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rrrrinmaru · 1 month

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calculated risk (but boy am i bad at math) (sylus x mc) (nsfw) pt 2

wc: 4.8k rating: E warnings: NSFW content, dirty talk, handjobs, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, thigh fucking (intercrural), orgasm denial, penis in vagina sex (just the tip), dom!sylus sub!mc, male-centric pleasure because mc is being denied brief: you lose a bet to sylus and you have to do whatever he wants for 24 hours // recommended to read part 1 here for context // part 3 finale here

Being unable to refuse Sylus for twenty-four hours is not one of your smarter decisions.

To be fair, you didn’t decide much of anything. You lost a bet—rigged, you would argue, if he would care to listen—and he chose his reward.

You would put up more of a fight if he weren’t so intent on ruining you.

“Sylus,” you gasp, the sound weak and shaky. It’s more an exhale than a word at this point. Your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves and your knees are going to give out if he keeps trying to mouth wetly at your clit—

He kisses your pert clit, laughing at the way it makes you clench around nothing. “What an excellent view,” he murmurs, lips brushing teasingly along your cunt, the tip of his tongue darting out to slide along the slick wetness dripping down your thighs. You cry out, legs shaking as you rock forward on your toes. You’re not sure if you want to move away from his mouth or sit back down on his face to chase that clever tongue. “Hips up, sweetie.”

“I hate you,” you whine weakly. Your entire body is trembling from the effort of holding yourself up, thighs tensed as you try to prop yourself up higher. Your forearms are braced against the desk in his study, palms wet with sweat as you try to sweep away any stray papers. Sylus probably doesn’t care, but you don’t want to hear the smugness in his voice when he holds up a piece of paper with ink streaks all over the surface and accuses you of messing with his work.

You tried to hold yourself up at first, propped up on your elbows enough to look back and see a head of silver hair. Fingers on your bare ass, skirt hiked up to your waist and pooling on the table—you could see the way his fingers dug into your skin, kneading the plush fat of your ass as he spread you the way he liked. Wide open and dripping, cunt hole twitching sporadically the longer you went without any stimulation.

If he wasn’t touching you, then he was looking at you.

Then he put his mouth on your pussy, that hungry tongue digging into your cunt as if he truly wanted to eat you alive. The sucking sounds from your cunt were obscene and they made you drop your head to the silver surface of the table in an attempt to cool your flaming cheeks with the chilled metal.

It didn’t work. Not when Sylus groaned after a while, fingers flexing against your ass to push you up higher so he can get a better angle to work at your pussy.

“Just let me cum,” you try pleading with him. Sylus hums, the vibrations going straight to your throbbing pussy and making the ache worse.

“I don’t think you get to call the shots here.” There’s a thread of amusement in his voice—it’s a thread you want to grip between your fingers and snap. “Twenty-four hours, right?”

You’re not above setting your pride aside if it means you can cum. You’d be the first to fling it out the window when he’s got you on a high wire like this, so close to tripping over the edge you swear you can taste it.

“Please, Sylus,” you moan, breath hitching when he latches back onto your clit midway through your words. You want to say something else, like I’m begging you, please just let me cum, I’m so fucking close, but he gives your swelling clit a particularly hard suck and your entire mind goes blank. It’s just straight pleasure, a fire rushing up your spine and making your eyes roll back on instinct.

Your knees involuntarily go limp. You can’t hold yourself up, not when your upper body is balanced uselessly against the desk and your legs aren’t listening to you. In the split second where your toes slip against the floor, you’ve resigned yourself to tumbling to the ground and getting a bruise on your hip in the process.

But Sylus laughs, pulling back just enough to press an open-mouthed kiss to the hungry hole of your pussy, and slips his hands down to cup your ass. He pushes you up, forcing you to slide up on the desk—your hands flail weakly, scrabbling for some sort of purchase and finding none. You must hit something because there’s a brief snap of pain against your knuckles, and you think something tumbles to the ground.

You don’t know what it is, though, because Sylus is suddenly hunched over your back, his chest pressed up tightly against you with both hands coming around to the front of your thighs to pull your legs further apart.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this,” he pants into your ear. His voice is a low, rolling sound that goes straight to your clit. You try to close your legs to put some pressure on your pussy, and that makes him chuckle. He forces your thighs apart with ease. You’re not putting up much of a fight, not with how weak your muscles are and how the only thing you can focus on is that you’re this close to cumming.

“Please,” you beg, words escaping you. There isn’t anything else to say—your mind is a blur, clit and pussy twitching from the heat of Sylus’ hands just centimeters away. You want those hands on you, in you. You want him to bully your clit between his fingers, pinching and rolling your swollen clit while fucking two other fingers into you. Three fingers into you. Fuck, you’re wet enough that you think he could make four fit, just slide them in without any preamble and make you cry out from the stretch.

Even the thought of it is enough to make you shiver. You moan, eyelashes fluttering as you weakly attempt to rock back into his hips. The line of his cock is hard against your skin, the metal zipper pressing into your ass.

“Look at how desperate you are,” Sylus whispers. You can feel the shadow of his smile against the shell of your ear—his upturned lips rub against your heated skin, his breath burning a brand into the space where your ear meets your jaw. “Like a needy kitten in heat for a thick cock to fuck her stupid. Your clit is swollen, dollface.”

As if to prove a point, he presses against the underside of your clit with his thumb. It’s sensitive there, and he’s brought you to the edge and left you wanting so many times that this small movement is enough to make you jolt, a cry escaping your lips before you can even think to force it back. Your hips shudder, rutting against his thumb without any real thought or purpose, and he lets out an amused huff.

“So twitchy. Is this pink pussy all for me?”

His other hand slips down, fingertips tracing the seam of your pussy. You’re so drenched you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy—the sticky sound when he dips one finger into your cunt and pulls it out, so quickly that you barely manage to clench around it for the slightest hint of pressure before it’s gone again.

“Again, again—Sylus!”

A warm tongue runs along your neck. “Patience, sweetie. One finger isn’t enough for you?”

You are going to burst, and you swear you’ll take him with you. “More, please, I’m so fucking close—”

Two fingers fuck into you. They’re crooked at the knuckle, slamming up against the sensitive spot inside of you and you shriek, legs shaking so hard that Sylus has to lift you up again to press you against the table.

“Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly, vision blurry. “I’m—fuck, Sylus, nnngh—close, I’m—”

Your cunt tightens, clit twitching on Sylus’ thumb, and the heat enveloping you abruptly disappears. Your cunt is empty again, clinging onto nothing, and your clit is left with nothing to rub against, and there is nothing holding you up and you’re sliding off the desk.

Strong arms come around your waist, scooping you up and onto a familiar lap. Sylus must have pulled his chair over, but you’re not concerned about that. You’re not concerned at all about the finer logistics of how he got you onto his lap.

You’re concerned about how your pussy isn’t filled, how your thighs are still spasming from the brute force of an orgasm ripped away from your grasp like that.

You had it in your fingers. You were this close to cumming. One more slam of his fingers into your cunt and you would have tipped over and it would have been so good.

“You can take it,” Sylus tells you, eyes gleaming. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You stare at him. Is there a knife in the vicinity? Hell, a gun?

“Look at that expression. Are you upset?” He asks with a gleeful, knowing look in his eyes. “It’s just one orgasm, sweetie. Be patient.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out for a while. “Twenty-four hours?” You ask eventually, voice hoarse from crying out just seconds before, when you thought you were en route for cumming your mind out.

Sylus shrugs, eyes closing briefly as he rolls his shoulders in that lazy manner of his. “You’ll cum soon enough.” His crimson gaze lands on you. Half-lidded and smug, like he’s pleased at how distraught you are from being denied an orgasm twice over. “If you can’t wait, I could tell you about how I plan to have you for the rest of my time. A little preview, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want a preview. I want this—” you reach down, fingers wrapping challengingly around Sylus’ stiff cock through the fabric of his pants. His breath catches, eyebrows rising as he looks down, admiring the way your fingers look against his outline of his cock, then he drags his gaze back up to you.

His fingers thrum lightly against the sensitive skin at your waist. “And what will you do with it once you have it, dollface?”

You squeeze it, mollified by how it makes him tilt his head back and inhale sharply. It’s unfair how sexy he is, how good pleasure looks on him. He looks hedonistic like this, with his eyes closed as he lets the pleasure roll throughout his body, stemming from the hard cock beneath your fingers. You can feel the heat of it spilling through the fabric, and you’re tempted to pull his zipper down and sneak his cock out to sit on it.

“Fuck myself on it,” you admit frankly. Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you dig your thumb into the head of his cock, hard enough for him to let out a pleased grunt.

“Nngh, naughty girl. That wasn’t very nice of you,” he pants, opening one eye to look at you. But he doesn’t do anything to stop you. All he does is sit there, head lolling back far enough to expose his Adam’s Apple and the dip of his clavicle. As if waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You have half a mind to hop off his lap and leave him to settle it by himself. He deserves it, you think petulantly. If you can’t cum, then he shouldn’t get to soak in the syrupy pleasure of cumming either.

But you think about the heft of his cock. The way it feels in your palm, thick and heavy. The pearls of precum beading at the tip, the visceral proof of how aroused he can get at your touch. The way he flinches when you pull at his cock too tightly—the instinctive flinch, and then the gradual relaxation as he revels in the sensation.

“Oh? Are you going to make it up to me?” He murmurs, feigned surprise in his voice as you pull the zipper down. He lifts his hips up helpfully, just enough for you to fish his cock out.

You don’t bother replying to him. Instead, you steady his cock and suck on the insides of your mouth for a while.

Then, you open your mouth, tongue out and resting on your lower lip as a trail of saliva drips from your mouth and onto Sylus’ cock.

You see the way his cock jerks, precum spilling furiously from the tip. And when your saliva pools on Sylus cock, dripping into the slit and mixing with his precum—

“Fuck,” Sylus curses lowly. “Fuck, sweetie, you—”

You look up. Sylus’ pupils are blown wide open, dilated beyond belief as he stares at your mouth. His cock twitches, throbbing beneath your fingers and you slowly start to stroke, the slide made smooth by your saliva and his precum. You rub the pad of your thumb at his slit, playing with the sensitive head of his cock until he jerks, hips snapping up as he growls and tightens his grip on your waist.

“You’re going to give a man ideas,” he groans, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. His gaze is hazy with arousal, and he looks at you with the confidence of a man who knows that you know he’s about to cum. His lips are crooked up in a taunting smile.

You lick your lips. He looks good enough to eat. You had this cock in your mouth just hours ago, bruising the back of your throat, but you feel like sucking it again. You feel like running your tongue over the thick length of this cock.

“I should edge you too.”

Sylus tilts his head. “You could,” he says agreeably. “Until I ordered you to make me cum. With your mouth. Your tits. Your fingers.”

His eyes drag down along the line of your body, pausing meaningfully at each location he mentions. “Your thighs,” he continues, looking straight at the sticky and damp patch between your thighs, tracking all the way up to your pussy.

You shiver, clit pulsing at the thought of him rutting between your thighs.

“Oh? You liked that, didn’t you?” He smirks, a pleased air settling on his shoulders as he looks you over. “Put your fingers to work, sweetie. I know you know how to use them.”

Some part of you really wants to resist on principle. But the horny part of you prevails, and you watch with satisfaction as you pull Sylus to the brink in a handful of minutes—he groans, a deep and hoarse sound as his muscles roll with the effort of keeping still so you’re balanced on his lap. His cock throbs heavily in your hand, betraying how he’s barely hanging on to his self-control, and you watch with bated breath as sticky cum spurts out in your palm.

You cup his swollen cockhead, catching the streaks of white cum on your fingers so it doesn’t stain his sweater. He makes a delicious sound when you rub the head of his cock against your palm while he’s still cumming—the overstimulation makes him twitch, fingers clenching at your waist over and over again as if to ground himself with the touch of your skin.

“You made a mess,” you note idly, stroking him through the aftershocks. “Are you going to clean up after yourself?”

Sylus huffs, still breathing heavily with every pass of your hand, hips rutting up instinctively. “Decide where you want me to lick it off,” he grunts, free hand pulling your dress all the way up to your collar to expose your breasts. He licks his lips, giving you a pointed look as he blatantly stares at your tits, and you can feel the way your nipples harden under his gaze.

“Go on,” he murmurs, breath catching when you rub at the underside of his cockhead. “Tits or cunt, sweetie? I’m feeling generous enough to let you choose.”

You want his mouth on your cunt again, but if he brings you to the brink one more time before ruining the orgasm, you might actually kill him. In these trying circumstances, having him lick the remnants of his cum off your breasts might be a better idea.

Having come to a decision, you take your hands off his cock. Your palms are sticky with his cum, long strands of cum stretching between your fingers, and you reach up to cup your tits.

Sylus watches intently, eyes glued to the way you pinch your nipples between your fingers. The way you spread his cum all over your tits, leaving white streaks on your skin as you go. His lips are slightly parted, tongue darting out occasionally to swipe across his lower lip as he watches, as if he can’t wait to put his mouth on you.

His mouth on your chest, you think deliriously. Teeth worrying at your nipples, sucking at your skin until he leaves a ring of bruises across your skin. Tongue flicking those pretty buds until you’re begging for more, for fingers in your cunt—or his tongue flat, letting you rub your tits all over his mouth.

You can’t decide which is better. So you press your arms together, pushing your cum covered tits up, and offer them to Sylus.

“Clean them up,” you murmur, and Sylus chuckles.

“How demanding. Even when you have no power to order me around.” His tongue swipes against your left nipple, a fleeting sensation that sends sparks down your spine. “Lucky for you, I am feeling rather hungry.”

The torture continues. He corners you on the couch when you’re trying to watch something to get your mind off the hot arousal pooling in your gut for the past few hours. He puts you on his lap, back pressed up to your chest, feet up and planted on either side of his thighs on the sofa. Your hands under your knees just to hold yourself open for his taking as he plays idly with your cunt while watching the show you put on.

He keeps up a loose commentary about the show, laughing lightly when the male lead appears shirtless in the shower. “Is this what you watch in your free time?” Sylus asks, three fingers deep in your pussy while rubbing insistently at your clit. “Naked men in the shower?”

“Mmmph!” You moan, eyes rolling back at the electricity sparking in your veins. His fingers are thick and clever, pushing up against the bundle of nerves inside your pussy with such damning precision that your entire body is shaking from the effort of not cumming. And it’s like Sylus knows that, with how he shifts you easily in his lap, pulling you tighter against him and fucking rougher into you with his fingers.

Like he’s trying to push you all the way to the brink. Like he takes pleasure in the way you deny yourself just to be obedient to him.

“You’re missing the good parts,” Sylus continues, murmuring quietly in your ear. His voice isn’t loud, but your entire world seems to have shrunk to focus solely on him. His fingers, his heat, the puff of his breath against your ear. You’re looking straight ahead, eyes half-lidded, but you’re not seeing much of anything on the screen.

“Sylus,” you whine, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers. “Please, please, it’s been hours—”

He bites the shell of your ear, hard enough to sting, then runs his tongue wetly over the mark. “Patience,” he coaxes, even as his fingers pull at your clit hard enough to make you cry out, hips jerking forward uncontrollably.

You’ve kind of had it with patience, but when Sylus lets go of you, third orgasm ruined, you take a deep breath and hold yourself back from strangling him. You do need his cock hard and alive to fuck yourself stupid on, when he’s stopped being so unhelpful.

You go to bed early, nerves tense and temper high. If you punch the pillows around a bit before settling down and yanking the covers up to your chin, that’s between you and the bed. And Mephisto, who is likely reporting everything back to Sylus the moment you fall asleep.

It takes ages, and a lot of tossing and turning in bed, but you must have fallen asleep at some point because you wake up to your legs in the air, held together by one hand wrapped around both ankles, and an unbearable heat between your thighs, pushing insistently against your clit.

You gasp, still dizzy from sleep and distracted by the wet slide of something against your pussy, hot and demanding. It drags along your slit, bumping the underside of your swollen pearl on every upstroke. It’s a slow, tenacious fire that builds in your gut, stoking the dying embers and coaxing the flames to roar up your spine once again.

“Awake?” The voice is low, closer to a growl than anything else. “Go back to sleep, sweetie. All I need are your thighs and this sweet little cunt.”

His hips roll against yours, driving his cock further along your pussy. He fucks your thighs slowly, so fucking patient as he chases his orgasm—patience that you don’t have. You would try to coax him to fuck you harder if you weren’t still half-awake, vision bleary as you weakly clutch at the bedsheets.

You’re not even sure what’s happening. All you know is that your pussy is aching, throbbing so badly for something, anything to be stuffed inside. His cock saws between your thighs, the slide made smooth by the copious amount of slick you’re dripping, and you moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit.

“More,” you gasp, the word rattling in your throat. “Sylus, please—”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep.”

You shake your head as best you can. Your back arches, trying to roll your hips up into his to get a better angle. To put more pressure on your clit. You’ve been denied for so long that you’re tiptoeing on the jagged knife’s edge—you just need a bit more, a little more of something, and you know you’ll cum.

But Sylus keeps up this devastatingly slow pace, like he’s taking his time, like he’s savoring the experience of you writhing beneath him.

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering shut. There’s a moment where your voice breaks in two, and you think you might cry if he denies you again. It’s a steady build up, a long trek up a mountain with a payoff you can see, just barely out of reach.

“Not yet,” Sylus replies softly. There is another hand on your hip, thumb rubbing gently over the skin there. It’s almost a reassurance, an attempt to cool the flames licking over your body, but then he moves your legs over one shoulder so his other hand can join your legs, squeezing your thighs together to create a tighter crevice for him to fuck into. “You can take it, sweetie.”

You’re not sure you can. The back of your thighs are pressed up against Sylus’ chest, the jut of his broad shoulder leaning into your calves. He holds you in place like you’re nothing more than a sex toy he’s using in the middle of the night to try and rub one off. He rocks his cock against your pussy, the full length of it scraping past your slit and peeking through your thighs at the end.

Your clit feels battered and bruised and far too sensitive for the consistent grinding of his cock. When he pulls back, far enough that the head of his cock is positioned right at the mouth of your pussy, you can hear the way you start to whine.

You can feel it. The briefest touch of pressure, his cockhead nudging at your cunt, teasing your hungry pussy. Like he’s going to sink in and fill you up so full you can feel it in your throat, if you just ask nicely.

But he won’t. He teases your cunt just enough to make you shake, then he continues the slide to make the head of his cock kiss your clit.

“You’re so mean,” you cry out, voice trembling as your pussy mouths hungrily at the touch of his cockhead. “Please, Sylus, I’m begging, please, please—”

Sylus grunts. His grip on your thighs gets tight, and you imagine you can see the veins in his forearm bulge. You imagine the way he’s frowning, brows taut as he grits his teeth and stares down at you like he wants to eat you alive.

Restraint looks so ugly on him, you want to say, but the pressure against your pussy grows and your mouth drops open. It feels like some higher power is perched above the two of you, drawing the air from your lungs out, wisp by wisp, as your cunt opens up for the head of Sylus’ cock.

“You don’t know how fucking good you look like this,” Sylus forces out, gripping you hard enough that it aches, that you know you’ll wake up with handprints on your outer thighs tomorrow. “Good enough to eat, sweetie. Just look at you.”

You open your eyes, hazily looking up. Sylus’ eye is glowing, glinting crimson through the dark, and there’s a ravenous look in his gaze. He looks down at you, searching your body, watching the bounce of your tits every time he fucks into you, the fat head of his cock slipping in just barely.

It’s not enough. There’s a gaping hole inside your pussy, so deep inside you that only Sylus’ full length can reach it to pummel it into submission. Even as you clench around the tip, your cunt mouthing hungrily at Sylus’ cockhead, it’s not enough.

“Just the tip,” Sylus groans, voice tight as he grinds the head of his cock into your pussy. “That’s all you’ll get for tonight.”

You arch your hips up, trying to force him to slip further into you. “More, I want more—”

He laughs breathlessly, hips stuttering when you tighten desperately around his cock. “Soon,” he promises, carefully fucking into you. Sylus keeps his word, feeding you just the tip and nothing else.

“You feel divine,” he murmurs, breathing heavily. The rhythm of his hips falter, a telltale sign that he’s losing control. He’s close, you think deliriously, and flex your pussy around his cock to pull him along at a faster rate.

“Inside,” you moan, fingers blindly tracing down your body to find his hands, gripping his wrists. “Inside, inside, inside me,” you chant desperately.

“Want me to paint your pussy white?” Sylus coos, hips speeding up. The head of his cock pops in and out of your pussy, bullying its way past your throbbing hole to open you up just enough before he pulls back. It’s a horrible tease, and sometimes he moves too fast, too eager to sink his cockhead into the wet heat of your cunt and he misses.

It makes him curse, eyes skimming down your body to fixate on your thighs. He watches you with the hungry intensity of a predator on a hunt—the shaking in your thighs, the way his slick cockhead peeks out from between your thighs, the way your chest squeezes tightly every time he grinds flatly along the swollen bump of your clit—

He slides back in your cunt, fucks in harshly, deeper than before, deep enough to make it feel like your breath’s been punched out of you.

Sylus’ cock throbs, pulses hotly inside you, and you can feel the spurts of cum against the walls of your cunt.

The pooling heat of cum inside you is almost enough to make you tip over the edge. But your clit throbs insistently, demanding attention that Sylus refuses to give you. Your pussy clenches and unclenches tightly around Sylus’ cock, coaxing his orgasm out as he groans from the sensation.

He holds himself tightly above you, refusing to fuck deeper or pull out. Sylus pants, the sound of his heavy breathing filling up the space around you as you try to catch your breath yourself, fingers still holding on to Sylus’ wrists.

When he finally collects himself, his cock giving one last jerk inside your pussy, he leans down. Sylus’ face is right above yours, in painful clarity despite how dark the room is, and you look up at him with your heart thudding in your chest.

His gaze searches your face for a moment, then he smiles.

“Good girl,” Sylus croons, and one of his hands leave your thighs. “Be obedient for a little bit more, and you’ll be rewarded at the end.”

“Twenty-four hours is way too lo—” your voice cracks, going high at the sudden touch of a thumb, wet with slickness, on your stiff clit.

“Easy,” he murmurs, crimson gaze fixated on you. “Easy does it, sweetie. I’ll give you what you want.”

He brings you to the brink again, and again, and again, until you drift off to sleep from how worn out your body is.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #恋与深空 #러브앤딥스페이스 #恋と深空 #秦彻 #rin writes l&ds #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace smut #lnds smut #sylus smut

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hadesoftheladies · 7 months

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actually, I DID have gender dysphoria as a teenage girl without being exposed to anything about it on the internet, on top of "racial dysphoria" and body dysmorphia

there were points I DID want to kill myself because i wasn't, or bleach my skin or change my body, i would have done anything to be a white boy at one point

which is both sad and funny to me because i remember two of my then good friends explain being enby and transgender to me and me being like "that doesn't make any sense" and it's because of trans-discourse we eventually broke up. the closest i ever got to accepting trans-ideology was transmedicalism with weak support for "queer" culture. i did not understand pronouns, but i understood dysphoria. but i did not understand how one could be a man or woman without the sex characteristics.

how did i heal?

one, i left church. that was one of the places i was most scrutinized for my physical body. two, i distanced from my parents, especially my mom. who often made my ocd and body-image worse (not because she was mean, but because she was always fretting about "decency"). three, i focused on bettering my personal space. writing, reading, watching my comfort shows, getting the focus off me. four, i started eating better, and my body became less burdensome. i stopped getting horrible period pain. five, i surrounded myself with self-confident women and stopped trying to resurrect toxic friendships with girls and boys (especially boys). started eliminating each toxic friend and focusing my efforts on healthier relationships. six, i'd started educating myself on my own history, watching and listening to more black and African people. even when i didn't enjoy what they made or resonate with it, i found i appreciated the experience and could allow myself to hate or love whatever i found.

by the time i discovered radical feminism, this was like, the final step for me: consuming women-centric literature and media. this was HUGE. i'd see paintings and photography of women in all shapes, colors and sizes. i'd listen to master musicians, read women philosophers, anthropologists, etc. this started mending a lot of what caused initial disquiet when it came to my dysphoria or dysmorphia.

basically, i took myself out of bad environments (especially those which force you to scrutinize every detail about yourself, like social media, i took long breaks from that), drew boundaries with people i couldn't get rid of, learned about myself (ocd, dyscalculia, anxiety, female biology) so that i developed understanding and could empathize, stopped centering men and white people.

now, while there's still a hint or trace of dysmorphia and dysphoria, it doesn't plague my life. it's like the occasional itch. more of a mild temptation to go down a dark hole than an actual threat. and i've learned how to handle those.

i learned the root of things. not just my history, but the root of how society worked and how it affected me. and i'm still learning, and my life is still improving.

so yeah, girls and women going through this is normal and common. anyone who is used to who they are being shameful is more at risk (like gnc lgb kids), but you can recover. usually better if you get out of the places that are making you sick.

#mine #radblr #dysphoria #dysmorphia

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vigil-antes · 25 days

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Do you like have any good comics recommendations or anything to do with the bat fam, I don't have many DC friends so idk where to start

hiii omg ive been WAITING for this. you didnt give me any kind of parameters for what kind of fics you want so im going to list some of those i like most. its going to be a long one so buckle up:

My DC Fic Best Pics:

Short & Sweet (Oneshots/Less than 10k words)

Send to All: Crack, the bats have a sex pollen release form

glucose guardian: Funny, Tim being the caped community's accidental sugar daddy

A Brief Interview: Sweet, Damian & Tim Ageswap

curiosity and the cat: Cute, Timbern Catlad AU

Dead Meme: Crack, Jason centric, Jason keeps referencing dead memes

Have I Told You About Minnie?: Sweet, Bruce&Steph

Multi Media Marketing Mistakes: Crack, Social Media AU

an inappropriate explosion: Funny, Superman calls Batman to reel in his unruly son (Red Hood)

though your eyes will need some time to adjust: so sweet GAH, Bruce&Steph

Girl what were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament?: Funny, Timbern after the disaster with the chaos cult

Tim Drake: Bisexual Awakener Extraordinaire: Funny, YJ experiencing the mandated Robin-Induced sexuality crisis

Brotherhood: Tim&Damian, Damian Time travels right into Jason's attack on Titans Tower

Priceless: Crack, Nightwing&The Bats messing with Bane

User SuperRob: TImBerKon. Need I say more?

The Mystery of the Superboy Shirts: TimKon, Tim keeps stealing Kon's SB Shirts

Thicker Than Water: Funny, Batbros slice of life-ish

Big Bird, Commence Attack!: Crack, Jason's revenge plan involves dressing up as Big Bird

World’s Saddest Breakfast Club: Sweet, Batkids Bonding

red chrome: Funny, Tim's health is concerning enough to stop Jason from attacking him in Titans Tower

Hot Dog, French Fries: Tim&Damian, Damian gets dosed with truth serum

#SoftRobin: Funny. Damian-centric Social Media AU

Hurry Up Don't Take So Long: Sweet, DamiJon through the years

Paris vs Gotham: Crack, Social Media AU Ladybug crossover (no ships)

Can I tempt you?: TimKon, Light angst, Sweet

Bedtime Stories (15-50k Words)

Baby Birds and Bat Caves: SO funny, genuinely one of the best fics ive read, Tim-Centric, Meta(?)/Cryptid Tim, inspired by Welcome to Nightvale

Gotham Knockoff: Tim-Centric, Alley Kid Tim pretends to be the Drakes' kid to get closer to the Bats

In This or Any Other Universe: Nightwing ends up in the The Batman (2022) Universe

Dangerous and Noble Things: Kid Tim gets kidnapped by the League of Shadows. No one realizes until, four years later, the Bats notices something wrong

In this Town We Call Home: Kid Tim attracts Batman's attention to get adopted

With Violet Light: Jason finds a ring of power and becomes a Star Sapphire

Little Birds’ Wings: Jason&Other Batkids, Jason comes back from the League to a drastically different Gotham

the pact of our youth: Reverse Robins Au, TimBerKon after Tim dies (and comes back different)

Pretty Boys and Identity Problems: Sweet, TimKon, To get away from his crush on Robin, Superboy gets entangled with Gotham pretty boy Tim Drake

let's get mischievous: TimBern, during the chaos cult ritual, Bernard gets possessed by Dyonisus

It Wouldn't Be Make Believe (If You Believed In Me): DamiJon fake dating AU where they don't know each other and meet while Robin is investigating a case in Metropolis (they're uni aged btw)

I’m Pretty Sure Tim Steals Clothes: An Elaboration In The Form Of A Long Fic: Cute, TimKon, Tim keeps stealing Kon's SB shirts

Into the Deep Dark Night: Tim-centric, Tim&Jason, Tim dies as a kid and loses a bit of his humanity

Alcatraz, But On Hardmode: Sweet, Tim-Centric, A YJ mission goes wrong and Tim has to rely on Jason to get him and his team out.

His Head is Bloody, but Unbowed: Jason-centric AU where he never stole the batmobile tires, but ends up meeting the Bats anyways after he saves Robin

A Good Place: Very soft, Damian&Bruce, Damian time travels to Batman's first year of activity.

Fairy Godbrother: Sweet, The batboys time travel to each others' pasts and help their brothers when they were younger

best laid plans: Tim&Jason, Tim finds Jason after he crawls out of his grave, bt they get goth taken by the league

Mystery Man: Cute, BirdFlash, The bats aren't known to the JL, Different first meeting

One Eternal Round: Super original, Bruce&Robins, My Hero Academia crossover where Aizawa, Midoriya, Kirishima, Todoroki and Bakugo remember their past lives as Gotham vigilantes

A Meditation on Railroading: Tim-Centric, Tim's dad leaves him stranded away from Gotham with no way back. Jason finds him and brings him home

the ship of theseus: Jason-Centric, Percy Jackson crossover, Jason and Percy are secretly twins

Why They Shouldn't Have Social Media: Crack, Social media AU

Cracked Foundation:Soft, Jason&Damian, They get stuck under a collapsed building together

Monolith: Bruce&The Batfamily, The birds aren't known to the JL, The JL meeting each member of the Batfam for the first time

Loading and Aspect Ratio: SO GOOOOOOD, Batfamily, The bats use wing prothesis but everyone think they're metas

Three’s a Crowd (But I’m Here if You Are): Cute, Funny, TimBerKon

A Softer Gotham: Steph&Bruce, Steph-Centric, Steph time travels to a time before Batman, becoming Gotham's first vigilante

greatest of ease: Dick-Centric, POV Outsider, Dick Grayson as seen in the eyes of the people surrounding him

Yesterday's Voices: Bruce&Batkids, Bruce's memory of the past five years gets erased leaving behind a softer man, one who doesn't remember Jason's death

show me yesterday, for i can’t find today: Jason-Centric, Jason&The Batfam, Robin!Jason and Red Hood switch places

Eat Your Heart Out, Social Life (50k+ words)

Vultures, Squirrels, and Other Flying Menaces: So good, AU where instead of becoming Robin, Tim hires Deathstroke to kill Joker, leading to the assassin adopting him and the other Batkids.

I’m alone here, I think: TimKon, Witch Tim, Tim is erased from everyone's memories and leaves Gotham. Kon finds him anyways.

You, Me, and the Humanity in Between: Soft and sweet, Bruce&His kids, Non-Human Batkids

cards on the table: Tim-Centric, Tim&Batfam, Tim's parents fake their death and leave Tim behind. He uses his stalking skills to become a fortuneteller scammer. Against his will, he ends up befriending the Waynes

Roasted: Funny, Cute, Dick-Centric, Talon AU, Dick&Batfam, Recovered Talon Dick opens a coffee shop that ends up becoming Rogue-Vigilante neutral grounds

Code Bat: Batfam, The bats aren't known, they have an emergency code to only be used in emergency case when revealing affiliation is inevitable (idk how to explain but its good trust me)

Minimum Height Requirement: SOFT, Bruce&His kids, Batfam, Batman doesn't let his kids become vigilantes before they turn eighteen

Running Headlong into My Arms: Soft, No Capes AU, even without Batman, Bruce finds his family

Liminal Space: Tim-Centric, Tim&Bruce, Tim&Batfam, Tim ends up in a softer and kinder version of his world

Robins and Other Flightless Birds: Bruce-Centric, Bruce&His kids, A Batman without kids is visited by another version of himself. He finds tha he, too, wants kids.

Laughter Lines: JayRoy, Soft, Jason helps raise Lian, before and after his death

Stars of the Forgotten: Bruce-Centric, Meta!Batkids, Bruce&His kids, on the search for a missing Barbara Gordon, Batman stumbles upon five metahuman kids in need of a home

Latchkey: Sweet, Tim-Centric, Robin!Jason, BatWatch!Tim, The Waynes get concerned with their lonely neighbor, Tim Drake

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map: Funny, Tim&Jason, Borderline abandoned Tim Drake gets taken in by Crime Lord Red Hood. CPS tries investigating, with little results

And that's it for today. If you're still here, thank you so much and seriously, some of these are so good, so read them, trust me!

Sorry i took so long to get back to you, i had to organize the mess in my AO3 bookmarks and compiling this took me ages.

Let me know what you all think, and if you ever want more!!!! (Yes i have more. It's a problem)

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stepintothelimelight · 1 month

Text

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ I FEEL ALRIGHT, I’M GONNA TAKE ON THE WORLD!

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° Light up the stars

got some pages to turn ✧ ⁺ ┊

PART 3 of the Spitfire Saga

TRAILER: In honor of Spitfire’s graduation…

(2018!f1grid x genz!fem!driver!reader)(SMAU and written)

For more Spitfire content go to my account and it’s my pinned post since tumblr hates me and won’t let me link anything :)

WARNINGS: Seb being an embarrassing grid mom, maybe one rude comment? VERY american reader in this one, but please feel free to imagine whatever, lolita (book) probably inaccurately mentioned, slightly blurry pictures, reader-centric

fc: Pinterest girls + topanga

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

graduation-gate ~ Monaco 2018

You’re content.

For the first time since you joined F4, you’re content. You have rebuilt your relationship with you family (to an extent), you’re having a stellar Rookie season (best since Hamilton, who just so happens to be your teammate), your team is great, you’re racing next to your idols and your best friends (Charles is only a little jealous you’re on a top team), and you’re about to graduate high school, valedictorian and with about a million honors.

However, right now, you’re halfway across the world from your school, in a presser that’s going at a ghastly slow pace, a day out from racing in the Monaco GP. You sit sandwiched between Seb and Kimi, on your left, and Nando and Lewis, on your right. All of them your idols.

A few months ago, you would be totally freaking out and fidgeting because this is like, the big four.

Well, the big three. Seb doesn’t really count.

Now, you lean your head back against the couch and sigh, just wanting the conversation to lull enough for the officers to call it good. When Lewis is asked an in-depth question about Qualifying, though, you know you’re in for a spiel.

You nudge Seb with your knee. He leans over to you, eyes still fixed on Lewis, but lending you an ear.

“I’m graduating next Friday,” You whisper in his ear. “Can you make it?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’ll see my schedule. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You shrug.

“Forgot.”

“And you decided to ask me in the middle of a -“

“Anything you two would like to share?” The moderator asks good-naturedly. You and Seb throw out identical annoyed glares, then put on poker faces.

“Yes,” Seb says. Oh boy. “Y/n just invited me to her graduation.” He sounds very proud. You flash a gratuitous smile at the team of reporters covering this particular star-studded presser.

Lewis leans over.

“Am I not invited?”

“¿Y yo?” Nando asks softly. “¿Porque no lo mencionaste?”

Kimi makes a soft noise.

“You are graduating.. university?”

“No,” You roll your eyes. “high school.”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised, once again, at how young you actually are.

“And you guys,” you cast a look at Lewis and Fernando, before narrowing your eyes at a smug Seb. “can come if you’d like. I wouldn’t want to make Seb think he’s special or something.”

They all ooohh at that. Seb clutches his chest.

“Right to the heart, Spitfire!”

The presser comes to a close quickly after that, but it’s imprint echoes in every single corner of social media for the rest of raceweek.

People trying to poke their noses into your business ask you where you go to school, when you’re graduating, if Seb, Nando, Lewis and Kimi are actually going. You just shrug and try to keep a straight face.

After all, the Iceman has been giving you lessons.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

twitter

Y/n, Seb and Kimi are in a presser together post-quali. She’s seated between them, as she qualified in pole, despite slightly slippery conditions.

“Y/n, this question’s for you,” Says a reporter. She leans forward, acknowledging the question. “We saw Lewis sitting with the team during the red flag, but we didn’t see you. Where were you spending the break?”

She smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of her neck, glancing over at Seb.

“I have an essay due tomorrow, so i was doing a final review on it.”

“What class?” That’s Seb.

“it’s like a writing class? the whole point of the class is to write this specific research paper, which I have to write for my diploma.”

“How many words?” The interviewer asks. “And what’s your topic?”

Her face lights up. You can tell she absolutely loves to talk about this type of thing.

“Mines about five thousand,” She says. “But it just has to be upwards of four. You can write about literally anything, so it’s pretty easy.”

“What’s your topic?” Kimi asks, not unkindly.

She pulls a face.

“Not a happy one. Fetishization of female innocence in literature and popular culture.” She seems to see the surprised faces the reporters are making and lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s not a fun topic, but I find it extremely interesting, and it somewhat applies to my life, too, so…”

She trails off. Seb picks up his mic.

“What do you mean by that?”

It’s genuine, curious. Not patronizing in the way that all the reporters ask her questions.

“I mean, there’s an expectation placed on women in the spotlight that we be.. innocent and good and pure, you know? And like, if you’re not, you’re a slut or a witch or something. And then we see this fetishization and fixation on innocence in things like movies and books. One of the books I’ve read for this essay is called Lolita?” She pauses. “It’s a very drastic depiction of hebephilia, and to me, it’s a bit satirical. While it’s about Freud and his theories, it also criticized ..”

And she talks and talks and talks. You can tell through the screen, her hand gestures, how she can’t seem to slow down, that she’s very invested. Seb has this look on his face, like he couldn’t be prouder, while Kimi listens, enraptured. Eventually, she rolls to a stop and puts both of her hands on her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says into the mic. “I didn’t mean to talk that much.”

The interviewer assures her it’s fine, and they move on, and that’s when the video fades to black.

caption (1): [When asked how she’s going to spend time on the plane home] Y/n: I actually have a speech to write! (….) It’s the valedictorian speech. I honestly hate public speaking, my voice always shakes!

caption (1):

Reporter: congratulations on your National Merit scholarship!

Y/n: My what?

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

yourusername

yourusername: i feel alright, i’m gonna take in the world 🎓

ps. Seb, Nando, Lewis and Kimi thanks for the support 🫶 i caught u guys creeping 🧌

tagged: yourbestfriend1, yourbestfriend2, yourbestfriend3, fernandoaloofficial, lewishamilton, kimimatiasraikkonen, yourmominsta, yourschoolinsta

liked by yourbestfriend1, charles_leclerc and 378292 others

view 6383 comments

user1: academic queen!

yourbestfriend1: grad u ate

⮑ yourusername: our mantra

yourbestfriend2: gonna miss seeing u every 2 weeks 😞

⮑yourusername: i’m acc kinda sad ngl

user2: Honestly such a power move having 4 of the most famous F1 drivers show up at your graduation

user3: She’s too young. Crazy to have racing at that age

⮑user4: ik

user5: all her friends headed off to college and she’s going to race in Canada next week

lewishamilton: Beautiful speech, beautiful ceremony. Congratulations, Spitfire.

⮑ yourusername: awwww 🥰 thanks my fav teammate

⮑ charles_leclerc: wow.

⮑ yourusername: fav f1 teammate @/charles_leclerc 🙄

landonorris: Congrats, mate!

⮑yourusername: imagine not even getting a diploma 🤓

⮑ landonorris: I left to focus on racing!!

⮑yourusername: 🤔this is awkward

user6: beautiful, talented, educated. Name a better trio 🩵 congrats Spitfire!

max33verstappen: You do look a bit like Dobby…

⮑ yourusername: Wrong ‘99. That’s @/landonorris

⮑user10: @/yourusername tagging him is actually brutal

⮑landonorris: @/yourusername: HEYYY!!!!

user7: did anyone see how many honors she graduated with? insane 😂 (but super impressive, y/n!)

⮑user8: yeah, and she got about five different diplomas

user9: The fact that Seb, Lewis, Kimi and Fernando showed up after Graduation-gate

yourbestfriend3: I expect visitation in NYC

⮑ yourusername: don’t have to ask me twice 🌆

user11: Y/n slamming Lando in the comments 😭 girl lay off him you’re already living his dream you don’t need to crush his ego too😭

⮑user12: She’s acc seriously so mean to a lot of drivers

⮑user13: @/user12 it’s just her love language 🙄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

✧ ⁺ ⁺ I’ve got a ticket

to the top of the sky ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Aaannnnddd scene!

DIRECTOR’S CUT: I’ve had the idea of ‘Graduation-gate’ in my head for a long time and kind of modeled this whole fic around it. Sorry if it seems rushed! School restarting is kicking my ass 🙁

A little background info

Charles and Spitfire were F3 teammates

Want to join the taglist? drop a comment below or message my inbox

🏷️ : @octavikravecell218 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @sugarrush-blush @scarletwidow3000 @umm-i-love-u

#juliette….writes #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #juliette….spitfire #driver!reader #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 grid x driver!reader #sebastian vettel x driver!reader #sebastian vettel x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #f1 #fernando alonso x reader #platonic #charles leclerc x reader

251 notes · View notes

azsazz · 9 months

Text

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan.

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter.

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace.

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think?

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.”

You can’t disagree with that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up.

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp.

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly.

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home.

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #daddy!azriel #azsazz zuzu

523 notes · View notes

amygobrrr · 6 months

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a Jackie Taylor character analysis

or, why—

[I'm serious btw. this is ~3800 words, or about 15 minutes reading time.]

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The Facts of the Case

"For the record... I was trying to save you." Jackie. 1996, 1x02

(Nothing else Jackie ever says sums up who she is more succinctly than that.)

Our first real introduction to Jackie Taylor as a character—the first shot of her bedroom scene in 1x01—is a framed photo of her sitting close to Shauna, at a party. This is also the very first protagonist-centric character scene of the entire show; from the outset, we are told that the relationship between Jackie and Shauna will be critically important to the narrative. They are best friends, it's implied they do practically everything together, and right from their very first scenes we see how important they are to each other.

Yet likewise from the beginning, we see the fractures between them.

Shauna hides her acceptance to Brown from Jackie, and is uncomfortable with the assumption that she will be following her friend to Rutgers. She disapproves of Jackie's boyfriend sneaking out of her room, and is frustrated by Jackie telling her what to wear and who to hook up with. She is visibly upset at seeing Jackie and her boyfriend together at a party, and, on the way home, has sex with said boyfriend.

Jackie makes her boyfriend drop her off from the party first, forcing Shauna to wait much longer to get home. After Shauna chooses a rival plan for survival over hers, she gives her the cold shoulder, even actively tries to make her jealous. Jackie steals and reads Shauna's journal, and outs her pregnancy to the rest of the team. She sleeps with the only eligible man in the wilderness, just to try and hurt Shauna.

Jackie and Shauna may care deeply about each other, but we see them spending an awful lot of time driving wedges into the space between themselves.

So why do they behave this way? Why does Jackie fidget sadly with her necklace, why does she look at Shauna the way she does before giving the necklace to her, why is she so heartbroken over a boy she says she barely even likes, why is she so crestfallen at the idea Shauna lost her virginity without telling her, why does she pull Travis away at Doomcoming and look back at Shauna the whole time? Why does Shauna seem to think Jackie has abruptly backtracked with Jeff, why is she so disapproving when she sees Jackie leave Doomcoming with Travis, or when she sees Jeff leave her house? Why does she look so heartbroken when she sees Jackie and Jeff dancing together at the party? Why are they both so hurt and hardened towards each other at the end of it all, and yet why does Shauna's heart still seize in anguish the next morning?

I believe all of those questions have the same, straightforward answer:

Before the crash, Jackie and Shauna were hooking up with each other in secret, and never mentioning a word of it—let alone talking through their feelings for each other.

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Some Mysteries Are Better Left Unsolved

"[Jeff and I have] been together for so long that if we're each others' firsts, then we'll be linked forever. It's more poetic that way. Oh! That reminds me—I decided on a color palette for our room at Rutgers next year." Jackie. 1996, 1x01

They make an unspoken habit of it; one always dragging the other away at parties after a few drinks under the pretense of mere friendly accompaniment. Jackie is reluctant to go all the way with her boyfriend Jeff; even after four years together, something always holds her back. She knows (or strongly believes, anyway, which is the same thing) that that's not entirely normal, and she wants more than anything to be normal, so she takes it in stages. She builds up to it with her boyfriend—slowly—and with her best friend—less slowly, but more comfortably. And it's fine—because Shauna is a girl, after all. Nothing they do together even counts. It's just fun. It's practice, for the real thing. It doesn't count.

But tipsy trysts alone aren't enough to fully explain the dynamic we see. Jackie had a change of heart regarding Jeff—what happened? Shauna seems a little hurt but also genuinely confused that they're back together at the beginning of the show, and even more so that Jackie intends to sleep with him 'for real' before college. I don't believe guilt over her actions fully accounts for her reaction. No, there is something else here, too; I think that, as important as Jackie and Shauna's clandestine hookups are to their dynamic, just as important is the fact that at some point they end. It's Jackie who puts a stop to them, possibly in the midst of the final time it happens.

I think Jackie, at a party some time around the beginning of the show—and maybe even giddy with the fresh excitement of a game or championship win—allows herself to be swept away in the moment with her best friend. Maybe she catches herself about to push too far with Shauna, about to venture into territory that she would have real trouble pretending "doesn't count," even with alcohol and adrenaline buzzing through her veins. Maybe she catches herself wishing that this could be her normal, that she could be with Shauna instead of Jeff. The specifics aren't what matters.

I think Jackie has long been vaguely aware that what she feels for Shauna falls outside of what you would expect for a friend, even a best friend. Normally, she doesn't give it a second thought; it's Shauna, of course it feels different. This time, though, she has a moment of extreme clarity about what exactly it is they're doing, and what it means that she wants it. More specifically, Jackie realizes what it says about her that she craves everything with Shauna that she cannot bring herself to crave with Jeff.

Jackie is in love with her best friend—and that makes her gay.

Jackie realizes, and the knowledge terrifies her.

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The Necklace

"And, here... it's a good-luck charm. Now nothing can touch you." Jackie. 1996, 1x01

Our attention is drawn to Jackie's heart pendant four times in the pilot episode. In order: we see it on the body of the girl hunted in the cold open, we see Jackie fidget with it after brushing her teeth, we see her fidget with it again during the pep rally, and we see her give it to Shauna on the airplane before takeoff. Three of the four scenes feature Jackie, with only the first finding her absent. That initial sighting certainly seems the most cryptic—we learn very quickly that it's Jackie's necklace, so why is someone else wearing it?

While we would need to see through Shauna's eyes to truly satisfy that question, for now at least the fourth scene—in the airplane—provides an answer: the necklace has nomadic tendencies. Jackie gives it as a protective charm to Shauna, who doesn't seem at all surprised by the gesture. Quite the contrary, exchanging the heart feels more like a known ritual between the two, maybe even first established during the trip to Hilton Head that Jackie references in preamble. (This ritual will be repeated—in the other direction—when Shauna gives Jackie a pep talk in 1x05.) Shauna holds the pendant close, clutching it with her entire fist. The thing seems just as precious to her now as it does to Jackie in the remaining scenes; perhaps it was originally a gift from one to the other?

Regardless of whether or not we are meant to infer that the necklace was a gift, in the pep rally scene we are explicitly shown that Jackie does strongly associate it with Shauna. It's a very brief moment in comparison to the full scene we get on the airplane—just one look exchanged, a set of smiles shared. After the Yellowjackets stream into the gym and line up to victorious music, Shauna looks past Lottie over to Jackie. And Jackie is already looking back, smiling as she plays with the heart pendant. Shauna's own grin widens, full and genuine, until it reaches all the way to her eyes. Jackie savors the look for a moment, then glances away, smile unbroken... her goal seemingly achieved.

What goal?

The bathroom scene is an even quicker blip than the gym, yet I believe it's the most impactful and telling of the four. One single shot with a punch-in. Jackie brushes her teeth quickly and then gazes in the mirror, looking forlorn as she fiddles with the necklace. On its own this one scene is not particularly remarkable—its true significance comes from the two others it glues together.

The scene preceding is the aforementioned bedroom introduction. Jackie is in bed with Jeff and he is clearly pushing their activities farther than she finds comfortable. Jackie fakes it to get things over with, powering through as he tells her he loves her. She lets Jeff think he's doing well... and as her immediate reward is coaxed into reciprocating his advances, and then some.

Jackie scrubs her teeth violently. She is unhappy.

The scene following is the car ride with Shauna where we learn that Jackie has suddenly gotten back together with Jeff. When Shauna brings him up, Jackie laughs and shrugs it off, but not before a flash of nervousness escapes in her chuckle—she tries twice to change the subject away from her boyfriend, only finding success once they pass a sign prompting her to talk shit on the boys' baseball team by singing the praises of the girls' own soccer team. Jackie leans out the window as her best friend rolls her eyes and giggles at her antics.

Jackie whoops for joy. She is happy.

Viewed as a whole, the sequence paints a clear picture: Jackie does not truly want to be with her boyfriend. She is unhappy both while and after she is alone with Jeff, happy while alone with Shauna, and while truly alone between the two encounters, draws some kind of strength from the necklace we know she associates with Shauna. In the car, she is eager to turn conversation away from her boyfriend and onto her best friend.

In her mind, everything she's doing with Jeff, everything she's letting him do with her? She is doing it to save her friendship with Shauna. She is working to build plausible deniability.

"I have a curfew too, you know." "Yeah, but... you know what my parents are like." Shauna and Jackie. 1996, 1x01

Conformity is the only weapon Jackie has against her parents' expectations, and naturally she is an expert in its misuse. Plausible deniability is the only tool at her disposal to avoid scaring Shauna away, and so Jackie picks up a double major. Half her work is already done; it's not like they'd ever talked about what they were doing or what it meant, so she can count on Shauna to never bring it up—as long as Jackie withdraws to the safety of being normal best friends.

If Shauna knew the truth, if she knew what Jackie cannot un-know... she would walk away, their friendship ruined, and it would be Jackie's fault. It would be Jackie's fault for being this way, and so the other half of her work must be undertaken. Jeff is living proof that whatever they've done together wasn't real, that Jackie could never be interested in her friend that way. Jeff, therefore, must stay, so that Shauna will stay. Jackie must be strong, for Shauna.

Each of the three necklace scenes Jackie has in the pilot shows us something very specific about her relationship to Shauna. On the airplane, Jackie wraps Shauna in her love—for protection. In the privacy of her bathroom, Jackie wraps herself in Shauna's love—for strength.

And in the gym, in public, Jackie suns herself in the warmth of their friendship—her strength rewarded.

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Abandonment and the Wilderness

"What did I do? When did you stop wanting me to be your best friend?" Jackie. 1996, 1x07

The thought of Shauna replacing her with another is something Jackie dreads above almost all else. Whether in conflict, in resolution, or both, most of the battles and the skirmishes that we see play out between the two revolve around this fear.

Shauna gets upset and causes trouble at the party in the woods before seeming hurt that Jackie hasn't complimented her, so Jackie attempts reassurance by emphasizing how important their friendship is. Her choice of approach here seems at least partly motivated by a guilty conscience (with a side of projection): deep down, she knows that she is trying to replace Shauna... with Jeff. Jackie feels guilty for ending their hookups in favor of her boyfriend, so she assuages that guilt by firmly stating no, Shauna, you're not going anywhere. Jeff could never be my best friend. Only you. This fight ends when Shauna confirms she understands her importance to Jackie.

(As an aside, the timid "Hi" and "Are... are we cool?" Jackie greets Shauna with after the team-building exercise have such a soft lilt to them that they seem decidedly more than friendly.)

After the crash, Shauna snubs Jackie's plan for survival in favor of Taissa's—so Jackie gets buddy-buddy with Mari. Here, Jackie nakedly projects her fear through her actions: Shauna wants to choose Tai over Jackie, well, we'll see how she likes it when Jackie chooses Mari over Shauna. Things are only patched over between them when Shauna comes to Jackie with extra blankets saying she is scared and needs her best friend. Jackie melts at once.

This next one is not really a fight, but does involve reassurance: when the team grows annoyed with Jackie for not pitching in, Shauna pulls her aside to try and find something she can do. Jackie flunks out of badass butchering school, so Shauna switches gears to attempt a pep talk, which goes badly until she lands on the winning words.

"You taught me how to be like this, you know. You make people think things are gonna be okay, just by showing up and being your dumb, hot, awesome self. At least you always did that for me." Shauna. 1996, 1x05

Jackie softens, but holds firm on putting a knife through a deer knee, which Shauna accepts, but counters that Jackie still needs to find something to do. "We need you, Jackie." Shauna pulls out her trump card—she returns the heart pendant to its place around Jackie's neck. "I mean, you're basically the best, remember?" she says. Jackie preens, and a hug seals the deal.

By the time Taissa leads her ill-fated expedition away from the cabin, Shauna has been sneaking around around conspiring with her for a while, so Jackie jumps on the opportunity to corner her and demand an answer. This fight also happens to be when Jackie finally gives voice to the worry she carries; she openly wonders what she could have done to make Shauna want to replace her. And again, the fight ends not so much when Shauna spills a half-truth, but when Shauna allows her to simply be there. Jackie's relief is palpable as she stays cheerful for her best friend, wrapping her in maybe the tightest hug we see throughout the entire show.

Throughout the entire season, virtually all conflict between Jackie and Shauna can ultimately be solved—in Jackie's view, at least—by a reassurance that they will still be best friends no matter what. That is the core of the matter to Jackie, the driving force behind everything she does; she can withstand any blow, weather any storm as long as her best friend remains by her side. Shauna's love will carry her through.

Jackie fears being replaced, because more than anything... she fears being unloved.

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Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

"It's funny, I used to pretend I didn't know if I loved Jeff, when the truth is: I didn't even like him that much. And I was so mad at Shauna, but now I realize she's right! Friendship doesn't matter. Love? Doesn't matter. They're just things we use to pretend like we aren't gonna end up like dead cabin guy, like rotted-out husks in some bullshit attic. But of course that's how it ends. That's all we are the whole time. It doesn't matter. We're just shells with nothing inside." Jackie. 1996, 1x09

Whatever reassurance Jackie has gleaned by the time of the pregnancy half-confession is shattered once again by the revelations contained in Shauna's journal—and yet, she doesn't seem to give up on Shauna entirely... until the end of their explosive argument.

Jackie spends the bulk of 1x08 and 1x09 depressed, bitchy, and passive-aggressive, yes—but through it all, she tries to make things work. She outs Shauna's pregnancy to lend urgency to Laura Lee's mission, but conspicuously deflects questions about the father, despite having the opportunity to go for the jugular. She does her Doomcoming preparations side by side with Shauna, makes her entrance to the party itself next to Shauna; continues to smile at Shauna when she's not looking.

Jackie doesn't cut ties with Shauna—to the contrary, she gives her multiple opportunities to course-correct. When Shauna confronts her about spilling the secret of her pregnancy to the group, Jackie responds with "It's not really the time to be keeping secrets." While wandering through the forest together picking flowers for decoration, Jackie brings up Rutgers before asking "You ever think about what we'd be doing if we hadn't crashed?" and stating—even more plainly—"What if this is it, Shauna? Everything we did, everything we didn't do? All the mistakes that we made, it's like... permanent." In both cases, Jackie knows what Shauna is still trying to keep from her—Jeff, Brown—and is handing her an opening to come clean.

When Shauna deflects away from her mistakes, Jackie scoffs. "Well, I was naïve. I realize that now," she muses.

Jackie still looks back at Shauna to make sure her friend is watching as she leaves the dance on her way to sleep with Travis; to make sure she cares. Just like she did with Mari at the lake, Jackie is trying to inflame Shauna's jealousy—all the way up until the very end, right up to the moment when uncertainty becomes lost to her entirely, Jackie still holds onto hope that deep down, Shauna cares for her.

In her attic confession to Travis, Jackie contrasts friendship with love—directly after explicitly stating that she never loved Jeff.

She is very obviously talking about Shauna.

Shauna was supposed to be the one person who truly loved her. The one person who loved Jackie, not as a soccer captain (like the team did), or as just a girl (like her boyfriend did), or as the mirage of perfect daughter (like her parents did), but loved her as her, as Jackie. Shauna's journal reveals even that to be a lie.

Jackie sees now... she sees that none of it matters.

The curse of the viewer is that we see what Jackie never does. We see morning light fall on the snow, sparkling. We see Shauna fall on her knees, screaming. We see the inhabited meat shed, and the pyre, and the bacchanal, and the empty meat shed, and the bridge and the uniform and the childhood bedroom. Jackie, however, is neither prophetic nor clairvoyant; all she sees is an incomplete account of Shauna's actions. She certainly doesn't see the whole picture, can't imagine the chain of events that drove Shauna to such extremes. Jackie is hurt, not over Jeff—though he provides her with a convenient excuse to the others—but over what Shauna being willing to sleep with him says to her about how Shauna must view their friendship.

Shauna has told her that love and friendship don't matter. The romantic love Jackie knew she didn't feel for Jeff, the romantic love she believed Shauna didn't feel for her, and the platonic love she believed Shauna did; none of them mattered, none of them ever existed. Jackie shaped herself into a shell by pretending, a shell perfectly tailored to accept what Shauna was willing to give—only to find that what her friend really handed to her was rotting faster than Jackie could build the husk around it. But it's not until the night after Doomcoming that Shauna twists the knife in Jackie's heart, removing any last shred of doubt.

And that, more than anything else, is what breaks Jackie in the end; the knowledge that Shauna never cared for her.

"I'm sure everyone back home is so FUCKING sad to be losing their perfect little princess, but they'll never know how tragic, and boring, and insecure you really are. Or how high school was the best your life was EVER gonna get." "Fuck you." Shauna and Jackie. 1996, 1x10

"I don't even know who you are anymore." "Or maybe you never did." The last words Jackie and Shauna ever spoke to each other. 1996, 1x10

Jackie was trying her best, she really was. She offered Shauna her love in the form of everything she endured to keep Jeff in front of her, and therefore to keep their friendship intact. Shauna knows Jeff is her boyfriend, she knows he's off-limits, and yet she gets pregnant by him anyway. Jeff is Jackie's shield (her beard; not that she would know THAT term), her proof that all is right and she can be normal. Shauna ripped that protection away from her. From Jackie's perspective, she saw Shauna take her love, crush it underfoot, and spit right in her face. Not only does Shauna not love her back the way Jackie wants, but she doesn't love her even as a friend.

Jackie is, at this point, totally convinced that no scrap even of the friendship she was so desperately clinging to really exists. Everything she feels for Shauna is unrequited—everything except, of course, the anger and the hurt. So when her attempt to banish Shauna backfires and she is told to leave instead, Jackie listens; she walks outside to reenact the ending of Romeo & Juliet.

Jackie tried hard, so hard, not to let her baggage—her longing—ruin her most valued friendship, or push away the most important person in her life... and in the end it was all for nothing. She lost her anyway.

Or worse, she never even had her in the first place.

On her way to oblivion, Jackie dreams of being loved.

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If you read all the way to the end here, you're the best, especially cause tumblr posts are so <--> narrow. I'm sorry for leaving things on such a downer note... but Yellowjackets do be that way.

this has been Jackie's side of things—I have a partially-written follow-up half from Shauna's perspective, but it has proven even harder to stick to some semblance of objectivity when arguing from Shauna's POV than it was for Jackie. if this one resonates with people I might refactor and finish part 2, we'll see.

in the meantime though, if you agree with my conclusions in this essay and hunger for a taste of Shauna's side, check out this "Jackie lives" fic I wrote:

featuring 4k of Tai trying to get Shauna to use her words, followed by 6k of Shauna's words! I wrote it between bouts of working on this (some snippets I cut from the Shauna section for being too un-essay-like made it in there), and it pretty much assumes everything I talk about here, both Jackie's-character-wise and jackieshauna-history-wise, holds true. except, of course, the part where Jackie stays dead lol

later haters (mari and crew)

#hey brain worms will you leave me alone now? no? okay #yellowjackets #jackie taylor #jackieshauna #yellowjackets spoilers #essay #amys stuff ig

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agendabymooner · 1 year

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the leclerc daycare || cl16 fic

charles leclerc x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENTION TO OF LONG LINES AND NAMES

Summary: Charles Leclerc was a father first and a driver second. So maybe being left alone with Hervé, Jules and PJ for the night wouldn't be much of an issue. OR Aimee Leclerc travelled with her sisters and Charles got a firsthand experience of watching his kids by himself (alongside his kids’ uncles Esteban and Pierre).

Content warning: dad!Charles centric, fatherhood, mentions of pregnancy, dad!F1 Drivers x OFCs appearance (Hearth sisters!OFCs), Uncle Estie and Uncle Pierre, doubts of being a good parent, shitty French translations by Apple, wtf is beta reading

Note: Dad Charles, Dad Charles, Dad Charles content enjoy xx

masterlist

Aimee and her sisters were known for being extroverts with introverted tendencies. They communicated with anyone who’d approach them and more often than not, would keep in contact with them in case of any business.

They didn’t like hanging out with them, as much though. Not as much as they preferred being around their sisters. Aimee, especially, didn’t enjoy being around new people— not as often as any other person would. She would much rather be around her sisters or her husband and his mates. Having three kids, with another two on the way, did something about her interest in socializing with other people. It was fairly limited before until she began attending playdates or programs for toddlers that allowed her children to make friends with others — interacting with parents was common.

Regardless, going out for two days was different — especially when her sister, Sylvie, was wanting to celebrate her engagement before she gets married in a month. Much like the other two sisters, they preferred a day out without any friends. Just the four of them, chatting each other’s ears off. Aimee Leclerc was alright with that.

“Je ne veux pas que maman parte!” I don’t want Mummy to leave.

The littles, though, weren’t alright with that. Jules cried his eyes out the moment he saw Aimee dressed in some satin dress. She had a weekender bag next to her vanity, the boy picking up on the fact that his mother was leaving.

It was Charles’ week off before the next race, and rather than going to Maranello, he deliberately made the choice to stay at home and do his sim practices instead. After all, Aimee had been at home for weeks rather than traveling with McLaren during the races due to her pregnancy. The wonders of having remote work, right?

“J,” Charles shushed his son softly, playing with the soft curls of his mini’s hair. Jules continued to cry as he wrapped his arms around Charles’ neck. “Maman n'est pas sortie pour s'amuser. Ne pensez-vous pas qu'elle mérite de s'amuser?” Mummy hasn’t gone out to have fun. Don’t you think she deserved to have fun?

Then another little babbling came along as Hervé clung to Charles’ leg. “Elle peut s'amuser ici. Papa dit à maman qu'elle peut s'amuser ici!” She can have fun here. Daddy, tell Mummy she can have fun here. Hervé cried too, sobbing as they stood in front of the shut bathroom door.

Aimee put down her mascara and sighed quietly. How the heck was she going to go if her sons were crying like this? The only reason why she’d managed to be roped into nights off before was because Pascale Leclerc had managed to kick her and Charles out of the house before. The boys loved their Mamé and their uncles.

Pascale wouldn’t see them until this afternoon and their uncles were definitely not going to go until they got back from work. It was only 6:45 in the morning.

How the hell were Hervé and Jules awake at this time, anyway? They liked to sleep, so how they managed to get the hell out of their bedroom at this time of the day was a mystery.

Aimee then remembered what her sister said. Intuition. Aimee was the same back when her sister was eighteen and heading to university in the morning. Two year old Aimee would wake up just to say good morning then dash off to have breakfast with the other sisters. So maybe her twins had the kind of intuition when someone’s leaving.

She didn’t think that their reaction would be like this in the morning.

“Oui, but my littles,” Charles crouched down to speak to both his kids, “do you know how Papa’s been working a lot and Maman has been home to have fun with you?”

Hervé and Jules sniffled, but nodded nonetheless. Charles continued, “Papa has fun at work, but it’s Papa’s time to have time with you. Maman deserves to see what’s out there that she can have fun with.”

“We can go out to have fun with Maman!” Hervé cried out, protesting against Charles’ proposal.

“Maman will go somewhere littles can’t go,” Charles told the boys. “How about we have some breakfast and make sure the babies are eating too before Maman goes, hm? Make some breakfast so Maman will be happy and be full of your looove by making her food?”

“Maman sera-t-elle heureuse si nous lui faisons à manger?” Will Mummy be happy if we make her food? Jules asked, the two of them no longer crying. Thank god for that otherwise PJ, their two year old brother, would see it and somehow make himself comfortable at the tear train.

Charles grinned at his boys and nodded, “Oui. Maybe we can make her some chicken and waffles— last I heard, the babies want some chicken.”

Jules wiped his tears away and exclaimed, “Okay! I help, Papa! Herb! Come!” Then ran off the couple’s bedroom, his twin brother hot on his heels as Hervé dashed off.

Charles watched the boys run out and winced, hoping PJ wouldn’t wake up to the loud footsteps made by the older kids as he slumped against the wall by the bathroom.

The door swung open next to him, making him look as Aimee stepped out with a sheepish smile. He approached her carefully and wrapped his arms around her, his hands trailing down the protrusion of her stomach as he sighed, “I hope these two wouldn’t be that much trouble to handle.”

“Hmm,” Aimee hummed happily, taking his hand to kiss the palm of it. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

Charles scoffed as if Aimee was questioning his superman abilities to stay sane. “I’ve been driving a Ferrari for god knows how long,” he joked, kissing her temple as his other hand continued to caress her stomach. “I’ve gone way past my sanity line. Don’t worry about the three, oui?”

“I’m not worried about your minis,” Aimee giggled, “I’m more worried about you. You’re most likely to go mad once you realize PJ likes a little bit of mischief with Herb and J.”

“As I said,” Charles rolled his eyes, peering down at her as he continued, “I’m no longer sane. I think I’ll be able to find composure.”

The breakfast definitely DID NOT show all of that. Because by the time Charles reached the kitchen, an egg was already cracked open on the floor. Not only that, but Hervé and Jules’ tanned faces (alongside their jammies) were covered in waffle mix after they’ve both dropped the bag of mix on the floor.

But their breakfast wasn’t that much of a disaster, to say the least. In between Aimee’s cooking and the boys’ morning shower, they somehow managed to find some time to eat breakfast. PJ had already woken up when Charles’ voice turned loud enough at the shock just as he stepped into the kitchen. Trying to get him to eat his fruits wasn’t as difficult. He was angelic of all the Leclercs that both Pascale and Aimee had given birth to.

“C’mon, mon chou, last one for Daddy,” Charles opened his mouth wide, trying to get PJ to mimic the action. PJ followed his father, his mouth opening as Charles made airplane noises, his hand twirling around while it held a slice of banana stabbed into a silicone fork. It didn’t take long for the food to land on the toddler’s mouth as he kicked his feet in enthusiasm.

“Tu vois? C'est de la bonne nourriture, n'est-ce pas?” See? It’s good food, don’t you think so? Charles asked his youngest, making the boy nod. “Good boy, PJ.”

Charles turned to look at his twins, who both stood on their two step stools next to their mother as they watched Aimee wash their dishes. Aimee was apparently teaching them how to do their dishes as she said, “Then when it’s clean, you just put it right here.”

“What’s this called, Maman?” Hervé pointed at the display next to the sink.

“It’s a dish rack,” Aimee replied.

“Rack? What does the rack do?” Jules asked, his curious voice making Charles grin to himself. His boys were quite inquisitive about anything. Whenever they’re out, Hervé could point at something and ask. Jules would often follow after Hervé asked.

And it wasn’t anything worrying. Charles and Aimee loved it when they asked a lot, because they had a lot to answer. It’s always a joy to answer their children’s curiosities.

“That’s where you leave the plates after cleaning them,” Aimee answered, now drying her hands on the towel. “It’s to make sure they dry. You don’t eat on wet plates do you?”

“Yuck,” Hervé and Jules pulled a face. “No wet food!”

“Exactly,” Aimee grinned, looking up to see Charles staring at her and their kids lovingly. She then asked, “Are you enjoying your time staring, love?”

Charles shook himself out of his thoughts and said, “Yeah. Mr. Sacha is done with his breakfast too.”

“Oh? He finished it?” Aimee peered down at PJ, “how did you like it, my little bug?”

Aimee didn’t like that nickname at first. PJ had only earned that nickname after everyone learned that she’d gotten more sick with him than she did with the twins, and Esteban joked that her baby was a literal stomach bug. But after some convincing (with the help of Esteban and Mick, dressing PJ as a grasshopper for his first halloween), Aimee finally caved in. PJ was her little bug.

“Little bug loved it well,” Charles grinned, lifting PJ out of his high chair and grabbed the empty plate. He placed down the dirty dish into the sink as Hervé and Jules’ eyes gleamed in excitement. “Boys, let Papa do it later. Maman’s going soon. Who’s coming to pick you up again?”

“All three of them, once that Tils’ picked up Stevie and Sylv.”

“Oh,” he replied, “so is anybody dropping off their car to use yours or…”

“No,” Aimee scoffed. “No one’s touching any of my cars. You are using the SUV, no?”

“That’s kinda assumed already,” Charles replied, “I just thought you’d use your… actually never mind.”

While their family expanded largely over the past few years, their garage did too. Much like her sisters, Aimee had a collection of cats hidden away to avoid being burglarized. Everyone knew about Charles’ custom Pista and the family SUV that they had — an Aston Martin. But they didn’t seem as phased as they were when they found out that Aimee had a vintage Mini Cooper and a coated copper McLaren 765LT hidden somewhere in their family home.

So really… Charles assumed that they’d borrow either one of their hidden gems for the trip as Aimee’s Cooper was often used than Stevie’s military green LaFerrari or Sylvie’s orange Cadillac.

“The poor Cooper’s been treated like a bus for the past few months,” Aimee snorted. “You know I wouldn’t allow them to drive it either.”

The ring on the doorbell had woken up something within the twins as they both squealed and bolted to the door, leaving Charles to yell, “Boys, don’t open the door without— damn it!”

“Charles!” “Sorry! No swearing!”

He then returned to the dining area with Hervé being carried by Aimee’s eldest sister Tilly and Jules with Sylvie. Stevie followed behind as they greeted Aimee, “Morning, Aims! Excited for a good two day vacation?”

“Oh am I ever,” Aimee rolled her eyes, gesturing at her husband, “he’s a different story.”

Sylvie raised a brow and spoke amusedly, “You having fun yet, Charles?”

“I am,” Charles waved off Sylvie’s joking tone, “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry you’ll be fine,” Stevie chuckled, “even Lewis is running a daycare at home.”

“Aun’ ‘Teve,” PJ toddled his way towards Stevie and tugged on her trousers, “L’land?”

Stevie peered down at her little nephew — who was the same age as her youngest, Leland, and cooed, “Leland is at home with Uncle Lew and Lotlot, little bug. Maybe you’ll see him sometime today.”

“Ah speaking of,” Tilly started, looking at Charles now as she said, “I think Lewis and Toto are planning to take the kids out today for the… indoor playground cafe. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have more kids and an extra pair of hands to come along.”

“Oh nice, more kids,” Charles’ face didn’t even show how nice the thought was.

“Good luck taking care of eight kids lads,” Sylvie winked, huffing out a laugh after Aimee nudged her a little bit too hard. “I’d offer Max but he isn’t here. I’m sure Arthur and Lorenzo would be more than happy to help!”

That was a lie. Maybe Lorenzo would help a lot, but Arthur… Now Arthur was a good uncle, but he often leaned more into the chill uncle side than the kind who would somehow watch his words around the kids.

And so when the Leclerc boys saw the matriarch off to Stevie’s Bentayga (while Charles continued to remind his wife’s sisters that she was pregnant — practically warning them not to be stupid about driving), he immediately pulled his phone out to text the only people who’d be more than willing to go less sane with the kids.

Charles: Are you up for some insanity? Aimee’s out for today to tomorrow afternoon.

Esteban: What’s in it for me?

Pierre: He just said insanity.

Pierre: I hope you have enough room in your AM.

Charles: Fuck. I guess I’m taking out the Cadillac.

Charles: Will anyone help me take them out of the garage and help me move the boys’ seats to the other SUV?

Esteban: 👍

Pierre: 👌

Esteban Ocon showed up an hour earlier than Pierre did. When he did, he brought along a small gym bag full of his overnight clothes. Alongside his clothes were boxes of Spider-Man figures. Not everyday Esteban got to share his love for Marvel to anyone, and he could help but jump at the chance to introduce No Way Home to the Leclerc boys.

Now, he was in the kitchen, teaching the Leclerc littles how to operate the oven as they baked some chocolate chip cookie dough that they found in the deep depths of the freezer. Perhaps it was a bad idea to have Esteban come over, because he was prone to ruining their diets with his love for pastries.

It was quarter to ten when Pierre finally arrived, with his own overnight bag and… a pile of children’s books? Charles wasn’t sure if he was seeing things right, but then the Frenchman pulled up a pop-up book version of Dr. Seuss from the pile as Charles groaned quietly.

“Ils ont déjà beaucoup de livres, Pierre,” they already have a lot of books, Pierre. Charles told the man when he raised a brow.

“It never hurts for more,” Pierre shrugged, “how did you think PJ learned to speak a lot at this age? He won’t be chatty if it wasn’t for his Oncle P.”

“You only started to get them books because you don’t know how baby sizes work,” Charles told him with a roll of his eyes, shutting the door behind Pierre as they both walked towards the living room.

Charles raised his brow when Pierre settled his bag down on the couch, leaving Pierre to say, “I’d head up to the guest room but I want to see the boys first,” there was a moment of silence between the two of them and in the background played the boys’ daily phonics songs. “Sick beats, by the way.”

The pair headed off to the kitchen, where they found Hervé, Jules and PJ chatting away with their Uncle Estie. The last conversation Charles heard was about the track in Canadian GP, with Hervé saying “The turn there— what is that? Pin? Papa says is pin! It’s wooooosh~ woah, it’s so small, Oncle E!”

“Sharp,” Estie’s signature grin returned to his face as he corrected the boy gently, “the hairpin is sharp, Herb.”

“‘Airpin?” Jules’ head cocked to the side, “I hear my cousin Tia say that!”

“Because that’s what they use for long hairs,” Esteban replied.

“What? All talks, no love for Oncle P?” The three toddlers turned towards the direction of the voice as they grinned widely. PJ, thank god for Charles’ reflex, had jumped off the kitchen island and ran towards his namesake. Pierre Gasly nearly tipped over at the suddenly thud on his legs as he grunted, lifting PJ up to his arms as he hugged the boy tight. “Good morning, Little P! How’s my handsome boy doing?”

“Good, Oncle P!” PJ grinned. “Maman est partie!” Mummy left!

The enthusiasm in his tone broke Charles out of his trance as he laughed. “Sacha, why do you sound happy about Maman leaving?”

“Because she has fun!” Jules reasoned out on behalf of his brother, making PJ nodded eagerly.

And while the two were celebrating the thought, Charles looked at Hervé as he began sobbing quietly. Esteban’s eyes widened, not knowing how to react as the boy began wailing. Tears endlessly flowed out of Hervé’s eyes as he covered them with his forearm.

“Oh no,” Charles sighed quietly. Esteban quickly recovered from shock and immediately lifted Hervé off the counter, allowing the boy to soak his shirt with his tears.

Out of the three boys, Hervé was the only one who took the information to heart. The Leclerc kids were loved by both Aimee and Charles — but Hervé, out of the three, loved Aimee more than anything. He often clung to her like a koala on a tree, and when they’re out and about — Hervé would often hold hands with her more than he would with his Papa. It wasn’t a shock that Charles would witness his eldest cry at the absence of his Maman.

Jules, who was sitting on the counter, stood on the marble surface and reached up to pat his twin on the back carefully. He then said, “t’s okay, Herb!” He wasn’t even sure if Hervé could hear him, but all Jules seemed to care about was comforting his brother.

“Are you sad because Maman’s gone for the day?” Esteban asked, and all he got was a nod in his neck. That, and maybe a wet patch of tears on his neck now. “Okay, okay. Is there anything Papa or your uncles can help you with that can make you feel better.”

“Maman—“ Hervé stuttered, still crying in Estie’s arms.

“Yeah, but Maman’s not here, H,” Estie replied. “What if you show us what can help you feel better? Or do you want Oncle E to help?”

Hervé’s reddened face looked up at Esteban and nodded. “Yeah? You want me to help? Or everyone?”

“I know!” Jules jumped, making Charles reach close to his son with a mutter of ‘Careful, J.’

Hervé turned to his twin as Jules exclaimed, “Princess and Frog!”

“T’ana!” PJ squealed aloud. Hervé’s eyes brightened, all thanks to the suggestion that his brothers proposed not to his tears. Hervé nodded before he wiped his tears away and asked Estie to put him down, to which the man obliged as Charles helped Jules hop off the counter and led the Leclerc littles to the family room.

The adults look at each other. “There will be a lot of that,” Charles smiled meekly.

“Not a bother,” Esteban waved off with a chuckle.

“I need to put my bags upstairs,” Pierre nudged Charles lightly. “Before craziness even begins.”

The oven goes off at the same time, leaving Esteban to turn away and return to the kitchen as he said, “I’ll leave this to cool off. You need help moving cars, you said?”

“Yes please,” Charles replied, following his boys to the living room as they navigated through the Disney app.

He then heard Estie say, “Can I drive her Mc—“

“I can’t let you drive the McLaren, sorry,” Charles interrupted Estie before he could continue on.

Charles: Hey! Are you and Toto still taking the kids out today?

Lewis: Hey Charles! Yeah we’re taking them out today. If we’re gonna get heart attacks we can at least do it together. You in?

Charles: Pierre and Estie would come along, if you don’t mind?

Lewis: Five against eight? We’re still outnumbered. But yea, of course!

Charles: Haha!

One of the joys of having children was the opportunity to dress them. The same could be said for Charles. They always said that it was hard having to dress boys, and while that remained true, it didn’t discourage the Ferrari driver from dressing his boys up whether they’re going out or heading to bed.

He could admit that he couldn’t dress for shit, but it didn’t mean that he’d do the same to his kids.

Neither he and Aimee believed that Jules and Hervé should be dressed the same whenever they’re out because they were twins. In fact, they thought that it would be a bit too confusing for them. At the very beginning of their lives, they were always dressed differently.

The same could be said for today. Hervé was dressed in a Ralph Lauren denim button up and some denim shorts, his hair tied loosely to a bun to avoid his soft curls getting in the way of his face.

Jules, however, was dressed in a white tee (with the infamous Burberry pattern sewn as a pocket) and khaki shorts while his hair was merely brushed back. Esteban Ocon was quite proud of his work of art.

Sacha Leclerc, or PJ, had opted for a soft pink shirt with the Ralph Lauren polo logo on its left chest and some denim shorts with Mickey Mouse embroidered all over the place. He beamed at his Oncle P proudly, immensely proud of his decision to dress like this. Pierre Gasly merely high fived him, proud of his godchild for no reason. He was just proud.

No one was prouder than Pascale Leclerc, though. Just as her hair salon opened and the boys (and the men) took a ten minute trip there, she gasped at the sight of her grandchildren.

“Oh mon! Qui sont ces beaux garçons ? S'agit-il de mes petits-enfants?” Oh my! Who are these handsome boys? Are these my grandchildren? Pascale squealed, excusing herself from her receptionist as she knelt down to get on the level of the toddlers. “You three are always soooo handsome! Did Papa dress you?”

Esteban and Pierre cackled on the side, leaving Charles to look at his mother with an unamused expression. Pascale giggled. It was a running joke in the family that Charles was shit at dressing himself, and when Aimee got married into the family it got even worse — with Arthur starting the chaos with, “Can you believe that, Charles? Two models for sisters-in-law and another who worked for Vogue and you’re still dressed like this?”

“I sure hope not,” Pierre continued behind Charles, leaving the Monegasque to kick his best friend.

“I did!” Jules grinned proudly. “I dress up myself, Mamé!”

“I did too!” Hervé raised his hand, catching the attention of his grandmother. PJ babbled along and told her that he too had dressed himself.

“Wow! Such big boys, you are!” Pascale exclaimed, pulling out her phone to stand up. “Can you smile big for Mamé? Say cheese.”

“Cheeseeee~” the three grinned heavily as Pascale took a photo of the three. Typing for a good second, she finally put her phone away and looked at Charles and his fellow grid mates.

“I sent it to Aimee’s mothers,” Pascale explained herself as the men nodded.

“What are you up to today?” Pascale asked. “I heard the girls are out for today and tomorrow?”

“They’re going to stay in Cannes for the day,” Charles replied before leaning towards his mother and whispered, “Hervé cried twice today, Maman and I’m worried he’s not going to sleep tonight because Aimee’s not here.”

Pascale let out a quick snort and shrugged it off, “Yes he would,” she reassured him with a pat on the head. “He managed to sleep well when you two were out for the weekend.”

“But that’s with you, Maman,” Charles looked back to find Esteban and Pierre preoccupied with the kids as he continued, “What if the three of them won’t settle because I haven’t been around them for too long and I haven’t put them to bed before? Hervé cried because of his Maman. He sees Aimee more than he does me so—“

“Charles, pause,” Pascale grabbed her son on both of his shoulders and shook him out of his thoughts. “Take a deep breath.” The middle Leclerc man obliged, heaving a deep sigh as his mother told him, “He won’t make things hard for you, Charles. He’s not crying because he likes Aimee more than you, but it’s only because he’s going to have to adjust for tonight. Kids, when they’re outside their routine, act differently when they have to follow a new one — so he’s not acting like that because you’re the one who’s with him tonight.”

“Hervé loves you, Charles,” Pascale told him softly. “With how he proudly wears your number on his shirt and his jackets, and how he brags about his Papa in the red car, I think I can say that he loves you so much. He will never ever make things hard for you with Aimee not being here for today— or for all those times she wouldn’t be there. So, don’t worry about it. Just don’t make things hard for him either. Try to make sure he’s comfortable with adjusting his routine. Make sure that your children are feeling comfortable with the thought of doing things differently than usual.”

Charles glanced back at his kids, the pressure on his shoulders long gone as he nodded at Pascale. “Merci, Maman.”

“Yeah of course,” Pascale giggled quietly. “I’ve always wondered the same when your father was gone. Look where I am now. Look at where you are now. The boys just need to adjust a little, Charles. Just make sure you’re there to guide them if needed.”

Lewis Hamilton and Toto Wolff were rarely at Monaco, these days.

After Lewis retired, he thought of selling his house in Monaco. Being a father was what he wanted and clearly, while he was still fit for a celebrity lifestyle he resorted to being a quiet and reserved man. His 5-acre estate in Warwickshire showed something of serenity, their home surrounded by nothing but woods and a river nearby. He was content with being at home with his children while his wife Stevie continued to work as a model and Ferrari’s communications director. He preferred the quiet while he taught his daughter phonemes, and it was clear to everyone he abandoned his flat in Monaco. Now the flat served as his vacation home whenever his family would go on a holiday and see their cousins.

The same goes to Toto. He hadn’t retired as a team principal yet, but his Monaco place no longer held the same value as his estate in Brackley. One of his kids was already eleven (already in year nine) and playing in his school’s association football team and the other (nine years old) had been entering karting tournaments around England almost every weekend. He once told Charles about his estate and how he had it purchased and renovated long before his eldest son with Tilly even existed — how well he valued his home there and wouldn’t exchange it for Monaco or Austria. Much like Lewis, he was content with his home there, and it didn’t help that the Mercedes factory was only a few minutes away from his home. Toto expressed his interest in selling his house in Monaco once that his vintage Mercedes was moved back to Brackley, but then his nephews were born (and were planned to be raised in Monaco). He then decided that it was a home to go to whenever his kids wanted to see the Leclerc kids — their cousins.

So after everyone started talking about Lewis Hamilton and Toto Wolff no longer residing in Monaco and their rare appearance in the streets of the principality, it never came as a shock to anyone anymore. It was still rare, but it was expected.

But the sight of the two, alongside the three current drivers that just sat along the older ones, would be considered hilarious and extra special for the fans. Because not everyday you get to see two Mercedes personnel casually hanging out with a Ferrari driver and two Alpine drivers. At least, not with the two Alpine drivers while they all sat on a cozy indoor playground and cafe in Monte-Carlo. It wasn’t everyday you get to see Toto Wolff and the drivers talk about the racing season while they all sip on some silly cat and animal-themed cups with their kids running amuck in the playing area.

Toto’s two older kids were somewhere else, and Charles could only assume that they were at the football area. None of his kids were crying yet, and so he sat there relaxed as he listened to whatever Lewis was talking about.

“Did you really allow Aimee to go with the girls?” Lewis asked Charles, making the Monegasque nod. “You could’ve said no, that way they’re just stuck here in Monaco.”

“She’ll be fine,” Charles was beginning to think that he was only saying those words to reassure himself, not others. “She hasn’t been out for a while.”

“They still could have found something here,” Lewis pointed out.

Charles rolled his eyes, “That’s true. But Aimee lives here, she knows every curb to avoid and I don’t think I don’t want to bore her to death.”

“Besides,” Charles shrugged nonchalantly, “I don’t want her to think I’m trying to lock her up by making her stay in Monaco all the time.”

“She’s your wife,” Pierre brought up.

“She’s my boys’ Maman, but she’s also been working her ass off trying to keep them happy while I’m gone someplace else,” Charles couldn’t find himself to argue, only telling them what the men needed to hear, “the least I can do is to let her travel the same way I do almost every week.”

“She loves the boys, that’s why her work in McLaren’s now remote,” Toto nodded, reaching on his pastel donut cat cup as he sipped on his tea, “I appreciate you for recognizing that.”

“It’s the only thing I can do besides spend my time with the kids,” Charles replied, looking around to find his kids as Hervé came dashing and jumping into the ball pit of the soft play area. Hervé’s head popped up from the ball pit as he grinned, finding his father watching as he waved enthusiastically. Charles grinned and waved back before he turned back to the men, “I don’t think I’ll ever regret spending my time with them. If anything, I regret leaving Aimee behind while I go away to race. Lessens my time with the boys.”

TWO MERCEDES, A FERRARI AND TWO ALPINES WALK INTO A CAFE: The Popular Fathers of F1 were seen on some Father-Children day out in Monte-Carlo.

“Hamilton, Leclerc and Wolff = Fathers of the Year? PLUS, a surprise appearance of Uncles Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly included in this article!”

THE MONTE-CARLO DADDY DAYCARE: These might be the best photos taken of Lewis Hamilton, Toto Wolff and Charles Leclerc yet!

“Where’s Max Verstappen? Oh, and HI ESTIE BESTIE AND PEAR!”

THE HEARTH HUSBANDS: How Toto Wolff, Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc made the best husband materials ever through these photos.

“Max Verstappen, maybe it’s your time to shine, too!”

Aimee: I’m gonna go to sleep now but omg those photos of you and the other two are so funny haha!!! I’ll talk to you more about it tomorrow, but the babies wanted to say goodnight my love :)

Charles: I’ll tell you so much about the boys’ playdate tomorrow. Sleep well, mon cœur ❤️

Aimee: Give them kisses for me?

Charles: Already did for you. Now sleep.

Aimee: Sleep well, my love

“Papa?” At first, Charles wanted to fall back asleep at the sound. He thought that he was just dreaming. His dream was literally just about baking those cookies— and with the call of Papa he assumed that he was just being called by the boys from the living room.

Then he felt a small soft hand on his cheek, making his eyes open slowly as he witnessed his three sons standing there. He sat himself up a little, stretching as he asked, “H, Jules? PJ? What’re you boys doing up?”

“Nous ne pouvons pas dormir parce que maman ne nous a pas embrassés,” we can’t sleep because Mummy didn’t give us a hug. Jules said as quietly as he could, swinging his body back and forth while he clung onto his Lotso bear.

PJ pulled his hand back from holding Charles’ face as he meekly stood there, still sucking on the pacifier.

Hervé nodded at Jules’ comment and sheepishly asked, “Can we sleep here, Papa?”

PJ pulled the pacifier off and added, “Pwease?”

Charles shook himself out of his thoughts. He was still feeling a bit hazy after being woken up by his kids at… two in the morning. These kids really have a bad habit of waking up in the most inconvenient time.

But just as he was looking down at his kids, who still stood at his side of the bed, he couldn’t help but smile softly. He might not be Aimee to make them feel comfortable enough to go to sleep after being given a hug, but the least he could do was be there for them.

Looking back at today’s events, he seemed to be content with the result of his plans and his kids’ reaction towards it. Sure, Hervé might’ve cried for the first three hours, but he soon got comfortable at the thought of spending time with his Papa while Aimee was somewhere else and away from them. PJ proudly dressed himself up and decided what to wear by himself. Jules comforted Hervé when his twin got sad. He was nothing but proud of his boys. He was hella proud of himself.

And he loved his boys so much that he couldn’t deny them anything. Now that he thought of it, it was even harder to deny them anything because Aimee wasn’t here. He was just happy they hadn’t asked for sugar before bed.

He grinned at his boys and patted the empty spot next to him, hoisting PJ up while he said, “Alright. Up we go then, boys. Let’s go get some good sleep.”

It’s safe to say that the Leclerc daycare went well today. That was a major achievement for Charles. Thank god for his mother and other peer support, right?

397 notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 7 months

Note

Not to sound rude (i hope it doesn’t sound like that 😣) but how many chapters do you plan for the a/b/o series to be and will we get all of 141 getting spicy with reader

You had me scared there for a moment, anon, ngl. (See previous asks to unravel that trauma over these last couple days)

Hehe, yeah, it's (as of this moment) looking like about 30ish chapters? 35 maybe? Idk honestly just kind of depends lol. It's gonna be a long boy though.

We will be getting spicy with all four, yes. It's sort of a bit unintentionally Price-centric right now. That's just due to the nature of how things have played out as well as how things work in their world. We will be getting much more of the others here after Chapter 13, though. Price will be fading into the background for a bit, and the others will get their moments to be front and center (yes including Ghost).

#it's just kind of how things have progressed in the plot #but also he's pack alpha so he's gonna have the most time right now #but don't worry #the others are coming #🤭#answered

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obxone · 1 year

Text

I've Got You

Edited-ish. ~1.7k words

Another JJ centric scene pulled from OBX with reader inserted. OBX is not owned by me, obviously. So enjoy!

“Oh!” JJ declares loudly as you all stare at Pope and Kiara going off in John B’s boat. You giggle, leaning back against his chest, and his arm hooks around your waist. “All right.”

Sarah waves at them. “Have a good time!”

JJ laughs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watches John B. “There he goes. He jacked your boat, dude.”

“Pope’s poking on the Pogue,” John B muses while you laugh and Sarah shouts encouraging noises after them.

“Leave them alone,” you chide them. “It was bound to happen with us four paired off.” You reach back to cup the side of JJ’s face. His lips press to your palm, and you smile.

JJ’s hand slips inside your t-shirt, and his palm presses against your skin, the heat from his touch grounding you. His lips brush the curve of your neck, and you know exactly what he wants. “We should probabl-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” John B shushes him. “Wait, wait.”

JJ looks in the direction John B is, his touch pausing from tracing up and down the line of your waist. “What?”

“What was that?”

You and Sarah look at each other, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere as John B switches to being alert inside of partying.

“Your chicken?” JJ suggests.

“I heard a car door,” John B answers. Sarah looks toward what John B is, and you start to ease out of JJ’s hold, but he clasps his arm tighter around you and starts clucking like a chicken. John B reaches out, his hand covering JJ’s mouth.

“It’s someone,” you rush out in a quiet voice after you hear the sound of faint footsteps. “Someone is coming.”

“Okay, come on.” JJ’s attitude shifts immediately, and John B scrambles to put out the fire.

“Where? They took the boat,” you whisper quickly.

“Up, up there, now,” JJ mutters, shoving you towards the tree. “Come on, Baby.” He braces his back against the tree and laces his hands together for your foot. You hurry forward, bracing your hands on his shoulder and foot in his hands as he lifts you. You climb into the tree and turn back for Sarah as she does the same. Her gunshot wound makes it harder for her to get up as you help pull her into the tree, and then John B follows.

“Hurry, JJ!” You whisper harshly, reaching for him. He scrambles into the tree and onto the branch with you. His body crowds you back against the safety of the trunk. Your hands tighten on his arm and waist. “It’s Rafe.”

He nods, squeezing your thigh as you tuck your legs closer to his waist and out of sight. His fingers squeeze again before rubbing up and down the length of your outer thigh.

Rafe steps into view, and your breath catches in your throat. Your nails bite into JJ’s arm, but he does not cry out. Instead, his grip on your thigh tightens while the other stays braced against the tree. His ocean eyes burn when he turns his attention to you, trying to reassure you silently.

You nod, closing your eyes and dropping your head against his chest before opening them to see Rafe pacing below.

Rafe’s voice filters up to you all. “Where the hell are you?”

JJ’s lips brush your forehead, and you squeeze your eyes shut when the sounds of the Chateau being ripped apart echo from the house.

“Shh,” he soothes you.

“Yo!” Rafe yells as Barry storms off the back porch. “Anything?”

“No, ain’t shit in there, bro.”

“No? Nothing?”

“No, nothing, Rafe.”

“There were obviously just here based off the smoke, man!” Rafe points at the extinguished fire pit. Your anxiety spikes and rips through you until your hands find JJ’s, fingers lacing with his.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Barry retorts back. “Great observation, boy scout.”

“They’re not far, you know?” Rafe’s annoyance spikes and it is reflected in his tone.

They begin to argue. Both are pissed that they cannot find anyone.

“Smokey the Bear! Look at you, bro!” Barry snaps back at him.

“They gotta be around here somewhere.”

You inhale sharply, spotting the gun in Rafe’s hand now. You bury your face in JJ’s chest while Sarah shifts to look at John B in alarm. What if Kie and Pope came back sooner than you were expecting? What if Rafe just happens to look up and see you all?

“P4L.” Barry states.

Rafe laughs, pointing to it. “Well, shit.”

“So your sister and ex-girlfriend are Pogues for life, huh, Rafe? Now who would’ve thought?”

Your gaze snaps to Sarah, and she immediately shakes her head at you that she is fine before her worried gaze flickers to John B.

“Shit!” Rafe screams, throwing his body into the scream. Sarah and you both flinch, and you press closer to JJ. The angry screams of your ex-boyfriend stir up the twisted feeling in your stomach.

“All right, chill.” Barry tries to back him off, but he is too far gone as he lifts the gun and shoots the tree where John B’s name is burned into the wood. “Hey! Whoa! Hey, chill, bro! Rafe!” Barry rushes forward to grab the gun and lifts his arm as he fires several more bullets. One hits the tree branch right where you are, and you immediately shift away—JJ’s body covering yours. “Chill your shit! Chill out!! You’re gonna get our asses busted, dawg! Let’s bounce. Let’s bounce. Let’s go!”

Barry blocks him for a moment, backing him away from the tree before he runs off. You know Barry’s type; he is not staying long enough to wait for cops or neighbors, so Rafe has to run after him. JJ leans over to look at the tree, and you hiss when his hand brushes your thigh.

“Ow, shit.”

“What?!” Sarah turns around to look as he pulls away his fingers to see blood on the tips. “She’s shot.”

You shake your head immediately, your head spinning at the thought of being shot.

“No!” JJ rushes out, panic seizing you all before his shirt comes off and he presses it to your thigh. “No, it just grazed it.”

Your chest heaves as you try to focus on trying to see if you can get your head to stop spinning while he holds his shirt against your skin.

“It’s okay, Baby, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your jaw. “Look at me. Hey, look at me!”

You do, lifting your chin, and your eyes lock on his panicked gaze.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. Okay?”

You nod, hand pressing against his on your thigh. “You’ve got me.”

“That’s right,” he offers a tense smile in relief that you are not spiraling as you have in the past. “I’ve got you.”

“How bad?” John B asks, shuffling around to look at your thigh. He leans over as JJ pulls his t-shirt away to show a deep graze against your thigh.

“Half a centimeter over, and she would be shot,” JJ breathes, his thumb skating over your jaw. “But we’re fine. Just a little blood.”

“Just a little blood,” you repeat after him, nodding to try and keep yourself calm.

Sarah moves around, and you feel her hand brush the hair back from your forehead. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Eventually, yeah,” you respond. You knew this Rafe well. “But it’ll be a little bit. Barry won’t let him come back just yet after firing that many shots.”

“So we can get her bandages,” Sarah says, looking at John B and JJ. “Right?”

“Right,” JJ agrees, lifting his shirt to see it still bleeding. He looks at John B, who is hesitating. “I’ll go if I have to.”

You cling to JJ, hands wrapping around both his wrists. “No.”

He lifts his head to look at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t care. What if he tries to shoot you?”

“They are gone, Baby. You need a bandage.”

“No.”

JJ groans before turning to John B.

“Sarah and I will go,” he says quickly, and you start to open your mouth to object, but he is already climbing down with Sarah following. You wince as JJ presses harder against the wound.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quickly. “I’m really sorry this is happening to us still.”

JJ shrugs but still watches you. “Your safety is worth everything to me. I love you, okay?”

You lean in and press your lips to his. He kisses you back before pressing his forehead to yours. “It still sucks.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls up to you both. “We’ve got the bandages. John B thinks we should stay in the tree until Kie and Pope come back.”

“Agreed,” JJ states, watching you with worry. There had been too many close calls with Rafe for him to put you at risk anymore. You are his, and he refuses to let you go.

Sarah and John B are back in the tree before Sarah hands JJ the bandages.

“Careful,” she warns him, and he nods, focusing on removing his shirt from your grip. You glance at John B, his worried gaze flickering around the edges of the backyard.

“We should try to sleep in shifts tonight,” you murmur, looking at JJ again. “At least until Kie and Pope come back with the boat.”

“Agreed,” Sarah seconds quickly as she turns to John B. “Right?”

“We’ll pair off together.” John B agrees, reaching for Sarah.

She takes his hand as he guides her onto the thicker branch he sits on. They nestle together back against the trunk while JJ soothes the edges of the bandage to your skin. He brushes his fingers over the bandage one final time before looking at you.

“Switch spots with me?”

“How?” You laugh a little, looking around. He quietly guides you around him until his back is against the tree trunk, and you are against his chest. His lips brush your temple. “I don’t think I can sleep if I’m being honest.”

Sarah nods in silence, and John B frowns. JJ’s arms tighten around your waist, and you all silently agree that sleep is not on the agenda for any of you tonight.

Feedback is welcomed, just remember to be kind. Please feel free to like, reblog, comment, or send an ask if you want. Happy Reading.

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx jj maybank #outer banks jj maybank #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n

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eds6ngel · 1 month

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I just read one Fanfic -And it wasn’t even stranger things- which included a cum filled strap and now my bisexual ass (who also loves your writing) can’t stop thinking about Robin fucking R with one of those. 🫣🤭

She’d be shy at first, unsure what to do and if she’s really into it but -Oh boy- the minute she actually gets to fuck R with it 🫢

firstly, thank you, babes !! second, yes. absolutely yes. from a fellow bisexual, i'm absolutely in love with this idea (and horny af.) <3

warnings: SMUT!! afab!reader. strap-on use. dirty talk. mommy kink. breeding kink. pregnancy kink. orgasms. fake cum. internalised homophobia? (unsure how to label it.) modern!robin. r attracted to multiple genders (including cis men.) [0.9k].

robin would be super shy at first. she had insecurities that you thought she could never compare to a man because of her inability to produce sperm. she had used a strap many times before on you, but was the lack of ejaculation from it a personal problem?

it took a lot of convincing (and even more strap-use) for you to tell her that it wasn't a male-centric thing, it was simply the feeling that got you extremely riled up.

so, robin did tons of research. she spent many days on various different sex toy websites, trying to find the perfect toy for you, as well as how to use the piece of equipment.

and once it arrived, my god were you two excited.

you were both desperately trying to open the cardboard amazon box, getting out the fake bottle of cum and new dildo.

“okay, baby, so… according to this… you open the cap at the top there.”

you point to it, but robin’s hands appeared to be shaking again. she thought she had gotten used to the idea through her research, but seeing everything laid out in front of her… it made her nervous.

“hey, hey,” you cup her face gently, “what’s wrong, baby? talk to me.”

“i mean…” she hesitates. she couldn’t shake the feeling off that this felt too male-centric to her, despite you saying otherwise.

she already had worries the first time you had asked to use a strap. but, she quickly realised that she was indeed turned on by that and now couldn’t wait for the times you both wanted to use it.

but, a cum-filled one? that was a whole different level. you wanted a dick that filled you with cum, something she couldn’t physically give you.

“i’m just scared that you actually just want the real thing. like… this isn’t gonna feel like how it does with a man—”

you quickly shut her up with a kiss, whispering in a sultry tone, “i don’t wanna be cummed in by a man, i wanna be cummed in by you.”

and soon enough, the dildo was set up in the next ten minutes.

robin did her usual routine, fingering and eating you out like a woman starved, making you squirm and cry from her incredible actions.

she slotted the new toy into the harness, testing that it was a good fit, before demanding you to get on all fours for her, to which you obeyed immediately.

she lines up to your entrance, using your slick to lube up the dildo before slowly pushing in.

she let you get used to the new toy. it was your normal six inches, but just by the look of it, you both knew it was gonna feel different. she also had to remember not to push in to the hilt like she normally did, the ejaculation button sitting right at the top of the dildo. that would be a disaster if she miscalculated that and the tightness of your walls gliding over activated the squirting.

she felt her normal level of horniness at first, which was already extremely high because it was you after all. who wouldn’t be this turned on by the mere sight of you?

but, once the dirty talk kicked in? that is when she realised that she would need regular stock-ups of the fake cum.

hands gripping tightly into the flesh of your skin, the continuous slapping of her cock echoing off the four walls of your bedroom, you were screaming and yelling, “g-getting close, mommy. need your c-cum. need it so fucking bad.”

robin was gonna end up cumming to the mere sound of your words, letting go in sync with the toy, as if she was actually filling you up with her spunk.

“n-need you to breed me, mommy. need your babies.”

god, if she had an actual dick, she would be doing that every chance she got. the amount of mini buckley’s running around the house would be insane.

“yeah?” robin pants in your ear, leaning over your body, now thrusting directly into your cervix, “gonna let go for me? gonna let go so mommy can breed this pussy for you? make you all nice ‘n full?”

“y-yes! yes! oh my god! oh my god! i-i’m gonna—”

and by the intense grip on the bedsheets, to your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung open, violent noises escaping your throat, robin knew from memory that your orgasm had hit you like a freight train.

she waited for your orgasm to die down, before pushing in as far as she could go and pressing the button.

the fake cum squirted fiercely into your cervix, a long stream entering you, once, twice, three times as robin kept pushing the button over and over again.

she kept pressing and pressing until your legs started shaking, giving out underneath you as robin had to use her arm to catch your weight.

as you both recovered from the intense pleasure, robin silently pleaded to whatever power was out there that one day, there would be a way to make that stick.

and if she wasn’t already turned on enough, the sight of the cum dripping out of your pussy after she had pulled out was something to send her brain spiralling once again.

as she collected the spunk and shoved it forcefully back into your vagina, all she knew was that she needed to make another order of that substance. and she needed to make it soon.

a/n: please let me know if any of this came across as homophobic/lesbophobic/etc etc. i did double check with a queer woman i know who is in a wlw relationship, but she does not identify as a lesbian, so lesbians and other sapphics, correct me!! i'm open to learning more!!

taglist: @agxxb @robinsno1lesbian @agenderrat

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley x gn!reader #robin buckley x afab!reader #robin buckley x fem!afab!reader #robin buckley x gn!afab!reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley smut #robin buckley fanfiction #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley fic #robin buckley blurb #stranger things #eds6ngel

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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

Text

At least I got you in my head (6)

(5)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: Abby is stupid, but she finally says goodbye to Aslan and leaves Narnia! Let's say a big thank you to Ellie for being the bestest friend ever. You're just chilling with Vi, this chapter is mostly Abby-centric because oh boy she overthinks. Four-eyed girl/blonde bitch is Kara Danvers.

Taglist: @abbyily @lillysbigwilly @gravygranules @blairfox04 @frogtits1 @ccinnamongrl @ninazenuk @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sunkissedbibi @couchgarbage @nil-eena @inlovewithelliewilliams @st4rluvrr @mai5mai @machetegirl109 @azelmawrites @zootedhoe @rhae-blackqueen @vea-vea-vea @mnim58e @chubeline @strgrlxox @chrry1ovr (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Abby had a problem.

It’s been two weeks since you brought that blonde four-eyed girl home, and Abby had a problem.

Because you brought another girl again a week ago, and it didn’t make Abby feel any better.

In fact, she only got angrier and felt even more disgust than before. And it was bothering her, because you yourself weren't disgusting at all, the best roommate and a good friend, and she loved spending time with you as always, but there was one thing that made her uneasy.

The gay thing. The thing where you had sex with girls. Abby was absolutely fine with you at any other moment, but when she saw that blonde bitch kissing you goodbye she almost puked.

So Abby came to the most logical conclusion: she was homophobic. This revelation made her heart stop as she became more afraid of herself - she'd never say she was a homophobe, her best friend was a lesbian, it just didn't make sense! But Abby never heard Ellie have sex and never saw her hookups after, so she just didn't have a trigger to figure out how much gay was too much for her. She could listen to Ellie talking about her new girl no problem, but that was probably it. And they never lived together, so Abby couldn't say if she'd be okay if Ellie would bring girls over, so.

Abby was deeply ashamed of herself, but she had to admit it.

She wasn't okay with the fact that you were a lesbian.

To make things worse, Abby remembered how you told her you were a lesbian to make sure she was okay living with you, and she said yes, and how sad it made her that you had to clarify it right away because you probably had your fair share of homophobia in your life, and now Abby was not okay with it.

Fuck, she was like those shitty parents who said that they accepted their children as they were, but then pulled "keep it to yourself" on them. That was literally how Abby felt, because she wished you could go back to "normal" where she didn't know anything about your sex life.

When you didn't have a sex life.

"Did you finish your paper?" You asked on Tuesday morning as you brewed coffee for her, sleepy and tired, your hair a mess.

How could she live with herself now?

"Yeah." Abby said shortly, not looking at you, too ashamed.

"That's amazing." You yawned and put the plate with breakfast in front of her. "You'll have to wait for coffee, sorry."

Abby wanted to cry. You were so nice to her and she was a horrible fucking person who hated the fact that you were gay.

"It's okay."

"Are you feeling okay? You seem a little bit down." You looked sympathetic and worried, and it really hurt.

Abby chuckled, trying to act normal, but when she lifted her eyes the first thing she saw was a hickey on your collarbone and her stomach twisted in disgust.

"Just tired. Can't wait for the break." So she could go home and not see you. (So she could go home and miss you crazy)

"Are you going back home?"

"Yeah, all the way to Seattle. You?"

"I'll probably stay here. Or if Cait would have to go home, I'll go with her to keep her sane."

"Does her family celebrate Thanksgiving?"

"Not really, but social events are social events and if they need to show her off, they will."

"Tough."

"Are you sure you're okay? You can talk to me." You asked again, still worried and clearly not buying Abby's excuses.

Abby shook her head and smiled, knowing you'd read right through her.

"Nah, I'm fine. Don't worry your pretty head."

Besides, what would she tell you? That she despised your sexuality? That she wished you were straight? That she needed you to stop having sex and promise her you'd never get a girlfriend because it didn't align with her traditional beliefs? Yeah, what a great conversation it would be.

The lessons with Vi were very productive: you were sure she'd get an A on her test with how much progress she made in these few weeks. She tended to forget some things, but she was able to logic her way out of questions that she didn't remember the right answer to, and you felt confident in her abilities.

The sex was amazing too. Vi was really chill about a lot of things, very flexible and actually enjoyed it when you topped, which didn't happen often with girls you usually hooked up with. She was very sweet and so down to earth you started trusting her without even noticing it. You started having deep conversations after sex, sharing your secrets and problems, and you adored Vi.

"In a friendly way." You specified when you told her how much you appreciated her.

"I remember, don't worry." Vi laughed and stroked her bare thigh. "I'm not emotionally available either."

"Really? Spill." You got excited, happy to not be alone in the losers' boat.

"Only if you do too."

"Oh, no problem." You laughed. "I'm the worst gay stereotype. She is straight and I'm hopeless."

Vi's hand stopped on your thigh and she looked at you like you were insane.

"Are you stupid?"

"I am." You laughed and nuzzled on her shoulder. "My best friend thinks she is in the closet, but it doesn't really help, you know?"

"Yeah." Vi sighed and looked at the ceiling, contemplating your words, as her other arm pulled you closer. "I'm genuinely sorry, (y/n)."

"Yeah, me too." You took a pause, looking at the ceiling as well, still a little high after your last orgasm, but sadness was creeping out on you when you thought about Abby. "What about you?"

"I-uh. We share a class together, but I've never talked to her. She is very smart, like. Genius level."

"And I'm stupid?" You said, playfully offended. "Be brave, talk to her. Which class do you share?"

"The class I'm failing and you're tutoring me in. Not the great first impression. Plus, you know, what if I'm in love with a fantasy in my head? I don't know her."

"Go and talk to her, I swear to god. I can do it for you, if you want." You shrugged, not seeing any barriers in this situation. You were 100% hopeless, but Vi could still get her girl.

"It's pointless. She'd never give a chance to someone like me, we're from different worlds. Oil and water." Vi said, sad and given up, and you felt angry on her behalf: what was so special about this girl that Vi didn't even want to try?

"What do you mean?"

"She is rich. And I'm an orphan who can barely pay rent and have a baby sister to support."

"If it's a problem for her, she is an asshole and doesn't deserve you anyway." You huffed. "But yeah, I know what you're saying. Privilege is something you can't really ignore."

Vi hummed and you kissed her shoulder just to show you were there for her. You knew what Vi was talking about firsthand: Caitlyn really had to learn a lot when you became friends, since you had to financially support yourself the whole time and couldn't afford hanging out in places Cait used to hang out. She was confused when her expensive gifts offended you and she looked so terrified when you brought her to eat street food and there were no textile napkins. It was hilarious but it was also a harsh reminder of what privilege looked like.

Now she was way down to earth and ate pizza with her hands while sitting on the ground, changed her whole friend circle and yeah, she was still wearing a lot of expensive things, but she knew her privilege and never looked down at anyone, almost embarrassed she had it better. Which was a good look on her, honestly - she wasn't responsible for her family's wealth, but she was still responsible for herself and you felt comforted knowing she held herself accountable. Caitlyn was good, and you hoped Vi's girl would be even better to her.

Or you'd have to hunt her down and kill her, because Vi was precious.

On Thursday you had your usual cuddle time and Abby never felt more guilty in her life as she once again held you in her arms and enjoyed it. She couldn't keep her hands off you no matter how hard she tried, and she didn't want to distance herself from you and make you feel guilty - she knew you would since you always confirmed if Abby was okay with being touched. It didn't seem fair to still cuddle you and bask in your warmth and softness when she had this nasty feeling inside her. If before that she felt like she was using you because she was touch-starved, now not only she was using you because she was touch-starved, she actually had the audacity to be disgusted when she thought where your hands might have been.

Where your mouth might have been.

Abby noticed she was looking at your mouth a lot, and she was mad at herself because instead of trying to block those awful thoughts and avoid possible triggers she only instigated them by looking at your mouth for no reason at all.

Abby was slowly going insane and she really needed to discuss it with someone who wouldn’t judge her, because it wasn’t her proudest moment. She felt like the worst person in the world for being the way she was, but she just couldn’t get over herself. So instead of going home on Friday night Abby went over to Ellie’s place.

She was afraid to bring this up with Ellie too, because if she was homophobic it meant Ellie was under fire too and Abby wanted to cry from how bad she felt. They have been friends since they were children and Abby was the first person Ellie came out to and now Abby felt like she might ruin something between them and betray Ellie's trust.

Ellie noticed something was up with her and Abby already saw her stubborn frown that meant she wouldn't get away without talking to her.

"What's up with you? You look like a kicked puppy." Ellie took a swig of her beer as she observed Abby, trying to read her non-verbals.

"I've discovered something about myself I'm not really proud of." Abby admitted and Ellie nodded knowingly as if she already knew what Abby was going to say. Fuck, was she micro-homophobic to Ellie before? Was it something noticeable? Did she hurt Ellie? "I'm a homophobe."

The knowing look on Ellie's face changed to shock as her eyes grew in size and her mouth fell open.

"You're what." Ellie asked carefully as if Abby was an angry animal who needed to be calmed down.

"I'm sorry." Abby said immediately. "I know it sounds ridiculous since you're my best friend but hear me out."

“..Okay.”

“Fuck, it’s so awful.” Abby started, ashamed of herself. “A few weeks ago (y/n) and I discussed bringing people over and she started bringing girls. And I thought I'd be okay with it, but I'm just. So disgusted. I literally want to throw up.” Abby looked at Ellie, ready to accept her reaction, no matter what it would be, but Ellie only stared at her, confused.

"That's why you think you're a homophobe?"

"Yes. Because I'm only like that when she brings girls over. She is the best roommate I've ever had, but I'm not fine with her being gay."

"Are you fine with me being gay?" Ellie asked, still confused, and Abby felt the guilt wash over her.

"I don't know anymore. You didn't have sex in the same apartment with me, so I have no evidence. I think I'm fine if you keep it to yourself?" Why was she like this? This was her best friend and she was a total asshole to her right now.

Ellie sat straight and leaned to Abby as if she wanted to say something important.

"Abby. Abigail. You went to lesbian bars with me. You saw me making out. You were hit on a million times by other women. I never kept it to myself with you." Ellie waited until Abby took it in. "I'll prove it to you."

Ellie stood up and went to the door to her room, opening it halfway and sticking her head out.

"Dina! Can you come here?"

Ellie's roommate came into the room a few moments later and Abby was confused as fuck - did they need a whole council to decide Abby's fate or what?

"Abby here thinks she is a homophobe. Can you make out with me in front of her?"

Abby couldn't help but laugh in surprise, her affection for Ellie's stupid ideas lifting her mood a little. Dina laughed too and shrugged, sitting next to Ellie on the opposite side of Abby.

"Pda is generally uncomfortable, you know." Dina said to Ellie, seemingly thinking her idea was stupid too, but still rolling with it.

"Well, you tell us Abby if it's generally uncomfortable or you want us to burn in hell." Ellie murmured in Dina's lips before she kissed her.

Abby felt her breath hitch as she watched them making out and it was even more embarrassing - she didn't feel disgust, no. She felt- She felt-

Abby was terrified to give a name to this feeling, suddenly ashamed of what she felt as she watched her best friend making out with another girl, but her chest fluttered and her heart was beating faster. She felt an ache between her legs and it was even more embarrassing - was she- was she fetishizing her best friend? Was she that deranged?

"So, do you want to throw up?" Ellie asked, panting, as she moved her hands away from Dina's face.

"No." What Abby actually wanted was a very different thing. "I mean- no. I'm fine. You both are pretty, so."

Ellie and Dina shared a look between them, and if Abby paid attention she'd know their looks said "this bitch is stupid".

"Am I fetishizing you right now?" Abby asked, genuinely confused.

"I can't believe this shit." Ellie said, exasperated. "You're not. Abby, you're not a homophobe, okay?"

"I'm gonna go, I have shit to do. Good luck with the identity crisis, Abby." Dina said and left Ellie's room to give them privacy, knowing it was a conversation she shouldn't be a part of.

"But if I saw (y/n) like this I'd definitely puke. I almost did." Abby countered, still confused.

"So you're saying you only have this reaction to (y/n)?"

"I think so. How many lesbians do you think are having sex in my apartment?"

"Well, considering (y/n)'s body count, I'd say a lot."

Abby frowned in anger and Ellie caught it, coming up with a different reason.

"Maybe you're just uncomfortable with her having sex at your place. Would you care if she didn't bring those girls home but fucked them somewhere else?"

Abby went silent as she imagined that, but Ellie interrupted her fantasy where she was totally cool with you sleeping around outside your place.

"Because I know she stayed over at other people's places."

The cocktail of her awful emotions came back full force and the fantasy where Abby was okay with it was in ruins, replaced with fury - she didn't know that and it made her fucking mad.

"How do you know that?"

"Gossip." Ellie said shortly. "So, do you care if she fucks somewhere else?"

Oh, Abby wanted to lie so bad. She wanted to pretend the whole issue was just about your sex life on her doorstep, but she was tired of feeling like this. She was tired of getting angry at you for nothing and she just wanted everything to be back to normal.

"I do."

"Okay." Ellie sighed. "I'm going to say something, okay?"

Abby nodded, apprehensive.

"You're jealous, Abby."

"Nah, I had Owen, remember? I'm not worried about having less sex." Abby said, relieved: she already thought of this and figured out it wasn't about who had more sex in your apartment.

"No, Abs. You're jealous of all those girls who fuck her."

"That… doesn't make sense." Abby laughed nervously, suddenly filled with desire to hide from Ellie and her words.

"Dude, being homophobic to one person doesn't make sense either, since a) I'm your best friend and I'm a lesbian b) you didn't punch me when I told you I had a crush on you-"

"That was so embarrassing why would you bring it up-"

"And c) you literally punch homophobes in their face."

"I'm not gay." Abby said stubbornly. Yes she did punch some homophobes in her life, but it didn't make her a lesbian. She didn't like girls! She wasn't like that!

"I didn't say that." Ellie chuckled like she caught Abby on something. "But the thought that you're homophobic is ridiculous."

It was ridiculous. Oh god. Abby felt so stupid right now - what kind of mental gymnastics was she doing? And she was so sure of it too, it really seemed logical and sensible. But if she wasn't homophobic, she didn't care where you had sex (she only cared that you had sex at all), what was her problem?

"Have you ever thought of her in that way?" Ellie asked.

"Why would I?" Abby asked, suddenly defensive.

"Why would it be so wrong if you liked girls?"

That question broke Abby's brains. She stared at Ellie for a few seconds, not even comprehending her words. Indeed, why would it be so wrong? There was nothing wrong with liking girls, why didn't she want to even entertain the idea? Why did she push this "husband two and a half kids dog" agenda on herself?

"Am I fucking-" Abby was shocked as thoughts ran through her head at light speed. "Am I homophobic to myself?"

"This feels like therapy, I swear." Ellie chuckled. "Dude, if you feel guilty for liking girls then yes, you're homophobic to yourself."

"I just-" Abby looked at her own hands, still shocked. "I didn't think I was allowed."

"Well, as the president of lesbians I'm giving you permission to like girls. How does it feel?"

"Like you're stupid and I'm even more stupid." Abby deadpanned. "This is-"

So many things started to make sense: the way Abby always tried not to stare at other girls, how she preferred softness to hardness, "all girls are pretty", how she never bothered with boys because they didn't strike much interest and ran to girls instead because they were just better-

(How she stared at Caitlyn's tits)

"I'm not straight." Abby said and laughed. "And I'm so stupid."

Ellie laughed and nodded. She was happy for Abby, even if she was an utter idiot.

"Homophobic my ass." Ellie thought as they clicked their bottles. "Congratulations on liking pussy, Abs."

Abby laughed, a little embarrassed, but she felt so light in that moment, finally free of years of guilt for looking at girls for too long. It also explained why didn't look at you when you were just out of the shower - she was just gay and scared.

For some reason the conversation changed and they never got back to why you were Abby's "favourite", too overwhelmed with the biggest realisation of Abby's life. Abby was absolutely thrilled with her new discovery and excited about what laid ahead.

As far as she could tell, all lesbians around her were having a hell of a fun time.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyimh

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queerholmcs · 27 days

Text

the mind of moriarty 👑🧑🏻‍💻♟️

I had the absolute pleasure of doing the original "the game is now" escape room experience immediately followed by the new moriarty-centric escape room (as though the first one wasn't moriarty-centric enough?) with @victorianpining and @647763 back at the end of July, and I did promise a full write-up when I came back to my senses at the end of it!

First off, I could not have been more pleased with the experience; I do absolutely recommend giving it a go yourself if you have the chance. Now, if you're in the mood for spoilers, I'll be detailing some thoughts and recollections below the cut. 💙

Just in case the first escape room experience didn't quite convince you, Moriarty is dead. It's very important that you know that going into this. He's the most dead anyone has ever been. He's so dead he "wishes he could die twice!", after all! They have to keep saying it because otherwise you might forget it, you see. Especially after Sherlock had a whole drug trip on a plane to prove how someone might have faked their death in such a manner only to conclusively decide that dear old Jimmy boy is in fact dead.

I'm assuming everyone reading this is already relatively familiar with the first escape room, and the whole bit where the Network is operating under the guise of "Doyle's Opticians," so I won't spend any time discussing that, except to say that we did get a few confused looks from the various Stamfords when we reappeared (after finishing the first escape room and making the choice to stick to non-alcoholic beverages at the Mind Palace prior to the second) to say, "Oh, no, we didn't get turned around or anything. We've just got a second appointment." (You mean to tell me that most people who go do one experience and then just... leave? Without doing the second one the very same day? What an absolutely unfathomable concept.)

The opening puzzles before the "John Watson held at gunpoint" briefing video (which was the same as that used for the first escape room) were particularly fun: you're shown a series of four images, and you have to figure out the pattern of what's changing (being mirrored, one might say?) between each one to choose the fifth of the sequence from a selection. (Ref. 1: Into the Woods: How Stories Work and Why We Tell Them, John Yorke.)

And then you go on to 221B Baker Street for photos and a brief moment of shenanigans, and I must add a note here that the Stamford who was working with us on this round was brilliant, you could tell she was absolutely loving her job, and there was a bit of a spiel about observation and logic and deduction that turned out to actually be helpful in solving the puzzles in the first room. (Shocking, that she wasn't just harping on about those concepts for fun!)

Anyway, Mycroft shows up via video feed, per usual, and introduces the premise of this game: James Moriarty (who is most assuredly dead, by the way, it's very important that you remember that) programmed an AI before he died—"an archive of maniacal data"—and your job, as new (read: expendable) recruits in the Network, is to go into a virtual-reality space called the Nexus, where you need to hack into the AI and replace Moriarty's mind with—well, not yours, obviously, you're "far too, as they say, basic"—but with Sherlock's. But why not use Mycroft's mind? you may be asking. Especially if he's the smart one.—because, dear reader, "One Mycroft Holmes is already too great a gift for this world. Two would be an indulgence." And that's verbatim from Mycroft Holmes as protrayed by Mark Gatiss himself. I am going to haunt him in whatever comes after this life. Still can't believe that you give them money and in exchange they insult you for approximately ninety minutes and at the end you say 'thanks, this was so much fun, I will definitely be doing this again!'

Right before you go into the first room, you are helpfully reminded by Mycroft one last time that "despite what video games suggest, you absolutely can die in the virtual world." Bit of a theme they seem to be harping on! It's almost like they're trying to get you to really believe that Jim is actually dead or something!

(Photos are all from the official 221b social media accounts.)

The first room is a sort of fusion of the pool from TGG with a chemistry lab and a hospital corridor, and also a miniature version of Jim's prison cell from THOB is there. There's a mannequin of John Watson decked out in a Semtex vest in the corner, and you get the usual experience of solving lots of intellectually- and tactilely-satisfying puzzles, which included opening a bordering-on-comical number of lockers. The John mannequin has a key in his hand labelled "007" (classic!) and a phone in his pocket so you can text Mycroft. Moriarty reminds you that he's the good old-fashioned villain in this fairy tale, and that Sherlock needs him or he's nothing, and that John is Sherlock's "live-in ordinary person."

I also particularly enjoyed the little chemistry puzzle in this room—they do give you a periodic table on the wall, so you have all you need to solve it without any prior knowledge, but who goes to a Sherlock escape room without a graduate chemist in hand?

(We also decided after the fact that the gift shop definitely should have been selling packs of the stickers seen on the lockers in this room, one of which was notably a pixel-art TV with a rainbow screen and the phrase "brainwashed".)

The highlight here, however, was definitely the prison cell. There's a letter on the chair that's on Pentonville Prison letterhead and signed by Mycroft and otherwise consists of a paragraph or two of fully redacted text. The walls have a number of fun phrases scratched into them, like "THREE SIGNS IS NOT ENOUGH" and "TOO MANY THATCHERS", which continue to live in my mind rent-free. (Some of the other phrases were helpful hints for the puzzles you had to solve, but those two weren't even relevant for the puzzles, as I recall. They were just bonuses. Specifically designed to haunt me, personally.)

At some point in here, Moriarty—no, sorry; his recorded voice, because he's dead, remember! We're just poking around in his virtual mind! ("Jim recorded lots of little messages for me before he died," anyone?)—insults you over the speakers, saying, "Goldfish, goldfish, goldfish have better recall than you!" (Mycroft Holmes in TEH, "I'm living in a world of goldfish," anyone?)

Anyway, you solve all the puzzles and put the phone you were using to text Mycroft in Jim's prison cell and continue on your way, going further into the mind of Moriarty, in the direction of the "Watson Ward" and "No Sherlock beyond this point" arrows. (Big moment for "there's definitely a reason that every other character in the canon has the initials J(H)W or its respectable inversion JM" girlies!)

Also there's an audio clip of Jim saying "choo choo!" as you leave the room. (Big moment for TFP girlies! I think my exact words were "I am going to kill myself.")

Onto room two! Green lasers everywhere! (They definitely intended you to do a fun little acrobatics situation here but we were content to hit the floor and crawl to find the buttons to disable them.)

After you disable the lasers, you get to focus on the primary puzzle of the room: a wall covered with sketches of people and copies of incriminating evidence, and you have to connect the scarlet thread red strings between each member of the jury and the evidence that Jim was blackmailing them with—you know, from way back in TRF? When the key code wasn't important at all, it was just about knowing someone's pressure points? (There's a Mary who's having an affair and is a lesbian, btw. Just like our mystery corpse in the original escape room, we should never assume someone is straight when there's room for them to be gay.) This puzzle as a whole was really satisfying, I will say, though it did make us wish for either a notepad or a massive whiteboard to make notes on while we solved the little logic puzzles to match the people to their blackmail material. (They could give you little branded notepads and pens to take with you through the rooms, and to keep as a souvenir, like the ones hotels give you! It would be so fun!) This was definitely the puzzle we spent the majority of our time on.

And then you get to the highlight of this room: opening the safe to reveal Jim Moriarty himself—well, a mannequin version—decked out in the Crown Jewels, happy as could be. There's a reminder that nothing in the Tower of London is as valuable as a few tiny lines of computer code that can open any door. And Jim's written a silly little poem of sorts and draws far too much attention to both "the rod of power in his right hand's grasp" and "the Orb" between his legs (and then we were at the Tower of London two days later and found out that that's not just a euphemism, it's literally called the Orb? Unhinged behaviour. And I don't even know who to blame for it now. The "rod of power" bit was all him, though. Could have been normal and called it a scepter!) and you have to figure out a code and (spoilers!) the code is 7437. Which is fine and perfectly normal and I'm sure the vast majority of people who complete that room think nothing of it, but unfortunately, we were not a group of "the vast majority" and so our experience was not what you might call "fine and normal", because Mia input the code and there was a little beep of success of and then she, without missing a beat, went on to say, "Oh, that's so funny! That's the numbers for S-H-E-R," at which point Rebs and I immediately sank to the floor to stare into the abyss while waiting for the next door to open.

So, just to recap: the point of TRF was definitely that there was no code, there was never any code, it was just about knowing people's pressure points and getting them to do what you wanted, but now that we're inside Moriarty's mind it's definitely all about codes and there's a silly poem to draw attention to various things including, but not limited to, the Orb between his legs, and the code that you need from him so that you can go deeper into his mind is S-H-E-R. Yeah. Sure. Why not. This is Fine! What really haunts me is knowing how many people will do that escape room and will never know that that's what those numbers mean. Because why on earth would you?

(Just to prove how normal I am about this, I won't even say anything about a potential parallel between Moriarty's "Orb" situation and the globe on Mycroft's desk under Whitehall. See? I'm not even mentioning it, why would you bring up something like that? No M-theory here, no sir! Not a single trace of it!)

Congratulations, you've made it to the rooftop, where Sherlock jumped off a roof and James Moriarty met his end, and I swear Jim has a line somewhere in there complaining about how hard it is to plan this sort of thing. (Whatever that means!)

We've got screens playing clips from all thirteen episodes of the show—okay, that might be an exaggeration; I didn't actually check to see if there were clips from every single episode. But there were definitely clips from series four, which is very funny considering how the universe that these rooms seem to be set makes exactly zero mention of John's wife at any point in time. (Hey, hello, hi, it's me who's writing this. Obviously I noticed when there were shots from TFP on those screens.)—and there are computer-code-esque symbols on the walls and Jim is lying dead on the floor and Sherlock is standing on the edge of the rooftop.

Here are some fun facts for you: the gun is still in Jim's pocket. (He's definitely dead, though! You know how you shoot yourself in the head and then return your gun to its rightful place before you politely lay down and die?) And Sherlock's mannequin is wearing the purple shirt of sex a purple shirt, which is a detail that might not be noticed unless you're thoroughly ransacking his every pocket (twice) to check for a missing key, and I was going to say something about how of course he is, because what else would you expect him to be wearing when we're three levels deep in Moriarty's mind and the code to get this far was S-H-E-R, but then I went back and checked and Sherlock is, in fact, wearing a purple shirt at the end of TRF. (Which somehow still doesn't actually negate any of the above, imo.)

Anyway, the first puzzle in this room involves finding a bunch of physical puzzle pieces to solve a puzzle, and figuring out how to unlock doors to obtain all of the pieces, and some of the padlocks use code words that they give you by putting phrases from their "sophisticated and cerebral" merch on the screen and highlighting letters, and some use numbers that you get by solving other riddles, but one of them is a padlock with a physical key and (spoiler!) it turns out that you don't even need to get the key for that one, because there's another way to get the puzzle piece out without unlocking the door at all! (Was his grand daylight robbery scheme a matter of keys and codes, or was it just about knowing people's pressure points and blackmailing them? You decide!)

And then it's time to manage the final task of uploading Sherlock's brain to the AI, which is accomplished by running around hitting buttons while music plays over the speakers to instil a sense of great urgency. You definitely would not want to do this with fewer than three members in your party. This is where they use Jim's line of "Surprise! You didn't think I'd just disappear, did you?" as seen in one of the teaser trailers, and they also plaster every screen with the classic "Did you miss me?" footage that mysteriously appeared on every screen in the country at the end of HLV.

But when you do manage to complete the task, Mycroft's voice comes back to congratulate you, and to sort of threaten you (though that's par for the course when it's Mycroft Holmes we're talking about, I'll admit), and to leave open the possibility of your returning for another job someday. I, for one, cannot wait to see what they're going to do for round three. (Personally, I think it would be very funny if they put one of the rooms on the Demeter for the next one. No rebranding necessary, no discussion of Dracula at any point whatsoever, but for some reason you find yourself on a boat, in cabin number 9, playing chess with the Devil himself Moriarty! What a shocking and unforeseen turn of events that would be!)

(The only real downside of them doing a third room would be that I would then have to make time to do three of these in one day. And that might be a bit excessive. I mean, three eye exams in one day? Someone's definitely going to say something.)

We had a very lovely time at the Mind Palace bar after that, to debrief a bit, and there was a logic puzzle that I still need to sit down and crack at some point when I have a moment. I was personally very pleased to find drinks called "The Diogenes Club" and "The Lying Detective" (both of which I was contractually obligated to order, naturally), and did you know you can rent out the bar for private events? I'm sure I would be very normal about such a situation. (Good job I'm not local to the area, truly!)

This has already gone longer than I think I intended, and I'm sure I could keep going, given the opportunity, but I'll close things out here, and say again that I do absolutely recommend doing the escape room(s) if you have the opportunity; I could not have been more pleased with the experience. My sole complaint is that they don't let you wander back through the rooms after solving the puzzles to have a moment to appreciate all the small details when you're not working against the clock. And also they should send me the scripts, as a treat. Along with any remaining unused video or audio footage. (Moftiss, my DMs are open, feel free to drop the links at your earliest convenience!)

#the game is now #bbc sherlock #sherlock #*mine #@ rebs and mia feel free to chime in if i missed anything of import here!!!#anyway. need to just post this before i go any more insane today dsfsdlfjs #the mind of moriarty

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