#BLACK SAILS FANS NEVER LOSE

[max-nolastname]

Jon Steinberg slowly but surely ship of theseus-ing pjotv into the black sails sequel

[i-am-church-the-cat]

Logan Sargeant is a silly little guy

@vii-tto idk why but it wouldn't let me tag you. Hopefully you see this. also @spell-of-the-rain i added things if you want to check out 75-87

But here's the list of things i know/want to know about logan sargeant

Favorite Actor is Brad Pitt

Favorite Movie is Wolf of Wall Street

Favorite food is a hamburger

Has a boat and often goes deep sea fishing

Lived in London since he was 15

Lose Yourself by Eminem is his favorite hype up song

Is a Dolphins and Heat fan

Enjoyed “No Man, No Cry” by Jimmy Sax

Drinks iced lattes with oat milk

Pumpkin spice lattes?? Edit 12/16/23: No

Has been to Wimbledon

Knows what cricket is

Has a rescue dog named Coco

Also enjoys hockey Edit 11/1/23: Supports the Florida Panthers NHL team and has gone to at least 1 of their games with his friend Kyle Kirkwood

Does he follow college football?

What does he think of the new Miami head coach? 

If not for motorsport, does he think he would have gone pro in a different sport, and if so which one?

Enjoys listening to 50 Cent (is also a big rap fan in general)

Can he speak any other languages with any degree of familiarity?

Cannot draw

Can make a sandwich (other foods?)

Rates all food from one bite and with weird decimals

Gritty-ed in his f1 car

Makes the Williams photographers look like they take good photos

Does he have an English or a Florida driver’s license? And does he still have US citizenship even though he lives in the UK? What kind of visa is he on?

Top three female athletes? (Serena Williams, Simone Biles, and Megan Rapinoe are all acceptable answers) 

Collects Aussies and Kiwis for friends

Does he like the snow? Prefers the heat but does he like snow?

Does he like Missy Elliot? (Requirement) 

“Basic Halloween Bitch”

Calls people “mate” but in an American accent which will never stop being funny

Eye Crinkles™️

Does not have a set eye color he’s just too mystical for that

Has never been to a concert (presumably too busy with racing)

He can swim, he can drive, but can he ride a bike? Edit 11/15/23: He can indeed ride a bike

American commercial cars or  European ones?

Has an older brother but is like an older brother to Benny’s kid

Likes marshmallows

Does not like black beans

Did not think apple could be chips

Knows how to sail??

Knows how to golf

Can paddle (required for any F1 driver)

Lost the F3 championship in 2020 bc of a DNF in the last race

Can he sing??

Does he drink energy drinks? Red Bull or Monster? 

He and Duracell are passionately making out

Blush is very pretty 

Wears a lot of baseball hats

Somehow beat jet lag (expat king)

Mostly spends his nights in but he has some nights out (presumably very interesting ones)

Has an iPhone with a blue case

He looks very pretty in blue

His eyes are sometimes blue

Blue=fav color?? Edit 11/6/23: favorite color is Ocean blue (credit to @spell-of-the-rain)

Pretty insecure (armchair diagnosed anxiety)

Close with his brother and parents but maybe not his extended family?

Is Florida State his college team?? (Worst thing a man can be is a Florida St fan) Edit 12/16/23: believing that FSU got screwed over this year is acceptable

Did he graduate high school??

Did he ever consider going into NASCAR or did moving to Europe at a young age kind of set in stone his path towards open-wheel racing?

Hair is blond/dirty blond

Does he vote in American elections?? (If he supports RonD I cannot stan)

Burger Sauce™️

Logan Hunter Sargeant, certified Frat Bro, most American man ever

Has seen peaky blinder and presumably stranger things

Knows how to carve a pumpkin but has not celebrated Halloween at home in a bit

Possibly dating some instagram model

Caused $4 million in damages, gets payed $1 million a year, and supposedly brings in $30 million in sponsors

Key phrases: “Locked in”, “Bam/Boom”, “Done and dusted” Additions 11/1/23: "Oh hell yeah", "I think you're a little lost here, Chief". Additions 11/6/23: “Yeh” (gets quieter throughout the word (how it’s one syllable??)), “on the bounce” (credit to @spell-of-the-rain i believe)

Joined the Williams Driver Academy in 2021 

Got stuck in F3 bc he didn’t have the money to move up

Driver for Carlin in 2022

Former teammates include Liam Lawson, Oscar Piastri, Frederick Vesti (Edit 11/6/23: Max Fewtrell possibly?)

DOB: December 31, 2000

5'11

Had a giveaway for gloves he used to win an F4 race on Twitter in 2017 and both Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell replied

Originally his number was 3 but he switched to 2 for F1 (to much fan consternation who thought he had so many better options)

Childhood best friends with Kyle Kirkwood, a current Indycar driver

Logan's older brother Dalton raced in NASCAR until 2018

Did a commercial for Sport23

Does not have cowboy boots as of COTA 2023

Born in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, USA

lived in Switzerland from 14-15(?)

knows the conversion rate for a kilometer

is taller than a tuna fish

Podiumed at the Macau Grand Prix in 2019

Won the CIK-FIA championship when he was 14 Additions as of 11/1/23

Loves waffles but they are not his favorite dessert

Very patriotic (oh hell yeah)

is the first American F1 point scorer in 30 years and the first one to score on home soil since 1989

Went to see the Nets in NYC (but would have preferred to see the Knicks)

has a custom Miami Dolphins jersey with his last name on the back

Claims to know all the lyrics to "Ice Ice Baby" (credit to @formulaaone) (Edited 11/6/23)

Additions as of 11/6/23:

Under the same talent agency as Alex Albon

Has the same manager as George Russell

George Russell was his mentor coming up

Went to a catholic private school (credit to @wenevrknew)

Does not like fish? (Credit to @spell-of-the-rain)

He runs weird (in my opinion as he reminds me of my brother when he was 12 (he ran very strangely))

Karted in Las Vegas when he was a kid

Can he drive a stick shift? (Alex believes he cannot)

Enjoys video games

Refers to his car as “she”

Knew how to attach a visor to his helmet prior to February(? Could’ve been March but before the season) 2023

Additions as of 12/16/23

Broke his arm in a 2014 German Karting Championship when Marcus Armstrong took him out at T1 (credit to @spell-of-the-rain )

Has gotten his head eaten by the Golden Knights mascot

If he could have any superpower, he would like to teleport

Has never flown a drone

Favorite racing movie is Talladega Nights (sad Mater noises)

Does not trust other people to drive him

Would rather sleep in then get up early

Considers himself fairly organized

His mother makes a very good sweet potato casserole

Got his habit of worrying from his mom

“Santa’s Little Helper”

Driving for Williams Racing Formula 1 Team in 2024

Got out qualified by his teammate every race of 2023

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Hotch and reader making a trip to Greece because reader is a Mamma Mia! fan and swim in the sea and whatever else you want (sorry, my sister and I watch the movie daily and can't think of anything else at this point)

omg hi!!! i love this for us <3 thank you for your request!

I was in Greece this time last year and it's so lovely :) I really recommend spending some time in the Peloponnese if you're able to!

A/N: some chaos at the beginning (definitely OOC but it's just for fun <3), then just fluff! Also this is fem!reader but 90% of it is GN, and reader is vegetarian <3

Word Count: 1.3k

"I don't know if I'll be able to swing the time off..." Aaron trails off, knowing this is an argument he's bound to lose.

"What's Strauss' phone number?"

His eyebrows quirk up at that. "You want to call Strauss?"

"Me, in my swimsuit, lounging on the beach, just needing someone to put sunscreen on my shoulders...." You run your hands through Aaron's hair. "What's the number?"

Aaron groans playfully, melting into your touch. "703 632 1990. Keep it PG-13."

You dance happily, a smile on your face as you walk over to the home phone and dial the number.

"Good morning," You say chirpily, and hold a finger to your lips when Aaron starts to laugh. "Is this Erin?"

"If by Erin you mean-"

"Great! SSA Hotchner needs a few weeks of work. It's urgent."

"I'm not the person you should-"

"Uh uh," You say quickly. "I didn't actually ask a question. He will be off work for three weeks, starting this weekend, and he will not be reachable."

"May I ask why?"

"You may not! Have a great day."

You hang up quickly, and immediately start laughing.

"What did I just do?"

Aaron laughs too, but his face drops when his phone starts ringing.

He looks over at the screen, then over at you. "It's Strauss."

You laugh, and reach for his phone. "I'll take it."

He passes his phone to you, trusting your process. He's in too deep now not to.

"Good morning," You repeat in the same tone as before.

"This is a secure FBI line, how the hell-"

"Oh hi Erin! I'm assuming you're calling to confirm the time off. Don't worry! I'll let him know myself."

You hang up quickly and pass the phone back to Aaron.

"They should have you on the hostage negotiation team," Aaron laughs. "That was..."

"Brilliant?" You finish, sparkling.

"Brave," He nods. "I'll have to do a lot of ass-kissing to make up for that, you know."

You sigh, taking a seat in his lap. "I know. But you need a break, sweetheart. And you know how the Bureau responds if you ask politely."

___

"I can't believe we're here!" You say, glowing despite the jetlag. "That's such a nice boat. Everything here is so beautiful."

You're in the small town of Pilio, walking along the seaside. A large white sailing boat is moored in the water of the bay, glimmering like a pearl atop the blue water.

"I'm glad you like it," Aaron whispers, wrapping his arms around you from the back. "Because it's where you'll be sleeping for the next two weeks."

You spin around quickly. "Really?"

Aaron smiles, pressing his nose against yours. "Really."

"I didn't know you knew how to sail?"

"I don't," He admitted. "There is an old Greek man called Alexandros who agreed to do the practical sailing part. And his wife Demetria does the cooking. They're staying in the second cabin."

"I love you," You smile, kissing Aaron's blushing cheeks.

"I love you t-"

"Yasou!" You hear, from across the water. "Mr. FBI!"

"Kalimera, Alexandros!" Aaron calls back. He gestures to you. "Mrs. FBI."

"Mrs. FBI! Kalimera!"

"Kalimera!" You call back, smiling widely.

"Mrs. FBI?" You ask, looking over at Aaron with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll have time for proper introductions later. Do you want to swim to the boat or do you want me to go get the rowboat?"

"You know I'll never turn down Aaron Hotchner in a rowboat."

Aaron rolls his eyes playfully, but kisses you on the cheek. "Okay."

He strips out of his clothing quickly, abandoning his black t-shirt and jeans on top of his suitcase, just far enough from the water's edge that everything will stay dry while he swims to fetch the smaller boat.

You whistle at him, attracting Alexandros' attention. The grey-haired man whoops as Aaron runs into the warm water. You hear Aaron's laugh echoing as he heads towards the boat. You take a seat on your suitcase, enjoying the view of your boyfriend's arms flexing as he carries himself through the water. His hair is glossy in the saltwater, and he's almost a different person now that all of his worries are a continent away.

A few moments later, he rows over to you, loading your suitcases into the boat, and helping you to step in and take a seat.

"Ready?"

You nod eagerly, and he starts to row. "I'm just going to keep saying I love you, because I do. I don't know how you organized all of this so fast."

He smiles, and you have a feeling you'll be seeing a different side of him on this trip. A more playful side, a more loving side. Not that he wasn't loving, but here he could be open about it. Propriety and shame had fallen away somewhere in the Atlantic.

"I left our itinerary open, and Alexandros says we can go anywhere we like, but I thought we could head over to Kalokairi for a few nights, and then visit some of the other islands? And if you don't like the boat, we can always stay in a hotel, or-"

"This is perfect," You say, resting your hand over Aaron's, as he grips an oar.

"And we're close enough to Athens that if you want to take in some temples, or go wine tasting in Eretria, or... anything, really, we can. Just say the word."

___

You're resting your head on Aaron's shoulder as he steers the boat to Skopelos, reading to him from a guidebook.

"Located between Skiathos and Alonissos in the Sporades island group, Skopelos in Greece has become a very popular destination since it was used as a filming location for the musical movie Mamma Mia," You nudge Aaron. "That's us."

He hums affirmatively.

"...Popular among couples, that's us too, and families, the island has a picturesque atmosphere and amazing beaches with an exotic landscape, exclamation mark."

"Exclamation mark? Wow," Aaron replies.

"We should recreate that scene on the beach," You say dreamily.

"Fresh pita bread," Demetria says, emerging from the galley with a basket in her hand.

"Oh wow, thank you!" You exclaim, accepting it gratefully.

"Tonight, souvlaki with lamb for him, halloumi cheese with pita for her. Greek salad, lots of feta cheese. Sounds good?"

"Sounds perfect," Aaron replies. "Thank you, Demetria."

___

"And then she has her back to this rock," You explain to Aaron, although he's seen the film almost as many times as you have. "And he pretends to shoot an arrow. And then it's just very slutty in the sand."

"And then I pin you to the rock and kiss you senseless?"

"Well, no..." You start, but then think about it for a second, and your expression gives way to a smile. "Actually, yes. That's exactly how it goes."

"And then she says, don't go wasting your devotion, lay all your love on me?"

"Yes," You say again, unable to stop smiling.

Aaron kisses your neck, pinning your hands above your head. "Well, I promise I won't waste any of my devotion."

He runs his tongue over your skin, soothing the areas that had been irritated by his scruff and his teeth.

"Aaron," You moan breathily. "Fuck me, Aaron."

"Right here?" He says, smiling at you. "We'd get in trouble, baby."

He pulls away from your body, and without him covering you, you feel exposed, and dash to the water. Sure enough, there are a couple of tourists who'd gathered around, waiting to make use of the beach to recreate the scene themselves.

Aaron raises his hand from the water and gestures for you to follow him.

You both swim past this beach, to the next one, which is much quieter. The beach is only a few metres wide, and hidden from prying eyes thanks to some rocky cliffs which dominate the landscape and separate it from the neighboring beaches.

"Lie down," Aaron whispers, as you reach the shallowest part of the water. "Let me lay all my love on you."

You sigh happily and lean back, resting on the warm sand as the waves lap at your calves, and Aaron's warm hands start to roam your body, his tongue parting your lips.

[gabessquishytum]

Gabe I am kissing you on the mouth bc yes!!! Hob would be such a good influence on Dream! He helps him get his shit together during the tour and when it finally ends and they head back home, the offer is made for Hob to become their permanent guitarist. They had already spent most of the tour writing new material and so just two months after it, they already have a double album's worth of songs to record.

The recording process is smooth sailing. They're really meshing well as a band and being home around his son begets a wave of creativity that was unknown to him. He also cuts back significantly on the drugs so his mind could be focused at home with his son and the divorce proceedings with his wife. Calliope doesn't want anything really since she's made her money and prefers to be independent. Orpheus also finally starts to reconcile with his father. He even starts writing love songs again, first to his son and then to Hob. But he never tells Hob that these happier songs are for him. The press would rip them apart if they ever knew so he keeps it under wraps.

But with the record company happy with the new demos, life gets better. The bassist position filled by a long time and much-beloved musician Gault who Lucienne convinced to join when she saw her preform in a little club in Manchester, even Hob is better off when he finally and officially joins the band and gets some money coming in from it. It's his first real label deal since '76 when EMI had come sniffing around. He can now afford to send his son off to a really nice school and make sure he's cared for when he goes off on tour.

The record comes out and becomes their biggest seller. Their sound, while still a bit down, now has this air of optimism and pop sensibility. For the first time, they get offered a worldwide tour. Over two hundred dates in 15 countries. They play everywhere from LA to Capetown. They're giving interviews. It really feels like their moment has come.

But there's trouble on the horizon. First off, Constantine's drinking has worsened. He's a rockstar now and likes to party as such, which is a shame because now Hob has been chiding him for partying so hard. His work performance has been slacking and that's led to some fights. Which he finds hypocritical, as Dream has cut back, he hasn't gotten clean either. This leads Dream to rent a hotel room for a week and lock himself inside to sweat out the worst of the addiction. Which he does without telling anyone.

Hob obviously loses his mind looking for him and finds him on the floor of the bathroom, shivering like a shitting dog and so cold. He helps nurse him back to health, but by then it's too late. The tour starts and what a tumultuous tour it is! The first month or so, Dream barely has the energy to walk let alone give a three-hour performance. Lucienne loses her mind trying to manage his mood swings and Constantine's drinking problem. Gault nearly bails after the first show when he snaps at her for fucking up during rehearsals. Mr. Record Company also isn't happy with how expensive the set is to move and decorate which makes Dream threaten to walk. Hob has to talk him down. Even their relationship falters when they get hounded by paparazzi wherever they go and they start arguing over stupid issues. Like Hob sees a female fan getting harassed during their set and stops the show to have it out with the guy which leads him to jumping off the stage, over the barricade and into the crowd to fight him. Which is not a good look. Hob might be punk rock, but that's not their image. He can't be fighting whoever pisses him off anymore! Which plants it in his head that maybe him and Dream are a little too different for this work out.

I have more ideas like Hob being spotted during a show in LA when he sneaks off to go see Black Flag and gets fucking wrecked by the crowd who call him a sellout and bounce him from their space. He's not a real punk anymore! Or Dream's little catfight with Morrissey when he gets big, but I won't bore you anymore lol

🎸 (is this taken? if it is my apologies)

I'm still relentlessly obsessed with late 70s musicians au!! Here is the first part if anyone missed it! Thank you so much for giving us more 🎸 anon!!

I love the rollercoaster of this whole relationship. On the one hand the band is seeing so much success, and there's money, and the press is in a good mood for once. But fame brings so many issues and Hob finds himself almost missing the days when he was scrounging for gigs. He wants to make music and he wants to be with Dream but he's hyper aware - he's not immune to alcohol and drugs, he's a little scared that he might relapse when the stuff is just laying around in the dressing rooms all the time. He knows that Dream partly got clean for his sake but he hates seeing his lover in such a fragile state. Basically Hob is trying very hard to hold the whole band together: caring for Dream, dragging Constantine out of clubs at 3am so he doesn't get arrested again, trying to persuade Gault that it's really not all that bad, next week will be better... he's tired. He gets into more fights. He listens to a lot of Def Leppard. He's spotted outside strip clubs (mostly hunting down Constantine) and starts to get a reputation in the press as some kind of sleazy guy. Dream gets jealous even though he knows the truth. It's the most stressful period of Hob’s life and he is SO burnt out.

They have a couple of days off from the tour and Hob goes AWOL. Dream can't find him anyway, at the hotel or the bus or at any of the nearby cafes. Dream eventually finds him at a local church, just sitting hunched over in one of the pews. Dream can see that he's been crying, and suddenly he feels so awful for taking advantage of his friend, his lover. He's been so selfish but Hob still smiles at him and takes his hand. Dream ends up holding him in the empty church, rocking him gently and humming one of the songs that they've been writing together.

Dream tells him that they can go home. They can cancel the last 50 or so dates and just go back to Hob’s suburban home and get some fucking sleep. But Hob shakes his head and nudges Dream gently. The show must go on, right? No point in giving up now. It's just that they've all lost sight of the music somewhere along the way.

It doesn't get much easier, but Dream steps up a bit. Constantine is cajoled into toning down his rockstar behavior. Dream and Gault sweet talk the press by giving a few interviews and photo ops where they make sure to emphasise that Hob is NOT sleazy, he's actually a family man and a brilliant friend so everyone can fuck off talking shit about him. They even get a couple of other big name artists to say nice things about Hob. He's worked on so many sessions that everyone knows him. And yeah, there are some shitheads (and probably also johnny rotten) who call him a talentless sellout. But Hob is touched by how much effort Dream has put in to making him feel better.

And eventually they get to go home. Dream is still a shivery wreck but he hasn't relapsed, the record is still selling, the paps have calmed down now the tour is over so Hob doesn't feel terrified every time he meets Dream in public. Their relationship FINALLY gets more physical in private. They make love for the first time!! Dream finally sees the anarchy tattoo and writes a ballad about Hob’s wonderful arse (which will, mortifyingly, go on to be a top 20 hit).

Of course they're a pair of disasters and they have their ups and downs. But I honestly feel like their relationship is a rollercoaster that neither of them really want to get off. They're basically soulmates and however insane their lives get, they're always going to end up together.

[itsclydebitches]

Angsty fic idea that I might write myself someday, but is also totally free if someone wants to snag it.

(WARNING for mentions of self-harm.)

I’ve read a bunch of “Izzy the Spewer” fics where Izzy gets sick for whatever reason—rough seas, migraines, the terrifying ordeal of being known—and Stede swoops in with some good old-fashioned TLC that makes Izzy’s angry little brain short-circuit. Fantastically done, keep it up. HOWEVER, I have yet to come across a fic that really plays with the thought I have every time I read that scenario. Namely: “Izzy is learning to correlate kindness with illness, right?”

Right?

Izzy hails from Black Sails land where kindness is in short supply and desiring it—or worse, needing it—is basically a social death sentence. Or a literal one. So, after Stede offers some of that rare, quality grade H/C, Izzy is primed to explain half of that with, “Bonnet is a fucking bonkers man who doesn’t know how to pirate properly” and the other half with, “When someone as crazy as Bonnet does comfort you it’s only because you’re pathetic enough to warrant it. He’d never just do that on the regular, because who the hell would? The only time you get kindness is when you find a magical unicorn man who doesn’t know better and the only time he’d give it, especially to someone like me, is when you’re basically at death’s door.”

Izzy comes to the simple but highly problematic conclusion that Being Gravely Ill = Receiving Comfort He Can’t Get Anywhere Else.

Soooo… why not just be sick more often ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Which is far from ideal, obviously, but not for reasons Izzy is equipped to understand yet. The only thing he’s grappling with is the indignity of being sick in the first place, but significantly that ship has already sailed. Fang already told the whole crew about his nickname, Lucius made it a staple insult, and they all watched him losing his lunch over the side while Stede kept him from going overboard. There’s no coming back from that. But asking for more of that attention? He’s gonna—what? Just fucking walk up to Stede and request that he rub his back, or stroke his hair, or—heaven forbid—hug him? Absolutely-fucking-not. Izzy would rather die. Even if he DID make an attempt the words would literally not come out of his mouth. Being sick is the lesser of the two evils and since he’s already a weak, pathetic, needy excuse for a First Mate, might as well do whatever is necessary to deal with those failings.

Izzy might have the emotional intelligence of a rock, but he’s a damn good planner and can keep things subtle when it matters. At first no one notices that he only gives into the urge to heave when Stede is on deck and can see him do it. Everyone knows that Izzy eats dinner alone, long after the others have finished, but not that he’s restricting himself to the portions that have started going bad, resulting in many late-night bouts of suffering. He stops the breathing exercises he developed years ago to keep his nausea under control, stops self-medicating whenever a storm is on the horizon, even starts putting himself in situations that he knows will make his stomach churn, all with the intent of crafting a situation where, oh no, his stubborn Captain is insisting he’s taken care of? Well, who’s he to disobey an order?

And it works! Until it doesn’t, of course. Because I’m a fan of the crew continuing to develop their found family, they’ve been approaching the “Spewer” business as a kind of heavy-handed teasing. They know it’s not nice, but Izzy is such an asshole, and besides, they kinda thought it was a past thing? Not something he’s still struggling with and certainly not to this extent—like teasing your brother for falling down the stairs that one time except, huh, he’s falling down the stairs weekly now. That’s not funny anymore.

Their concern merges with Ed’s because really, he’s been sailing with Izzy for most of his life and it’s never been this bad. If anything, he should be doing better on The Revenge where there’s always fresh food and blue skies appear with an almost supernatural frequency. Stede too has started to grow suspicious, especially after that one time where Izzy didn’t really seem sick anymore, but kept claiming he was (because the idiot was so close—SO CLOSE—to just asking for comfort without this whole charade, but of course he didn’t).

It all comes to a head when Stede and Ed confront Izzy about it… which goes about as well as you would expect. Izzy goes into the meeting terrified that Ed noticed him playing this game with his boyfriend and is probably going to anchor him for it. Ed thinks it’s great that Stede and Izzy are bonding—the fact that he’s finally acknowledging his own crush on Izzy doesn’t help, given how overprotective he’s feeling— but otherwise he’s just confused? Especially since he’s such a tactile person and threw himself headfirst into touching Stede the second he realized that was allowed. Stede has the best handle on what’s really going on, but doesn’t know how acknowledge all that without making things worse. So he just, uh, makes things worse? Realizing that Izzy has the self-preservation instincts of a teaspoon, they try to go the “Making yourself sick means you’re not in a position to act as a functional First Mate” route because Izzy is all about being useful right? Except great, now he’s feeling guilty about how sick he can get, guilty about using that to get something he thinks he shouldn’t have, AND guilty about how that’s making him a liability. He and Ed get into a huge fight about it. Stede dithers. Punches are probably thrown.

They think things have cooled down a few days later, except then Izzy gets legitimately sick—no fuckery involved—and Ed just… doesn’t believe him? He’s suspicious now, understandably. Not because he thinks Izzy is always lying about when he’s ill, or always sets out to make it worse, and he certainly doesn’t have a problem with him getting comfort from Stede—or him!—for any reason, but he’s terrified that Izzy is still hurting himself and that shit needs to stop. But being accused of that when he’s actually ill is the fucking tipping point and Izzy… crumbles. Just fucking looses it. No more filters, or barriers, or excuses. The man’s a sobbing, exhausted mess and this is it, they’ll both be disgusted by him now.

They’re not, of course. This time Ed and Stede comfort Izzy together and, more importantly, insist that he stays with them even after he’s calmed down/is feeling better. Lots of talking it out where they insist that yes, he can have this. No, he doesn’t need to be ill enough to “deserve” it. Izzy, there’s two of us and we’re both overflowing with affection 24/7, we guarantee it’s not an imposition to ask for things. But he can’t. He just literally can’t. There’s no version of Izzy (yet) that can ask for comfort when he needs it, or simply take it with the understanding that it’s always freely offered. So they devise some strategies to help Izzy ask without feeling like he’s asking; simple actions that will cue them into his mood without anyone else being wiser. The most successful is having a designated spot in the Captains’ cabin that is his and his alone. For a long time, Izzy will only accept their attentions in complete privacy anyway, so sitting on this particular part of the couch always means… well, the whole point is that Izzy doesn’t have to say what it means. He’ll get there, but right now he just has to sit down—that’s it, just sit, even he can fucking sit—and his Captains understand precisely what he needs.

And with their relationship and Izzy’s coping skills developing, everyone lives happily ever after ^_^

(Bonus cathartic comedy moment: Someone unknowingly sits in Izzy’s spot and he reacts precisely like a pissed-off cat would. Glaring from across the room, coiled tight as a spring, hand ominously on the pommel of his sword. This means nothing to me, don’t fucking think otherwise, but you WILL move and you will move NOW.)

[teefscrubz]

NEW MERTHUR AU ALERT !!!

Sure, for a couple hundred years of immortality, Merlin was able to occupy himself with a variety of hobbies, people and experiences, but nowadays (as in, the past few thousand years) he's just been so....well, bored.

Having a good year or two is nothing but a blip when spanned across thousands of years of depression and loneliness, after all.

But recently, Merlin has found a new past time—Something he never before considered, not really finding much interest in such a boisterous activity, and yet here he is, a professional in the field.

Illegal street racing.

Here Merlin was, glorious wind in his hair, earphones blasting music as he swerved a corner, his sleek red car (proudly named 'Excalibur', because who was Merlin if not a creature of habit?) smoothly sailing the roads with ease, leant back comfortably in his seat with the windows down. Sure, the air was cold, but it felt so damn good on his face. It always did.

It reminded him of riding horses back in Camelot. The open road; Merlin missed being able to venture as far as he wanted across wooded land. Not that Arthur ever let him, of course.

Merlin is brought back to the race at hand when he crosses the finish line, twisting the wheel and letting Excalibur skid to a stop. He climbs out, preparing to bow as per usual; he expects to be greeted by the usual roar of applause—Merlin insists he never uses magic to win a race, but the recognition does feel damn good. Even if racing was starting to lose the adrenaline filled fun for him by now.

Except the crowds aren't cheering for him. Instead, he turns to see a car already waiting for him; impossible, Merlin ALWAYS wins, after all. He's had too much practice.

But there is a flash of blonde hair climbing out of the battered old black car, a tattered thing that surely couldn't have won against him and yet somehow escaped even his attention. Merlin's eyes follow as the blonde man rises to his full height, turning with a bright grin and waving to the cheering crowds, only for his smile to fade when his gaze lands on Merlin.

Merlin feels winded, a ludicrous laugh of surprise tearing from his chest.

"Emrys," The blonde man smirks, making his way forwards to offer a hand, "I'm a big fan. Honoured to have beaten you today—The name's Arthur Pendragon. The crowds call me the King."

"You clotpole." Merlin chuckles, ignoring Arthur's hand out of disbelief. "You absolute prat. You're back."

"It appears so. Err—Back from where?"

Gods, he's just as stupidly handsome as he was the day they fought at Camlann. Finally, Arthur has risen. Finally, Merlin smiles.

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Theon survey songs + links:

@feed-me-a-penny and @team-mom-wannabe In case you still want to see the songs that have been submitted until now.

I found an acoustic version of the song Worms by Lolly Jane Blue on a Theon fan mix once and then lyrics really latched onto my Throne synapses! Very ADWD chapters, I think

The Lighthouse by Halsey; What the Water Gave Me by Florence; Piledriver Waltz by Arctic Monkeys; Ship to Wreck by Florence; Stone by Jaymes Young; Let Me Drown by Orville Peck; Atlantis by Seafret; Wade in the Water by Eva Cassidy; I Don't Want to Talk About Me by Stereo Jane; Sail Away Sweet Sister by Queen; and honestly every song on Everything Ends by Materia.

SOOO many. Ooohhh boy, I hope you like long answers, because you are going to hate me if you don't (you probably already do, I cannot shut up if I'm under the guise of anonymity lol). In terms of poetry, I will forever love this quote by Jenny Holzer: "In a dream you saw a way to survive and you were full of joy". It's so Theon, and I actually have it tattooed on me lol. Social Skills training is also a great poem for Theon ([PRIVATE INFORMATION]... hits so hard for so many reasons when paralleling w Theon), here are some raw verses: "Gloria Steinem says women lose power as they age and yet the loudest voice in my head is my mother. Studies show that the mother we have in mind isn't the mother that exists. Mine says: what the fuck are you crying for? / Studies show the baby monkey will pick the fake monkey with fake fur over the furless wire monkey with milk, without contest. Studies show to negate something is to think it anyway. I'm not sad. I'm not sad. / History is a kind of study. History says we forgave the executioner. Before we mopped the blood, we asked: Lord Judge, have I executed well? Studies suggest yes. What the fuck are you crying for, officer? The wire mother teaches me to say, while studies suggest, Solmaz, have you thanked your executioner today?" Just literally everything about that poem hits me right in the Theon feels. Like, are you kidding me? Then The House That Dripped Blood by Mountain Goats is great for imagining Theon circa his Prince in Winterfell era. The lyrics are all about a house haunted by the pain trapped in there, which seems perfect for Winterfell imo. Any Florence + The Machine, but Heavy In Your Arms for painful throbb feels. Would by Alice in Chains has the right mood and great lyricism for Theon/Reek angst too! Then Everyone's Victim by Lisa Germano just has the right mood I feel for thramsay stuff, same vein as Would by Alice in Chains.

pearl diver by mitski, he doesn’t know why by the fleet foxes, cocaine and abel by amigo the devil

So many, a bunch of guns n roses songs, and dead hearts by stars

Dio Ed Io by Charles Wright, there are more but I'm all burnt out typing AHHH!!!

Cry for Judas the mountain goats "long black night/morning frost/I'm still here/ but all is lost" There is a light that never goes out The smiths. Robb and Theon vibes "to die by your side/ is such a heavenly way to die"

“archers never made good kings, fly headfirst into everything” -archers, the ballroom thieves

Almost Human (Aurelio Voltaire) for the Lucifer association

Putting the dog to sleep by the antlers!

call them brothers - regina spektor (that’s it, it’s split, it won’t recover just frame the halves and call them brothers find your fathers and your mothers if you remember who they are over and over they call us their friends can’t we find something else to pretend? like nobody won and we’re safe at the end) that’s okay - the hush sound (you were a child who was made of glass you carried a black heart passed down from your dad if somebody loved you they’d tell you by now we all turn away when you’re down you want to go back to where you felt safe to hear your brother’s laughter, see your mother’s face your childhood home is just powder-white bones and you’ll never find your way back) house of wolves - my chemical romance (well, i think i’m gonna burn in hell everybody burn the house right down and say what i want to say tell me i’m an angel / take this to my grave tell me i’m a bad man / kick me like a stray) mama - my chemical romance (well mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue you should have raised a baby girl i should have been a better son if you can coddle the infection they can amputate at once i should have been - i should have been a better son) JUDAS - the reverent marigold (god knew his face and held it but it still didn’t save him and i see far horizons where the lambs lie with the lions but there are poppies growing over where my friends are lying and paul had an old name, but we never use it you may call me traitor but my lover calls me judas)

i have a playlist, some accidentally theon lyrics i enjoyed is bad medicine by liz green (...) For every man wants more than he, ever did before He’s still got no way out We’ve got no way out No way out We’ve got no way out of this So if my eyes turn black and my teeth fall out and my hairs caught up in rags Don’t give me none of that medicine ‘cos I’ll spit it right back out He tried so hard to fit in but he never really got a chance Before he spoke they burnt him, cut him, roped him and finally put him in the ground He said ‘I’ve been though war, and I’ve been though law and I’ve climbed that hill so cold Yeah I’ve been though more than you’ll ever know still they never let me go And every man wants more than he, ever did before He’s still got no way out We’ve got no way out No way out We’ve got no way out of this So if my eyes turn black and my teeth fall out and my hairs caught up in rags Don’t give me none of that medicine ‘cos I’ll spit it right back out Oh yeah, I’ll spit it right Yeah I’ll spit it right Oh I’ll spit it right back out I will spit it right I will spit it right I will spit it right back out

I love Mr. Tambourine Man for Theon. Especially this line: “Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind, Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach, Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves, Let me forget about today until tomorrow.” I also love Hurt by Nine Inch nails- All the lyrics and the entire soundscape of that song is Theon to me. Absolutely intense and amazing. And I also love and associate A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall with Theon. The "seven sad forests" the "dozen dead oceans" the "newborn baby with wolves all around it." But all the imagery in that song is so cool and very appropriate for asoiaf in general .

Oh man, so so many but to name a few: 1. How Soon is Now by the Smiths ("I am the son and heir of nothing in particular" / I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does") 2. Sorrowing Man by City and Colour ("Sorrowing man, look how worn you've become. You once were lord of the barren sea. There's blood on your hands." / "Oh, how you have lost your way." 3. Crystal Ball by Keane ("I lost my heart, I buried it too deep, under the iron sea." / "I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong, So put me where I belong.") 4. Bravado by Lorde ("I learned not to want The quiet of the room with no one around to find me out. I want the applause the approval." 5. Hurt by Johnny Cash ("And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt" / What have I become? My sweetest friend. Everyone I know goes away in the end."

iron by woodkid seven nation army (in a way) bones in the ocean under the water by the pretty reckless

"Oh No" by Marina & the Diamonds; "Bones" by Ms Mr; "The Ocean" by Dar Williams

i'm a marionette by ABBA starring role by marina and the diamonds asleep by the smiths i still have faith in you by ABBA judas by lady gaga california dreamin' by the mamas & the papas al andar by ABBA crucified by army of lovers i'm not coming home by the cowmen no more from into the woods oh i know by only natural waiting around to die by the be good tanyas

Smoke filled room - daughter

Gilded Lily : I remember when you told me it’s an every decision (Theon’s oath to Robb) But with my double vision, how was I supposed to see the way ? (Double vision : Greyjoy/Stark) Haven’t I given enough? Always the fool with the slowest heart (softie boi ) I know you’ll take me with you ( could refer to Robb or Ramsay as they die that they take a piece or the whole of him with) Every city’s got a graveyard (kinda makes me think of his prince of Winterfell era) Now I’m sleeping in the backyard (Well, his Reek moment ofc)

a spanish song by my fave band ever Fito y fitipaldis - Antes de que cuente diez (Before I count to ten) some verses i really like from it are: I got lost in a cross of words. They missed wrote down the address. I already engraved my name on a bullet. I've already tried the cannon fodder I already have everything under control. And someone said no, no, no, no, no That now the wind is coming from the other side Leave me the rudder And someone said no, no, no. What will take me to the end? It will be my steps, not the way. You don't see that you always go behind. When you pursue destiny And I won't feel strange again. Even if you don't get to know me And I won't love you so much again. And I won't stop loving you again I stopped flying, I sank into the mud. And between so much mud I found myself. Some warmth without your hugs Now I know that I will never come back.

I dont know many poems but sinnerman by nina simon and sorry by karine polwart and some other songs in my own language :)

honestly.. robb and theon are kinda two ghosts by harry styles if you squint

All of Radiohead tbh

Pardon this next block of text where I name random music. I have to say something about the album The Downward Spiral by NIN being huge Theon material to me (the instrumental track named after the album is so TWOW Stannis execution presumably foiled by old gods activity. also Hurt but everyone's saying that. ummm THE BECOMING.). Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. 1906 by the West Coast Art Pop Experimental Band is so Bolton Occupation of Winterfell. Avalanche by Kyle John Kenowski. Sister Europe by The Psychedelic Furs feels TWOW Asha and Theon returning to the islands or something. Sweat by Oingo Boingo. All We Ever Wanted Was Everything by Bauhaus young Theon in Winterfell. King Rat by Modest Mouse feels either Jeyne and Theon escaping Winterfell or Theon and the invasion of Winterfell. I think I'm saying too much but I hate having things out of context, but I can't just parrot an entire playlist here: these are all ruthlessly selected from my playlist on spotify called [PRIVATE INFORMATION] (Epitaph by King Crimson inspired me to make the playlist) that has these plus more but fair warning it's under construction for my reread I've been doing this summer :^) . Um. A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers by Van Der Graaf Generator but it's 23 minutes long and all over the timeline sorrrrry I like prog rock so much. On Kyra thoughts: Please listen to To The Dogs or Whoever by Josh Ritter for Kyra and the keys thoughts.

Remy Zero - Prophecy: You walk this world like you’re a ghost / Your hands are coming through the needles / Sick of your tragic and your evils / I am the keeper of the songs of everyone / [...] / This is a coming of the times / You are a witness to the movement / If all you’re seeing is your lies / You had your chance, but now you’ve blown it / You want this world so you can own it / I am the keeper of the songs of everyone / / Look into the sun and see your soul is dying / Used to feel the faith, but now you’re tired of trying / Should have left alone what you have stolen from everyone / Mmm, how ya feelin’? Seems a little sick to me now / / From the light on high / A chance to change your fate / Forgiveness falling down / On those who chose to wait / Remember the time / Find yourself home again / Deep within your life / Find yourself home again / Find yourself home again / It’s a choice / You have chosen your own T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: And I have known the eyes already, known them all— / The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, / And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, / When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, / Then how should I begin / To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? / And how should I presume? / [...] I should have been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. [...] I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. / I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. / I do not think that they will sing to me. / I have seen them riding seaward on the waves / Combing the white hair of the waves blown back / When the wind blows the water white and black. / We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown / Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Century Eyes by Shearwater (You are not the last of this house / Nor the first to go over the side / Remember the wrecks of those elegant ships / “Turn it off! Turn it off!” / Look with century eyes till they make you go blind) Two Evils by Bastille (I’m the lesser of two evils / Or am I, am I tricking myself nice? / If I’m a lesser of two evils / Who’s this man, who’s this act I hide behind?) Hurt Feelings by Flight of the Conchords (It’s my birthday, 2003 / Waitin’ for a call from my family / They forgot about me / I got hurt feelings, I got hurt feelings)

The Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars

Lots ([PRIVATE INFORMATION I'M NOT GONNA DO MY COUNTRY DIRTY LIKE THIS] but a very tragicomical and delusional version), but I'm going to list purely English stuff for the sake of it: "Crucify your mind" by Rodriguez is my go to Theon song and I know no one knows or cares about Rodriguez and this might as well be one of those situations where this only works in my head, but fuck it: Was it a huntsman or a player That made you pay the cost That now assumes relaxed positions And prostitutes your loss? Were you tortured by your own thirst In those pleasures that you seek That made you Tom the curious That makes you James the weak? And you claim you got something going Something you call unique But I've seen your self-pity showing As the tears rolled down your cheeks […] So con-convince your mirror As you've always done before Giving substance to shadows Giving substance ever more And you assume you got something to offer Secrets shiny and new But how much of you is repetition That you didn't whisper to him too? "All these things that I've done" by The Killers has some vibes and lyrics too but god do I feel like an idiot for saying that.

[cloudninetonine]

Linktober: Withered

(Me: I'm gonna keep on schedule guys! :D, Also me: *Doesn't keep on schedule* PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I'M JUST SO HORRIBLE AT KEEPING TRACK OF THINGS- Also, this story is based on Spirit Tracks Link, but I've never played Spirit Tracks and have no idea on the character, so I tried to use socialc1imbs (I'm not gonna tag them just in case they're not a fan of this kind of writing) SO I HOPE HE'S OKAY)

You knew that Spirit could see ghosts.

It was a fact.

But not in the “I see dead people.” sort of way, no he wasn’t terrified by it, the blonde saw it in a Ghost Whisper sort of sense. When he saw those beyond death, walking around either grieving a life lost or begging for those to help finally rest their suffering soul he was ready to help without much thought- the hero in him really, with a kind heart and determined heart like his brother of the sails and winds.

Speaking of the Sailor, you knew the boy supported the same gift, usually accompanying his twin to complete a favour or two to allow the dead to pass the veil and finally let them have their eternal sleep- or whatever may lay beyond death.

You knew they could see them because you could see them too.

No idea how such a thing came to be, you weren’t a seer or labelled any such back in your world, but suddenly you had woken up and people of a heavenly blue walked in the land of the living.

You weren’t sure what to feel at that moment, excitement? Fear? Confusion was certainly there.

The Dynamic Duo had discovered such a fact when crossing through the ruins of a ruined farm within the traveller’s timeline, burnt to the ground by a hoard of monsters wanting to cause chaos for the sake of causing it, a barn of cattle losing their lives within the embers never to be seen again. The two had dodged and weaved through the many wandering ghosts, mooing in distress while the other heroes walked straight through without a care in the world.

It was only when Spirit and Wind had turned back they saw you on the horizon, cooing towards a little ghost foal who trotted after you merrily, the hoard meeting the two of you halfway before disappearing with a blink of an eye.

You were roped into their very good deeds as soon as it was confirmed.

“This is trespassing, Engi, I don’t think-”

“This is the only way to help Mrs Seine pass on!”

“Okay, but, listen- I don’t want to be chased by some madman with a pitchfork like last time.”

Wind had caught something earlier within the week when you had settled in a lovely country, sick as a dog, the decision was made that you would all be staying until he had recovered- a good one. 

Spirit and you had taken the chance to check out the place in the meantime, after all, it was cosy and you weren’t about to be cooped up in the inn any longer. So you explored, chatting to a few villagers about possible black-blooded sightings or a shadow with no owner- alas you fell short, but that was nothing to fret, not with Mrs Seine sat within her withered garden as she wailed about her precious plants.

You had both looked at one another before approaching her.

And now you were here, in her garden with fallen flowers in the dead of night to feed them a concoction of red potion, sap, water and some other things you didn’t quite know, only associated with the art of gardening.

“She said Mr Seine sleeps like a log!” Spirit whispered-shouted, kneeling down to yank at some of the invasive plants. “We’ll be fine as long as we’re not hooting like some sort of train!”

“Yes, but, Mr Seine also has neighbours I don’t want them deciding to be neighbourly and beat the ever-loving shit out of us!”

“Just pour the potion!”

“Watch your tone before I kick you, brat!”

“You’re too slow, you old coot!”

A curse tickled your tongue before you jumped as Mrs Seine’s voice wailed about her garden once again, hurrying to lift the watering can over some petunias by your feet. “Alright, god damn.”

“Coward.” The snicker had landed the blonde head first into the grass when you kicked him.

“Slowpoke.”

An hour or so later the both of you were finally done, panting from the hard work, sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse and covered in dirt but still proud, looking over the restored garden with the variations of colours, standing proud under the light of the moon which shone down directly on you both.

Proud was the word you would use, not for you but for the boy under your arm, looking over your shared labour. It was expected of a hero to be good of heart but to see it in action truly filled you with such a feeling, overjoyed to be the tilted “Guide” of someone who was just kind. Spirit (as well as Wind) had done these things because they wanted to, were good to these ghosts because they could, they didn’t want a thing out of this, no form of payment, just to see the joy over the dead’s faces when a favour could be fulfilled.

Mrs Seine’s face was definitely worth it. The black tears of anguish finally fading away to show her old face lighten, a smile breaking through with gratitude in her eyes as she gently stroked over her prized possession; cupping a single rose within the rich rose bush with a fondness of a lifetime, turning to you both a final time.

“Thank you.” And with that, she was gone.

A silence settled between you both when you finally squeezed him to your side, catching his eyes when he looked up at your face. “You’re a good kid, Link.”

His own smile broke out as he opened his mouth to respond- only for the sound of the back door opening to cut him off.

You didn’t even wait to see the look of Mr Seine before throwing the boy under your arm and leaping over the small wire fence, racing into the night.

[chocolatepot]

are we finally having a fight with the black sails fandom? has this to do with the pirate battle poll blog, do ppl actually get upset over this? sorry for springing this on you I'm not up to date on the discourse - I just remember very early on a blog I followed back then losing their shit about ofmd being more popular than black sails was (in their opinion, I don't actually think this is true), I didn't know other black sails fans were still actually bittet about this? I never got into the show despite really wanting to; it had more sexual assault in the first few eps than I was willing to put up with at the time. and I didn't like the main character. but whatever just because it's not my cup of tea doesn't mean it's objectively bad.

it's just - idk I find it kinda confusing that ppl seem to insist there's only One True Gay Pirate Show I guess? what even is the problem here those 2 are completely different in tone.

Sorry for ranting in ur inbox uninvited I'm just really baffled. Why do people insist to argue about this isn't the pirate poll supposed to be in good fun?

(okay you are free to ignore this obviously. I just had to voice my confusion to someone XD)

Lmao, yes, it's about the pirate poll, of all things. I only know Black Sails people who are also either into or at least generally positive toward OFMD so I've been totally unaware of any undercurrents of rage/jealousy until just now.

I do remember people getting really upset about the "these characters are based on historical people who did bad things" issue when the show first aired, but I'd assumed that wasn't Black Sails fans because, well ... many of their characters are also based on historical people who did bad things? and many of their characters do really bad things onscreen and are still liked in the fandom? Maybe there's an element of insecurity over Black Sails having so much problematic content for non-fans to object to, so the angry fans are trying to prove that this other, thematically similar show with less obviously problematic content is in fact more problematic.

The ridiculous thing I keep coming back to is that the brouhaha started because Flint was up against Stede. He was winning! This was not a case of "how dare these other people with their blorbo come in and beat MY blorbo, who has more of a right to win" - it was "this other blorbo shouldn't even be allowed in competition with my blorbo, and he definitely shouldn't have anyone voting for him and talking about how they want him to win".

(Never apologize for asking me about a fandom wank, I'm always willing to expound.)

[threewaywithdelusion]

I am losing my goddamn mind but in a way that is enitirely specific to me.

Many, many years ago, I watched a Buffy fan edit on YouTube, set to a song I had never heard before. It turned out to be “Once” by Bradley Caleb Kane, a song which did not at the time exist on Apple Music or Spotify. I listened to it on YouTube for several years because I really loved this song. I couldn’t figure out why this artist didn’t seem to exist. This elusive Brad Caleb Kane was not even a musician with songs on any major streaming platforms.

Several months ago, I went on Spotify and on a whim decided to search for the song Once. Behold! It now existed. I excitedly added it to my playlists and proudly became one of Brad Caleb Kane’s 399 monthly Spotify listeners.

I naively thought this was the end of my journey. 20 minutes ago, I was scrolling through Black Sails tumblr and saw someone talking about episode xi. WRITTEN BY BRAD KANE. I thought I knew that the two lead writers/producers on the show were Jonathan E. Steinberg and Robert Levine. Surely I hadn’t missed the name of one of the major people behind the creation of the show I loved? Especially someone whose name I recognized? No such luck. Brad Caleb Kane was a producer on all 38 episodes. He wrote 7 of them.

I go on this man’s Wikipedia. He was IN BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER. He played Tucker Wells, Andrew’s brother (ha!), in the episode The Prom and also voiced Jonathan’s song in Superstar.

My experience with this man has come full circle. I discovered his existence through Buffy (but not the fact that he was literally ON IT), only to detour through his apparently very minor music career and my SECOND FAVORITE SHOW (behind only Buffy): Black Sails. This is serendipity or something.

Long story short, I think I’m unwittingly Brad Caleb Kane’s biggest fan. I have somehow followed his multiple careers as an actor, musician, producer, and writer all without knowing it and loved all of the content I have been fed. This is now a Brad Caleb Kane stan account.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

You voted to wake up and face the music.

2. No, I wanted to know about the ex-something.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Ex-love, ex-tenderness. It is foolish of you to resurface to the loss. Not after all the damage you suffered to get here, some of it irreversible... Stay, sail with me through the Abyssopelagic Zone!

Allons-y! Never let me go!

No, I want to get off now. I like pain and burning light and wanting things from people who don't want to give them to me.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Do you really?

Don't be naive, of course not. I want to sail the inky blackness until forever ends!

I do. Let me off.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - You wouldn't like it if I told you what's back there. Why do you think you had to bludgeon yourself into oblivion? Or did you not sense yourself - marinating? Poured so much over yourself... Got a bit *carried away* did we, chef?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Fear and apprehension... You should ask what's out there first.

Wait, I did this to myself?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Yes, you're one disco mother

2. Tell me, what's waiting for me? 3. I don't care, I'm an idiot. A brave idiot.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - There's this giant ball there. And evil apes. And the evil apes are dukin' it out on the ball. You're one of them. It's basically just all evil apes dukin' it out on a giant ball.

How big is the ball?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - You can't even make out it's ball, when you're dukin' it out. It's that large.

2. How small are the apes?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Infinitesimally small.

3. And this *dukin' it out* I keep hearing about - what's that?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Vying for resources? It's just a stupid expression you picked up somewhere. The part of the presentation you want to take home with you is this: You have to beat the other evil apes in the face or you lose.

That's sad.

That sounds like something I would like to do - let's go!

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Yes. It is. And you drowned in that sadness a long time ago.

What do you mean *drowned*?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - You lost.

[Horrible droning sound]

[Open your eyes].

First things first: we put on these pants.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - You hear a jingle! Keys are clinking in the pocket of your flare-cut pants.

Fish them out.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - It says "Whirling-in-Rags" on the aluminium keyring. There is a single key on the ring. The number #1 is etched on it. It should open the door.

We also put on this Disco-Ass Blazer.

This magnum-sized bottle of Commodore Red is empty.

Looks like someone tore out this tape while the song was playing.

This reel-to-reel tape player is still on, rolling empty.

We pick up a shoe.

CEILING FAN - This fan has two chain pull switches - one ends in a tiny fan, the other in a light bulb. A truly horrific necktie has somehow attached itself to one of the blades.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Or has it been consigned there as punishment? You feel as though this creature is your *friend* and wants to reattach itself to your neck. So that you may continue your adventures together in this strange world!

[max-nolastname]

BLACK SAILS FANS NEVER LOSE

[queer-crusader]

You're right, Angela has such a big main character syndrome. While I understand where she came from. Her betrayal towards Elliot feels like out of spite and jealousy, that he is a talented chosen one hacker and she isn't. I feel like since Angela believes she is the one who lost her mom, so she suffered the most and is the biggest victim of this conflict more than Elliot and Darlene. I know Whiterose brainwashed her but Angela isn't completely innocent of the situation either. Most fans treat her as a pretty innocent sad white girl at times who never did anything wrong.

Fhdjdk not to be That Black Sails Person but. Sounds like these people should watch some Black Sails

No but seriously, I love this show because, like black sails, there is a LOT of nuance. I mean, there is a company called Evil Corp, sure, but like, it doesn't feel like the playing field is littered with heroes and villains. Just people motivated by their own backgrounds and desires. And THATS what makes all these characters so interesting to me. I wouldn't call Angela a wide eyed innocent poor girl, though she plays the part well - I mean, look at how she manipulated Scott Knowles! (Wait that IS his name right? Dude trying to push for E-Coin. I'm not always good with names. ANYWAY) There's something In Her Bones and it FASCINATES me. But yeah she's Not Innocent Or Good, she was already a grade A manipulator before Whiterose came along, but I wouldn't call her bad or evil either. Just. Motivated by her own background. In a way she actually reminds me a little of Eleanor, if we're talking Black Sails (me I was talking black sails - sorry if you're not one of my regular followers anon fhfjdk it tends to circle back to this here). White girlboss with a victim complex. Tho Eleanor starts out loud and strong and only uses an innocent and meek demeanor in the end to try and wrest back control after losing everything, and loses herself in that persona in the process, so a little different from Angela so far, but you know what I mean

[alexwatchesshows]

Black Sails VIII (S1E8)

Spoilers for up to and including E8.

I forgot that all this happened in one episode, but then again it's Black Sails, and this is the first of four amazing season finales.

Silver is somehow still alive and on the Walrus, although given that his position currently relies on Randall, he's probably not as secure as he'd like to be. To be fair, those 18th century prosthetics don't look fun and I'm not sure I wouldn't feel the same if someone tried to make me wear one. Either way, Silver somehow has less problems than the rest of them. His schedule was actually correct (can we just take a moment to appreciate that this man held a full fucking schedule in his head for weeks after having it for one day), Eleanor's still protecting him (I assume), and he may be about to come into a lot of money. He clearly wants some clarity in terms of what Flint's plans for him are, which Flint absolutely will not give him, but, honestly, things could be worse. He could be Gates.

Flint and Gates are just a complete mess at this point. A bunch of people are expecting Gates to kill Flint whilst Gates, the wonderful man that he was, was going to help Flint escape but even then would definitely end his career as a pirate. Flint, meanwhile, would never let anyone get in between him and the Urca. I'm pretty sure they put that drinking scene in there just to hurt us even more, to show us that a) Flint and Gates are actually really close friends and b) Gates is (was) a gem of a human being. Seriously, who else would spend weeks trying to deliver a letter to a friend's sister? And all that just makes the events of the following day even harder. After everything that's happened, the Urca isn't there. I can't explain why, but something about that just feels so fitting. It's not good for Flint though, as it brings all the tensions between him, Gates, and the rest of the crew to boiling point. De Groot wants Flint tried then and there, Flint wants to go after a literal man o' war (I don't know much, but it having "war" in the name is generally a bad sign), and Gates, oh poor old Gates, just wants to get everyone back to Nassau before shit hits the fan, but I think he knows that that won't happen. Him handing Dufresne the letter with his confession was him admitting that to himself, and letting himself believe, for the first time, that Flint might rather kill him than give up on his dreams. This realisation is, for him, the breaking point that brings all the other realisations crushing down, and he loses it with Flint. He finally tells Flint that "(his) duty is to the (crew) not you", something that Flint had convinced both of them wasn't true, and Flint can't recognise that Gates is beyond believing in anything he says, I don't think he realises the extent to which he's grasping at straws until he accuses Gates of muntinying and Gates reveals everything he's been doing to manage the actual muntiny but, at this point, I think he's too far gone to actually act rationally on it. The final straw for Flint, though, is Gates' crushingly well-meaning plan to get him and Miranda to safety. The second he heard the word pardon, it was over for Gates. Whatever the backstory is between Flint and Miranda, I don't think he knows all of it, because, unlike Miranda, he didn't even try to sugarcoat the suggestion of taking the pardon. I think the worst thing is, neither of them could have stopped what was going to happen. Gates couldn't have prevented a mutiny for any longer, and Flint couldn't have let Gates take his life as a pirate away from him. Despite, or because of, its inevitability, that scene is the most emotional one in the show so far. It really showcases what Black Sails is becoming and the direction that it's heading in (more on that in my season 1 wrap-up probably). And the most Black Sails thing about it is that, as Flint is killing one of our most beloved, genuinely kind-hearted, characters, we feel more sorry for him than ever before. I can't express or describe the emotions that watching Flint choke his best friend to death, all while crying and apologising again and again evokes, but oh boy are those emotions powerful. This is definitely some kind of turning point.

Then, as Flint is processing what he's just done, holding Gates' body, Silver comes in. These two are a match made in hell, we can be sure of that. Flint has just killed someone, acting on emotion and impulse, and now Silver is coming in with little to no emotion and immediately treats the situation like a crime scene, all while Flint is collapsed like a cornered, dying animal. Flint tries to stop Silver but quickly gives in, whether because he sees the logic in it or just because he can't fight anymore (probably a bit of both). Then, just as a new sort of equilibrium has been achieved in this moment of absolute chaos and upheaval, Dufresne also comes to shake things up. At this point, it's probably good that Silver's also present, because Dufresne hasn't always been the best at acting on what's smartest, as opposed to what feels best. Silver is possibly too good at talking people into being what he wants, because Dufresne ends up giving Flint important advice, reaching some kind of uneasy truce.

As such, they go into the confrontation with the spanish ship with some kind of (not necessarily firm) footing, which Flint immediately tests with his ploy to prove that the man o' war is there for the Urca, and then going to attack a ridiculously overpowered ship. Also, Silver speaks Spanish? Anyway, this proves to be too much for Dufresne who shows more awareness of other people's perceptions of him than I maybe gave him credit for and choses the right exact moment to call Flint out. De Groot, meanwhile, is being the grumpy and prophetic old man we all know and love (I mean, seriously, "Time and time again he gambles with our lives. That is, when he's not taking them in cold blood." this man could make a killing as a writer of some sort, along with Mr "there are not legacies in this life ... just the water. It pays us, then it claims us" Gates, grumpy prophetic old men rise up I guess). For the second time in one day, Flint is having his power, future and dream taken away from him at the last moment. There's a moment where everything comes full circle as Logan(?) confirms the evidence condemning Flint is true, much as Billy confirmed Singleton's "theft", except, this time, it's likely that the evidence is true (although we never see the letter). Flint can see he's lost, but he keeps screaming for the guns to fire, then tries to fire them himself, only stopping when Dufresne literally shoots him.

At some point in the middle of all this, De Groot stops being a pessimistic prophet for a moment to actually do something. It's a good move, because Silver is one slippery man, and De Groot almost has him when we get one of the plot twists of all time: Randall, the man who, as far as we've known so far, has barely any awareness of his situation and little to no loyalty to Silver, fucking knocks De Groot out with his prosthetic leg, and follows that up with "you're welcome". What a guy. He remains a mystery to me-- this only complicates things-- but what a character. Silver then uses this opening to just shake shit up, I guess maybe because he thinks that starting a battle is one way to avoid immediate execution. We get a few moments of not quite calm, but organisation, as the Walrus crew accept that they're in battle and now need to win. Flint gets some semblance of control back as he advises/commands Dufresne, moving round the ship freely again, despite having recently been shot. The pirates have momentary victory thanks to the element of surprise. Then, in a moment of incredibly cinematography, the man o' war's gun ports open, audio becomes distant for a moment, then all hell breaks loose.

At this point, we should probably admit that Gates, Dufresne, and everyone who said that firing on a man o' war would be a really, spectacularly, bad idea were probably right. The Walrus is met with pure destruction. At some point, Flint is knocked overboard into the water. Whether he's unconscious or just letting himself sink is unclear but that shot of calm amidst the destruction is eerily beautiful.

Meanwhile, on Nassau, things are not going a whole lot better. At the beginning of the episode, it does look like Jack has some level of control over his new (not necessarily ideal) situation. He's firing Mapleton, he's working well with Max, he's got the merchants on his side, things are the best they've been for him for the best part of this season so far. Anne is not happy about any of this, but doesn't really say why. There's also a moment of her just... looking at Max in a moment of yearning(?) that breaks her general grumpiness for just a second. Eleanor, too, has got her shipping consortium more or less sorted. Sure, Mr. Scott is leaving her and she has no idea what's going on with Flint, but, like Jack, she's made the best of a bad situation and has more than found her feet

Then, just like with the Walrus, everything comes crashing down around them. Vane has returned with a vengance, a new crew, a shockingly effective plan, and a flare for the dramatic. Immediately, he sews as much panic and confusion as is humanly possible and, in doing so, effectively asserts his power. Mr Scott, despite his increasingly complicated relationship with Eleanor, immediately goes to protect her, making him possibly the only helpful person in this situation. Vane doesn't seem to have much of a goal beyond the ever-elusive ideals of power and strength, and all Hornigold cares about is his fucking chair. Vane then comes fully onto the scene with a slightly out of place story about Eleanor being fearless in Nassau, then claims to know her. Honestly, a lot of this seems like a massive ploy to get Eleanor to talk to him, but I guess it has worked a little. Eleanor is, for once, incredibly pragmatic about the situation, switching loyalties from Hornigold to Vane very quickly. That definitely won't have any negative consequences. Vane, too, adjusts very quickly to his new situation and immediately goes around to tie up his other loose end. As Anne predicted, he's suitably mad at (what he thinks was) Jack killing the remainder of their crew, and has found the worst possible punishment for a man obsessed with his name and reputation. At least, while all this is going on, Max and Eleanor come to some kind of agreement. Max is dressed spectacularly, and they're both stood in a secure position, looking out over Nassau. Max has come to appreciate Eleanor's point of view (and also possibly enjoys showing Eleanor how well she's doing without her) and each one seems to appreciate and respect the other's position and perspective. Yay for communication and emotional maturity!

Then we get our last moments on Nassau, after Max's "on sand, nothing is fixed" speech (prophetic women! yay!), with Vane in Hornigold's damn chair and Eleanor on the beach, just like in Vane's memory of her. It's a cool way to show how the power has shifted in Nassau, all whilst Flint and co. are off dying elsewhere.

Flint is, once again, absolutely covered in blood and sand and just general grime. Silver has pulled him out of the ocean, probably because he's recognised that Flint is the only guy who might not want to kill him immediately. He also seems to have mostly undressed Flint and given his bullet wound the school nurse treatment (wet paper towel). Silver is, once again, looking shockingly unaffected by everything, even maintaining some kind of optimisim that James "why am I still alive" Flint has long since given up on. Then we get yet another stunning shot of Flint and Silver on the beach, looking very small in the space of everything. It's an interesting perspective to just throw in there, even for a moment. Flint also gets an answer to his question pretty quickly as he (now with crumpled shirt) is shown the Urca. That sure is some painful irony-- that, if they had taken one piece of information into account, none of the past episode might have happened. Now, he and Silver are being kept alive as likely sacrifices for the process of getting the gold. What a way to end the season. I'm glad that all the seasons were released by the time I started this.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

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[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 15: Wings

Harry was not a big fan of parties.

In fact, Harry downright hated parties because he hated all of the unwanted attention. Fortunately, this masquerade gala allowed him to remain anonymous.

After all, who would expect Harry Potter to arrive in a pirate costume with skintight breeches, a billowy white shirt that exposed his chest (and the fake anchor tattoo), and thigh high boots? The black mask that covered much of his face and the pirate hat with a huge, gaudy feather helped, too.

He'd happily avoided anyone and everyone on his way to the snack table and had just stuffed a tiny, flaky, savory pastry in his mouth when he looked up to the top of the staircase that led into the room and promptly choked. There, standing at the top and looking down at all of them, was a literal angel.

The man had gorgeous white and gold wings magically attached to his back, Harry's fingers twitched as though reaching for the soft feathers as they fluttered in the breeze drifting through the open door behind him. Gold sandals graced his feet, and golden straps wrapped up his legs, stopping mid thigh. Silky white fabric was artfully draped around his hips, protecting his modesty, but only just. He wore a golden corset with a delicate structure that emphasized the narrowness of his waist and the broadness of his bare shoulders. Gold was dusted lightly across his skin, making him shine even more radiantly. His mask was also gold, hiding everything but his sharp chin, strong jawline, and his lovely lips. To finish everything off, a golden laurel wreath graced his pink hair.

He was gorgeous, ethereal. And Harry's gut told him that he had to meet him. His gut was hardly ever wrong.

(Read more below the cut)

Without stopping to think, Harry set off toward the other man, but was beat to him by a man dressed in a muggle constable uniform. As Harry approached, he heard the constable berating the angel and he felt his metaphorical hackles rise.

"Oy!" he said as the constable shoved the man's shoulder. "Back off. What's the matter with you?"

The constable spluttered at him and placed his hands on his hips in indignation. "Well I don't think a costume like that is appropriate."

And suddenly, Harry recognized that voice, recognized posture and his puffed out chest. "Well, first, Auror Hibbards," he said, "It's not your place to enforce a dress code. And second, I don't think the business you conduct with your secretary after hours is appropriate but no one's confronted you or your wife about that. Perhaps you'd like me to go and have a conversation with her about what I find inappropriate?"

He followed the other man's panicked gaze across the room to two women who were standing together talking, and tried to remember what Laura Hibbards had looked like when he'd met her a few years ago.

"She's the one in the striking medi-nurse costume isn't she?" he asked. "Laura, right?"

Hibbards took a step back and his arms fell to his sides, "Who are you?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Harry replied. "You mind your business and I'll mind mine."

Without another word Hibbards turned and fled across the room.

He turned to look at the angel standing next to him, "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," the man replied, voice warm and a smile tugging at his lips. "I daresay you arrived in the wrong costume."

Harry looked down at his pirate apparel. "Sorry?" he asked, looking up at him.

"I think you ought to have come as a knight dressed in shining armor," he teased.

"Hardly," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

The other man's eyes traveled up and down Harry's body, "So, let me guess, you're an auror? I would say that maybe you just work in the auror department but it was clever of you to get him to look at his wife so you could deduce who she was."

"Clever, hmm?" Harry teased. "I wouldn't go that far, but you're not entirely wrong. I've recently left the Ministry and I was an auror."

"What made you leave?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Harry lifted one shoulder, "I got fed up with the bullshit and the hypocrisy; I felt like I was slowly becoming someone I didn't want to be, so I left."

"And what do you do now?"

He laughed, "Do you want the truth?'

"Always."

"I work part time at a muggle coffee shop," he replied.

"Ah, so you're independently wealthy then."

Harry shook his head, "And you said I'm the clever one. What do you do?"

"I'm a solicitor," he replied.

He laughed, "So you really didn't need my help dealing with Hibbards then. I'm sure you could have talked circles around him."

"No, I probably didn't," he conceded. "But it was nice, just the same. A man who spends all of his time fighting on behalf of others appreciates someone fighting on his behalf every so often."

Harry smiled, "Are you here with anyone?" he asked, "Or can I get you a drink?"

"A drink would be great," the angel replied.

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

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a night as much as he had this one. His angel was quick-witted with a dry sense of humor, he was smart and sexy, and Harry genuinely enjoyed his company. They'd danced, and talked, and enjoyed the food and drinks available; and Harry found himself wishing that the night would never end.

When the clock stuck eleven, surprising both of them, they looked around to see that many people had already left. "Salazar, is that the time?"

Harry nodded, "Seems to be."

"I've an early morning tomorrow," the angel told him, "As much as I've enjoyed this, I should probably be on my way."

"Can I see you again?" Harry blurted.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the other man replied slowly. "This was meant to be a bit like Cinderella at the ball for me."

"Are you going to leave me your sandal, then? Expect me to come and find you?" Harry teased, really hoping that the other man would give in or at least give him something to go on. He was good a puzzles, good at pulling at loose ends until he'd unraveled the mystery.

"No, no, nothing like that," he said quickly. "I just wanted one night where I didn't have to be me. One night that I didn't have to walk around with my face and all of the baggage that goes along with it. This was never meant to be more than that."

"I hear you," Harry said, emphatically, "I really do. I find it difficult," he confessed, "connecting with people. People can't seem to see past their preconceived notions of who I am, but you..." Harry trailed off and shrugged helplessly, "it was easy. To be with you, to talk to you. I'd really like to get to know you better."

The angel rubbed the back of his neck, "I would like that, too," the other man replied softly. "Truly. But once you know who I am, you're going to change your mind."

"But isn't it worth to find out?" he asked, pleaded. "Even if you're right and I never want to see you again, that's the outcome you've assigned without even knowing."

"Maybe I'd prefer for you to remember this night fondly," the other man suggested.

"Maybe I'd prefer to have many more fond memories with you," Harry countered.

"You were a Griffyndor weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Harry replied with a grin. Then he grew serious, "Look, if you enjoyed tonight even half as much as I did, please just give it a chance. You might take one look at me and think this was a mistake, but at least we'll know and we won't have to spend the rest of our lives wondering what could have been."

The angel blew out a breath and Harry fought the nerves that had risen up in his chest. "Fine," he conceded, "but don't say that I didn't try to warn you."

"Okay," Harry said, giving him a big smile.

"Before we do this," he said, "I want you to know that I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for everything."

"Stop sounding like you're saying goodbye!" Harry protested.

The angel gave him a sad little smile, "Ready, then?"

"On the count of three?" Harry asked. When he received a nod in return, he reached up and said, "One, two, three," as he pulled of his mask.

A slap to the face would have been less of a surprise than the person he saw standing before him.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy?" he splutted. "What? How?"

"This explains so much, actually," Malfoy said, his mouth twisting in a displeased little grimace. "You got to come sailing in like the hero you are to rescue a damsel in distress-"

"That's not fair," Harry replied, still reeling. "I didn't even know it was you."

"No," Malfoy agreed. "It certainly would have changed your reaction if you had." He shook his head, "Well, this has been fun. I do so love being proven right."

"It's still better to know that this was not worth losing sleep over, don't you think?" Harry replied.

"Right," Malfoy clipped. "I'm off. The pirate costume seems a bit like false advertising, by the way," he said as he started to walk away without a backward glance.

"What?" Harry asked incredulously, "And the angel costume wasn't false advertising?"

"It's a Victoria's Secret Costume, Potter. Honestly."

Before Harry could make sense of that statement, Malfoy was up the stairs and out of the door, leaving Harry staring after him with a mixture of irritation, and confusion, and oddly a bit of attraction.

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" a voice called from beside him, "How lovely to see you!"

Harry turned to see Laura Hibbards standing next to him. "Your husband is cheating on you," Harry informed her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her right hand fluttering up to cover her heart.

"With his secretary. I should have said something a long time ago, I'm sorry," he added, because he was. No one deserved to be cheated on.

Then he walked away, leaving her floundering, and headed out the same door Malfoy had moments before.

When he got outside he looked around, hoping to see wings or a flash of pink hair, but the road was empty. Was he really lonely and desperate enough that he was thinking that he and Malfoy might be a good fit?

Harry gave it up, he didn't even know what he would have said if he had seen him. It wasn't worth losing sleep over, he reminded himself before appartating home.

Whiskers was waiting for him when he arrived and he scooped her up and nuzzled his nose into her fluffy white fur. "You love me, don't you?" he asked her. Her sweet, little meow confirmed it and he kissed her head before going in to get ready for bed. It wasn't worth losing sleep over he reminded himself again.

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

Harry had, in fact, lost quite a bit of sleep. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, grumbling to himself, and hating himself every time his mind replayed a part of the evening and butterflies took flight in his stomach.

By the time the sun was illuminating the sky, turning it bright pinks and reds, Harry only knew one thing: he couldn't get Malfoy out of his head.

He got out of bed and he started to do some digging on the other man. It took half the morning but he discovered Malfoy had made a bit of a name for himself. He worked for a wizarding law firm and he'd made a habit of only taking clients who were desperately in need of help that they couldn't afford. Harry had a hard time learning anything else about his personal life, it seemed like he didn't really have one, but it didn't take long for him to find an address.

From there, the planning was a bit shoddy. Harry hadn't ever really been good at making plans and sticking to them so he just showed up outside of Draco's office at 5:00pm and waited.

And waited.

And then he waited some more. He waited until 6:30, wondering if he'd missed the other man somehow and as he was about to leave and return tomorrow, the door opened and out stepped Malfoy. His hair was blonde and he was wearing a well-tailored suit but he looked just as breathtaking as he had the night before.

He froze when he caught sight of Harry, looking stricken for just a moment before smoothing his features. "What are you doing here?"

Harry opened his mouth, "I'm sorry." They weren't quite the words he was meaning to say but it was too late to take them back now.

"Whatever for?"

"I had a brilliant time with you last night," Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Right up until you realized it was me."

"That's what I'm sorry for," Harry said. "Malfoy," he started, then he changed tracks, "Draco, you made me feel like I was just a person. Just a guy flirting with another person, enjoying life, free of all expectations."

"Yes, we established that last night," he replied as he stepped down the stairs and stood on the pavement in front of Harry. "That was the point of the masks and the costumes."

"Right, but I don't think it was just the masks and costumes. The person I was last night," he licked his lower lip but forced himself to continue, "That's who I really am. Without the weight of being Harry Potter. And I would be willing to bet my vault at Gringotts that the person you were last night is who you really are without the weight of being Draco Malfoy."

"Can you afford to bet your vault at Gringotts?" he asked. "Aren't you a barista? What if you're wrong?"

"Shut up," Harry said, "I'm trying to say something profound here."

"Apologies," Malfoy said, taking one step closer to him as his mouth tilted up at the corner.

"When who we both really are seems to be so compatible, doesn't it seem silly to throw that away on a childhood rivalry?"

"What exactly are you proposing?"

Harry took a breath, "Dinner? Or coffee if dinner is too much. I'd like the chance to get to know you better."

"You would?" Draco asked softly, looking open and vulnerable, and Harry's heart expanded in his chest until he couldn't breathe properly.

"I really would," he said, reaching out to take Draco's hand.

"Alright. Dinner," he agreed. "But don't blame me if this doesn't work out."

Harry grinned at him, "Feel free to blame me when it does."

Day 14: Louder, So Everyone Can Hear | Day 16: Tulips