#slightly british done anon

[done-anon]

Love?....

Where did you go?

I saw you a minute ago, did you forget how to get in and out of my dimension again.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Forgetful Flirtation - Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: A heavy celebration leads to a husband forgetting his wife. And a team who won't let him forget it.

Warnings: Fluff. Swearing. Slight age gap.

Requested: Yes by anon.

F1 Masterlist

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by kimi.antonelli, valterribottas and others

mercedesamgf1 LEWIS HAMILTON WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX 🇬🇧

13,331 comments

totowolff you did us proud. you deserved this, lewis. enjoy 

landonorris congrats mate

yn_wolff oh, lewis, what an amazing drive. well deserved. i’m so happy for you 

→ mercedesamgf1 we can confirm that she cried 

→ lewishamilton 🫶🏾

pierregasly congrats champ! 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad’s 

→ yn_wolff it was the luck of roscoe in the garage. maybe we should have him every weekend

→ mercedesamgf1 we agree

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate 🍾 i’ll buy you a round later

→ user1 are they going out together later?

→ user2 wouldn’t surprise me if the whole team celebrated this win

yn_wolff just posted

liked by iamrebeccad, carmenmmundt and others

yn_wolff team dinner to celebrate hubby’s, and especially lewis’, success 

3,644 comments 

totowolff meine schöne frau

→ yn_wolff i love you

francisca.cgomes oh okay so we’re dressing hot tonight?

→ yn_wolff i know you’re complimenting me but don’t make it sound like we didn’t compare outfits for tonight. you even know what kind of underwear i’m wearing! 

→ francisca.cgomes i enjoyed those pictures 

→ pierregasly pardon?

→ user3 yn is such a girl’s girl 

user4 that hand placement though 🤤

→ user5 she’s really not good for toto’s reputation

→ user6 she’s making it look like he’s groping her

→ user7 can you blame him? look at her. she’s hot liked by yn_wolff

user8 um, anyone else find it really unprofessional that she’s publicly admitting to sending images of her underwear to people?

→ francisca.cgomes one person, and i’m her friend?

→ user8 it just reflects badly on her husband who has an image to maintain 

→ totowolff no, it doesn’t. she is her own person

user9 unlike you crying bitches, i love that toto is married to someone slightly younger so that we get this content 

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Weaving through the throng of bodies, you scowled as you dodged another couple gyrating against each other near the entrance to the VIP section. Your glass was empty and your shoes kept sticking to the floor, tacky from a cocktail of spilled drinks. Scanning the crowd, you scowled as you made your way over to the bar. How was it possible to lose a 6’5 billionaire in a crowd of shorter drivers?

Gesturing wildly to a crowd of people, the man of the day caught your eye and you hurried over to him. 

“Lewis, have you seen Toto anywhere? I can’t find him.” You nibbled anxiously at your bottom lip. 

“Last I saw, he was with Bono asking the DJ to play 80s music,” laughed Lewis, recalling the image of his team principal and engineer swaying together, a feather boa draped across the pair of them. 

You thanked him before turning and continuing on your crusade. All around you, familiar faces were wrapped around their partner’s (or women they had just met), dancing to the music or whispering in their ears. Alcohol had been flowing freely for the past three hours and the majority of the people in the club were more than inebriated. The hours had passed and you were ready for a warm shower and for your husband to tuck you into bed. Yet, he had decided to elude you.

Toto’s dress shirt hung loosely off your frame, having been draped around you earlier whilst you stood outside for some fresh air. You had simply rubbed a hand down your arm, trying to dispel the goosebumps that appeared, and there he was, bundling you up. That had been an hour ago and you hadn’t seen him since. Inhaling deeply, his scent surrounded you. The only comfort you had as you began to wonder whether he’d left you here in his drunken state.

Lando was up on the platform flapping his arms in a dramatic manner and messing around with the decks, directing you to where you thought you’d spotted a tall figure shrouded in the shadows. 

“Yn!” Bono greeted, beaming at you through the pink feathers enveloping his face. 

“Having a good night, Bono?” You asked, smiling at the sight of him. “Toto, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

“Well, hello there,” your husband drawled, peering down at you with a heated gaze. “Come here often?” 

“What?” You laughed, leaning closer to hear him over the music. Surely you had misheard. 

“I would’ve remembered seeing a woman as beautiful as you before.” 

Beside you, Bono was shaking with silent laughter, gesturing wildly at someone in the distance. Probably summoning more people to bear witness to the peculiarity happening before you. Sidling up to him, you wrapped a hand around his bicep under the guise of stabilising yourself. You felt the muscle under your hand flex.

“Careful, Mr Wolff. If you keep being nice to me, I might have to take you home.”

His arms wrapped around your lower back, pulling you close against him. A heart stopping smile filled his face. “I don’t think I’d object to that. I would, however, like your name first.” 

“Is he being serious?” Somebody whispered behind you, earning a wave of raucous laughter from the Mercedes team that had gathered. 

“You smell nice.” Toto continued, nose nuzzling into the ticklish spot under your ear. You arched against his touch. He may not remember your marriage certificate but he clearly knew where best to tease you. 

Running your fingers down his arm, you grabbed his left hand, tracing circles across the back of it. His wedding ring - part of a matching set - glistened in the strobe lighting. Fiddling with his fingers, you raised your hand up to your face, pulling it into his periphery. You twisted the band around his finger, letting it catch the light and his eye. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t date married men.”

You dropped your husband’s hand, sliding out from his hold. Turning away from him, you snaked through the crowd and away from him. Dazed, Toto looked at his left hand in bewilderment. He slid the band off his finger, looking at the date engraved inside. Opposite him, his team continued to cackle at his misfortune. He was in so much trouble tomorrow. 

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yn_wolff added to her story

liked by mercedesamgf1, francisca.cgomes and others

georgerussell63 replied to slide 2 at least he remembers you there → yn_wolff you keep teasing him about that and you might seriously find yourself without a seat next season → georgerussell63 don’t say that. i know you’d protect me  → yn_wolff don’t push your luck → i’ll see you for dinner on thursday though? → georgerussell63 wouldn’t miss it

francisca.cgomes replied to slide 3 how are you awake enough to do all that? → i feel like i’ve died. pierre keeps bringing me cups of tea but i can’t even lift my head to drink them  → yn_wolff tbf, kiks, you drank far more than i did 😂 → plus toto has been doing everything for me despite looking like death himself → i think he feels bad for forgetting i was his wife → francisca.cgomes at least you know even drunk you’re the only woman he wants? 

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and others

mercedesamgf1 the silver arrows know how to party

4,463 comments

georgerussell63 yeah and our team principal knows how to forget his wife 

→ totowolff george, would you like to stay with mercedes next season?

→ yn_wolff don’t threaten your drivers online, dear

→ georgerussell63 i’m only speaking the truth

→ user10 george, you don’t look like you were in any state to remember things either

yn_wolff can somebody blow that photo up and print it off for me. i think i need it in my bedroom

→ user11 you get to go home with the real thing, leave the photo for us 

→ yn_wolff i almost didn’t

→ totowolff not you as well, liebling

→ user12 what does this mean? 

lewishamilton hell of a party 

pierregasly maybe don’t let your team principal join next time

alex_albon happy wife happy life probably isn’t working for toto right now 

maxverstappen1 i think we should get toto drunk before race weekends, maybe he’ll forget his strategies 

→ user13 what does this mean? let us innnnn

totowolff i’ll be speaking to all your team principals tomorrow about your behaviour 

→ charles_leclerc yes, dad 

→ landonorris oh, no. now we’ve done it 

→ georgerussell63 who do you talk to about mine?

yn_wolff you forgot your wife, mein herz, i don’t think your scary boss act is going to work today 

→ user14 he did what?!

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Requests open for smau's

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[demigod-jack-hearth]

THIS IS A SELF INSERT PJO OC RP BLOG

Please don't send donation asks because 1, I'm a minor and can't donate, 2, I feel guilty that I can't donate and 3, I can't tell whether they're scams or not

Moodboard by @reyna4ever

TWs

(mental health issues, SH, suicidal mentions, SA, occasionally gore, swearing)

Family is the most important thing

Name: Jack Hearth she/her

Age: 17. Birthday= 16th December

Sexuality : pansexual

Height : 6"2 (WOOOO, growth spurt)

Gender : female (jack's gone fully fem)

Pronouns : she/her

Godly parent: none/adopted by Hestia @unproblematic-hestia

Legacy of @bast-the-best26 (Egyptian goddess of cats)

Relationship status : single

Patrons

warm orange eyes, swimmers build, celestial bronze hand

Fatal flaw: low self-esteem + personal loyalty

Backstory :

parents died in a car crash, and she was chased by hellhounds, this is where Hestia found and saved her life, she then named her, her champion even if she is mortal, she then helped her get to CHB where she stayed for 6 years, before moving to CJ after the second giant war. She now moves between camps quite often

Powers : fire manipulation, can heal with fire, fire immunity, can summon food, charmspeak, manipulate love, enhanced agility, enhanced senses, partially immortal, plant manipulation, emotion manipulation, can communicate with cats, hydrokinetic, can speak with snakes, can sense monsters, can shapeshift, can control the winds, heals from moonlight, more energy from the moon, can cause someone to go insane, can communicate with dragons, can slightly control dragons, can create hallucinations

Parents : dead

Adopted by

@unproblematic-hestia = mom

@damiedantediane = dad

@mache-of-greece = mama

Siblings :

@thegroovydaughterofhestia

@unfortunate-daughter-of-hestia

@iceweavercatlover

Kids

Face claim :

Cat form

His weapons

There's 2 of these ⬇️

Important starters

Few occ notes

I also run the blog @in-this-together-forever @jacks-best-kid @snowflake-spawn @the-olympus-assassin

OCC is gender fluid - please use they/them unless I've specified

Occ is pan - I will make a lot of jokes about it

A lot of British jokes will be made - I am British

Fanart ⬇️

[benedictscanvas]

filling an empty vase - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x reader

word count: 3.4k (genuinely don't know how that happened)

warnings: language (duh) and some suggestive themes. the word shagging, which is too british not to include i'm afraid

a/n: this was an anonymous request that i'm not going to put here because it kinda ruins the whole plot! but it was such a fabulous request, so thank you anon, for giving me so much space to play. if you're not sure this is your request, you mentioned "Mr I Never Smile Kent" which funnily enough, made me smile!! enjoy sunflowers <3

---

You were such a professional in so many ways, but yet again you found your focus drifting during your meeting with the rest of the coaches. Your eyes find Roy’s face with such ease, lingering on the newly thicker beard he’s been sporting recently, then travelling down to broad shoulders, ones that fill out the door frame so nicely when he folds his arms. You’re so lucky he’s always folding his arms.

Before you can move onto admiring those arms, you see his head turn towards you and you look away before you can be caught. Instead of glancing at his face to see if he’s still looking at you, you decide it’s easier to join the conversation. As the goalkeeping coach, there isn’t always much you can contribute to these discussions, but they’re very insistent on including you.

“The only thing you need to be careful of is their counter-press,” you chime in, “Mind that the boys don’t get complacent in possession or my guy will be a sitting duck out there.”

“Good thinkin, Abe Lincoln. Why don’t we add that to our pre-game talk, coach, make sure someone’s watchin’ Zoreaux’s back at all times?”

“Already writing it down, coach,” Beard replied, gaining a double thumbs up from Ted who then continued talking. Even though you’d hardly been listening, you knew to do enough research beforehand so that you were free to let your mind wander and only speak up with a few key points.

You tune back in when you recognise the gruff tone of the very man you’re trying not to admire again.

“No. Y/N stole my fucking thing. I’ve gone over the rest in training,” he says dryly, and you duck your head to your lap to hide your smirk. Of course the two of you were on the same page about strategy, you always were. Usually he got to say it before you though, “Can we go now?”

“Unless anyone’s got anythin’ they want to add?” Ted looks around at everyone’s blank and frankly, very tired faces, “Not even somethin’ personal? Deep dark secret? Scandalous love affair, that kinda thing? Higgins, you look like there’s somethin’ right on the tip of that tongue.”

“I’m leaving,” Roy announced, walking into his office and shutting the door, even going so far as to shut the blinds on both windows before he presumably sat at his desk. You sighed and got up from your perch on the desk to take a step towards the dressing room.

“Afraid I’ve got some work to get done before I go home too,” you say, trying to be at least slightly nicer than Roy about it, “We can get personal tomorrow, alright Ted?”

He agrees with a happy grin on his face and you say goodbye to him, Beard and Trent collectively with a salute before turning on your heel and waving a goodbye to any of the team still around as you leave. You don’t go far. Unable to help yourself, you knock on Roy’s office door from the other side and shuffle your weight between your feet as you wait.

“Fuck off,” comes the greeting, so you open the door and slip inside.

“Even if it’s me?”

His head turns at the sound of your voice and suddenly his features look a special kind of soft, even in the harsh overhead lighting. He swivels his chair fully to face you, but makes no other move.

“Especially if it’s you,” he confirms, folding his arms again like he knew the effect he had on you, “You’re a fucking pervert.”

You gasp, clutching at the door handle behind you in a show of shock.

“I’m a what?”

“You heard me. Staring at me like you do in meetings wasn’t in your job description when we hired you, last I checked.”

“Last I checked, shagging your goalkeeping coach wasn’t in your job description, but you made pretty quick work of it.”

That was enough to get him moving. He’s quick out of his chair for a man with a bad knee, quick to crowd you against the wall just next to the door. Someone would have to really peer in to see the two of you, something he’d probably calculated even though your mind was already blank at the new proximity. 

“You’re right,” he says, voice sinfully low, hands either side of your hips but not touching you yet, “And I was staring at you the whole fucking meeting anyway, so I’m a pervert and a hypocrite.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can keep on with you if you’re both. One of them, maybe I can look past it, but both?”

Finally, one hand comes off the wall to stroke a line down your side with the backs of his knuckles. You try not to give him the satisfaction of shivering, but fail miserably.

“Think you can brave it?” he murmurs, that same hand brushing along your cheekbone, still all rough knuckles instead of his palm, “I’ll take you to Big Tesco later.”

Your whole face brightens despite the heavy tension that had settled like a mist in the room. You reach up to gently hold his wrist, stroking a thumb back and forth over the pulse that jumped there.

“Shit, you know the way to a girl’s heart, Kent,” you whisper, syrupy and cloying, “I take it all back. We can go as long as you like.”

The innuendo drew the growl from him that you’d been hoping for. The hand at your cheek was quick to turn until he was cupping your face and pulling you into him, kissing you deep and slow and longingly. Each kiss with him was better than the last. Yes, it had started hot and desperate after a month of unbearable electricity between you, a rushed encounter at a hotel after a particularly adrenaline-filled away game. 

Ever since, Roy had slowed things down. Not in the way you’d perhaps expected - he was still hot and heavy whenever the two of you got the chance, but he was taking his time with you. Teasing and learning. Nobody had ever treated you like this before, like you were something to be revered. Worshipped.

It was the same now, as he anchored himself with a hand on your back, pulling you further in, kissing you with genuine hunger.

“Roy? Can I come and get my stuff.”

Trent. It was always Trent. You liked the man so much, spent a lot of time with him, in fact, but if he interrupted you and Roy one more time, you had half a mind to hide his manuscript or something.

Roy did his special silent groan that he did whenever he couldn’t groan aloud, where he glared at the ceiling as he broke away from you and then clenched his fists in front of him. It was adorable, not that you would tell him that.

“All good,” you whisper, despite it definitely not being all good. It was entirely a joint decision not to tell the team about the two of you yet, but sometimes you wished you could announce it to the whole fucking world if it would get you some alone time.

You squeeze his hand and slip away to the adjoining door between his and Ted’s office. You hear Roy grunt for Ted to come in behind you, but you squeeze through into the other room before you hear any more of their inevitably one-sided conversation. Ted turns to you brightly as you enter.

“Decided you wanted to get personal sooner, Y/N?” he grins, and you can tell he isn’t really serious.

“Just forgot my keys,” you said sheepishly, retrieving them from the desk where you’d left them completely on purpose. It was always good to have a back-up plan and Roy wasn’t the only quick thinker between you, “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

“Can’t wait, coach!”

As you exit for real this time, glancing into Roy’s office as you pass, you take out your phone to shoot him a text. You’re saved under an unassuming name in his phone, so even if Trent sees it, he’ll be none the wiser.

We’re still on for tonight, right? The way I navigate a Big Tesco will blow your mind x

You press send with a smile to yourself, continuing on towards your office to pack up for the evening. Your phone buzzes before you even get there.

You blow my mind every fucking day. See you soon x

God, you could clutch your phone to your chest and squeal in the corridor, but instead, you speed up your walk to get home as quickly as possible. There was no harm in getting all dressed up to go to the supermarket when you were going with an insanely fit professional footballer, you reasoned.

---

Big Tesco. The place dreams are made of, or at least it was when you were younger and felt like you could get lost in the aisles and never return. Nowadays, it was likely nostalgia that kept you coming back, but it still felt like your first Big Tesco trip with Roy was a pretty big deal.

Mainly you needed snacks for movie night, but Roy was happy to indulge you and drive twenty minutes away for this if that’s what you wanted.

“If we’re doing Julia Roberts, we have to do Pretty Woman, obviously.”

“And Erin fucking Brockovich,” Roy agreed, “But if we do Sandra Bullock, we get the modern day masterpiece that is Miss Congeniality.”

“Oh, I still need to see that one!”

Roy stops, Pringles tube hovering above the trolley. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and he doesn’t like what he sees.

“Right, we’re doing Bullock then, if I have to fucking culture you as well as buy your snacks.”

“We’re splitting the snacks-”

“The fuck we are,” he cut in, already contradicting himself, “I was fucking joking, please can we not get into another snack debate. You bought them last time.”

“Fine. And I’m happy with Sandy, too, so you win twice, buddy,” you grin at him, not expecting him to grin back but ecstatic when he does. You have half a mind to press him up against the Doritos and finish what you’d started earlier, but you have plenty of time for that in appropriate places later.

You had all night, in fact, post-Sandra Bullock marathon. The thought brings a particular movie to mind.

“As long as we throw Two Weeks Notice in there too.”

“Hugh Grant? No.”

“Oh come on, he’s a national treasure,” you argue, sliding your arm through his as the two of you continue your journey through the aisles.

“He’s a fucking idiot, is what he is,” Roy bites back, as he picks up the chocolate he knows you love, “I’ll allow The Proposal.”

“You know what, that’s a better choice anyway. We have a deal if we can make a stop in the homeware section after this?” you say hopefully, excited when he sighs and nods. You kiss his shoulder as you continue walking, “We’re so fucking good at this compromising shit!”

You lean away from him enough to hold your hand up for a high five. He indulges you reluctantly with a light slap from his own.

“We are. It’s cause I’m so fucking nice.”

“To me,” you add, staring up at him as he slows the trolley to a stop beside the biscuits. He takes your face in his hands after a moment.

“To you, yeah,” he agrees, voice all soft like it had been earlier. You’re not going to kiss him senseless in a supermarket, the two of you had some shame and a lot of love for privacy, but it was nice to indulge in something like this, a sweet moment shared without fear of anyone seeing the two of you. You turn your head to kiss his palm, “You’ve sent me all fucking soft.”

“You love it.”

“Love you, more like,” he says, for the first fucking time, in a Big Tesco. You’d found out you were getting a party bus for your 10th birthday here too, so it was a location for big occasions. You kiss his palm; once, twice, three times.

“You have to say the I or it doesn’t mean anything,” you tease, but you’re beaming up at him as he strokes the skin underneath your eyes and you almost let them flutter shut.

“Who fucking told you that? Sounds like shit Jamie would say.”

“Jan Maas.”

“Fucking prick,” he says, then a moment later, “I love you, then, if you fucking insist.”

“I do insist,” you giggle, leaning forward until your face is in his chest so you can safely say: “I love you too.”

Its a little muffled, but thankfully he doesn’t ask you to repeat it again like you think he will. He just wraps his arms around your shoulders and keeps you close to him for a long while.

“Roy? Hey boyo!!”

You freeze in place, face still hidden. If anything, Roy’s arms tighten around you rather than letting go as he turns to see Colin waving at him, alongside Sam, Isaac, Jamie and the aforementioned Jan Maas. They all pile over towards him and you know its a matter of time before they realise its you. Jamie’s already bounding over as if he’s won the lottery.

“Roy’s got a girl! A real woman, like!” Jamie exclaims as he reaches them and you decide to get this over with sooner than later, lifting your head to stare at him wearily. He frowns, “Oh. Y/N, hiya.”

Of course he isn’t connecting any dots. He isn’t quite the connecting type, however much you love him to little pieces. Sam is staring at you a lot more knowingly, Isaac stuck with his mouth open. They’ve all caught on a little quicker than Jamie.

“The two of you together,” Jan muses, “I do not believe this is a pairing made to last.”

“Oi, Jan Maas,” Isaac pipes up, especially as Roy’s already stepped forward to threaten him, “Not cool.”

“I am just telling you the truth. You are both a little grumpy, you will not have the needed balance.”

“We’re balancing perfectly fucking well, thank you,” Roy says, and you can hear that he’s gritting his teeth, “As a team. Of coaches. Because that’s what we fucking are.”

Oh, he was going to play the ‘it wasn’t what it looked like’ card? You weren’t expecting it, but you’d happily back him up if he wanted you to.

“You are telling me that was a friend hug?” Sam asks, voice full of disbelief. You look up at Roy to see what he’ll say to that, but he’s already looking down at you with an untraceable look on his face. When he finally looks back at the boys, he takes your hand in his.

“No. It was a fucking boyfriend-girlfriend hug, alright? Any of you tell anyone before we do and I’ll feed you to a fucking monitor lizard.”

You’d watched a documentary about them last night that had likely led to that threat. Jamie’s snickering but tries to sober up when Roy immediately turns to him. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry mate, I am, I’ve jus’ never heard a grown man say ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ before,” he says, back to giggling by the end of his sentence and Jan Maas is quick to dissolve into full blown laughter. You bring a hand up to your mouth to hide your own amusement, lest Roy feel betrayed by it.

“Right, fuck off and leave us alone then. We’re on a tight fucking movie night schedule and I won’t have you twats throwing us off.”

“Hey! That’s why we’re here! If we’re all doing movie night, why don’t you join us?” Sam asks, and you can see he’s teasing even if Roy can’t tell. Still, you take it as an opportunity to stake your claim as you wrap an arm around Roy’s bicep and cling to him.

“Look, you lot hog this man all day every day. I’m taking him home and we’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

It was very Roy of you, just with the addition of a wink at the end that told the boys you were half-joking. Jamie seemed almost impressed, while Sam was trying not to laugh at you. That man never took you seriously, and you loved it.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Isaac decided, dragging Jamie backwards a little by the collar when he opened his mouth to tease Roy one final time, “Enjoy your night, yeah? See you tomorrow.”

Roy grunted his goodbye, but you waved back at them when they waved, mostly at you. Jamie mouthed something at Roy but, luckily for you both, Roy couldn’t work it out.

“Pricks,” he mutters once they’re far away enough not to hear him and you let out a little snort.

“They were very nice about that, you know? I was expecting a lot worse,” you said, pleasantly surprised at the lack of proper teasing. You knew there was likely more to come once they’d had a while to process it, but still. There was a certain weight lifted knowing that someone had finally been told.

“Do people not say boyfriend-girlfriend anymore?” he asks abruptly, looking down at you from where you’re still clinging to him. You grin at up at him.

“We should bring it back. I love boyfriend-girlfriend. I think that’s how we should introduce ourselves to people from now on.”

He rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in your voice, but tugged you into a quick, public appropriate kiss nonetheless.

“Let’s get you some fucking hobnobs and then we can go and look at fancy glassware, yeah?,” he announces, shaking his head with such obvious fondness when you cheer and turn to the biscuits. He stays close, a hand hovering near your back, and you’re a little worried movie night might be forgotten when you get home given how handsy the two of you have been all day. You resume your shopping tucked into his side, and only bump into the boys twice more on your trip around the wonders of Big Tesco.

Later, when you’re eventually curled into Roy’s side during a movie night that started way later than intended, your phone buzzes a few too many times in a row to ignore. You glance at Roy quizzically as you grab it, seeing a bunch of texts coming in from Sam.

Couldn’t resist. Don’t let Roy hate me. I’ve deleted them on my phone now, so they’re just yours. Lunch tomorrow?

Roy grumbled a little beside you as he read over your shoulder, but really he should have gotten used to your occasional lunch plans with Sam by now, even if he liked having you all to himself for at least one hour during the day. You settle into him even more as you scroll through a bunch of photos Sam’s attached with wide eyes.

You staring up at Roy. Roy kissing you. The grins on both your faces when you part. Then one that has you reeling, where you’re facing the biscuits with your hands on your hips and Roy is looking at you. Enthralled. You’re not even fucking doing anything.

“That little shit,” Roy breathes, squeezing your thigh where his hand was already resting.

“I love them,” you say instead of responding, tilting your head back to look at Roy, “Our first proper photos together.”

“They look like a fucking pap took them,” he complains, but he's still studying them and you can tell he likes them really.

“Look how happy we look," you’re stuck on how he looks at you when you’re not even looking at him. When there’s nothing to be gained from it. You glance at the new vase sitting on your coffee table, with fresh flowers Roy had insisted on because 'if we're getting a fucking vase we have to fucking fill it'. Here he was, filling your life with so many little pieces of joy.

“Well we are fucking happy, aren’t we?”

There's a little bit of vulnerability in his question, like he needs confirmation. You lock your phone and toss it to the side, knowing you can reply to Sam in a bit. For now, you pause the movie and clamber to straddle Roy’s lap, seeing that look on his face again as he stares up at you. It only spurs you on.

“We’re very fucking happy, Roy.”

He grins, which is rare, but then he kisses you and that’s not rare at all.

(roy makes a mental note to thank sam for the pictures tomorrow, even if he tells him to do extra laps in the same sentence to maintain the balance)

[sleepingdeath-light]

in their eyes ; wally darling

requested by ; 🥖 anon (09/05/23)

word count ; 1475

content ; insecurity/self-consciousness comfort, dancing outdoors, lots of fluff, potentially shaky characterisation/dialogue

note ; the original request was altered slightly to fit the setting (music videos -> aerobic dance videos, as there weren’t many music videos that i could find that featured a specific dance from the 70s when i was looking for them). also as i am british i will be using standard british quotation (‘hello’ rather than “hello”), just in case anyone gets confused

fandom ; welcome home

pairing ; wally darling x gender neutral!reader

read also on ; ao3

It was a beautiful summer morning: the sky was a perfect shade of blue and completely cloudless, lit brightly by the sun that was just barely starting to peer over the treetops dotting the outskirts of town; the air was cool but not cold, with a light breeze that just barely tickled your calves and messed with your hair as you hurriedly got into your athletic wear; it was so early that few of your neighbours were out and about, only really Howdy and Eddie who were working, which gave you ample opportunity to set up your equipment in your garden and get some stuff done in the great outdoors. Pleasantly bright, pleasantly cool and pleasantly perfect for a morning aerobics session.

It had been too long since you’d last watched a Jacki Sorensen tape and you were missing the early morning motivation boost that her chipper voice always provided. Well, that and the rewarding burn of your muscles after she was done with you and you’d been sent through the metaphorical ringer. And Howdy had just gotten in that new VHS tape you’d been shopping about for and now seemed just about the perfect time to make good use of it.

So, with renewed vigour and motivation, you dragged your television and stand over to your doorway and popped the tape in — praying to whatever high powers you could think of that you hadn’t busted the wire and ruined your chances of a good workout. But thankfully — thankfully, indeed — your small screen managed to make it out of the move unscathed and you watched the picture crackle and shake to life, that familiar voice ringing out clear as anything despite the staticky undertone of your speakers.

And with that you were finally back in business, carefully repositioning your legs and arms to match the instructions given to you by the recording.

————

Before long you were completely in the zone, humming merrily along with the jazzy background music and contorting your body as best you could. Arm thrusts, spins, lunges, stretches and slides, clapping your hands in fine with the beat and just having a wonderful time in your own head whilst just about registering the encouragement and directions given to you by your recorded instructor.

Though you were eventually broken out of your blissful state of peace by a sound that made your heart drop. Laughter. Giggles and snorts and stifled coughs that were anything but emanating from around you — and when you opened your eyes to take a look around you were hit with just how much of an audience you had amassed.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, judged. Wanted to do nothing more than to curl up into a ball and let the earth swallow you hole rather than face the mortification of being seen that was creeping it’s way up your throat. That was seizing your heart in its fist and drying your mouth and stealing your tongue with its sharp teeth and sharper remarks that burned themselves into your brain.

‘You look like a fool’

‘So stupid’

‘They’re judging you’

‘They hate you’

‘They’re never going to let you forget’

‘Idiot’

‘Fool’

‘Jester’

Your face was on fire, your feet rooted in place, your spine doused in ice and all you could do was stand and pray for it all to stop. To will the laughter away alongside the tears that so painfully burned the back of your throat and the corners of your eyes as they threatened to spill over and embarrass you even further. This was hell and you just wanted it all to end. For them to go away and leave you alone.

Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away —

All of a sudden you were snapped out of your self-loathing stupor by a gentle hand on your elbow and an even gentler voice calling out to you.

‘Hey, neighbour,’ your friend called out, ‘you seem like you’re having fun,’ the notion alone made you want to laugh and cry — to scream out to the contrary, but his next words gave you pause, ‘can I join you?’

You didn’t quite know what to say to that, only able to stare in stunned silence as he gave you that same old smile. Kind eyes that seemed wider and darker than ever, an outstretched hand that looked so very inviting, and the familiar curl of his dark blue hair. Wally always was a peculiar fella, and you knew he’d never been anything short of genuine with you, so with great reluctance you swallowed your fears and took his hand.

That shaky and uncertain ‘Sure,’ was all it took for him to take you for a spin — something you were in dire need of.

————

In the blink of an eye you were spun into something adjacent to a waltz, both of you clumsily stumbling over your feet as you were twirled and spun and dipped and danced across the length of your garden. For his own part, Wally was humming something vaguely off-key and trying his damnedest to match the style he was emulating beat-by-beat — but his own inexperience and your startled demeanour did little to help this endeavour. But, still, in spite of it all he’d managed to make you laugh as you snorted and giggled and guffawed your way through this improvised routine — trainers stepping on dress shoes and blue hair catching in your mouth as you desperately tried not to trip.

Uncertain and clumsy and a complete mess, but loving every second of it because you were in more than excellent company. Lightheaded from hearty laughter and dizzy from catching sight of his colourful striped trousers in the corner of your eye, but content and happy and delightfully out of breath.

So very caught up in the moment that you almost didn’t notice your neighbours joining in on your impromptu dance party. And what a party it was: Wally and yourself laughing through what you’d dubbed an almost-waltz; Julie and Sally twisting (with the taller of the two’s colourful skirts going every which way) and occasionally getting twirled and spun and picked up by a very cheerful Poppy; Eddie and Frank trying to stick to the salsa form, with the former stumbling over his own feet and the latter leading the dance; Barnaby doing the ‘mashed potato’ to a beat only he could hear and Howdy doing his own thing by tapping his fingers and feet to the song on your television. Completely chaotic and yet entirely expected — leaving the lot of you completely out of breath after a good ten minutes.

Eventually all of you ended up laying on the grass — some having fallen and taken down victims with them (read: Eddie pulling his boyfriend and best friend in law to the ground after a particularly disastrous dip) and others having laid down for a break. Wally and yourself had all but collapsed to the floor side by side, each of you utterly out of breath and aching, yet still bearing broad smiles on your faces.

‘I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner,’ someone says (but you don’t have the energy to turn your head and see who). Several mutters of agreement followed before someone else spoke up — Julie, who was laying just to your right — followed almost immediately by Wally.

‘I’m sorry for laughing earlier, you just looked like you were having so much fun and I thought it was adorable!’

‘You did look very cute, neighbour,’

A few more comments followed, all of them complimentary — and you felt a bit silly for having judged your neighbours so harshly. They were all so very kind and sweet, they were just too busy or tired to join in properly and were just admiring how silly and cute you look when you’re focused. You felt your skin heat with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt as you thanked them, before turning to your friend and giving him a chaste peck on the cheek as thanks.

‘Thanks for joining me, Wally; you’re the absolute most,’

Leaving moments later to take Barnaby and Howdy up on their offer to help you take your stuff back inside. Not getting the chance to see your friend freeze and gingerly touch the spot you’d kissed — in such a state that if he were more than just felt, you’d see hearts in his eyes and a lovestruck grin on his face, but he wasn’t so nobody noticed anything as they all got up to leave. His secret was safe for another day.

[thethirdromana]

Wasn't Arthur originally a Viscount? With his father dead he'd now be an Earl/Count.

Anon you have caught me at either the best or the worst possible time, I am tipsier than normal for 6pm on a Wednesday (drinks after work event) (only needed to cycle home) (director paying) (mojito stronger than I expected) and so I am consulting fucking DEBRETT'S. For you.

They want me to sign up to their weekly newsletter. Debrett's, I thank you, but no.

The senior most rank of the British nobility is Duke. For example, the Duke of Denver, the older brother of Lord Peter Wimsey. Lord Henry could be the younger son of a duke but there are other options too.

Next up we have marquesses. Not many of those in British fiction for some reason, outside of Downton Abbey. Lord Henry could also be the younger son of a marquess ("lord" is a really vague title, it turns out).

Then earls. Fun fact, I vaguely knew a guy at university who was referred to as "the earl of [place]". I thought it was a joke because he was quite posh. I learned, sometime after graduation, that he literally was an earl. Which took me by surprise perhaps more than it should have done.

Earls are also addressed as "Lord [Whatever]" but you address letters to them as "the Earl of [Whatever]". The younger sons of earls are also called Lord [First Name], which is ridiculous but then so is this whole system. They also get the courtesy title of "The Honourable". That's only for younger sons though and there's some twaddle about secondary titles but life is too short.

Viscounts! As far as I can tell, this is probably what Arthur is - all sons and daughters of viscounts get "The Honourable" as a title and then the viscount is address as "Lord [Whatever]". I think this means that if Lord Henry is the younger son of a duke then he outranks Arthur full stop, and if he is the younger son of a marquess or an earl then he outranks Arthur until Arthur's dad dies.

And finally there are barons. Forms of address seem to be the same for viscounts and barons so I guess Arthur could be either, but Bram Stoker's notes have him as a viscount. Augustus Champnell could also be either, for the Beetleites among us.

I feel like I've written some of this before but couldn't find an earlier post. Anyway, please know that every time I have to remind myself of details of how this all works, I become slightly more radicalised. Did you know there are spaces in the British legislature right now, in 2023, that are reserved only for hereditary peers? Now you do.

[saintsenara]

for the ask game 19, 22, 26

thank you very much for the ask from the i'm not from the states ask game, anon!

now... i'm not sure if you did this intentionally or not... but these are the bag of worms questions...

19. do you like your country’s flag and/or emblem? what about the national anthem?

there are four flags [flegs] at play here [clockwise]: the union flag; the ulster banner; the st patrick's saltire; the irish tricolour flag.

in terms of aesthetics, i am sorry to say that the union flag slaps. great colour scheme. jazzy design.

but in terms of what these flags mean... well. this is northern ireland. so they all mean something sectarian. and so i would certainly say that i like the irish flag - in that i know i'm unlikely to be attacked if i'm in an area where it's flying. that is very much not the case in areas where the union flag or the ulster banner are knocking about.

do i like that this is the case? no. and while my national sympathies are considerably more irish than british, i find our flag culture both insufferable and one of the main contributors to the continuation of the sectarian divide. it's obviously a bit kumbaya to suggest that a neutral flag might make any difference... but it couldn't hurt...

in terms of the national anthems, i never have any real cause to sing any [and the sectarian context is the same] so we're going purely on which slaps the hardest:

amhrán na bhfiann [a fucking banger!!]

ireland's call [slightly cringeworthy in its earnestness, but it does bang]

god save the king [the tune is unforgivably dull, but the lyrics genuinely go really hard - especially the discontinued ones about crushing the scottish and confounding popery.]

the londonderry air [this is what we're going with? the welsh have land of my fathers and this is what we're going with?]

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

the peace process.

because my answer to the second half of this question would be enduring sectarianism - and, specifically, enduring casual sectarianism. but i am also well aware that the flippancy younger people [especially those born after 2000] speak about the sectarian divide with is something which has only been made possible by the security of peace. it's easy for the irish women's football team to sing "up the ra" when the only thing that'll happen to them is some pearl-clutching from the press and a slap-on-the-wrist fine. thirty years ago, things would have been really quite different...

the peace is imperfect. it is fragile. it has been treated with utter disregard by the british state. the extraordinary work - especially that of the british politician mo mowlam - to bring it about has faded into an easy linear story, whose stars are tony blair and bill clinton. it has not caused complete justice to be done. it has not caused sectarian violence to vanish overnight - there are stories which emerge weekly from the city in which i live about some sort of sectarian crime.

but these stories make it into the papers because they are proportionally uncommon now. and i don't think we need to lose sight of that.

i was born in the early 1990s. i was at primary school when the good friday agreement was signed. and yet, despite the relatively few years i spent in a northern ireland at war, i can still remember roadblocks and police dogs and my dad checking under the car and bomb drills and being heckled as i walked to school and having to have your bags searched before you could enter shops and my mam crying on the day the omagh bombing happened. my siblings, born in the 80s, remember these things even more viscerally. my father, born in the 1950s, remembers having guns pointed at him by british soldiers while walking down the street, or being stopped and searched on spurious grounds by the royal ulster constabulary, or a call coming in to evacuate a place before a bomb went off.

my nieces and nephews, all born after 2000, have never experienced any of this. if they are naive about the true horrors of sectarianism... then we should reflect on how lucky that makes us.

26. does your nationality get portrayed in hollywood/american media? what do you think about the portrayal?

answered here.

[purrpickle]

Mon as part of the British royal family could actually work so well!! Like, her parents fought about raising her and expectations and her mom won and raised her as a normal child back home, but Mon often goes back to England to see her father, maintain image and probably have lessons and such (etiquette? scolding Sam for pocketing the food in her mouth). She understands the importance of duty to family because she feels it too to some extent, and her father much more. Perhaps Sir Phon knows her/about her/her status because of his time in Europe??

(This ask is in response to a post I made about a dream I had where Mon found out she was part of the British royal family. Obviously, this thought dump and subsequent included fanfiction are aggressively AU.)

*

Okay, yes, I love this! Yes, it would work so very well!

Except I keep on butting up against Mon's full belief that she's not good enough for Sam, as well as a commoner. I've tried coming at it from Mon lying, trying to hide her status, but...

Actually, that might be another reason why Mon wouldn't want to go overseas with Sam, because she feels protected from the knowledge of her status in Thailand.

Anyway, still, trying to see Mon keeping that secret from Sam, especially as their relationship deepens and Mon knows Sam's the one for her...

Except. Oh. Oh. It would work if Mon had been sworn to keep it secret by either her mother or father.

We've seen Mon keeping her secrets at all costs, as well as be able to lie to Sam to keep them quite realistically, like that time she pretended to get mad at Sam when she accused her of being with Kirk so she could walk away from her (her words). And a promise given to one of her parents would mean so much more than one given to Kirk.

Oh. Oh. I like this. This could work.

Poor Mon would be so mentally torn throughout the whole thing, especially since at the end when she's planning on moving to England "to get a job", that would be fully embracing her royal status and duties, all to let Sam "painlessly" move on from her without her in her life. That would definitely fit Mon's character, that self sacrifice.

...Speaking of, Mon was probably petrified when Lady Grandmother came and started reciting her life to her. Can you imagine her panic and turmoil, both from waiting for being revealed while also getting ripped down and told to leave her lover? Never mind the small voice in her head that hoped she did know so maybe there was a better chance Lady Grandmother would accept her. Thank goodness the P.I. didn't dig very deep and only focused on her life in Thailand!

And I just realized that Mon being royalty too would possibly also explain part of her familiarity with Sam when they meet again, as well as her ability to be casual with her more than just having known her as a child and having idolized her would do!

And her comments about Sam not living at the palace or not just eating Royal Thai food would have probably been partly jokes at her own expense because it amuses her!

And this would also be another reason why Mon would be leery about being seen holding hands/in public with Sam! Sam's a celebrity in her own right who does interviews and if Mon were there, she might be recognized, and... Oh, another reason maybe Mon didn't think the relationship could last!!!

Look at what you've done, anon!

Here I am connecting dots and (loving) the mental anguish Mon would have to deal with having this secret and living a double life all while desperately wanting to tell Sam but she can't. She can't because it's not her secret to tell. The scandal it would potentially create! Mon would be beholden to her own family as well, to stop that from happening!

She would be so stuck.

...

But then Sir Phoom recognizes her.

*

((Note: Under here is where this slowly turns from a thought dump into an exploration of a few scenes from a possible fic continuation (meaning I wrote fic, complete with a tense change), because of course I did. Slightly rough, but I wanted to get the scenes down!))

*

Mon had been on the video call Sam had put her on just long enough to spark familiarity, Phoom's friends having enjoyed telling him about and showing him the British royal who only showed up when the royal family appeared to remember she existed (because, among other things, a heavy saturation of racism) because she had "Run away to Thailand, isn't that neat? Had you ever met her? Like, as a diplomatic thing?"

At first he keeps it to himself to verify, and then arranges a time when he can meet up with Sam and Mon to get a chance to talk to Mon alone. Mon, who was behaving just a little too knowledgeably about protocol, which Sam only wrote off as Mon being shy and polite.

And Mon. Poor Mon. Suddenly someone in Thailand knows. Suddenly someone high up in the royalty chain, so to speak. Someone who could make things happen. Make it come out so easily. No matter how nice and unthreatening he's being, more curious than anything, but Mon knows he also wants to protect his family.

So...

Mon used all of her lessons and learned diplomacy and etiquette flawlessly. She confirmed to him who she was - there hadn't been a way she could have lied when he had photographic proof, but managed not to say anything more than ask him not to tell Sam, not yet, before excusing herself the first moment she could without being rude. Making her way outside to the grounds to find somewhere to stand in the sun that was out of the way, she hugged herself, blinking back tears already crawling down her cheeks as she looked sightlessly into the distance.

She knew she should call her father, who would have a better idea on how to handle this, knowing what she should do. But instead, all she could think about was calling her mother, who had loved her so much she had fought hard to raise her as normally as possible. Who had told her that one day this might happen, but they'd get through it together, like family always does. Who, when Mon first started idolizing Sam, had sat her down at the age of ten to have a serious, long conversation about the risks of associating with her, finally relenting only when she was convinced Mon was prepared. Who, not even that long ago, had gone to bat for Mon when she accidentally let her father know her plans about working for Sam during a phone call that lasted over an hour as both Mon and Pohn talked him down from being worried for the (relatively) calm life she'd successfully made for herself.

Of course now, Mon knew her father was going to worry again.

A call of her name made her look up. Seeing Sam striding towards her, Mon turned away long enough to dash her hand over her cheeks before turning back with a tremulous, forced smile. "Lady Sam," she replied, going to hug herself again but dropping her arms when she realized Sam would read her like a book if she did.

Coming to a stop in front of her, Sam, expression full of concern and confusion, reached out to take her hands in hers, Mon immediately curling their fingers together. She'd been trying to be more open with Sam. ...Ironic, but it meant not turning away from her.

"Darling?" Sam started softly, studying her, her eyebrows furrowing before she pulled a hand away to start wiping under Mon's eyes, "What happened? Why are you out here?" Frowning as Mon closed her eyes, she rubbed a tear away with her thumb that dripped down. "Why are you crying?" It was as close to an accusation Sam's gentle tone could carry.

Mon shook her head, having to swallow before all the air pushed from her chest, and Sam asked again, a thread of heavier concern entering her voice. "Darling, did Sir Phoom say something to you?"

Mon didn't know if she should say yes or no. Because yes, he had spoken to her, actually saying the words about her identity, but no, he hadn't said anything like what Sam was suggesting. Finally, able to feel Sam's hand tightening around hers, knowing her lover well enough that she'd find a way to confront Phoom even with his status, Mon settled on a, "No, Lady Sam. He was a gentleman." Which he had been.

That caused Sam to minutely relax before taking a small step forward to further enter Mon's space, Mon having to fight from burying herself into her. Curling her hand around her cheek, her thumb stroking along her cheekbone, Sam studied her eyes intently and tried again. "Then why are you out here? Alone? Crying? Mon, please talk to me."

Swallowing again, Mon lifted her hand to cup Sam's against her cheek, looking up at her to drink her in, and nodded. For once, she didn't want to think about diplomacy. "Alright. But not here. Please, let's give our regards to Sir Phoom. I want to go home."

*

Excusing themselves from Phoom had been stiff and stilted even with the man not exactly surprised at their exit, offering Mon one last expectant smile and nod before she left, Sam's hand warm and reassuring on her lower back as she firmly led her out.

The car ride home was just as stiff, a current of anxiety settling over them. Mon, very aware that Sam kept on looking over at her, focused instead on staring out of the window, unable to talk to her or process the guilt she was feeling from making her worry. She knew it wasn't fair, but Sam had accepted her quiet request to wait until they got home, even if she hadn't wanted to.

Flinching from her thoughts as Sam's hand suddenly covered hers, Mon couldn't stop a small smile, turning her head and looking up at Sam to share it. Accepting the handhold, Sam gazing at her with as soft a smile of her own as she could give through her worry, Mon waited to turn back to the window until Sam looked back at the road. As Sam's thumb stroked along her skin, Mon felt both relieved and disappointed Sam didn't try to talk to her.

*

Mon, barely making it into the house before stopping, both felt and heard Sam detour only to deposit her purse onto the nearest surface before stepping up behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. She was only able to get out a whispered, "Darling..." before Mon and Mon's resolve crumbled, the heavy sobs that had been building inside her bursting from her mouth with ugly hiccups, wracking through her.

Sam froze, then squeezed her, her hands beginning to anxiously stroke along her sides as she turned her head to kiss her where she could. Slowly becoming aware she was whispering between kisses, Mon latched onto her voice as best she could. "Mon, please. Talk to me. You're scaring me. Darling, what happened? What happened? You're okay. I have you. I have you, Mon."

Mon sobbed, shaking her head. Having to push against Sam for a moment before Sam realized she was trying to turn in her arms and loosened them enough to let her before tightening them back around her again, pulling her in as close as possible, Mon bowed her head to press her forehead against her shoulder. Her own arms wrapping around Sam, she grasped her fingers as hard as she could into Sam's back and blouse.

Mon knew she needed to do it, needed to tell Sam. She knew she did. She also knew she needed to call both her parents to warn them first.

But even before that, what Mon needed now, what Mon knew she needed now, was for Sam to hold her, like she was, like she was never going to let her go.

*

Mon was just saying her last "I love you," before hanging up the phone with her mother when Sam poked her head into the room. Wiping her cheek before nodding her in, Mon set her phone down onto their bed next to her as she silently watched Sam slowly pad her way over to take the seat on her opposite side.

Inhaling, shoulders wavering a second before she straightened and pushed her hair back, Sam turned her chin to look at Mon. "You didn't have to hang up. I just wanted to tell you I ordered dinner for us."

Sam was trying so, so hard to be understanding, to give Mon space, but Mon could see the cracks in her stiff position. Her fingers twitched on her knees, and her eyes, as she stared at her from a slightly hunched position, were reddened and tight under a forcefully neutral mask, but it was her voice that twisted Mon's stomach more than thinking about eating something did.

Mon briefly closed her eyes, then nodded. She gave Sam a smile. "It's okay, Lady Sam. I was done."

"Oh. Good."

Exhausted but also buoyed as much as she could be from talking to her mother, Mon wouldn't have been able to stand it if another oppressive silence settled between them.

So when Sam didn't say anything, Mon, exhaling and shifting to face Sam more fully, slowly took her hands into hers, waiting for Sam to meet her eyes again after they dipped to watch her do so. "I have to tell you something," she said steadily, "But please..." she squeezed Sam's hands, almost shaking them as she poured all her love into her voice, "Please know it does not change how much I love you more than anything else in the world."

...

As soon as she had finished speaking, Mon knew instantly that that had been the exact wrong thing she could have said to lead Sam into a calm discussion.

*

((To be continued? Maybe? In some form or other?))

[innitmarvellous]

Do you listen to any specific music when you write fics ? Any recommendations ?

Same with books, do you have any favorite atm and do you have any recommendations ?

You’ve also talked about some fanfic ideas, how far into production are they? Are they almost done or are they still being tweaked ?

What is your fave HIGNFY season and for what reasons ?

Ooh! Thanks for the ask, anon! Let's just hope my answers will be at least slightly interesting, haha. Probably not, but I like going on about random stuff...so thanks again ;)

I usually don't listen to music while I'm writing (but I do need some background noise and for some reason people talking in English works best, so I often put on BBC News or something lol). But there are some occasions where a certain song just reminds me a lot of a fic because of the lyrics or general vibe, and in that case I sometimes listen to that song on endless repeat during writing. But, er...my music taste isn't really anything to brag about. I'm mostly into classical music, metal, Jpop/Kpop and I recently started listening to the Beatles. Anyway, I don't think I can recommend anything, sorry 😅

I've been reading mostly non-fiction books about British politics this year and some of them were really good, but...that might not be this interesting, so I won't start nerding out about my fave politics books, haha. As for some more general recommendations, here are some of my more recent fiction favourites I could think of off the top of my head (and I'm doing my best not to mention only very obscure stuff & classics here :D):

- the entire Shardlake series by C.J.Sansom

- Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

- the Dublin Trilogy by Caimh McDonnell

- Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

- and I really enjoyed the Bright Empires series by Stephen R Lawhead earlier this year...but the end was a bit unsatisfying so idk if I would really 100% recommend it.

As for fics, when I have a more or less good idea I usually start working on it immediately, so that's why I've got quite a few WIPs in different states of completion (about 12 or so). Apart from my ongoing series I'm mostly working on two HIGNFY fics (one one-shot and another really long multi-chapter one...I think I mentioned both of these without any details though) which will be pretty silly :D And these are taking up most of my writing time, so...the shorter one will be finished soon. No idea about the long one though, I never plan my plots in advance so I honestly can't say where this will go, haha. Anyway, both of them are so much fun to write and I'm looking forward to posting them, so...I'm having a great time :D

My favourite HIGNFY season...I remember that I really liked S6, but I don't know if there was a special reason 🤔 And the most recent S66 was also really fun, I think. Other than that...obviously the ones with lots of great Paul looks/outfits are the best, like S4-S8 S14, S16, S19...in short, way too many. Sorry 😅

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

I'm curious, do you enjoy reading fics with trauma recovery as much as you enjoy writing them?

And is there anything you enjoy writing but hate/dislike reading? And vice versa?

Hi anon!

I do enjoy reading fics with trauma recovery! It's mostly what I read when I'm looking for something longer, however, I don't like trauma recovery just because it's trauma recovery? It needs other stuff too. A lot of folks assumed I'd like the Steve/Bucky Marvel pairing because Bucky has PTSD, but I actually can't stand that pairing (though I like both characters) and don't care as much about those specific narratives of PTSD (interpersonal trauma recovery interests me more than military or natural disaster trauma recovery, for example).

I don't know if I enjoy reading fics with trauma recovery as much as I enjoy writing it. In fact I'd say that's not true anymore because I've read very few fics with trauma recovery since I started writing Falling Falling Stars and I kind of realised I could write exactly what I wanted. Ever since then, reading the fanfiction of other folks doing trauma recovery is a harder sell to me personally, though I still do look for hurt/comfort etc.

I do still reread old fics I love, and old novels with trauma recovery / hurt/comfort that I love. But I don't... reread that content as much as I write that content, so if we're talking about 'time spent reading trauma recovery' vs. 'time spent writing/editing trauma recovery' alone, then I would definitely like writing it more.

Most of the original novels I've recced here and on Goodreads, particularly in romance but not always, generally have trauma recovery as a centralised theme or major part of the story.

As for stuff I like writing but hate/dislike reading:

Horror and supernatural horror (can't watch it, don't love reading it, really enjoy writing it)

Stories that are too long (lol)

Probably other stuff I'm forgetting.

And for stuff I don't like writing but really like reading:

Like, too much to list! I don't like writing nonfiction novels but I read a ton of nonfiction novels, lol. I don't really like writing high literature but I still read it. I don't like writing plays for the stage but I'll read 'em.

I mean isn't this true of most writers? Most of what we haven't written and/or don't enjoy writing is often what we're still going to really love, because we can't do everything. Idk, I have no interest in writing The Great British Bake Off, but I really like watching it. I have no interest in writing police procedurals but I love watching them.

Specifically in terms of romance fic, I'm not sure. Probably areas where I'm extremely concerned about the level of work involved in making a slightly accurate fanfiction - like getting terminology, customs and costumes right in certain fandoms like say, Natsume's Book of Friends or Mo Dao Zu Shi, and the actual process of writing seems extremely intimidating but I like reading (or have liked reading) stories in those fandom/s where other people are willing to do that work. I've definitely been thinking about researching this a bit more with an intention to writing fic going forward though.

I can be a really lazy writer, but I'm also a writer who can really appreciate when another writer has done the hard yards in areas of fandom where I want to read, but writing fills me with :/ feelings. Like, I really respect when you can see an author's care and research, but it's not weighing down the page and I don't feel like I'm getting a lecture that feels like a Wiki page that's been condensed down. Some of my favourite fandoms for like weird random niche knowledge included Dragon Age: Inquisition, and that was a fandom where I ended up doing a ton of research myself (i.e. what did horses eat 200 years ago, how did you prepare and store their food).

In terms of genre, there's not a ton of difference honestly. I don't love writing or reading gen. I don't love writing or reading fluff in the absence of hurt/comfort. I don't love writing or reading hurt-no-comfort. Maybe the biggest one is that on the very rare occasion I'll read a heterosexual PWP that has a kink I'm really looking for, but I don't intend to ever write het again.

(Finally pressing post on this after forgetting I had it in my drafts for ages!)

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Speaking of P5 in P3R, didja see the article about the baton pass being in Reload? :D

*see you in my house anon* *puts evoker gently on the ground slightly embarrassed* Oh didn't see you there. :'D

Oh the baton pass? You can say it was.....on my mind.... a second ago....

Dark humor aside. Yeah................................................... yeah.... yeah I saw. Baton pass....or I guess it's called "shift?"........

If I'm completely honest, I felt like baton pass (as busted and in need of a rebalance in P5).... I thought that was a natural evolution of neo-Persona's combat. Like how P4 introduced follow up attacks. Or how P3P tweaked it to make it a "CoOp attack" instead. Outta all the stuff P5 introduced, I thought baton pass was one I think they should bring over.

.......but now....

I can't even enjoy it......cause of everything else.

(the thing I dislike the most is the damn AOA cards, why couldn't that stay a P5 thing. It was such a good P5 thing............. I dunno maybe it's cause I don't care for the "Done and dusted" phrase. Feels so weird, you literally have Mass Destruction right behind you jus-AHHHHHHHHHHH)

WHY is it British???? Why not something on brand for P3 like Latin or Greek or even Roman????? I'd get it if it was Mitsu (she does french in the eng dub, but english in the jpn dub) but P3MC????? Why not something like morior invictus (which can be translated to "death before defeat" which would be fucking foreshadowing....oh oh unless they don't have the same ending for P3 plan then-ahhhh TT0TT)

[babbling-idiot]

Colin Gray Headcanon

Requested: "hellooo hru? could i get some suer tooth rotting fluffy headcanons for colin gray?" -By Anon

Warning: Fluff

(Hi there! I hope you like this and that it was enough to satisfy your tooth rotting fluffy need!)

****

Colin is a one of those guys that in public will literally make fun of people who walk really close together and are super lovey dovey towards eachother

But do not think this man isn't a romantic kind of guy in the privacy of his own home

He loves romantic stuff, we know this but did you know this:

He loves to wake up before you and make breakfast

Preferably pancakes but if your an eggs and bacon or you have a preference he will try his damndest to make it for you

Might burn his kitchen down but he will try

Hr likes the thought of waking you up with breakfast in bed and being able to eat next to you and just sit there

Comfortable silence and just loves looking at you

Still all sleepy and hardly able to keep your eyes open

He also loves it when you take "sneakily" grab one of his goodies

Yes he has hoodies and you can't change my mind

But does love seeing you in them, cause not only are you adorable but also they are huge on you

He has oversized ones for comfort and seeing you in them makes him smile

Also something that yall have done before together was one time he let you "try" to put his eyeliner on him

Now if you have no idea about makeup (like me) then you may accidentally poke him in the eye a couple of times

But, if you do on the regular put on make-up then this is no hard task for you, you got this in the bag

But sometimes he'll do something to purposely mess you up just so you can stay close to him for alonger period of time

He also, now this is something no one knows about and no one ever will, but he loves trying on all different kinds of clothes and outfits and doing these funny walk outs of his closet like a cat walk or something

He only does it to see you smile and blush at his funny poses and accent he tries to do

He tries to do a British accent and gets close but somehow it ends up sounding more Australian then anything

He also tries to do a French accent and completely fails at it

He does do a good country accent and if you like country music, prepare yourself for his version of your favorite song

Also going back to the topic of food, he loves to feed you

Not in a weird way but like if he has something you both like and he catches you staring he will let you have a bite or two

He does think that feeding you failure is very cliche and hates doing it but he will not hesitate to boop your nose with a whip cream covered strawberry

Also one time when you were at his house, he was taking longer in the kitchen then nessacary and when you went to check on him he had the whip cream can turned over and was spraying some in his mouth

You had no words, he put the cap back on and placed it back in the fridge and when he saw you he wiped his mouth with a paper towel and smiled slightly before hanging his head like a kid who got in trouble for getting cookies out of the cookie jar

I mean talk about tooth rotting right? Nah I'm just kidding but he does do that often

(Hello again, so I hope you enjoyed! If you did enjoy it please leave feedback it is highly appreciated. Have an amazing day/night and stay safe out there in the world.)

[daydreams-magic01]

All soulmates are different

(Regulus Black x Female Reader)

(Not my gifs, credit goes to the creators)

Main Masterlist

Here is the second chapter.

Here is a Teddy Lupin Soulmate AU. 

Requested by: Anon

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders Era)

Request: ‘ Hello I wanted to request a regulus black x fem reader soulmate au :)‘

Love this! Thank you so much for requesting!

I wrote (Y/n) finding out they are soulmates and Regulus too. If you guys want to (please say so in my ask box) I will write a part two.

I’ve only done this much because I’ve never really written a soulmate AU and I was struggling slightly.

I don’t know how to explain it.

I am so sorry.

I am thinking that in part two (if you guys want it and you too, of course, Anon) Regulus may pretend he doesn’t know. Perhaps a lot of Angst. Who knows???? (This is my idea, by the way, please do not copy.)

Warnings: Cliff hanger, mentions of injuries and language.

Words: 1K

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, the scenarios, the reader, and the dialogue are all mine.

This should only be found on my blog.

I do not know if matching extra birth marks kind of thing has been done before, but I just made it on the top of my head, haha.

I have used the types of soulmate marks/strings that I have read before, I do not know their names but credit to them.

Author is always me on this blog: @daydreams-magic01​ .

A/N: Please do not copy or plagiarise this, or put it in your own book, etc. It should only be found here. Also, please mention if I should make a taglist and if you wanted to be added. I also tried by best at being British.

Thank you.

:)

All soulmates are different.

It is not unusual to have a different type of soulmate mark to your friend. For example, Marlene Mckinnon and Dorcas Meadowes have tattoos, whereas Mary Macdonald, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black have another birthmark. (Y/n) knows this because of their constant loud chatter over the years.

Some are not as obvious as others; for example, it took Lily Evans and James Potter years to realise theirs is in sync heartbeats. Perhaps the worst soul mark to have is The invisible string.

The invisible string is one of the more rare soulmate marks and signs in the wizarding world. Around each of their pinkies is one end of the red string, meaning that if one person makes a sudden movement, pulling the string, their soulmate will feel it. A few people in Hogwarts have it, such as her best friend, Barty Crouch Jr and Peter Pettigrew.

Most people are secretive about their mark, especially Slytherins, probably because the blood supremacists can't marry their cousins. 

Thankfully, (Y/n's) is discrete but not near impossible to tell because every injury that her soulmate receives, she does too and vice versa.

(Y/n) had no plan to meet her soulmate until she's finished Hogwarts, but nothing ever goes to plan.

It all started in November 1978 during a Quidditch match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and it was by far one of the tensest matches. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on (Y/n), you have to come to the game," her best friend says, tugging her towards the main doors excitedly. (Y/n) groans, shaking her head in dismissal before pulling herself free and beginning to walk away. "Come on!"

"Why?" She sighs, spinning on her heels as she crosses her arms. She sees no reason to go as it's raining, and everyone knows how the game will turn out, bloody and violent; she tells her friend this. 

"Your soulmate might be playing," her friend says hopefully, flashing her a charming smile. 

She groans.

Over the years, (Y/n) has felt second-hand many of her soulmate's injuries, especially around Quidditch season, and it is not fun. When she was younger, it was clear that her soulmate had a brother or sister - with the scratches and the bruises - but after a few years in Hogwarts, all these injuries began popping up. Always around Quidditch season.

All of this has led to her friends having the firm belief that she is lucky, that he goes to this school, and can easily be found because he must be on the team.

However, (Y/n) doesn't want to find him just yet. First, she wants to get on with school without being distracted and begin her career without having to worry about long-distance and cheating.

"I think that he's a Chaser for sure. Why else would he have so many injuries?" Her friend starts, linking their arms, already pulling them back towards the direction of the door.

"Fine. But just to watch the game." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

The game is one of the tensest by far, and yet, injuries are avoided. Gryffindor plays aggressive, as usual, whilst Slytherin plays dirty. 

(Y/n) can't deny that she is having fun watching the game, not looking for her soulmate, of course. 

As Gryffindor scores, her friend throws her fists in the air, unfortunately knocking her in the nose, making her shout out. 

"Shit! Sorry, (Y/n)." 

They turn to her and place their hands on her shoulders, smiling worriedly.

(Y/n) smiles and slowly removes their hands from their nose, "see. I am perfectly alright no need to worry." Her friend sighs, shoulders sagging, continuing to apologise.

Trying to ignore the pain and their worrying, she turns back to the game just in time to watch Slytherin's seeker freeze as his hand wraps around the snitch, not reacting to the incoming Bludger.

The whistle blows just as it hits him in the shoulder, knocking him off his broom.

(Y/n) gasps and grasps their right arm, a throbbing pain going through the side of her shoulder.

Her friend gasps dramatically, "oh my god, it's your soulmate," before screaming excitedly.

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head, "no way."

Her friend takes no notice once again, watching everyone head over to the fallen seeker, "isn't that Regulus Black."

(Y/n's) head shoots up, and she glares, "you can fuck off."

"No, really. It's Regulus Black, the Sirius Black's younger brother."

She rolls her eyes at them, one hand rubbing her nose and the other, her shoulder, "don't be daft. My soulmate is not a death eater."

"You should go see him."

"No."

"Come on! Just to be sure!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) whispers profanities under her breath as she walks into the Hospital Wing. She smiles at the leaving Slytherin team, refusing to acknowledge their disturbing hisses, snarls and glares.

She ignores her possible soulmate's gaze as she walks over to Madam Pomfrey who is beside his bed. Flashing him a smile, she clears her throat, "Hiya. Madam, can you check my shoulder, please? I think my soulmate got into another accident again." She laughs nervously, trying to ignore the continued curious gaze of Regulus Black.

The Matron tuts, looking between the two, "I must agree with your friend, your soulmate has to go to this school as you are always here with injuries during the season." Excusing herself, she asks (Y/n) to another bed and makes no haste in examining her shoulder.

Regulus continues to stare at (Y/n), neither of them breaking eye contact until Pomfrey pulls the curtain around them.

(Y/n) swings her legs over the end of the bed, looking everywhere but the nurse, fearing she will notice the similarities between the two's injuries.

"I knew it," (Y/n's) head shoots up at her words, her cheeks flushing. There is no way that Slytherin's Saint is her soulmate; she has standards and is not evil. Madam Pomfrey peers closer at her bruise and begins to nod, making noises every now and then.

"It appears to me that you and Regulus Black are soulmates. This is the exact bruise that he has."

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Regulus Black's eyes widen, his mouth drops open, "what?"

No way.

No way.

No way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Moments We Knew // Colin Bridgerton

Request: Hello! I’m so excited that you’re writing for Bridgerton and I was wondering if I could request a fic? Maybe one where Colin is courting the reader, what it would involve and their first kiss? Basically just some Colin fluff that’s too sweet :)) - anon

A/N: Oh this request is so sweet! Thank you so much for requesting! I can only hope I have done it justice. The other requests in my inbox will become my priority for next weekend! 

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: female reader, courting, courtship, fluff, cute, mentions of food and drink, the British Museum is mentioned (I have to apologise for that lol), kissing, pining, instant love, love at first sight and all that jazz.

Word count: 4k

One:

“Miss (Y/L/N), would you do me the honour of saving me a spot on your dance card?”

Your eyes widen at his words, but you nod your head regardless, unable to deny the blue eyes and sweet face of Colin Bridgerton.

“I shall find you soon,” He promises before walking away, leaving you to question the last few minutes of your life.

You had spoken to the Bridgerton before; had dined in their company too, but you had never danced with one. It was to be something you would never forget, that was for certain.

Strolling around the ballroom, you truly did not hold much hope for tonight. Having been out in society for a few seasons now, you did not think there would be much interest tonight bar the Bridgerton who had kindly asked you to save him a dance.

Sighing softly, you reach the table covered with glasses of lemonade. Reaching for one, you eye the couples already taking to the floor for the first dance of the evening. Eager young hopefuls, all curious to know whether they would meet their love match tonight.

A flicker of excitement begins to stir as the music begins the couples start to twirl across the floor; the women’s skirt billowing out from under them as the men look every dashing in their suits. You think to Colin, wondering briefly where he is as you think of how it would be to dance with such a man.

“Did you save me that dance?” A voice asks from behind you.

Startling slightly, you only just manage to keep hold of your glass. “I have,” You reply, holding up your dance card where Colin’s name is written.

“Perfect,” He grins, “Shall we dance now?”

“Why not?” You answer, placing your glass down and taking his open hand.

Colin’s hand is soft as he places it on the small of your back, pulling you to him ever so slightly. Your hand rests on his shoulder whilst his free hand wraps around yours. Your skin tingles in all the places his hands rest; it’s an addictive feeling, you come to realise.

The band strikes up and the couples on the floor begin their dance. Colin begins to lead you with confidence; evidence of his upbringing alive in the way he directs his feet whilst holding you steady. Dance lessons were a must for all offspring of London society; it was not a gendered activity.

“How are you finding the evening?” Colin asks, leading you across the floor.

“Am I to be truthful?” You ask, smiling coyly at the brunette.

“I find that would be best,” Colin responds, his own sly smile written across his face.

“Then I shall have to say that I was rather bored until you asked me to dance. This is sure to be the highlight of my evening.”

Colin spins you out before replying. “How odd,” He murmurs quietly though you hear him perfectly over the band, “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

A startled laugh leaves you at his words; one that Colin finds himself joining in with as he continues to lead you around the ballroom. Many couples watch on; curious to know what it is that has you both laughing and smiling the way that you are. You find yourself delighting in the act that you are to have a secret with the third eldest Bridgerton; a secret you could revisit whenever you wanted.

The dance comes to an end; the music rising for one last crescendo before falling silent. Stepping back from the Bridgerton, your chest rises heavily due to the pace of the music and the dance. You smile softly at Colin, “Thank you for the dance. It was wonderful.”

“Join me for one more?” He asks; his voice close to pleading as if he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, doesn’t want to see you walk away from him without knowing if he’ll ever see you again.

Your eyes wander over his face; finding the desperation in his eyes and noting that you feel the same way. You find yourself hating the idea of walking away from this man just yet; not just because of how much fun you had had when dancing with him, but because you feel that if you were to walk away from him in this very moment, you would be making a choice you would surely come to regret.

You take his hand; revelling in the way his fingers close around yours as he leads you to the dancefloor once more. Lining yourself up, you do not look away from his blue stare, finding yourself enraptured by him and more than happy to stay that way.

The music begins, and once more, you fall into step with your future.

Two:

Wandering into the drawing room, the previous night felt like a dream. The ache in your feet being the only sign that you had indeed danced the night away with the third eldest Bridgerton.

“Good morning, mother,” You greet, settling down at the small tea table.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” She asks; her eyes bright with happiness as she takes in the dazed look on your face, already away with the fairies.

“It was wonderful,” You sigh dreamily; remembering how Colin’s hands felt on the small of your back and how he listened to your every word. It felt too good to be true.

“I would not be surprised if he called on you this morning,” Your mother declares from her place by the window. She often sat there; her legs tucked underneath her as she worked on a new stitching pattern, read a new book or simply stared at the view.

“I do not want to get my hopes up,” You confess, fiddling with your fingers nervously. All night you had dreamed of the Bridgerton; his eyes and his smile, the sound of his laughter. If he chose not to call on you, your heart could surely not take it, not after so many seasons of disappointment.

Your mother smiles, “My dear, I feel it within my bones. He shall call on you this morning.”

“Thank you, mother,” You reply graciously before pouring a cup of tea; one for you and the other for your mother. “It looks to be a fine day,” You comment, making light conversation as you add sugar and a splash of milk to your own tea, stirring until you know it will be just the right temperature for you to drink without burning the roof of your mouth and your tongue.

Your mother hums from her place at the window, sipping delicately at her own tea. Suddenly, she sits straighter, her eyes and ears focusing on the streets below. “I do believe a carriage has just pulled up with the Bridgerton initial on its doors.”

“Mother, you jest.”

“I do no such thing,” She protests, stepping away from the window as she catches sight of the dark brunette hair of the Bridgerton boy.

“How do I look?” You worry, now taking your mother seriously, standing to smooth down the patterns of your dress. Already wishing that you had changed into something more fetching than your everyday wear.

Your mother sidles over to you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “You look lovely, my dear,” She promises before taking a seat on the nearby couch, knowing that the conversation that was to take place was to be between you and the Bridgerton boy.

Sitting back down, you know you only have mere minutes to collect yourself before Colin walks through the drawing room door. Mere minutes to stop the bouncing of your leg and the worrying of your mind. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, already confident in the knowledge that what you feel for Colin is far from platonic and after last night, you felt somewhat confident that he felt something for you too.

“Mr. Colin Bridgerton,” The butler announces to which you stand, barely repressing the urge to fist your hands into your skirts out of nerves.

Colin strides into the drawing room; his eyes scanning the room only for them to light up when they land on you. A large smile spreads across his face and he steps further into the room. “I apologise if I am interrupting anything,” He states politely.

“There was nothing to interrupt other than some tea. Please help yourself,” Your mother smiles from her place on the couch; her eyes dancing between the two of you – a good match is the conclusion she comes to as she takes in the flush of your skin and the smile on Colin’s face.

Colin turns to your mother, bringing out a bouquet of flowers he kept hidden behind his back. “These are for you, Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

Your mother’s eyes widen as she takes in the humble but sweet bouquet offered by the young man. “Thank you,” She states, “They are most unexpected but are very beautiful. I shall have to find a vase.”

“You’re welcome,” Colin responds before bringing out another bouquet. Turning his attention to you, he holds out the delicate collection of flowers. “These are for you,” He murmurs, a note of vulnerability shining through his usual confidence.

“Thank you,” You reply, voice awed at the sight of the gorgeous colours; reds, whites and yellows making up the bouquet, brightening the room instantly. “I shall find a vase for them soon.”

“I had a lot of fun last night,” Colin whispers, his voice loud enough for you but quiet enough that your mother only hears mumblings.

Smiling widely, you reply, “I had fun too. I’ve never enjoyed dancing that much.”

“Me neither,” Colin agrees, thinking back to how it felt to hold you in his arms. He knew after his second dance with you that if he was to have a future, you would surely play a part in it. “Would you accompany me to the British Museum tomorrow? There’s an exhibit being shown that I have been told we simply must not miss.”

Blinking twice, it doesn’t take you long to think of an answer. “I would love to. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the exhibit. It’s a collection of Greek and Roman sculptures and art.”

“I have a soft spot for History, but I have not been yet. I thought it would be perfect for us to go together.”

“I think it would be perfect for us to go together too,” You whisper, your heart beginning to race at the thought Colin has put into your first outing.

Colin smiles; the act lighting up his face. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a golden stopwatch, frowning briefly at its face before slipping back to where it belongs. “I wish I could stay longer,” He laments, “But I promised my mother I would meet her this morning.”

“Go see your mother,” You smile, “I will get to see you tomorrow after all.”

Another smile at that has your heart beginning to sing. “Until tomorrow,” He promises, standing from his chair and reaching for your hand where he places a lingering kiss to the back of it. The very kiss itself holding many promises for the future that you could not wait to fulfil.

As the door closes behind the brunette, you let yourself fall back onto the chair with a smile gracing your face. Until tomorrow; you had to wait until tomorrow before seeing him once more.

Three:

The building loomed large as you tightened your grip on Colin’s arm. Your stomach a ball of nerves as you think of what this means; your very first outing together as a prospective couple. Things needed to run smoothly; you needed to calm yourself down.

Taking a deep breath, you hasten your steps to keep up with Colin’s long strides. He had been so excited on the carriage ride over; babbling about the latest exhibit on show for the masses. Whilst History was a subject you adored when in education, it was not something you had kept up since coming out as a debutante.

Whilst the art is spectacular, it is the sculptures that ultimately take your breath away. Strolling through the main hall, you cannot help but be completely taken in by the attention to detail of such creations and the very fact that they have managed to survive hundreds of years with minimal damage.

“They’re beautiful, are they not?” Colin asks.

“They’re stunning.”

“My older brother, Benedict, suggested this to me. He’s the artist in the family but knows of my love of history.”

“He sounds like a wonderful big brother,” You murmur, finding it hard to tear your attention away from the pieces of work.

“How are you finding it? Are you enjoying yourself?” Colin asks, his voice close to your ear.

“I am. It’s spectacular. It makes me wish I had continued my study into the subject.”

“You like History?”

“Very much so,” You smile, “My father used to sit me on his lap and tell me stories of the past.”

“Mine would do the same,” Colin murmurs quietly, remembering his youth with his father. How he would sit on the floor by his father’s feet and listen for hours about not only his father’s life but the creation of the country in which they live and its many countless invasions.

“How are you finding it?” You ask, bringing him back to the present. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am, but I have to admit it is more the company than the art work, no matter how stunning.”

“Colin!” You gasp, smiling widely, “You are a flatterer.”

He laughs; the sound reverberating off the marble sculptures and walls. “Only for you,” He admits when he calms down. “Only for you.”

His words bring a smile to your face, setting your heart racing in your chest. He could undo you with so few words; it was a miracle you were still standing.

The rest of the exhibit is much of the same; breathtaking sculptures and happy conversation with Colin. He doesn’t enjoy too much silence; rather, he asks you all sorts of questions about your childhood and your life in London. In kind, you ask him of his life and the travelling he did in his late teens/early twenties.

You find that not only is he kind and sweet, he is incredibly knowledgeable of not only life in England, but life and society in other countries. He speaks fondly of his time abroad, but as he regales you of tales of his travels, Colin finds no burning desire to travel abroad again. Instead, as he stares down at you, he finds that you rather hold everything he could need for the future.

It’s then that Colin decides he’s found what he needs for the rest of his life, and he’s found it in you. He supposes he should be laughed at; finding love so quickly, but it just feels right. Everything about you feels so perfectly right for him that he does not see the need to fight it.

He finds himself trying to fight the want to propose then and there. Instead, Colin hooks your arm through his as he leads you from the museum. Like a gentleman, he helps you into the carriage before joining you himself.

“Thank you,” You comment as the carriage sets off.

“Whatever for?” Colin asks, curious to what you should be thanking him for.

“For taking me to exhibit.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” He responds honestly. It was; the pleasure of the afternoon was entirely his because you brought out a side of him that he had never met before but found he rather liked. Colin had always been a man of the moment; rushing through his life so he could get to the next exciting part as quickly as possible. However, with you, he finds that he has no need to rush or to hurry. He finds himself excited for the journey he wants to take with you, and thanks his lucky stars that you saved a dance for him on your card.

The carriage soon rolls to a stop outside your home. Gathering yourself, you smile wistfully at the brunette who has so quickly made his home in your heart.

“Thank you for a wonderful morning and afternoon,” You state as you step down from the carriage with the help of your footman.

“Wait!” Colin calls, rushing out of the carriage, “Will you be at the picnic later this week?”

“I will,” You answer, excitement bubbling inside of you, “Will I see you there?”

Colin nods, “I was hoping you would want to promenade with me.”

“I would love to.”

From there, Colin leaves you with yet another kiss on your hand. As he walks away, you begin to wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against yours; what would he feel like, what would he taste like. The thoughts swirl around your mind for so long that you do not hear your mother call you to the drawing room. Instead, you wander to your bedroom where such thoughts plague you for the rest of the day and night.

Four:

Each season the richest families in London society gather together for a picnic in the park. To outsiders, it is a display of their money, of their status in society. To mothers, it is another opportunity for their daughters to be showcased to the many eligible men who flock to the families in need of a wife or perhaps, some free food.

Your mother and you had been invited by the Bridgertons; an excuse by their matriarch to better get to know you and your mother. Violet welcomes you both with a warm smile, asking you to sit and drink tea.

“How are you?” Violet asks, reaching for one of the many biscuits.

“I’m well, Lady Bridgerton. And yourself?” You reply, wanting nothing more than to be accepted by the mother of the man who had caught your attention so readily.

“I’m very well, dear,” Violet answers, soon falling into conversation with your mother.

You’re distracted by the sight of Colin playing with his youngest siblings; a hoop game that leaves them all laughing loudly when the hoop is dropped on the floor, rolling away from them with great speed. There doesn’t seem to be any logic to the game other than pure enjoyment when Colin suddenly looks up, as if he sensed your eyes on him.

It’s as if everything else melts away as your eyes meet. For you, there was only him. There was no sound; no distractions – just Colin and the smile of his handsome face.

“I think they will work well together,” Your mother admits to Colin’s, glancing between the soft look on your face and the happy smile on Colin’s.

Violet hums her agreement, catching sight of the way Colin’s eyes light up when he notices you sat with his family. Gregory soon pulls his brother’s attention back to him, but Violet doesn’t miss the glances he throws in your direction every chance he gets. Yes, Violet thinks to herself, you would match very nicely.

Laughter rains all around you as you continue to sit with the Bridgerton family; now having been introduced to its matriarch but also to Anthony, its head. A kind man and very devoted to his family; you felt welcomed by his smile and happy to find that he already knew of you.

Stealing a glance at the sky, you sigh in relief when you see that the fine weather was going to hold and that the picnic was going very well. A shadow crossing your eyeline has you frowning in distaste, but your frown doesn’t last long when you find that it is Colin standing over you.

“Shall we go on a walk?”

One:

Taking his outstretched hand, Colin begins to lead you down the winding paths of park, away from your families.

“Colin,” You laugh, “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise,” He laughs, holding onto your hand tighter as he pulls you round a corner.

“Surely you can give me a little hint,” You plead, curiosity beginning to get the better of you.

Colin shakes his head; an infuriatingly handsome smile on his face as he remains quiet about exactly where he is leading you. At this point, the both of you have wandered away from your families and the rest of London society. Instead, you walk through a quieter section of the park, one where paths are travelled but are not often frequented. Despite the nerves rattling your gut, you feel completely safe in Colin’s presence.

“I wanted to steal you away for a little while,” Colin says, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

“Steal me away?”

He nods; his grip on your hand tightening. “There were so many eyes watching us; my family and your family. Did you not feel even a little suffocated?”

Thinking back to the picnic and the shared looks between your mother and Colin’s, you would happily admit that you did start to feel the strain of their expectations. “I did start to feel our parent’s gaze,” You confess.

“Exactly. At least here we can be honest with one another without the pressure of our beloved mothers.”

“Honest?”

Colin nods, “Honest about what we feel.”

“What do you feel?”

“I see a future with you,” He admits, “I know that we have only begun courting, but I truly see it all with you. Do you see the same thing?”

“I see it all,” You confess, your voice hoarse with unspoken emotion.

“You do?”

Nodding your head, you answer, “I do. I see everything with you. When you left after we visited the museum, it took everything in me not to chase you down to ask you to stay.”

“I didn’t want to go,” He whispers, “I wanted to stay. I knew then.”

Through the confessions uttered by both parties, you have made your way closer to the gentleman. Your hands remain tangled by your sides; Colin’s fingers fitting comfortably with yours as he smiles softly down at you. His free hand raises slightly, brushes through the strands of hair that became loose on your quick getaway from your families. His eyes beg a silent question; the question that has bene on your mind since he left you on your doorstep last week.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks; verbalising his thoughts, handing you the power.

You just finish uttering your consent when Colin’s lips find yours, pressing against them softly. Taken by surprise, you gasp into the kiss but soon find your rhythm. You drop Colin’s hand so you can wind your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer to you to feel him pressed so tight against you. Your fingers run through the ends of his hair, only briefly noting its softness before letting yourself fall further into him.

Colin groans softly into the kiss; finally knowing what it is that you taste like – sugar and the tea you recently drank. A combination that only leaves him wanting more as his hands settle on the small of your back, gathering you against him as he tries to repress the urge to take more, more, more. It’s everything all at once; it’s overwhelming but it still doesn’t feel enough. Not as Colin takes control, not as his hands tighten on your waist, and not as you whimper softly.

Breathless and dazed, you pull away from Colin. His chest heaves as he keeps his grip on your waist, not wanting to step further from him. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath dancing over your lips as you try to catch your own. Slowly, a smile breaks over your faces and laughter begins to spill from your lips.

It doesn’t make sense; it doesn’t have to. It’s simply the beginning of your futures.

*******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ 

My taglist is still open! Drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

[twopoppies]

Hi! :) This is probably a weird ask and sorry for directing this to you and doing it on anon, but I am quite new around here and also slightly embarrassed. The thing is, I had this idea for a fic, a dark academia/murder mystery kind of one, set in a boarding school but the thing is I have little to no idea about the British educational system or housing system at that and I have done some research but I thought someone who actually lives in the UK, or has more knowledge than me which would be everyone else at this point, could possibly offer some insight. Now I know there are writing advice blogs and stuff around tumblr but I thought you or anyone around here might be willing to help because you all, at least all of you that I follow, seem such a lovely bunch of people who are always up to offer some help and it felt safer sending you this ask,even if nothing comes out!

Hi sugar. My best advice would be to look for the Beta List link in my bio. Those are all people who’ve volunteered to help and I know there are a handful in there who can Brit pick. If that doesn’t lead anywhere, try making a post about what you need, send it to a few people, and ask them to signal boost for you. I’m sure you’ll get some volunteers!

[lifeofkaze]

Hi love!

Sorry for bothering you, but could you do something like really cute and fluffy between Charlie Weasley and reader where he's all shy and delicate maybe teaching her about dragons and their characteristics pls? Like, something that feels really intimate, you know?

I absolutely love your writing and I believe that you could make justice to the character.

Take care darling,

-A

Thank you for the request, loveliest anon! This is actually the first fic request I’ve ever gotten and I’m so happy you like my stuff so much, this makes me very very soft.

This fluff piece was just what I needed to get my mojo back hopefully. Please let me know if this is like what you had in mind - I for one had a lot of fun with it! <3

***

Favourites

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.800

As a Care of Magical Creatures test covering dragons of all things is imminent and you were too distracted in class to pay proper attention, you know just who to turn to for help.

“You want me to do what?”

Charlie Weasley blinked at you in confusion. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears as he looked at you standing in front of him, clutching you Care for Magical Creatures book to your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I asked if you could help me studying for the test next week?” you repeated your question, brow slightly furrowed. “I can’t keep track of all these dragon traits and who would know them better than you?”

Charlie felt the heat creeping up on his face. Of course, the test. It was all he had been able to think about ever since Professor Kettleburn had announced the topic; all except you of course.

He tried to formulate a coherent answer that wouldn’t make him look like a blabbering fool in front of you, but the way the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees reflected in your hair distracted him more than he cared to admit.

So he resorted to a weak nod. “Uhm, sure, I’d love to. See you at six in the library?” he managed to stammer out eventually.

A beautiful smile formed on your face as you nodded in enthusiasm. “Sounds great, see you there!”

Charlie watched as you swished around and walked back to your friends, who greeted you with giggles and whispers as they glanced in his direction. You gave one of them a playful swat on the arm, before your clear laugh carried over to him onto the warm summer air and made his heart clench.

He knew all of his dragons by heart, of course he did; this test was the first he hadn’t bothered studying for at all. But now, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to prepare himself.

 *

The light of the sun had already started to turn into the beautiful golden shade that heralded the end of a warm autumn day as you skittered into the library. You were a little bit late for your study session with Charlie, and the exertion from running all the way from your Common Room flushed your cheeks slightly red. Your friends just hadn’t let you go, all of them just as excited for what they called ‘your dragon date’ as you were. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You found Charlie sitting at a table near the windows and your breath caught for a moment as you took in the warm light that washed around his frame; it was making his ginger hair glow like fire, the only vibrant speck of colour in this dusty old room full of books.

He had his nose buried in a big, leather-bound tome, his eyes darting over the pages frantically; you noticed how the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. He was so immersed in his reading, that he only noticed you approaching as you sat down next to him. Jumping in shock at your sudden appearance, he almost knocked over his ink bottle, only catching it at the last second before its dark, inky content could wash over the thin pages of his book.

“Oh, you’re here already, I didn’t even notice you until now.” His freckled face had flushed a shade darker than usual as he put his ink bottle back into its position and made room for you on the table.

“I’d rather say I’m here finally,” you responded, feeling a little bit guilty at making Charlie wait. “But I see that you started without me.”

He hurriedly closed the book. “No, I was just reading up on some facts about Welsh Greens so I have them sharp in my mind,” he explained, “in case you have questions, you know?”

It was only now that your eyes took in the numerous heaps of books piled up on your table. “First question,” you said as you ran your fingers over the backs of the tomes stacked on top of each other. “I thought the test was about dragons native to Europe and not every single one in existence,” you pulled out a particularly old looking book containing myths and fables, “and beyond.”

You silently counted the numbers of books Charlie had amassed and your eyes went wide. “Charlie, these must be all the books about dragons in the whole library,” you laughed, giggling at the flustered expression of the boy beside you.

“Well, not all the books,” he clarified sheepishly. “There are quite a few in the Restricted Section and then there’s the two I have up in my dorm but forgot to bring and- “

You cut off his rambling by gently touching his arm; he shut up almost instantly, glancing nervously down to where your hand was lying. “It’s alright, it was just a joke.”

“Of course,” Charlie muttered slightly embarrassed. What was wrong with him?

He watched as you pulled your notes from your bag; they were rather sparse compared to the almost three scrolls of parchment he had scribbled down himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

You hummed to yourself as you considered your choices. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread inside Charlie’s chest as you drew your lips into a pensive pout and tapped your index finger against it.

Finally, a neat stack of white flashcards, that lay hidden behind a book on Sea Serpents, caught your attention. You reached over Charlie and pulled them towards you.

Your mouth dropped open as you flicked through them; on every one of the laminated cards was an extensive profile of every kind of dragon imaginable. The descriptions were written out in a neat, accurate hand that looked nothing like the careless scrawl you’d seen on Charlie’s class notes.

But what took your breath away were the detailed drawings below the text. They were done by pencil and although they didn’t move like magical pictures often did, they were so lively as if they only waited to pounce off the paper and take into the air.

Charlie watched you apprehensively as your fingers traced the outline of what appeared to be a Swedish Short-snout. He felt his heart beat faster at the soft, admiring look in your eyes as you turned towards him.

“Did you do these yourself?”

He nodded in response. “It’s hard to find decent descriptions all in one place,” he explained quietly. “I don’t know how accurate the sketches are though; I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

You flashed him a radiant smile that had his heart rate pick up considerably. “I don’t care if they’re realistic; they’re brilliant!”

Encouraged by your excitement, he took the flashcards out of your hands and fanned them out, their blank backs facing you. “Then I’d suggest we start with them; pick one!”

Running the fingers along the cards twice, you finally settled on one and drew it out of his grasp. Charlie’s freckled face lit up as he saw which one you had chosen.

“The Ukrainian Ironbelly,” he exclaimed, “my favourite!”

All of his former shyness was suddenly forgotten; this was his prime discipline.

“The Ironbelly is native to the Ukraine, as its name suggests, obviously. It’s considered the largest dragon species in existence with an immense wingspan, long talons and scales that are said to be harder to pierce than steel. It’s name stems from the metallic grey colour of his underside and ever since one particular large specimen carried off a whole sailing ship in the late 18th century, they are under strict observation by wizarding authorities.”

You did your best to jot down the information Charlie dumped on you with impressive speed but there was no way you could keep up with his excited ramblings. So you resorted to listening to him as he lectured you about feeding habits, hunting methods and the average temperature of the flames an Ironbelly could produce.

He sighed wistfully as he paused for breath. “They’re amazing.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at his dreamy expression as you picked out your next card from the stack. “Okay, how about this one?”

The dragon it showed had ridges running along its back, ending in a nasty, arrow-shaped spike at the tip of its tail. It barred its teeth at you in a vicious snarl.

“That’s my favourite, the Hebridean Black,” he repeated his words from before, positively bouncing with energy this time around.  

You glanced at the card you two had just worked your way through. “I thought the Ukrainian Ironbelly was your favourite?” you teased him.

Charlie’s bouncing stopped instantly as he blushed bright red; you hadn’t meant to bring him down and felt sorry all of a sudden. So you propped the card against one of the book piles and turned to him.

“So, tell me more about it.”

Relieved to be able to tread on secure ground again, Charlie immediately recounted all the facts about one of the two dragon breeds native to the British Isles to you.

You continued in this fashion; your pulled a random card from the stash and Charlie would tell you everything he knew about it. He grew more animated with every new flashcard; as it turned out, every dragon you talked about was his favourite.

Seeing him so caught up in his favourite subject had a warmth spread in your chest and the smile on your lips never vanished even once. You had given up on writing Charlie’s words down about four cards ago and were merely staring at him explaining to you everything about these fantastic beasts that made up all of his dreams and musings.

His excitement quickly spread to you and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. But the more you were listening to him, the more you found your concentration shift from the dragons you were discussing to the boy beside you.

Your head propped on your hand, you admired how recounting scale colours and preferred environments of Romanian Longhorns brought a twinkle to his blue eyes and how his contagious laugh had you chuckle at the idea that people would confuse a Hungarian Horntail with a Norwegian Ridgeback.

The dimples forming in his freckled cheeks as he smiled at you were the exact reason why you had needed help with studying for this test in the first place. When you had talked about dragons in class, the eager smile and the slight scrunch of his nose as he scribbled down every single word Professor Kettleburn had to spare had left you breathless and unable to concentrate on anything but the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The pile of flash cards had dwindled down until only a few more were left. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned around your next pick; the pictured showed a slender dragon directly from the front. It’s wings were outstretched and it seemed to be staring directly at you out of wide, pupil-less eyes. It was the only drawing so far that was coloured.

Your finger traced the subtle colour gradient rippling over its pearly scales as Charlie looked over to see which one was next.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he murmured, taking in your fascinated expression, “it’s singularly coloured scales and eyes are the stuff of legends.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, trying to imagine how the scales of a real life Opaleye might shimmer in the sunlight.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Charlie suddenly blurted out. The words had fallen from his lips before he’d even had a chance to stop them.

Both of you froze as what he had said sank into your consciousness. You couldn’t believe your ears and were half sure that your mind must have played a trick on you.

You carefully glanced over to Charlie out of the side of your eyes; he looked incredulous and you could watch the colour of his face turning from ghostly white to a deep, vivid scarlet that clashed with his ginger hair in a matter of seconds.

Feeling your own cheeks starting to blush at the unexpected compliment, you desperately were looking for something to say to take the shock out of his widened eyes. But your mind wasn’t working properly anymore, so all you managed was a meek “Wow, uhm, thank you Charlie, that’s really sweet.”

It was apparent your words didn’t help his flustered situation as he covered his face with his hands and groaned “I can’t believe I said that out loud; I’m such an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to do to help him; you felt utterly flattered and confused at the same time. You thought about putting your hand on his arm to reassure him what he had said actually made you happy, but paused halfway, not quite daring to touch him again.

Still unsure of what to do, you got up and picked up one of the books he had used to illustrate the facts on his flashcards.

“I’d better get going, I guess,” you stammered without looking at the wretched boy sitting at the table next to you, “thank you so much for helping me, I think I’ll manage the rest on my own. Can I borrow that book though?”

He didn’t raise his face from his hands, but nodded anyways. You felt bad for leaving him like that, but your head was spinning and you desperately needed to sort out your thoughts.

But seeing Charlie’s slumped frame sitting at the table, all the bubbly excitement from before completely drained from him, tugged at your heartstrings so hard it almost hurt. So instead of turning around and leaving, you drew a deep breath, gathered your courage and stepped behind him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

You could feel his shoulders tense and his breath hitch as your hair tickled his jaw and were glad he couldn’t see the deep blush on your cheeks as you straightened up, picked up your bag and his book and hurried out of the library with a racing heart, too afraid to turn around once more.

*

Charlie and you hadn’t spoken again after what had happened in the library. It had taken him quite some time to be able to think properly again after you had left; he had just sat at his table, hand on his cheek where you had kissed him, staring into nothingness, the peachy smell of your hair still hanging in the air.

Even though the thought of how soft your lips had felt on your cheek had been the most prominent thing in his mind, he had passed his test with flying colours; some things just couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter what was happening around him.

He had just returned to his dorm after a particularly tiring Quidditch practise when he saw it lying on his bed, propped up against his head bord; the book you had borrowed from him to finish studying on your own.

For a brief moment, he wondered how you had managed to get it up here, when he noticed something white sticking out of the pages. Curious, he picked up the book and flicked it open.

Even without looking, he knew what chapter it was you had marked with whatever you had put in there; he had read this book more times than he could remember. It was the chapter on the Antipodean Opaleye; he grimaced at the memory of when he had last thought about this particular dragon.

A white flashcard was stuck between the pages, its laminated surface flashing as Charlie turned it around to read it.

A big smile stole onto his face as he saw the photograph of you laughing and waving at him that you had stuck on the front side. His eyes swept over the lines written in your feminine hand and his smile grew even wider as he read the ‘special characteristics’ section:

It has to be remarked, that this particular specimen was able to pass her test with full marks.

He was glad to hear his blurted out compliment hadn’t affected your marks in the end. He sighed wistfully, when he noticed the very small, scribbled note at the very end of the card; it wasn’t as neatly written as the rest, almost as if your hands had shaken while writing it down.

Greatest weakness: While not many weaknesses are recorded of this specimen, it is said that it can be easily tamed by ginger-haired dragon trainers in the making. Whether these rumours are true, remains to be determined.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open as he read the last section over and over again, not daring to believe what he thought they said. But after the tenth time, he finally allowed the butterflies that  had been fluttering in his stomach to spread into the rest of his body, his smile growing into the widest grin as he tucked the flashcard carefully into the book again.

This time, he was sure; this one was his favourite.

  Tagging: @weasleysandwheezes