less both of you—liking me like that is unreal, to be honest.”

“We wouldn’t lie to you,” Sanji assures him. Zoro nods along.

Usopp smiles at them both, flattered by their encouragement.

“I know. It’s unreal in a good way. I-I’m happy. Really happy.”

“You didn’t answer Curly’s question,” Zoro reminds Usopp, bumping their shoulders together. “D’you wanna do this? All of us?”

“Yes!” Usopp says excitedly. “I want us all to be boyfriends.”

Zoro grins. “Sounds good to me.”

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration,” Sanji announces with a big smile. “I’ll whip us up something nice!”

“Get me booze!” Zoro demands.

“In your dreams, you samurai wannabe!”

“Wait!” Usopp exclaims, interrupting their argument and stopping Sanji from getting up. “Shouldn’t we like… make it official?”

Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Official?”

Usopp smirks. “Yeah. Like this.” Mustering up his hard-earned confidence, he turns to Zoro and kisses him soundly on the lips.

Zoro doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He wraps his arm around Usopp’s waist and pulls him closer to return the embrace. To share the depth of his new but intense feelings.

When they pull apart Usopp turns to Sanji to kiss him too. The blond meets him enthusiastically, excited to finally do something he has long since dreamed of. Sanji cradles Usopp’s face in his hands as he presses kiss after kiss to his lips before backing away with a smile.

“Now you two,” Usopp instructs breathlessly.

Zoro and Sanji make eye contact for a moment, hesitating. Usopp gets a hand on each of them and gives an encouraging squeeze. That gives them both the courage to lean forward and close the gap between them, their lips meeting again and again.

“Not bad, Love-Cook,” Zoro mumbles as they separate.

Sanji smirks. “Lucky for you, Broccoli Top, there’s more where that came from.”

Usopp’s grin is wide and his eyes are sparkling as he looks between them. His nakama. His new boyfriends.

“This is gonna be so fun.”

[mugentakeda]

the tapping of his fathers pacing on the tile is almost enough to drive him mad.

“don’t let your brother’s incessant whining cause you to falter. this is merely a short visit to discuss the matter at hand, and then you’re on your way right back to ba sing se. he will try and whisper doubt in your ear.” the firelord stops to shake a finger at him. “do not listen to him for anything! i will help you in the best of my ability to have this taken care of.”

“i’m not,” iroh snaps impatiently, digging his palms into his eyes. “i’m not listening to him, father. he doesn’t care for lu ten and he doesn’t have to. he has his house and i have mine. empty words have little meaning to me at the moment.”

his father purses his lips. the sting of his stare digs down to the core.

“you say that,” azulon snaps, “but i believe this to be a family affair. its possible lu ten was taken advantage of because he was too busy protecting ozai’s wife and ozai’s children to protect himself. if that’s true, then ozai owes him. i don’t give a damn if he cares about him as his nephew or not. lu ten honored his house, so he shall honor lu ten in return by shutting his trap for once.”

iroh doesn’t have the strength to respond. he’d left ba sing se in a rush after receiving the news, and ordered the shipmen to get him back home on the double. he’s sick, he’s tired, he’s terrified and angry, and he misses his son something awful. the last thing iroh cares about right now is what ozai does or has to say.

there’s a heavy, sad sigh from above him. azulon slowly makes himself comfortable on the sitting cushion next to him, grunting as his bones creak. he sets the knocked over teacup straight again and refills it. the familiar heat and fragrance does nothing to soothe iroh, however.

“there is nothing i can say to make you feel better as of right now,” his old man mutters, sitting the teapot back down with uncharacteristic gentleness, “nor can i say anything sure about ursa or the children. but lu ten, he…. he is a remarkable young man. thick skinned and ornery. lightning generation at only 21, can you believe that? he beat you by a whole year. you must have faith in him.”

“it’s not about having faith in my son, father, of course i have faith in my son. but i have no faith in whoever has- has stolen him from me!” iroh suddenly exclaims, gesturing wildly. azulon flinches as his hands come dangerously close to knocking over the tea again.

your boy flagrantly disrespected you and stayed home to laze around, ozai had hissed, his narrow eyes locked straight up at the throne. both were kneeling before their father’s throne, side by side. i don’t know why you even bother. if he thinks he’s so grown up then he can save his own skin.

iroh didn’t bother to respond. he has nothing to say to his brother even on the best of days. all his life, he’s been nothing but a background character to iroh. always insisting on holing up in his room or office, never joining family dinners or celebration banquets. never one to offer his congratulations, but expects his older brother to offer his. yet, he always liked to think his word was of any significance to iroh. that he was always to be heeded. respect to his elders only means something to his little brother if there’s something to be gained.

flagrant disrespect. lu ten did not disrespect him if iroh never directly asked or ordered anything of him in the first place. he implied it, and lu ten pushed back. it hurt, but it would’ve also been the boys first true venture outside the fire nation. so iroh understood the hesitancy.

iroh would’ve just had lu ten by his side in his war council anyway. he would’ve never seen the battlefield or the city until iroh leveled it. not a spot of green would be spared by his men.

he had envisioned himself shooting a hole right through the flimsy palace wall with his lightning, and his son by his side. winning.

nothing has gone the way you made it out to be, great spirit. i don’t feel very lucky, as of late. the evening sun peaking through the tall windows of the corridor offer his thoughts no response. the general sighs heavily, and continues on his way.

the royal procession had gone through the beach house, along with the rest of the island. not a trace left behind. no sign of a struggle, either.

the procession claims it’s like they vanished out of thin air, sir, jee had whispered.

delicate situations such as this one call for holding the ones you trust most closer than ever. thus, iroh took only his personal guards from ba sing se back with him. jee is a rugged and introverted man, one that iroh knows can keep a secret, so he has been acting as his messenger man and valet for the time being.

another member of his most trusted circle is one of his longest working servants, one that belongs to iroh’s house personally. her name is su, and she is a stout woman around his father’s age. stern and silent, but trustworthy. she was the one that kept a close eye on lu ten from a distance during the periods of time iroh wasn’t around in his youth. she had been the midwife at his birth, she had been the one to pick the wet nurse.

and she had slipped iroh a journal outside of lu ten’s room. leather bound and stained in a deep red, with delicate embroidery of lotus flowers decorating its cover. it looked like something the lady ursa would gift him.

i came across this left behind in lady ursa’s garden, your highness, she had murmured fiercely. i snatched it right up and held it for you upon your return, lest it fall into the wrong hands.

the dark, warm silence of iroh’s own chambers is a small comfort, but the cold leather of the journal in his hands chains him to the cruel reality.

one of the vows iroh made for himself when lu ten came into puberty was that he would never violate his son’s privacy. he’d like to think that his son’s life possibly being in danger is a good enough reason to break it, but it still feels… wrong. especially now that he’s an adult himself.

it’ll be like eating a dollop of wasabi, he tells himself. spicy and painful one moment, then fading tingling the next.

with a sigh, he cracks it open to the back page. a few lines of familiar scrawl.

and the reason i torture myself trying to ignore all these things about him that bother me is because….

he looks away, shame crawling up his back. the candle sitting at the corner of his desk flicker along with his irregular, fear ridden heart.

a dollop of wasabi, he reminds himself. he opens his eyes again with a long breath and looks back down at the journal once more.

…well, that’s the crux of it. i just don’t know how to finish that sentence anymore.

that tells him a whole lot of nothing.

iroh flips the page back again, and is immediately overwhelmed by completely filled pages. then startled, by the sheer amount of times his own name pops up to his searching eyes among walls of scrawled text.

unease curls in his gut, like a dragon slowly rising from a slumber.

the ink doesn’t look too old. and su had said she found it in the lady ursa’s garden. and then jee said the royal procession claimed the fours’ trip to ember island was only to last three days, tops.

and as far as iroh knew, lu ten had been keeping quietly busy after iroh’s departure to ba sing se. lu ten willingly buried himself in paper work, always hunting for things he had the power to make into his business. training with lightning generation was grueling, and took hours, on top of the meditation necessary. and it takes a clear mind to even work with lightning, so…

had he done something recently to upset lu ten, and didn’t realize it? what things about iroh did lu ten torture himself trying to ignore? dramatic wording like that is difficult to overlook.

the general thinks back to how well his son can hide his emotions. lu ten’s court face beats even ozai’s, so it made him a gnarly pai sho opponent, but… he never did the backhanded comments. he can lie, but he’s a man of action before a plotting one. so you’ll never see the storm coming until it hits you directly in the face.

the letters he got back from him in ba sing se were… neutral. unbothered. he hadn’t seemed very troubled at the palace gates during his departure, either. tired and a bit wary, maybe.

but now that he thinks about it, the way lu ten looked at him had been… strange. his eyes had an emotion swirling in them that the general couldn’t read.

he rapidly rolls over the most recent letters in his head, the days right before leaving, trying to think of what he might have done to set lu ten off-

…the tiff they had on the evening before iroh’s departure.

he had forgotten about it completely.

spirits, he’d forgotten about it by the time he stepped foot on the shore. the elation of finally arriving at ba sing se, the first big step toward fulfilling the biggest thing he’s wanted to accomplish his entire life, the ultimate win, decades of planning and dreaming, inspired by agni herself…

he’d been caught up in the heat of the moment.

it didn’t even turn into an actual argument, that’s how small the tiff had been- a few things thrown back and forth during their private dinner, and the rest of it had been spent in awkward silence. iroh had let his hurt get the better of him, and he got testy.

the only thing that spoiled his ongoing luck, his relief of finally being able to go and crush his country’s most stubborn opponent, to make the second biggest win since sozin- was his own son not joining in, or showing any interest.

and that wasn’t even it. the closer iroh and his advisors got to bringing their planning to a conclusion, the more withdrawn lu ten became. whenever iroh brought it up, his son would close like a firelily in the night.

i assumed you were above teenage rebellion, iroh had muttered. i understand you want accomplishments of your own, but-

teenage rebellion? you’re joking, right? why do you always insist on- on patronizing me whenever we don’t agree on something? if you think you’re gonna guilt trip me into changing my mind, you’ve got it all wrong.

the disbelieving, ever so slightly shriller tone lu ten’s voice took on reminded iroh of his mother. she always had the habit of raising her voice a few pitches when she got upset. it reminded iroh of a coyote-eagle, once upon a time. the older lu ten got, the taller and leaner his face and physique became, the more time they spent apart, it’s like a vivid repeat of his mother. he even became a hand talker when iroh hadn’t been looking, just like fuhua.

(are habits hereditary, or had fuhua died after running away, and came back to haunt him?)

it’s probably best to start a bit further back in the journal. it might provide the context this father needs. he flips the pages for a few moments, and stops at random.

i spoke with a gentleman from the earth kingdom today during my observational trip through the colonies closest to the homeland. if you didn’t look close enough, you would’ve thought him to be any old fire nation fisherman, but i know green eyes when i see them.

his wife was a sailor that hails from caldera city. they met across the seas, in a neutral port town. they have two young twins, just barely older than zuko and azula. isn’t that something?

now, that is something iroh never bothered doing when he was a young man- it’s only now that his joints won’t let him run around chasing skirts anymore that he’s become a people person. but he’s proud of his boy for taking that initiative and having such a sense of responsibility, to go and mingle with the common man. an empathetic ruler that’s popular with his people will have the surest and furthest reaching authority, after all. iroh couldn’t name a single councilman off the top of his head that would be willing to even breathe the same air as a commoner, much less a colonial mutt.

however… this isn’t a colonial. he’s too keen on the idea of his family members’ abductors being petty, revenge seeking crooks from the earth kingdom to be okay with the idea of his son even conversing with one. for all they claim to be true and steadfast, them sneaking in and attacking an unarmed woman and her young children in their beach house just to get back at iroh is all too realistic of an idea.

but lu ten wasn’t unarmed. lu ten is one of the strongest men in the fire nation, and iroh isn’t even being biased about that. it takes prodigy to conjure lightning, and mastery to control it. and lu ten was very protective of ursa and the children- almost too protective. back in the day, during celebration parties at the palace, lu ten would damn near prowl around a pregnant ursa to fend off the careless crowd, lest they bump into her and jostle her. and he’d only been just a young teenager himself, so it was like watching a polar bear puppy that thought itself a snarly guard dog.

then a few years ago, there had been an incident where lu ten claimed zuko’s instructors were smacking him around. he’d grabbed both of the men by the collar and dragged them both viciously through the palace and right out the door- only after the sharpest scolding iroh’s ever heard since his mother was still alive. he’d never seen his son so angry. he’d chuckled at the way those old instructors had babbled apologies and fell to lu ten’s feet, while patting ursa’s back gently as she floundered.

no, it’s doubtful that an old fisherman had anything to do with it. earth kingdom or not. this is just something he needs to talk to his son about once he’s found. it would take a group of very strong benders to take lu ten down, at the very least.

he was wisecracking and friendly. we talked about his business, the officials that take care of the town and the surrounding environment, how he met his wife. he even shared his lunch during our time together- grilled fish, fragrant with sumac and citrus, and a chilled earth kingdom style mint tea. it was refreshing and unique, and i want to do it again. you’d think the fire nation would pick up these little things as it expands, but it just drowns it all out. i’m not sure if that’s a good thing. what made the food good was its earth kingdom style and seasoning, after all. what made the man interesting was his earth kingdom raised manner.

…what made lu ten think it was a good idea to write such things in a journal, and then be so careless to just forget it in ursa’s garden? he’ll have to thank su for her keen eye. if someone lacking critical thinking happened to pick this up and turn it in to his father, he’d have to deal with his son having allegations of sedition on top of everything else.

iroh, personally, is more than happy to let all traces of chilled tea get drowned out. it’s a frequent and light hearted debate between a father and son, the do’s and don’ts of tea. iroh is a stickler for tradition and enjoying the natural flavors. the fire nation boasted only the most fragrant flowers to enhance only the most delicate flavors of only the finest tea blends, after all.

his son claimed it all tasted like dinky dirt water, and stubbornly stuck with his cold hibiscus teas with herbs, and his heavily spiced and creamed saffron teas. it had been a big joke back then, but now… not so much.

a whole lifetime of a father making his son tea, sharing one of his passions. conversations over tea, tea for soothing a sore throat after screaming matches with councilmen, tea to wash down sea water accidentally swallowed at the beach. traditional methods, ceremonies, porcelain pots precious enough to buy a whole town- but it’s dirt water. yet an old fisherman from their greatest enemy shares ice water with a few mint leaves in a tin cup, and its unique.

and he wants to do it again.

the personal betrayal somehow hurts more than the blatant treachery written out plainly on the paper.

to be honest, i think that it’s a great shame that a good man like that has to be careful on his own property-property he paid for with his own money and built with his own hands- due to being from the earth kingdom, even if he has a strong marriage to a fire nation citizen. i thought about it for a long time, and realized that even if he wasn’t loyal to the crown, i didn’t mind. i don’t get angry at the idea, and i don’t think i ever have. i didn’t even think about it until i left. he made good company, offered to share his food with me, and introduced me to his beautiful children as if i was his new neighbor. i think community like that is something the fire nation needs. especially the nobility, who you’d think all have iron sticks shoved up their asses.

interactions like that are the most important ones to me, because they challenge me the most. i hate to cheapen that by thinking i just enjoy being challenged to spite my traditions and elders, or to be contrarian. that’s what coming of age means to me- looking inward, and asking the big questions.

…this can’t be why lu ten has been so distant lately.

the general slowly shuts the journal in dull horror. how long has this sickness had time to fester his son’s soul?

he swallows hard, and gingerly slides the journal in the folds of his robes. under no circumstance can anyone get their hands on it.

and later, when his gut quits churning and the candles around him quit threatening to set his room on fire, he’ll read this whole journal, front to back. brand every sentence, every symbol into his eyes. then he’s gonna burn it, bring his son home, and ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

the next morning, after letting the foul scent of burnt leather fade from his chambers, iroh finds jee.

“what can i do you for, your highness?”

“i need you to bring me the finest bounty hunter money can buy,” iroh murmurs. there’s a madness in his eyes and in his grip now that he’s had time to ponder the contents of his son’s journal, and what they entail. “and no matter what, it stays between us. i do not care what measures you must take to keep it that way.”

jee swallows hard and salutes with purpose. the poor man must be able to his see stress all over his face, but he’s barely containing himself the way it is.

this was no kidnapping. the blasted earth kingdom has everything to do with it, naturally, but it was no kidnapping.

jee returns to him that evening, followed by a lovely young woman, head to toe in black leather. her gait oozes confidence, and her narrow eyes scream danger.

this is definitely not the kind of finest iroh meant by finest bounty hunter money can buy, but he’ll take it.

“…i’ve, uh. fulfilled your request, your highness,” jee says. he looks flustered, and is clearly refusing to even glance at the woman.

“with a few breaks in between, i’m guessing. your collar is uneven, soldier,” iroh deadpans. he’d call it a shame if he wasn’t curbing an episode at the moment.

jee makes a faint noise of distress and fumbles with his uniform, blushing a deep red. iroh realizes that was the wrong thing to say at how the fair lady scowls at the crude jab.

she shoves past jee with an aggressive shoulder clip and crosses her arms before the general.

“i was promised a shitload of coin in exchange for some missing royals,” she says, voice clipped. “i don’t like to work with your kind, but good money is good money. and i can promise better and quicker results than any phony bounty hunter in the world- my companion is a shirshu. she can sniff out a rat from a whole continent away.”

a shirshu, eh? it would seem my luck has made its return after long last.

“impressive,” iroh praises truthfully. he’s a weak man for crass and foul-mouthed women. “i’d like to take a look at this beast, and then we can discuss the details and prices. i also hope you’re alright with keeping this transaction under wraps, my dear.”

she sneers. “you can call me june. and i’d highly suggest keeping a few steps away from my nyla, for your own good.”

jee clears his throat. “i’d listen to that one, sir. her creature is something else.”

iroh hums pleasantly, and keeps a few paces behind june as they go. a strange calm has washed over him now that the universe finally makes sense to him again; he has a few more people he’d like to question, and he’ll be all set. then sooner, if he’s lucky, rather than later, his sister-in-law, his nephew, and his niece will all be found and returned home, safe and sound. his son will be in his arms, whole and unharmed. ba sing se will simply have to wait.

and if they’re lucky, the dragon of the west won’t have thought up a better solution to finally grinding their sorry ashes into their own dirt by the time he gets back. but regardless, he will win.

[nadiajustbe]

After months of running away, objecting and arguing with his brother, Prince Justin finally marriess Beatrice of Strangia. And it's... not bad, definitely: the weeding was big, rich and loud, made for four people, marrying at the same day. Beatrice herself is a great, a strong-willed person who knows how to dab socks and manage the country.

He can't tell anything here is objectively wrong: on the contrary, every single detail, from the number of candlesticks arranged in an even circle on the chandeliers, to the color scheme of the napkins and the distribution of seats at the huge tables, semeed horrendously perfect. People approach him, glowing with the wide smiles on their faces, sharing their remorse that the Royal Wizard — as If they thought it would be great to remind him about this miserable fact, or somehow guessed he wasn't keeping it in mind himself — can't come to see his dear friend on such a important day of his life.

For fully unknown reason, Justin almost finds the fact that he isn't there a good coincidence, at least a little bit, walking around a huge decorated hall, so full of music and voices he can't quite hear his own steps. Royals and commoners of all wise and statutes are eager to shake his hand, tipping a glass or two of wine with him.

But aside of that, things go pretty smooth. His own brother is smiling at him, almost as If they never argued about anything in their lifes, proud and clear. Prince Justin finally found a place of patience, stopped running around his problems, throw yourself into the flames of a chaos, burn himself with their tongues, without considering the consequences. He became what they all called, "a model prince", in the end of the day.

And, watching at all they do, and hearing all they say, Price Justin thought that they may be right. That the feeling of tingling uneasiness will ease with time, earning itself, that he'll find the way of ruling, the way of earning trust and respect hundreds of times larger than the one he has. There's nothing that tragic in leaving your own country forever, when you're an adult general with important issues on your mind? Justin thought he could handle it.

It lasted for about a week. Even less, if Justin had to be honest, counting days, unsure whether the whole week has passed yet. Less than a week of time, stretching and testing him, ticking with the hands of the clock. Less than a week of missing his small garden outside of the castle, where cats would climb on trees and water would rush through small, calming stream. Less than a week of missing Valeria's scribbles, silly painting on wich Justin was almost always shown somewhere at the top of the paper and childish, mischievous laughter.

Less than a week of one particular name jumping on the tip of his tongue, showing up in his own thoughts, appearing before his eyes everytime mighty mountains cleared the path into the Ingarian fields, somewhere in the distance.

There's nothing wrong in the feeling of loosing something so dear to you tearing you up, he reasoned. Most accordingly, his own reasoning had much more swearing, army slang and vague wording within it, but it sounded close to that.

And there's definitely, absolutely nothing wrong in being so eager to see your friend, whom you are not sure you will ever meet again. No matter how often your last meeting — brief, sore and painfully quick, accompanied with with the impatient clatter of horse hooves and the order to move forward — flashes in his own memory, keeping him awake at night.

There were simply so many things to tell, and so little time in which saying them had at least some sense.

And the irony is, Justin didn't even know, what exactly those words were supposed to be.

He looked up at the celling of his hew home, trimmed with gold, while Princess Beatrice was moving a little uneasily by his side, having long since fallen asleep.

The other disadvantage of marriage turned out to be sharing a room with another person. Justin didn't want to wake her up, nor bother her the nonexistent problems, seeping through his fingers like sand.

Still, he was at the right place. He had to be at the right place. He was a Prince with a powerful Princess by his side, wounded in worthy amount of battles, getting his long-earned rest. That's what every fairy tale says: happily ever after comes after Prince finds his courage to find a Princess, and they face not a single problem after that, filled with joy. There's a reason they never show married life in this books, If you squint.

Except, it didn't feel right. Nothing, written in ink, engraved on the paper, felt right. The walls gave off a ghostly coldness, the curtains swayed in the wind in rather strange way, the halls drowned those present with its grandeur, completely different from the one he knew. Even the selling — higher power knew how much he wanted to close his eyes just not to look at it — looked even more distant than the one they had in the library, mirroring his reflection.

Here it goes again.

He liked Ben. He liked him a bit too much for his own well-being, or at least that's what his brother had been telling him. And his brother was a big fan of reminding Justin of all the wrongs in his life.

According to him, there were a lot. According to him, more than a half of them led to the Royal Wizard.

Not like he cared. Of course, screw the rules, let your own worries consume you, let your legs take you whenever they want to go, let the darkness eat you alive, let it decide what are you made up from.

His brother could scream at him all he wanted. That's wouldn't have changed anything. Justin knew there were things and people worth fighting for.

It didn't matter, now that he was away. That's not something a model prince should be thinking about, but it was certainly something Justin couldn't help but think about despite this new status.

Everything returned to Ben, in the end. As If it was a cycle.

To than strangely big amount of moments they didn't get to share, to occasional smiles and words in a language he could never quite make out. To the days when his friend couldn't even understand what he himself was saying, looking fascinated by every thing that met his eye, asking unusually basic questions. To quiet melodies, created by the strumming of the guitar strings, which he always deeply, unreasonably cherished. To that too peaceful ideas — he told him the only thing that could stop the Witch of the Waste was well-armed army, and certainly not a planting of fields, but Ben always clang to more idealistic ideas than Justin did.

Every thingle moment, unwillingly running across the celling — as If Justin's own image wasn't really his — collected a cluster of such a strange, pulling sensation somewhere under the side, that he wanted to punch something. Or hit it with a sword.

Shit.

His vast, colourful vocabulary had no substitute for this particular word.

If he's gonna stay here for a second longer, no damn princess will save him from what he's about to do.

Justin doesn't really remember how exactly he got out of bed, leaving a disheveled blanket on the mattress, the floorboards creaked somewhat under his weight.

Gathering his things into a small cloth knot, moving as quietly as possible so as not to wake Beatrice or anyone else important enough in the castle, Justin quickly glanced at the clock on the wall.

There was a brief conclusion, made on a rush of his mind, the same way every of his questionable, unbearably harsh ideas, that never led to anything remotely sane or logical: he held the status of a model Prince for about a dozens decades less than he was supposed to do so.

Yes, definitely less than a week.

Justin didn't give himself benefit of the doubt. Whatever the hell will be going on there after he does what he does is not his problem.

He was never supposed to be a King of this country. He's more of a solider. A general. A dog, a servant, an inpatient mysterious costumer gone to buy spells. That felt right.

The curtains had stopped waving, freezing in a slippery, eerie moment. Justin could swear the sound of water droplets hitting the metal supports of the balcony began to reach his ears. A thread of chill stretched through the crack in the window, making its way into the room, right under the sleepwear.

The dim glow of the candles cast shadows across the corridors, echoed by the heavy boots of guards and servants.

He couldn't get straight through the main exit. As if his situation wasn't a total crap without this fact.

The cold was getting on Justin's nerves as he opened the window wider, hastily pulling on a green coat and rough shoes. Tons of fighting about saving his "unacceptable" clothes definitely paid themselves off.

Justin looked down, gripping the handle of a huge, door-like window tighter with his fingers. Only a couple of meters, no more that two floor — no thing that a proper army man couldn't handle.

He jumped onto the balcony, grabbing the handrail with one swift movement. He took one last, quick glance around the room before turning his back to it.

Beatrice continued to dream, almost motionless now, like had never known any strong worry. Raindrops, from that moment large and unpleasant, flew into the room, blowing out the lights of the candlesticks with the howl of the wind, that was treacherous enough to start picking up again now.

The flame went out. Justin closed the window.

He jumped over the partition, holding on to the small connecting bars.

It was very stupid. Very unclear. But there was no difficulty in crossing the mountains of Strangia, even on foot. Justin did much harder things. No matter how majestic the borders were, they could hardly compare to the fearless dryness of the Waste.

He knew where he was going. Of all the houses that had ever been in his native country, he knew exactly which door to knock on. And Ben might laugh at him for it — he would have every bloody right to burst into pure mockery — and at the same time he would not mind in any way. He liked Ben, no matter what it meant.

Justin jumped off the balcony, landing nimbly on the ground.

He was going home.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[ficyorick]

i still cant believe im on chapter 7 . thats such a fake number. so close to chapter 10. then what?? ur telling me theres gonna be chapter 11 and 12??? insane. but thats what the plot outline doc says.