#that was great I want that back it was the perfect asks answering environment

[tennessoui]

kit i'm so curious about your writing process, as someone who writes fanfic too it's amazing how much you write tbh, do you write on your phone or your computer? I'm pretty old school and write in paper idk why lmao

For the most part I write on my laptop and using Google docs (which has many many cons but the pros at this point still outweigh the Google doc cons) (the pros are mostly related to convenience and being able to edit offline and document syncing when online access comes back but also the ability to share a single link with the internet has been game changing tbh)

In situations where I have a lot of dead time but I don’t want to pull out my laptop, I’ve written on my phone (airplanes, at work between customers/tasks, in long car drives where I’m not driving) on either the Google docs app or on my notes app and copied it over to the main document later

I also come up with a lot of dialogue or action sequencing while I’m outside on walks that I just write down when I get back home - but rehearsing the scene and the dialogue in my head many times really helps it stick and makes writing it down go quickly. sometimes I feel like a director yelling “cut��� and resetting the scene in my head, subtracting lines and then going “action!” 😂

I think mainly I’m just a pretty quick writer though if I have a sudden intense burst of creativity or passion for a project/chapter! and if I have a passion for the project, I’m more likely to find ways to write it even when real life gets busy or when I have obligations to attend to (i.e., I wrote the majority of the hot air balloonest anakin fic waiting for a train twice, and I wrote the majority of the first chapter of the hunger games au on a plane in a middle seat)

[adragonsfriend]

Use this one trick to instantly fix all childhood trauma (Jedi Masters don’t want you to know this)!!!!!

That is what every “if Obi-Wan had just— *adds one extra scene to canon* —then Anakin would’ve had perfect mental health and never listened to Palpatine at all,” sounds like to me. Look I am not an expert on any kind of psychology at all let alone early childhood development but,

It is possible to do your very best to help or raise someone and still have bad or imperfect outcomes, especially when you have someone actively, secretly working against you (cough cough Sith Lord of the month cough), (for many reasons, but in this case particularly), because unravelling the mindset built in early childhood is hard, actually.

Coming at this from the “raised in a safe and loving environment” side of things, it took me years to figure out and internalize that my friends whose parents weren’t as great as mine were functioning in an entirely different landscape when it came to their interactions with adults.

Many years ago when I was in middle school a friend (acquaintance? idk I think most people thought I was annoying) told me that her ankle kept giving out and causing her pain. I asked if she'd told her parents so she could rest or go to the doctor. She told me she had, but her mother either hadn't listened or refused to help. My (approximate) responses?

"So it's not actually that bad then?"

"You should tell her again."

"Are you sure you explained it right?"

The only explanation I could comprehend at the time was that there must have been some unclear communication about the situation or its severity--if her mother had understood she was in pain, she couldn't possibly have just not done anything about it? Adults are responsible, caring, etcetera! They wouldn't do that?!

With more experience, I've come to understand better, and learned to respond in kinder, more helpful ways, but the shift in mindset was not and is not intuitive.

And I had the luxury of figuring all that out whilst being safe myself. Coming from the other direction, being in danger and trying to figure out why other people act like the world is safe? I can't say for sure, but I imagine it’s a lot more complicated.

Point with regard to Star Wars being, it really is harder for Anakin, coming in later, to acclimate to the Jedi ways and thought processes than it is for his peers who grew up in the safe environment of the Temple. And whatever arguments people want to have about how much psychology and therapy exist in the Star Wars universe, or how much “Jedi just do cognitive behavioral therapy” (not totally inaccurate, but reductive on several levels), no matter what the answers to those questions, it will still be harder for Anakin.

There is a reason the council changes its mind on training him only after he is suddenly famous and the Sith are proven to be back. When Anakin was not in significant danger of being snatched up by someone else, it was genuinely probably the easier and safer option—for him and everyone else—for him to live a different life.

The Jedi are not necessarily fully prepared for a child with Anakin's history, and, there is nothing bad about living an ordinary life. Anakin would not have been somehow unforgivably robbed by living life as a mechanic or an engineer or something, rather than being a Jedi.

Anakin is a victim of many things in his life—Sidious, Watto, Gardulla, Tatooine’s everything, his own conscious choices—but he is not a victim of malice, incompetence, or idiocy by the Jedi just because they couldn't—in only a decade or so—help him fully and perfectly unravel the mindset he developed in his early childhood. If there was any lack of qualification on their part, it was one they were aware of—but which was outweighed by the danger of little Anakin getting kidnapped out of normal-kid elementary school.

Being brought up in and around slavery absolutely made him more vulnerable to Sidous and became the basis of their dynamic as master and apprentice. Acting like the trauma that affects his mindset and actions for his entire life can be obliterated just by making minimal changes to the plot is wild to me.

And don’t get me wrong, fics and headcanons can do whatever they want, not everyone wants or is trying to write a deep psychological character study (also fanfic and even fiction in general cannot and should not be held to any standard of realism if it's not serving the story and the author)—simple fix-it’s (my love) are fun and an excellent short-cut to other things like happiness and fluff (my other loves)—but don’t act serious about the idea that adding one conversation about his feelings or one extra explanation about Jedi philosophy would automatically lead to Anakin having perfect mental health outcomes and always making good decisions.

Disclaimer (if the ones throughout weren't enough) : please go forth and do whatever you want. the moral of this post is actually just that (1) you won’t convince me, (2) I wanted to talk about this, (3) the clickbait title was too funny not to post, (4) i literally can't open my mouth without phrasing things like i'm in the middle of a heated debate, and (5) i continue to not be an expert in early childhood development—my evidence is very literally anecdotal

[14buddy22]

Hey if you're looking for Hotch requests, what about Hotch dealing with a crush on a non-bau sunshine reader when he's still sad after the divorce/Foyet but he's so confused by his feelings because it's been so long that he doesn't know what's going on??

Like if it's case related, maybe he thinks reader is a suspect because why else would he be so on edge around her and it's just so painfully obvious to everyone else. Idk if that makes sense but I just think Hotch being so out of touch with his emotions despite being a profiler would be funny lol

Feel free to adapt and make it your own!! Thanks!!

Thanks for your request! I hope it lives up to your expectation!

You were the best damn bartender in Quantico, Virginia. At least, that's what you thought to yourself. You made work fun. You worked in a club environment so if you wore something scandalous, flirted with the customers a bit, you were sure to bring in a hefty tip at the end of the night.

But, you loved the hustle and bustle of it. You loved the interactions, loved singing along to the bands or the good music. You loved having conversations with the locals, loved celebrating parties for kids turning 21, people getting married, or hell, people getting divorced.

Then you met who you swore is your soulmate. Something in you stilled when you were bartending. You never froze up at your job. You were good at what you do. But seeing him walk through that door, looking all handsome in a suit, he took your breath away. You watched how he interracted with the bouncer.

You watched him show his badge to your best friend. FBI. An average Joe wouldn't just waltz into your bar, you knew he was a sophisticated man.

But when he locked eyes with you, you felt like the bar had heated up 100 degrees. Making his way over to you, you were trying to calm down. What had you feeling like this?

"Hi, I'm Agent Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI. It's my understanding from the gentleman at the front that you are the lead bartender?"

You finished making your drink for one of the locals and asked your partner to manage the bar. Luckily it was early evening and the college kids had about another hour before they started flooding in so you knew you'd be okay leaving her by herself.

"Yes, I'm Y/n Y/L/N. It's nice to meet you. How can I help you?"

You shook his hand, and you swore you both held it for longer than you both intended.

All I could think was that she was beautiful. No, no, I can't think like that. My wife, ex-wife was brutally murdered a little over a year ago. Something's different talking to her, to-Y/n. Something I haven't felt in a while but I don't know what it is.

She's a bartender. I hear she's a damn good one. Maybe that's why she's about to be the suspect in a string of murders. Men have been killed shortly after they leave this bar. Traces of posion have come back on the tox screen. Bartenders have access to the drinks and alcohol before they serve, y/n's the perfect suspect.

But she's beautiful, and I haven't seen her stop smiling at all. She has a gorgeous smile. She'd be the sunshine on the rainiest days for the men that have been murdered. Before I know it, my thoughts and feelings consumed me, I'm still holding her hand. I could feel Dave's eyes burning a hole into me.

"Have you heard about the three men murdered around town?"

"Yeah, I have. It's very unfortunate. They were great men. At least to me. They tipped well and always had friendly conversations. They also stood up for me if some men coming in here for the first time were getting a little handsy with me."

Oh how I wished I could be the one to make sure no one got handsy with her. Wait, what am I saying? She's a suspect, she doesn't know it, but she is.

"How were they killed?"

Agent Hotchner's partner spoke up to answer your question.

"They were poisoned."

Ugh, these poor men. Had to die a slow pain, they didn't deserve it. They deserved justice now.

"We just wanted to come in to see if anything unusual has happened lately."

"I've seen a lot of crime shows with my ex-boyfriends before. You're really trying to see if I did it. Which I didn't. I don't think I have the heart to kill anyone. I broke up with my last ex because he hunted and I couldn't bare the thought of killing animals."

Of course you broke up with your ex because of that. But I have a job to do and I have to investigate further. Plenty of killers have lied straight to my face before.

"We'll be in touch Ms. Y/l/n, thank you for your time."

You smiled and shook their hands one last time before you went back to working your shift. Something about Aaron caught my eye. Maybe it's the way he was blushing like a school boy. You're not sure, but he was handsome.

Just when Aaron walked into the bar, you smiled at him, offering him a drink.

"Agent Hotchner, it's good to see you again."

Your smile never waivered. Maybe you would shoot your shot with him.

I can't believe I have to do this. Arrest someone this pretty. Arrest this girl who Rossi thinks I have feelings for. What? Feelings? That's an intense word, but I have to arrest her.

"Unfortunately I'm here to place you under arrest."

I watched all the color drain from her face. I watched her smile fall so fast. But it had to be her. Rossi and the team wasn't so sure, but I have a gut feeling it's her. Of course with it being my team, they weren't going to stop me. I took her sunshine away.

"Agent Hotchner, I, I didn't do anything."

Your manager saw what was going on, he was like your work dad. He took care of you like his daughter, despite him having sons, he treated you like his princess. You heard him say say, "Y/n, I'm getting you a lawyer, do not speak. I know you didn't do this. But I'll meet you where they're taking you."

You smiled back at him, tears filling your eyes. You wanted to make everyone happy, you never wanted to hurt anyone. How are you being arrested? You didn't do anything wrong.

Your ride back in Aaron's SUV was silent. How could you think he was your soulmate? Your soulmate would never arrest you. But you were still feeling something, you couldn't explain it.

I keep looking in the rearview mirror at her. I had to trust my gut. She poisioned those men. But why do I feel so guilty arresting her. From the time we had met her, been surveillencing her, up until I placed the handcuffs on her, she had smiled. Everyone spoke highly of her. I took away her sunshine. I did that.

As you walked into an interrogation room, Aaron sat you down in the seat, then took off your hand cuffs, handcuffing one hand to the table instead.

"We'll wait for your lawyer, do you need anything?"

"No."

You couldn't even look at him. How could her. You told him you didn't do it.

As I walked out, I was greeted with Penelope. "Sir, she has nothing on her record, not even a speeding ticket. I've looked through her social media posts and everyone spoke so highly of her. Friends were making special post to thank her for being a great friend. She took care of everyone. Sir, I-I know I'm not an agent, but I just can't believe it's her."

Penelope was cut off by my phone ringing, picking it up after viewing the caller I.D.

Morgan said, "Hotch, we got the wrong girl. It's Y/n's bartending partner. I just watcher her slip something into this guy's drink. I'm bringing her in, we can cut Y/n loose. You can be happy now. Y/n's not a killer. What that gut feeling is, is your feelings that you like her Hotch. You haven't felt that since Haley. I know it's been 20 years, but trust me man. Y/n is something special, according to the track record she has. She's the opposite of a killer. She's just the type of sunshine that you and Jack need in your life."

Aaron walked in and said, "I'm sorry, there has been a huge mistake. You are free to go. It was the other bartender you worked with.

"What? There's no way. She's amazing at what she does."

Aaron shook her head and said, "One of my agents was in the bar watching the entire time, he was undercover. He watched her slip something in another man's drink."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you got the right killer. If, if you don't mind, can one of your agents give me a ride home? I don't have my car, obviously."

You didn't know how to feel. You knew you didn't do anything, but was Agent Hotchner always going to have a doubt in his mind that you were a killer?

You got in his car, this time sitting in the front seat. A storm was coming in, you enjoyed the rain and thunder, it calmed you. You two rode in silence, when he dropped you of at your apartment, he walked you up.

When you opened your door, you turned around to thank him, instead that didn't come out.

"I told you I didn't do it, ya know?"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I. There's something about you, y/n. I thought you were a suspect, but you should've never been one."

As your eyes were red and filled with tears, you looked at the man who you thought was your soulmate, instead, he had ruined you. Yes, you two didn't date, yes, you didn't hook up, but there was something there.

"Well then why the hell did you do this, Aaron? Why arrest me?"

"My ex-wife passed away a year ago. I haven't had feelings for anyone in nearly 20 years. My feelings for you confused me. I didn't know what I was feeling. I didn't know what these feelings were because I've been so out of touch with them. And it took me a minute to realize that these feelings are because I didn't think you were a killer, I thought you were beautiful. I think you're beautiful. But that gut feeling was that I think. I think I've found my soulmate."

As she stepped closer to me, I watched the sunshine fill her eyes again, her smile creeping up her face. God, was she beautiful and amazing, and from her friend's testimonies who I interviewed, she was a down right amazing person. Just the absolute sunshine to be around.

You were going to kiss Aaron. You were glad he figured out his feelings. This was going to be the start of something new. You didn't know what happened to his ex, you'd find out someday. You took the chance. You placed your hands on Aaron's hips and leaned in to kiss him. You were so happy that Aaron felt the same way. How did you know this? He placed his hands on your face and kissed you back like you were the only sunshine he'd ever see again.

[allophonicmess]

Past's Lilac Haze

Chapter 1

Masterlist

You only wanted to help you niece with her theatre project. And it got you and your Timelord husband involved in an alien attack on one of London's most famous theatres.

So much for his retirement plans.

14th Doctor x Timelord!Wife! Reader

"Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,

Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,

Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,

As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb."

You read with your best olden accent and high-pitched tone, imitating a squeaky girl's voice as the play asks you to. No reaction. You looked up from your script, expecting Rose to, in turn, answer with her line.

"Ninny's tomb." You repeated, nodding expectantly towards the crumpled printout in her hands. It was covered in annotations and highlighting, making it somewhat hard to read the actual text.

"You have to correct me now. Because I said Ninny's tomb." You explained, moving onto your knees to lean over and point her to the correct line. But she just stared at the text, trying to figure out what to do.

"Uh, but why do I need to correct you?" She suddenly started flipping through the pages, trying to find some context that seemed to be missing. She sighed, shaking her head in frustration.

"You need to correct me. Flute says it wrong. It needs to be Ninus tomb." You explained, showing her your own less annotated but aged copy. 

"But you just said that! Ninus tomb-"She felt irritated. It was a mistake to even enter the theatre club. She wasn't made for the stage, as learning text was way too hard. And she knew her acting wasn't much better; her mum noticed it too, cringing during the open rehearsals but always pretending to love it.

"No, that's the joke. Flute says Ninny's tomb so that Quince can correct him- "You stopped, setting down your text." We'll take a break. I can see that you are losing concentration." 

You got up, placing your booklet on the wooden coffee table that sat in front of the red satin two-seater. Rose had asked you to help her with her theatre role, much to the dismay of the Doctor (who bragged that he once was a Shakespearean actor, but Rose didn't care too much). So you offered her the chance to choose your study environment from any place she could think of. But instead of using the room emulator, she decided the Tardis library, which now came in a gorgeous dark wood and deep red satin theme, was the perfect environment. And you had to agree; It was a great choice.

"I'm going to get us some drinks, and then we can continue. You want tea or hot chocolate?" you asked, gently rubbing her shoulder. You loved your new role as her magic alien auntie, or so she coined the term. 

"Go back to your texts? I thought you two were done." The Doctor called as he entered the room. He had taken the day to set some things with Unit. They called in multiple crisis meetings to ensure that another incident like the Toymaker would not be possible. He hated the politics of it. So boring. But he saw the action plan as a positive initiative to prevent further harm to Earth or its citizens, so it was worth the effort. 

He confidently walked over to you, catching you by the waist to pull you into a hug. He hugged a lot. It was as if his body felt the need to compensate for the hug-free dry stretch during number 12. Not that you minded; his clinginess was somewhat cute.

"There is no need to get back to the text. I'll just text my theatre teacher and tell her I quit." Rose sighed, dropping her script next to your booklet on the table and sinking into her seat.

"No, you can't!" The Doctor whined, but he quickly whispered into your ear. "She that bad?" He cringed, hoping that Donna had been exaggerating. 

You rolled your eyes, thinking of a good answer. "Not bad, just… slow of study." You laughed softly at your own joke. But you quickly regretted it when you saw that twinkle in the Doctor's eyes. He had caught on. Oh no.

"Slow of study, you say?" He spoke with a booming theatre voice. 

"Oh no, please." You shook your head at him, hoping to make him stop. But it wasn't any good as, with starting his fourteenth life cycle, he had reached his Dad-joke era.

"Please don't" You pleaded softly.

"Have you the lion's part written?" He continued, moving away from you to kneel down at the side of the sofa. He was going all in, hiding behind the sofa's armrest only to slowly come up behind it. He looked at Rose with a playful expression, which shifted into a mix of shyness and embarrassment. The young woman tried to look away, to keep the frown on her face. But she couldn't fight the smile that spread over her face caused by the Doctor's shenanigans.

"Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study" he asked in a pinched voice. He stayed low, looking between Rose and the texts on the table.

A moment of silence as the Doctor stayed true to his role, and Rose's attitude began to crumble. You watched with a smile on your face. You believed him about having been a Shakespearean actor. He had talent.

"You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring," Rose answered in a small voice. She crossed her arms, trying to appear uninterested as the Doctor began to cheer.

 "Ha! See, you do know the text!" He laughed, quickly getting up and moving around the sofa to stand behind it. He laughed, shaking Rose by her scrunched-up shoulders. She tried very hard to keep quiet but stood no chance against the Doctor's infectious laughter.

"You will give the best Peter Quince performance there ever was. I just know it!" He turned, looking at your reaction. But you simply stood in the doorway, grinning softly at him. 

You loved to see him at ease in his new life; just see him be happy. 

He loved to make you happy; be the cause of that radiant smile. 

"Okay, then. You help her study since you seem to know the text by heart." You crossed your arms in a challenging manner. 

"I'll go get some drinks." You turned into the hallway to get to the kitchen, but Rose stopped you, calling your name.

"It would be really helpful to go and see a performance, no? For uhh... Artistic inspiration." She suggested but continued before you had the chance to comment. "And I don't mean the recordings. They are nice, sure, but-" 

"It's not the same as live theatre." The Doctor continued, nodding in agreement. He had settled down on the other seat next to his niece, casually leaning back, arms crossed over his chest and nodding slowly. 

"Exactly!" Rose swiftly turned around in her seat, looking at you with expectation. She knew that she didn't need to persuade the Doctor. He was ready and excited for any type of trip despite his retirement. You were the one she needed to convince.

"No." You stated simply. "We can go to the theatre like regular people. You know, take the bus, pay for tickets and so on. But we are not travelling." You shook your head. The term holds a much more significant meaning to the three of you than to the ordinary person. But Rose was all too aware that she had the two of you wrapped around her finger.

"Oh, c'mon! We don't have to travel far. It was on at the Globe this summer. What's a few months, eh?" The Doctor argued, his legs now kicked up onto the table.

You huffed a laugh. "Just a few months? Funny coming from the man that is still having difficulties with precision landing." 

"Oh, no, not this again." He sighed, "I land where I need to go; the Tardis works in mysterious ways. It knows when I need to be off by a few days… or years…" 

Right. You felt no need to comment on what could only be a joke. 

"Besides, I spent the last years always on the go. Been able to practice a lot, you know? I mean, compared to you-"

 "We don't talk about that now." You warned him gently yet firmly. 

He turned around to face you, genuinely sorry about bringing the topic up. 

"Talk about what?" Rose picked up on the tense situation. This was precisely what you tried to avoid. 

"I'll explain it to you eventually, but not now. It's a bit touchy." You told her, hopefully stopping her from asking any further. And she understood, nodding with empathy and then turning back to her text, thinking that any talk about travelling was over.

 For a moment, the library got very quiet. Only the soft cracking of wood and the rustlings of paper could be heard.

You were going to be strict, just once. Only this one time.

…

…

…

To hell with it.

You sighed deeply: "I love the Globe, I really do. But this year's version wasn't any good." 

Your comment made Rose set down her notes and turn in your direction slowly. She was about to activate her puppy-dog look, but you already gave in.

"1598-"You couldn't finish your sentence in time as she had already gotten up to wrap you up in a big hug.

 "But! My rules." You hugged her with a soft smile. The Doctor watched you two with amusement.

"We go there, we watch the play, and we leave. No prancing around and no adventuring." 

Rose let go of you, nodding very quickly and waiting for further instructions. You huffed a laugh at her giddy expression, nodding towards the hallway to notion her to get to the console room.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She called, running towards the console room. 

The Doctor also got up, watching after and chucking softly at her. "She is making you go soft." He noted, pushing up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Soon she will be unstoppable, spoilt rotten and hijacking the Tardis", He joked, moving in slow, languid steps towards you. You were still leaning against the wall by the door.

"Nah, not on my watch." You pushed yourself off the wall to exit the room. But the Doctor quickly caught your wrist, holding it gently. He looked at you apologetically.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up. That wasn't appropriate nor funny." He looked at you sadly, trying to let you feel his honesty. You nodded, turning your hand in his hold to his hand. 

"It's okay. She'll have to know eventually. Keeping a tragic backstory hidden from that one? You wish." You joked, squeezing the Doctor's hand and leading him outside. He quickly moved to kiss your temple. It made you pause, taking him in momentarily and appreciating how your story had turned out.

"But- "You spoke into the moment of silence.

 He huffed a laugh: "But?... You fly?" 

You grinned, keeping yourself steady on his shoulders as you reached up to peck a kiss on his lips.

"You know it, Darling."

[megumimania]

AOT LONDON BOY HCS PT 2

featuring: reiner, onyankopon, armin

a/n: this is part two of these hcs, part one is here! thanks for tuning in its kinda rushed my bad 😪, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

ARMIN

-armin would be from islington or finchley maybe even south, but I don’t see him living in like bougie areas such as kensington or chelsea or like richmond

- him and eren went to the same primary and secondary together

-armin was literally his get out of jail free card because of his stellar reputation in academics

-he always gets free stuff from the corner shop or the chicken and chip shop

-doesn’t own a car, he either bikes or takes the tube because he cares about the environment and doesn’t want to add onto the extra pollution in london

-his dress sense is very casual like a t shirt, a pair of loose fitted trousers and some trainers but when he cant be bothered he’ll wear a tech fleece

-he has a very good sense of direction, like he knows the fastest routes for anything, like when eren and connie dragged him to carni (if you went this year im saur jealous 😩 but anyways) and it was time to get home armin found a quicker route that got them back pretty fast

-knows all the best secret spots in london for anything! which makes hanging out with him more fun because you experience a new part of london when you’re together

-he isnt a fan of eren’s scamming ways but when eren asks for help he always answers as long as he’s not a part of it

-london men i feel like are terrible with their feelings but armin is the exception, he would be very open with you about his feelings and such

-reads so much, you’ll catch him at hyde park or greenwich park reading till the sun sets

-he smokes cigarettes but he’s trying to cut it out for you

-his playlist would be very diverse since he’s been brought up in a multicultural area, like it would go from bashment, to rnb, drill to pop

-unlike his unserious counterparts *cough cough* eren and connie, he’s very loyal!

ONYANKOPON

-my ghanaian king, shoutout to my ghanaians!!

-he speaks twi so well that people forget he was brought up in the uk

-he would be from peckham or lewisham for suree, he’s deffo been dragged around by his mum round rye lane market on a saturday morning carrying that trolley with him

-he goes to a pentecostal church, he’s always leading youth service and helping out at church events.

-the aunties love him for this because he’s the perfect son that they don’t have and they just love him in general

-ony can cook and im being for real, so you guys never eat out unless ony wants to show you to a new niche restaurant somewhere

-he has snap but doesn’t have a bitmoji because he thinks it’s immature 😕 but eventually he caves and makes one because you ask him too

-hes always promoting his boys stuff whether that be music,

-he deffo went to an all boys secondary and then he went to a mixed sixth form after, he gives me those vibes

-he used to go to the library to link girls after school 😭 he had a big playboy phase but hes calmed down

-he used to be one of those people at stratford westfield trying to sell you magazines before you enter

-hes not stingy with his money, hes always spoiling the people he loves

-he has a bunch of caps and grills that he likes to rotate out weekly, he has great style

-he works in corporate london so its rare that you dont see him outside of a suit and tie but he always makes time for you

-ony is always holding your bag for dear life when you go to bait areas like oxford street or westfields or like the tourist spots because people be getting their shit stolen loool

-he loves late night tesco trips anything that he can do at night i.e late night walks, drives etc

-bossman is always giving him discounts on stuff because ony is loyal customer.

REINER

-look at that man and tell me he wouldnt be from essex tell me!! like thats pure dagenham material right there

-if you search up a typical person from essex, he would come up

-he probably owns those skintight chinos with those ugly polos with the church shoes

-he tries to downplay his accent a bit since sometimes its hard to understand him but when hes upset his accent comes through in full force

-always at spoons or at the club till early hours

-reiner gives me bricklayer vibes so thats what im gonna roll with

-when he comes home from work in summer hes like hot and sweaty but it makes his biceps glow so its kinda sexy idk

-has a bunch of tattoos, most of them are birthdays of family members and a picture of his grandma who passed away

-has a british bulldog called belle, the dog is fucking scary but reiner thinks the world of her and thinks she can do no wrong

-listens to mainly dnb, garage, techno

-downs pints at the pub like it’s nothing, he has a high alcohol tolerance

-proper geezer that’s all i have to say tbh!

[compressedrage]

The second Sonic X Shadow Generations Dark Beginnings episode is out, when I tell you I screamed–

Another flashback, but this time it's real! And we see that kid who grows up to be the Colonel– or is it General. I can't remember. The top GUN dude.

Can I just say, I love Maria. She's so sweet and kind and trying her best to comfort Shadow when he's struggling with not having answers. I love how she and Shadow interact. And she's right! She's saying everything that we know to be true about Shadow, that he's doubting about himself. I'm gonna be sick /pos

She hugs him. Someone help me.

THAT SHOT WITH SHADOW'S RED EYES AS HE ATTACKS THE EGG ROBOTS–

NEED I SAY MORE

andddddd TEAM DARK IS BACK AND THEY ARE SO EPIC

"Evening handsome! Didn't expect to see you here!" Rouge is perfect and the way Shadow bounces off of her dialogue is so funny and good. Her voice actor isn't my favorite, but I'm already getting used to it. She definitely knows how to deliver the lines well, so I won't obsess over it.

Shadow saving Rouge. I will scream.

"I call dibs" Omega I love you. I've missed you, it's great to have you back. He would call dibs on destroying an attacking robot.

Classic Rouge: offering to help Shadow, but in return for something. At first I thought she was gonna ask for the Chaos Emerald, but making him come to Sonic's birthday party is so much funnier, and the perfect tie-in to explain why Shadow's at the party in the first. place!

-----------

NOW TO TALK ANIMATION

GOSH I WILL NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT HOW COOL SHADOW'S CHAOS POWERS LOOK LIGHTING UP THE ENVIRONMENT.

They're just so sparky and shiny and draw your eye all around the screen as Shadow runs around. Makes the fight scenes so fun to watch.

Rouge and Omega look incredible– I don't think Omega ever looked better! Rouge's fighting style is showcased wonderfully, and it's very fun to it contrasting Shadow's style.

The ARK interior is once again beautiful, I can't wait to see the present version in the next episode (at least I hope we get to see it)

This episode is everything I wanted– literally just the return of Team Dark and their dynamic with each other. Please Sega, don't abandon them after this game. I love them so much.

[tenebrous-academic]

Ooooh what are your thoughts on what it's like for Tommy at Harbor, and what his coworkers are like?

Anon. I had such a good answer written. It was literally perfect. And then I accidentally closed the ask and it deleted itself 🙃 I don’t know if this answer will be as good, but I’ll do my best.

I LOVE this question first of all. A lot of my favourite fics have had Buck going to the Harbour while Tommy is working and he meets his coworkers who are thrilled to meet the man Tommy can’t stop talking about. And they tease Tommy endlessly about the way he can’t stop smiling at his phone whenever Buck texts him. It’s such a welcoming and supportive workspace. But it took work for Tommy to open himself up to that.

When he was under Captain Gerrard he was utterly repressed and hiding so much of himself. He would laugh at the jokes or stay silent to keep the target off his back. It was a toxic environment we saw him only begin to break free of when he saw that there were other ways of living, of being true to himself. Even when Bobby came it wasn’t our Bobby. It wasn’t even Season One Bobby. It was a Captain who was still traumatized and was only focused on keeping his team safe, healthy, and cohesive. But it wasn’t a family, not yet.

By the time Tommy gets to the Harbour I think he had more confidence in himself and a desire to find his own place. He saw how Chimney and Hen were beginning to find their way under Bobby and he wanted something like that for himself, but it couldn’t be with the 118. Not when the memory of who he pretended to be hung over him like a spectre. And not when the itch to be in the air again just wouldn’t go away. So he heads out - not running away, but not not running away. And when he does enter the Harbour for the first time, I think he sees the possibilities that are open to him for the first time in his life. So when a coworker asks if he has a girlfriend, he takes a risk and says “No, I just broke up with my ex-boyfriend actually and I’m taking my time.” Or “No, but I am seeing a pretty great guy right now and we’re seeing where it’s going.” That’s it. No negative reaction, no sneers or pulling away. Just easy acceptance. Tommy is safe to be himself here and he can finally breathe.

I also think that it’s likely that a lot of the pilots are ex-army, and it creates an atmosphere of a fraternity more than a family. They’re brothers and sisters in arms and, more importantly, they’re bad-ass pilots! They razz on each other and joke, but it’s all with an undercurrent of respect and friendship running through it.

It’s not a family the way the 118 grew to be. It’s a collection of people crazy enough to go up into the air and fly into fires. Their friends and partners, but not family. And that’s okay, because Tommy didn’t go there looking for a family. He went there looking for belonging and acceptance, and he found it. And, now, he can start building that family with Buck.

[hirik0]

Bad Reputation

Ghost/Soap

Soap has a reputation, hes seen as a womaniser. Everytime hes in a bar he leaves it with a woman, often just to make sure she gets save in her car before he returns to base alone. Ghost is unsure when Price wants to get Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish in the 141, not wanting someone like this endanger the taskforce because he told a woman to much to get in her pants. Even Gaz has mixed feelings about the potential new addition to the team. What they don't know Soap is just pretending, covering his bisexuality because he's in extremely homophobic environment, knowing he would get a lot of shit for being 'half-gay' so he performs heterosexuality to an extrem. Telling his squad mates he has a high libido and and is always down for, when in reality he just avoits sex at this moment, feeling sick to pretending. "Just 5 missions and if he don't fit he goes back to his old squad", Price promised them and they agreed 5 missions. When Soap arrives at base hes friendly, but Ghost is unimpressed thinking its probably just a facade for new teams. The think is his work is perfect, he fits right in, his skills a great addition to the 141, but his reputation makes it hard to trust him. "What do you think of the FNG?", Ghost ask Gaz after training. "Hes nice and I didn't see him chatting up one of the female personal. Yet", Gaz answers having a uncharacteristically dark expression on his face. "Sisters?", Ghost ask and Gaz holts up 3 fingers. "Only boy of 4, 1 older 2 younger." "Yeah would also not want a player around my sisters, if I had any", Ghost agrees. Gaz nods while watching Soap talking to one of the femal privates. Gaz has a reputation on base as the one you can complain about male recruites to if they act inappropriate. "Maybe he knows you will make his life to hell if he steps out of line", Ghost snickers darkly. "Probably helps that you would help me hide the body", Gaz jokes before Soap moves towards them.

"Ah Gaz I should tell you that a Private Jackson is being a problem again", Sopa says when he reaches his teammates. "Fucking Jackson, still didn't learn daddy's money will not help him here", Gaz curses Ghost also make a annoyed sound having written up the Private way to often already. "I think we have enough complains to get him finally get kicked out or atlest to another base", Ghost says. "Thank fuck, can't believe they didn't kick him out in basic." "He's skills are good on the paper.. if they sadly would not be attached to such a idiot", Ghost sighs, Jackson thinks to much with his dick instead of his brain. "So bad?", Soap asks unsure where this conversation is going. "Don't known a time they didn't complain about him. You don't share tips to pick up woman with him?", Gaz ask Soap confused, clearly thinking that Soap and Jackson would go along great clearly having the same views on woman. "I only to civilians", Soap says his smile not reaching his eyes anymore, mouth forced to stay a smile. Great his reputation is ruining his chance of a place in the 141, but they would not believe him if he tells them he didn't end up in the sheets with all this women. Its to late for that now, he has to show he's not what everyone thinks he is. The other problem he has is his Lieutenant, ticking all his fuked up boxes for man. Dark, mysterious, brooding, fuck off aura, build like a wall, all thinks Soap finds extremely attrative. Its not his first crush on a squadmate and it will not be his last. This will be just like the other times, one homophobic coment and his feelings just turn in to dust on the spot.

The one coment never comes, he's a full member of the 141 now. His crush exploded in something he can barely handel right after Las Almas and Chicago. Seeing Ghost face, melted parts of his brain, there is no way that Ghost, that Simon is such a bonnie, clearly thinking that Ghost lied when he told hom qiuete the opposite. He even saw Gaz punishing privates for homophobic behaivor, it apears that not beeing straight was atleast tolared here, but he thought that before and it was only okey as long its not the own squad. Ghost still tells him his awfull colection of teribel jokes, non of them indicating any anti gay tendencis. Price telling some female sergants he found in a suply closet to keep it at aproietet places. It looks like he maybe found a team that would not give a fuck hes bi, but this also is maybe delusional thinking, because hes getting sick and is horny for Ghost. He knows he should rest and not go for drinks, but hes a lovesick idiot and wants to spend as much time as possibel with Ghost. Just 2 glasses what bad think can happen, he ask himself.

Hes openly flirting with Ghost right in front of Price and Gaz thats whats happening. If he was fully aware of anything and not sick and drunk he would just crawl in some dark conor or and never come back out, filling his papers to get moved to a new team or back to his old squad. Price and Gaz are clearly amused by the scene in front of them, thinking Soap is just using all his shitty pick up lines for Ghost as a joke maybeas revenge for Ghost terrible jokes. "You really get woman with this afwull lines, Sergeant?", Ghost ask getting annoyed. "Aye, i usally just need one of them and then i have a lovely chat with them", Soap answers, taking a sip of his 5th drink of the night. "How many tell you to fuck of, because your lines are bad", Ghost ask further his blush hidden under a surgical mask. "Sometimes, we laught about them", Soap atmids with a sheepish grin on his face, making Ghost heart beat faster. "I think they laugh at you", Gaz jokes, cringing hard at some of the lines he had heared. "Fuck of Gaz, they are not." "What ever lets you sleep at night Soap." Ghost knows most of his face is hidden in the shadow of his hood and the surgical mask, but his ears are burning, being a telling shade of red. He's sure Price can see them glowing red, if he just take a closer look hes tensing up. Ghost understands why Soap is so liked by woman, hes funny, charming, easy going and knows when hes fighting a lost fight and its also working on him. Simon is basking like a cat in the sun from all attention Soap is giving him and its dangerous. Simon Riley dont exist anymore only the husk of Ghost remains and still Soap found the pieces of Simons remains, slowly putting them back together. Fucking hell. He's falling for pick up lines as worse as his shitty jokes, but the big smile on Soap face how's he looking at him with his big puppy eyes, how can he not? Shit!

Ghost is helping Soap back to his room the scot beeing unusual drunk. He saw Soap drink a lot more and being less drunk then now. "You're solid, Soap?", he asks concerned something must be wrong. "Aye, just getting a cold or something", Soap answers. "And then you go out drinking instead of resting?" "Aye, like spending time with ya LT." Ghost just raises an eyebrow not saying anything, Soap is puring gas on the emotional chaos burning in him. "You're such a bonnie, ya know", Soap babbles further. "Want to flirt with ya all the time. Best squad mate crush I ever had, a bonnie and not homophobic." Ghost is tensing clearly Soap would not tell him this is he was not drunk out of his mind. Inside of Ghost Simon Riley is rising from his coffin like a vampire in the old horror movies. Instead of blood he graves Soap attention. In one night Soap flirted himself in to Simons heart. Worst fucking scenario, because Soap is into woman right, right? "What does bonnie mean?", Ghost ask. "That ya pretty, handsome, nice to look at", Soap answers unaware of who he's talking to. "Yeah? Saw my face only for ones for less then 5 minutes", deflecting he needs to deflect. "Would see it more when you would take your bloody mask of, it's mean of you to hide your bonnie face from me all the time", Soap is complaining pouting at his CO. "You're really drunk aren't you?", Ghost ask, big smile creeping on his face, thinking Soaps behavior is adorable. "Don't change how I feel when I'm sober", Soap deadpans. Shit, shit why did he ask, thank fuck they are at Soaps room. Soap needs sometime to find his keycard and when it's finally out Ghost just opens the door with it. "Thanks LT", Soap says with a big smile on his face. Ghost to busy with getting Soap in the room and then himself out of the room stiffens when Soap very sloppy kisses his cheek. "See you tomorrow aye", Soap just says before falling on the bed and passing out. Ghost turn on the spot, he would denial it but hes running out of the room, closing the door silently. When Ghost is in his own room he slits down the door. Throwing his mask in the dark room his face burning. His heart is racing while Simon Riley takes the first breath in ages bringing a bunch of feeling with him. He stumbles on to his own bed putting a arm over his eyes. "Fucking hell MacTavish", he says in the room, the blush creeping over his shoulders to his chest. A bonnie and not homophobic Soap said to him, does this mean Soap is intrestet in men? But his reputation? Shit he can't get these feelings for a player someone that talks woman out of their cloths. But is he really? They never saw Soap pick up a woman ones since he joined the 141. Soap also said in his drunkenness that he had crushes on squad mates before, so that means he must be attracted to man to some degree. He needs to stop thinking about this Soap told him anything drunk, don't have to mean a thing in the end.

Soap wakes up the next morning with a big hungover. It's also him getting sick making everything 10 times worse. How did he even got back to his room yesterday. Some wired memories that make no sense are coming up. But if his memories are correct then Ghost got him back. He for sure didn't make it back by himself. So he needs to apologise to Ghost, great he can do this. He looks at his phone with a text from Price. My office it just says, fuck what happend yesterday? He text Price he will be there in 30 minutes. Maybe he's a bit to optimistic about the 30 minutes but he somehow is able to look not like he's dieing from a hungover, when he enters Price office. "Close the door Soap", Price says and alarm bells are going off, oh god did he fuck up yesterday? He sits down on the chair the nausia is now not only from having to much to drink. "How much do you remeber of yesterday?" "Not that much, Sir." "You used your pick up lines on Ghost." All color is draining from Soap face, poor horror in his eyes. Oh no, no he did not, right? RIGHT??? "Did I?", Soap ask some pieces of memories popping up in his head. "Yes, it was all in good humor, but I still want you to apologise to Ghost for making him uncomfortable." "I was he?", Soap ask voice barely over wisper, while dread is spreading through his body. "He was really tense the hole time." "Oh, I of course, Captain. Is there anything else, because if not I'm of to look for Ghost." The only hope he has is that Ghost will not kill him but he would have done so when he made sure Soap gets in his bed. "Your dismissed oh and Soap maybe don't drink so much that you do this again." "Yes Sir." That Ghost is reading a file in his office is the luckiest and unluckiest think happening to Soao in along time. He knocks at the door frame to get Ghost attention. "Soap", Ghost just shortly acknowledges him before returning to the file again. "I'm here to apologise for yesterday, Sir", Soap forces the words out. "Soap your not the first follow soilder i had to help back to there room after a trip to the bar. Bonus points for not puking all over the hallway", Ghost sounds dismissive. "Aye, thanks for that, but that's not what I'm apologising for." Ghost looks up again looking over Soaps tesne face being confused. "What do you mean?" "Price told me I made you uncomfortable, with me trying to pick you up." Soaps is kneading his hands looking at the floor. "I was not uncomfortable." "But Price said .." "He's wrong Johnny." "Ah, okay. Did I say anything else on the way back to my room", Soap ask nervous. Ghost takes a millisecond to long for his answer. "Just some drunk rambling." Soap knows he said something, he must have the answer feeling to prepared, to calculated. "Something else, I have to prepare for a solo mission." "That's everything, see you around", Soap says before walking out of the room at a forced normal speed. Oh shit what did he tell Ghost while drunk, atleast it's not bad enough to get murdered, yet. Maybe it really was just drunk rambling and he interpreted to much in Ghost answer.

[larsnicklas]

hockey writing appreciation club part iii (part i here, part ii here) hi everyone!! you know what time it is! i've collected another handful (and then some) articles i've really enjoyed over the past few weeks! support good writing, support good sports journalism — with clicks and with subscriptions if that's in your ability/inclination! hope you enjoy some of these; my particular favorites in this batch are the pius suter piece and the coyotes story. as always, i welcome recommendations if you have them!!

remember that a "🔒" implies a paywalled article, but this is often easily worked around by entering your browser's "reader mode"!

NHL graybeards still find ways to make major impact In most any other field, Pavelski, at 39, would be viewed as someone who has much of his career ahead of him. If he were named CEO of a company, he'd be on a "40 under 40" list or might be talked about as the next great innovator. But when it comes to hockey and other pro sports? There's a belief that being 30 -- let alone 35 or 40 -- and still productive is something just short of a miracle. And for the record, Pavelski said he has not found a gray hair.

The Cyclist: Pius Suter’s clinching goal and the secret behind Canucks’ success 🔒 Although Suter still drives to games, he goes about town mostly on his bicycle. Most days, he cycles into practice on a racing bike with narrow tires; he did so even during massive February snow storms, to the amusement of his teammates, support staff and management. “It’s Canada,” Suter said, “you’d think they’d clear the roads! At least, I did. “Honestly, it feels like home. I played in Zurich, biked always to practice and games and I love not having to use the car.”

Marie-Philip Poulin and the PWHL have yet another landmark moment: ‘It’s a movement’ 🔒 But the building was still mostly empty, and still, for Marie-Philip Poulin, a living legend, this was a lot to take in. She skated over to the bench for an interview with the arena hostess that would go live in the building, and the first question was about how she felt in this moment, in this environment, on this stage, about to play a professional hockey game in her native Quebec in front of this many people. In front of this many of her people.

What really happens during NHL intermissions? The naked truth 🔒 When the clock strikes zero at the end of each period, we watch the teams filter off the ice, down a tunnel and into their respective locker rooms. But what’s really going on back there while we hit the restroom, maybe grab a $14 beer and $7.50 hot dog?

Inside the Coyotes' stunning move from Arizona to Utah In April, Smith posted to X asking fans for team name suggestions should the NHL ever come to Utah. That was a huge tell to the hockey world: This was happening. But back in Arizona, players and coaches were still in the dark. For all they knew, there was a plan in motion that would keep them in Phoenix. What they didn't know was how little faith the NHL had in it being executed by this ownership group, and how badly it wanted the Coyotes out of Mullett Arena.

What makes Macklin Celebrini the next big thing in hockey On a Saturday night in January 2023, the Golden State Warriors had an off night in Chicago. Draymond Green didn't want to go to dinner or out on the town. He had another idea: going to the suburbs to watch junior hockey. "​​How often do you get an opportunity to see Sidney Crosby at 17?" Green reasoned. The next big thing in hockey is Macklin Celebrini, the unanimous No. 1 prospect of the 2024 NHL draft class. Celebrini is also the son of Rick Celebrini, the Warriors vice president of player health and performance.

Pursuit of perfection drives Kucherov's intense summer training If you walk through the sliding glass doors and into the lobby of TGH Ice Plex on a weekday morning, it's quiet. You may find a staff member answering a call at the front desk or spot an employee from the pro shop carrying cardboard boxes filled with equipment. That's about it. But if you walk to the right and peek out to the south rink, you'll probably find Nikita Kucherov.

How use of analytics is part of Colorado Avalanche’s secret sauce: “Numbers are unemotional” One of the key aspects of how Bednar and his staff help the players connect with and absorb the data is not the numbers themselves. Most players aren’t going to care if tonight’s opponent is creating X shots in the slot area on the power play per game, or Y shots from the right faceoff circle. But tell them a team is fourth in the league in one category or 30th in another — and then supplement it with video clips — and the information hits home.

What are NHL series supervisors? How unseen officials help teams, league coordinate during playoffs 🔒 The supervisors travel as the series shifts cities. They are there whenever the clubs need to meet. The other important part of their job is meeting with referees and linesmen, who rotate from series to series. Supervisors fill them in on what’s been happening in the series — what the temperature of it is, the issues each club has raised in meetings, etc. That gives the refs a sense going in of what to look for that night in the game.

Connor Bedard's first season has lived up to expectations When the 18-year-old's jaw broke, everything he had been building for was cruelly interrupted. "It's not fun not to play," Bedard said. "I was dying to get back." One week after surgery to repair his fractured jaw, Bedard convinced trainers to allow him to skate. Solid foods were out, so he drank as many soups, smoothies and supplements as his body would allow, desperate not to lose weight.

[heliads]

you always knew how to push my buttons

Alex Albon, long-suffering woman in motorsport, would really like to focus on her first year of racing for Williams. George Russell makes that difficult.

(or, girl alex galex)

masterlist

In Christian Horner’s defense, it wasn’t the worst idea. You have a second driver that’s doing badly, you need to pull them out but don’t want to look cruel, so you put in someone who’ll draw attention to who you’re currently sitting in your car instead of who you used to seat. 

A girl is the perfect bargaining chip. The media gets so distracted by historic moments and trailblazers that they forget about the French kid Red Bull abandoned only a little bit ago, and when you tire of the girl, too, you can ship her back to reserve driverhood and still get the necessary pats on the back because, you know, you tried. 

Alex Albon doesn’t want to be another token feminism card to play, though, and she certainly doesn’t want to stay in the shadows any more. This is something that Red Bull has learned upon hiring her. It might, perhaps, be something that they regret, because they’ve finally realized that Alex has absolutely no interest in being a little Media Darling Barbie for them, but they were still content to let her rot away in the aftermath of their fast-paced work environment.

Alex has her second chance now, though. She’s done her time in the prison of reserve driver status, and now she’s on the grid again. Williams is, admittedly, somewhat of a far fall from Red Bull, but every Icarus has their plummet to the sea, and she plans on reaching the glimmer of the sun again soon. She’ll be on a podium again. Then she can laugh at the rest of them as much as she pleases.

Until then, Alex is supposed to keep her head down but her chin up, ignoring all of the hundreds of people asking how terrible it must feel to only have less than two full years of being a second driver under her belt before getting booted. Her PR manager has trained her on how to handle the questions without getting abrasive. Williams is glad to have Alex on, of course, but they would really like it if she could play along with the interviewer circus for just a few months more before starting to crack.

Alex is not good at keeping her temper at bay. She is proving it now. It’s only a Thursday, barely a few races into the calendar, and already all of her media training is blinking out of her head like fading batteries.

One interviewer, seemingly sensing this, addresses his next question to her. “Alex, you’ve had a year to recharge as a reserve driver, and now you’re back with Williams. Are you disappointed to get your second chance only to be stuck with a backmarker team?”

Alex has often thought that it’s not drivers who should get media training but the actual media themselves, because how the fuck are you actually allowed to ask that in a professional setting. She grits her teeth into her best impression of a smile and tries to answer normally instead of, like, lunging out of the chair to gouge the guy’s eyes out or something. “I am happy to be back on the grid. Williams has given me a great opportunity, and it’s one that I’ll take as far as I can.”

The reporter frowns, scratching at his head a little before pressing further. “So you’re glad to be with this team, then? You wouldn’t have wanted any of the other teams to reach out with a contract?”

Alex stares at the guy. “I’m at Williams, and I like being here. Quit asking me about other people. Ask better questions.”

The interviewer purses his lips, giving Alex such vivid flashbacks of bitter and jaded old school teachers that she almost wants to ask the guy about his past career choices before turning to F1. However, she has a feeling that the only one who gets to be dissected about their resume is her. Delightful.

“That’s not really that nice, is it?” The man asks, voice so full of condescension that Alex has to squeeze her fingernails into her palms to avoid groaning out loud. “You know, when you first came to the grid, I thought you would be more friendly.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex says shortly. “There were nice girl drivers, but they couldn’t get through all of this. You’re stuck with me now.” Then smiles, like that’ll make all of this better. Oh, her PR manager is so killing her once this ends. Can the team doctors mend broken bones before Friday free practice begins?

The interviewer looks sour, but to her left, Alex actually hears someone laughing. She cocks her head to the side, curious to see who’s looking past her temper to discover a joke, and finds–

George. Of course it would be George.

George Russell is quite possibly one of the only people on the grid at the moment, or perhaps the entire world for that matter, who not only tolerates Alex’s snark and nonsense but likes it, too. Has since they were, like, tweens and teens. They’d observed each other in 2008, caught up between different karting circuits, but waited until 2011 to properly become friends. No self respecting twelve year old would ever interact with a boy who was merely ten, not while she was still winning, but fifteen and thirteen was better. They’re best now. 

They were both small back then; George more so, almost a whole head shorter than Alex at that point, but he’s caught up remarkably fast, and not just in height. They were both stuck in the same fantasy, kids growing up at each other’s houses and dreaming of climbing the F3-F2-F1 ladder, and now they’re both here, swapping off places on the Williams team roster like a baton in a relay race. Time changes us all. They would never be the exception, even if it was kind of sort of wonderful back then, and Alex kind of sort of misses the way it was.

Not in the least bit because it meant less media duties for her back then. The interview ends in a pitiably long time, just long enough for Alex to wonder if reserve driverhood wasn’t better than this solely because she at least didn’t have to attend driver’s media days. She’s released soon enough, though, permitted to spill out into the dizzying sun of the paddock once more.

She pauses by the door to let George catch up to her; Alex likes walking quickly away, but she does owe George for breaking the ice back there. Once another driver had laughed, the interviewer could join in, nervously coughing and chuckling before quickly moving on to a better, more suitable candidate for terrible questions.

“D’you think I should put in a petition to the stewards asking for media days to be longer?” George asks conversationally, “I was kind of getting the feeling that you wanted to spend more time getting interrogated.”

Alex twists her face into a bitter glare. “I’d rather you just run me over with your car on Sunday and get the whole trouble over with. It’s like they want me to just start weeping over the wreck of my career already and give them a good show.”

George snorts. “They want drama, just ignore them. They’ll find a new victim soon enough.”

Easy for him to say, Mr. Saturday with the crisp Tommy Hilfiger lining on his new Mercedes team kit, he’s not the one getting picked to pieces. George had practically salivated over the shirt when he got his first shipment of merch, making Alex unbox it with him like they were vloggers or something. 

He’d lingered over each cap and polo so long that Alex had threatened to slice the lot of it to ribbons with her box cutter unless he picked up the pace. Even still, George’s face had idled over the black and white fabrics long after everything was unpackaged, like he still couldn’t believe it was all real. 

Alex stages a desolate sigh. “Yeah, yeah. They’ll all forget about me soon enough. It’ll be good.”

“Not all of them,” George corrects. “There’s still me, remember?”

His blue eyes are wide and accusatory. Alex finds it within herself to chuckle. “How could I not? We’ll skip media day and go hang out. Just us two.”

“Just us,” George repeats almost reverently, a prayer, a promise. 

And it– it’s a joke, yeah, there’s no way in hell that either of them would be so dismissive of their seat that they’d willfully invoke the wrath of PR managers and team principles by skiving off entire days of the race week circus, but it’s still fun to imagine. George would be the one to do it with, anyway. George gets Alex. Always has.

Especially in connection with Alex’s hatred of the media. Alex has other hobbies than bashing interviewers, obviously, she does have a life that revolves around more than just despising bad questions and uncomfortable skits, but media duties are just such a prevalent part of being a driver that she can’t hide from them that often. That means someone has to hear her complaints, and more often than not, that person is George.

He’s quite used to it, though, having more than enough years to accept and subsequently tune out Alex’s rambling monologues on how useless it is to ask the same questions and hear the same forced answers every week without fail. More often than not, George is roped into various plots to get Alex out of the piercing eye of the camera, or at least make times like those more tolerable, like he did today.

A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of Alex’s mind. It was a few years back, when Alex was still with Red Bull and George was testing the limits of Williams. They’d been conducting post-race interviews, or Alex had, at least; George had appeared out of the mess of drivers and PR accomplices to kind of hover in the background of Alex’s frame, looming in a typical George-like manner.

Alex had really wanted to forget the whole race the second it ended– as if she couldn’t see Christian Horner shaking his head over the displays, as if all today accomplished wasn’t just a chance to give the public another set of Alex’s average speeds to be endlessly compared with Max’s– but the interviewer was dragging his heels, forcing one word answers into paragraphs of speculation.

At one point, the guy had pointed out a bloody scrape showing through Alex’s undershirt. She’d accidentally caught the skin against the edge of her car when she was getting out, but doubtless it would be used as just another chance to prove Alex wasn’t fit for the car or the team didn’t care about her or whatever. Alex wanted to leave, but the interviewer wouldn’t leave well enough alone, which meant it was time for more drastic measures.

She had rolled her eyes, then made some asinine one-liner about how that wasn’t the first time blood had shown up against a race suit. Jokes about periods always get the same awkward shuffling feet and vague mumbling about getting someone else to talk to. It’s a fairly dependable constant.

Everyone was uncomfortable, which was exactly what Alex wanted, because when they’re uncomfortable they don’t want her there anymore and she can leave. The interviewer already looked like he wished he could stab himself through the eyes with the metal straw Lewis was sipping through earlier that day, but George— George was still grinning. Fondly. And not at all put off. 

Freak. Alex was kind of fascinated by him. Still is. If anything, the fascination has multiplied.

And that makes it sound like— but it’s not—

Alex has known George almost her entire life. As long as it mattered, really. Recently, though, she’s started thinking. About George. In ways that she had not before. 

Because, at the end of the day, there is something to George Russell that Alex might have missed the first time around. Something she only noticed when he was getting out of the car, peeling off the outer layer of his race suit so she had no choice but to stare at the fireproofs skin tight against him. Or when he posted a hundred different shirtless selfies, practically daring her to look. It is not hard to look. Not at George. 

George, who’s had her back since they were kids. George, who randomly interrupts her interviews to call her a warrior. Who goes on podcasts to go on long tangents about how Alex deserves better than she gets and calls her proper quick despite the fact that she’s past the days of winning everything. He’s in a Mercedes now, she’s in the dusty contrail of his speeding jet, and George still has the time of day to give to her. Maybe he’s the type of guy to deserve her looking. 

It makes Alex seek him out more, even more than she did before. It makes her do risky, stupid things, like pull George into her driver’s room after another Thursday debrief so they can hypothetically make fun of all that was said that day but mainly just so she can sit right by him and look.

George is apparently immune to the looking. Alex is observing him like she’s one of the thousands of spectators out there, goggle-eyed and hopeless, but George seems not to notice it at all. Perhaps she should invest in a homemade sign or something. Maybe even a cardboard cutout of his face.

“There were quite a number of rumors about you today,” George is in the midst of noting, “mainly that you’re going to be switching teams already. If you are, can you tell me now so I can place bets?”

Alex laughs. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, at least. Tell your fellow gamblers to cool it.”

George makes an elaborate display of shrugging. “You can’t be too sure of yourself. Ferrari’s always on the lookout for a new driver lineup, apparently, and McLaren’ll never pass up the chance for fresh blood.”

“I don’t want to give Zak Brown any of my blood,” Alex asserts, “But Ferrari would certainly be something. I’m sure the bad strategy is made up by other things like salaries and teammates. Charles is a pretty boy, isn’t he? That would help with the rest of it.”

George makes a sort of squawking noise in the back of his throat. Alex can’t honestly tell if he’s embarrassed for Charles’ sake or what, but there’s a hot pink shock of blush sitting high on his cheekbones now, starting to mottle his neck. “Did you just call Charles pretty?”

Alex’s nod is exaggeratedly slow, just to be obstinate. “Yes, I did. Boys can be pretty. Don’t forget what century you’re in, Georgie. We’re forward thinkers now.” She narrows her eyes a little, sensing weakness, then— “You’re pretty too, y’know that? Eyelashes and all.”

This, then, is the source of tension. George genuinely squirms in his seat, hands clenched on the armrests of his chair like he fully expects to melt into the floor if he isn’t white-knuckling the thing. “That’s— that’s not— I wasn’t trying to angle for a compliment.”

“You didn’t have to,” Alex says, divinely pleased with herself, “I gave it out anyway. Consider me in a charitable mood.”

George rolls his eyes. “Since when have you been charitable?”

Alex scoffs. “Since forever. I volunteer, y’know. I have been spotted giving caps to children.”

George settles back into his seat, a comfortable smile on his face. “I know. I take it back. You’ve always been good.” 

It is, all things considered, a very simple thing to say. You have always been good. Good is subjective. The idea of Alex that exists in George’s head, the one that is good, she’s subjective too, not quite real but close enough. Alex wonders what that girl must be like, good enough to ease the annoyance of a friend’s teasing, enough to– to make up for the fact that it’s her, that it’s Alex, or maybe that was why George was here in the first place, because the Alex that won him over was the real Alex all along.

And it’s stupid because– Have you ever been alone in a room with a boy? The whole space is empty but he sits right next to you. And he’s looking at you like the sun, like the stars, like even as you blind him, he’s never seen anything better and he’ll keep on staring, just to see what else you can do. You’ve gone your whole life swearing up and down that just because you’re the only female driver on the grid, that doesn’t mean you’ll fall in love with the first male driver to stop and look at you twice, but.

George is looking at Alex, eyes half-lidded, mouth open slightly, mid-gasp without a sound, and Alex isn’t falling in love because she wouldn’t do that. If she did, though, she thinks it would not be the worst thing ever. She can hear her heartbeat echoing in her ears, loud as the drums race organizers bring out in the bands for their anthem before lights out and away we go. Just as bad, too, because the sound is tripping over itself, speeding up and slowing down and absolutely erratic.

Alex can feel her entire chest constricting, ribs bruising as they bend against each other. George tilts his head to the side, concern flickering over his expression. “Are you alright?”

No. “Yes,” Alex says. No. 

George seems to believe this about as much as Alex does, and he reaches up to touch Alex’s forehead, two fingers exactly perpendicular against the warm flush of Alex’s skin. It’s so grandmotherly it’s almost ridiculous, George pursing his lips like he’s going to prescribe hot soup or a good night’s sleep or something else motherly and terrible, but instead he just shrugs and says that he doesn’t feel a fever. Alex doesn’t know if she’s more hurt by the dismissal or when George takes his hand away.

“You’re probably fine,” George tells her. 

He’s leaned away again, but he keeps a firm hold on the same two fingers that had touched her skin like he’s nursing a cut, like having any contact with Alex should be imprinted into him forever. It makes Alex want to touch him again, forever, and never let go. They could be joined together at the hip physically instead of just metaphorically. It probably wouldn’t mess with racing that badly.

She lets out a weak chuckle. “Is that your expert opinion, Dr. Russell?”

George flushes, embarrassed, and looks away. “You probably won’t lose any limbs or anything.”

Alex cackles. “I should hope not. You’d have a terrible medical practice if I came in for a fever and you did, like, an amputation or something.”

George snorts. “It’s only the natural response to a fever, of course.”

He eyes Alex again as he says it, eyes rolling down her body as he mumbles the words natural response. Alex leans forward slightly, and George mirrors her by impulse. “Is that all that doctors do for their patients?” She asks under her breath. Not her best attempt at dirty talk, but she doesn’t really have the power to think of anything else more impressive.

It works, anyway. George shakes once, all over, a sort of head to toe shiver that forces the breath from his lungs. Alex can actually hear it as George’s words hitch in his throat, but there’s a sharp rap on the door before either of them can find out how he’ll respond.

George flies away from Alex, practically leaping off of the sofa as he attempts to quickly create distance between them. It’s a good thing that their intruder just stays on the other side of the door, announcing themselves to be Alex’s PR manager needing her to come out for another round of interviews before leaving, because George is panting like he’s run a footrace, all in the effort to make it seem like nothing had happened here at all.

Hadn’t it? Even as George announces that he’d better go since Alex is busy now, and even as Alex unhappily stands up at last to go face the dozen TikToks they’ll force her to make before she can escape again, she glances back one last time at the room before she leaves. It’s as if she’s expecting to see something there, some sign of the heavy tension that had been there just moments ago.

Nothing. Just creased pillows and an empty sofa. Alex indulges herself in a brief fantasy that there had been a better reason for that other than a brief conversation, but it can’t last long. She’s got media duties to scoff at, and she’s learned long ago that it’s better not to think excessively about George while there’s a camera in her face. For some reason, it causes her to lose all sense of what she’s saying.

The idea that something else could have happened, though, lingers in Alex’s head far longer than it should. It sticks around through free practice, appears in her thoughts after qualifying, even pops out of her head briefly during the race itself. 

It’s turn four, Alex brakes as late as she dares, and as she pushes her foot decisively back onto the accelerator, her brain has the audacity to ask if maybe George would have touched her if they had stayed in that room even a little longer. 

He had wanted to, maybe. His fingers had been clenching and unclenching the whole time, flickering in invisible piano-chord patterns ever closer to that gap where his leg ended and hers began. Senna, turning over in his grave, if you no longer go for a gap that exists, you’re no longer a racing driver. 

This is what dumbstruck boys get you, then. At this point, Alex is feeling practically delusional. Half a second later, she remembers that she’s still, like, in a car, which is a more pressing matter to attend to than musings on what could’ve happened if more stars aligned, but. She does ask over the radio where George ended up when the race has finished, and she uses that information to decide to ask George to show up to her hotel room after night begins to fall.

This is no uncommon occurrence. The two of them often meet up at someone’s house or another’s room. It’s a more efficient vehicle for random conversations than extended phone calls. George appears at her threshold within ten minutes, panting slightly, and it could just be Alex’s overactive imagination, but she swears he looks nervous, like he wants something. They both do. Alex just has to be sure that it’s the same thing and not something grievously, totally different.

“So,” she says boldly. “Uh. Good race.”

George looks at her askance. “Yeah, thanks.”

God, it’s like they’re work acquaintances. Alex wants to die. How is it that she wants more, but the second she tries to say that, she becomes even less?

Second time’s the charm. She clears her throat. “I wanted to ask you something. About when we were in my driver’s room. Someone came in before– but I wanted to know if you, if we, were going to do anything if that hadn’t happened, and. Yeah.”

She is terrible. George still looks taken aback. “Oh, on Thursday? I don’t know, someone came in,” he repeats.

Alex is going to scream. “They did. If they didn’t, though.”

George swallows. “Right. I– I think I would have wanted something.”

As if that isn’t the vaguest thing that George could have possibly said. “Something?” Alex asks. "Like what, a new front wing?”

George sighs, exasperated. “No, Alex, like you.”

It hangs in the air for a while. Alex thinks that if she tried hard enough, she could actually see the words printed into the very oxygen she’s breathing. Like you. Alex, like you.

In retrospect, silence is not a good way to address such a thing. George, who has always been tense, who will always overthink things to the point of mental anguish, takes this as a sign that he misread the situation, and damage control is launched accordingly.

“Forget it,” George says abruptly, “This isn’t– Just forget it, alright? I’ll see you next week.”

He’s out of the door before Alex knows what’s going on. Alex stares open mouthed at the exit, a thousand thoughts churning through his head. As if Alex could just forget it. The idea is such an impossibility that it’s almost laughable.

Because– because Alex remembers what it was like, being young, being kids. Together. Alone in her house or his. A dozen inside jokes no one else gets. A hundred side eyes and bitten tongues and uncontrollable laughs. Alex ran away from it all when she was kicked off of Red Bull, when she was certain that it would never again be what it was– George her muse, Alex his idol, both of them the best and neither of them out of it. Running, though, running robbed her of it all. Alex wants it all more than she ever has before.

And maybe they’ll never have a podium together, and maybe Alex will never be at the top step of their pyramid anymore, but at this moment they’re two ships passing in the night, George relinquishing the Williams seat so he can hand it off to Alex, and maybe– maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s enough. If she tries hard enough, she can make it enough. Maybe he’d want it to be enough too.

Maybe he already did. Alex’s stomach twists as she thinks back to everything George has said to her over the recent months. He’s always been so genuine, says each word like he means it more than anything, but he’s put something extra into them as of late, something special. His hands move more when he speaks, maybe that’s it. Alex has taken the time to observe every digit, every ungnawed cuticle, every knuckle and bit of bone straining against the skin. 

She’s watching for something, waiting for it to happen, and then in a clap of mental thunder Alex realizes that what she is waiting for has already occurred. George has already given her the go-ahead. Has many times over. Alex wasn’t aware of it because she was too scared to look, too afraid to ruin something good, but. Alex is looking now, and a far worse thing would be to have this before her and let it go.

Alex thinks about George wringing his hands and apologizing too much, lunging into her room before she barely even called him, second guessing and blindly firing and doing everything in his power to keep her. It’s stupidly charming, and overwhelmingly off putting at the same time, but it’s George, and it’s what Alex wants. Alex wants George. Alex wants George more than she has wanted anything. At times like this, she thinks she might give up anything else, that top step of the podium, the sweet taste of champagne scorching down her throat, if it meant she might be able to taste him, too.

Alex throws herself out of the room. George hasn’t made it that far, even despite his long, reedy legs, dragging each footstep like his shoes have been weighed down with iron. By contrast, Alex is jetting down the hall, sprinting out of her door so fast she’s not entirely sure that both her feet are ever touching the ground. She catches up to George in about half a heartbeat, thinks, fastest, thinks, pole position, and kisses him. 

George goes as still as a statue. Alex is still moving when she hits him and does this abrupt careening around thing where her acceleration is still carrying her past him down the hall even as their lips connect. George has to catch her around the middle so she doesn’t fall over, his hands clumsily connecting at her waist, but at least that means he’s still thinking, because Alex’s brain shut off the second his mouth was on hers.

George has always been the thinker, though. George, sitting up late in the corner of the Albon family basement, blue eyes wide as he tucks his feet under himself and continues to extoll the virtues of minimized tire degradation, George, finally eye level with her and not looking up, matter-of-factly informing Alex that of course they’ll both be in Formula One together, are you kidding. 

George today, brain whirring into overdrive, whose first thought isn’t to ask Alex what in the hell she’s doing but to urge the two of them to get back into her room before someone sees. Alex has no problem in accepting. Where he goes, she does too. They kind of work out like that.

And, when Alex wakes up lazy and late the next morning, when the first thing she spots is George’s shirt on the ground right next to hers, she remembers how well they work out, too. She stretches and yawns widely, flopping onto her back to discover that a) George is already awake, probably for hours (weirdo), and b) is now intimately connected with the most trustworthy news sources his phone can offer instead of with her (double weirdo). 

Alex arches a brow over at him from where she still lies, tangled in linen sheets of a thread count that are probably higher than both their salaries. “Nothing like a fresh economic roundup to get you pumped to start your morning, huh, Georgie?”

George tends to pair a dramatic sigh with his eye rolls, Alex observes fondly. “There’s nothing wrong with staying informed, Alex. I’m not looking at the business section, though. I’m reading about us. Tabloids.”

For a moment, Alex’s heart freezes in her chest. She hadn’t counted on getting found out this quickly, and god, how could they, unless Red Bull really did want to capitalize on her downfall and, like, paid for a secret investigator to follow her around and take photos when she finally caved and pursued her best friend. Which, weird, but kind of foreseeable, too. They’d probably done it to Pierre at least once. 

She scavenges about for her phone on the nightstand beside her and turns it on, typing geogre rhssel abd alrx albon tkgrther??? into the Safari search bar. She’s damn near unintelligible in her haste, but the search engine knows what she’s getting at and delivers anyway. Praise be. 

Alex is expecting grainy surveillance photos of them making out in the hallway or something like that, but instead, she’s just greeted with more talk pieces on their long history together since they were karting kids, a few rumors here and there about what might be but nothing more than mere speculation.

“It’s okay,” she reassures George at last, “They don’t know.”

George frowns, still not entirely convinced. “It’s weird timing on a lot of these. At least three or four fan gossip pages put out stuff all last night. Why’d they all do it at the same time if they didn’t see?”

Alex shrugs. “Maybe they got bored, I don’t know. Odds are they saw us talking at the paddock earlier and decided to play off of interest so they posted.”

George counters, “Or, they might have posted, because we were, you know, we were kind of, uh, obvious, and–”

“We’re fine,” Alex says, rolling her eyes, “They don’t have anything new, just repeating the same stuff about how we might be fucking. No proof. Everyone’s dragging them for getting into pointless rumors.”

“Good,” George says, nodding his head emphatically like he’s committing every word to memory. “I don’t want anyone finding out that I– that we–” He can’t finish the sentence, unable to say more than a few words towards the audacious subject without tripping over the syllables.

Alex can guess at his meaning anyway, though, and it makes her laugh.

“What, you don’t want our bosses bringing up your potential plans to deflower me or something at the next team meeting, do you?” Alex says, cackling. 

George’s cheeks turn an alarming shade of Ferrari red. “No. Not that.”

Still. Alex can’t tease him for blushing, because her cheeks have gone hot at the thought of it. If George were to– if they– It was a little late for that, of course, but if he really was the first–

“Your reputation remains intact,” Alex says, reassuring George of the truth but kind of herself, too. They’re both fine. No one knows. Wouldn’t it be something if they did, though. What they could do if they didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

Sometimes, Alex thinks that she does actually want to get caught. It would make sense. Every time she gets up the morning after, because it does happen again, despite both of them never formally saying it was a one time thing but kind of fearing it would be, anyway, every time she finds that they actually forgot to lock the door or they make out in one of the driver’s rooms such that you can still hear people going back and forth outside it, she remembers. George does too. 

In fact, she thinks he likes it even better than she does. George Russell, newest boy to Mercedes, soon to a race win (everyone can feel it coming, even if it hasn’t yet), our glorious prodigy coming into everything, and the one who managed to get Alex’s heart, too, while he was at it. Heart and hands, body and soul. All of it. George has all of it.

It gets easier as time goes on, if that were even possible at all. How much can you improve upon a good thing when it already seems perfect? It’s like fine tuning a rear wing or shaving off seconds from a suspension. Alex never thought she’d describe love with something as insipid as car parts, but she has a sneaking suspicion that George might find it rather romantic. It’s relevant, at least, so that should count for something.

George would appreciate the practicality, at least. George would appreciate her. Does. Always does. Alex wakes up one morning, hair a mess, not sure which of their rooms she’s in nor if she had the presence of mind to carry her high heels back from the bar she’d been wasted at last night, and George still looks at her like she’s a work of art. He’s endearingly fond of her, which makes it even easier to be fond of him. 

Alex thinks that she could be persuaded to stay here forever, lingering in this in between space of his-and-hers, the room belonging to both of them until she figures out which one of them has their name scrawled on the key card, but unfortunately there are still meetings to go to, interviews to conduct, engineers and team principles to appease. 

Alex drags herself out of bed, grabbing the closest clean clothes before scraping at her hair with a brush and considering the whole affair handled as best it can be. Behind her, George’s figure appears out of the early morning shower mist on the bathroom mirror, the edges of his reflected skin and hair feathered over with steam. 

“What do you think?” Alex asks, gesturing vaguely to herself with a languid hand, “Vogue cover ready?”

George snorts. “Oh, always. Do you have to head out already?”

“If I didn’t have to be somewhere soon, I would have slept in until noon,” Alex notes. 

George hums in agreement. “So professional of you.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “You know me. Word on the street is that I’m highly coveted by all the teams for my winning mindset. That’s why they want me at the factory all the time, so no one can entice me away with a different contract offer.”

George laughs even despite the bad joke, then reaches to pluck at the fabric of Alex’s attire with a knowing, almost possessive, air of triumph. 

“That’s my old shirt,” George observes, “You might want to change before you go out or someone’ll notice.”

Alex checks herself in the mirror, then shakes her head. George hasn’t gotten rid of all his old team kits, as it turns out; although this Williams tee isn’t Alex’s, it’ll do well enough. “It’s the same logo, how would they know it’s yours? It’s not got your name on it or anything.”

George’s eyes widen behind Alex in the mirror, veritable oceans swimming in the hazy glow of the hotel bathroom lighting. “What if they photograph you?”

Alex shrugs. “We’re the only ones who’ll know,” she tells George.

“Just us,” George agrees, but his hands coil in the extra fabric at the hem of her shirt, a silent reminder that it’s his, his shirt, his hotel room, and maybe– maybe Alex too, his.

The thought sends a hot shock coursing through Alex, pooling in her lower back near where George’s fingers still press against the fabric. She almost expects George to yank his hand back from an electric pulse when his knuckles accidentally brush her skin, but instead, he leans into the touch, and doesn’t let go until the stray buzzing from Alex’s phone grows insistent and it becomes clear that they can hide out here no longer.

Alex leaves first; George isn’t needed for half an hour after Alex, and they’re not stupid enough to leave a hotel together the morning after a drunken celebration. Not yet, at least. Idling listlessly in the elevator as it slowly ferries her down from the relative heaven of George’s hotel room, Alex thinks that it would be something to lose the last of her wisdom soon enough, to let the paparazzi catch her walking out of their shared hotel room, heels in her hands, dress from last night rucked up around her knees so she can walk.

Maybe she should tell George about it. She can imagine his reaction already, but the temptation of vocalizing it brings with it a sort of delicious rush that isn’t easily ignored. A ding echoes somewhere from the circuitry behind the wall of the elevator, and she steps out from the sliding doors, nodding at the receptionist before crossing the threshold.

The brightness of the morning blinds Alex when she walks outside. Somewhere out there, a car waits to carry her away, but for now, Alex lets the shocking sunlight bleach her clean of any expectations of driving or team principles or anything, anything at all. 

She makes it halfway across the asphalt before giving in to the Orpheus-like temptation to turn back. Shading her eyes with her hand, Alex’s eyes chase the floors level by level until she finds one room in particular, one man who’s already gone to the trouble of throwing up the drapes on his window so he can peer out at the scene below. At her. She is in his shirt; was just in his room, in his bed; in his gaze now too, held and treasured.

Alex looks up at him and grins. “Good morning, Georgie.”

He can’t hear her. It doesn’t matter. They’ll have plenty of time for talking– and not– in the days and months and years to come. Just as before; so after, too. Alex would not want it any other way.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Wasn't going to enter into this ask game till I saw 8 and went 'adel' lol

If you wanna, write about something mundane in any au you want :3

Have an amazing day/night (I don't know the time where you are, lol)

HA how sad is it that literally anyone who has followed my blog for more than five seconds knows that I torture Abel XD

Any AU I want?? :D All righty, Imprisoning War blorbos it is!!

Ganondorf had spent most of the day examining maps of Castle Town, trying to ascertain the best way to enter the city before he could be heavily intercepted. He still had no idea where they kept the Triforce, but he suspected it had to be close to the castle. He knew he would have to cut through their pitiful excuse for an army either way, but the faster he could get to his prize, the better. But now that the sun was setting, he found himself growing weary of being huddled over the table and opted to search for his family instead. After all, this was his first time back in Gerudo territory in several months.

It didn’t take long to hunt down his son, who often relaxed by the waters of the oasis after a long day’s work. His boy had been tasked with obtaining supplies for the warriors, and Ganondorf could tell, based on the increased stock in the barracks, that he had accomplished it.

He smiled, proud. He was constantly impressed and surprised at the gift of his family. And they would help him rise to greatness… they would rise to greatness as well. Their victory was so assured he could envision it clearly in his mind. He just needed a little more time to strong arm the king.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked as he approached the boy.

“She’s been talking to that Sheikah guy,” he answered. “Sounded like he and Hemisi are really hitting it off.”

“Yes,” Ganondorf agreed, contemplating the matter. The boy had been polite enough, and most importantly he was one of the higher ranking guards in the castle – Hemisi could eliminate him easily in the fight with such a relationship developing. He wasn’t entirely sure why it made him so… uneasy, though. “And do you know where they are now?”

“Sparring hall, I heard.”

Sparring? Ah, what a clever girl his daughter was. She could easily learn his fighting abilities to better her chances of killing him on the night of the assault. Perfect.

Curious, Ganondorf headed towards the sparring arena as well. With the evening light it provided enough shade, canopies of cloth covering the blinding light so the two fighters could better see their environment. Hemisi stood on one end, twin swords in her hands, amber eyes glaring fiercely at her opponent as a smile pulled at her face. Orik, the Sheikah boy, stood opposite of her, stripped down to a sleeveless purple undertunic and dark brown trousers, clearly not acclimated to the heat of the desert. His platinum blonde hair glowed in the sunset as he watched her sharply, his red eyes narrowed in focus. He had a traditional Sheikah blade in his hands, thinner than the scimitars Hemisi was utilizing.

“Nice of you to join us, dear,” Nabooru said quietly as she raised her hand in the air before snapping, and the match began.

Hemisi took the first move, as she always did. His daughter was an aggressive fighter, as bold with her swords as she was with her words and actions outside of battle. Orik parried it easily, his strength matching hers. Hemisi didn’t waste a second as they stood in a saber lock, kicking one of her feet forward to try and incapacitate the Sheikah at the knees. Orik grunted when her kick got him right on the kneecap, losing his footing a little. Hemisi pushed forward more, swinging her right blade towards his neck. Ganondorf expected another parry or a retreat, assuming the boy could keep up at all, but instead, Orik took the opening that Hemisi left, her torso exposed as she swung inward, and jabbed his sword straight ahead, letting it stop at her chest just as he almost ducked from her blade. The pair froze, knowing the match was over in an instant, a near draw the result. Ganondorf felt himself uncrossing his arms in mild surprise.

“You must expect everyone to be too slow,” Orik commented with a smirk.

“The Hylians usually are,” Hemisi insisted. “Or too gullible.”

Orik’s little smile disappeared in confusion as Hemisi swatted his sword away and tackled him to the ground. He laughed, letting her rest atop him, and she dipped in for a kiss.

Nabooru cleared her throat loudly. Hemisi and the boy froze, seeming to have forgotten that her parents were right there, and they broke apart quickly.

Ganondorf glared at the boy, who shriveled into the sand.

This was going to become a problem, wasn’t it?

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Hi!! What’s ur writing process like? I love ur stories so much they’re very well-written and filled with so much information/emotion and are very detailed! This may be silly because this part may come naturally to u but do u also have any tips on how to be more detailed in writing? Sorry if this is silly, I just really admire ur work! 😊

not silly at all anon!!! 🥺 tysm for your sweet words, i’m more than happy to answer any writing questions even if i….. honestly don’t really know what i’m doing most of the time LMAO.

my writing process in general is this!!

1/ cry

2/ throw up

3/ words.

….. JOKES ASIDE. well. my writing process is kind of a mess, anon!! :’3 the way it usually goes is that i get an idea stuck in my head, write some kind of outline for it, daydream about it and then… procrastinate on writing it until the day i want to post it 😭😭 WHICH IS. very bad. don’t do that. it’s better to take your time and work a little every day, sadly my brain just… genuinely can’t work like that and i hate it </3

this might sound a little silly but. for me to actually sit down and lock in on writing, the conditions need to be. perfect 😔 i can’t be too sleepy or restless, i need to have some kind of drink and treat for emotional support, etc… but i think that kinda stuff shouldn’t be ignored!! some people can only really write when they’re in a certain place (café, at home, etc), or when they’re listening to certain music, and so on!! so if you want to get into writing it’s a good idea to find out what environment and conditions are most ideal for you :33

as for writing with more detail!!! i’m assuming you mean descriptions and stuff? :> i think it’s something that comes to you naturally after you’ve built it up enough in your writing routine, but that can take some time!! atp it’s not something i really Think about, but when i first started out i don’t think i fixated much on descriptions at all….. so never feel silly for asking!!! the only real advice i can think of is just to really zero in on what you’re describing. an action, an object, a person — and so on!! like, if a character lifts their hand, you could describe it like that word for word, right? but you could also zero in on the exact movement, their fingers, their sleeve slipping down. and stuff :3 it’s really fun to me because there’s just… sooo many different things you could focus on or let the reader know about. descriptions are a kind of dissection and i think it’s most fun when you’re really getting deep, you know?

i hope that makes sense!!! basically, just. have fun with it!! visualize the scene inside your brain. it’s also generally really really helpful to remember to include all senses in your descriptions — not just sight, but also smell, sound, touch, and so on!!! that’s a great way to make your writing more descriptive, especially if you want to build up a certain atmosphere. if your character is stepping onto a beach, and you describe what the sea looks like, but also the seasalt-scent in the air, the warm sand under their feet, the laughter around them… then it’ll add a lot to the overall vibe.

OHHH and and and!!! show, don’t tell is another helpful rule of thumb!!!! if you try not to outright say what a character is feeling, but instead show it through different tells, it’ll make your writing feel more descriptive right away, since you’ll probably end up focusing a lot on little movements and actions :3 ….. i’m not really one to talk though because i’m. kinda bad at show don’t tell. but it’s a great tool nonetheless!!!!

okay, i think . that’s all the advice i have… again, i really hope it can help you some, anon!! 🥺 pls remember to experiment and have fun first and foremost, you can always go back to your pieces and add stuff after you’re done writing your little heart out. good luck and remember that me and the mice are cheering you on in your writing journey always 🫡🫡🫡

[jareaulover]

Rejection (Hotchreid)

A/N: I really liked this prompt, I've been wanting to write something with unrequited feelings for a while and I thought this was a good chance. Thank you to @nico5580 for the prompt!! <3 It's pretty short, but that's alright.

Full story below cut, or read on AO3

Word count: 865

“Reid, when you finish your case report Hotch wants to see you in his office.” JJ said as she passed his desk on the way back to her office. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed. What could Hotch want to talk to him about? His performance had been perfect as of late, and he’d completely kicked his dilaudid habit, and he’d been regularly attending AA meetings. So what else was there?

Spencer finished writing his case report fairly quickly and made his way to his supervisor’s office. He felt his heartbeat speed up as he approached the door, his palms started sweating and he had to remind himself to breathe normally. This wasn’t too atypical, though. He’d developed feelings for the older man quite some time ago. And he liked to think that he hid it pretty well. Growing up in an emotionally unstable environment with no one to really confide in had made it easy for him to keep things in.

But, of course, that was to the untrained eye. And Spencer spent most of his time around extremely well trained eyes…

He knocked on the wooden door twice, and then waited. It only took a moment for Hotch’s voice to come through the door, “Come in.” He said, and Spencer obeyed. He opened the door and entered the man’s office. He quickly took a seat in one of the chairs across from Aaron’s desk. He rested one hand on each knee and looked at Hotch expectantly.

Aaron looked at him for a few seconds, almost like he was studying him. His eyes were narrowed, as they usually were, and trained on Spencer. The younger man felt himself begin to sweat under the gaze of his boss.

“What, um,” Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, “What did you want to talk about?” He asked, carefully. He inwardly celebrated the fact that he had kept his voice so even. This was Hotch, there was no need for Spencer to be so nervous.

“Recently it has come to my attention that you may be harboring certain feelings for a member of this team.” Hotch started, speaking in that overly professional voice of his. Spencer took in a sharp breath, averting his eyes from the man in front of him. His heartbeat was speeding up again, and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh…” He said, lamely. He wasn’t sure how to respond. What had Hotch said again? ‘A certain member of this team’ so maybe… Maybe he didn’t know that it was him. Hotchner continued talking.

“I’ve known for a while, though, Spencer. Even before Derek mentioned it…” His boss admitted, “I’d had my suspicions, but he confirmed it.” Spencer was mentally cursing his coworker/friend. It wasn’t like he had told Derek, but the man was a great profiler and had known Spencer for a long time.

“I-I don’t know what to say…” Spencer said, quietly. He kept his eyes trained down on the carpet, studying the dark material like it would give him all of the answers that he would need.

Things were quiet for a minute, neither man was sure what to say. Aaron broke the silence with a sigh.

“Reid, listen…” He started. Spencer’s heart stung from the rejection that he knew was coming, “I think that its relatively normal to develop certain feelings for someone in a place of authority over you. But it’s just… It’s not something that can work out. Do you understand?” He asked. Spencer bit his lip.

“Um, yes. I-I understand.” Spencer said, barely above a whisper. He didn’t trust his voice, if he spoke any louder he was afraid that he would cry.

“I’m really sorry, Spencer. Is there anything I can do…?” He started to offer, but Spencer shot up from his seat and headed for the door, “Reid-”

“It’s alright, Hotch. Good talk. Um, I’m fine, I’m-” He pursed his lips and pushed through the door, walking out into the bullpen. He quickly gathered his things and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. It was late, anyway, and he needed to be getting home.

“Reid!” He heard Aaron call from the doorway of his office, but he was already halfway to the elevator by then. He pressed the down button, 5 times in quick succession before the doors finally opened and he stepped in. He could hear Aaron’s footsteps approaching the elevator, but the doors close before he go there. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief as the machine began moving down.

The commute home was normal, and once he was in his apartment, he finally let the tears fall. He had known it was stupid as soon as he realized that the feelings he held for Hotch were more than what he held for the other members of his team. Spencer only wished he had been better at hiding the feelings…

He finally got to sleep around 3 am, but at 3:45 his phone went off.

Spencer lifted the device and stared at the text on his screen.

Hotchner: We’ve got a case.

Spencer sighed and got out of bed. This was going to be a long one…

[raccoonfallsharder]

I read recently that you answered a similar question, so I wanted to ask you for some advice with description in general, (character actions, description of environment or scenery, what is happening at that moment, etc) I have a lot of problems with this. If I want to describe the scenery, I don't know what else to say besides the color of the sky xD I've always had that problem and when I read what I write I feel it's very basic and childish.

For example, I wrote something like this, "The weather couldn't be more perfect, the sky was clear with not a single cloud obstructing that deep bright blue, the breeze was so soft it caressed my skin and the waves were gently lapping." So I read this and I say, how boring, I feel like I'm not connecting with this, and it happens to me mostly when I want to describe a person's actions, for example, if they are smiling and then someone says something to them that bothers them, how they react? I don't know how to describe it.

So I wanted to ask you for advice because since I read your first fic I thought "this is it, this is what I want to get to with my writing" I hope you don't mind my asking and I hope you're doing great, I always read all your fics even if I don't comment <3.

sweet little sugar snap pea. ♡ first of all, you are so lovely and kind. thank you for honoring me with this ask. it's a privilege and i am really grateful you think so well of my writing. truly, it means a lot. i took some time to think about this because it was important to me to give you a real answer. i'm also gonna come back and reblog this later with some thoughts on writing peoples reactions/perspectives? for now, i'm just going to focus on writing environments, if that's okay? sorry i just write too fucken much all the time ꃋᴖꃋ ♡♡

so as always, i'll preface this with the reminder that everyones' writing style is unique and brings something precious to the table, and while we can always grow and enrich our writing, what you create is wonderfully you. what we want is for you to figure out how to tap into your own style more fully, more authentically, and more clearly. i don't think there's anything wrong with the excerpt you shared, and i can also see where you might want to make it more identifiably you.

here are some things that have worked for me personally:

firstly: i take out my "telling not showing" sentences. i might draft it with the sky was perfect, but on revision, i usually remove it because it's too heavy. i don't want to tell my reader that the sky was perfect. i want them to interpret it from how i've described it. i don't want to say the kiss was good - i want them to know what it tasted like or the way it made their nerves pop and snap and sizzle. i don't want to say he had beautiful eyes - i want you to be able to see his eyes, like warm caramel or copper pennies. you don't even need to replace a sentence like the sky is perfect - you can just remove it entirely.

secondly, when i'm stuck in a rut, like, "oh, i've described a sky like this a hundred times", or even, "i've read skies like this described a hundred times," i honestly just do some writing exercises. the result is that i'll either find a description i like, or i'll create new material to use at a later date - or i'll just get practice thinking about things in different ways.

so let's take this sky example from your excerpt: the sky was clear with not a single cloud obstructing that deep bright blue.

i might ask, "what tangible thing is this sky like, and what would i want to do in it." then i try to reframe it so i don't use a direct simile.

the sky was an ocean

the sky was so deep and clear you could dive into it and not surface for days.

i might ask, "what other senses can i use to experience this sky, beyond sight." (taste, smell, sound, touch)

the sky was empty and clean

you could breathe that sky in, and your lungs would only feel crisp and bright, and everything would smell like water lilies for the rest of the week.

i might try to describe the sky from the perspective of something else in the scene.

this seems like maybe a beach because you'd mention waves so I''m gonna say there are seagulls

the seagulls wheeled in the sky, getting lost without any clouds to serve as landmarks.

i might say, what is the emotional quality of the scene? when the character looks at it, what do they feel? what does it make them want? i think you want this scene to be calming but we're gonna try a bunch of different emotional lenses:

calming: they could have wrapped themselves up in that infinite blue, and called it home.

harsh (angry/in shock): he stared at the sky. he'd never realized how severe and sharp it was, without any clouds to soften the edges.

grief: she wanted to lose herself in the cloudless blue. drown herself in it.

as a sidenote, i'm thinking of Wyndham; or, the Intergalactic Prometheus ♡ in which the thunderstorm sky is described as bruise-colored and rotten at various points when pearl-reader is miserable/afraid, and as rippling watercolor when she's feeling more relaxed. even the same sky takes on different qualities depending on the mood of the person experiencing it.

i might just say "fuck this sky; i'm gonna write a new one." sometimes this is fun because you get to see how the environmental/atmospheric tone changes the feeling of the scene.

it was storming: the purple clouds formed a quilt overhead, stitched through with lightning. the waves responded in kind: shattering softly on the shore, reflecting ribbons of swift-moving light.

jk it was foggy: the world was so misted over that he couldn't tell where the water ended and the sky began. the world was simply endless and dove-gray.

i also might just be like "i'm just gonna write something really weird and figure this out later." you've got a really rich scene here - gently lapping waves and a clear blue sky? you could do something weirdly symmetrical with them. like, between the sea and the sky, everything was so deep and blue that you couldn't tell if the soft hush of the waves was coming from above your head or at your feet. just play around with reality tbh

honestly i try to shy away from "advice" because everyone's approach needs to be tailored to them, but i would honestly say starting with some writing exercises is a great way to just explore your own style and how you want to think about things. other things you can do is literally go outside (or wherever) and close your eyes and really try to focus on every single sensation you're experiencing, and then write about it. fill pages. what did it remind you off? when you felt the breeze and it caressed your skin gently, did it also move the little hairs on your arms? did you feel it in places you don't normally pay attention to, like on your shoulders or the back of your neck? what did it smell like? what did it taste like? if it didn't have a taste, what would it taste like, if it did? do this whenever you can, in as many experiences as you can. sunrise at a beach. sunset on a mountaintop. golden hour in the deep woods. in front of a bonfire. at a park on the swings at midnight with friends. alone in a hot tub under a 2am snowfall. if you can't physically go there, imagine it. sink yourself into the daydream so deep you don't want to leave, and then just write. and write. and write. every sentence you put down, add one more. make it weirder, stranger, zoomed out, zoomed in, from a different perspective, a different sense, a different metaphor.

okay that's all for now and i know it's a lot and i'm sorry, but i hope it helps give you a place to start? and i will try to get back to you on writing reactions and facial expressions when i can parse through all my thoughts on those!

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 5: By Candlelight (Wax Play)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oh you know- just a normal trip to the Yankee candle store. Nothing suspicious here (/j, I promise there’s smut here I just wanted to make this joke)

Tags: Waxplay, oral, sensory play, slight masochism, sub/dom, aftercare, no penetration

Word Count: 1.8k

The Masterlist

You knelt on the floor of Spy’s room, his quarters being far more ornate than that of the other mercs. It seemed he took great efforts to make it more comfortable than the simple barracks that you were used to. The plush carpet cushioning your knees was evidence enough of that. The environment was perfect for an activity such as this.

Spy was preparing everything you would need just a few feet away. His body blocked the desk where he was working, hiding everything from view. You were tempted to lean over just enough to see past him, but the part of you that always strived to be good and obedient demanded you stay put. You were rewarded with a soft smile when he finally turned around to face you.

“You’re holding that position so well, darling. Such a well trained pet,” he said. You blushed bright at the praise, watching wide eyed as he approached, slowly circling around you. He was examining you, making sure you were in fact in the proper position and that every little detail was to his liking. You kept your eyes forward until he was once again standing in front of you. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

You looked up at Spy, who had dropped his dominant tone. He looked down at you, serious as could be. With a confident nod, you answered him. “Yes, I do.”

“Very well. Remember, we can stop whenever you want,” he assured you, reaching down to run his fingers through your hair.

“Yes sir,” you responded, leaning into his touch. You tried not to whine when he stopped petting you, walking back towards his desk.

He stood to the side this time, so you could see what he was preparing earlier. A pale, cylindrical candle stood at the center of the desk. It was cream colored, appearing slightly translucent. You gasped softly despite how prepared you had felt earlier. You knew Spy had wanted to try something new tonight, but he had kept it a surprise until now.

Spy clearly noticed your reaction. “We’ll take things slow, I promise,” he said, smiling softly. You nodded, steeling your nerves.

You watched as Spy retrieved his lighter from his pocket. The fire sparked to life with a flick of his thumb and he lit the candle before returning to your side and handing it to you. You took the candle, feeling the smooth texture of it on your palms as you held it securely with both hands.

“I want you to hold onto that,” Spy said. You made a soft sound of acknowledgement, watching the way the flame danced alluringly, the wick shortening, the wax melting, pooling, and dripping. “The wax will touch your hands eventually. It will burn for a moment, but no longer than that. You will be alright, and you may even learn to enjoy the pain,” he explained. “What you must remember is that you are safe. The fire itself will burn out before it even touches your skin.”

“I understand,” you answered diligently, finally managing to pull your gaze away from the fire to look up at Spy. “I trust you.”

It didn’t take long for the wax to begin dripping down the sides of the candle. You instinctively tensed up every time a drop got especially close to your skin until finally, it managed to reach your hand. You winced at first, but the pain faded almost as soon as you noticed it, the wax soon cooling and hardening on your skin.

From that point on you no longer watched with apprehension. You were almost in a trance-like state, hypnotized by how smoothly the wax dripped down the side of the candle, onto your hands, before cooling, layer after layer slowly encasing your skin.

“How does it feel so far?” Spy asked, watching you closely, ready to step in at any sign of discomfort.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” you admitted. “Actually, it’s not bad at all.”

“Perfect. You’re doing very well. Now, I want you to close your eyes,” Spy said. You looked confused for a moment, but did as you were told. Immediately, you understood why he wanted you to do this. Not being able to see the candle, being unable to watch as the wax dripped down to your skin, added an element of anticipation that you weren’t expecting. There was no way of knowing when the heat would make contact with your skin. The first few times you did feel it, you startled, your body jerking slightly.

“Easy now, ma chérie,” Spy soothed you. “You’re perfectly safe”

You let yourself be calmed by his words, slowly finding it easier to stay still, even as the hot wax continued to drip onto you. In fact, wax had covered your hands to the point that it didn’t even burn anymore, feeling more akin to a pleasant warmth. You were so focused on the sensation that you barely noticed the sound of a lighter igniting, nor the sound of Spy’s footsteps roaming the room before eventually returning to you.

“Open your eyes, darling.” When you did you were met with the sight of Spy standing in front of you, holding a lit candle of his own. He was rather intimidating, smirking down at you while you knelt before him like this. However it did give you a perfect view of the way his cock was tenting the fabric of his pants.

“I see you’re enjoying this,” you said with a grin. “What are you planning on doing with that?” You nodded towards the candle in his hand, its flame dancing erratically. Your eyes reflected the glow as you watched it, eager for whatever Spy had in store.

“I simply wanted to give you something to focus on for this next part,” he said, moving closer. You leaned forward slightly, lips already parted, but he stopped just short of your reach. “Now that your learning to enjoy the burn, we can move on to more sensitive areas.”

Spy eyed your breasts and you followed his gaze. With a deep breath, you pushed your chest forward, as if to display your willingness. The candle had already begun to melt onto Spy’s gloves, so without any further hesitation, he tilted the candle carefully, allowing wax to drip onto your chest. You glanced down, watching as the translucent drops cascaded down the curve of your breasts.

You shuddered, getting used to this new sensation all while the candle you were holding continued to shorten. With all your focus being on Spy, you didn’t notice when the wax cooled over your hands and onto your thighs. It startled you, making you gasp, but you managed to keep still.

The way Spy looked down at you in admiration made you swell with pride. You loved receiving his praise, knowing that you had pleased him. Still, you wanted more. You wanted to please him in other ways.

“Come closer, please,” you begged, leaning forward slightly. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Spy chuckled, unfastening his belt as he shifted within your reach. “Very well, chérie, but take it slow,” he warned. “Don’t let yourself become overwhelmed.” With his free hand, he pulled his slacks and briefs down enough to give you access, and you eagerly wrapped your lips around him, eliciting a soft groan.

You took him shallowly into your mouth at first, laving your tongue over the underside of his cock, trying to see just how many sounds you could pull from him before engulfing him further. When you did take him in more, you went at a gradual pace, bobbing your head slowly, slicking him up with your mouth and swirling your tongue around the head. He managed to maintain a steady hand, pouring small rivulets of wax down your back now. You shuddered, but you didn’t let it break your concentration, continuing until you could take him into your throat.

“Mon Dieu, that’s good darling,” Spy moaned, brushing his free hand over your head, petting you again, stroking your hair lovingly.

You became aware of the faint scent of smoke, realizing that the candle you were holding had burnt out, the wick becoming too short to sustain the flame. It gave off faint wisps of smoke in its final moments, and you cupped your hands, letting the last bit of wax pool over your palms. When it cooled, you flexed your fingers, feeling the still somewhat soft substance crumble in your hands.

Your attention was brought back to your current task when you felt Spy shudder, now gripping your hair. “I’m getting close, chérie,” he gasped. You made a soft sound of encouragement, taking him deep into the warmth of your mouth, eager to make him come.

Spy’s grip on your hair tightened as he passed the point of no return, falling off the precipice with a low groan. His hips shook as he resisted the urge to buck into your mouth. You moaned softly, swallowing his release, only pulling away when your hair was freed from his grasp. You grinned up at Spy, who looked thoroughly blissed out, the candle in his hand dripping over his gloves.

“Did I do well?” you asked, your voice slightly raspy. You already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Of course, mon amour. Très bien,” Spy sighed, fixing his clothing before kneeling down to your level. “You’re always so good for me.”

You peeled the wax from your hands and thighs while Spy assisted with your chest and the few drops that had made their way down your back as well. You found it oddly satisfying to remove the remains of what was once a full candle from your body until there was nothing left. Well, almost nothing. There was a slight waxy feeling on your skin left behind, but it was nothing a hot shower wouldn’t fix.

“This was nice,” you said, taking Spy’s hand as he helped you up. You felt pins and needles in your legs as the blood rushed back into them, making you stumble slightly. You were quickly caught by Spy, who held you upright, flush against his body.

“Now, we aren’t quite done yet, darling,” he said. You looked up at him in confusion before you were lifted, being carried bridal style. You kicked your legs absentmindedly as you tried to bring some feeling back into them. “First we both need a well deserved shower.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “And you’re going to carry me to the showers like this?” you asked, gesturing to your still very naked body. Spy simply motioned towards his watch in response. Ah, of course. Just one of the many perks of being romantically involved with someone who had the means to turn invisible.

“Besides, since it is so late there probably won’t be anyone else in the halls or showers at this time. Which would be ideal,” he said, smirking at you in a way that made you shiver. “After all, I have yet to make you feel as good as you made me feel, mon amour.”

[snapdragonling]

3, 6, 34, 35 and 69 for cian, sabine, and one more of your choosing!

thanks dear!! | 93 fun oc asks

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

cian — cian means "ancient" or "enduring". honestly now that i'm thinking about it his father probably gave him an elvish name as well, one that cian sadly doesn't feel much attachment to, but i'll need to think on that more. his mentor called him "boy" and i feel like he probably picked up some nicknames at weisshaupt.

sabine — her name comes from a pre-roman itallic tribe. in-universe i think it was just a name that her parents liked, maybe the name of a great-grandmother she never met. her older brother called her "bean" when she was little but since then her nicknames have been contained to "amaretti", "girl" (ulam), or any number of slurred insults. (until bran is on the scene and starts calling her sweetheart and love and other things that sabine rolls her eyes at)

ozy — ciro means "sun", undoubtedly a common name on asdor but no less apt. he was his mother's little bundle of gold. ozymandias is the greek name for the pharaoh ramesses II. obviously i (and theoretically ozy) filched it from the shelley poem, since the themes were perfect for him. he goes by ozy most of the time because "ozymandias" is a mouthful. i don't think there's been any other nicknames aside from the twins calling him fish man 💀

6. What would they give their life for?

cian — people in need. defending his companions. the greater good, whatever that looks like. he'd also rather die than actively kill another person, which i'm sure is a conviction he'll be able to maintain throughout 15 years of blight :)

sabine — not much. despite how often she flirts with death, there's little she actually wants to die for. (she'd die for her people™, who she can count on one hand. if the campaign had continued i think she would have been happy to die for a worthwhile cause. alexa play "something to believe in")

ozy — the party and their goals. his own desperate need to do something right, after everything he did wrong. he's a little less resigned to death at this point (he promised scratch and izzy and kallux he'd try to come back) but he still doesn't fear it.

34. How easily do they trust others with their secrets? With their lives?

cian — he's had little choice but to trust the party with his life and (some of) his secrets. luckily they've turned out fairly trustworthy, but he still prefers to keep his business to himself. he spent half his life as an apostate. that kind of fear and paranoia is difficult to leave behind.

sabine — she values her privacy highly. her secrets are nobody else's business (aside from a handful of people who've earned her trust completely). her own life is a far less valuable thing than her pride and privacy, so she'll trust others with her life more readily.

ozy — with his life, fairly easily. i'd say he's more private than secretive. like yeah he dissembles and talks around the question and rarely offers anything of himself freely, but he doesn't actually have anything precious enough to keep secret.

35. What is the easiest way to annoy them?

cian — answered!

sabine — being pitied or patronised. she also can't stand sanctimonious assholes. (and she's very easily annoyed by all sorts of things on the days when her injuries flare up)

ozy — he gets annoyed at himself pretty often these days. he also gets exasperated when people can't recognise the clearest path from A to B, but he knows some of that is his old self talking and he tries not to let it colour his interactions with the people he cares about.

69. How did the people in their environment growing up affect their personality?

cian — the three most formative influences in his youth were his mother, athras, and mercy. he lost his mother when he was still a child, but he was shaped by her kindness and practicality. growing up under athras' tutelage taught him independence and stoicism (and also provided somewhat of a crucible in which to forge his convictions. cian loved athras, but he came to realise he didn't want to be like him). mercy was a voice in his head whispering comforts and encouragements, showing him how to help people.

sabine — though she was loathe to admit it while she and her family were at odds, she inherited much of herself from her parents and older brother. her work ethic and her pride and her stubbornness are all hereditary. in the end she grew into the amaretti cynicism too, something she'll always be bitterly amused by. the first real mentor she had, a dwarf named reeve, was pretty formative as well. he taught her everything he knew about pottery and running a business and instilled a lot of common sense into her.

ozy — the city of emvalin itself was perhaps the biggest influence on ozy growing up. the people he grew up around were deeply pragmatic and industrious. he was raised outside the bounds (and privilege) of magical society, and learned how to navigate the world as it was while constantly being on the back foot. he never really dreamed, just learned to be easy-going and aloof, and to seize every opportunity that came his way.