#just let them be somewhat British

[catts-stuff]

I'm so sorry but I just saw someone headcanon Remus and Texan/just American... no please just no.

[lancermylove]

Learning His Language (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Leaders x gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: I saw the post about the requests being open but everything said it was closed. So if they are closed my apologies. May I request a Gn reader trying to learn the dorm leaders languages. Like how Idia is Greek or malleus being like Celtic?Again if I was wrong and requests are closed I apologize.

A/N: Requests were open. I had the open post queued and forgot to change closed to open in the other places. 😅

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Idia Shroud (Greek)

Not many have taken an interest in his culture, so when he hears you trying to speak Greek behind closed doors, he is shocked. He hears wedding bells.

Ortho tells him to let you learn on your own, but Idia can't possibly do that. So, he develops an app for you.

Not once does he laugh when you mispronounce something, and he is surprisingly patient with you.

With his help, you will be speaking Greek in no time. Then, the two of you can make fun of the other students without them knowing.

Riddle Roseheart (British)

The moment he hears you trying to speak English, he becomes your teacher, even if you don't want him to be. He is determined to teach you.

Riddle is the best teacher you can ask for, but he can be very strict. Expect him to send you texts about grammar rules and give you short quizzes just to see your progress.

With him teaching you, you will be a pro at English in a few months.

Meanwhile, the students in Heartslabyul hear wedding bells and can't wait to attend your wedding in the future.

Kalim Al-Asim (Arabic)

Kalim can't control his happiness when he hears you speaking broken and incorrect Arabic for the first time. He gives you a bone-crushing hug.

He tries to teach you, but you end up confused each time. Jamil can't take it anymore and volunteers to be your personal tutor alongside Kalim.

While the dorm leader shares the Arabic culture, movies, and music with you, Jamil teaches you the technical parts of the language.

When you start speaking somewhat fluently, Kalim throws a party in your honor. Then, he calls his siblings and tells them he is ready to bring their sister-in-law/brother-in-law home with him.

For the rest, visit my website: Learning His Language

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➣  Please visit my website for the full masterlist!

[rohirric-hunter]

*props up table on its side between me and wrathful ghost of C.S. Lewis* So the Telmarines and Calormenes must speak a different language from the Narnians and Archenlanders, right? Like, the Narnians and Archenlanders most likely speak English, or something very similar to it, as all the humans are descended from the British Frank and Helen and Aslan probably would have given the talking animals the same language as their king and queen. But the Telmarines and presumably the Calormenes are descended from humans who made their way into the world of Narnia by accident, and most likely didn't speak English, so they would have their own languages descended from whatever languages their ancestors spoke.

(Actually, I don't know if the text ever establishes that the Calormenes are human. They could be something else; Narnia and Charn both have denizens that seem to be nearly indistinguishable from humans while not being humans, and there are thousands of pools in the Wood Between the Worlds. But for the sake of this argument let's assume they're human. Actually for the sake of this argument if they're not human they're even less likely to speak English. So it doesn't matter.)

Like, yeah, I know that Canonically they all speak English because C.S. Lewis thought this sort of question was a stupid thing to consider while inventing a fantasy world, but I follow a different school of thought and I think it's fun to consider the lingual barriers. Most characters we meet are some sort of royalty or nobility, but consider Shasta learning really odd English from Bree and Hwin, who haven't spoken it in years, and Aravis, who learned it as an elective in school and only knows a really stilted, formal version laced with cultural misunderstandings. His tutors try to train it out of him, to no avail, and when he becomes king he's always saying idioms he translated literally from Calormene and he has just the weirdest pronunciations of some things.

The four Pevensies learn Calormene and possibly Telmarine because they have to be able to speak to the other world powers and never quite forget it -- like their other skills that they learned in Narnia it fades somewhat the longer they stay in England, but also like their other skills it comes back quickly at need. When Peter goes to study at university his professors are amazed at the speed with which he picks up Arabic, and equally baffled by some odd cultural assumptions and seeming nonsense that he brought to the discussion.

Most Old Narnians speak a fair bit of Telmarine -- if they're of the sort that can pass as human it's useful, but even if they can't evesdropping and spying is an essential part of how they've survived this long -- but in their own hidden communities they never stopped speaking their own language. There are many factors in why they trust the fleeing Prince Caspian, but one of them is the fact that he speaks English -- awkward, rudimentary, unpracticed English, but English nonetheless. Someone taught him the language of Old Narnia, and he speaks to them in their own tongue, respectfully, like no Telmarine any of them have ever heard.

IDK. I just think it would be coo-- *Wrathful ghost of C.S. Lewis knocks the table over onto my head and I fall unconscious immediately*

[laterreurofficial]

LT Doodle Stream Recap/Questions!

(Part 1/Part 2)

Hello everyone! Wisteriasymphony here. Yesterday the LT hivemind had the wonderful experience of our first doodle stream together!

For the purposes of cataloging all of the questions we answered on our stream (because somebody doesn't know how streaming works yet *COUGH COUGH*), I'm going to be answering them all here!

La Terreur takes place in 2002, and the events of the timeline last about a year. Of course, it's a retrofuturistic cyberpunk-y 2002, which explains later developments like the alliance ring and so on.

They're the same au! Miracle Exposure has just been a tag Silu has used to categorize talking about the effects of the miraculous, but it all happens within LT.

Hawkmoth is already a pretty solid design as is. Shadowmoth and Monarch will probably get overhauls later on, but why fix what isn't broken? Hawkmoth is already just the right amount of gross and creepy and fancy and bald, so no need to revamp that.

The consensus to far is that Felix arrived before the quarantine was instated, but he could easily have bribed officials into letting him into Paris if he needed to. The quarantine is mostly to keep people in, and if some idiot with a death wish high-paying member of the british aristocracy is willing to give money to a dying city just for a ticket in, then why wouldn't they let him?

@gaussiansphere put it quite nicely in the stream when he said that the heroes aren't trapped in Paris physically, but mentally. There's nothing theoretically stopping Ladybug from blowing a hole in the defenses of Paris and going on the run, but she has a moral obligation to protect her city. Everyone else feels roughly the same way, though we did discuss the idea of having the concept of migration fit Max better by virtue of his big goals in life involving getting out of Paris.

Also, the miraculous will likely be passed out differently. We're not following exact episodes, only storylines.

On a similar note....

Ladybug will probably alternate who she gives all of the minor miraculous to multiple times over the course of the story. She would find it ridiculous to pass them out to people "for keeps", as @sillysiluriforme put it, and before a certain point in the story will favor adult holders over teen holders. (Not saying why this changes though heehee, spoilers.)

MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!!!!!!!! Los ships no son un foco de La Terreur, pero.. Adrigaminette 100% mejor del mundo JAJAJAJA XP. de lo contrario es lo mismo que el canon.

Opinions de los kwamis hacia sus portadores es q los ven como niños. Son indiferentes a la humanidad en realidad. Los kwamis también los vicios q usan sus portadores para obtener. (Adrien huele a tabaco Y queso apestoso :/ Marinette no se afectada porque Tikki quiere el sabores dulces en su vaporizador).

#wispanol arc hehe. also YES you saw that right English audience, the kwamis are smokers. Marinette has to ask Luka's bandmates for vapes because the closest bodega to her house is run by a sweet Chinese grandma who her mom likes talking to, so if she bought from there she'd be absolutely screwed. Adrien just buys all of the tobacco as Chat, though.

We're not planning on having Aspik show up in LT, at least as far as we have planned. If he did, however, his rat eating desire would definitely go through the roof. He'd probably try and time his rat-eating specifically for when he's Chat Noir, just to make things easier for himself. (Until he eats one as Adrien by accident and has to live with the mental baggage for the rest of his miserable little life...)

Well.. there are a lot of characters that really don't need redesigns! Or where redesigns would be extremely minimal. Marinette's dad only really needs to get proportional legs and then that's it, and the same philosophy extends to most of the other minor characters.

Here are some of @clemnoir's designs for the rest of the class, though!

In fact, her lovely annotations somewhat answer another question we received....

We haven't figured out everyone yet, but the scholarships group so far is: Kim, Max, Ivan, Rose, Nathaniel, and Mylene. Adrien, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Marinette are all paid tuition.

There could be! The ancient miraculous are indeed destroyed, much like the infinite amount of others like them, Bearinette and Lambdrien are just explorations of what it would be like if they hadn't been. The bear and lamb miraculous are not canon to LT, nor would any future ancients be. If we get any good ideas, you'll see them.

[wis is biting all of her fingers to prevent herself from talking about the coyote....]

The big issue Marinette has with being Multimouse is that she's no longer respected as the leader, at least as much as she's used to. Because she sees Ladybug as more of a responsibility than fun superpowers, her side effects are more psychological by consequence, whereas Adrien's are more physical. She also feels some sense of jealousy towards Scarabella, as well as general insecurity over not being the leader when she's Multimouse... but despite this she continues to use the Mouse Miraculous more often than in canon just for the sake of "training" Alya.

Silu dice muchas gracias!!!!! ...No conocen sus identidades fsgdss. Exposición al milagros del raton causa disocociación, duplicación no literal para Marinette jajaj. (Pero, no puedo decir si dos Marinettes aparecen en LT..... tal vez, tal vez no? huummmm)

Tambien, ellos comiendo ratones en privado. Nadie los trae en su almuerzo. Todos ellos tratan con sus síntomas en secreto.

Violence and misery and horror and class dynamics. I'll get into it more in Part 2, but characters' relationships to power is a huge part of this AU, both of the magical and non-magical variety.

[pucksandpower]

A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship

Max Verstappen x reporter!Reader

Summary: Max decides to get relationship advice from a book written in 1815 and it goes about as well as you would expect. But sometimes the wrong formula still gets the right answer

“In our modern age, when so many standards of propriety have shifted, a gentleman may find himself at a loss when attempting to court a young lady. The rules of etiquette that governed such relationships in decades past offered a framework to guide conduct and ensure all was done properly.

This humble volume intends to provide today’s gentleman that same guidance, so that he may pay suit to the object of his affection in a manner befitting them both. Within these pages, the reader will find what constitutes proper introductions, suitable topics of conversation, appropriate gifts or tokens of regard, and protocols for exchanging correspondence.

While society evolves, there remain certain courtesies that bespeak good breeding. Master these, and you shall go far in winning the hand of any respectable young lady.”

- Excerpt from “A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship” by Reginald Worthington, 1815

A gentleman must display impeccable manners, never using foul language and maintaining a calm and collected demeanor at all times.

“So Max, tell us how you’re feeling ahead of the British Grand Prix this weekend,” you ask, microphone in hand.

Max shifts in his seat, avoiding your gaze. “Uh, yeah, feeling good. The car has been quick so far this weekend in practice.”

You nod enthusiastically. As the newly appointed F1 reporter for Sky Sports, you’re eager to prove yourself in the paddock. And getting an exclusive interview with the reigning double world champion is a great start.

“You have not won at Silverstone before. Do you think you can do it for the first time on Sunday?”

“Absolutely. The team have been working hard and I think we have a good chance,” Max replies.

You glance down at your notes. “Now Max, let’s go back to last weekend in Austria. The incident with Lando on the first lap — can you walk us through what happened from your perspective?”

Max feels his face getting hot. The controversial collision is still a sore point after the race stewards penalized him. He takes a breath, pushing down his true feelings.

“Well, it was racing incident,” he says slowly. “Lando had a good start and was alongside going into turn one. It was tight between us and unfortunately we made contact.”

You raise an eyebrow. “But do you feel that you were more at fault? It seemed to be quite an aggressive move.”

Max clenches his fist under the table discreetly. Calm and collected, he reminds himself.

“Like I said, it was just racing. These things happen sometimes between us drivers.”

“So you don’t think it was an unsafe maneuver on your part?” You press. Your piercing gaze makes Max shift again.

Just stay polite, he thinks. But his frustration boils over.

“It was freaking racing, okay!” He snaps, his calm demeanor vanishing. “Shit happens! Lando didn’t leave me space and we collided. Don’t try to blame me!”

You lean back, eyes widening in surprise at his sudden outburst. Max’s heart drops, immediately regretting his loss of composure.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t mean to curse.”

“No worries, I understand it’s a sensitive topic,” you say evenly. But inside, you’re taken aback. You’ve never seen Max Verstappen react like this.

Desperate to get the interview back on track, you move to the next question. “Let’s talk about your rivalry on the track. Do you feel the tension has somewhat decreased this season as you run ahead with the championship?”

Max nods, clinging to the redirect. “All twenty drivers on the grid are competitors at heart. For sure the rivalry grows each season. Not everyone is fighting for the title so there’s less at stake for some but that can change at any moment. There is always respect between us.”

His standard PR answer seems to bore you. Glancing at the clock, you start wrapping up the interview.

“Last question, Max. Any special plans for the British Grand Prix weekend?”

“Eh, not really,” Max mutters, still kicking himself for losing his temper earlier. So much for gentlemanly manners around ladies. You’ll surely think he’s a foul-mouthed jerk now.

“Okay, I think that’s all we have time for,” you say, standing up. “Thanks again for the interview, Max, I know you’re quite busy here.”

“Yep, no problem,” Max mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

You turn to leave, but stop. “And Max? Don’t worry too much about the clash with Lando. It happens to all drivers sometimes. See you around!” You flash him a smile before exiting.

Max sits stunned for a moment after you leave. Even after his swearing and temper, you hadn’t been upset with him.

A grin slowly spreads across his face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined his chances after all!

Walking back to the Red Bull motorhome, Max can’t stop thinking about you. The way you smiled at him, so warm and understanding. And how you smelled vaguely of lavender.

Max has been captivated since you arrived in the paddock but he has no idea how to approach you … or any woman for that matter.

His only experience is with fast cars, not beautiful reporters.

Pulling up to his driver room, Max is greeted by his physio, Bradley.

“How did it go mate? You look bothered,” Brad asks.

Max sighs. “That interview with Y/N was a disaster. I screwed it up!”

He recounts his slip-up angrily cursing about Lando to Brad, who tries to stifle a laugh.

“Really, that’s what you’re worried about? A little swearing? I’m sure she’s heard far worse around the paddock!”

“But the book said to never use foul language around ladies! To be a gentleman at all times! And I failed at the first test!” Max runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Now she’ll never consider me as a suitor.”

Brad gapes at him. “A suitor? Max, what century are you living in?” He glances down and notices the antique book peeking from Max’s backpack.

Grabbing it, Brad starts flipping through the pages incredulously.

“Wait, you’re actually trying to follow advice from this ancient thing to get a girl?”

Max tries to grab the book back, his cheeks reddening. “Give it back! Yes it’s old but shouldn’t dating still be proper and polite?”

“This stuff is wildly outdated. Just ask her out for drinks. Be yourself!” Brad gestures exasperatedly.

“I can’t just ask her out, are you crazy?” Max sputters. “What if she says no?”

Brad places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the bloody world champion. And you’re not too hard on the eyes. She’d be mad to turn you down!”

Max cracks a reluctant smile, appreciating the confidence in him. Maybe Brad is right, Max considers. He just needs to relax and stop overthinking things.

“Tell you what, the team is throwing a big party after the race on Sunday. Why don’t you invite Y/N as your date?” Brad suggests.

Max’s stomach flutters nervously at the thought. “I guess I could try ...”

Brad claps him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about! Now hand that daft old book over so I can throw it in the bin.”

“No! I mean … I’ll hold onto it,” Max says, snatching it back.

It may be outdated but it still has some wise words, he thinks. Even if he doesn’t follow everything word-for-word, a brush up on manners couldn’t hurt.

Max feels reenergized. One mishap wouldn’t ruin his chances with you.

This weekend he would focus on winning the British Grand Prix. And then he would ask you to be his date for the after-party.

Properly, like a gentleman.

What could go wrong?

A gentleman should compose handwritten letters with eloquence and embellished language to express his sentiments, as these missives often carry great weight.

Max sits at the desk in his driver room, pen poised over a pad of stationary borrowed from the hotel.

He takes a deep breath.

My Dearest Y/N …

He pauses. How exactly does he eloquently express his feelings here? Chewing the pen anxiously, he tries again.

My Dearest Y/N,

Since first you did arrive upon the Formula 1 scene, I have been captivated by your beauty and grace ...

Max groans, crumpling up the paper. This sounds ridiculous! But the book had stressed the importance of handwritten letters to woo a lady. And with his shyness around you in person, writing a letter seemed the best approach.

If only he could find the right words.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, Max thinks back to the British Grand Prix last weekend. He had taken Brad’s advice and invited you to the post-race celebrations as his date.

To his delight, you had happily accepted.

The party had been going perfectly. You both laughed and chatted easily over drinks. Then the DJ started playing and Max got the courage to ask you to dance. With your hand in his, bodies swaying gently together, Max was sure this was his moment to finally tell you his feelings.

But when he tried, the words tangled up inside. His throat went dry and he could only stare mute into your eyes. The song ended and the magic of the moment faded. You slipped away back to your friends, leaving Max cursing his nervousness.

Which is why he’s now resorted to writing a letter. If only he can find the right poetic phrases, he would be able to express everything in his heart.

Chewing his lip, Max starts again.

My Dearest Y/N,

Ever since you did arrive in this paddock, I have admired you from afar. Your beauty and spirit doth light up the Formula 1 world. Being in your radiant presence doth make my heart soar ...

Max frowns. He sounds like Shakespeare on steroids. This is getting him nowhere. Crumpling up another attempt, he gets an idea. He needs advice from someone more eloquent. Pulling out his phone, he selects Daniel Ricciardo’s number.

“Maxie! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Daniel answers cheerily.

“I need your help. I’m trying to write a letter to Y/N telling her ...byou know, that I like her,” Max mumbles. “But I’m struggling with the words. You’re so smooth and charming — any advice?”

Daniel laughs loudly through the phone. “A love letter mate? That’s adorable!”

Max rolls his eyes. “Haha. Yes, it’s hilarious. Do you have any tips or not?”

“Hmm okay, don’t stress too much over the fancy wording. Keep it simple and heartfelt, you know? Just speak honestly about why you like her.”

Max nods. “Right, speak from the heart. I can do that.”

“Go get her champ! Let me know if you need any more romantic advice,” Daniel teases.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Max hangs up with a smile.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, he starts writing.

Dear Y/N,

I wanted to properly tell you how I feel about you. From the moment I first saw you in the paddock, I thought you were the most beautiful and amazing woman.

Your smile makes me weak. Being near you gives me butterflies in my stomach.

Spending time together at the party was really special for me. I wish I had told you then how I felt. But I get so nervous around you that the words don’t come out right. So I thought writing this might be easier.

I know we haven’t known each other long. But I would love the chance to get to know you more. Maybe we could have dinner sometime, if you feel the same way?

Let me know.

Yours,

Max

Max reads over the short letter and nods, satisfied. It’s simple and honest, just saying the thoughts he can never seem to speak out loud around you.

So, after carefully folding the stationary, Max slips out of the Red Bull motorhome in search of you.

Max finds you chatting with some other journalists near the media center. He hangs back shyly, waiting for you to be free.

You glance up and catch his eye, giving a smile and wave. Taking a deep breath, Max approaches.

“Hi, Y/N. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course!” You say, turning to him. The other reporters conveniently scatter, leaving the two of you alone.

“So uh, I wrote you this letter.” Max mutters, pulling the folded paper from his pocket. His palms are sweating and he rubs his neck nervously. “It’s just some thoughts I wanted to share with you.”

“Aww Max, you didn’t have to write me anything!” You beam at him sweetly.

Max shoves the letter toward you, willing himself to just give it over before he loses confidence. But as you reach out for it, anxiety grips him.

What if you reject him after reading it? Or worse, what if you show the soppy love letter to your coworkersto laugh about?

His pulse pounding, Max swiftly yanks the letter back. Before he can think twice, he starts hastily ripping it up into tiny shreds.

“Max!” You cry out in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, just realized how weird it was to write you something so personal,” Max stammers, face flaming red.

He lets the shreds of paper fall from his fingers.

“Oh.” Your face falls in disappointment. “That’s too bad, I’m sure it was very thoughtful ...”

An awkward silence follows. Max curses internally, hating himself. Why had he chickened out at the last second? He scrambles for something to say.

“Yeah, it was too forward of me,” he rambles nervously. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about us. Not that there is an us! I mean, we’re colleagues.”

You frown slightly in confusion. “Colleagues? I thought we were becoming friends ...”

“Right, yes friends!” Max amends quickly. “Friends is good. Don’t want rumors or gossip spreading. Not that what I wrote was gossip worthy! It was boring really, nothing important.”

He forces out a laugh, cringing at his bumbling excuse. You just stare at him in bewilderment.

“O-kay then ... well, I need to get back to work. See you around, Max.” You give him a strange look before turning away slowly.

Max watches you walk off, letting out a long groan once you’re out of earshot.

He slaps a hand to his forehead. Could that have gone any worse? He’d absolutely butchered it and now you must think he’s a complete weirdo.

Dejected, Max trudges back to the motorhome. He replays the scene in his head, berating himself over and over. If only he had the guts to just give you that letter!

Instead he had to go and make a complete fool of himself. There’s no way you have any interest in him now after witnessing that trainwreck.

Sulking back to his driver’s room, Max finds his teammate in the hallways.

“What’s up with you? You look like you just lost the championship,” Checo remarks.

Max just opens his door and flops down onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. “I really screwed things up with Y/N ...”

He recounts the whole awkward encounter to Checo, who tries and fails to hold back laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Max snaps, tossing a scrunched up sock at him.

“Sorry, hermano,” Checo says, composing himself. “But really, I doubt it was that bad. Just explain to Y/N what happened and try again.”

“No way. It’s hopeless now,” Max moans. “I can’t face her after that.” He grabs one of the shredded letter pieces off the table, smoothing it out to reveal a fragment of his confession.

Crumpling it back up, Max tosses it aside bitterly. He definitely lost his chance thanks to his own nerves and stupidity.

Max does everything he can to avoid you over the next days, too embarrassed to face you after the letter fiasco. For your own part, you seem equally uncertain how to act around him now.

At races you keep interactions strictly professional. The ease and friendship that was developing between you is gone.

Max hates that he ruined everything before it could even really begin.

It’s not until the Dutch Grand Prix weeks later that you finally confront him.

“We should talk,” you say, catching Max alone after practice one day. “Why have you been avoiding me since Silverstone?”

Max shuffles his feet, staring at the ground. “I just made things weird with that letter. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You step closer, tilting his chin up gently so he meets your eyes.

“I thought the idea behind it was really sweet. I was so disappointed when you just ripped it up. I care about you, so don’t push me away, okay?”

Heart pounding, Max manages a sheepish nod.

You lean in slowly and kiss his cheek, pretending not to notice how his skin turns rosy.

“I’m still waiting to see what you wrote for me one day,” you whisper with a smile before walking off, leaving Max stunned.

Touching his cheek, a grin spreads across Max’s face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

The book might know a thing or two.

A gentleman should present small tokens of affection: Offering a lady flowers, a lock of hair, or a sentimental keepsake is a cherished practice.

Max paces the floor of his Monaco apartment, phone in hand as he scrolls through a website about flower meanings and symbolism.

Max clicks on the different options, overwhelmed. Who knew flowers were so complicated? Red roses mean passion but are too strong for courting. Yellow roses signify friendship. White lilies convey purity and innocence.

Max frowns. None of these seem quite right.

Finally he comes across the perfect choice — peonies. According to the guide, pink peonies signal romance, prosperity and good fortune.

Isn’t that romantic? This will be the ideal flower to to show how much he cares for you.

Satisfied with his floral choice, Max orders an impressive bouquet of pink peonies to be delivered to you before the upcoming race.

As soon as you receive them, he anxiously waits for your reaction.

To his disappointment, no thank you comes. In fact, you don’t acknowledge the flowers at all.

When Max finally spots you in the paddock on Thursday, his smile fades at your red-rimmed eyes and congested voice.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well,” Max frowns.

You give a stuffy laugh. “Thanks, just what every girl wants to hear.” Dabbing at your runny nose with a tissue, you sigh. “Sorry, I’m a mess today. Turns out I’m quite allergic to peonies. Those lovely flowers you sent put me out of commission the past two days.”

Max’s eyes widen in alarm. “Wait, you’re allergic to peonies? I had no idea, I’m so sorry!”

He mentally kicks himself. Some romantic gesture this was, practically making you ill. “I was just trying to do something nice ...” he says guiltily.

But you wave off his concern with a smile, touched that he went to such effort. “It’s really sweet of you, truly. They were beautiful. My immune system just seems to have other plans.”

Max shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let me make it up to you. What if I cook you dinner next week instead of flowers?”

Your cheeks flush slightly. “I would really like that.”

***

The following Tuesday, Max puts his meager cooking skills to use whipping up pasta. Pretty soon he has an aromatic tomato sauce simmering away while he slices bread for garlic toast.

When you arrive, bottle of wine in hand, Max greets you wearing a “World’s Okayest Chef” apron. Laughter and light banter flow easily between you two all evening. The domesticity of sharing a meal together feels wonderfully natural. Lingering glances and touches over the table make it clear this is now a proper date.

After dessert, you help Max tidy up the kitchen. Playfully flicking soap suds at each other soon turns into a full-on bubble fight. Laughing and stumbling into each other, Max ends up gently pinning you against the counter.

Your giggles trail off, smiles fading into something warmer. Slowly Max leans in, lips meeting yours in a soft kiss.

When you eventually pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours contentedly. No flowers or grand gestures needed.

Just this — being together.

***

Before free practice of the following race, Max seeks you out, fidgeting nervously with the small pair of scissors in his hands.

“I … I wanted to give you something special. A token of my affection for you.”

Before you can react, Max takes a lock of his light brown hair and starts snipping right there in front of you. Your eyes widen in surprise as the severed strands fall into his palm.

“It’s uh, a lock of my hair. For you to keep,” he explains, holding it out to you sheepishly.

You have to stifle a laugh at how earnest he looks. “Wow Max, that’s really thoughtful but you didn’t have to cut your hair for me!”

Max’s cheeks flush pink. “No, I want you to have it! To show, you know, that I’m devoted to you and all that ...” His voice trails off at your amused expression.

Maybe this romantic gesture is a bit stranger than he realized. But you take the lock of hair from him with a gracious smile.

“Well, I’ll always treasure a piece of you.”

His grin brightens. Then he remembers the other part of his gift. “Oh wait, there’s more!”

He pulls a small oval locket from his pocket and clicks it open to reveal an empty compartment.

“I thought you could keep the hair in this locket, close to your heart,” he explains earnestly. “That way you will always have a part of me with you.”

Your eyes soften, touched by the sentiment if not the unconventional nature of his gift. But seeing how much thought Max put into it makes you melt and you give him a quick kiss.

“It’s perfect, thank you. Here, would you put the hair inside for me?”

Carefully, Max places the strands into the golden locket and fastens it around your neck, face lit up.

“So you really like it then?”

You nod, gently clasping the locket in your hand. “I’ll cherish it always.”

A gentleman should bring a tasteful gift, such as a book of poetry or a hand-painted fan, as a gesture of appreciation for her hospitality when visiting a lady’s home.

Max double checks the address on his phone as he pulls up outside your London flat. He’s visiting for the first time today and wants to make a good impression.

Max looks down at your gift on the passenger seat — a squirming bengal kitten, licking up the treat Max had brought to calm her for the car ride.

You had completely fallen for his two rambunctious bengal cats when you met them at his apartment.

“They are just the cutest! I’ve always wanted a bengal,” you had cooed as Jimmy curled up contentedly in your lap while Sassy climbed across your shoulders.

So when Max saw that the ethical breeder he bought his cats from had this spirited little kitten available, he knew she would be the perfect gift for your first proper date at your home.

A living reminder of the night your relationship began.

Scooping up the wriggling furball, Max walks up and rings your buzzer.

You greet him at the door with a smile and quick kiss, then abruptly stop short at the sight of the kitten in his arms.

“Max, what is that?”

“It’s a bengal kitten!” He announces proudly, holding her up like he is reenacting The Lion King. “I got her for you, as a gift.”

He holds the mewling kitten out to you eagerly. You stare back, mouth agape.

“You got me a kitten? Max, that’s insane!” You exclaim. “Bengals cost thousands of euros, you can’t just show up with one. Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t seriously buy me a €3000 cat.”

Max’s smile falters, realizing suddenly how over-the-top the gift seems.

“I mean, I just wanted to do something really special for you,” he mumbles, face reddening.

The kitten lets out a pitiful meow. You bite your lip, conflicted. She really is adorable. And you know Max meant well with his lavish gesture. Sighing, you open your door wider.

“Okay, I guess I can’t turn away this cutie now. Come on in.”

Max’s face lights up in relief. “You’ll keep her then? That’s amazing!”

He carefully sets the energetic furball down and she immediately starts exploring. You have to laugh as she pounces and tumbles over her paws.

“She’s going to destroy all my stuff,” you stare resignedly as she claws her way up your upholstered couch, claws snagging the fabric.

Max waves off your concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for anything she ruins. And I’ll make sure she can come to races too, so you’re never apart.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think they’re going to let a kitten into the paddock?”

“Lewis brings Roscoe so they have to allow cats too or it’s not fair! Don’t worry, I will make it happen,” Max declares confidently.

Despite yourself, you smile at his determination. Gazing down at the kitten now nibbling your toe, your reservations melt away.

She really has stolen your heart already.

“Well, I guess we’re in this together now, huh little one?” You murmur. “Thank you. I think she’s the perfect gift.”

His whole face lights up at those words. Impulsively, you stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

“I think I’ll name her Emiliana,” you suggest softly. “Since she’s my special gift from Max Emilian Verstappen.”

Max grins. “I love that idea.”

Maybe Max is out of touch with normal gift-giving. But looking into his smiling eyes, you know everything he does comes from a place of love. And you wouldn’t change his thoughtfulness for anything.

Even if it means welcoming a hyperactive €3000 kitten into your life.

A gentleman should exercise prudence and restraint in the event that his family honor is insulted. Engaging in a duel must be the last resort, pursued only when all other means of resolving the matter have been exhausted.

“Who’s ready for her first race?” You coo to Emiliana, clipping a leash on to her harness. The energetic bengal kitten twirls in excited circles hearing the jingle of her collar.

Max chuckles, scooping Emiliana up. “I know you’ll love exploring the garage!” Kissing her furry head, he nestles her safely in his jacket pocket for the walk over.

Arriving at the bustling paddock, Max gently puts Emiliana down to allow her to explore, the kitten’s wide eyes reflect the flash of cameras and bright team colors swirling around. With Max’s hand securely in yours, you both smile proudly showing her off to the other drivers and staff.

Most are delighted, stopping to fawn over the curious feline. But as you pass by the Alpine motorhome, she ends up scampering across the asphalt and almost tripping Esteban Ocon in the process.

“Ugh, control your overgrown rat!” He grumbles loudly.

Max freezes, blood boiling at the insult toward Emiliana. Clenching his fists, he spins to confront Esteban. But you grab his arm firmly.

“Max, stop. He’s not worth it,” you murmur. After a tense moment, Max reluctantly relaxes his stance, not wanting to cause a scene.

You steer him away, stroking Emiliana comfortingly. “Don’t listen to the mean man, sweetie. You are perfect.”

But Max continues seething silently.

The remainder of the weekend passes uneventfully and you assume Max has let go of the unpleasant encounter. But once the race starts, you grow anxious seeing the two drivers battling unusually close together.

Sure enough, despite leading comfortably, Max slows his car to allow Esteban to catch up. Your heart drops as Max then swerves aggressively into Esteban’s side, sending him spinning off in a blaze of shredded carbon fiber. Meanwhile, Max continues on unfazed to take the chequered flag.

You’re fuming when Max finally makes his way back to the garage. Seeing your crossed arms and fiery glare, his triumphant smile fades.

“I know what you’re going to say ...” he starts guiltily.

“That you promised not to seek revenge and then deliberately crashed Esteban?” You snap.

Max winces. “Seeing him just brought back all that anger ...”

“So you decided to punt him at 200 mph?” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“I was not thinking clearly,” Max scuffs his shoe. “My temper took over again.”

Your anger melts slightly seeing Max’s remorse. With a sigh, you pull him into a tight hug. “Do you have any idea how badly you both could’ve been hurt by pulling a stunt like that?”

Max looks down, properly chastised. “You’re right, it was really dangerous what I did.”

“Not to mention nearly ruining your own race!”

“I didn’t care about losing position,” Max admits. “I have already secured the championship. Defending Emiliana’s honor was more important in the moment.”

You shake your head. “Our kitten’s honor is not worth you risking your life! Please think these things through before acting so rashly.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking straight,” Max says sincerely. “I promise to be more responsible going forward. No more putting myself or anyone else in danger over petty spats.”

He hugs you close again. “Thank you for keeping me rational and safe.”

You smile up at him with a soft laugh, letting some of your tension melt away. "Someone has to.”

A gentleman should keep a strict code of chivalry: Offer your seat to a lady, hold doors, and protect her from harm, both physical and emotional.

The Singapore Grand Prix is always a grueling one thanks to the heat and humidity. But this weekend, Mother Nature seems intent on making it even tougher.

Dark ominous clouds have been building all afternoon before finally bursting open right as final practice ends. Fat raindrops pelt down rapidly, sending the paddock scrambling for cover.

Safely under the shelter of the Red Bull garage, Max keeps an eye out for you. He knows you’re stuck in the media pen finishing interviews along with the other reporters.

Sure enough, he spots your ponytail across the pen, soaked through as you attempt to shield your equipment from the downpour.

Without thinking, Max hands off his mic and races out into the rain toward you. Holding his team jacket over your head, he guides you under the shelter of a nearby awning.

“Oh my gosh, Max! You’re soaked!” You exclaim, taking in his drenched state.

But Max just shrugs it off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Couldn’t let you get caught out there though.”

He rubs your arms briskly, trying to warm you up. Seeing you shivering in your thin blouse — now transparent from the rain — Max feels a pang of protectiveness.

“Here, let me get you something dry ...” He sprints off, returning minutes later with a Red Bull hoodie and umbrella from his driver’s room.

Bundling you up in the warm dry clothes, Max finally relaxes. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. But I wasn’t about to leave you stranded in that!”

You smile up at him, sincerely touched. “My hero! Thank you, superstar.”

Leaning up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft kiss. Max thinks that heart swells three sizes, thrilled that he was able to protect you.

As the weekend goes on, Max keeps finding little ways to display chivalry. Opening doors, giving you his seat, shielding you with umbrellas whenever the rain returns.

You assure him that the fussing is unnecessary but Max insists. He wants you to feel cared for and safe at all times.

Unfortunately, not everyone in the paddock shares that sentiment.

You’re rushing to grab some coffee before the race when you overhear a muttered conversation by a group of reporters that are huddled together.

“There she is — Verstappen’s girl ...”

“Ugh, it’s so obvious she only got the job with Sky Sports because they’re dating.”

“Sleeping her way to the top if you ask me. No way she’d be here otherwise ...”

Their cruel laughter cuts through you sharply. Blinking back sudden tears, you hurry away before they can notice you.

Of course you’ve dealt with doubters questioning your skill and merits before. It’s an occupational hazard as a woman in motorsport.

But having your relationship with Max twisted in such a way stings deeply.

Arriving at the grid, you paste on a smile and try not to let the nasty remarks ruin your day. You have always had to work twice as hard to prove yourself and you were not going to give up now.

But Max notices that something is off immediately. And, when you keep avoid his concerned gaze, he gently presses for answers.

“What’s wrong, liefde? And don’t say nothing,” he adds, seeing you open your mouth to brush it off.

You sigh, reluctantly telling him about the reporters’ hurtful comments. Instantly Max’s jaw tightens, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Who said that? Point them out to me.”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. But Max takes your hand firmly.

“I won’t let them get away with questioning your integrity like that. It’s unacceptable.”

So you subtly point out the gossiping reporters huddled nearby. Max’s gaze darkens. Turning on his heel, he marches straight for the media center.

By the time you catch up, he’s already deep in a terse conversation with Formula 1’s head of communications.

You watch in astonishment as the offenders’ media access is promptly revoked despite their loud protests. But Max stands firm, insisting this is non-negotiable if he is expected to keep participating in his media duties.

When he finally returns to you, his anger has melted away into concern. “I’m so sorry you had to hear their garbage. Don’t ever listen to it, okay? You are brilliant at what you do.”

Your eyes well up again but this time from gratitude. Even during the pre-race chaos, Max made defending you his top priority.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging him tightly. “My knight in shining racing gear.”

Max just holds you close, wishing he could shield you from all harm. Because your happiness and comfort are paramount to him. And Max will gladly take on any dragon — or unscrupulous reporter — that dares to threaten that.

With Max by your side, ready to come to your aid in rain or shine, you know everything will be okay.

A gentleman should always be well-dressed in the latest fashions and ensure that his cravat is tied to perfection.

Max frowns down at the open suitcase on his bed, clothes strewn everywhere. He’s digging through the wardrobe he packed trying to find something stylish to wear for the United States Grand Prix.

The problem is, Max has no idea what the latest fashions even are. Jeans and a team-branded shirt are his staples both on and off the track. But he needs to make more effort for you.

Sifting through his options unsuccessfully, Max sighs. There’s nothing here that screams high fashion. He would have to do the unthinkable and ask advice from someone … like Lewis Hamilton.

Max cringes at the thought of approaching his rival for fashion help. But Lewis is always complemented for his outfits so he is clearly an expert on the subject.

Swallowing his pride, Max fires off a text before he can overthink it.

To his surprise, Lewis responds enthusiastically with suggestions and styling tips. Their competitive rivalry is momentarily forgotten as the veteran driver dedicates all day to helping Max looking sharp.

Arriving at the paddock on Thursday morning, Max scrutinizes his reflection anxiously while scanning his pass. He’s wearing slim-fitting distressed jeans with a silky patterned shirt that Lewis instructed was to be left half-unbuttoned.

Definitely way flashier than his normal attire but Lewis assured him it was very on-trend. So Max takes a deep breath and heads out to find you.

Your eyes widen in surprise taking in his dramatic style overhaul. “Whoa, look at you!”

Max preens a bit, relieved that you don’t seem to be put off by his bold fashion choice.

“I figured it was time to elevate my fashion game,” he spins cheekily to show off the full look.

You have to stifle a laugh at seeing straight-laced Max suddenly dressing like a runway model after fans used to be shocked to see him in anything other than a white shirt.

It’s certainly different but cute that he’s putting in so much effort for your relationship.

As the weekend continues, so does Max’s parade of high fashion outfits. He turns up looking like he stepped off a catwalk in trendy printed shirts, embroidered jackets, and even sequined trousers.

By Sunday, the dramatic style transformation has paddock tongues wagging. Max appears entirely oblivious to the gossip though, just happy that his attempts to impress you seem to be working.

But watching him awkwardly fidget with the billowing oversized silk sleeves of today’s shirt as he tries to focus on preparing for the race, you realize that this isn’t your Max. Not really.

Catching his eye, you gesture for him to join you out of earshot and away from the view of cameras. Gently taking his hands, you meet his gaze.

“Be honest with me, what’s going on with the makeover? This isn’t like you at all.”

He ducks his head with a sheepish smile. “I just wanted to dress nicely for you this weekend. Like a proper gentleman.”

You lift his chin until he’s looking at you again. “You don’t have to try and be someone else for me. I like you for you — jeans, team kit, and all.”

Max’s shoulders relax in relief. “Yeah?”

“Of course! Please don’t feel like you ever have to change.” You lean up to kiss him softly. “Now let’s get you into some racing gear, champ.”

A gentleman should know that prolonged eye contact is a powerful tool for conveying one’s intentions.

“So Max, I have to ask about the incident with Carlos last race. Do you think your aggression was over the line?”

You fixes Max with an inquisitive gaze, microphone poised as you wait for his response. But instead of answering, he just stares back intensely without blinking.

After a long awkward pause, you shift in your seat. “Uh, Max? Did you hear my question?”

“Hmm? Oh right, yeah. It was just racing, these things happen,” he says vaguely, eyes never leaving yours.

You move on to the next question, puzzled by his distracted behavior. Throughout the interview, Max continues gazing at you unwaveringly.

It’s a bit unsettling to have him stare so fixedly without looking away.

Finally you wrap up the stilted conversation, feeling relieved to escape his laser focus. What was up with that?

Over the weekend, you catch Max staring silently at you on numerous occasions — in hospitality, on the grid, across the garage. Without blinking or looking away, he’ll fix you with that powerful gaze until you flush and look away first.

By Sunday you’ve gotten used to the drawn out m moments of extended eye contact.

But during the post-race press conference, Max cranks it up a notch. As you ask Charles a question about the race, you feel Max’s eyes boring into the side of your face. Glancing over, you nearly fumble your recorder.

He’s just ... staring. Blatantly. Right at you as you’re trying to have a professional conversation.

The other drivers keep sneaking amused looks between you two and trying to hide their snickers.

You finally wrap up hurriedly, flustered by Max’s unrelenting eye contact. As the rest of the press file out, you hang back.

“So the whole staring thing ... we’re really doing that huh?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Max has the grace to look sheepish. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to throw you off! I’ve just been trying to connect with you even more.”

You have to stifle a laugh imagining him sternly holding his own gaze in a mirror for practice. “I could tell! But maybe dial it down a little bit during interviews?”

Rubbing his neck, Max chuckles. “Yeah good call.”

He’s quiet for a moment before meeting your eyes again, this time softer. “I do like the way it makes me focus just on you though. Like the rest of the world fades away.”

“Yeah,” you duck your head, “I like that part too.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. Reaching out, he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

When Max leans in, eyes fluttering closed, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The outside world disappears and all that’s left is his lips on yours, saying more than words ever could.

A gentleman should never speak of his own accomplishments or wealth in a boastful manner, instead let your actions and character speak for themselves.

“Liefde, have you seen my phone charger?” Max calls from the living room of his apartment. “Nevermind, found it!”

He grabs the charger off of the coffee table, narrowly avoiding knocking over the World Drivers’ Championship trophy displayed prominently in the center.

You stifle an amused smile as you enter. Ever since you jokingly teased Max about being humble, he has made his accomplishments strangely hard to ignore.

Like the fact that his trophy room door now mysteriously stays wide open whenever you’re over. Or how he keeps offering for you to take Air Max whenever you need to travel instead of flying commercial. It’s his unique way of bragging without actually saying a word.

Joining him on the sofa, you have to shoo away one of the cats that is trying to swat the trophy off the table. Max just grins.

“Sassy really loves that thing! Although I guess I can’t blame her, it is very shiny.”

You laugh, curling into his side. “It certainly seems to belong front and center lately. Along with your three championship-winning helmets on the table in the foyer.”

Max attempts an innocent look that doesn’t quite stick. “What? They’re nice decorative pieces!”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. Glancing around, you note magazine covers bearing his face displayed on the walls along with a framed race-worn suit hanging randomly next to the kitchen.

Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look. Max holds your gaze for a moment before cracking.

“Okay fine, I may have highlighted some ... accomplishments since your little humble comment,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

You have to laugh. “Max, you know I was just teasing you! I would never want you to downplay your achievements.”

Twisting to face him, you take his hands in yours. “You’ve worked so hard for everything you have. Please don’t feel like you can’t be proud about it.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know and I am really proud of my racing success.” Glancing around the trophy-filled apartment, he chuckles. “Maybe a bit too loudly recently.”

You lean in to kiss him tenderly. “I love you and I’m so proud of you. But it’s this,” you tap his chest on top of his heart, “This is what made me fall for you, not the jet or the trophies.”

“Yeah?” Max asks, eyes crinkling happily.

You snuggle into his shoulder. “Of course. You’ll always just be my Max.”

But then the gifts start arriving. An Hermes Birkin bag here … some Van Cleef jewelry there. Presented nonchalantly but you know that their extravagance is no accident.

Finally, you have to say something when a couture Chanel gown appears in your hotel room one day.

“What’s going on with all these gifts all of a sudden?” You ask gently.

“Nothing! I just want to treat my amazing girlfriend the way she deserves to be treated.”

You raise an eyebrow and look … and look … and look … until Max cracks. “Okay fine, I may have been trying to show off a bit,” he admits. “But it’s hard not to when I want to give you the world!”

Your expression softens. Taking his hands, you wait until he meets your eyes.

“You could give me plastic rings and clothing from the thrift store and I would be just as happy. Your love means everything to me, not material things.”

“Really?”

You nod and climb into his lap to connect your lips in a slow kiss. Pulling back, you add teasingly, “But I am keeping the dress.”

He laughs, all tension vanishing. “Of course, it will look incredible on you. Like everything does.”

A gentleman should demonstrate a willingness to adapt to a lady’s interests and preferences, cultivating shared hobbies and passions.

“Here we are!” You announce, gesturing at the entrance of the padel club. “I know you’ll love this. It combines the best parts of tennis, squash, and racquetball.”

Taking Max’s hand, you lead him inside eagerly. You’ve been trying to get him to try padel, your favorite hobby, for ages. Finally convincing him to play while visiting him in Monaco, you do a quick rundown of the rules in the locker room.

“So basically we score just like in tennis but the walls and mesh are also in play. You can use them to bounce shots off of strategically,” you explain, miming hitting the ball off the glass wall.

Max nods along, game face on. He’s determined to share your passion for this sport.

“Got it. Use the walls, beat the opponents, win the match,” he summarizes confidently.

You laugh. “Pretty much! Now let’s go kick some butt out there.”

Gripping your paddles, you head onto the slick court. Max gravitates right to the mesh wall, intrigued by the unique setup.

You have to hide your grin — he’s like a kid exploring and testing shots out eagerly. His competitive nature means that he is completely engrossed within minutes.

And Max certainly has a knack for padel. His fast reflexes and coordination transfer over as he adapts his technique. Soon you’re both moving seamlessly around each other, dominating the points against a random couple Max had convinced to play against the two of you.

Hours later, sweaty but exhilarated, Max slings an arm around you grinning.

“That was epic! This is such an awesome game, I can’t wait to play more.” His excitement makes your heart swell. Nothing better than sharing your interests with someone special.

Over the next weeks, you find any excuse to play padel together. On lazy mornings, Max coaxes you out of bed. During race weeks, you even manage to squeeze in a few matches after media day.

Soon Max transforms into a padel fanatic, always scouting new courts and competition. His dedication to mastering every shot warms your heart. And the silly trash talk and celebrations make every match so much fun.

It was no surprise when Max decided to organize a players tournament between races. Getting the other drivers involved had your makeshift paddock league battling it out.

“Here for the padel party!” Daniel crows, showing up in head-to-toe tennis gear.

Charles, Carlos, Lando, and Pierre are there too, warming up their swings. You help Max demonstrate the rules, the other guys teasing him good-naturedly about his new obsession.

Once play begins though, the intensity heats up quickly. Max’s laser focus kicks in as he charges around you protectively, looking to crush anyone who dares hit near you. Luckily you hold your own plenty well too against the drivers.

When the final point is called in your favor, Max tackles you in an exuberant hug, the guys applauding around you. Grinning and flushed with exertion, you all head inside to refuel and celebrate a fun day of sport and competition.

One padel date turned into a shared passion that bonded you both with the other drivers too. And seeing your smile reflecting Max’s own euphoric one, you know this is only the start of many joyful tournaments and casual games together.

Maybe Max went a bit over-the-top in his newfound padel fever. But his willingness to dive headfirst into your interests fills you with more love than you ever thought possible.

Having someone care enough to enter your world so fully and share the things that light you up — that’s the most meaningful gesture of all.

A gentleman should learn to play a musical instrument or be a connoisseur of music, as serenading a lady can be a charming expression of affection.

Max turns the acoustic guitar over in his hands, plucking experimentally at the strings.

With your birthday coming up, serenading you seems like the perfect romantic gesture. Now he just has to actually learn how to play this thing. It seems simple enough — how hard can the guitar really be?

Max starts pressing on the strings randomly, the resulting discordant notes making him wince.

Okay, this might take some work.

Pulling up a beginner tutorial on his phone, he starts practicing the basic chords. But his fingers fumble clumsily, refusing to contort into the proper shapes. The more he tries, the worse the mangled sounds get.

Frustrated after the thirty minute lesson yields little improvement, Max sighs. “How am I supposed to woo my girlfriend with music if I can’t even play a damn C chord?”

Time for a professional to step in. Max books lessons with a private guitar instructor, determined to nail this down in time for your birthday surprise.

At the first lesson, the instructor eyes Max’s hands critically. “Right, let’s start by getting your fingers conditioned ...”

He takes Max through various stretching and dexterity exercises to limber up. Max nods along dutifully until the instructor pulls out a contraption with rubber bands and metal prongs.

“What the hell is that thing?” Max asks warily.

“A finger strengthener — we need to work on your independence and stamina,” he explains matter-of-factly, fitting the device over Max’s hand.

Max grimaces as the rubber bands strain against his fingers. The instructor just nods approvingly. “Perfect, twenty minutes per day with that.”

By the end of the torturous lesson, the only progress Max has made is identifying the parts of the guitar. He’s nowhere close to actually playing.

Max leaves discouraged but even more motivated to conquer the instrument somehow before your birthday. He continues meeting with the instructor multiple times a week, practicing rigorously outside of lessons too.

You notice his new habit of constantly stretching his fingers but Max plays it off casually not wanting to spoil the surprise.

The week before your birthday, Max has made marginal improvements but is still far from properly playing full songs. Desperate, he invites the instructor over for one final intensive lesson.

After two grueling hours of relentless drills, the instructor throws his hands up. “I’ve never had a student struggle this much with guitar basics. Maybe we should consider something easier, like the triangle or a recorder ...”

“No!” Max interrupts forcefully. “The guitar is a classic romantic instrument. I just need more practice before her party tomorrow.”

The instructor sighs. “If you say so. Just keep working on your fretting transitions and we’ll hope for the best.”

After he leaves, Max stays up late into the night strumming determinedly. By your birthday, his fingers are sore and calloused within an inch of their lives. But he can semi-confidently stumble through a love song and that’s enough for tonight.

When the moment arrives, he takes a deep breath and begins gently playing the intro to “Thinking Out Loud,” ready to serenade you. Max makes it halfway through before the chords descend into choppy noise.

You still applaud enthusiastically after, smiling ear to ear. “That was amazing, my love! Thank you so much.”

Max ducks his head bashfully. “It still needs some work. But I’m glad you liked it.”

Laughing, you take his tortured hands and kiss each fingertip. “I loved it because it came from you. That’s all that matters to me.”

Warmth blooms in Max’s chest. No matter how imperfect, you appreciated his efforts because of how much heart he put into it just for you.

In the end, no amount of lessons could transform Max into a virtuoso overnight. But he did become accomplished in one universal language — love.

And at the end of the day, that means everything.

A gentleman should recognize and appreciate a lady’s accomplishments, whether in the arts, charity work, or society.

“So Max, what are your thoughts on taking pole position here in Brazil?” The reporter asks.

Max grins into the mic. “Yeah, feels great to put it on pole here. The team has done an amazing job dialing in the car.”

He pauses and then adds, “Of course my girlfriend Y/N also put in a stellar qualifying effort yesterday covering the action for Sky Sports. Her commentary is always so eloquent and insightful.”

The reporter smiles amused as Max continues raving about your on-air skills for several minutes before remembering to refocus him on the results of the actual qualifying seasion.

This has become a familiar trend lately in Max’s interviews. No matter the question, he manages to redirect the conversation to highlight your various talents.

“... our pace was really strong today, I think we will be able to keep the top step tomorrow. Oh, speaking of strong pace, Y/N just ran a personal best 5k time last week during training ...”

In team debriefs, the same thing happens. Engineer queries about race strategy are derailed into praise about your presenting skills. PR reps trying to discuss Max’s social media posts somehow end up hearing about your recent venture into pottery making instead.

Even in casual conversations, you come up constantly.

“Morning, Max! How are you today?” His trainer asks while spotting a weight lifting session.

“Doing great! Y/N is also doing great, she’s learning Dutch and picking it up so quickly. Have I mentioned how talented she is with languages?”

By now the whole paddock is highly familiar with your many accomplishments, since Max seizes every possible opportunity to spotlight them.

You find it rather endearing, if a bit silly at times. Like when Max commandeered an entire interview just to detail the charities that you volunteer with.

“You know I’m capable of mentioning my own accomplishments if they come up naturally, right?” You tease him later.

Max looks sheepish. “I know, I just like bragging about you! I’m really proud of everything you do.”

You soften, giving him a quick kiss. “That’s really sweet. But maybe tone down the constant spotlight a little?” You suggest gently.

“Noted,” Max chuckles.

He makes an effort after that to highlight your achievements only when truly relevant. Because while he could praise you all day, Max also respects your wishes.

And he realizes you don’t need him to validate your worth — your talents speak for themselves. But he still can’t resist sharing little proud snippets whenever your accomplishments come up organically.

Over time you appreciate Max’s admiration and support more and more. Having someone so genuinely invested in all aspects of your life is incredibly touching.

Maybe he goes a bit overboard in his praising sometimes. But knowing that Max is always your biggest cheerleader, when it comes to racing coverage or otherwise, means everything.

A gentleman should seek the permission of the lady’s father or guardian before proposing, demonstrating respect for her family and social conventions. Once granted, he should choose an intimate setting for the proposal, away from the public eye. He must then express his intentions with sincerity, dropping to one knee and presenting a ring as a symbol of his commitment.

Max takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the small velvet box in his pocket. Today’s the day — he’s going to ask your father for permission to marry you.

You’ve reassured Max time and time again that your dad loves him but that does nothing to settle his nerves as he knocks on the front door of your childhood home.

When your father welcomes Max inside warmly, he relaxes slightly. Clearing his throat, Max launches into the speech he prepared.

“Sir, I’ve come today because I want to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. We have been together for years now and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, completely committed to her happiness. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

Max pauses, blushing. “Sorry, I had this whole thing planned out better. I guess what I’m asking is — may I have your blessing to propose to Y/N?”

Your dad grins, clapping Max on the shoulder. “You know you didn’t have to be so formal about this. I already see you as part of the family.”

Max smiles bashfully. “I just wanted to show my respect for you and Y/N. Your blessing would mean a lot to me.”

“You have it absolutely. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for her than you.” He pulls Max into a hug. “Welcome to the family, son.”

Max leaves on cloud nine, thrilled to have this traditional step done right. Now on to planning the perfect proposal location away from prying eyes ...

After scouring options, Max selects a peaceful mountaintop in the Swiss Alps. Complete with luxury chalet just for the two of you — intimate but romantic.

Max painstakingly decorates it with flowers, candles, and photos of your relationship throughout the years. For the ring, he chooses two large natural diamonds in an unique asymmetrical setting, symbolic of two imperfect halves making a flawless whole.

Now fully prepared, Max just has to wait for your upcoming vacation to pop the question. He spends the days leading up to it buzzing with nervous excitement.

The helicopter ride to the mountain is pure torture for him. What if you say no? What if he fumbles the proposal speech? Endless doubts race through Max’s mind.

But as soon as he sees your delighted smile taking in the warmly lit cabin, his anxiety melts away. This evening is about letting his heart speak.

Through a private chef-cooked dinner, your laughter echoes in the chalet just like it always sounds. Full of joy and life and love.

Max knows that he’s ready.

Taking your hand gently, he leads you outside onto the moonlit balcony. Time to finally ask you to be his forever.

Max clears his throat, meeting your eyes. “Y/N, from the moment I met you, my world changed. Your smile and your light fill my days with meaning. You make me a better man.”

He slowly kneels, pulling out the ring box with trembling fingers. “I want to laugh with you, cry with you, share every high and low for the rest of our lives. Will you make me the luckiest man in the universe by becoming my wife?”

You clasp a hand over your mouth, eyes glimmering with tears. You only manage to get out a watery “Yes!” before also dropping to your knees in front of him.

Grinning ear to ear, Max slides the ring onto your finger with a kiss. “I promise to always love and cherish you.”

“And I promise the same to you, today and always.”

You throw your arms around him, both giddy with joy under the stars.

The customs that got you to this moment may have been old-fashioned but your love is timeless.

[lewisvinga]

the best trophy | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; as much as lewis loved his and y/n’s fwb , he couldn’t help but want more. all it took was one grand moment for him to finally reveal his feelings

warnings; mentions of sex, cursing

word count; 1.12k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

notes; requested ! manifesting the ending of this fr, tbh not proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes 😭😭

masterlist !

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the race?”

Lewis's voice filled the once quiet room as he watched Y/n shuffle around his hotel room to put back on the sweatpants she came in.

“If you promise me that Mercedes Hospitality has oat milk for my coffee.” She joked, still somewhat out of breath from their previous activities.

“You know I always make sure.” His tone was soft, watching as she slipped on her fuzzy slippers and fixed her messy hair. He ignored how his heart hurt when she walked towards his hotel room door. “Can’t have your stomach ruining your mood, can we?”

“You’re the best, Lew.” She said with a smile, wiping away the bits of mascara from under her eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course, tomorrow.”

They exchanged smiles before she left, leaving the Mercedes driver alone to his thoughts. A disappointed sigh escaped from his lips once the door shut. The bed seemed emptier than usual. It was like she was never there. The only trace of her was the scent of sex that remained in the room.

Lewis liked his friends-with-benefits situation with Y/n. They were friends who fucked whenever one wanted to. Sure the sex was great, amazing even in his opinion, but after a few months, he realized how he wanted something else. He wanted something more.

He hated that his heart longed for her after they finished their deed. He hated how he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her soft lips. He hated how he wanted to wake up with her in his arms and prepare breakfast for the both of them. He hated how he wanted to take her out on extravagant dates and gift her jewelry so expensive that you’d only ever gift them to your partner, not a friend.

And Lewis hated that he felt this way. He knew having any romantic feelings in a friends-with-benefits relationship would really ruin the friendship. He already treasured his friendship with Y/n and doubted she liked him romantically. The best choice was to just keep his feelings hidden out of fear of ruining the friendship.

He laid back and rested his head against his pillow. The same pillow that she was just laying her head against. His heart was heavy as his eyes fluttered shut with only Y/n on his mind.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Y/n felt like she was about to faint as she watched Lewis start the very last lap of the race. Max was close behind him with George behind the Red Bull driver.

Her heart began to race as Lewis got closer and closer to the checkered flag. After losing the chance of his 8th world championship and Mercedes having a poor car while not listening to his suggestions, he had begun to lose faith. 2 years without a win and it was slowly killing him.

Thanks to a mistake from Red Bull during a pit stop, Lewis quickly gained the lead with around 15 laps to go and defended exceptionally from Max. He was seconds away from winning potentially one last time with Mercedes.

Time seemed to pass by slowly as Lewis passed the checkered flag.

“He has done it again! He breaks his own record and is now a 104x race winner! Lewis Hamilton wins the 2024 British Grand Prix! That’s a double podium for Mercedes!”

The Mercedes garage turned into a blur from everyone screaming and cheering at the race results. Y/n couldn’t hold back her tears and cheers as Bono shook her from excitement.

“C’mon, Y/n!” The engineer exclaims, grabbing her by the arm as they rush to the Parc Fermé. She ran after him, clutching her bag as she let out a laugh. She could see the 7-time world champion park his car into the 1st place spot from a distance.

Lewis was as emotional as ever. He finally got over a rough and dark patch. After Abu Dhabi 2021, after 2 years without a win, after having to deal with a poor car, he finally achieved the 104th win of his career. However, there was still something or someone he wanted to win.

He could see Y/n standing off to the side of the crowd of Mercedes workers. She wore a wide smile, wiping away her tears as she waited for him to get out of his car.

He knew he couldn’t hold his feelings anymore. He knew there was a time and place and tried to hold himself back as he ran over to his team. They all knock on his helmet, pat his back, and shout all due to being filled with happiness from his win.

He quickly took off his helmet and balaclava and was about to head over to her when he was stopped for his post-race interview. He glanced at her but she waved her hand, signaling him to go do the interview.

However, the moment it was over, Lewis ran over to Y/n instead of into the cooldown room. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he grabbed onto her waist, holding her close.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lewis, you’re something else-“

“Y/n, I can’t hold myself back any longer”. He quickly said, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. She furrowed up her eyebrows in confusion however a glint in his eyes told her enough.

“And I’m scared as fuck that you won’t like what I’m about to say. But I’ve been feeling like this for ages and I-“

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at his nervousness. She knew Lewis was about to go on a rant. She loosely runs her fingers through his braids causing him to stop speaking. “Lew?”

“Yeah?”

She pulled him closer, their lips just centimeters away from each other. “I’ve been feeling the same.” She whispers, glancing up at him through her lashes. His deep brown eyes widened in shock and joy.

Instead of saying anything, Lewis gently cups her cheeks before finally closing the small space between their lips. Their lips fit perfectly together as if they were made just for each other. Even if they’ve kissed during their late-night sessions, this kiss was different. It was sensual or lust-filled, it was filled with passion and love.

They both pulled away breathlessly, ignoring how the Mercedes team cheered at their kiss especially George who had to deal with all of their longing looks.

“So does this mean you’ll officially be mine?” He says, resting his forehead against hers.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lewis lets out a breathy chuckle, tucking a strand of Y/n’s hair behind her ear. Before leaning in to kiss her again, he whispered, “You’re better than any win. You’re the best trophy I could get.”

[yawnderu]

You make it hard to be a ghost — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Mutual pining, yearning, fluff, conflicted emotions.♡

"That's enough out of you." Ghost barked as he entered your quarters, slamming a crumpled piece of paper onto your desk. You write poetry for him, sneaking it into pieces of his gear and clothes where you know he'll find them. He reads them every single time, the strings of his heart being pulled whenever he reads them. He'd never let you know he keeps them, never let you know just how much your handwritten thoughts truly affect him, but you already know.

"What else am I supposed to do with my love for you, Ghost?" You asked teasingly, though the fear of keeping being rejected was always there, gnawing on your heart every single time he denied your affections.

"I don't need your love." He spat out, British accent making his rejection somewhat harder. How do I let you know you're the sun that casts away my shadows? I can't. His gaze flickers back and forth as you stay quiet, a mixture of guilt and anxiety playing on his expressive eyes though he tried to keep a stern mask in place. "I don't have time for this." You make me feel something.

"You say that, but I know you enjoy what I write even if you don't believe my words." You stand up from your seat, slowly approaching Ghost as your hand gently holds his wrist, examining his tattoo sleeve. His senses are overwhelmed as you touch him, by the closeness of your body, the warmth of your hands, your gentle touch. He wants this for himself, but he can't accept it, yet he doesn't push you away. "Whose dog tags are these?" You inquire, looking at his tattoo with a curious gaze.

"An old friend." He replies shortly, breath hitching slightly. Those dog tags belong to Simon Riley. The Simon Riley who died the same day Ghost was born, the same Simon Riley who gave his murdered family a funeral pyre and was left as just a Ghost. You simply hum, knowing better than to press for more details.

"Stray." His voice finally cuts the silence, his tone more gentle than what you usually hear from him, despite the turmoil in his head. "I've never loved anyone." Other than my mum and brother. It pains him to say those words, but you deserve to know.

"I know." He looked at you with a gaze full of sadness, and you responded with a gaze full of love. Ghost pulls you closer, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this way for once in his life, hand resting warmly against your cheek as he leans closer, breathing in your hair and the scent of your skin. His nightmares and past haunt him, his trauma keeps him up at night, but you keep his soul alive.

"I truly love you, Simon." Your arms gently wrap around his neck and he grits his teeth. Simon. Simon had been dead for years, yet you somehow always found a way to bring him back to life. To make his defenses come crumbling down as if he didn't spend years carefully building them. You can feel the tension leaving his body, muscles relaxing and shoulders dropping. You're aware this is a big deal for Ghost, he never lets anyone get this close. You hear his heart beating wildly, his breath on your neck as his arms wrap around your waist hesitantly, bringing you closer and closer each passing second.

"I love you too." He whispered, swallowing the knot in his throat. It's the first time he's actually been able to say it. "I love you too." He repeats, just in case you missed it the first time.

[elexaria]

Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

 Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

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

So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

[natailiatulls07]

Fake lovers

Lando Norris x female!driver!reader

Summary - McLaren wants to repair Landos image and Lando just wants to protect the papaya sunshine

Warning - one night stands (not between Lando and the reader), alcoholism, doing drugs, stalking and stalker, violence, sexualising, harassment

Reader drives for McLaren

-

McLaren had a problem. One of their drivers was creating a bad reputation for himself, partying every night, different girl in his bed every night and same old hangover the next morning. Lando was painting a bad picture for McLaren, making them look like they took on someone incapable of taking care of themselves and those around them.

Yet McLaren had another driver, Y/n L/n. She was their golden girl, new to the formula one business, quickly getting to grips with each car and track. Never was she painting a negative image of McLaren, the complete opposite to her teammate, Lando.

It was similar on track, Lando would always find a way to fumble on track and then would proceed to let out his anger towards the team, the other teams and the press but not his teammates. Headlines filled with his frustration and attitude.

F1 News

Once again, Lando Norris has become unruly to anyone in his way. Will this once golden boy ever get his shine back or is his future in formula one just dull?

But Y/n L/n, oh how the fans loved her. Always stopping to sign anything, to take photos or even to just have a genuine conversation. On track, she’d try to avoid any collisions, penalties or arguments. Even if she didn’t get on that podium, you’d see her sporting a proud and exciting smile whilst looking up the three on the podium.

In contrast to her teammate, Y/n’s headlines were seemingly always positive.

F1 News

McLarens golden girl is back from the summer break and she is better than ever. She is smashing the drivers into the dirt, yet also being very polite. How can anyone be mad at the rookie?

-

McLaren needed to get the situation under control, get Lando back to his normal self. Everyone could see him losing himself to drugs, alcohol and sex, and McLaren wanted to save him before it was too late.

So that is why McLaren came up with the plan to get the two drivers to 'date'. They planned this to inprove Lando's image.

That’s how’s Lando ending up standing outside Y/n’s apartment. Knocking on the door, he heard a faint call from inside. “One second, sorry let yourself in”

She had known it was him. Clumsily Y/n had lost track of time, and was late getting ready.

Walking in, Lando found Y/n rushing around her bedroom. “Hi..” He was nervous, not used to this old school ‘romantic’ situation.

Usually he’d be getting ready to go to yet another club to get yet another girl that he would sleep with and never remember her again. But he was here, watching his current teammate and soon to be fake girlfriend rushing around her bedroom before their fake date.

“Hey, I’m so sorry! I was reading and sort of lost time” Y/n quickly looked up from her vanity where she was finishing her makeup, she had a genuine shameful and sorry look in her eyes.

“It’s um it’s okay” This was totally not his element, however he felt somewhat comfortable. Anyone who had spent some time in Y/n’s presence could tell you that she had that relaxing aura about herself.

“You can make yourself at home if you want, I won’t be that long” Once again Y/n looked up at the British man offering a kind smile, she was just finishing her mascara.

Lando nodded his head before making his way towards the cozy living room. Fairy lights lit the room with a tranquil vibe.

-

It wasn’t long before Y/n’s heels started to echo throughout the small Monte Carlo apartment. Lando looked up from his phone to see her walking out of the bedroom.

She was wearing a dainty black dress. “Are you ready?” Y/n sent Lando a small graceful smile, whilst he got up from the the soft couch.

“Yep let’s go..” His voice was still quiet, still apprehensive of the whole plan.

At first he refused the plan; despite not caring about those around him, he felt bad for bring this sunshine of a driver into his problems.

Lando knew of the hate he got for his attitude and his lifestyle. And he desperately wanted to keep her away from those people who looked on him that way.

-

That evening, Lando swapped out constant drinks for nonalcoholic drinks. He swapped out multiple girls at once for one soft spoken and genuine women who was patient and easygoing.

They spoke openly with each other for hours whilst at the restaurant. Speaking up until a waitress, who was slightly nervous to be waitering two formula one drivers, came over to notify them that the restaurant was closing.

“You know…I don’t agree with what the media or the press say about you..” They were making a slow pace back towards her apartment, when she looked up at him with sympathy.

“To be honest I don’t care, I mean I see them but I don’t take them to heart” Lando had a awkward smile following his comment.

“But you don’t deserve it…like that one time when we were waiting for post race press, you let me borrow your jacket because I forgot mine” It was back when they were in Canada, the weather was horrible.

And whilst they were waiting for their press interviews, Lando had noticed how every so often Y/n would shiver. So he shrugged off his papaya McLaren jacket before pulling it over her shoulder. Of course, Y/n was quick to protest against it politely as to which Lando quickly turned her arguments down.

As they continued to slowly walk back, Lando didn’t reply to her comment. He wanted to agree with her but he knew that his career was on a downward spiral.

-

The next morning, the two driver woke up in their individual apartments to many articles with several paparazzi photos of their ‘date’

F1 News

McLaren’s resident bad boy and their resident good girl has chemistry brewing between themselves. They were seen in Monte Carlo on a date, different to Lando Norris’ usual evenings in different clubs.

Has the bad boy gone good for the golden girl? What will this mean for formula one’s good girl? Will Norris just dispose of L/n like the many other girls he brought home or is this different?

See picture below 👇

-

Over the next few of months, both Y/n and Lando started to attend more events together, going on more ‘dates’ and even becoming more and more affectionate in the paddock. It quickly felt normal to have that affection with each other.

Soon enough the media and the press started to calm down on Lando, they saw how his lifestyle changed.

He went from night clubs to cafe dates. Most of Lando’s time was consumed with the sunshine that was his fake girlfriend but he didn’t complain. He loved it!

“Hey Lando..” Y/n called from the living room.

“Yeah?” Lando was in the kitchen, making both himself and her a quick snack.

“The guy in my instagram dm’s just sent me a text…” Over the past couple of months a random guy had been sending Y/n uncomfortable texts.

Some were more concerning then others;

Oh doll, I’d love to see you in my bed

Your boyfriend doesn’t deserve your body, come to me babygirl

I know where you live little lady, you might as well come to me now

Every time, Y/n would block and report him yet he would make other accounts before continuing. Each time Lando would send him a dm, protecting her.

“Okay please give me the phone” Walking back into the living room, Lando was handed her phone.

He quickly sent the older man a message once again protecting the poor driver. Sitting beside Y/n on the couch, but his typing was cut short when there was a knock on the apartment door.

“I’ll get it” Getting up from the couch, Y/n slipped on her soft slippers before making her way to the door.

Upon opening the door, she was greeted with the same man who had been harassing her on instagram. “Hey little lady”

He had a creepy and sickening smile on his face, Y/n could smell the strong smell of alcohol radiating off of him.

As soon as Lando heard the old man’s greeting he was up from the couch immediately, making his way to stand in front of Y/n.

“Sir please can you leave my girlfriend alone both here and in the future, it is very clear that she is beyond distressed” Lando urged the man to leave.

“Why should I listen to you? You want her for the same reasons as me, you might as well share her” He wasn’t listening, just continuing to harass the girl.

“No. I am asking you to leave out of her life completely because she is my girlfriend, not some sex whore, the love of my life and as her boyfriend it is my duty to love and protect her from people like you”

It was when the man started to laugh that Lando pulled forward, colliding his fist with the man’s sickening face.

“Right, I don’t like the way you are talking and laughing about my girlfriend like she is a fucking object! So do us all a fucking favour, fuck off out of her life and my life too!”

It wasn’t long before the older man started to practically run off with his tail between his legs back to the apartment building exit.

Once until he was long out of Lando’s sight when he turned to face Y/n, who had a frightened and bewildered facial expression.

“It’s okay he’s gone..” Pulling her into his chest, Lando let her calm down in his arms, listening to his heartbeat through his thin cotton t-shirt.

-

After an hour of sitting on the couch watching Y/n’s comfort film, she turned to Lando who was sat close by her.

“You know you didn’t have to do that…I mean I totally appreciate it a lot but I don’t want you to burden yourself with my problems…” Along with being a golden girl, Y/n struggled to let people help her with her issues.

This didn’t surprise Lando, he knew it wouldn’t be long for her to apologise for no reason. “I’m going to stop you right there.” Taking a quick deep breath, Lando looked over at the shameful look in her eyes. “I did that because you are the love of my life…I am here to protect you. You are the sweetest, most pure and giving girl, I know…I love you Y/n”

That shameful look in Y/n’s eyes soon turned into confusion. “Lando, we’re um we’re alone…you know we don’t have to act like this..”

“I’m not acting, what I just said is the truth” Before Y/n could reply to his comment, Lando pulled their faces together colliding their lips.

Y/n’s lips were soft on his, he could taste her strawberry lip balm. It felt like fireworks were going off behind Y/n.

Pulling back, a small smile made its way onto her lips. “I think I love you too” Y/n’s voice quiet but sure.

“Well that’s good to hear, Darling”

-

It was true, McLaren’s golden girl had fixed their bad boys image and reputation. He was happy to be with her whilst she lost her track of time with her head in a book.

He was happy to indulge in her healthy and easygoing lifestyle and personality. All because he loved her, just for herself.

He was grateful for the early nights and slow bittersweet mornings. Grateful for her.

-

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use

Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, mention of sick parent (cancer), rich mom trope hehe, no Kyle in this one, but!! we are finally at the precipice of the shenanigans and he will be in every chapter here on! extra long as I am begging for forgiveness :')

Chapter Four (2/2): There's a Conspiracy Afoot

An hour before noon finds you outside of Aimee Montclair’s office shifting your weight from side to side.

Your knees crack a little still from the strain you put on them earlier in the morning. Truthfully, you’d love nothing more than to scuttle away to safety, but Estelle has already threatened to take back her gift to you for your upcoming birthday should your cowardice win out.

If she hadn’t dropped unsubtle hints of there being a slight chance she’d purchased something off your ‘sell your kidney for’ wish-list, you wouldn’t bother. 

(The wench knew you hated sensible gifts with a vehemence. No one liked socks or toasters upon becoming a year closer to death, no matter what they say.)

Still, you really hated coming to see Aimee. More than you hated squirrels or little inconveniences like getting crumbs in intimate crevices or staining your brand new white shirt.

(You are unfortunately prone to both.)

The chiffon blouse you wore to work today is no match for the lobby’s frigid temperatures of the top floor space. You’d been standing around for the better part of fifteen minutes just staring at the abstract photos and pristine gray decor, finding yourself slowly slipping into melancholy.

Who would purposely design such a large space to be so depressing?

You’d been thinking to yourself that you were right to change your furniture out, angry doorman be damned. Nothing good came out of monochrome.

Aimee's assistant clicks away at his keyboard, occasionally cutting his eyes at you from behind circular frames that are too small for his angular face. The wire spectacles cut into the bridge of his nose, deepening the lines already present from his scowl.

“You may have a seat, she’ll let me know when she’s ready for you.” The reedy voiced man says drolly.

When you startle at his sudden speech he waves his free hand towards the uninviting bench by Aimee’s office doors. His tone makes you feel like a pest, and there’s nothing more that you hate than feeling like a huge inconvenience for just existing.

When he huffs for the umpteenth time your eye twitches. 

In another setting you’d say something vitriolic about his nasty tone, but you do somewhat fear the wrath of your employer. So, you instead shuffle quietly to the pointed out bench with clenched fists at your side. 

Several more silent minutes go by when you can’t stand the quiet a second longer, lest you run screaming from the building. Plastering on a smile you shift on the hard chaise, that even the cushion of your ass is no match for, to bend forward and catch the eye of the assistant.

“Has she said anything yet?” you ask hopefully.

He rolls his eyes and gives you a noncommittal answer that mostly sounds like a negative. Unperturbed, you try at least to make conversation.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look like a British Stanley Tucci?”

Aimee’s assistant stops fiddling with his phone to openly glare at you. “What?”

You try to smile wider hoping to disarm him but he glares deep enough for wrinkles to appear on his shiny bald head. Oh dear, he was much too young for that to be happening, maybe you should recommend your dermatologist's number…

“I asked if anyone told you that you look like a British Stanley Tu-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. “Aimee is ready for you now.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. “You just said she wasn’t available yet. Like literally less than 30 seconds ago, you didn’t even check anything, I saw you!”

Aimee’s assistant shrugs and tells you that you can go in before ignoring you for his desktop monitor. You can’t help the sneer that overtakes your face or the audible suck of your teeth. 

You had just been lying to be polite! 

There was no way Stanley Tucci could ever be compared to such a rude, sniveling little man in an awful tweed vest! With an angry pep to your step you utter out a snide thank you and swing open Aimee’s door with a little more force than necessary. 

Aimee looks up from her calendar with pursed lips that freezes you in your steps.

You stare at each other for several moments before Aimee’s thin brow quirks. She sets aside her pen and glasses to lean back in her seat, motioning you closer. 

“Close the door and have a seat, please.” 

Hesitantly, you do as she asks and inch to the proffered seat, perching as demurely on the edge as you can manage. One never knew when they needed to make a run for it and all. You smile as brightly as you can waiting for her to speak.

Aimee watches you with shrewd eyes and sighs. “I heard from my son regarding your choice to end the engagement.”

Your smile drops immediately and your face contorts into a scowl against your will. Leave it to Hugo Montclair to be such a bloody coward to cheat then lie to his mommy!

“What do you mean by my choice?!” you squawk indignantly.

You’re unable to stop yourself from opening your mouth to say awful things about her pride and joy, but Aimee lifts a hand up to stop you. Your jaw closes with an audible click but you’re sure steam is visibly coming out of your ears. 

Forget the doorman or Kyle, your ex fiance would be receiving the punch in the face he deserved, witnesses be damned! (Blue knew the procedures should you end up on the wrong side of the law after all.)

Despite the dark energy you’re channeling, Aimee continues on. 

“I’m aware of my son’s… dalliance with the Sinclair girl and I plan to have a discussion with his father to address it.”

“Oh?” Primly you sniff and roll your shoulder’s back as you attempt to hide your smirk.

The Montclair patriarch was a point of contention for Hugo, as his father was immeasurably scarier than his wife and far less doting of Hugo’s… laissez faire lifestyle. You wish you could be a fly on the wall when he learns of his son’s indiscretions, it would probably lead to the elder Frenchman's notorious temper. 

You’d been subjected to more than one ruined dinner party eating hor d'oeuvres and watching chaos reign down as the graying man shouted down the rooftops and threw furniture out of dissatisfaction.

You’re snickering under your breath evilly, it’s what the posh little cretin deserved! When Aimee frowns you plaster back on a smile.

“Thank you, Aimee. I was truly heartbroken about Hugo’s decision. It means a lot to me that you’ll speak to him about the harm he caused, truly.” placing a hand over your heart you give her your best doe eyed look. 

(it’s one you’d practiced in the mirror a few times to get the cafeteria lady who had a crush on you to give you an extra portion whenever you stopped by to see mum.)

Aimee leans farther back into her chair and taps her finger against the armrest, studying the hand you clasp over your bosom in thought.

 “Good, I want you to continue the engagement.”

A record scratches in your mind because surely you’ve misheard. You cock your head in her direction, clasping your hand behind your ear and squint. “Hm, I’m sorry ma’am, what was that?”

Aimee sighs and stands, circling around the ornate desk. You scramble as much as your weight back against the armchair when she stops to lean on her desk in front of you. She clasps her hands in front of her, the tennis bracelet worth more than your flat glints in the natural light.

“I encouraged you to pursue my son for a reason.” She gives you a knowing look that shuts you up before you could mention you had not pursued her son in the least. 

Hugo had just been aggressively thrusted onto you at every company party or assignment until you gave in. You hadn’t even been proposed to! Hugo had just shown up to work with an engagement ring the size of your forehead after a year. 

You’d been quietly reeling from shock (and some horror) as his mother watched on while he slid the shiny rock over your knuckles. You’d barely gotten your wits about you before she was asking for updates on your latest case.  

“I need someone who can keep my son in line and not run this firm into the ground when I step down. Despite your shortcomings and background, I still believe you are the best person for the job.” She waits for your uncontrollable range of expressions to settle before gesturing for you to speak your mind. 

“Sorry ma’am, uh a few teensy little questions; Are you saying you plan on me taking over when you leave? Actually, what exactly do you mean despite my shortcomings and background? And honestly it’s probably more important, but did Hugo not tell you that Maddie is pregnant?” 

You’re aware you sound a bit belligerent near the end and you know it’s a bit unbecoming but, seriously? 

Aimee’s expressions darkens in a way that makes your throat constrict. The older woman’s scowl could rival your mother’s. If she looked down her nose a bit more and started insulting your wardrobe in a thick accent you might curl up into a ball and cry.

“I’m very aware of the girl’s unfortunate condition, I plan to see to it that it’s dealt with. As for your other questions, you've worked for me for the last what? Four years, yes?”

You nod cautiously, still rolling around her comment ‘of dealing with Maddie’s condition.’ You’re concerned and in the midst of questioning her further when she lifts a hand once more with a sharp look.

“Siggy, I am aware you lied on your CV when you interviewed with us. About your attendance at Cambridge.”

A glacial chill dances down your spine like a cold knife, serrated and quick. You're straightening in the chair quickly and putting on your best poker face. “Respectfully ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t lie about attending Cambridge.”

Aimee chuckles, giving you a pitying look that says ‘silly girl.’ Frankly, it makes you a bit murderous.

“I never said that you didn’t attend, I know you did. I spoke to several of your professors before I hired you.” she waves her hand in the air “A Mr. Anyadike had nothing but excellent things to say about you.”

Your jaw clenches tight enough you can feel your molars squeak.

“Yes, he was my ethics and public law professor.” you grind your teeth, “ I’m sorry, he wasn’t on my references, is it usual to personally speak to all of your employees' educators or was that something you just did for me?”

She spears you with an unimpressed look, but you don’t back down, holding your own against her crystalline gaze. Eventually, Aimee sighs deeply, looking off to the floor to ceiling windows catty-corner from where you’re seated.

“I was impressed by your academic resume. Despite growing up in one of the worst council houses in Peckham, you still managed to make quite the name for yourself. I pulled some favors with a colleague and I sat in on a few of your mock trials. I knew you’d be a damn good lawyer with the right tools.” she pauses to look at you, you suppose expecting to see you preening at the compliment.

Maybe if several things about her statement hadn’t made you sick to your stomach, you would have the mind to perk up like a bloody peacock. 

You were not ashamed of where you'd grown up, but you’d taken painstaking measures to avoid the added prejudices of being from the ‘wrong’ neighborhood while in Uni. Your parents' split had devastated the already limited finances and for a while your mothers family had refused to provide any support. 

It’s why the decision to relocate you and your mother to housing she could maintain on her humble nursing budget was made, while your father went back to America to find guaranteed work.

You’d gone as far as to adopt the accent and speech habits of your upper echelon uni peers, so far from the lilt that gave away your first generation and South London origins. It helped with some of the ostracization in your undergrad and continued to determine the treatment you experienced in and out of court.

But how the hell could Aimee know about any of that?

As if hearing your spiraling thoughts Aimee continues, pacing slowly. “When you interviewed with us you said you’d completed your studies at Cambridge, but that wasn’t exactly true was it?” The question is rhetorical and she doesn’t wait for your reply.

“You took a leave of absence when your mother was diagnosed with cancer. Didn’t complete the degree until months after you started with us.” 

She gives you a look, daring you to lie. 

Your breathing is stuttered as you try to think straight, chest heaving in mounting panic and palms sweating. She was right. You had frantically taken the final courses needed for your degree well into your employment. 

At the time, you’d thought it was a blessing how flexible the hours were for the position. You were ecstatic that you would be able to finish the stupid Master of Law programme online. You’d taken the train back and forth from London for your final mock trials, using the time to study and work on litigation notes.

Aimee’s smug expression tells you she knew that already.

“If you were aware that I didn’t finish the course, why did you hire me?” you ask finally, with a shaky breath. Aimee scoffs. 

“Because you desperately needed the income to support the procedures not covered in your mother’s NHS treatment and I needed a protege willing to do whatever it took to win.” She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Like, you were ridiculous to feel blindsided by the fact the career you cried and wrote increasingly desperate manifestations for, happened because you were a means to an end willing to play dirty. 

Aimee, the viper she’d shown herself to be, does not seem to care for your emotional spiral though, not in the least bit. 

“You’re a slacker, Siggy and needlessly dramatic. But you’re a brilliant lawyer and if you spend the time you use to shirk your duties on important things, you can go far. So yes, to answer your first question, I am thinking of your future here and I’d like it if I could continue to do so. ” Aimee says, pushing the knife in deeper.

For once in your life you're silent. 

You realize you’re stuck in place, ripping into the sides of the chair with the sharp tips of your stiletto manicure as the reality of the situation slams into you like heavy pillars. You’d thought you were covering your arse, but that was obviously not the case. You’re scared to know just how much Aimee knew about you and just how she gained the information. 

Somehow through it all you can’t help but think this was all fucking Hugo’s fault.

While you sit stunned there’s a knock on Aimee’s door. She voices out a blase call to enter. Her assistant pops his head in letting her know her next appointment was waiting. Aimee nods and turns to you considering your stone form. She pats the fleshy upper portion of your arm and makes her way back behind her desk. 

“You may leave.” she looks up, “Think about what I said, Hugo and the girl should not be an issue for much longer and I can guarantee continuing the engagement will be worth your while.”

You don’t reply, instead rising on wobbling legs. Numbly you shuffle to the door, barely cognizant of your surroundings, much less focused on the irritating look on Aimee’s assistant's face. Aimee calls your name and you turn.

“Keep what we talked about under wraps, will you? I expect to hear an answer from you soon.”

Her lithe form standing like a sentry behind her desk in her white pantsuit is the last thing you see before the door is closed in your face.

Le Misa’s is far less crowded than you expected it to be on a sunny afternoon.

If you weren’t still reeling from your conversation with Aimee you think you’d be a little more concerned. You’re absently stirring the straw in your water cup waiting for Estelle to arrive after her meeting. 

Your eye had twitched earlier reading the odd text Vi sent you, vaguely stating she couldn’t make yet another hen session. You were a bit worried about her so you make a mental note to check in later.

Under your lashes you observe the woman across the table from you. Blue had arrived promptly at the time you’d discussed and had been peeved per usual at your tardiness (which really could exactly three minutes late count towards tardiness?)

She’d grumbled about having time to grade papers that you teased her for. Blue had still been incensed and taken up scrolling on her phone, ignoring you petulantly. 

With a sigh you try your best to capture her attention. “Blue dear, am I dramatic?”

She doesn’t look up. “Yes.”

Your mouth twists into a firm line unamused by the quick response from the younger south asian woman. 

“Rude! Why are you saying yes so quickly?”

Blue’s eyes meet yours across your usual table at Le Misa’s. She takes one long look at you and snorts before continuing to tap her straw against her water glass like a drum. You kick her under the table which earns you a dark scowl. You return it with one of your own, using your best friends forever telepathy to threaten her if she refused to answer you.

Blue rolls her eyes.

“I said yes because you are dramatic, my beautifully dramatic friend.”

The gasp of offense you let out is on the theatrical side. Blue still seems perfectly content to ignore you though, continuing to tap away as if she were performing one handed. 

You kiss your teeth. What a rude little thing! 

Lying in wait you snatch her impromptu drum stick with lightning quick reflexes. When she moves to take it back you twist to the side to keep it out of reach, close to your bosom. Blue looks considerate like she may very well attempt to wrestle you for it before she seems to change her mind.

She mumbles something about needing to burn her hands if she accidentally copped a feel that makes you frown. 

“What kind of friend are you, you were supposed to say no! Take it back.”

The criminally well dressed woman flaps her hands your way perusing whatever thing has her attention on her phone. “Well I didn’t and I don’t think you’re allowed to force my hand like that to change my mind.”

You stick your tongue at her childishly and she returns the gesture with equal amounts of flare.

“Take it back, there’s no way I’m dramatic!”

Blue sighs and uncrosses her legs to shift her form towards you. With softened eyes she reaches across the table to grasp your hands in hers. Then pinches the backs of them hard enough to make you yelp aloud, the sound garners the attention of the tables around you. 

“Siggy, my love I’ve known you since I was five. You are so needlessly dramatic and always have been. Do you not remember that time you asked me to give you your last rites because you thought you were dying of cholera?”

Still rubbing the flesh of your aching hands you hiss at her. “Yes you ninny! Because you didn’t tell me Micah Elliot's disgusting dog drank out of my fizzy drink when I wasn’t looking!”

Blue looks like she wants to argue but shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘touche’.  

“Fine, I’ll give you that, but you are still dramatic! I mean you’re hellbent on having a child because your mother wants one from you. If that’s not dramatic, I don't know what is.” 

“Blue,” you start carefully, “I’m going to stab you with this fork, I said that out of a moment of frustration why would you bring that up!”

Blue gives you a look down her nose that you loathe because she’s not even wearing glasses so the effect isn’t the same, it’s just judgmental!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that you traitor, you’re being very cruel in my time of need.”

“Says the dramatic.” Blue mumbles under her breath.

You are about to boo the sister of your heart, (or commit a petty act of retaliation) when Estelle shows up harried and knocking into things with her gargantuan tote.

You wait for the chronically ultra late girl (and whatever body she carts around in her bag) to settle and give Blue a cheery greeting before asking her the same question.

“Stells,” you start with a saccharine smile, “am I dramatic?”

“Am I French?” She says dryly in return. Blue outright bursts into chuckles that she tries to cover with her hand.

You frown in confusion, “What? Yes you’re French what does-“

Estelle pretends to be preoccupied with the menu avoiding your eyes. It clicks only seconds after.

“Estelle! Don’t be rude, you know I’m terrible at discerning sarcasm!” 

Much like Blue, Estelle gives you a shrug in return and instead preoccupies herself with picking imperceptible lint off her blouse.

You clear your throat loudly, forcing the attention of your traitorous friends back on you with irritation.

“If I were to die you both would be very sorry for being cruel to me, you know.” 

Your heartless friends groan in unison that starts you all bickering. Having enough of the teasing from the clucking hens you call your friends, you rap the table quickly to interrupt. You get accusations of being a rude harlot but at least they take the hint and quiet down some.

“Enough, let’s get this show on the road. I need to tell you what happened with Hugo. I swear the universe has it out for me!”

Blue huffs and quirks her mouth in disgust in the familiar way that's always made you a bit envious, you’ve yet to master the gesture, only managing to look like you were having a stroke.

“You mean the chihuahua?” Blue scoffs, “I’m dying to hear more about this farce of a wedding you insist on putting on. Have you even tried to get out of this like you said you would?”

You give her your best deadpan expression, whilst Estelle looks off like she’s thinking of floating away into the clouds to avoid the impeding argument.

“You haven’t been listening to the messages I sent in the group-chat have you?”

Blue doesn’t look even a little contrite. “Of course not, Siggy. You send multiple texts a day when I'm with students. I figured you’d tell me the next time you came over. What?”

Blue looks at the face you make and Estelle’s sinking into her chair.

“Hugo and I are not together any longer,” you drawl out flatly “and I think his mother just threatened my career to be honest.”

That gets a jolt of shock out of both ladies and normally you would feel like a queen holding court as you presented the shocking escapades of your life over tea.

But instead as you detail what was the last four days of your life and the questionable meeting from this morning you feel a bit ill.

Blue had threatened to slap Maddie for you which you thought was very kind considering she was such a goodie two shoes, but she'd gone quiet when you told her of Maddie's pregnancy.

Then quieter when you'd recapped the visit with your mother and Aimee's revelation. Estelle is the first to break her silence when you’ve finally finished recapping the entire bloody scenario.

“Babe, are you serious? Did she really say she’d fire you if you didn’t get back on with Hugo?”

Your snort is unladylike and whip quick, “She of course didn’t outright say it but she might as well have slapped down a marriage certificate for me to sign in her office. She told me not to say a single word but you know…”

“You’re terrible with secrets.” Estelle nods in understanding.

You scowl at her because yes, but that wasn’t what you were going to say.  Blue understands what you mean to say and sits back in her chair with crossed arms and eyes closed nearly in slits.

“It’s against your nature to be bullied or quiet about unfairness. What do you plan to do?” 

The air goes out of you as you sigh and glance around. You really needed a sweet before you even thought about considering your very limited options. Showing how well she knows you, Blue hums and stands from the table. 

“I’m going to pop into the inside to see if we can get some service.” 

Estelle blinks and looks around the space, before checking her watch with a furrowed brow. “You know what, it’s odd, they're usually on top of things whenever we pop by. We’ve been sitting here for at least twenty minutes.”

That gets your own lips pursed. It was actually very, very odd.

You take another look at the outdoor dining area and notice that there really was an unusually small amount of patrons for a day like today. The flowers within the trellis separating the outdoor seating from the street look limp and the complimentary pot of tea had been lukewarm when you received it earlier.

You hadn’t realized when you sat down but the cute swan shaped napkin that normally sat in the middle of your saucer was not present. It was easily the one feature of Le Misa’s that had given you constant entertainment over the many years, yet?

The napkin was just… flat. Not even stark white per the norm.

Estelle and Blue seem to take note of the same as you and wear similar expressions of concern. Blue excuses herself to go inside, skirting past empty tables and chairs.

Estelle hums and reaches for her menu. “Siggy, have you figured out what you want to do for your birthday?”

The groan you let out requires you to throw your head back to the sky and stamp your feet under the table in order to fully articulate the actual frustration you have. Estelle of course pays you no mind besides laughing at your distress.

“No, I haven’t thought any more about it. Hugo, curses to his name may he be plagued by locusts and what now, promised me tickets to a lounge show or a trip but we see how that’s gone.”

Estelle reaches over and squeezes your hand in support. “Don’t worry if you can’t think of anything we can always move up our annual hen night.”

That’s honestly what you were afraid of. You didn’t want to spend the day where you officially failed the checklist for your life by daring to grow older than the age deadline set since, to get uncomfortably sloshed. You knew yourself well enough to know a public crying fit would be inevitable. So giving Estelle a tight smile you are planning to frantically come up with some plans in the next three weeks before your birthday, that are hopefully not nearly as sad.

You’re about to thank her for her offer when Estelle’s surprised curse fills the air.

“What Stells, what is it? Did you forget to blink again? I think I have eye drops in my purse, one second.” Estelle shoots you a venomous look and swats at your hand when you reach for your bag. 

“No, that only happened one time!” she spits out a command for you to ‘laisse tomber’ when you go to remind her that it was at least three times. (Usually when she was ogling some future romantic prey she’s planning to sink her teeth into.)

Estelle shoves her menu into your face, “Look at the menu you absolute broomstick. They’ve crossed out the crepes!”

Your eyes cross a bit trying to see what she shows you, eventually you shove the laminated sheet away from you and pick up your own menu and squint.

You’re trailing your eyes across the brunch options to see that Estelle is right, the crepes and several other options are now crossed off. You’re flipping the menu to the back for the desserts to confirm the worst. 

“Estelle darling, I think I’m going to scream they-”

“They’ve discontinued the lavender cakes.” Blue appears to stand behind her chair with the disposition of a doctor with terrible news. Or the Grim Reaper.

“What?!” Your gasp of horror sucks out all of the breath available in your lung capacity. When you choke on your breath Estelle has to pat your back. 

“Careful Siggy, you know you’re not good at breathing and talking.” Blue snarks pettily, earning a glare from you and a muffled laugh from Estelle.

“Lucky you, I’m too preoccupied to dignify that with a response, you terror. Take a look at your menu, not only have half the cakes gone missing, so have at least a majority of the specials! It’s just like I said, someone in the universe wants me dead!”

Blue frowns too caught up in her own confusion to tell you not to be facetious. “We’ve been coming here since we were in secondary, the menu hasn’t changed once. Plus, I asked and we now have to go in for service because they’re short staffed apparently.”

Estelle tuts uninterestedly, “To be honest I didn’t really like the cakes very much and I guess it’s fine about the crepes, I’m always here for the bread-” Estelle cuts herself off when she squints at the menu once more.

 It’s not long before she’s cursing and flapping the menu in the air as if it were the throat of the culprit responsible.

You cross your arms across your chest and narrow your eyes in thought. 

“Exactly my French friend, there is a conspiracy afoot and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

*laisse tomber - drop it/leave it alone

A/N: I have no excuse for the tardiness, the brain just was not braining sorry lmao. nonetheless next chapter we are finally in the thick of it. I'm so excited to hear the yelling and see the pitchforks! remember to feed your local pterodactyl by sharing your thoughts and reblogging on the reblog website!

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[midastouch013]

Nice To Meet You

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Pronouns not specified)

Summary : You're new to the avengers, and meet the infamous Black Widow for the first time. Do you interest her, or are you just another person?

Warnings: Just sarcasm and overall cute.

P.S I had previously posted this, but had all my fic deleted, so I'm having it posted again

________

The Avengers Tower was alive with activity as Natasha Romanoff entered the common area. The team had been informed about a new member joining them, and Natasha, known for her somewhat reserved demeanor, was intrigued to meet the person who had caught Nick Fury's attention.

As she entered the room, her gaze landed on you, standing a few inches taller than her and engaged in a lively conversation with Wanda Maximoff. Your slight British accent and outgoing demeanor immediately caught Natasha's attention, but she maintained her usual cool exterior.

Wanda noticed Natasha approaching and grinned, waving you over. "Nat, this is Y/N. Y/N, meet Natasha Romanoff," she introduced with a playful smirk.

You turned towards Natasha, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Natasha. Wanda here has been telling me all about the infamous Black Widow. I'm hoping her stories are true."

Natasha assessed you with a raised eyebrow before finally shaking your hand. "We'll see."

Over the next few days, you proved your worth to the team with your medical expertise and combat skills. Natasha observed your interactions with a measured curiosity, not easily swayed by the outgoing nature that seemed to be second nature to you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you and Natasha found yourselves alone in the gym. Natasha was honing her skills, and you were diligently working on perfecting your moves. There was a palpable tension between the two of you, a silent acknowledgment of each other's capabilities.

As Natasha executed a precise series of kicks, you couldn't resist a sarcastic comment. "Impressive, Nat. I almost forgot you're not just the resident ice queen."

Natasha shot you a sidelong glance, her expression giving away nothing. "Almost. You're not too bad yourself, for someone who talks as much as Stark during a press conference."

You grinned, reveling in the banter. "Well, talking is an art, Natasha. Not everyone can appreciate it."

Without missing a beat, you mimicked her moves, injecting a bit of humor into the routine. Natasha didn't react overtly, but a subtle quirk of her lips suggested a hint of amusement.

In the following days, your interactions with Natasha became a delicate dance of sarcasm and skill. You found ways to break through her stoic facade, and she responded with a dry wit that matched your own. One day, during a mission briefing, Tony , leaning against the Quinjet with a smirk, quipped during the mission briefing, "I've upgraded the Quinjet, folks. Now it's not just state-of-the-art; it's Stark-of-the-art. I know, I'm a genius, thank me later."

You couldn't let Tony's comment slide without a retort. Smirking, you raised an eyebrow and replied, "Well, Stark, if your upgrades are as functional as your relationships, we might want to consider taking the stairs next time." The room burst into laughter, including Natasha, who couldn't help but crack a smile. Tony, momentarily taken aback, playfully rolled his eyes. "Oh, someone call the burn unit. We've got a comedian on the team."

"Looks like even the ice queen can appreciate a good dose of sarcasm," you remarked afterwards when you had sat yourself next to the redhead, earning a subtle smirk from her.

As time passed, Natasha Romanoff found herself acknowledging the camaraderie that had formed between you two. The Avengers Tower became witness to the unlikely friendship and something more that blossomed between the thought to be frigid assassin and the outgoing doctor, proving that even in the high-stakes world of superheroes, a well-timed quip and a shared smirk could go a long way.

—----------

[haztobegood]

This 28th comes with the heaviest of hearts. Over the past few days I've been finding comfort in the many, many ways Liam's memory will live on in the thousands of stories we have, so I wanted to share a few fics I love that feature Liam.

🦕 Hot Zauce by wemadethishome @theeliampayne (NR, <1k, OT5, fluff)

Zayn gets Liam, Niall, Harry, and Louis to try his homemade hot sauce.

🦕 The In-Between by LadyAJ_13 @ladyaj-13 (G, 2K, OT5 friendship, afterlife)

“You wake up in a desert with an angel, a demon and a grim reaper-” “-and the accounts manager!” “-yes, alright Liam, and the accounts manager - and you haven’t realised you’re dead?”

🦕 Hesitate by allwaswell16 @allwaswell16 (E, 2k, Liam/Louis, childhood friends to lovers, college au)

He’d always been in love with Louis. From the time he was old enough to understand attraction, he’d been attracted to Louis, not that he’d been ready to do anything about it at the time. Instead, he’d just supported him like a best friend should. He was there for Louis when he came out to his mom. He was there for Louis when he landed the leading role in the school play. He was there for him when Louis didn’t have a date for the prom. He was there when Louis got his heart broken. And he waited. He’d waited until he couldn’t stand to wait any more. A college au where Liam and Louis went from childhood friends to lovers to exes and back again.

🦕 The Grundy County Drag Show Incident by haztobegood (T, 3k, Liam/Zayn, drag show, gay awakening)

The instrumental opening of Beyoncé’s Halo filled the bar, and the crowd clapped in time to the beat. Holding a wireless mic in her gloved hand, Veronica Stardust owned the stage. She was one of the most vocally talented drag queens in the Midwest. Harry and Louis had seen this act a few times before and were always blown away at the power of her voice. Liam, however, was just experiencing it for the first time. He didn’t know what was yet to come.

🦕 Rising to the Occasion by LadyAJ_13 @ladyaj-13 (G, 4k, OT5 friendship, Great British Bake Off)

The camera pans across lush parkland to highlight a white tent, crisp and blinding in the spring sunshine. Four people cross the green lawn, elbows knocking until one is shoved to the side. The camera shot changes, zooming in on the same four figures lined up in cream aprons. “We’re One Direction,” they say, with cheesy grins and almost in unison. “And this is The Great British Stand up to Cancer Bakeoff!”

🦕 I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right by lululawrence @lululawrence (NR, 4k, Liam/Nick Grimshaw, genderswapped, firefighter!Liam)

Nick was a bit of a disaster, but she was used to it. Or so she thought. She had never known how much she could struggle just to function until the new fire lady goddess angel person winked at her.

🦕 For One of the Least of These by LadyLondonderry @londonfoginacup (G, 6k, OT5 friendship, witches, roommates)

“Sorry,” says Harry. “The fox has a curse?” He looks back toward the living room, suddenly feeling like at any moment some sinister force is going to come rushing through and attack them. He doesn’t like curses. Even the oven freaks him out a bit. “Correction,” says Niall. “The fox is the curse. He’s human, I can tell.” “Whoa,” says Liam. “You just let a cursed human loose in our house?” “Well I wasn’t going to leave him out there, was I?” Niall asks, looking at Liam like he’s daft again. “It’s freezing out there!” Or, the one where Harry, Liam, Niall and Zayn are witches and Louis is the fox with a curse.

🦕 bad luck to talk on these rides by wordsnnotes @quelsentiment (G, 10k, Liam&Louis, Liam/Zayn, first meetings and awkward conversations)

“So… how did you and Zayn meet exactly?” Louis turned to look at him, and Liam flinched under his somewhat cold stare. “What, Zayn hasn’t told you? I’m offended, I’ll have to have a word with him.” Liam genuinely couldn’t tell if Louis was joking or not. He squirmed a little under the pressure. “No, I mean, he did. Just thought it would be interesting to have your own perspective on it, I guess.” “Why? Are you conducting some kind of investigation? Want to know if our stories match up or something?” Liam nervously chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. “What? No, of course not.” He shot a glance at Louis, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else, as if waiting for Liam to explain. But what's there to explain? he thought, half panicking. He only wanted to be friendly, goddammit. Or: Liam just started dating Zayn and is desperate to make a good impression on Louis, his best friend. But things are off to an awkward start.

🦕 Singing Harmonies in Neverland's Embrace by zanni_scaramouche @zanniscaramouche (M, 21k, Liam/Harry, famous/not famous, omegaverse)

Two minutes and seventeen seconds. That’s all it took. Liam wasn’t there, he’s only read the reports. He doesn’t know if Harry’s heart sounded the same as it does now, rapid and high strung. If Harry had frozen at the scent of Zayn’s blood. If Harry had screamed, or gasped, or cried. Liam wasn’t there, and he’s determined to make sure he never finds out what Harry does when one of his bodyguards takes a knife to the chest.

🦕 You Don't Have To Be Lonely This Christmas by LadyLondonderry @londonfoginacup (T, 35k, Liam/Zayn, Christmas, library, roommates)

Louis knew that it would happen sooner or later. He was struggling, and his roommates weren’t. It only made sense for them to offer his place in the house to someone else. But now, it’s the first of December, and he has less than a week to find somewhere cheap to stay. At least until after the holidays. Enter: an old friend with an old house and a suspiciously empty bed. Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

🦕 not even a landslide or riptide could take it all away by we_are_the_same @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (M, 49k, Liam/Zayn, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort)

When Liam was younger he used to daydream about fame, but right now he wishes he was still fourteen and naive enough to think that the things that people would have to say about him were nice. But he’s not fourteen. He’s twenty eight and for the past decade he’s grown accustomed to being a commodity, being on display. He’s had more media training than he can remember, but no amount of training could have prepared him for what’s been coming at him in the past few hours, for the judgment, the memes and the laughter. For the way that he’s suddenly become theirs now in a way that he’s never been, not even at the height of fame. When Liam gets outed via sextape, his whole world collapses around him. In the midst of all the chaos, an unexpected lifeline appears in the form of a DM from Zayn: If you find yourself needing to escape, go here. Even though they haven’t talked in years, Liam is just desperate enough to go. He doesn’t expect to find himself on a farm in the middle of nowhere, face to face with a man he hasn’t seen in years, but who somehow looks more familiar to him than the face he sees when he looks in the mirror.

🦕 Live a Thousand Lifetimes by Layne Faire (HisDarlin) @laynefaire (E, 58k, Liam/Zayn, exes to lovers, future fix-it fic)

It’s 2025. After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour. With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

🦕 Crawling on Your Shores by juliusschmidt @juliusschmidt (E, 67k, Liam/Harry, strangers to lovers, small towns and aliens)

"You're a mechanic?" Liam nods. Harry gives him another long, appraising look. This time it lingers on his hands. "Your nails are clean." The tips of Liam's fingers tingle. "Got laid off a month ago." "Sorry to hear that." Harry smiles, soft and small. ~ Liam is searching for direction, purpose, connection, and, ultimately, himself. Harry is searching for aliens.

🦕 Influenced. by zita17, zmmf @louisandtheaquarian @zaynmaliksmiddlefinger (E, 353k+ WIP, Liam/Zayn, famous/not famous)

When Louis Tomlinson goes to bed on New Year's Eve, he is *not* prepared to wake up to a job offer that's layered in more NDAs than he's ever seen courtesy of ZAYN, A-list pop star and Louis’ best friend Liam's celebrity crush. But what is Louis even less prepared for? Zayn's Very! Enthusiastic! Influencer! boyfriend Harry Styles. When Harry Styles signs on to become Zayn’s fake boyfriend, he's expecting 12 months of good press and a generous paycheck to help launch his hair and skincare line—he wasn't expecting to fall in love at first sight with the man who'll apparently be following Zayn around All. The. Damn. Time. The Entire Year. A fake dating with a twist, famous/not-famous, enemies to friends to secret lovers au where Larry and Ziam fall in love behind the scenes while Zarry bicker in public.

Part 2 of my favorite Liam fics

[jkriordanverse]

Jameson Hawthorne hcs

Everytime he got into a fight with Avery he'd buy her things to win her back. And if that doesn't work he starts hitting the old British love confessions. It wins everytime. (most of their fights are about Sk*e tho because you can't tell me she's still somewhat involved in the Hawthorne's lives).

Kisses to her knuckles when she's nervous <333

Whilst Avery doesn't like dogs, she loves him enough to let him keep a few in the house.

When he's nervous his eyes gets all itchy and he just wants to stratch them over and over so Avery likes to kiss his eyelids and it makes him stop.

When he was younger he had an imaginary friend called "Stanley" for the sole purpose of having an extra cookie during desserts. That and because he was also a bit lonely.

When he was a kid he loved watching interactive shows and sometimes he'd respond back. Once a man on TV asked which pattern should he decorate the box and Jamie said polka dots. The man on TV coincidentally chose polka dots and for a while Jameson thought people on TV could hear you.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Held Together by Spiderwebs by TunaFishChris (+ podfic)

Steve is not coping well in the twenty-first century. At all. Three months after the Chitauri invasion, he decides he's had enough.

But just as he's about to end it all, he runs into the new hero in town.

Ted Lasso

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered by mardia

Ted Lasso: Schrodinger's Witch.

Or, the one where AFC Richmond are leading the Premier League table, and Trent Crimm and the rest of the British press are slowly losing their minds as a result.

what comes in threes by emelinelou

“It’ll take two seconds,” Higgins says. “I like to keep up to date with all the players, you know. I just thought, well, you moved recently. And your emergency contact.”

He pauses here, and Jamie raises an eyebrow. His emergency contact? He’d probably filled out some joke response last time, hadn’t he. Fucking Queen of England, Boris Johnson’s wife, something good.

“Oi, let’s see it then,” and Higgins passes over the paper like it’s a live bomb, and Jamie scans down to where he sees his own handwriting sitting over a few dotted lines, and, well. It sure ain’t the Queen.

or: Jamie goes through a series of unfortunate events, changes his emergency contact a few times, and considers the possibility that maybe, actually, letting other people help isn’t all bad after all.

Clone Wars

Take a Knee by lilbuddyBD (Note: Read the warnings on all the fics in this series before starting it, because holy shit)

Part 1 of Broken Pieces (Shine)

There is a Jedi on Kamino. Jango can't just let him leave, now can he?

The Goblin Emperor

Drinks With Friends by searchingforserendipity

The emperor of the Ethuveraz and his nohecharei walk into a bar -

Well. Beshelar limped, mostly. Cala supported him, an operation made somewhat more difficult with how they insisted in keeping Maia safely between them.

[thewulf]

You Can Let It Go || Sirius Black

Summary: Request - So I kinda have a personal request. It’s loosely based off Matilda by harry styles. Basically the reader didn’t have a BAD childhood, just not normal. Like for example (of course she thinks its all normal as that is what they grew up with) ... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you so much for the request @loving-and-dreaming! I really hope you like it. This was tough to write initially but super fluffy and loving at the end. A good old hurt/comfort!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k +

TW: Talks of abuse, abusive parents, crying

“What about you?” Lily’s soft voice broke you out of the dream world you’d been in for the last few moments. They were talking about their childhood’s and all the fun things they did. Lily and her family always went down to the French seashore every summer for holiday. Remus and his brother would always go to camps around London while their parents worked away. James got to go to America almost every year to hang out with his uncle who was working at MACUSA. Even Sirius got to travel the world on his fathers dime. You didn’t really have anything. Your parents didn’t do things like that for you and your older sister.

“Hmm?” You hummed, not exactly sure what the group was talking about anymore as you thought about your past. As you looked up you locked eyes with the boy you’d had a crush on for years, Sirius, who was watching you with curiosity dancing in his iris’s. All eyes were on you.

She smiled, “What was your favorite snack from childhood? I think we’re the only two here who grew up with muggle parents.” Playfully, she bumped your shoulder with hers, “Can you believe they’ve never had a proper biscuit from Tesco before?” She smirked looking at all the confused faces around her. 

You nodded your head lightly, “I never really got any of those growing up. Dad always said they were for special occasions only.” Speaking nonchalantly, you found Lily giving you a somewhat confused look. Her eyebrows stitched together as she tried to gauge the comment for what it was, were you being serious?

“Biscuits?” She was a little perplexed. She’d always had them on hand. All her friends always seemed too also. It was fairly common to have them always stocked up in a British household. You never knew when you’d want a biscuit with your tea.

Humming and nodding your head you didn’t see the guys watching the interaction unfold with curiosity in their own faces. You’d made some off putting comments about your childhood to your friends in the past. Comments you never really thought twice about. Sirius started picking up on your not so normal childhood after fifth year when you came back to school looking a little paler, a little skinner and much more exhausted than he was used to seeing from you. He tried to pry, to figure out if you were okay but you just shrugged him off time and time again. You were okay. It was just home. You didn’t get to eat at home like you did at Hogwarts, but you never thought anything of it. Hogwarts was the exception. What family could put out feasts on a daily basis like the kitchens did here?

“Mum never really bought us snacks. When she did dad always locked them away, anyway.” You laughed softly not realizing how weird that statement was. You thought it was normal to have almost all of your cabinets under lock and key. It’s not like your parents ever let you spend the night outside of the house to actually see how other Brit’s lived. No, sleepovers weren’t allowed. Mum always told you it was for your safety but you were starting to think she was lying a bit to you.

“Locked them away?” James’ normally happy face quickly turned down into a frown as he processed what you actually said. See, Sirius had come to him last year more than concerned over how you came back to school. James then started picking up on the weird things you said. How you never went on holiday, how your first time out of London was to go to Hogwarts, how you never had a damn sweet even when you got good grades.

An uncomfortable smile brushed across your expression as you ignored the looks of distress on their face as you continued, “Yeah. Dad always complained that me and my sister went through them too quick. We cost them too much money. So, we’d have to earn them.”

Lily shook her head in disbelief, “You had to earn food?”

“Only snacks!” You countered quickly after finally picking up on the tension the conversation was bringing, “We just had to do our chores for the week and then dad would let us pick out a pack of whatever we wanted.” It didn’t sound that good out loud you realized after you said it. None of this sounded quite right now that you said it out loud.

“Love,” Remus spoke up, “You know that’s not okay right?”

You shrugged, “It got us to do our chores, no?” It was a justification, and you knew it. Maybe it was a little weird to hold food privileges over your head like that. But what did you know? They were your parents after all. Who were you to question them. It wasn’t like they hit you or anything. More so just seemed perpetually irritated with both you and your muggle sister.

This time Sirius spoke up, “And if you didn’t do your chores?” He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He was trying to get you to understand how not normal your childhood seemed to be. How maybe just maybe your parents weren’t looking out for you as they should’ve been. He was more than concerned. And now that he’s finally broken free from his own Godforsaken family maybe he could help you with yours.

See, Sirius Black really liked you. Really, really liked you. But you’d never be able to figure that out as he hid his feelings for you under a tight lock and key. James, Remus, and Peter didn’t even seem to have a clue. Not that they should’ve known, he hid it well. Hid it for your sake. He’d decided long ago that your heart was better suited for somebody not as fucked up as him. He didn’t think he could give you what you deserved. He was broken and had far too much baggage for you. 

Instead of trying to pursue you he went the opposite route. He decided to pursue every other girl he found remotely attractive at Hogwarts. A distraction from you. And boy was it quite the distraction.

Biting your lip, you didn’t know if you wanted to admit what did happen if you skipped your daily chores. It only happened once. You missed the car home from school once and had to walk, never dreaming of calling your mum or dad. You completely spaced on cleaning the toilet and your mum wasn’t very pleased once she got home. 

Sighing you decided to just tell them. The look in Sirius’ face let you know he was not going to let it go, “It only happened once…” You trailed off feeling a little embarrassed to admit that your mum really did hold food back as a punishment. It just dawned on you how messed up that was. She literally didn’t feed you because you didn’t scrub a toilet on time… damn, that was messed up.

Sirius eyebrows rose as he waited for you to continue. When you didn’t he chose his next words carefully, “What happened love?” 

An attempt to laugh it off came out, “Well, mum always said I could stand to lose a few kilo’s…” You looked away quickly from him and down to your hands in your lap. Embarrassment of what you just admitted washing over you rapidly. It’s almost as if you could feel the anxiety rising in your chest as you reminded yourself to breathe in and out.

Lily gave your arm a squeeze, “She literally didn’t feed you?” Nothing but concern was in her eyes as she bore them right into your own.

“It only happened once.” You repeated more to yourself than to them. Because the more you thought about it the more you realized just how fucked your entire childhood was.

Being so wrapped up in your own mind you didn’t hear Sirius get up from the table. A gentle hand on your back made you jump. Turning your head up to him he gave you a soft smile, “Take a walk with me?” He held his hand out for you to take. You didn’t really want to take a walk with him. You wanted to run back to your dorm and bury yourself underneath the covers for the next week in shame. Hide away from your problems.

In your hesitation he softened his expression knowing exactly why you were acting this way. He too was in utter denial at just how messed up his home situation was until James sat him down. He knew it was embarrassing and completely out of your control. He knew you didn’t want five sets of eyes watching you as you finally learned and processed just how neglectful your parents were. It was hard. Impossible even. Something he wished he could take from you.

“If you want to, love.” He continued holding his hand out to you.

Giving him a quick nod, you placed your hand in his gingerly, “Yeah, of course.” You got up from the bench with the help of Sirius. Not daring to turn back around at your friends you followed behind Sirius as he walked out of the Great Hall holding his hand tightly over yours. You missed the saddened looks from your friends as you disappeared behind the doors.

He only dropped your hand when you started to pull away from him, “Are you alright?” Sirius asked quietly making sure the students passing by couldn’t hear in on the conversation between the two of you.

You nodded your head quickly, “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” It might’ve been a little bit of a white lie, but you didn’t want him worrying about you. No, Sirius had a million other problems, and you didn’t want to add to his own stresses.

A sad look crossed his own features now. Slowing down he pulled you to sit down on the bench just inside the courtyard, “Love, you can talk to me. You know that right? I… I’ve gone through the same bloody abusive things you have. I didn’t… couldn’t admit that it was happening to me. It wasn’t until Prongs forced a hand last year and it finally clicked. I had to get out of there. I… we’re worried about you. You came back to school not looking like your usual happy self two years in a row. I… we just need to know if you’re alright.”

Your eyebrows creased together listening to him, “Abusive?” The word came out as a whisper. Were your parents abusive? They didn’t hit you. They never struck you or your sister. But abuse didn’t just come in the form of physical punishment. Were they mentally abusive to you? Could you really have gone your whole life so clueless to their antics? 

He nodded with that same grim look on his face, “You told me a few days ago how your dad was always medicated and slept his life away. When he wasn’t high he was yelling at you and your sister… you have to know that’s not okay darling. That’s not a normal functioning thing a loving parent would do.”

Letting out the breath you were holding your eyes slowly found his. Of course, you knew Sirius would never judge you, but that little tinge of embarrassment was making your heart race, “Oh… wow.” Was all that came to your mind. Because wow. You thought you had a decent childhood. Really, it never seemed that awful. There were always things you wanted. And you got all the love you needed from your sister.  But damn this was a lot for you to comprehend all at once.

Sirius let you sit there and think before gently giving your hand a squeeze. He just wanted you to know he was there for you. He’d always be there for you. It broke his heart that somebody could want to hurt you. You of all people. So, kind. So gracious. The patience of a saint. Smartest girl he’d ever met. And yet you were so humble about it all. You were the whole package. Everything Sirius wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have. 

“Is your sister okay?” He asked as he ran a comforting hand up and down your arm. 

Your stomach twisted in knots as you thought about just how much she went through when you weren’t there. How much did she hide? She’s the one that basically forced you out of the house as soon as you got the letter from Hogwarts all those years ago. A horrifying realization set in. She forced you out to help you. To get you away from the people you thought loved you. She sacrificed her own wellbeing so you could go off and be away for ten months of the year. She was looking out for you. She was always protecting you.

“She’s at uni now.” Your voice was shaky as you spoke to him. Naturally, your older sister would do that. She’d do anything to protect you, “Has a flat with some friends. She… should be okay.”

“Good.” A quick nod came from the beautiful raven haired boy sitting next to you. 

“Yeah,” Looking back down at your hands you continued, “I think I need to write her a letter.” 

It felt shameful to finally understand what you’d went through as a child. Had you really been that clueless? Had your sister protected you from the worst of it? The twisting and turning inside your body only made you feel worse. Insignificant. Dumb. 

“She’d probably like that.” He agreed with you. He didn’t want to push you to talk but his heart was slowly crumbling into a million pieces seeing you so despondent and confused. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and tell you how truly beautiful he found you. He wanted to be the one to build you up like James had done for him the previous summer. He wanted you to be free. Be the woman he knew you could be.

Humming in agreement it felt like your head was about to explode. What were you supposed to say to him? Why couldn’t you even look at him? Did your parents really hate you that much? Why didn’t you notice this at the time? 

Sirius watched as he saw the turmoil flash across your expression. You were thinking hard about this, too hard. See, Sirius knew you well. Better than you might’ve known yourself. From the moment he knew he liked you he decided he’d watch after you. He knew your tells. Your anxieties. The things that kept you up at night. He’d made himself your very best friend. Little did he know he’d made you fall in love with him at the same time. Just like you, he hadn’t a clue of how you felt for him. 

“Darling, you know you don’t have to go back there right?” He whispered while brushing stray hair away from your face. A shiver ripped down your spine at the gentlest touch from the most handsome boy you knew. It felt intimate the way he was both touching and looking at you. 

Your eyes went wide at the comment. Could you really not go back there? They were only muggles. It’s not like they could find you if you just… disappeared. And if Sirius could get away from his powerful family in the wizarding world, why couldn’t you sneak away from them?

“Siri… they’re my parents…” A groan of frustration finally bubbled to the surface as you really thought about it. They were your parents yes, but did they love you? Did they want the best for you? Did they even want you home? Was that why it was so easy to convince them to let you go to Hogwarts? You wouldn’t be their responsibility anymore?

“I can’t just… I can’t…” Not being able to find the words you desperately wanted to say left you giving your own head a squeeze in frustration. Why was this so difficult? 

He took your hands that covering your face in his own and pulled them away gently. He didn’t want you hurting yourself as your life just got rocked upside down. He knew it’d take time for you to fully come to terms with what the hell was going on.

“You can. You can let it go. You can let them go.” He answered you softy. His eyes scanned the surrounding area to make sure nobody was close before continuing, “You have us. Lily. Me. We’d do anything for you love. You know the Potter’s have a room for you already. Mia and Fleamont love you!”

You shook your head rapidly, “I can’t do that Siri! I’ll be nothing but a burden.” Hot tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. Trying to blink them back only let them fall down your face instead, “I can’t be a burden Sirius.” Your voice wobbled as you tried to calm down, take a breath. But even you knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Not having any of it he quickly wiped your tears away before taking your chin in his hands, “Please stop saying you can’t. You can. I know you can. You don’t deserve whatever they’re doing to you darling. You deserve the world and so much more.”

The look he was giving you only made more tears fall. Trying your hardest to keep them in you finally just gave up. You were going to cry like a little baby in front of him. The walls you put up were crumbling down with a simple touch and his look. 

He wrapped you in his arms and pulled you into his chest. Pulling the Gryffindor robe around your head to shield you from any looks that’d be coming your way. He didn’t want anybody to see you hurt and broken. He wanted to protect you. To make you feel whole again. 

He let you cry it out over the better part of five minutes not giving a damn that your tears were soaking through his clothing. He only pulled you tighter and closer after each small sob wracked your fragile body. He ran a comforting hand up and down your back as you clinked to him. 

He whispered, “It’s okay love. We’ll figure it out. We always do.” Over and over again trying to reassure you but damn was it hard seeing the girl he loved so upset. 

After he felt the sobs wind down and the tears dry up he knew he had to get you back to that dorm to clean you up. Help you feel refreshed and somewhat like a human once more.

Gently, he pulled you away from his chest. And if his heart wasn’t already shattered it surly was now by the look on your face. Layers of distrust and hurt clouded your eyes as you finally really processed how messed up your life outside of Hogwarts really was. 

“Come on love. Let’s get you back to the common room, yeah?” He whispered into your ear trying his best not to startle you.

“Alright.” You wiped the stray tears that kept falling away.

He didn’t give you much of a choice after that and for that you were immensely grateful. He took control of the situation, something you needed more than you knew. Pulling you into his side he took his house robe off, draping it over you instead so none of the other students could see your face that had been so clearly crying. He had to protect you from the terrible gossips from Hufflepuff that wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. The last thing you needed was for some asshole Slytherin to make a joke in class at your expense. He knew how the students here operated.

He mumbled the password to the Fat Lady making sure you were covered entirely. She too was a terrible gossip. He pulled you right into the men’s shared restrooms not giving a shit if another boy was in there, he’d shoo them out and lock the door behind them. Perks of everybody being afraid of the Marauders for their pranks. Fortunately for the both of you nobody was there.

Sirius motioned for you to sit down at the bench near the faucets. Before you knew what he was up to he came back over with a wet rag and a sad expression still adorned, “I’m going to wipe down your cheeks if that’s okay with you love?”

“Please?” It came out as more of whisper as you didn’t trust your voice not to waver at the moment. You didn’t trust that you weren’t going to break down into another fresh set of tears at the way he was so delicately caring for you. You always knew he was the sweetest boy, but you didn’t know quite how far his kindness extended. He was going above and beyond, and it wasn’t lost on you. It only made your heart beat a little bit fast as he delicately wiped down your salt stained cheeks with a lukewarm rag. He was treating you as if you were the finest dish of China that would crack under any sort of pressure. 

“You deserve so much more darling.” He spoke as he continued cleaning up mess you’d made on your face.

You didn’t want to argue but you didn’t exactly feel the same way. Why did you deserve more? Why was he saying these things? 

“I don’t think so Siri. I think I got dealt the cards I deserve.” You couldn’t look at him. Your eyes were turned down to look at your feet.

He wanted to curse your parents. He wanted to curse himself. He didn’t understand how somebody like you could think so lowly of themselves. How couldn’t you see how amazing you really were? 

He let out a strangled sigh in frustration at himself for not building you up. He’d been too damn caught up distracting himself from you that he didn’t do the one thing he swore he would, protect you. 

“Love, look at me.” He stayed squatting so your face was at his level. He put the rag down on the bench next to you, “Please?”

And who were you to deny such a gentle request from him. You bit your cheek as your eyes locked with his once more. 

“I’m not lying or kidding or joking around when I say that you deserve so much more.” He cupped your face in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he knew this was the moment when all those feelings were about to spill out. He’d hidden them for his sake, but you needed to hear them now, “You are the kindest, sweetest, most patient woman I know. I want to spend time with you love. I get excited when I get to sit next to you in class. I look forward to every breakfast, lunch, and dinner because I get to sit next to you. You make my days so much brighter. It’s you, love. You helped piece me back together without even knowing it. It’s you that I want to spend the most time with. You’ve made me the best person that I could be. You.” He spoke slowly making sure that you heard every single word.

Your heart was racing beyond measure at his impassioned speech, “Siri…”

He shook his head placing a soft finger over your mouth, “You are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I’d be a fool not to tell you how much I adore you. How much I love you…” He paused seeing your eyes go wide. He threw it out there, the L word. But fuck it. He knew he loved you. You needed to know just how much, “I love you darling. With my whole heart. I love you and I’m in love with you. So deeply.”

More tears fell at that. So many more fell. He didn’t pressure you to say a word as he cleaned wiped them away the more they fell. He’d sit here for hours if that’s what you needed. He’d come to realize he’d do anything for you. He loved you. He was madly in love with you. 

Between the tears and the cries, you managed to confess the same, “I love you too. So much Siri.” 

You launched yourself into his arms knocking him over leaving the two of you on the restroom floor. Thank heavens they get cleaned more often than not. Your saddened tears turned to ones of happiness as the feeling of dread was being overtaken by that of love. His love had done this for you. He had done it for you. He really did love you.

Wrapping you in his arms he stood with ease while also holding onto you. He didn’t want you lying on the men’s restroom floor. No matter how elated he was that you’d just confessed that you loved him right on back.

Once your feet were back on solid ground he wasted no time in holding your face in his hands, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Smiling for the first time that day all your brain could think was, “Yes, please.”

That was all he needed to hear before he met his lips with yours. He delicately wrapped a hand around the nape of your neck to support you. He smiled into the kiss feeling how needy you already seemed to be.

You ran your hands all along his chest as you deepened the kiss showing him just how badly you wanted him. Needed him at the moment. Your hands ran through his locks of hair eliciting the hottest moan you’d ever heard. Smiling yourself, you knew you’d be doing that often in the future. 

He snaked his other hand around your waist pulling you flush with his own body. Opening your mouth, you let out a soft whimper of pleasure feeling him so tightly pressed against you. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed you on the wall. Not giving you a single millimeter of space between the two of your bodies. 

Your head swam with nothing but raunchy thoughts of him. Oh, how your mind was on cloud nine. It was only when he needed a breath he pulled away. Still his face was only mere centimeters from yours as the two of you panted for the sweet oxygen you’d deprived yourselves of.

“That was…” You spoke after a moment of simply staring into his beautiful pupil blown brown eyes. Your eyes scanned his face spotting the light blush on his cheeks, the freckles that seemed to be more prominent under the flush. He was so beautiful. More handsome than anybody you knew or had ever seen. And he was yours. He loved you and you loved him.

“Bloody hell, love.” He smiled before wrapping you up in yet another mind shattering kiss. Surely, you could get used to this, “You are everything and more. I love you darling.” He whispered before picking you right back up in his arms. All you could do was squeal and giggle with delight letting him take you to wherever he wanted.

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