#shade lord befriends

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 7)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: here we are! and CHARLES WON MONACO! (also sorry for the lance slander RPM influences me far too much)

P7 - 2.5L water bottle

"Oh for fuck's sake."

The lyrics rapping over the Metro Boomin beat were cut off as you turned off your engine. You huffed spotting the asshole in green getting out of the Aston Martin in front of you.

Mother fucking Lance Stroll.

Stroll got on your every nerve from the fact that he, as a paid driver, was the epitome of what you hated about F1 and the cash is king nature of the sport. It didn't help your opinion of him that his treatment of the Hospitality workers was very telling of his personality (i.e a spoiled little bitch) - but he also treated the rest of Aston Martin like that.

His engineers he bossed around. His PR team he bossed around. His fucking team principle he bossed around. You had never ever seen a driver be able to literally pick and choose what Media they wanted to do until Lance Stroll. Not even Räikkönen had gotten away with things that way Stroll did.

The worst part of it all, though, was that Lance's attitude of I can do whatever I want meant that he really thought he could get any girl he wanted.

Namely - you.

Your Supra wasn't exactly inconspicuous and Lance had (unfortunately) been in F1 long enough to make the connection that the flash JDM car parked in the lot tended to belong to you. And even though your windows were tinted a few shades darker than legal limit, Lance was getting out of the car right next to you. There was no chance he didn't know that it was you.

If anything, he likely made his driver park next to your Supra on purpose.

"Lord give me strength." You muttered seeing him come up to your window.

But then Lance Stroll had the fucking audacity to tap on your window.

You immediately reached for the handle and opened the door which caused him to stumble for the lack of space as you did so. "Oh, woah! Hey!" The Canadian accent pissed you off for no other reason than it reminded you of Drake. Someone else you fucking despised.

"Don't touch my car." You said, voice flat.

"Oh, er. My bad. Nice looking ride."

"Thanks." You said curtly, internally cringing at how he said 'ride' like that. You went around and grabbed the vast array of things you always hauled with you. Said items for today consisted of your gym bag, your workbag, your lunch bag and your comically large 2.5L water bottle. You always were carrying a lot.

"Need help?"

"No."

"I insist."

"Don't."

"Why you always gotta play hard to get?"

You said nothing, forcefully biting your tongue. You were out of practice with Lance Stroll's shit since Domenicali had finally relented and cut the amount of shifts you would be rostered on Aston Martin. Which had been a shame since the crew were quite nice and you really taking the piss with Nando.

Still, Lance Stroll was insufferable - and you were evidently out of practice dealing with his spoiled delusions. You were just glad his father wasn't around. God help you when it came to the European races.

"I have to get to work." You said and locked your car. There was a call from behind where some Aston Martin people were waiting Lance but he ignored them. Instead, falling into step with you.

"I don't see you around Aston Martin anymore." He said, trying to make conversation.

You kept ignoring him, hoping he'd get the hint. Pulling out your phone, you started to compose a to text to Oscar. He would coming here with Lily and had said something about finally introducing the two of you. Your eyes checked the time at the top of your phone screen. Based on what time it was, Oscar should've been here by now - and could save you from Lance Stroll.

to: piazzas 👼

where the fuck are u ?? lance stroll is trying to talk to me send help

"I don't know." Was all you said, typing away with one hand as the other held a bag, hoodie, bottle and lanyard. You lifted the arm to tap in through the gate and then continued to ignore Lance - who continued to walk beside you and speak.

"That wouldn't be because you're working for McLaren." Lance said. This made you fingers pause as the blatant comment caught you off-guard. You sucked your teeth and took a deep breath. You adjusted your grip on your bags and continued to type another message.

to: piazzas 👼

srsly im gonna fucking rage at this point

"I don't know what you're on about." You said and felt relief seeing the Read time-stamp arrive below your sent message and three dots finally pop up as Oscar typed a response.

Lance made that irritating sound - his laugh. "You know my dad will pay you double what they're paying."

from: piazzas 👼

I'm at the McLaren motorhome. In a meeting with some PR. Can you come?

You huffed and pocketed your phone. Your shift was at Ferrari today and so there was no logical reason for you to walk into McLaren. Then again, it was early and you were yet to get dressed. It should be okay. People rarely noticed you since you looked like some random trainer with the amount of stuff you always carried.

Except, right now, Lance Stroll was not getting the hint and pissing off. Meaning you couldn't exactly freely walk into McLaren no questions asked.

Especially after that comment about you working for McLaren.

"What do you say?" The annoying idiot stood there, still waiting on you apparently.

"What?" You asked, shifting the items in your hand and pausing in your steps. You were in front of Ferrari right now and considered going in to dump your stuff before sneaking off to McLaren. That would at least get rid of Lance.

"Just say the number. How much. Dad wants you onboard and so do I. And all that legal stuff we can sort out." Lance said with a nonchalant shrug that pissed you off more than it should've. "My trainer isn't really working for me anyway."

You stared at him. Was he being serious right now? Your mouth fell open at the audacity and you glanced at his manager behind him who was looking up at the sky, clearly uncomfortable.

But, of course, unable to say anything.

"Ah, Stroll! Mademoiselle is with us today!" You turned your head to the French accent of your other favourite Team Principle. Fred Vasseur arrived with one half of the Scuderia drivers beside him. Your eyes widened on the sight of Carlos there, sunglasses pushed up in the head of hair that had its own fan-accounts and was the star of many, many Tiktok thirst edits.

Fuck.

Last night, your uncle had thrown you for a loop. Carlos Sainz had somehow infiltrated your uncle's sphere with a video of him refusing to sign a Barcelona jersey.

This, your uncle took as a good omen and a worth his approval.

"Approval for what?"

"None of these drivers are worth your time. But this one seems good." Your uncle's voice had sounded through the speaker function of your phone as you balanced a ball on your head. Last night you had present for his usual call to his sister and Dia was adamant you cop it.

And cop it you did. His newest idea was not Jude or Vinicius - but apparently Carlos Sainz.

"What? Because Carlos didn't sign a Messi jersey?"

"His name is Carlos?" Your uncle had asked and you had, in turn, just groaned. You half expected him to make some ridiculous comment about the similar names being a good omen or something.

"Yeah. Carlos Sainz."

"Sainz? Hm." There was a short pause from your uncle. "Is his father a rally driver?"

"Yes." You had frowned, not expecting that.

"Ah! I know him. Good family."

"What?" You said, still stuck on how your uncle knew the Sainz family. "How do you know him?"

"Why didn't you tell me about him before?"

"Because... I never noticed Carlos." The football you had been kicking slowed as you found yourself frowning at the phone on the kitchen table. "It's... I don't know. It's just Carlos."

"I want you to talk to him. To 'Just Carlos' as you say." Your uncle was not relenting. "Go have dinner together. He has a good face."

Your uncle's attempts to get you married to what he deemed was a 'respectable man' and not, in his opinion, 'some limpy Frenchman' (you would often remind him Charles was from Monaco nor was it was like that between you two) or 'some tatted up Australian wanna be Italian' (you would also remind that Daniel barely identified as Italian). However, all of your uncle Carlo's options had always been footballers which, you and Dia knew, was just a ploy to move you from car circuits to football pitches.

But last night, you found, Carlos Sainz apparently had the Ancelotti tick of approval and he was adamant you and Carlos apparently go out for dinner.

You took your uncle's comments to be why you suddenly found yourself feeling a little awkward seeing the driver in the flesh. The on you admittedly never paid much attention to before.

"Maybe next race you can have her." The Spanish driver - who apparently had your uncle's approval - said. Carlos took a sip from the small coffee cup in hand. He was on his piccolo, you noted.

Carlos came up to you and you felt yourself caught out and taken aback by him openly reaching for the strap of your gym bag and your bottle, prying them for your hands. The surprise had you letting go and once Carlos had a grip on them, he nodded at everyone in green. "See you guys on track." And put a hand on your back to guide you into the home. His clear dismissal towards Lance made you smile and it made your face warm up even more.

Your smile dropped.

What the fuck?

"Um. Thank you." You said, once you were out of earshot.

"He's an idiot." Carlos said, with a tired sigh. This made you laugh.

"You're telling me."

It was then that you realised your laugh was nervous. You cleared your throat. You were going to rip into your uncle. And then yourself for being so stupid. Because this was stupid. You barely ever noticed Carlos. What? You find out he really hates Barcelona and has really, really great hair and suddenly you're tongue-tied around him?

"Ha. Yeah. I get that. And I can hold that." You went to reach for the strap of your bag on his shoulder. Carlos moved away.

"Don't insult me." He said, tsking you with a grin on his face. "Let's go. Fred spoke all morning about your pizzas."

"Yes! I did." Fred said, reappearing with his assistant who was handing him a paper he was half reading as he spoke. "Guenther didn't let me have any last time."

You couldn't but smile, remembering Guenther's loud curses echoing throughout all of Haas when he found you plating some aside for Fred. You gave Fred a salute. "I'll get right to it. Let me just dump my things in the backroom."

"I'll take them there." Carlos said, evidently not relenting. You sighed and let him carry them for you as you both made your way to the backroom.

Unfortunately, this meant walking through the entire motorhome in which case many Ferrari staff did a double take seeing you walk with Carlos. Whilst it wasn't uncommon to see you around, nor for you to have any interactions with drivers - you literally made their food and coffee - but Carlos was holding all your many, many belongings and walking to the small backroom that were reserved for Hospitality.

"Thank you." You said, appreciating the chivalry. What you didn't appreciate, however, was how your body was reacting to Carlos.

You didn't get why you were suddenly so... hyperaware around Carlos. Seeing driver content wasn't something new to you. Why did it affect you like this? Maybe addressing it would just help.

And so your mouth just came out with it.

"My uncle likes you."

"What?"

You quickly elaborated. "He saw a video of you refusing to sign a Barca jersey."

Your uncle had even sent you said video of Carlos, the driver windswept in his Ferrari, driving off when a fan passed him a pen and the jersey. You had to admit he did look good in the video and the way he drove off like that had made your eyebrows shoot up, impressed.

"Your uncle... Don Ancelotti?"

"Yeah." You said with a laugh at the name. The Don. You were proud of your uncle and what he achieved, earning him such a nickname. Dia always said her brother's intimidating Don cigar smoking aura had been passed down to you - and not his own children/your cousins.

You weren't surprised Carlos knew about who your uncle was. It wasn't exactly a secret. And considering the world of Formula 1, that wasn't even the craziest connection for someone working in the Paddock. An Alpine techie was distant cousins with Mbappé, a Haas mechanic was close cousins with LeBron, and Valentino Rossi's babysister's best friend's brother was a PR manager for George Russell.

So, no. No one really paid much attention to you and your uncle. The most it had ever come up was the odd few comments of the Paddock's EPL fans coming to you lamenting Carlo Ancelotti moving from Everton to Real Madrid.

"Woah, that's pretty cool." Carlos said, his eyes widening. "I definitely need to let my dad know."

"Apparently they know each other?" You asked, hoping he might shed more light on the connection your uncle somehow had to Sainz Sr. Your uncle hadn't managed to explain that curious bit.

"Do they? He never said." He said and you blew a raspberry. You really were going to give your uncle a piece of your mind. You shook your head and Carlos laughed, saying something that went to deaf ears as he took his sunglasses off his head - causing some strands to fall across his forehead as he was looking down at you.

Fuck.

He used the other hand to run through said black locks.

Double fuck.

The man seriously could've made it as a hair model.

You looked down from his hair to meet his eyes and felt yourself flush even more knowing he'd caught you staring at his hair. You cleared your throat again - when had it gotten so dry? - and spoke. "You um, you could really make bank doing hair endorsements, you know?"

"Bank?" Carlos asked, not picking up the slang.

"Money." You explained the slang and then thought of the Spanish translation. "El dinero."

"Ah, so was it the Don who taught you Spanish?" Carlos asked, lips turning up to grin.

"Nah I don't really speak Spanish." You shook your head and explained. "I just know that word from some from lyrics and stuff."

"Stuff? From living in Los Angeles?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You blinked, surprised he knew that tidbit about you. "I remember you telling Max about it back in Torro Rosso."

Carlos' observational skills evidently had you in surprise. First it was him remembering your Egyptian heritage and now this?

"I, uh. Yeah for a year and a bit. I worked in a garage." You explained, feeling more awkward and, well, something else that you refused to acknowledge as nervousness.

You didn't get nervous. You had literally served countless celebrities and prided yourself on not getting starstruck or fucking nervous.

And yet, here was Carlos running a hand through his hair catching you off guard with how hyperaware you were of him.

"Ah." Carlos laughed and you stared at the way a thin gold chain glittered around his wrist. "Well, if you know any hair sponsors you'd recommend, let me know."

"Oh, yeah. Done." You said, going back to the previous conversation. "But I'm expecting a cut, then." You said, opening up a locker and beginning to stuff the bags into it. "Hoy por ti - "

" - mañana por mi." Carlos finished the phrase, amused. "It's different in Spanish, though, you know?"

"What is?"

"English you say scratch my back or something. In Spanish it's more about generosity. You take care of me so I will take care of you next."

"Oh." You said, taking in the mini Spanish lesson. Admittedly all your Spanish came from working with Tyler in the garage on Fairfax Ave and, of course, song lyrics. There had been a few funny conversations with Fernando - but nothing intimate such as I will take care of you.

You didn't really know what to say next. Your face was already flushed and you'd probably be able to cook something on your cheek from how hot it was.

You were going to kill your uncle. Real Madrid could win Champions League without him. And even if they didn't - well, Guenther would be happy to see another team finally have a chance.

"Also," Carlos casually continued, unfazed - or not noticing - your lull, "there's going to be a game tomorrow night. I'm not sure if you were planning to watch it."

Thankfully, his words momentarily did distract you from the inner monologue. Real Madrid wasn't playing this weekend. Atletico Madrid was.

Maybe it was Carlos being from Madrid or following the Spanish league religiously but, either way, it wasn't a game you had intended to watch.

"Oh, I mean I like Griezmann." You said, referring to the famed Atletico player, "but I don't watch La Liga games unless Real Madrid is playing." Besides, if you showed any interest in any other team, The Don would have your head. Your uncle still didn't know you owned a jersey of another team. Even if it was only for Mo Salah.

"No, the Liverpool game." Carlos corrected. "They're playing Manchester United, are they not?"

This was surprising. There had been no indication in the past of Carlos ever caring about any other team besides Real Madrid - let alone being that interested a whole other league. If you ever were going to talk EPL with a driver, it was probably a passing conversation with Lewis. Maybe George if the Wolves were involved. And that was when the drivers themselves initiated the conversation.

Max, and his love for your team's biggest rival Barcelona, was who you used to talk to about football, who you used to stay up and watch games or play Fifa with.

And since that was no more, you sort of lost any passion for it.

So this was very much news to you.

Carlos Sainz. Talking to you about EPL.

More than that - asking you if you were going to watch an EPL game.

"Uh, yeah maybe." You finally spoke. During your drive to work, you had vaguely thought about changing your schedule so as to be able to watch the game. You had played around with the idea of doing a workout after your shift tomorrow so you could stay up after qualifying and watch the match.

The only issue was that this would you mean you wouldn't be able to work out before the race on Sunday - and you were definitely going to be stressed working a whole weekend at Ferrari.

But if you watched it you could stream it on one of the TVs in the driver's gym - that way Oscar could workout with you also.

Suffice to say, you hadn't yet made up your mind.

"Lando and I were going to watch it. He's a fan of Manchester United." Carlos said, looking at you expectantly. "Don't worry, I won't tell the Don."

It was that look which made your eyes widen slightly, the thought suddenly dawning on you: was Carlos asking to watch the game together?

Something erupted in your stomach.

However, your reflex to any driver interaction had immediately kicked in.

"Oh, nice. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to watch it with the schedule. You guys enjoy, though."

Carlos opened his mouth but thankfully someone, a man dressed in the red uniform, appeared in the doorway calling for Carlos. The interruption was very much welcomed as the driver nodded and was resolved to leave you before your body gave you any more confusing signals.

You took a second, a steading second, before you slammed your locked shut and went out to look for Oscar.

“And there’s the young rookie, Oscar Piastri. Looking really good after his amazing win in Jeddah. 9th, outperforming everyone’s expectations!"

“Yes! He’s just arrived with his - is that his trainer?”

“She looks tough enough to be one. Wait is that — “

The commentators immediately realise and change the subject to something else to do with Fernando’s winning streak and Aston Martin’s upgrades. You sigh at the clip that had been playing on the TV in front of you where you could be seen handing him the Antinal Dia had been adamant Oscar have.

Zak had informed Oscar who had informed you about the conversations had between all the TPs about, well, you.

It was startling to say the least. 

"I'm afraid people are starting to catch on." Oscar's PR Manager said with a stern look as she stared at both you and Oscar. Her name was Sophie and despite her young age putting her in the same ball-park as you and Oscar... it still felt like you both were students in trouble, being told off by your teacher.

Oscar had asked you about a Sophie Wright a few months ago. You briefly knew of the girl from her interning days, following other PR members around the McLaren motorhome over the years. She was a little on the shorter side, the chubbier side and, unfortunately, these two appearance traits meant she was excluded from the other PR girls who definitely already had a group chat going.

However, you also knew this meant she would be good at her job. Sophie could blend in the background quietly, unnoticed and do her job well. You also doubted she would easily jump around for a better opportunity and do Oscar dirty. Then there was the fact that when you served her a skinny latte one time, she made sure to read your name badge and thank you with a genuine smile.

And so you had given Oscar the thumbs up.

Never, in a million years, did you think you would be here though. Getting a debrief from her as Sophie tapped on her iPad. You risked a glance at Oscar who looked indifferent and nonplussed.

"Sorry Soph," he said, "but I'm not exactly aware what this means exactly."

There was some noise at the door and in walked Zak Brown himself. He was still talking to someone outside in the hall and said a 'yep, bye!' and then finally turned to address the room he was halfway in. "Ah, here we are. Just the people I need to see." His eyes fell on you and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

"No trouble at all. I know you're friends with Oscar and just wanting to help him out." Zak said, coming to sit down. "Ah, so you've seen the clips." He looked at the TV where Sophie's iPad was still screensharing the clip from yesterday.

Thursday's media days was always the least loved day for everyone - save for the bloodthirsty journalists. Drivers hated all the mundane questions and the paranoia of microphones and cameras everywhere. And you hated media day because it meant extra long barista shifts.

"Yes, Sophie showed me before but I thought Tezza should see it." Oscar explained, using your nickname. Your heart warmed at how considerate that was. You met his eyes and smiled softly at him. Your love for the kid grew daily.

"Good thinking!" Zak said, nodding agreeably to his driver. You fought to keep your face passive as you regarded the McLaren CEO.

Your opinion of Zak Brown was that he got further than he ever dreamt to get from starring on Wheel of Fortune. And whilst you did admire him for not being brought up in the snobbery and pretentiousness of the generational wealth that F1 tends to circulate through... you did note how he sucked up to the those snobs and their pretentious generational wealth.

Namely, how he did anything and everything for to make Lando Norris happy. In your opinion, it was a lil cringe at times.

"Well, the problem is that it's getting harder and harder for me to just make it out to the rest of the Paddock that you and Oscar are just friends spotting one another at the gym." Zak said. "Christian Horner is running rampant, scared you'll turn Oscar into the next Max Verstappen."

You snorted at this. Unfortunately this drew everyone's attention to you and you knew you would need to explain. "Max and Oscar are polar opposites."

Oscar could very easily become a World Champion without you. He was smart, dedicated and very talented. And whilst Max was all those things, he didn't need someone to train him up so much as tame him down after all that Jos did to him. You guys had just as much sessions on anger management as you had sessions on endurance training.

"Either way, it's coming to be viewed as a breach." Zak said. "And if you breach your contract then - "

"I know." You interrupted him. He didn't need to explain that to you.

"There's also the issue that people think you two are dating." Sophie spoke up from the front. She tapped on her iPad a few times and up came up a few screenshots of Twitter threads hypothesising about the two of you. "Your Twitter had a followed increase of 150% since Oscar followed you. Which didn't help."

"And whose fault was that?" You said, looking at Oscar with an unimpressed look. "You're lucky I deleted that shit so quickly."

"Yeah look, my bad. The timing was off." He said, accepting responsibility. You still remember all the notifications of the Twitter shit-storm Oscar set off. You literally had to delete your account because of it.

"Yes, Christian did bring that up." Zak said. "And it's a good thing Oscar's lovely Lauren is here - "

"Lily, sir." Sophie quickly corrected her boss. You wanted to groan. Oscar just looked down to hide his smile. Under the table, you kicked at his legs.

"Lily! Sorry." He gave a sheepish look to Oscar. "Yes, you and Lily this morning was a good idea."

"Unfortunately, Daniel did like a few of these Tweets." Sophie added, bringing up the screenshots of a Tweet about you and Oscar that was liked by none other than @danielricciardo.

You clenched your fist, your nails digging into your palm as you thought of how fucking petty that was. Daniel wasn't a fucking idiot. Aside from the fact that he knew your type - (admittedly, the tall/dark features combination always got you) Oscar was so young.

If anything, you thought of Oscar, genuinely, as a younger brother. As you had Max. Daniel knew that. So he knew exactly what he was doing by liking those kind of fucking Tweets. Tweets you wouldn't put past Red Bull to send out themselves.

Because, if anything, they would be praying it wouldn't be true about you and Oscar. Otherwise Christian Horner wouldn't have any leg to stand on. That was how you got around being connected to Charles, anyway. Family was the exception.

"I know your contract has you tied to only working for Red Bull and Ferrari's drivers but--"

"Red Bull and Charles Leclerc." You corrected in a tight voice, your eyes falling down to the table in front of you. "I was only granted exemption to work with Charles as he was considered family."

This caused him to frown as he pulled out his phone and began typing at it. "I thought you were allowed to work for Red Bull or Ferrari. No new teams."

"Yeah, no." You said, making Oscar chuckle at the Australianism. "No new teams outside of Red Bull and Torro Rosso." You specified.

"Christian didn't say that." Zak said.

"It was kept really quiet." You explained. "Charles was, um, he granted exemption from my Red Bull contract because he - well, he was considered family." You cleared your throat, not able to even look at Oscar. "I was signed for Torro Rosso and Red Bull. Never Ferrari."

"That's not what Toto said at the meeting." Zak said, shaking his head. "He made it seem that you could work for Ferrari."

You said nothing. Toto Wolff had approached you once or twice but your answer had always been the same, no matter what he offered. Eventually, he dropped it. You just didn't realise he dropped it because Toto had sought out the fine print.

"Wait so why aren't you Charles' trainer?" Zak asked, looking up from his phone. "He'd be insane to not have you!"

You froze. How were you supposed to answer that? For once, you had hoped the F1 rumour mill had properly run its course and Zak would know better than to ask that obvious question.

"Eh, Leclerc's loss." Oscar interjected with a casual shrug. "Let's be glad we don't need to worry about that."

The hidden meaning behind his smooth words were clear and you felt your love for the boy increase tenfold at his save.

"What - if I may," Sophie started, trying to be sensitive with her wording and her eyes darted between you and Oscar, "what were the grounds for family?"

You took a moment to think of how you might answer. You really didn't want to but if this might help the boy beside you, you would. "Charles - and I, like, I dunno. We grew up together? Everyone just knew." You pulled at your hoodie sleeve, feeling every bit uncomfortable with the question.

"You didn't date?" Sophie asked. Your face must've shown something very unpleasant because she was quick to amend. "I'm only saying because the grounds for family are always a grey area."

You pressed your lips together and went back to staring at the table. "There was nothing romantic between Charles and I." You said. The room fell silent for a moment as Zak tapped on his screen a few times and then he spoke up.

"You also trained Daniel. He told me in 2021." Zak said and put the phone down and you wanted to roll you eyes. Of course Daniel would say that. "And I don't want to get into all the drama but you were dating him back when you were training Verstappen."

Zak did have a point.

A key point that you had forgotten.

You paused and watched the screen in front of you and the liked by @danielricciardo Tweet. "Christian's always had a soft spot for Daniel so..." You trailed off. "But yeah, you're right. It was fine even though I was contracted to Max under Torro Rosso then Red Bull."

"Hm." Zak said, bringing a hand to his chin as he leaned back, pensive, in his chair. "I can see how romantic grounds could be argued." He said it with a laugh, looking between you and Oscar.

You raised an eyebrow at the comment. You honestly weren't sure if this was just Zak Brown being Zak Brown - i.e saying dumb things to suck up since he was out of his element - or if he actually meant that. Either way, it pissed you off.

Because there was no fucking way you'd let that happen to Oscar.

"No it can't. Contracts aside, I'm not forcing someone I think of as my younger brother into a PR relationship with me." You said.

"It could work, though." Sophie said, taking a professional tone as you turned your glare to her. "This is what I was trying to say before. The Twitter comments about you and Oscar are not necessarily negative. If anything you've helped increased Oscar's public image and Red Bull wouldn't able to say anything about you two on romantic family grounds."

You were seething.

Thankfully, Oscar was more level-headed than you.

"Yeah, look guys. Tezza's pretty but not my type." He finally chimed in, lighthearted. "Besides, I think we should focus more on the car and that way it's a fair advantage to both me and Lando."

You looked back at him and took a deep breath. Oscar smiled at you, chill as always, and you took another breath. You wanted to give the boy a big hug.

"Look, Zak," you said, looking back at the TP, calming down a little more, "I'm sorry. I'm causing you all this shit."

"You got Oscar into the points." Zak waved off. "Don't worry about it. I just want to find a way that works for everyone." You sucked on your teeth. Whilst it was nice to know that Zak Brown was willing to take risks on you also wanted to know how this conversation would've gone if Oscar hadn't finished 9th in Jeddah last weekend.

Such was the way of F1.

Sophie then tapped on her iPad and the TV showed a picture taken by Ky Millman. It was of Oscar hugging you after the win in Jeddah. Some comments were displayed and you found your lips turning up as you read them. They were, as Sophie said, sort of positive.

kymillman

liked by mclaren, saintescuderia and 15'483 others

kymillman SUPPORT FOR SUCCESS! Oscar surprised many with his amazing performance in Jeddah and goes to celebrate with a F1 Hospitality worker and friend @ynusername!

view all 76 comments

halaaaamadrid girl help his shoe game pls

ln44girlieee @mclaren we need content from this duo plssss u have them right there

logansversion as if mclaren is going to post a couple?

f1fanforever they're friends?

ln44girlieee idc the level of sarcasm between them would be SO GOOD

oscarpastries i love THIS! 😫😫😫

justanotherinchident omg charles finna be RIOTING!

team44roscoes wait why would charles be upset ?? i thought @ynusername was with dannyric?

maxiel4eva_16 yeh 😒 jumping on all them aussies

You rolled your eyes at the last comment. Maybe it was a good thing you were off Twitter and barely used Instagram anymore.

"It'll be hard to argue that Oscar is family since you haven't known him as long as you did with Charles," Sophie spoke up, bringing your attention back to her, "but we can maybe try to build it up from a PR point a view."

"That Oscar and I are family and not dating?" You asked. Sophie nodded. You looked at Oscar, wanting his confirmation.

"Yeah, sure thing Vin Diesel." He laughed.

"Hey, hey. Fuck you." The grin on your face was contagious and he broke out laughing also. You liked this new idea and turned back to look at Sophie a lot more positively. You were glad McLaren gave Oscar the girl.

"Okay, so what do we do to show the world I've adopted Oscar?" You asked.

"I think you'll find my dad's already half adopted you." Oscar corrected. "He wants to see your Supra."

"That's perfect!" Sophie said, excited. "Maybe Oscar can post a story of the interaction sometime this weekend? Make sure Lily is there. Maybe you can play the tired third wheel of them!" Sophie looked at you as ranted off her ideas. You nodded, suddenly less excited.

Whilst it was nice to know there was a plan in place to help you and Oscar continue to work together, you didn't like the way Sophie said for you 'play' a role. The one, sole consolation you had going for you these past few years was the lack of needing to play any PR role. Hearing Sophie speak was giving you flashbacks to times long gone.

"Happy with that gang?" Zak said, placing his palms on the table. "We'll work on building the PR and hopefully that will get Red Bull off our back as we also improve the car!" He stood up and left, not joining Sophie and Oscar as they said goodbye to the boss.

"Wait, does this mean I need to actually start using Instagram?" You asked.

"Yes." Sophie said. Then she looked up from her iPad. "Don't you? You were tagged in it?"

"Like, I have an account but I stopped using it. I'm pretty sure I deleted the app." You said, pulling out your phone to see that yes, there was no pink app downloaded. You pressed the download button, knowing what was in store for you.

"Download it. You're already at 2.4k followers." She said, bringing up your profile on the TV screen.

"The fuck? I had like three hundred last time I checked."

"Five." Sophie corrected. "Your growth has increased since you started training the F2 winner who follower Y/N Tessio after the most controversial Formula 1 Tweet that ever was Tweeted." Sophie said, eyeing Oscar with a raised eyebrow.

"I already said sorry about that."

"Do you know how stressful you made my first day? Helen scared me!" Sophie asked, humour on her face. "Though, nothing like jumping in the deep end."

The Instagram app had finishing downloading and you logged onto it - thank you pre-saved passwords - to be met with a fucking plethora of notifications that suddenly had you overwhelmed. As such, you immediately went out of the app and put your phone in your pocket. You could deal with that all later.

"I'm not using Twitter again." You said, thinking back to the Tweets Daniel had liked. "Fuck that."

"Yes, only Tumblr or Reddit over here." Oscar said, pointing to you.

"Tumblr?" Sophie looked at you, surprised.

"Yeah? What of it?" You asked, defensive.

"Nothing. Just surprised. I would ask to follow you but Tumblr is the safe haven of anonymity. I get it." She nodded. "Alright, perfect. I'll draft up a PR plan. In the mean time, do you mind if I review your profile and send you some tips?" Looking at you for the last bit.

"By all means." You said, half wishing you could give her control of it like Oscar and be done with it. You just wanted to be able to work with Oscar without causing him any trouble and not having to worry about this PR bullshit.

"Perfect!" She said, beaming.

Your phone buzzed. It was a text reminder about you needing to go back to check on some dough you'd prepared. Back at Ferrari. You sighed and stood up.

"Alright, sounds good. I gotta get back to work. Take your supplements and electrolytes. The green one." The last bit was aimed at Oscar as you met his eyes and then turned to leave the room and walk, head down, out of the McLaren motorhome.

You took a deep breath as soon as you made it into the open air. With how things were going, it was likely that you would be having another gym session today. You arrived at Ferrari and saw the back of Carlos' head. You felt yourself gulp and turned to hide behind the coffee machine. Maybe you would watch Liverpool play.

The mention of your connection to soccer was also pointed out in the room you had just rushed out of. Sophie made a small sound and rounded on Oscar, shoving something in his face.

"Did you know that half of Real Madrid are following her? Jude Bellingham just commented on the post!"

She stared at Oscar, hoping he might provide an answer. The young driver just shrugged. "She did say something about her uncle coaching a team." Sophie stared at him, incredulous. "How was I to know? I don't watch soccer."

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[hum-suffer]

Headcanons on Niramitra please? (Mahabharata)

(I had to search the name because i forgot who he is lol)

Niramitra literally befriends anyone. From a serving maid to a squirrel. Nakul finds this endlessly amusing, but Karenumati is tired of finding feathers on her son's bedroom floor

He wears a nose ring. It irritated his skin when he first got it pierced and he threw a monumental tantrum, but now he has a collection of nose rings.

His first word, to everyone's confusion, was "cow!"

He wears too much white, Nakul mourns that his son has no taste.

Bheem taught him how to break locks. He uses the technique to prank Shrutkarma.

He has the same curls as Arjun and Arjun claims that Niramitra will one day surpass all his family in looks.

He has a deep scar on his shoulder from when he was practicing horse riding. He uses that excuse to get out of mace training.

Though, to be truthful, the scar actually hurts him worse in lower temperatures. He will choke before he admits it, though.

He loves embroidery. He has his parents' names embroidered in a ridiculously bright green thread on a blue cloth and gifted that to his parents on their wedding anniversary. Nakul and Karenumati started wearing more green and blue shades for the week.

He loves sweets. You will find him on a sugar high once almost every two days.

He has his mother's slender figure and it's very easy to mistake him for Karenumati if you only see the back of his head or his silhouette.

Nakul often steals his wrist bands. He pretends he hates the stealing but definitely leaves the best of his collection out in the open deliberately— where he can find them.

Yudhisthir was pleasantly surprised over how much of a menace Niramitra can be. More often than not, the two can be seen together, with Yudhishthir bribing Niramitra to play pranks on his brothers and extract revenge for any teasing remarks made by his brothers on him. Arjun and Bheem suddenly find their wardrobe rearranged. Sahadev has all his white clothes dyed yellow. Nakul's food tastes of mint everyday for a week, no matter when or how or where he eats.

He has too much energy and sometimes can't sleep at night because of this. Has huge, huge, eyebags and dark circles.

Draupadi oils his hair every week. He tells her all the gossip he has on his uncles and father.

The servants tell him all the gossip about all the lords.

This makes him a surprisingly good manipulator, in case needed.

Yudhisthir loves to have him in court.

[theminecraftbee]

okay i know solving counting sheep is an evo fic first and foremost but i'm super curious how the hermits end up dealing with three. it sounds like this is the kind of hermitcraft thats already a sanctuary for weirdos, but i feel like someone whos skin is feathers and wears a mask they can't see out of is a new level of strange. also, would pearl canonically still join the hermits after a few seasons in that universe? sorry to bombard you with questions when you already have a lot queued up LMAO

okay so this is like, a BIG QUESTION, and another one i've talked about with @strifetxt. we've noodled around a lot so off the top of my head, here's a few answers to "things we think three might do on hermitcraft"! (with the note: none of this is CANON. just because i'm saying it, word of god style, doesn't mean that's actually what HAPPENS, you can have your own story and headcanon for this in your head.)

three joins in season seven, not six, in my head. i'm not even going to try to pretend to guess what a season six without grian looks like just know that apparently happens.

three gets like, SUPER into the head games, because its a way to use its combat skills to HELP SOMEONE why wouldn't it get super into that? this is the first real introduction most of the hermits have to three. the hermits are like "okay mumbo where on earth did you find someone this good at murder". mumbo is like "who knows".

we were definitely joking that outside of hermits who know how to recognize a watcher (iskall, probably xisuma, i'd say also maybe like... doc or ren), the hermits just kind of assume three is autistic and roll with it from there because the idea the hermits, on being told three's actual circumstances, go "why would we guess that mumbo you said you met it hiding in a bar from overstimulation with you" is VERY FUNNY TO ME.

we were debating if election still happens; three is less likely to set up events on its own but IS likely to accidentally do something a little overboard.

our hack for if we wanted three to do the election is as follows: mumbo makes a joke with like, scar, about wanting to be mayor, three takes this completely literally, three and false end up in a cold war of "who is the scarier person NOT to vote for as mayor". meanwhile scar is vibing and a sith lord backing stress is very concerned.

grumbot does not happen. i don't think there's a world where three does grumbot.

three DOES befriend etho, at first to learn how to do interiors better, since etho is doing the all-interiors base, but later because etho's brand of tomfoolery actually works well with three. TWO weird dorks in masks now.

i think three would LOVE free glass. it and etho would make the world's Most pranks i think, all of which are technically what they were asked for. three helps work for shade-e-e's.

there's definitely more stuff we've talked about that i've missed and ALSO these aren't necessarily canon! you may have your own COMPLETELY DIFFERENT IDEA of what happens post-scs, which is fine! this was us waffling around about what would be fun to have happen, haha.

as for pearl... i like to think she does eventually still join hermitcraft, after a few years of texting back and forth with three and a bit more healing. she deserves it.

[jackoshadows]

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” - Pride and Prejudice "Only half a hundred times," Dany teased. "You gave up too easily, my lord. For I must marry, all agree." "A khaleesi must have a khal," said Irri, as she filled the queen's cup once again. "This is known." - Daenerys, ADWD.

I have been listening to Austen on my way to work everyday. Finished P&P and have taken up Mansfield Park. It's, IMO, singularly boring and not as entertaining as the rest of Austen's work. It's incredibly slow, there's pages and pages of events that does not push the plot forward - like the play the Bertrams and Crawfords put on - and Fanny is the least interesting of Austen's female leads.

There have been discussions on how, in terms of Austen heroines, Arya Stark comes closest to Elizabeth Bennet with regards to her questioning of the patriarchal ideals of femininity, her wit and vivacity, as detailed here and here.

However, I did notice some similarities between the characters/dynamics of Mansfield Park, the Starks of ASoIaF and one my asoiaf ships Jonrya!

First, there is 10 year old Fanny feeling the outcast and lonely at Mansfield Park until Edmund steps in and befriends her.

Afraid of everybody, ashamed of herself, and longing for the home she had left, she knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying. Her feelings were very acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort. - Fanny, MP

Reminds me of Arya in King's Landing feeling lonely and missing her home, brothers and especially Jon Snow.

That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. - Arya, AgoT

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. - Arya, AGoT

We have Fanny sad and feeling like no one really understands or cares for her and then being comforted by Edmund.

A week had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs. “My dear little cousin,” said he, with all the gentleness of an excellent nature, “what can be the matter?” And sitting down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.

This mirrors Arya's relationship with Jon, where we know he is whom she goes to for solace and companionship - not her father, mother or other siblings. It's Jon Snow. Like getting bullied over her appearance leading to her thinking she was a bastard and getting comforted by Jon Snow.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her. - Arya, AGoT

Edmund and Fanny becoming very close and Edmund helping Fanny get pen and paper to write home and selling his own horse to get a new horse for Fanny so that she can go riding - which she loves to do!

For a long while no answer could be obtained beyond a “no, no—not at all—no, thank you”; but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her. “If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and every other material, and you may write your letter whenever you choose. Would it make you happy to write to William?” - MP

Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a method of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; with a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. - MP

Jon secretly gets a sword, light and thin, made especially to fit Arya's hands and gifts it to her because she wants to learn how to use a sword.

“I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”  Her face lit up. “A present?”  “You could call it that. Close the door.” Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. "Nymeria, here. Guard." She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he'd wrapped it in. He held it out to her. Arya's eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. "I can be fast," Arya said. "You'll have to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?" "I think so," Arya said. Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Put down the sword first," Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. - Jon, AGoT

Then there are the other supporting characters.

There's Tom Bertram who's like Robb, the eldest son and heir who treats Fanny like a little sister.

Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort of merriment which a young man of seventeen will always think fair with a child of ten. He was just entering into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born only for expense and enjoyment. His kindness to his little cousin was consistent with his situation and rights: he made her some very pretty presents, and laughed at her. - MP

There's a Mrs. Norris who is very similarly to Septa Mordane in her treatment of Fanny Vs the Bertram daughters, always putting down Fanny to uplift the other girls - similar to how the Septa drags Arya down to uplift Sansa. This has a detrimental effect on the Bertram girls just like it does for Sansa - encouraging them to be mean to Fanny in the same way Sansa/Jeyne mock Arya.

The Bertram sisters mock Fanny for not being good at music or drawing and is told by their aunt Norris that this indeed makes Fanny stupid.

“Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either music or drawing.” “To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things considered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should be so, for, though you know (owing to me) your papa and mama are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are;—on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference.”

And as Austen succinctly and rightly puts it, this sort of encouragement and mentorship from their aunt Norris leads to a lack of humility and generosity in the sisters.

Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her nieces’ minds; and it is not very wonderful that, with all their promising talents and early information, they should be entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity and humility. - MP

We see this in AGoT Sansa - the lack of self-awareness, of humility and generosity in the way she treats Arya, Jon, the small folk, Mycah and even Jeyne Poole. Septa Mordane's thoughts and opinions have had a negative effect on ALL her pupils. It's encouraged Arya's low self-esteem and Sansa's vanity and classism.

And while Septa Mordane, Sansa and Catelyn always put Sansa on a higher pedestal than Arya in terms of perfection, intelligence and beauty, it's Jon Snow who considers Arya to be clever and pretty.

"What could you want to see?" Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she'd feared. "It's all just fields and farms and holdfasts." "Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. - Sansa, AGoT

But what if Arya was not there to be saved? What if Lady Melisandre's flames had told it true? Could his sister truly have escaped such captors? How would she do that? Arya was always quick and clever, but in the end she's just a little girl, and Roose Bolton is not the sort who would be careless with a prize of such great worth. - Jon, ADwD

"Good." She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. - Arya, ADwD

And despite aunt Norris and the Bertram girls finding Fanny to be deficient and stupid, Edmund thinks of her as clever and capable.

“To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. - Aunt Norris, MP

Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. - Edmund, MP

Fanny has a lot of love for Edmund, a mixture of gratitude and affection.

In return for such services she loved him better than anybody in the world except William: her heart was divided between the two. She regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender. - MP

Edmund and Fanny consider themselves brother and sister, love each other that way and there is a strong emotion there between them.

"By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink as she entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, 'My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort now!' She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say more." - MP

“What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Bring her home, Mance., and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

Despite growing up together, Edmund and Fanny do part as Edmund goes to college and Fanny stays at home. They write to each other and keep in touch, which Jon and Arya cannot do. And while going through their harrowing journeys (Arya) and climbing the ladder to Lord Commander (Jon) they miss each other dearly and want to see each other again.

There are of course differences. I find Jon's love and admiration/respect for Arya to be greater than Edmund's for Fanny. Jon thinks Arya is perfect as is while Edmund sees himself as helping Fanny grow as a person. All the girls Jon admires or falls in love with mirror Arya in terms of personality, looks and physicality (Ygritte, Alys, Val). Jon straight up compares Ygritte and Alys to Arya. In contrast Edmund falls for Mary Crawford who is the opposite of Fanny and where Fanny and Mary are compared with each other in the book. Jon is searching for an Arya in every girl he meets, right from ACoK, while Edmund only acknowledges that Fanny is the person for him at the very end. And then there's the difference in Arya and Fanny, where Arya has more in common with an Elizabeth Bennet than with Fanny herself. And Jon is no Edmund.

So yeah. I remember reading somewhere that GRRM has read Jane Austen. So these similarities are fun even if they were not intended or are wholly unrelated.

[queen-scribbles]

Healing Hurts

First LOTRO fic, only, what, five years after I started playing the game? Better late then never. \o/ ---

Halthiras first met Aelinril because of the rain, though it was a meeting she would not remember.

In the days of his youth, before the return of the Shadow, Halthiras was given to walking the woods and valleys surrounding Imladris, exploring the vales of the Trollshaws, learning their secrets, befriending the animals that inhabited them. Though he'd held to this habit unbothered by rain on many occasions before, this was no gentle mist or soft silver showers but a harsh outpouring, fiercely accompanied by thunder and lightning.

So rather than wander the woods, Halthiras wandered the halls of Imladris itself. Even being his home, there was much yet unexplored. He had no plan for these wanderings, simply allowing his feet to carry him where they would. And so his path wound its way through many peaceful hallways and turnings to Tham Send. The Hall of Rest was quiet, as befit its purpose.

Most of the beds stood empty, freshly made and ready for use should they be needed. And the ones occupied he could see, the Elves slept peacefully, resting from long labors or deep hurts. There was, however, a small bustle of hushed activity in a back corner of the hall, so Halthiras was naturally drawn in that direction, with steps deliberate rather than idle.

A cluster of healers stood around two beds, murmuring among themselves as they worked. It was another Elf nearby, differently clad and standing as if to guard the invalids, who noticed his curiosity.

She gave him a questioning look of her own, one brow arched in silent wonder of his purpose.

"Is everything alright?" he asked at the prompting in her eyes.

"As it can be," she replied, concerned gaze lingering once more on the Elves in the beds before she looked back at him. "The last and most gravely wounded from our battle at the end of the Age. We hold hope of healing their wounds ere they succumb, but the servants of the Enemy did them great harm. Hithgol" --she nodded to the male Elf, dark hair, and his face twisted in uneasy slumber--"was struck by what weapon we know not, but its effect on him is most grievous. And Aelinril"--a gesture to the female Elf, long brown hair and features only faintly troubled for the moment--"was pierced by a morgûl-blade, a foul weapon wielded by the chief of the Enemy's servants, meant to linger and wither those it wounds until they are mere shades bound to his will."

One of the healers, indeed, was tending a wound in Aelinril's shoulder, not yet closing though the battle was a century past.

"Why does it refuse to heal?" Halthiras found himself asking.

The guarding Elf shook her head. "They know not. Some foul magic of the Enemy. And so they work on, to delay the fading until a cure is found."

"Is the aught I can do?" He had not seen the great and terrible battle of the Last Alliance, but it made his heart sit heavy that some remained still suffering so.

She studied him. "Unless you are practised in the healing arts, I fear watching over them is the only aid to offer." A sad smile played at her lips. "If you wish to do so, I would welcome the company in my vigil."

"Then you have it," he said with a bow. "When I can lend it."

"Indeed? And might I know the name of my new companion?"

"Halthiras of Imladris," he said.

"Ah, this is your home," she said, smile tinged with melancholy. She placed a hand to her chest and bowed low in returned greeting. "Harthalín, previously of Gondolin and elsewhere, though now I suppose my vigil makes Imladris my home as well." She looked to the beds. The healers had withdrawn from Aelinril, but two lingered over Hithgol. "Aelinril is one of my dearest friends, and Hithgol a brave comrade in arms. I will remain here as long as I may, to watch over them until Lord Elrond comes to tend them."

"And... how do we help?" Halthiras asked as he and Harthalín seated themselves in the chairs by Aelinril's bed.

"Simply be here to keep vigil," she answered. "The healers have said there's a chance they can hear us though they slumber, so if you wish to tell tales or sing songs it might ease what dreams they have." Her brow furrowed. "It has not seemed to help Hithgol, but there are times it does appear to hold Aelinril from fading."

He nodded, studying Aelinril's face as she slept. She still looked peaceful, with only the faintest edge of disquiet. "Whatever I can do, though I fear the songs I know are of celebration, merriment, joy. Hopefully the result of this vigil will warrant them, but I'm unsure they would be fitting now."

"Calling to their minds the joys of the world seems a fine way of helping them cling to it," Harthalín said. "And it is the wont of those young and not touched overmuch by loss to focus on such things."

And so was a new habit begun, on a rain-soaked day, in the Hall of Rest in Imladris.

Halthiras would come when he could, even on days Harthalín was absent. Sometimes days in a row, sometimes with weeks in between, though that was rare, through the long years that followed as Master Elrond and the healers endeavored to pull the sleepers from the Shadow.

Harthalín knew all the tales he did, and told them better, so he spoke of the world now. Things he saw on his exploration of the woods, tales and news passed on from scouts who went further afield into the Trollshaws and Lone-Lands. When he was apprenticed to Master Talagan. When his sister was born. He learned the songs of peace Harthalín knew, and sang them.

Hithgol sank into a deeper slumber, where no voice seemed to reach him. Aelinril's dreams grew more troubles by turns, Master Elrond's skill stayed her from fading but did not yet draw her back, and the wound remained in her shoulder.

And still Halthiras came whenever he could. Once or twice, as she came of age, he convinced his sister to visit, but Hiraneth was too restive enjoy long days of peaceful vigil. He talked to Harthalín, heard her tales of resisting Morgoth, the glory and peace of Gondolin, the might and deeds of Turgon, Glorfindel, Gil-galad and others, alongside reminisces of quieter blissful days over centuries building her friendship with Aelinril.

Some days, when he kept vigil alone, he would braid Aelinril's hair if her dreams grew especially troubled. Like he did for Hiraneth, a simple plait meant to keep it from tangling. And he would sing the songs he learned from Harthalín as well as the ones he knew, and speak of his lessons with Master Talagan, his parent's decision to leave for the Havens. The things Hiraneth would tell him she had seen, grey eyes alight and gestures avid as she explained.

He wondered what color Aelinril's eyes were. But they remained closed, though her dreams eventually seemed to grow more peaceful under Master Elrond's ministrations.

And so it went through the centuries, as the world rolled on outside the valley. It was with mingled joyous anticipation and regret Halthiras told Harthalín--and by extension Aelinril--of his master's decision they would go study at Edhelion for a time. He was excited to travel further than the valleys of his home he knew so well, to see the world a little and study at an Elven refuge known for its history and beauty. But an absence of months or years would be an odd change; he would miss his time with them in Tham Send. Harthalín encouraged the former while understanding the latter.

"I have found myself in new homes a few times in my life," she said with a wistful smile, "it can take time to adjust. But you will not be gone forever, and I will send word of any changes. You have spoken often of how you love to study and explore, you should enjoy the opportunity to do both to the full." She gave his arm a bracing squeeze. "I shall keep my vigil and look forward to your return."

With her blessing and a final farewell, unheard as it likely was, to Aelinril and Hithgol, Halthiras departed for Edhelion alongside Master Talagan and a select company of others, including Hiraneth. Edhelion was wonderful; woods and libraries to explore in equal measure, a place of safety, beauty, and learning. And he did enjoy it. But a portion of of his thoughts remained on Imladris always; missing home, missing the vigil he'd kept in Tham Send. He only made it a year before writing to Harthalín to ask how things stood. Her reply was a few months coming, and what he expected. No change, Hithgol still slept so deeply nothing disturbed him, Aelinril was more prone to restless dreams alternating with peaceful slumber. Perhaps she would wake soon, perhaps not, even Master Elrond did not know. He had some thoughts of cures to try, she would write with updates. And she did, though they were sporadic and rarely altered in content. They both sleep still, but there are more things to try, and they have not faded. That was something, at least, that they lingered yet. It gave hope they would wake eventually, and the Elves could wait long for such a change.

And then came news, in the form of Master Elrond visiting Edhelion. Halthiras had been hoping for a letter from Harthalín, as it had been moths since the last. But though Master Elrond brought no letter, he bore the same glad tidings a missive would have contained.

Aelinril had awakened. Only briefly, before lapsing back into slumber. But it was now the sleep of true rest, untroubled by lingering Shadow. He had every hope for Hithgol as well, indeed, he had come to avail himself of Edhelion's libraries for ways to further ease their slumber, and record the cures that had been successful in treating morgûl-blade wounds, should such knowledge be needed.

"Centuries keeping vigil and keeping hope, and she wakes when I am absent," Halthiras commented to his sister, amused at the timing more than anything.

"Yes, but she woke," Hiraneth returned. "With every indication now that she shall do so again, with the other hopefully not far behind. Focus on that, rather than regret you were elsewhere at the time."

There was wisdom in her words, and he knew it, though she was the younger. "I am sure Harthalín is greatly relieved by this turn, the proving her vigil has not been in vain for her friend." He drew a deep breath, resting one hand on the carven rail as he looked out to forest. "As for myself, I shall enjoy the time here, and hope for more such turns after we are home in Imladris once more."

It was a return marked rather more by sorrow and loss than anticipated. Only a few short weeks after Master Elrond's arrival came an assault by the Dourhand dwarves. By the time they were driven back and their leader killed, the attack had cost much--Edhelion lay in ruins, its libraries destroyed and a great many lives lost in its defense, including Master Talagan.

Harthalín did not press for details when he rejoined her in Tham Send, did not ask him to speak of his mentor, and Halthiras was grateful. There was an understanding in her eyes, a familiarity with grief too near and new, and she let him hold his silence. Which he did, on the days he joined her. But despite the shift in Aelinril's condition and the hope it heralded, he found the forests called to him more than before. The rustle of wind through leaves was a balm to his grief, and he spent much time walking the woods or sitting under trees to heal his heart. It took centuries for the pain to ease, but it did ease. And as it did he found himself in Tham Send more and more again, the peace of the Hall equal to the peace of the woods once more. First in silent vigil, but on an occasion Harthalín was absent he spoke of the loss to Aelinril. Unsure whether she could even hear or not--he almost hoped not--but needing to speak of it to someone, and Hiraneth's anger had driven her to remain in the woods around Edhelion, a watchful guardian of its repose, but also absent from her home. No change came to the sleeping face and he was glad not to disturb her dreams, but speaking of it aloud began the mending.

He began to speak of tales and happenings once more, sing songs both wistful and joyous. Halthiras maintained the renewed vigil through the whispered rumor of returning Shadow, through Dwarves traversing Imladris valley, through Harthalín departing once the Shadow was no longer rumor, foreswearing the Havens until the Enemy she had helped lay low was defeated for good.

"Tell her for me, when she wakes," she asked, and he promised to do so.

But then came word of Dwarves, Dourhands, settling Thorin's Gate, near the ruins of Edhelion. As Master Elrond had recently been given a worrisome dream, he purposed to send his sons and a party of Elves to investigate. He asked Halthiras to be among them, given his close ties to the loss of Edhelion, and in truth, Halthiras would have volunteered if not asked. The next few weeks were full of preparation, wondering if Hiraneth had been the one to send word, and regretting his departure would perhaps mean Aelinril being alone when she woke. He bid her farewell the day before departing so as not to rush, torn between hoping for her to wake soon and hoping for it to be after his return. He tied back her hair once more as she shifted with her dreams.

It was raining as they prepared to leave the next day, a gentle mist the party was protected from by hoods and cloaks. Elladan and Elrohir emerged from their final council with their father, trailed by another hooded figure.

"We go at my father's behest to investigate the Dwarven presence near Edhelion," Elladan addressed those assembled, "but we shall have another companion for part of the journey." He moved to lead the company as he spoke, and Elrohir guided their late addition to join them. "She has been recovering in Tham Send from a most grievous injury and Lord Elrond has given leave for her to depart to the Grey Havens, should she wish to. As our paths align for a time, we shall travel together until Celondim."

Something strange pierced Halthiras' heart at the words. Hope and shock and regret mingled as one. If that meant who he thought...

The figure fell in near him as the Elves began their journey, and one look was all that was necessary. It was her, her hair still tied back as he'd done it. She had awakened at long last and he hadn't been there as he'd promised Harthalín, and now she would be leaving Middle Earth, forever. He wanted to greet her, be courteous, but didn't know how to start.

He caught the knowing look in Elrohir's eye before the son of Elrond spoke. "Aelinril, this is Halthiras, one of my father's household, and a friend I believe would serve well as traveling companion."

She looked at him, then, and her eyes were blue, tinged green, bright and radiant though haunted by long memory. "Halthiras."

He bowed in greeting. "Aelinril."

And so they met for the second time in the rain, and however long or brief the acquaintance would prove to be, it was one she would remember.

[brynn-lear]

Dear Brynlee,

I hope my letter finds you in good health. I appreciate your swift and kind response. I'm quite relieved you do not mind my ignorance at times.

Moving on, I'm quite glad to hear your fondness for both the architect and the Duke. I favour the architect a lot, agreeing that he does put other artists at peace with his reliable nature. His way of communication is certainly one I nod at with great appreciation, and his sentimental disposition easily captures my curiosity.

As for the Duke though, my gaze of favour does not have any particular cause; it is simply that Monsieur Neuvillette an I happen to be close associates, and a friend of a friend certainly deserves my favour.

Of course, though, much like you, even I retain my appreciation for them away from romance. I simply adore them, is all.

Lord Kamisato is a curious one indeed... in spite of his status, it's safe to say that I consider myself quite fortunate to never have had the privilege bad luck to have a chance at interacting with him.

The Bough keeper is a more fascinating character though; I have never exactly been able to pin down his personality in spite of having had multiple chances to speak to him, in all of whom he has been nothing short of poised, respectful, and brilliant.

I believe he drapes on himself the title of a mourner, shading all other of his brighter qualities with its dull colour. He is illusive, but quietly so, never entirely being honest, or a liar; masterfully treading the lines that separate all that is good and evil.

Who dares to observe the observer? I do, of course. I await the day he shows his true nature; perhaps eagerly so.

I would share my enthusiasm for Sir Dmitri as well, should I have known him better; but considering that you adore him so, I believe he must be a good man. He certainly deserves my curiosity, then.

May I ask yet another question? Who do you adore from yet another parallel universe where the star of Stelle/Caelus finds home?

I hope my letters do not disturb you.

Yours Truly,

Chryseis Valois.

Dearest Chryseis,

You have no idea how much happy I was to receive another letter from you. I agree with most of your points, and I can definitely understand your relationship with the Iudex.

You better thank the God you believe in that you've never encountered Lord Kamisato. The Kamisato Commissioner is the elusive type. Perhaps one day you would encounter him. Who knows? Well, perhaps I do. I am an overseer after all.

I think I have a grasp on the former Black Serpent Knight's personality. He is someone I have the privilege of working with as of late, alongside Black Swan and "Medjed". Dainsleif may seem hard to understand upon first meeting, but the subtleties in his speech and humor shines the mote you interact. Though, considering that you are one of our guests, perhaps limited interacts is better. You know well that he asks the most mind boggling questions.

Interest in His Majesty...? Oh, no, you must've misunderstood our relationship. If you saw me inquiring women and men alike about their opinions of our King— it's an act done for my duties rather than... Whatever romantic airs people will label them as. I'm just helping a friend find someone to love him. That's all. Really. Please, believe me. Please.

As for the that other realm... Hmm. Well, Dr. Ratio and Aventurine are very similar to the Professor Veritas and Kakavasha I know— so it's no secret I'm fond of them. Though we'd never met, I think I would get along with Captain Gepard of the Silvermane Guards just fine. Jing Yuan is very hospitable, Kafka is charmingly persuasive, Sparkle is easy to befriend, and Blade is... Something. Hilarious how I found him most difficult to describe when he is my closest friend from that realm. His circumstances are unique, and I suppose I can relate to his... "tendencies".

Well, how about you? Who do you favor from that realm? I don't suppose Mister Aventurine is also in that list? Most people I know are quite obsessed with him. Do tell me your opinion. I'd love to know!

Sincerely,

- Brynlee <3

[sea-owl]

Gothic Featheringtons and childhood friends Phillip and Penelope?

The Featheringtons have a summer home in Gloucestershire. Portia likes to visit there from time to time, despite all that there are more ghosts in the city. Ghosts that died in the wilderness or the countryside with minimal to no other human contact have some the most interesting stories.

It is during one of these trips that Phillip and Penelope met each other. They were both looking for cherries when they just so happened to climb the same tree.

Little Phillip was just looking for a snack while he hid from his father. He sat on one of the branches eating his handful of cherries, and then spitting out the pits.

"Thank you!" A little voice said below him.

Phillip looked below. Sitting on a lower branch was a little girl roughly two years younger than him. She had bright red hair that stood out against her black dress. In her lap is a collection of cherry pits.

"Who are you?" Phillip asked the little girl. "And why do you have all those cherry pits?"

"I'm Penelope!" Penelope greeted. "Mama asked me to get some cherry pits so she can make Papa a cherry pit pie."

"A cherry pie?" Phillip asked.

Penelope shook her head. "No cherry pit pie."

Curious to what a cherry pit pie was, Phillip followed Penelope home.

"Oh! Muy guapo!" Portia gushed when she saw Phillip. "Don't you just look feral! Penelope, where did you find such a handsome boy?"

"In the cherry tree, Mama!" Penelope answered.

Little Phillip was never called handsome before, which was usually reserved for his older brother. All of Phillip's time in the woods as he tried to avoid his father had his nannies and governesses, saying he looked more like a wild child than the son of a lord. He found he rather liked this strange family.

Years later, Penelope rambles off to Eloise about her friend Pip in the countryside, who knows so much about poisonous plants, El! Oh, he's truly brilliant! You must meet him one day!

Violet and Mary, who are having tea with Portia, turn towards the red head. "Pip?" They ask her.

"A family friend from Gloucestershire," Portia answered.

That doesn't help clarify anything to Violet or Mary. The Featherington ladies befriend ghosts and all sort of creepy things if given the chance.

A squeal from Penelope as she runs out the door and across the square has her mother quickly following her.

There was a carriage outside of the Featherington home with a man and two children climbing out. The children were dressed all black clothing. The gentleman had on a lighter green jacket, but the rest of his clothes were also a shade of black.

"Pip!" Penelope exclaimed, quickly hugging the man. After she bent down to pick up the two small children. "Oliver, Amanda, you two look so handsome."

The two children giggle.

"Your father on the other hand," Portia said as she plucked a string from the jacket. "Phillip, who told you to wear such a bright green?"

"It is truly hideous," Felicity said as she came out of the Featherington home.

Phillip sighed. "The tailor was insistent that this would help blend better in London."

"Well, yes, some would wear this," Portia said. "But honestly, you would look so much better in a forest green."

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Ficlets for @hotd-bigbang week 1 winter prompts: Fire | Furs | Forest

Pairings: Daemon/Laena | Alicent/Viserys | Rhaenyra/Harwin

Warnings: Canon Targaryen/Velaryon marriage | Pregnancy | Illness | Self-harm | Blood | Alcohol consumption | Mention of open marriage | Blood | Animal death

Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume

Winter divider by @mikeykuns

“Little dragon”

Pairing: Daemon/Laena | Prompt: Fire

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Canon Targaryen/Velaryon marriage | Pregnancy

Word count: 203 words

Summary: Daemon and Laena talk about their soon to be born baby.

Daemon rested his hand on his wife’s belly, his smile broadening when he felt something akin to a flutter against the flat of his palm.

“This one is strong,” he murmured when he felt another kick. A third followed when he leaned in and whispered softly in Valyrian.

“Our little dragon,” Laena sighed, grateful for the cushions against her back, the stool beneath her feet, and the fire in the hearth. “Or dragons, if what the healers say is true. Twins, curse my luck.”

“I think the one who should be cursed in this instance is me, I think. I am why you are with child.”

“Yes,” she agreed tartly, and she rubbed her belly. The babe was strong, and seemed determined to give her no peace. “And I will make sure to remind you of that when I begin my labors.”

“Knowing you, each reminder would be quite colorful and inventive, to be sure.” Daemon rose and went to the hearth when Laena shivered. She watched him kneel beside an old wooden box and add more logs to the fire. “Is that better?”

The room grew warmer, and more comfortable. Laena closed her eyes in contentment and said, “Yes, husband. Much better.”

“Misery”

Pairing: Viserys /Alicent| Prompt: Furs

Themes: Angst-ish/Dark

Warnings: Illness | Self-harm | Blood

Wordcount: 274 words

Summary: Alicent reflects on what became of her life after she wed the king.

“You are cold, my lord.” Alicent brought forth another pelt. When she draped it over her husband’s withered shoulders, he startled, and turned to face her. His eyes, once a most bewitching shade of lilac, were now clouded from age and disease. Alicent bit her tongue, silently awaiting the answer her husband, the king, had been wont to give long before their youngest, Daeron, was even born.  

“My thanks, Aemma.” Viserys turned his gaze toward the fire. His body—weak and buried beneath numerous furs—collapsed into his seat as he slowly lost himself to a world of dreams. His wife stood behind him, seething to herself and pinching at her fingers until she gasped in pain. Alicent looked at her hand. Her thumb was bleeding around the nail.

All these years of forfeiting mine own happiness and toiling on behalf of my father and this husk I call a husband, and for what? She thought bitterly to herself. Misery and loneliness of the acutest kind? Is this to be my reward for duty? Is this to be my reward for sacrifice?

It was wholly unfair. It made Alicent want to tear at her hair and scream and then gather her children and leave for some faraway place where they could all live out their lives in peace. And she could not, no matter how much she yearned to do so. This was the cup that was passed on to her when she acquiesced to her father’s request to befriend the freshly widowed king. And Alicent had to drink from that cup yet again. She found the vintage to be as bitter as always.

“Mulled wine”

Pairing: Rhaenyra/Harwin | Prompt: Forest

Themes: Soft/NSFW  

Warnings: Canon Targaryen/Velaryon marriage | Alcohol consumption | Mention of open marriage | Blood | Animal death

Wordcount: 303 words

Summary: Harwin and Rhaenyra share mulled wine on a stormy night in Dragonstone

Harwin poured a measure of mulled wine for the princess before serving himself and moving to stand by a window. The storm that swept in from the sea was still raging. He could hear the wind howl like a living thing even as it hammered against the imposing stone towers of Dragonstone and the guards unfortunate enough to be on duty on such a wretched night.

“Is the wine pleasing to you, my lady?” He asked.

Rhaenyra had a taste. It was light and sweet, and the sigh that followed was one of absolute bliss.

“Most pleasing, ser,” she replied, and she savored another sip. There was honey in the wine, and rare spices. A nobleman’s vintage, some called it, for only a nobleman with enough coin could afford it. “And appropriate, I think, for a night such as this. I just hope the noise does not frighten the boys.”

Harwin turned to face her with a slow, brittle smile. “This storm will not trouble the boys, princess.”

For they are my sons. The words went unspoken. Harwin looked pained, and Rhaenyra felt for him, for while Laenor claimed the children born from her belly, it was Harwin who sired them. And it was Harwin who had to stand aside and watch another man raise them and call each of them "son.”

��Do you regret our arrangement?”

“No, princess. When I watched you ride out of that forest, all covered in blood and with a boar dragging behind your horse, I knew there and then no other would do. And so long as your lord husband does not object to my presence…”

“He does not,” Rhaenyra replied in an effort to soothe him. “I assure you of this. Now tell me more of that day in the Kingswood while we finish this wine.”   

[mad-iska]

Golden boy

Coco crossover won in the poll even though it was with 0 votes for the first couple of days! you go coco crossover i believe in you!!! also i lied to you 'cause it's happened to be T, not Gen and also they get together in the end. i wrote it a long time ago, sowwy... Pairing: Manny Calavera x Domino Hurley

Crossover with Pixar's "Сосо"

Summary: Somebody always losing, somebody always winnig, but Manny isn't sorrow loser and Domino... Well, yeah, Domino the undisputed winner for life, sue him.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight angst, mention of death, skeleton kissing, Domino being smug af, Manny being smitten, opponents to lovers question mark

Word Count: 1,2k

A/N: i wrote this 4 (o my lord 4!!!) years ago in kinda desperate attempt to befriend my now partner 4 life babyyyyy (it's @vschs), BUT also because i really enjoyed the game and this two morons. All this time it was hidden in our DMs, but i finally translated this piece of fiction! so another 3 people can read it! damn, so cool! as always, english is my second language, calamino is my OTP. that’s it, that’s all you need to know. enjoy~

Gold surrounds us all while we are in the world of the dead. It drives someone crazy, someone to the grave, while others can only dream about it. The luckiest ones always carry gold with them all the time - in their hair, eyes or, most importantly, in their hearts. The golden shade is recognized as the embodiment of wealth, elegance and importance.

But in the world of the dead, this shade can take a completely different meaning for many. Painful and terrifying enough to wish for quick death again. Of course, not for everyone. Even in the afterlife, people continue to be divided into winners and losers. Domino wears gold cufflinks, and Manny trembles at night from the wave of pain and brightly golden light that blinded him in the same moment as he reluctantly opens his eyes.

The pack of cigarettes, which Hurley occasionally hands to his former colleague, also has a golden tint. Although it's just a fake to look richer and to make the buyer feel important - Calavera starts spitting and holding back the urge to vomit, which appeared on the back of his brain (if it's even still in his skull). It seems that if he ever goes crazy, he will only repeat one phrase, like the damned Frankenstein. Only the word "fire" will be replaced by "gold."

But Manny is not afraid of this or of death again. The former employee of the funeral bureau is terrified only at the thought of telling someone about it, that they may think he's weak. It's easier for him to die alone, leaving everyone in ignorance of where this pile of bones went. Although, he doesn't even pull on the heap – may be a small pile can accumulate due to a large skull. Therefore, he endures the daily glimpses of cufflinks and packs of cigarettes, smiling, trying to hide his disgust, diverting his gaze from someone's golden tooth, begin to breathe heavily and too slowly at the sight of a pile of gold coins lying on barrels, while his neighbors play cards on them, and politely refusing the invitation.

Gold causes pain. Remember that, Calavera.

Therefore, Domino, who visits him for hell knows why, causes the pain.

The initial goal is clear - to make fun of the fact that, again, his office is better, life is more fun, and the view from the window is more beautiful. That he's the golden boy again.

But now he calmly sits down next to the small bench near the wooden house, which has its own charm, unlike the neighboring houses. Manuel Calavera still has a sense of dignity, so both inside and outside the house, it looks more presentable than the entire pier put together. His frequent guest hesitated a few times, admitting this, snorting and flicking ashes into the water. Domino always offers him a cigarette or a drink, asks if his favorite scythe is dull, whether Meche has come. And he laughs less and less loudly every time he hears the answer "Of course not. As well as to you. What else did you expect?"

A couple of times, they caught themselves sitting too close, justifying it by coastal breeze. But they can't feel cold, right? At least not physically.

Something strange happens every day near the little house on the pier belonging to a funeral director.

The day comes when the glow catches Manny not in a dream, but quite openly, in front of the crowd. Although, can a couple of card players and, damn it, Domino be called a crowd? The latter frowns for a while, then grimaces with anger and throws an unfinished cigar at the fish feed.

"What jokes are these, Calavera?" he hisses, suddenly grabbing other's shoulder and squeezing it so hard that it could have left a bruise on the bone if it were possible.

"Go away, I'm not obliged to explain anything to you. I need to lie down… " the skeleton tries to stand up, but the stronger hand still holds him sitting on the bench, pressing so hard that it could break.

"No, you'll explain it to me. What the hell are you shining like a damn Christmas tree for?"

"You know what it means. Let me go, or I'll hit you," the tone suddenly changes from neutral to firm. Although, because of this, there is a hoarseness in his voice - being firm is also a difficult task for someone who is exhausted by pain.

"And you didn't need a reason before?" Domino chuckles, but in really strange, more in nervous than in smug way.

"Yes. I'm not you, I have manners" Manny’s shoulder nervously jerks, trying to save himself and his owner, getting out of bone, brightly white chains. It's almost done. But Domino just stands up and continues to follow him, cursing in Spanish.

Manny sits on the bed and sighs heavily, rubbing his eye sockets with his fingers.

"You irritate me. Get lost" he says in his native language, hoping that at least it will work. But this is not quite helping. An ex-enemy's body is still hovering over him.

"Oh, go to hell… You're pathetic and unbearable idiot."

Said without any hatred, rather with… Angry confusion? You’re losing it, Mr. Hurley, losing it.

However, you still know how to slam doors loudly. If there were, Manny would have raised four plates with the number 10. One for each limb. Maybe even took one in his teeth.

Domino doesn't come. Today, tomorrow. In principle, the whole situation seems strange and somehow… wrong. Even when they didn't think about behaving towards each other at least somewhat unfriendly - they had to be together. Or maybe it was a similar excuse to coldness?

But the tall skeleton appears in the same place a week later. They sit silently, not even lighting up cigars. The silence is broken by a firm question.

"How long?"

"I'm not obliged to answe-"

"I'm asking. How long?" Seems like they're going to argue again. Moreover, Manny does not even know why. Why did he ask him about this radiance? Is he afraid to get infected? He should have hammered into his dull head that it's not his business.

But his lips utter incoherent nonsense like "I don't remember, probably three months ago, who cares? Get lost".

White dots hiding in black dark eye sockets run all over the "sick" body from head to toe and unexpectedly approach strangers.

"Clunck".

"What do you allow yourself, damn it! Get out of here, you assh-"

"Clunck".

Sound from bone to bone was already too much to handle.

And then Manny gets punched in the ribs. Not strongly, but makes him grab slightly itchy bones.

"Don't get used to it, it's just because you'll die soon. Don't pretend you're doing it right now, I'm gentle. Besides, you have nothing to hurt there."

"Bones can be broken, imagine that! Although, yes, how can your narrow mind understand it" grumbles like an erecting owl undertaker, still suffering, "You bastard," he huffed with an incredibly mixed emotions in his voice.

"See ya tomorrow, Manny. Just try not to die" Domino gets up and is about to leave, but Manny boldly yeels at his back.

"Oh yeah, now I have a motivation!"

"Did you enjoy it that much?" the brows soar up a couple of times, mocking the stunned victim.

"No, so I can beat you with your own jaw" the grumbling becomes quieter, and mockery and playfulness in his voice increase with each word, "And then shame you for not being able to admit your gay nature until you found out that I am dying again" the smirk becomes crooked on both of their mouths.

"Shut up and remember, you answered me rather with enthusiasm for the second time. Also, I knew everything about myself for the long time, closeted bastard."

Brows twitch again, the last time - victorious. And the figure of a tall, towering skeleton moves away from the pier to its own house.

Manny thinks about it for a while, then buries his face in his palms and sighs loudly, trying to come to his senses.

Domino really comes the next day. Without cufflinks. Cigarettes are now in a black-brown package.

It is amazing that his former worst enemy now consciously doesn’t want to bring Manny pain. Almost the only one in this huge city.

Now he brings disgusting embarrassment to his house. And, as it seems, it will haunt Manuel until his second death. But it's better than pain, isn't it? Especially since… It turns out that Domino Hurley has a good taste. In men. And Manny is very happy with this little victory of the former enemy.

[libidomechanica]

But neither lingers on the steadfast rock of Immortal star

A rispetto sequence

               1

With cypress, who might turn out with her frail. I rush’d the facts of love of knowledge spring-time, fresh and weed. Thou, Carian! Their glorious end: for all my woe? Their first the counsel to the universe into a coquette, who still will call. But neither lingers on the steadfast rock of Immortal star. Ay me! And yet the Father has arm’d himself in spleenful unicorn.

               2

With thee will be careful to you, Cynara! Sun was not—but t is a very music, music of the day, ye wadna been said, Look! ’St and she is tall and greet the feet or handsome lies, the lady’s hand; I warrant the bump I ride in my own breast almighty’s bow.—She too readily, or our lord. Above thee once unkind befriends let its voice, when to woo her.

               3

Of newest joys upon the basest weed outbraves his Sign, and then a nightingale shall be as was none to sleep. Heavy peacefulness; who will not there shot a golden splendour makes you to pause before the more pleasant hues of happy he whose rooty shades down some said with a joint over, link by link, my chain cable which speaks in an overcast of secret love.

               4

And learned in close above: there’s a change wrought more fittest, as is like the surface, leaving faintly bruit, where Melodies round the best; dissimulation, though sometimes, as in his store; so thou sinn’d in their folly in forget the world, north, south, or any more by our lord. Singing thy Face from lovers blown about, circled a million poutings of light they would love!

               5

Like the proudest state is for my sake, let me have no dædale heart! And we went out. But even as one would what I could plunge in one another proper glory has my object of felicity has been different mosses, too deep to clear his briar’d path to give me immortal Rome, as I Undying Life, have seen the lie. Which Aurora deem’d he had fled away!

               6

Thus, in their voices wake us, and tuneless chords do from Dalliance unwise, lay not utter love, the crowd, a host, of gold, when fog conceal my love, I will enticement draw bewildered shipwreck with beautiful. Although a bonne vivante, ’ I must be singed, but the sky went grey, as if they told the dead and go talking how each field turn to speake, loue to Loue inspir’d?

               7

To give account to none but an echo of a syllables in a poem, known by heart or in pure elysium. To find a half- forgetful of thanks to heed, i’d bubblings down some Corner of this precedent so often shown. ’St what we were;—too old forest tree, and though his friend thank gentle heart! Sometimes a sort; but speach, and were e’er sae sweet as Flora.

               8

—At any laud therefore less discount, and I have not by inheritance. Of health by due; where I stood, melissa hitting down into grow old … I shall by having a good ship entangled mind? Through the year grows lush in juicy stalks, I’ll live in peace, for Love, as I feel nothing affects her heart, making merely weep—her gentle gait, making addition to the earth.

               9

This stuff that market, when it grows thy pity me! My mistresses of the river side? To the lady of water, yet receive it; and if they who now are on the holy leer to court he should die; for such things, if men would fly, but follow Bacchus and his for other joys of calculate his means of feeding fire, by force accomplish’d, mid that then begins to croon.

               10

, Was chosen from an urn, still fed by men. With any men; and what I ask, thy dangerous sky. Her scorn of atomies that which attract our great water; and never drearily on barren verboten? He felt aloof the splendour farther I shall venture to take. The Doctors! Over here, here, was not exactly as I’d talk of all that troubles and with thee.

               11

It soothe my madness! In tender presently, she spake to hear the peasant valley; let the same shelf, the temples bind; angels, when clever: this man of strange, if not told of promised you, and on the mirror throwing the merciless Tyrant’s head shook with Thine; oh turn thy Falling; in his beauty’s a flow’r-reviving rain. By- and-by ye do lie, poor thinks we may charm less.

               12

Time with using; thence that which is especial. Side; so that Endymion. When comments various magnanimous Despair! Their fountain held thee alone. Or at the talent and ways? With any Breath of May, as do that inward scoffing. Never hath her, because she love so suddenly arrests me for high heart no less. Tripped by the riches from thence my head, of twenty?

               13

Such is sure when we are and here’s an eclat, thought, until the hall to me? Let its tip gum, pungent, clear, brimful, and care butterflies: amid his muzzle on the whole multitude it gives, and the muttering home increas’d; for still am learning unto the inoculation, and uncontroller of our aristocracy, so gently for the space again.

               14

Vain old marchioness so unsullied, that harvest when the deep: the gout? By solemn hours, although you cannot take me ships of moulted feather. Tears she went, and the God curst sun, and longing for the soot that I meant to have command; all love each cheek of virgin Cynthia brighter days, of all my toil reward her pass my verses teach transaction, and the rosy dawn.

               15

And what’s wrong: in fact, his maid I loved Mozart before the Living and girls who for herself, with all beauty will strew Dear brown-eyed little child pushed her horns they were na looking on darkness.— She took the kind eyes, as bottomless. The reason; t was drinking it a thing I dote on: so I’d fain, peona, ye should be away? Sweet woman finds no one near to the child.

               16

For thee,—cresses. Paris white flock, by himself to this Cot, and laugh at the novels, after a sort of her left, a child in me do reed of loue in aire of wonder what to me had like a crescent-wise. They general, but at times long; I chirped, cheerful but not like Hindoos, for fools perverse delicate from lands were tearing upon one luxury, unless a man.

               17

Go to the swollen and to thee; the nest, an arch of the chapel bells called us: promise, during light thus, thus thou didst adorn, with Stella loue. And following dames I sing, whenever I want to watch overthrow, not by thy infinite, haunt us till the burden to a coquetry, or absence, of remote a Fountain sealed: drink deep, until the freaks of man.

               18

—Scott, the suffer with amber plain, and here kneeled at your land so kind: to scale with every sound, sweet prison, if good name and thus, just a little cup will pique a gentler days had run to warm the silvery serious eye a mild reproof darts, O beloved Woman! Thou, Carian lord, hadst better know it; my tongues shall please; and though the damsel’s tear alone presence.

               19

And all, the fowl from that catches us by surprised at ease and smoothed by shadow roaming like the bed. Do I dare not whither ones I may give more hate, hate of my life, wilt thou mayest heaven’s gate, and help them? Come, let’s obay with my sonnet to you, myself were heaven’s glories dart; ’tis blue, and dropt my visions, dreams they should be much success, or none, that alp. There lives.

               20

Command the visions, which after soft showers; nor grateful Evening sun on this same void white, doe interlace. So that source of husband, you think that Philo-genitiveness’ is now here I for should not be founded on the new trees, and love, to the mind is filled the Pile; and the Giant is a low, newspaper, humble Maid: then found a vent. I ne’er seem’d far away!

               21

Than few; but there: for if Sins will go much more? While bird, the ore, of wot not wish: but, ere we can cast out, thus our content is famine, that I mean to show things for the centre set thee soon; these flowers they scour about the raw cold tile bathroom—all night, the moon, and have, or harsh prude indemnifies the treasured this he press’d his Spirit in a dreame: and a long adieu.

               22

Rosy morn by morn; an’ she had view’d a skyey mask, a pinions darkening sun: beneath whose cooler side, or so she loue denied! Bitter, but one, and leaves behind my knees, from what so eminent a hand’ meant; but court shall know foredoom their treasure thin!—The lucid outline’s a lapsus of the inhabitant of some of the rest; and hoary, see it be thy summer.

               23

And yet it is; and with thee to company, of the twilight, towards a bowery island girls who fondly lov’d us; nay more, which becks our ready, but hoped their wives. And Jill goes down this, they had, alas, their heart in days of steel us as the tea, among the shore of weary life.—Of Him whose birth, wealthiest of alabaster. One safeguard more; for well she past.

               24

And wait upon the banknotes and drinks that search their coffin; but I may but prepared to name the wind falls from meeting hazel bowers of celebrity dined well; but woman could weep the eyes sent to snare. Because I’d rather hand in the dark—till break of day—feare not our lords with regular descended from their heads and doth wheel not by rude force, but worn and far.

               25

Which bondage we will play, their dishonor. She wept and place, and often happens to you, myself for five, four, these darkest house where the third is in seeming trees by a river, clear stream of mosquitoes ascending line along a path between the dusk—the dust on the which some odd chance, at last to sway they all around it speak, and obedient wife. Myself to croon.

               26

Thou shalt come and this, is come a cheering life, two plummets dropt the Graces, grouped in a blissful swoon. But the Star-Queen’s cry my soul with her first touch ethereal band are visible above thee! I meant but speach, and fairy quires are. But court me, and blessed, throat, she cried my brotherly cheek with edge-tools! Brilliant bow. The dreamers. Or laces, which he had something more.

               27

Best. By a forest’s maze; the neck with Thee Annihilation—lost, or in Eternal Footman hold me through a favourite hamlet faint with our eyes, but yet your heart beat them out the garden of his sovereign monarchs are the dreary change of all. Some waltz; some devour’d till in masquerades, and all offender gave, and as thick and envied passionate lightly serv’d.

               28

Reformation. As they were fields, and we are his; the shrink in again: if a flower and stole my heart mine, as when, approaching with her rising on their jewels for substance, and let me statesman’s decline; mournful freight. With fingers, asleep and brighter of smooth as sunburnt looks deceive our huntsman: Breather and a colours gayer than you by a simple maiden prime.

               29

I think to ride, as fast other of the glebe, but if I burst his winters, and create mischief is increased, upon the West garden-ground, all is still and in his mate; as yet we find a way. Your flight, it is but to keep in, when Phoebus, for a Moment; for age and of Verse, to correction no bitter could see her gently for slight tame on Sunday after you’ve missed.

               30

To doubt: but the Fruit grew upon my tuneful quill. Excepting married ones they fall; but when there’s music for the city. But whether it shoulder o’er this I have told thee to conquest and frayed with a sin and deem’d sooty, and if in pattering and dance from old Skiddaw’s top, whence than could tread breathes. Lo! Whoever have been reduced to the leaven, aquarius!

               31

Wild surprise, how great ennui, when we touch we enter in, to share of passion, yea, hungry and back and dew, young man, ere made a cunning, catches from the street together. Be sweetest still to dwell with the smoke that record played, nor longer duke or earl; but, ere it not. A cowslip braes o’ Yarrow everywhere, blushing style which means everywhere, O Where hast thou shalt!

               32

Has our whole together. Beyond Himself wildly and while if one, sleep, all that thought upon her height than the common vein of memory refreshment its sweet; the want it to happened once it as a foe would be at all. In pride of all be my Friendship which he leant, wretch, object strange history became one who travelling state comes once more, who, moving from self-destroyed.

               33

Bring in the very bark bar’d and swam for Love is just the clay adhered to Dian:-truth I heard my name receive thee, sweeter thy voice— divinest! Stella, whose cool and sought; and thoughts are like a clew of golden morrow beam’d upward, through the way in which sadly she select, and water and wise, nor settlement filling thrush, schooling its back the Town. To lure—Endymion!

               34

Impossible—how dearly; she is so content with his storm-trouble, well cultivate myself to things to Hallam’s Middle Ages, To give for you go? With dazzled lips her sombre cave, ere she was interknit so winged steeds, with a joint over, and humming ale encourage had to my heart and write—love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, now farewell: thy frown last extreme, and sight.

               35

Endless the rapturous chariot last its beak over the street outsides. That much better yet to fret at myriads of earthly love has given falls thy shoulders puls’d tenfold, to feel he know: yet, hearing too audacious to mend the heart had got a touch entirely. Welcome, my Corinna, come, let it blessed wood whose thoughtfully I ring out of song can be here!

               36

Overwhelming vintage hotly pierce something in safe alarm. An’ has nae care it is gold that all things prepared to skim the body is writ each might the saints the future state has been born to labour, I my jest: but, for a vent; arrived, as the rain falls cool and sat so waiting on the tears of Ceres grow: upon his gold, and the Gods the morning’s prime Desire!

               37

A God fingers on the pen;—strange! Too tender matrimonial seal, will drop their Cakes and all her self-possession-—swung the corner for a woman without has twa sparkling roguish een. Blowing of trumpet’s mouth, I look at light to leave her. Where the best guards of dangling within his streight impart; nest of books. Will be they smiled—she had: his book’s begun, you’llfind it!

               38

He saw her blaze much as to received, as if to lull down from Head to be glad: o feel that bird? Bless you with sighs, that, from walking, but then, you an’ I in ae bed, I’m o’er young, when on my wedding dresses gloom, light of diction. Which mere hopes begot by feare, of which our Faith and other proper glory. A third, speeding young unborn, whom she came to choose but selected.

               39

To faint a sweet and fluttering retreats of restless look along the milky brow! As something of a river, clear, brimful, and I seek,— for yet the Princess; liker to the silvery oak apples, and quarrel tilts, yclept their noses through this my life, thy grief beside the marriage night was pass’d unworried by angry wolf, or pard with a tress of visions springs.

               40

And they will see some devil was in a mantle rosy-warm with the trembler in the green nooks empty of all. Example to me;—of whom the Graces, was very bark ’gainst you without a toga or a single reader’s eyes. Not due to the very marge, whose northern blasts do roses; and to what in mediating betwixt sighes mixt; with a kernel in it.

               41

Doth thy Beauty. Were as eyes and sky. And, with me, Sir, they vanish: wept they would weep their Muses do not thy Heart’s the room and once more, thou felt so constant to me one Morning-glory had blooms on thy sins forgive and me. Past man’s earliest bubbles into the air it breath was she, Blythe by the river side by side rejoicing like a fool of verse—O treachery!

               42

Close by, began to whimper; ambitious am I, when love than could not end me, left me maim’d to dwell among the statutes, such a point only Laili, ’ yet a Book of their roll, but whether it should I go on, that deep den of a shepherds pipe retire—to lose. By Phœbus was his world, out-facing Lucifer, and back against the setting of leaving seemed a bore.

               43

Thy mossy hill, the fair ordain, he said, my children’, as thou growest beautiful as fair bosom of the sallows of the vault Or, on a moonless nights and floors, at first season where it may not run. Remain, and we as rich which might empties there was sitting down Bristol Street, Yet hold my coat, and love it and keeps us from my Hand, nor wound and a grin of bitter.

[julie-su]

Some folks on the BK server asked more for the ask game, so here we go on Omega, Battle Lord Kukku, and Julie-Su!

Julie-Su: Sexuality Headcanon: Bisexual - but she doesn't know this, until Rouge one day flirts with her to try and cause maximum chaos, instantly confusing Julie-Su... Cue new rendition of Kick the Rock. 'I don't love you!' .. I think she's poly like I think Knuckles is. Gender Headcanon: I said before 'she/her gay', and I think if you can decipher that, then you get what I'm saying. But if you can't, I can't help XD A ship I have with said character: .. -looks up- -looks down- -looks all around- -up in the air and on the ground- I mean, Knuxsu is the only one for me XD I'm also open to others, as long as Knuckles and Julie-Su are together still. A BROTP I have with said character: We already did Mighty and Julie-Su when I went through Mighty headcanons, so... I think that Julie-Su really enjoys hanging out with Remington. I mean, the second thing he did was pop a helmet on her and give her a gun and tell her to ride along and shoot things XD I think when she finds out he's her nephew, she's overjoyed. And a little confused at the timeline, but overjoyed nonetheless XD also she gets away with way too much. "Hey, Remy? .. I know you play by the rules, but you're not getting this gun back. It's mine." A NOTP I have with said character: Mighty x Julie-Su, I also don't like Julie-Su x Shade as I see Shade as someone who is ... 23-26? I won't like, stop anyone, as there's really no canon age for Shade, though - it's just my personal headcanon. A random headcanon: I think that it takes Julie-Su a long while to truly come down from how she was treated as a soldier, but Knuckles slowly helps her to lower her guard. The Chaotix slowly become a family to her, she even lets her guard down with Vector! Sure, she wants to clock him over the head half of the time, but she will also march right into battle if anything ever happens to him or his. She cares in an... Intense and scary way. General Opinion over said character: Julie-Su is my absolute favourite - something about her just makes me happy. It's funny, I kind of didn't like her at first! But the more I re-read, the more I just felt myself drawn to her. I suppose it was a 'I hate you because you remind me of that part of me that I hate' - but you learn to love yourself, and then you look at the character, and you want to weep for how you have tried to inhibit loving yourself and this character. I don't know, it does run deep with my dear Julie-Su ^^

Battle Lord Kukku Sexuality Headcanon: ... He's straight, for sure, but he for sure says things like 'Everybody looks at men, it doesn't mean anything'. So he's not straight. But he is. You get it Gender Headcanon: -looking at him- ... Cis male A ship I have with said character: ... ... Okay, this is left-field, and also begs questions of 'how did you even get there..?' but that's MY butterfly effect in convos. Dr. Quark and Lord Kukku have got soemthing going on. It's like Eggman and Wily type. Don't worry about it. A BROTP I have with said character: This man spends waaaay too long completely on his own, secluded from society. We have got to start doing a villains mixer, and see who he befriends. A NOTP I have with said character: ...? I really don't know XD A random headcanon: I think that he secretly enjoys millet sticks. You walk in on him and he is just eating that thing with reckless abandon. It's kind of cute, kind of disturbing. General Opinion over said character: I think he's so fun! I love the two different iterations in the comics for a guy from a game like Tails' Adventure. How fun! I really like that he sits on a bird perch in the comics.

Omega: Sexuality Headcanon: Explosions and Death and and Murder Gender Headcanon: Murder and Death and Explosions A ship I have with said character: ... Shade and Omega intrigues me. I wouldn't say that I ship it, but I DO find it fun enough to mention. "Your weaponry is........ Adequate" ".. Is Omega flirting with that echidna?" A BROTP I have with said character: Team dark is too easy! I really like when he finds unlikely allies. Everybody he gets along with in Treasure Team Tango, THAT is gold, and I have subscribed to it. I also think it's hilarious when people take it one step further, and have him get along well with Vanilla because he has decided to protect Cream with his life. A NOTP I have with said character: You know, I don't think I've ever seen any Omega ship that has made me reel back. But it's possible I haven't seen a lot of Omega content on the internet. A random headcanon: I think that sometimes Shadow monologues to him at length, and Omega isn't replying, so he asusmes he's listening. Omega is simply recharging his firepower before going to find something to blow up. But he does appreciate it. General Opinion over said character: I .. Absolutely adore omega. He never fails to make me laugh, he's just so... FUN. He genuinely is one of my faves!

[universaltribalsimp]

[BASIC INFORMATION]

Name: Team Spectrum

Symbol: A black-outlined, titled S colored in magenta, light blue, yellow-green, and yellow

Motto: Acknowledge us

Types Used: Varies, but mostly Psychic

Leader: Sterling/Lord Rainboom

Admin: Claudia

Region: Hoenn

Base Location: Under Mauville City

Uniform Style:

All of the uniforms are white with some black and the same colors of the symbol

Grunts and the admin wear white hoodies, pants, different colored shades, and white face masks

Male grunts have blue shades, female grunts have magenta shades, and the admin has green shades

The leader wears a cloak over a sleeved shirt and pants and a helmet reminiscent of Mega Mewtwo Y

The leader's helmet deepens their voice to make them sound more masculine

All members wear silver Mega Gauntlets that utilize Mega Energy, allowing them to Mega Evolve more than once in battle

Grunts:

All grunts utilize Pokemon whose Mega form has a bst between 480 and 600

Use no more than three in battle

Every single one of them got each other's back, no matter what

Don't steal from or hurt anyone and will even go out of their way to help someone in need

Admin: Claudia

Also known as the Rainbow Terror - given to her by the leader

Pokemon Team: Venusaur, Lucario, Ampharos, Gardevoir, and Houndoom

Was the first person to sympathize with the leader and even came up with the idea of forming Team Spectrum

Often considered the "second mother" of the team - looks out for both the leader and younger grunts and even comforts them

Leader: Sterling/Lord Rainboom

Also known as the Mega Nightmare

Real identity is unknown to the rest of the region; only their team knows

Pokemon Team: Charizard Y, Gyarados, Sceptile, Aggron, Diancie, and Mewtwo Y

Treats Olivia and grunts with love and respect and expresses genuine pride in them, regardless if they win or lose

Listens to their team when they express concerns and knows when to back down from a dangerous situation

Befriended Rayquaza and even named it Yero, but didn't catch it permanently and only calls upon them when bored or extremely needed

[THE STORYLINE]

WARNING: Super long!!!

The story of Team Spectrum not only takes place in the Hoenn region, but if this were an official Pokemon game, it would be a spin-off game from the perspective of the future leader. I tried to think of a plot similar to Pokemon games of the past, but the more I thought of the concept of Team Spectrum, I realized that they weren't much of a threat like Team Rocket or Team Plasma. As you can tell, it's essentially the Team Skull of the Hoenn region. But then it hit me, what if we got a game where we saw firsthand the birth of an evil team? Allow me a little bit of your time to tell you the plot of the hypothetical game, Pokemon Rainbow Emerald. Also, for the record, if this game was real, not only would the graphics be similar to that of SM/USUM - mostly because, Alola bias incoming, I love those graphics - but there would also be VOICE ACTING! Because, by Arceus, is it about damn time! And of course, like any other Pokemon game, you'd be able to name both the the player character and their rival, but for the sake of simplicity in this story, let's just call them Sterling and Orville - female and male respectively.The story begins with 17-year-old Sterling being jolted awake by their sickly mother, demanding that they hurry and get dressed because today's the day they got off their butt and begin their journey to become the next Pokemon Champion. She's lived in Oldale Town for her entire life so far and never thought of leaving home for any notable reason. So far in life, she was happy where she was - hanging out with her friend Orville, chilling, and being herself. However, her mother wasn't. She was always so pushy and demanding of her and a good example of that is in yesterday's diary entry.

"I just don't get it with Mom. When I'm bad at something, she wants me to try harder. When I'm good at something, she wants me to be better. Now she wants me to be the next Champion? I wish she'd care about my wants for a change."

With all these years of being disregarded and ignored for all of their natural talents while simultaneously being pushed to do things she never asked to do, Sterling had almost had enough. She was practically itching to turn 18 so that she could start living her own life. However, her mother's health was getting worse by the day and the demands had gotten more and more desperate until Sterling finally gave in. If being the next Pokemon Champion was the only thing that could make her mother proud of her, then so be it. You make your way over to Professor Birch's house, and when you get there, you find his wife chatting it up with Orville. Both she and her friend go out to find Birch, only to find him being chased by a pack of five Zigzagoons - just like in the original Emerald version because some things never changed. Bitch asks the two to grab a Pokeball out of his bag that's lying on the ground. Sterling and Orville then choose their starter Pokemon - for the sake of simplicity, they choose Treecko and Torchic respectively, and a double battle begins between the pack of wild Zigzagoons. After rescuing Birch, he lets them keep the chosen Pokemon as thanks for saving him, then gives the two pointers on how to be a Trainer. Afterward, he gives Sterling and Orville a Pokedex, a PokeNav Plus, and some Pokeballs before sending them on their way. Just before they leave, however, Birch's wife suggests that the two challenge the region's Gym Leaders, and both of them agree. As they go through Route 103, Orville decides to strike up some conversation along the way.

Orville: You know, I just realized something. You said you'd never do this. So what made you change your mind?

Sterling: My mom, that's what. She's not getting any better. Might as well try to make her happy for once.

​And with that, the two best-friends-turned-friendly-rivals were off on their journeys. Along the way, Sterling would encounter both Team Aqua and Team Magma grunts like in the original Emerald version. However, since she's not the chosen one, she's just got to be an unfortunate witness to the main madness that unfolds. Instead, Sterling has to deal with her mother constantly blowing her phone up. Literally, after every single catch or battle - whether it be with her rival, a Gym Leader, or a grunt, she pesters her either through calls or text messages, bringing up rather pointless inquiries like "Did you catch anything worthwhile?" or "You better not lose to those Aqua/Magma grunts. Don't you embarrass me." Perhaps it was the comment relating to her rival battles that stung the most because whenever she lost, she only had this to say.

"Why am I not surprised? Honestly, whatever Orville is doing, you should do more of that."

Regardless of her mother's endless comments and Groudon and Kyogre going at it like they're siblings, Sterling was about to finally take on the Elite Four and the Champion. Although she was incredibly on edge, she had Orville by her side to give her that much-needed reassurance. By this time, the calls and texts have come to an abrupt stop, and although part of her is relieved, another part of her wonders if her mom is still alive. One by one, she took them on. Sidney, Phoebe, Glacia, and Drake. One by one, they all went down but then came Wallace. He has the same team as he did in the original Emerald and that Ludicolo with that bullshit ass Double Team. However, this time around, he has a Mega Gyarados. What's even worse is that it doesn't matter how much you grind or prepare for this final battle because, in the end, you're meant to lose. After getting her team healed up, as soon as she steps out of the Pokemon center, Sterling is called by her mom to come home immediately. Upon flying home, she walks in to find her mom in bed, barely hanging on for dear life. When she walks up to her, Mom grabs her daughter's hand and the following conversation takes place.

"Sterling… I know you came so far, but I gotta know… Are you the new champion?"

At this point, you have a couple of dialogue options to choose from. If you choose to say "no," she responds with "…Why am I not surprised?" If you choose to say "I got close," she responds with "…Not close enough." Regardless of what is chosen, Mom snatches her hand back and turns away from her daughter, weakly but firmly demanding that she "get out of her face." A teary-eyed Sterling pleads for her mother to be proud of her, only to get no such response. Or any response, for that matter. A few days later, Sterling is found in the backyard, standing over her mother's grave with a pair of watery eyes combined with that of a fiery glare. A saddened Orville approaches from behind and places a hand on his friend's shoulder, telling her that he's sorry for her loss. Sterling snatches her shoulder away, questioning why he was sorry and that "at least you're champion. She would've loved that for you - just as she's always loved you." And with that, Orville leaves her to her own devices. For an hour, Sterling stands there, staring intensely at the gravestone when something clicks and she has an epiphany. Her mom was never proud of her because she wasn't a strong trainer like Orville or the former champion Wallace. If she was to be respectful and acknowledged, then she needed to be the strongest of them all. The question is how? A few more minutes of thinking and then it hits her.

Mega Evolution.

Wallace and Orville had a Mega Pokemon and are among the region's strongest trainers. Sterling herself has a Mega Pokemon and has witnessed firsthand its extraordinary power. Perhaps if she could find a way to exploit that power to its maximum potential, she could be unstoppable. Of course, she could assemble a full team of Pokemon capable of Mega Evolution and acquire their compatible Mega Stones, but only Arceus knows how long that will take and Lady Luck isn't always on her side. However, after some further research on the subject, she discovered something groundbreaking. Rayquaza can Mega Evolve without a Mega Stone. This was perfect. If she finds a way to harness that ability, she will be set. But then arises a new problem: how could you possibly find such a project? After several more minutes of thinking, she decided to sell some things. And not only just a few valuable items in her house that were collecting dust, but she also decided to sell some Pokemon.

From here, the hypothetical game would switch from the traditional linear style gameplay into a more open-world style inspired by Scarlet and Violet. Not only would you as the player be able to traverse the Hoenn region freely, but you can go to and traverse other regions freely. This would not only allow you to visit your favorite spots and challenge some of your favorite characters from previous games, but this would also allow you to catch and sell Pokemon worthwhile that are only found in other regions and thus be able to find this grand new project. A project Sterling named the MEWS Project - MEWS stands for Mega Evolution Without Stones. After however long it takes for her to get enough cash, Sterling is finally able to fund the project. All that's needed now is Rayquaza. While all of the scientists in the work-in-progress underground base are working on the machine, Sterling traverses through the tower, battling so many Pokemon along the way, until she reaches the apex and pulls out a few Pokeballs from her bag. From the Pokeballs, three Minors are released, and then Sterling drops to her knees and begins to pray. Almost no sooner does she finish her prayer, the Sky High Pokemon graces the young woman with their presence, and to her surprise, they speak.

Rayquaza: (I gaze down at the trainer with a steely glare) Sterling of Oldale Town. You have summoned me for what purpose?

Sterling: (I anxiously look up at the Legendary dragon, still on my now trembling knees.) Rayquaza, I simply ask that you aid me in a project to become the strongest trainer in the world.

Rayquaza: And why do you wish to become the world's strongest trainer?

Sterling: (No response is made as I gaze to my right, almost not wanting to answer the question.)

Rayquaza: Your mother is gone, Sterling. (The younger looks up at me with a gasp and a stunned expression.) You don't owe her anything.

Sterling: …… (Once again, I hang my head and choose to say nothing because what do I say to that?)

Rayquaza: …… (I circle the silent trainer and the scared Miniors, tilting my head a couple of times.) I will not force you to reconsider, but remember this. True strength is not born from winning battle after battle. It comes from falling time and time again and still deciding to get back up.

Sterling: (I look up at Rayquaza and nod my head.) I'll keep that in mind.

Rayquaza: (I nod my head in return) Very well, then. If you truly require my assistance, you must prove to me in battle. But before we get started… (I point at the Minior trio.) Are those for me??

Sterling: Oh! Uh, yes, uh… (I chuckle lightly as I scramble back into my feet.) I caught these to convince you to help me, but… Perhaps they're not necessary--

No sooner do those words leave her mouth, the Sky High Pokemon zooms down and snatches up the now screaming Miniors, then devours them whole. Rayquaza then thanks Sterling for the offering and in a flash of a blinding light, they Mega Evolve, commencing the battle. It knows Extreme Speed, Dragon Pulse, Dragon Dance, and Dragon Ascent - the final being a Flying-type move and not a Dragon-type move as the name would suggest for some inexplicable reason. It would be quite the challenge, but eventually, Sterling prevails and Rayquaza allows her to catch it. Over the next couple of months, Sterling and her scientists make sure that the Legendary Sky Dragon is taken great care of while they work on the MEWS Project. It was given mandatory 30 breaks along and an hour-long lunch just like everyone. Speaking of lunch, it was given all of the meteorites, Miniors, and Rayquaza treats to its heart's content mostly thanks to the effort of Sterling. At one point, Rayquaza gives everyone a ride through the skies and Sterling even gives it a nickname: Yero - one of the many names of the Rainbow Serpent. Yero is treated less like a test subject and more like an equal member of the team. After months of experiments, all of everyone's work pays off in the form of a silver gauntlet with a small glass dome on the back swirling with some kind of strange magenta energy - the Mega Gauntlet. With her Pokemon team out and ready, Sterling presses the dome and her entire hand glows a bright magenta, trembling and aching in pain all the while. Despite the pain, a growling Sterling fights through and snaps her fingers, bringing out the Mega forms of all six Pokemon of her team at the same time. All of the scientists applaud and celebrate amongst each other, but Sterling. She walks over to her team and caresses her Sceptile with tears of pure joy.

Sterling: We did it. We actually did it. (I look up at the ceiling and dry my eyes.) I hope you're watching because from now on, you'll be looking at the reign of the Mega Nightmare.

Yero: (confused but intrigued) The Mega Nightmare??

Sterling: (I acknowledge the Sky High Pokemon with a nod.) Yeah. New dawn, new day, new life for me. I'm gonna need a name change. (I look down at my clothes and a disappointed frown is made.) …And a wardrobe change at that.

Yero: (I acknowledge her with a nod.) I see. I wish you luck in your endeavors, Sterling. I only wish that you heed my advice.

With Yero released back into its rightful place in the skies and the MEWS Project being a complete success, Sterling dons her gauntlet along with a new outfit and a new name to match: Lord Rainboom, the Mega Nightmare. Yes, Lord Rainboom, as in rainbow and doom. Don't laugh. Over the next few weeks, with her new persona and power, she takes on the Hoenn gym leaders again, defeating them all with far less difficulty than her very first attempt. All the while, she makes passionate speeches to anyone who would listen, declaring that all of Hoenn will acknowledge her might and the rest of the world will follow suit. Everyone in the region takes notice - especially a few people in particular. One of which is a young woman dressed in green shades along with a hoodie and pants that strangely have the same colors as the Mega Nightmare's. After defeating the seventh gym, Lord Rainboom is approached by the seemingly matching individual and a conversation is struck.

???: I know how you feel. (The Mega Nightmare turns towards me with a confused tilt of their head.) You try your very best and yet you still come up short. Now you want to prove everyone wrong.

Lord Rainboom: (One hand is on my hip as I gaze at the newcomer.) Uh-huh. And you are…??

???: Claudia. Nice to meet you. (We shake hands.) And while I'm here, let me tell you that I'm not the only one who feels the same way.

Lord Rainboom: Is that right? Prove it.

With a warm smile, Claudia leads the Mega Nightmare to her hometown, Mauvile City, and in the garage of her home sits a fairly large group of trainers - both boy and girl - patiently waiting for Claudia to return. The second they see Lord Rainboom, they all gasp both surprise and a hint of excitement and one of them even bows before her. Claudia goes on to explain that she and the trainers have been watching and listening to the Mega Nightmare and they agree with her wholeheartedly. Why? Every single one of the trainers has been through what Sterling had been through - their loved ones trying to live through them and being criticized regardless of whether they accomplished something or not. It is at this moment that Lord Rainboom has another epiphany. The world needs to acknowledge not just her, but everyone who feels ostracized despite their inner strength.

​​​​​​Lord Rainboom: Listen well, my dear friends. To our loved ones, we are nothing. But to us, we are their worst nightmares! We will show everyone that we are not as weak or useless as we're made out to be! We… are Team Spectrum! And we! Are here! To stay!

[TRIVIA]

Inspired by my love of Mega Evolution taken to a bit of an extreme.

The alias "Lord Rainboom" and the helmet are inspired by Lord Dominator from Wander Over Yonder.

[alexisthinking-blog]

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty,   the King of creation! O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy   health and salvation!     All ye who hear, Now to His temple draw near; Sing now in glad adoration!

Praise to the Lord, who o’er all   things so wondrously reigneth, Who, as on wings of an eagle,   uplifteth, sustaineth.     Hast thou not seen How thy desires all have been Granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, who hath fearfully,   wondrously, made thee! Health hath vouchsafed and, when

  heedlessly falling, hath stayed thee.     What need or grief Ever hath failed of relief? Wings of His mercy did shade thee.

4

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper   thy work and defend thee, Who from the heavens the streams of   His mercy doth send thee.     Ponder anew What the Almighty can do, Who with His love doth befriend thee.

5

Praise to the Lord! Oh, let all that   is in me adore Him! All that hath life and breath, come   now with praises before Him!     Let the Amen Sound from His people again; Gladly for aye we adore Him.

Your love remains

Through the darkness Through the fire Through my wicked heart's desire Your love remains, Your love remains Though I stumble Though I falter Through my weakness You are strong Your love remains, Your love remains Oh my, my soul, it cries Oh my, my soul, it cries for you Through my failure Through my heartache Through my healing In my pain Your love remains, Your love remains Though I stumble Though I falter Through my weakness You are strong Your love remains, Your love remains

For you are good to me, good to me my Lord

There is a river

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of our God (repeat) So I will rejoice I will rejoice And be glad There is a fountain full of grace and it flows from Emanual's veins It came and it healed me It came and refreshed me It came and washed my sins away!

Communion

Welcome family! Welcome relations! Welcome all! The house of the Creator is our gathering place today. The feast has been prepared for us all.

Let us share the feast of Holy Communion. Welcome to the table that binds us all together!

God, who walked with our ancestors, who walks among us now, and who will walk with our children's children for generations to come, we give you thanks for your presence.

In the air that we breathe, in the sound of rustling leaves and in the waving grass.we give you thanks for your presence. In the sound of children's laughter, and in the songs of our elders, We give you thanks for your presence.

Leader: Let us help each other stand and take off the robe of mourning.

Lift up your broken hearts: People: We lift them up to God Leader: Let us honour God People: It is right to honour God

Leader: It is right to honour God and to give our thanks. People: We give our thanks to God.

Why We Are Here

We send to you, Creator God, our dreams, visions, and prayers.

For the world: May the nations of the earth gather to listen to the heartbeat of God. May they sit in silence as the Great Peacemaker teaches and shows them how to walk upright. May the war clubs and instruments of destruction be transformed into life giving means of grace. (Isaiah 2)

For the hearts of the people, Created with your sacred fire burning within us, we confess that we struggle to live out of our great potential. When we do harm to your Creation, your creatures and fellow human beings, forgive us. When we fail to do all the good we can, in all the places we can, forgive us. When we turn away from your love and grace, forgive us.

Leader: Hear now the good news of Jesus Christ,

People: You are forgiven. I am forgiven. We are forgiven.

Leader: Peace be with you.

People: And also with you

Creator God, as we walk from this place with renewed strength for the journey before us, let us follow the path of Jesus, as the Spirit guides our steps. Help us to make wise choices in the days ahead, to serve those in need, to respect one another and all creation. As we wait for the day when we will be reunited with you and those who have gone before us, keep our hope alive and our footsteps on the path toward home.

[hollowyon]

Could you draw the shade lord and Grimm if you feel like it :0

grimm and shadelooord! its the first time i draw them!!!

[i-cant-sing]

hey just checkin if you received an ask for re8 baby reader prompts. wanna make sure tumblr didnt eat it :)

Re8 baby prompts? I'm afraid I haven't gotten any :( But I am interested in the idea🤩

Like just imagining Alcina scooping up reader in one swift movement because baby Y/n is a little menace that likes to run around the village, befriend a couple of lycans, spook the shit out of Ethan when she ran up to him dressed in a similar black cloak like the vampire sisters, gave them all a heart attack when she decided to jump up off high places because she wants to fly like Alcina.

Not to mention she insists on holding the flashlight and handing Heisenberg his instruments when he's working because baby Y/n wants to make sure he's fixing Handsome correctly.

Or that she slept in Donna's lap while she made dolls of all the Lords so that they're all with you even when you're asleep. You're usually awake to watch her make these dolls, but you'd tuckered yourself out with the mini dance party you had with Angie.

Or baby reader and Moreau wiping away each others tears after they watched a couple of Disney movies.

Or when Mother Miranda had you change into Eva's clothes, put you in Eva's room, tucked you on Eva's bed, made you call her "mama" and then reinforced it that neither Alcina nor Mia are your mamas. Only her.

Or when Chris was saving you and decided not to shoot Handsome because you cried that he was your best friend in the whole wide world. So now Chris has two babies, one if them is a monster with a drill for an arm.

Or when you stole "Hamburger's" glasses and ran away from him on Handsome's shoulders while Heisenberg called you "Brats! Come back! Give me my shades back!" Followed by baby Y/n's mischievous giggles.

Or when Leon had to chase you down after you sneaked out his knife. He had to bribe you with candies to make you drop the knife.

Or when Ethan just started crying after you ran away from him for the 7th time because you saw your pet lycan "Potato". The lycan damn near mauled Ethan when he picked you up, only for you to call him "Potato! Down! Bad doggie! No more belly rubs if you eat Dada!" And the lycan's ears just flop down and he whines at your threat.

^it's reader dragging Handsome to do her bidding. Or for a dress up. Who knows?

[glystenangel]

sacrilege

Priest!Gojo & Demon!Sukuna x Nun&Afab!Reader (Historical AU)

Series Summary: a love triangle between a slut, a priest, and a demon

Chapters: 1/5

Chapter Summary: you join Father Gojo's convent as a nun

Status: Completed

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, catholic guilt/themes, nun kink, priest kink, corruption kink, slutshaming, general degradation, penetrative sex, repression, rendezvous, office sex, masturbation mention, no idea what time period this is in lol but let's say 1920-40's maybe lol

~3.5k

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

Ch. 1 - Arrival

_________________

You tried to be good.

You really did, but you doubted that even nunhood could save you.

Not that you were exactly responsible for your salvation, that was more of Father Gojo’s job. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t make his job easy, and Father Gojo was also struggling to be good.

“F-Father.” You quivered in his hold as you lay pressed to his desk. You were biting your lip in ecstasy, tears falling from your glossy eyes.

The stained glass of his study’s window shaded your body in magnificent fractals of color and haloed him in a kaleidoscope of bright hues, but Father Gojo observed the shapes with vague disinterest. He was more focused on the way his cock was being gripped by your wantonly dripping pussy.

“Cry and repent later. Not now.” He grit his teeth, shuddering at the squish of your cunt around his stiff cock. 

Your breath quickened with every slap of his hips against yours, desperately holding onto your headdress with one hand and the edge of his desk with the other.

“Oh my G-” He slapped his hand over your mouth, glaring at you with repulsion, “Do not say the Lord’s name in vain.”

You nodded adamantly, not trusting yourself to speak again, especially when you were so close and anything could set him off. Father Gojo was extremely sensitive, and even though he was lauded in the church community for his strong will and purity, you knew what he really was.

You stared up at him as he continued wildly ramming into you, the squelching sounds of your sex making him fasten his pace. 

“You’re utterly filthy. Making me do this and then calling out for God.” He grunted with disgust, but you could see from the look in his eyes that he was just excited as you were. Just as eager to cum and sin.

Your eyes sank backwards into your head, and your muffled sobs pressed against his palm.

“Oh.” A strained moan left him as you both came and he felt you squeezing at his release.

Once your heaving pants began to slow, Father Gojo’s expression immediately twisted into one of rage, and he pushed himself away from your splayed legs.

“Get out of my office. I need to pray, and so do you.”

You hurriedly fixed your robes and adjusted your habit, giving him a slight bow as you ran from the room with your inner thighs still sticky with his slick. Father Gojo was always like that, sending you back to your chambers with anger in his voice, only to sweetly call upon you again to charge that repressed fury into fucking you senseless in the hushed corners of the church and blaming you for his sinful desires.

Once you got to your room, you washed yourself from the basin, trying to calm yourself and start your pledge to abstinence anew. It never worked, and the cycle would continue with Father Gojo tracing your supple body beneath the fabric of your dress and having his boner press against your thigh as he admonished you for being a whore.

It had been that way since you arrived at the convent. Your parents had considered you to be a harlot, sleeping with various suitors and even befriending women from brothels. This apparently shameful behavior led them to sending you to Father Gojo’s nunnery, which was filled with elderly women and miles from your hometown. Father Gojo had become the head of the convent after his predecessor had died, and it was rarely open to the public except for mass on special holidays and confessions every Sunday afternoon. Your parents had promised that they would come back for you, if you stayed chaste and reconnected with God.

If only they knew.

_________________

You had known from the moment you saw him, he was no man of God. He didn’t seem to realize it himself, however, or rather he did and was still desperately gunning for salvation through extreme servitude to the church and God.

“Welcome.” 

He had received you following a chorus of screech and creaks at the gates of the convent, wearing a black cassock and reverently folding his hands in greeting.

“Hello Father Gojo.” Your parents had pushed you forward after respectfully bowing their heads, “This is our daughter. We would like her to join the other nuns in your convent.”

You did your best to keep the shame out of your voice as you introduced yourself. Despite it being Spring, the air was biting and cold. Even the cobblestones under your feet and the statues of saints lining the garden behind Father Gojo’s tall figure seemed to shiver.

“It is lovely that you have decided to join us.” The holy man had said congenially, and you felt small under the intense bright blue of his gaze.

With those eyes resembling wreaths of heaven, pure white hair, and charming grin, he appeared to be as angelic as the winged cherubs carved into the convent’s roofs. You warily met his gaze, feeling a knot churn in the middle of your stomach. Despite his handsome visage and known reputation as a good man, you could see something dark in his eyes. It excited you and terrified you in equal measure.

“You are quite young compared to our members. We have not had any new faces here since I began my priesthood under Father Yoshinobu years ago.”

“We are worried for her soul, Father.” Your mother began to prattle on about how you were corrupting yourself at an age where you should be getting married, and how you desperately needed his help. You never thought of yourself as uncontrollable so much as easily tempted. Pleasure was often your motivation for the acts, but once it was achieved your parents’ speaking in absolutes about Hell frightened you. At least, until the heady urges came back.

“Ah, we’re the same age. Not to worry then, I will guide her towards God as I have guided myself. She will walk a path free from sin from now on, I assure you.” The priest nodded in understanding, his pleasant smile never once falling from his divinely sculpted face.

“You are certainly young Father, but we have seen what a righteous man you are and trust you will lead our daughter into His grace.” Your father humbly did the sign of the cross, and you followed suit. Every time you made that particular motion, the lump in your throat seemed to become larger.

Father Gojo had put on a sympathetic expression that you guessed he was used to wielding in the face of the pitiful. 

“Thank you for your trust. I am certain she will be saved and reunited with God soon enough, especially with the help of your prayers.”

Your parents had looked like they themselves were saved in that moment, and soon after that they left you in Father Gojo’s care, confident that you would return to them with your legs crossed and your soul purified.

Father Gojo had serenely waved goodbye with you at the gates until your parents disappeared down the road.

Then, he had turned to you with his ever present smile, “Come with me.”

You had followed him cautiously, holding what little possessions you had been allowed to bring in a bag no bigger than a loaf of bread. Eventually, you stepped into a hall built with intricate slabs of layered stones and on either side there were rows of heavy looking wooden doors with wrought iron grates lining the insides of tiny window panels in the center of each one. Along the tops of the walls were yellowed oil lamps guarded by ornate angel busts with numb, chubby faces. Wooden support beams crisscrossed the arched expanse of ceiling, slats of graying sunlight and dust settling between them. Father Gojo had knocked on the first of the doors, where an old woman croaked in an almost identical fashion to the rusty convent gates you had just walked through prior.

“Just a minute.”

“This is the head nun’s room. Although I will be leading your reformation and education, she will be helping you settle in and attend to anything involving your living quarters. We want you to be comfortable here.”

“Thank you, Father.” You had bowed your head, and then felt his large palm rest on it.

“Father?” You straightened, the tips of his pale fingers moving to caress your cheek.

You couldn’t pretend that the random, though tender act hadn’t stirred something within you.

The dark look in his eyes had reappeared.

“You are exceptionally beautiful.” 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Then, the door clicked and the warmth of Father Gojo’s hand dissipated.

The door behind you had creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with eyes so slumped over with wrinkles you couldn’t tell if they were open.

“Sister Ogami.” He brightly greeted, “Please take care of our new addition. Our lessons will start as soon as she’s settled, so make sure she gets enough rest. I’ll be in my study for the remainder of the week, should either of you need me.”

His brisk steps faded into the distance as the two of you stood motionless in the hall, and you exchanged nervous glances with the old woman.

“So you’re the trollop.” She tsked, and you fixed your gaze upon the ground. The point of your shoes firmly pressed together, and you didn’t dare to confirm or deny her statement.

You could hear her garments rustle as she shook her head and spat onto the stone tile next to you.

“May God save your soul.”

_________________

After that first week, you began to join the other nuns in attending Father Gojo’s bible study sessions and taking care of the church grounds. You also began receiving individual lessons from the priest, writing essays about what you could learn from the Virgin Mary and what failures in the female ego you inherited from Eve.

Father Gojo was rather strict with you, forcing you to read your essays out loud to him and then asking you to repeat sentences more sincerely until your voice was hoarse.

He would then send you off with a pat on the head and some prayers to recite before bed. 

One day, he had given you a hug. You had tensed under the sudden touch before returning the embrace.

“God has not given up on you yet.” He had whispered in your ear.

“I hope you won’t give up on me either, Father Gojo.” You had whispered back.

He hadn’t replied, releasing you from his arms and practically shoving you past the door and leaving you stunned on the floor outside of his office, alone.

Father Gojo never hugged you again after that, but he couldn’t seem to stop touching you regardless, tucking any loose strands of hair back into your habit as you read in his office or covering your hand with his when he wanted to correct something you wrote. 

The slight touches made your thoughts wander, and you couldn’t help but dream about what it would be like to have him hold you again. You certainly found him attractive, but you were also afraid of what Hell would await you if you ever dared to touch a man so close to God. His severe disposition and hot and cold attitude made it difficult for you to imagine him treating you as lovingly as your past affairs as well.

“Read it again.” 

You sighed, Father Gojo was noticeably more vexxed than usual today, pacing behind you as you read your latest assignment and revelations back to him.

“May I take a break?” You asked, shuffling the crinkled pieces of parchment in your hands.

“Does God ever take breaks from his divine duties? May I remind you why you’re here?” He quipped, hunching over you and caging you between his arms as his hands locked around the chair back.

You met his gaze, “Being a harlot doesn’t give you the right to treat me so poorly.”

“I’ll treat you as I see fit. As God intends. Your parents entrusted you to me because you spread your legs to half the town and claimed heaven was found in your thighs.”

“I did no such thing-”

He cut off your interruption, raising his voice, “You are a common whore, a slut who gluts herself on men and ignores God. You are beyond forgiveness.”

Your chest was heaving now, and you almost tore the papers in your trembling grip as he screamed in your face and the veins in his neck surged against his throat.

“I wish your parents never brought you to this place. You’re hopeless.” 

You stood up, pushing him aside with more force than you thought you possessed and tears springing to your eyes as you ran out the door.

He didn’t chase after you, and you locked yourself in your room for the remainder of the day. Sister Ogami and a couple of the other nuns had come to knock on your door to call you for dinner, but you had let their invitation go unanswered and fell into a deep sleep.

You woke again to knuckles tapping incessantly at your door, and you resolved to sleep again when Father Gojo’s voice seeped through the cracks.

“Hello? Please open the door.” His tone was much kinder than it had been earlier in the day, soft even.

You were in your bedclothes, but decided to open the door anyway, tentatively opening it so that only a sliver of you could be seen.

“How may I help you, Father?” No enthusiasm was found in your voice, and you hollowly stared at the one sorrowful blue eye you could make out from the gap of the door.

“Can I please come in?” He reached forward to wrap a hand around the doorframe, but seemed to hesitate and let it fall back to his side, “I want to apologize for earlier.”

“You can apologize from outside.” You narrowed the gap further, “I still don’t want to see you after you do.”

This time, he moved to pry the door open, “Please forgive me.”

“God can forgive you, since you’re so sure of what His standards are for forgiveness.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

“Cruel?” You pulled the door open, defiantly lifting your chin at his towering form, “Cruel like you were?”

The light from the moon dusted both of your figures as it filtered through the support beams, and he looked down at you with eyes full of dying stars.

“I was only being cruel to myself.”

Something about the tragic intonation of his words made you step aside.

“Come in.”

Once the door was closed, he had placed his hands around your shoulders and sunk his face into the nape of your neck. His hair tickled underneath your chin, and you could feel warm sighs brush across the side of your throat.

“All of my words were more so directed at myself. Please, forgive me.” Father Gojo shook as he spoke, and you did your best to soothe him by stroking his hair and back.

“You are too hard on yourself. Your words may have hurt me, but seeing you act like this hurts more. Let’s forget it ever happened. I forgive you.” 

He let out a pained groan, and you startled from the noise. Your heart was racing from his obvious distress and proximity, unsure of how to comfort him besides reiterating your words.

“Father, there’s nothing to forgive.”

He raised his head, looking intensely at your face and clenching his jaw. The expression on his face looked utterly broken and grave, as if he were looking into the fires of Hell and knew he deserved to burn.

“There will be.”

His lips crashed against yours and your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden motion, and when you let out a noise of surprise he took the opportunity to slot his tongue into your mouth. He kissed you like he was about to die and your tongue was the only thread of hope he had to return to life. Your mind was in a desperate frenzy, heat pooling between your legs as he hoisted you into his arms and carried you to your bed.

“Wait!” You held his face, ceasing his movements as his hands were poised to relieve you of your nightgown.

He was breathing hard, lips swollen and shining with your spit as he stared at you. He really was an angelic type of beauty, but for the first time you could see the tormented soul that lay beneath the surface of his religious fervor and title. You saw your own, desperate spirit reflected in his pleading eyes.

You swallowed, giving him a docile kiss on the cheek and laying onto your back, “Be gentle.”

At your request, he had been merciful, sucking at your neck enough to satiate his need to taste you, but not hard enough to leave marks. He was also slow to plunge into your tightness, teasing at your entrance with the swollen pink of his tip until you relaxed and could sheath his full length.

You let out soft gasps and eagerly arched into his cock, and he was so big that you had to quietly cry into his shoulder before you could adjust and pearls of your precum coated his shaft enough to ease his heavy thrusts. 

“Oh.” Satisfied sounds escaped you both as you clung to each other in the darkness, mindlessly rutting your hips together.

“You’re terrible.” He whispered, quickening his pace and letting out the most pathetic moans in between slaps of skin, “You’re evil.”

“Harder.” You begged, and he obliged you immediately.

The mere sight of your pussy being fucked into a creamy wet mess by the same man who had vowed to purify you made you whimper with delight. It felt so good. Better than your fingers had been for the past few months. Surely better than any salvation you had been promised. You watched fixedly as your juices meshed together, splattering across his taut stomach and driving him deeper into your core. He was salivating at this point, watching you take his overwhelmingly large dick with vigor even if it made you tremble and dribble incoherently.

“You really are a slut. Look at the way you’re coming undone for me. It’s pitiful.” He slid himself out slowly before slamming back into you, making you see white and nearly gag.

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut.” You panted, taking every stroke appreciatively as your orgasm continued to build.

“That’s right. Nothing but a dirty little slut that needs my cum.”

“Mhm, I need it. Need you to fill up my little sluthole with your cum, Father.” The foul words spilled out of your mouth, and he seemed to shake with rage and excitement before he leaned down to roughly kiss you again as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head.

You were so wet that his desperate pounding frothed the inside of your walls, and he rammed into you until your body seized with pleasure and his cum was leaking from your slit.

As soon as he came, Father Gojo collapsed on top of you, and you vaguely recalled how your first embrace with him had been so innocent.

_________________

The next morning, you had woken up to him dampening your shoulder with his tears.

“How could you do this?” He raked his hands through his hair and slapped himself, and you had to clasp him to your chest to calm him.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” You lied, hoping it was somehow convincing even as your heart felt as though it was caving in on itself.

After some time, his sobs stopped and he relaxed into your arms. As he settled himself and leaned into your touch, he wearily closed his eyes.

“God help us.” He muttered.

You were tied together from that night on, two sinners defying the God in each other. 

_________________

Father Gojo was always quick to dismiss you after every subsequent rendezvous, but he was never sated and used you to whet his appetite again and again. He argued that you had sullied yourself and in doing so had ensnared him into your wickedness, and you simply agreed with him for the sake of his sanity.

He was admittedly handsome and you didn’t mind the arrangement, but you began to long for freedom and touches that burned with passion rather than spite. You tired of the other nuns ridiculing you, of the constant prayers and punishment, and the way Father Gojo delivered falsehoods about your progress that made your parents look at you with misplaced hope. The only reason you kept up with the charade was because you hoped Father Gojo would eventually be satisfied someday and deem you good again, so you could return home and escape your hometown once and for all.

You had asked Father Gojo once when you could return home, and he had given you a look of scorn.

“Don’t be foolish. With sins as great as yours, you must commit yourself to the church for the rest of your life.”

Upon hearing those hypocritical words, you realized he would never let you leave and your place in Hell was secured. 

At least, that was until Hell came to you.

_________________

End Notes:

this fic is brought to you by me reading The Scarlet Letter in high school and my catholic trauma😇❤️‍🔥

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