#it's going to be my first time in europe!

[snail-day]

Escaping yan!SatoSugu, getting a new job in a different country, FINALLY having the chance to build a life without them just to have all your hopes crushed by Suguru settling next to you in the airport terminal and a wide smile on Satoru's face as he shows you the three first class plane tickets to Europe. "A romantic get-away." They call it as ur forced onto a flight u didn't book🤗

My heart would absolutely fall straight out of my ass.

You’d barely made it through customs. Hands still trembling from the adrenaline, from the hope. From the delusion, really. A whole new life, a whole new job, a whole new country. You even booked the hotel yourself. Remote. Quiet. Untraceable. You had thought.

Until you saw him.

Suguru, sitting pretty in the terminal, legs crossed and a travel magazine in hand he wasn’t even reading. That infuriating, soft chuckle curling in his throat as you froze in place. "Oh baby," he smiled without even looking up. "Took you long enough."

And then there was him.

Satoru bounding up behind you with all the excitement of a puppy in love. Grinning ear to ear, proudly flashing three first class tickets like a magician revealing his final trick. "Surprise! Romantic getaway, just the three of us!" he chirped. "I upgraded your hotel too, three tiers. Castle-style. Super remote. You’re gonna love it."

You blinked. A castle.

An actual castle.

With a medieval-ass dungeon and everything, apparently, because Satoru winked and added, "They said it used to be an experimental facility during the war, cool, right?"

Suguru just gave a low hum, rising to stand beside you, fingers brushing your elbow, before gripping you tight like a leash. "Torture room and all. Kinky," he mused, but his voice dipped with that terrifying fondness.

And certainly not the sweet kind.

Not when your little vanishing act left Suguru's palm just itching. You probably won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week when he was done with you. You thought you could run?

You thought they’d ever let you go?

Satoru leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek acting as if you weren’t two seconds away from hyperventilating. "Hope you had fun with your little game, baby."

Suguru’s lips brushed your ear as he whispered, voice smooth like sin: "Now it’s time to wake up to your reality. Come on smile real pretty for vacation, it'll be your last for a while."

[formulafanfics13]

The Ribbon and the Room: Part 2 - The Wardrobe and the Crown

The final knot was tied. The corset hugged her waist now, laced by hands that had done it a hundred times. Done with love. With patience. With a certain practiced ease that made it look like nothing at all. She adjusted gently, skirt rustling as she stepped forward from the doorway and turned toward the firelit room. Twenty drivers. Nine other principals. And her.

Toto placed a hand briefly at the small of her back as he passed, returning to his seat and his drink. As if the moment was over. As if she hadn’t just walked into the room like a thread of royalty sewn into silk.

She took her seat beside him, poised, breath calm now, hands folded softly in her lap. And then, from further down the long stretch of table, a voice broke the silence with something warm. Gentle. A question wrapped in genuine curiosity.

“So,” Fred Vasseur began, swirling his wine, “are you going somewhere tonight, or… is that just for us?” His tone was soft, teasing only at the edges.

She smiled faintly, looking down at her dress. A blush-pink masterpiece of structure and silk. It shimmered subtly in the firelight, delicate off-shoulder folds barely resting on her skin. “No, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice calm and composed. “This is one of my pageant dresses. I just needed to make sure it could still be done up.”

A few quiet chuckles. A few more glances.

“Pageants?” Lando blinked from his place on the left, his brow furrowing with sudden interest. “Wait, you do pageants?”

George made a small choked laugh into his drink. Lewis leaned forward with a grin. “Oh, he doesn’t know.”

George shot him a sideways glance and smiled. “Oh, mate, you’ve never seen the pageant room upstairs.”

More laughter, rippling and scattered like the popping of champagne corks.

She tilted her head, amused. “George.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “Come on, it’s a marvel. If you're gonna drop that kind of bomb on a room full of men who’ve just learned you walk like a Valentino bride, you have to show them.”

Toto raised an eyebrow.

George looked at him directly. “Can I?”

There was a long pause, the kind that always hung in the air just before Toto Wolff made a decision. Then, calmly, with one slight nod, “Yes.”

She laughed softly, standing with the help of Lewis, who offered his hand like a knight out of instinct, not obligation. “Come on, then,” she said, eyes dancing now. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

George opened the doors. Lewis kept a hand gently at her elbow. The others followed, half in disbelief, half in curiosity, all quietly obedient to the rhythm of whatever this moment had become.

Twenty-three men, moving like schoolboys through marble corridors.

The house was quiet. Regal. Evening light stretched long through the windows, casting gold across stone floors and dark wood panels. She led them to the furthest room on the top floor. A double set of doors, white and carved with soft floral filigree.

She paused with her hand on the brass handle, looking over her shoulder. “You’re not ready.”

Then she opened it. The room was massive. Immediately, the smell of peony and silk hit them, subtle and fresh and unmistakably her. Walls lined with built-in display cases. Every surface filled with gleaming trophies. Crystal crowns. Gold tiaras. Rosettes and banners and velvet sashes embroidered in looping calligraphy.

Miss Continental Europe. Vienna Elegance Grand Final. Winter Queen of Florence. World Charity Royal 2022.

And hundreds more. Some displayed in neat rows. Others stacked with casual pride. One glass shelf held a crown that looked as if it cost more than half the grid’s first contracts.

Pierre actually whistled. “This is…”

“Terrifying,” Oscar said under his breath.

George grinned. “Told you.”

But she was already walking, heels clicking softly over the polished floors as she headed toward the back of the room. Because that wasn’t it. There was more. She passed beneath a curved archway, white marble, flanked with soft spotlights, and entered the second room. The others followed.

And then they all just… stopped. Because the second room wasn’t a room. It was a wardrobe. Open. Vast. Beautiful.

Floor-to-ceiling rails on every wall. Dresses in every colour. Couture. Vintage. Custom. Feathers, lace, hand-stitched crystals. Shoes arranged by hue and heel height, shimmer lining every surface. At the centre, a velvet dais with a trio of tall standing mirrors. On the side wall, a long vanity with warm bulbs and an array of brushes, palettes, and perfume bottles lined up like an apothecary for royalty.

There was no doubt. This wasn’t aesthetic. This was operational. This was where she prepared for war.

No one spoke at first. Just quiet footsteps and breathless stares. Then Max, low, disbelieving, “This is in your dads house?”

She turned, dress floating behind her like liquid blush, and smiled softly. “I compete. I win. I keep things tidy.”

“‘Tidy,’” Charles echoed faintly, staring at a gold embroidered Marchesa piece that looked like it belonged on the Vatican steps.

Even Christian Horner, who had remained pointedly silent all night, stepped through the threshold like a man walking into a vault. One hand behind his back, one brow arched in cautious awe.

“This is…” he paused. “Strategic.”

She didn’t answer. Just smiled.

George leaned against the archway. “Most girls have a wardrobe. She has a command centre.”

Lewis grinned and nodded toward her. “And every medal, every crown, every fucking custom heel has her name on it. Go ahead. Look. They’re all engraved.”

Yuki whispered, “She’s the real boss of Mercedes.”

Toto entered last. He didn’t speak. Just stood in the archway, hands in his pockets, observing quietly as twenty-three of motorsport’s most powerful men stood shoulder to shoulder, dumbstruck, in his daughter’s inner sanctum.

She walked past them toward one of the centre rails. Pulled out a gown. Held it up like it was nothing.

In that moment, she wasn’t Toto Wolff’s daughter. She wasn’t a girl in heels or a ribboned bodice. She was proof. Proof that grace was dangerous. That femininity was a weapon. That legacy could look like lace if you underestimated it.

And in the reflection of those tall standing mirrors, they didn’t just see her. They saw themselves. Looking. Watching. Already too late to look away.

Christian was the one to break the silence. He turned slowly, hands still folded behind his back like he was afraid to touch anything. Like the room itself might turn on him. His voice was low, but tinged with something unguarded. Not sarcasm. Not bitterness. Just quiet disbelief. “This must’ve cost you a fortune.”

Toto smirked. Subtle. Almost fond. “It did.”

He stepped forward, toward the centre of the wardrobe, not to show off, but to stand beside his daughter, who was still delicately running her fingers down the skirt of a lilac beaded Zuhair Murad that shimmered like starlight under glass.

“We put her in speech lessons the moment she started talking,” Toto said, voice even, eyes soft. “Not elocution, but presence. Tempo. Eye contact. Delivery.”

Some of the younger drivers glanced at each other. Charles, blinking. Lando, visibly reeling.

“She did ballet and gymnastics from the age of three,” Toto continued. “I had to sit through three hours of Swan Lake renditions in our kitchen every Sunday for four years.”

She huffed a quiet laugh beside him but didn’t look up. Just kept running her hands along the gowns. Silent. Steady.

“She practised her speeches in front of the Mercedes engineers when she was six,” Toto added, tilting his head slightly toward the room at large. “They found it adorable. They’d all sit down and give her notes like she was presenting a chassis upgrade.”

Esteban made a faint choked noise of awe.

Toto shrugged. “I don’t know how much I’ve spent. Probably close to a billion, if I’m being honest.”

A few jaws dropped.

“She’s had a private nutritionist since she was twelve,” he said, tone still casual. “A personal trainer since fourteen. A handwriting coach. Stylists. Therapists. Language tutors. PR advisors. All of it.” He looked over at her then. Not prideful. Just real. “Because if she was going to walk into this world with my name,” he said, “she was going to do it better than I ever could.”

It wasn’t a boast. It was a fact. Plain. Unapologetic. And she hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t corrected. Because every word was true.

Behind her, the room gleamed with the proof. Decades of performance and perfection in silk and Swarovski. A life built on structure, discipline, and art. Not a spoiled childhood, a forged one. Sharpened by excellence. Polished by expectation. Protected by a father who understood exactly what it would cost her to be seen.

Christian looked between them again. Then back to the far wall of glass where a single red velvet sash hung above the others, one that read Miss Imperial International Grand Prix Queen in gold embroidered thread.

He exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “No wonder you listen when she speaks.”

Lewis turned, smiling. “It’s not just him.”

Toto said nothing. He just reached out and gently tucked a loose piece of hair behind his daughter’s ear. The movement was simple. Automatic. But every man watching knew they were seeing something rare.

Legacy, yes. But also love. Not the kind they were used to. Not transactional, not strategic. This was different.

This was a father who had built an empire, then built her a world bigger than it. And she had walked into it, spine straight, ribbon laced, crown perfectly balanced, like she’d always known how.

[deliajackson]

Snippet of a fic I will never write

"I... I've thought a lot about what you said," Apollo finally spoke after standing at that door in silence for quite some time.

Rhea lifted her eyes from the kitchen counter of her house, where she’d been toying with an orange—the cabin her father, Poseidon, had remodeled to look like a summer home.

"...And?"

"You know… for someone who was terrible at all my domains, you sure have a poetic way of saying you love me, Rhea. I’m flattered, by the way." The joke was weak. Rhea’s hand squeezed the orange so hard she felt the juice press against the peel.

"...Apollo..." Rhea began.

"I'm not a good man," Apollo interrupted. He rarely sounded solemn in all the time she’d known him, but now he did. "I’m not even a man, to begin with. Even if my father somehow made me… 'human.' I'm not really. This—this flesh?" Apollo gestured to himself, running a hand down his arm. "It’s clay he molded and confined me in, stripping me of who—what—I am."

"...I know that..."

"I know you do." Apollo interjected firmly. "You're smarter than people give you credit for, you always have been, and I’m not going to treat you like you’re not." Rhea bit her lip. He was one of the first to ever say that. Annabeth had always treated her like she was an idiot, and often, too many people agreed with her.

"I'm made of essence, Rhea. I was born and have existed for millennia. I was there when the first humans crawled from the mud. I was there when the Hellenes raised their first cities. I was there when Troy fell, when Alexander raised his army and invaded Hellas, when Plato twisted us into moral models, and when Socrates died. I saw the birth of Rome—and its fall. I saw Christ’s crucifixion and watched our temples crumble and fall when Christianity began its crusades. I saw humans cross the seas to the land you now call America. I saw Napoleon conquer Europe—and part of Egypt. I stood in the hall when he declared himself emperor. I witnessed the birth of the British Empire, the two Great Wars, and everything up to today. I have my hands on every page of history. As the God of Civilization, I was there—for better or for worse."

"What's the point you're trying to make, Apollo?"

When people say the worst someone can say is no, they’re lying.

"I'm saying I’ve done unspeakable things, Rhea. Some because I had to, yes—to keep the balance of the Cosmos, which is my duty—but many others? I did them because I was bored. Some out of pure sadism. Others just because I could."

"I know. I know the myths—not all, but enough..."

"The myths aren’t entirely true. And they’re only the tip of the iceberg. Many were lost because they were never recorded." Apollo shook his head. "And you might know them, but you didn’t live them. I’m not insulting your intelligence, Rhea. Just stating that the full weight of their cruelty escapes you." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "And out of selfishness, I hope it stays that way. Because despite your frankly terrible temper," he added with a soft snort, "you are a good person."

"I'm not..."

"You are." He repeated, his blue eyes softening as he stepped closer. "I don’t say this lightly. Most people... they aren’t good or bad. They have moments of empathy, of cruelty, and pettiness. But at the end of the day, they’re neutral. That’s humanity. But you, Rhea, you are inherently good. A few moments of cruelty don’t erase the rest of the whole."

"You could’ve just said you weren’t interested, you know?" she muttered, annoyed. Apollo blinked, then let out a small laugh. A tiny tsunami stirred in Rhea’s chest, her hands clenching into fists.

"That’s not funny! I..."

"Rhea." He interrupted, placing a hand over her closed fist, finally exhaling. His face was flushed from laughing, half disbelieving. "I was willing to stay mortal for you."

Her anger vanished as fast as it came, and her eyes widened like two coins.

"W-What?" Apollo exhaled softly, stepping closer, his other hand brushing her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t noticed falling.

"I was willing to give up my divinity," he repeated slowly, almost amused by the absurdity. "To live and grow... old." He snorted. "with you."

"...I... I..." Rhea was speechless. Apollo loved being a god. He loved it. It was who he was.

"I’d never ask that of you… You are who you are." she whispered.

"That’s exactly why I’d do it for you," he replied gently, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. "Do you remember the first time I saw you?"

"...On the train? Fred?"

"No." Apollo chuckled softly. "On Hephaestus’ TV. The Tunnel of Love."

Rhea grimaced.

"That?" she muttered.

"I was intensely curious. Among my many domains, prophecy was always… one of my favorites, you could say." He shrugged. "When I heard Poseidon had a forbidden child, I immediately wanted to know who. The Great Prophecy swirled around you. I remember seeing you and Annabeth in that ride, thinking you might die there. That the prophecy would shift to someone else. Another child." He snorted. "Then you screamed at her to jump. From a speeding cart. And you both survived."

"Funny how those were the simpler times."

"Being accused of stealing from the King of the Gods was... more peaceful, certainly." Apollo seemed terribly amused with irony. "And then I really saw you, when you entered Olympus."

"I didn’t see you that day." Apollo didn’t seem impressed with her statement.

"Of course you didn’t. You were all running around like lunatics, not paying attention to anything. But you were small then, and your fate lines were... foggy. I was fascinated. It’s why I sent you on ridiculous quest after ridiculous quest" — he echoed her words from a week ago, sounding genuinely amused — "all throughout your middle and high school. You were fun. Especially when I watched you biting your tongue, furious, trying not to curse me out like an especially grumpy kitten."

Rhea narrowed her eyes. Not impressed. But biting her tongue again. Apollo laughed softly. She probably had the same grumpy kitten face he liked so much. Gods, why did he fall for him again?

"Ha ha."

"Sorry about that."

"You're not sorry."

"I’m sorry for putting you in danger. But not for annoying you." Apollo declared with a huff. Then, more softly: "Rhea. What I’m saying is... I’ll do everything I can to heal you."

"...Apollo."

"Listen to me." Apollo said. "I’ll do everything. I’m the God of Healing, Rhea. There’s practically nothing I can’t fix. Even if souls aren’t my specialty, I’ll find a way once I get my divinity back."

Rhea looked away, but Apollo gently turned her face, not letting her eyes escape his. His gaze was so intense, so determined.

"And if you can’t?" she asked softly, hating how fragile her voice sounded. "What if it’s too late?"

"...Then I’ll never forget you," he declared, solemn and final. "Not that I think forgetting you is possible. Even if I hadn’t fallen in love with you—you’re still a living legend, my love. But according to our culture—my culture..." he corrected himself, "you’ll live on as long as someone remembers you. And I will remember you, for all my days, until every star in the sky burns out. I’ll remember you."

"...Apollo..." Rhea tried. Their foreheads were touching now, his arm around her waist. The orange had long been forgotten on the counter. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling that false heart pumping ink-like blood beneath her fingers. Ba-thump, ba-thump.

"You’ll never be forgotten, Rhea. I’ll carve you in stone and ink. Your legend will outlast millennia. They’ll know the warrior you were, how your heart was strong and kind. The leader and the strategist. How power flowed through your veins like a river. Your victories and feats."

His hand rose to her cheek, eyes never leaving hers — soul to soul.

"But not just that. They’ll know your love for blue cookies, your kindness and your compassion. They’ll know you baked to deal with stress. That you love skating and horseback riding. That you took time to help dryads, naiads, and sea animals caught in nets. They’ll remember how you struggle to go from E to A in any instrument you try to play."

Tears welled in Rhea’s eyes.

"They’ll know how your eyes shine and the dimple that appears when your smile is real. They’ll know how you put others first, and how I love and hate that about you." Apollo continued softly. "I will remember you, and I will make the world remember you. As long as your memory remains—you will never truly die. I swear to you, on the Styx. On my ichor. On all my domains. I will remember you."

Tears streamed down Rhea’s cheeks like little rivers as they shared the same breath. It was instinct that pulled her closer—hands rising to his neck, then his hair, before their lips met in a desperate dance.

His arm tightened around her, the hand on her cheek moved to her nape.

It wasn’t enough to express what she felt, but words wouldn’t do justice either. After a moment that felt far too short, they pulled apart, sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat—green eyes locked with blue, a moment that felt like eternity, before Rhea rested her head beneath Apollo’s chin.

"...Now I finally get where the title ‘God of Poetry’ came from." she joked, trying to hide the vulnerability.

Apollo let out a soft laugh into her hair.

[majkuindelululand]

Jimin is trying to kill me: 9 reasons why I hate naps

Jimin is back from the military. I live in Poland. Jimin lives in Korea. Jimin just got caught happily wandering around Europe again, feeding ducks with JK in Switzerland. And hanging around calligraphy workshops like it's not an activity for soon-to-be-married so-and-sos. Leaving aside the fact that I hate those ducks. I wish I were a duck in Switzerland. But okay.

And suddenly, Jimin posts on Instagram. Not a reel, not a story. A POST. Where he’s dancing to J-Hope’s “Killing It Girl” challenge.

And here’s where things get real.

First: Jimin, your hips? I love. I love.

Second: That angle? Yes, I would totally be lying on the floor in front of you.

Third: Wait… Did you tag this #jk?!

Fourth: You did. You wild maniac. Fine, but… is that JK’s giggle in the background?

Fifth: JK, are you lying on the floor under Jimin to record this video?! Seriously, do you have to?! I mean, I understand me. A normal person. But you?! You’re an IDOL. A little dignity, for goodness’ sake!

Sixth: No. Jimin? Perfect. But could you maybe tell your friend that simping for you has its limits? He didn’t need to sweep the floor. It wasn’t necessary for the perfect shot. You’re Park Jimin—you’d look good suffering indigestion in a hut in the middle of nowhere. JK didn’t need to debase himself like that.

Seventh: Please remind me next time you post something, in big letters, NOT to check your captions. Because—Jimin. Maybe a little more subtlety?! “This is what I call killingitboy”?! Are you…? Is this…? Never mind.

Eighth: You too, Hobi. Maybe a bit more subtlety wouldn’t hurt. Yes, I had that same look on my face, and I’d love to spam the internet with fire emojis too, but you? It’s suspicious!

And finally, my conclusion and question.

Namely… WHAT IS THE PROBABILITY THAT JIMIN WILL ALWAYS PULL JIKOOKING STUNTS WHEN I GO FOR A ONE-HOUR NAP?! Always. Every single time he breaks the internet, I wake up when the internet is already losing its mind.

[bratbarzal]

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

[osarina]

Terribly sorry, minor continuation with Reader ending up with the family instead of the Port Mafia, would she still be called Hime? Or would she have a new alias? It's kind of crazy because she herself has so much lore tied to the Port Mafia and I'm so interested to see how that would change in a different environment with different people

"terribly sorry" you say as if i dont take every possible opportunity to ramble DUFHASIUDFAHS HAHAHAHAHA

but omg ok so this is what i'm thinking. i think maybe the italian army would get to her village first, and from there, she would end up in an orphanage run by the catholic church. after around 2 years there, she ends up getting exposed as an ability user, and the CCA (another faction, specific to italy, commission of counter abilities, because remember, the way i set up mainland europe/asia is that there's a HEAVY anti-ability user sentiment) ends up coming after her and plans to have her imprisoned for illegal use of an ability & failure to timely register the emergence of an ability.

she doesn't end up getting imprisoned because carlo goldoni (current father of the family) intervenes and takes her in. while she's with him, he puts her through a very strict training regiment to hone in/fine tune her ability usage. in that time, it becomes pretty clear he's setting her up to become the next "father" after him. so i think that time period she would have a similar title—not hime obviously because they're not in japan, principessa maybe, but it would definitely only be used in a mocking manner, wheras hime was used both mockingly and respectfully.

THAT BEING SAID, i don't know if she'll still be in that time period by the start of the story. carlo goldoni is not mori, and he didn't "save her" from her village (we'll find out more about reader and mori's relationship in civzai2 soon). she was in an orphange for 2-3 years before the family took her in & goldoni began helping her. so there would be a huge difference in her relationship with mori vs goldoni, and there's a HUGE chance that she might've pulled a civzai1 (killing to take over) much earlier and with much less motive if she decides she thinks she would be better off leading the family.

on a different note, i am also considering giving her a different type of title/moniker because if u remember, the way i've built up bsd universe, the clocktower & the family are constantly at odds with each other, and i do want her "claim to fame" besides her political abilities, being that she pushed the clocktower out of western europe and back into the uk. and i think maybe the moniker would stem from an incident that took place between the two organizations that she was overseeing.

that's all not set in stone yet, im still going back and forth with it, BUT as i said i like rambling so u get my rambles HAHAHAHAH

[thatmartiangirl]

Flying across an ocean for the first time tonight!

[queenerdloser]

me, making free hotel reservations back in like january: wow this place looks nice, that's within my budget even if it's a bit pricier, i want to stay here!!! sure i'll pay extra for a upgraded space with a nice view, why not????

me, making the actual hotel payment: oh god. oh jesus. should i just stay in a tent on the roadside instead.

[vancruejovi]

Some kinda crappy blingees I made 🌺 Hope you like them!

[jula483]

chicago, raleigh, washington DC, philadelphia

2024 was pretty fun I guess 🥺💖

[born-to-lose]

The feminine urge to do 60s/70s groupie style photoshoots

[mousemannation]

not many of u will remember my lore from like a month after i made this blog where i lost my phone which included all my footage from my europe trip in 2023 except Paris, which was the only stuff id backed up. anyway im feeling particularly sad about the footage i took of some ducks in this water feature pond thing i passed walking back into the main part of florence from piazzale michelangelo. the sun was shining and the water was shimmering and these ducklings were just having a wonderful time. this moment exists only in my memory now :(

[cyberspacebear]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[schnaf]

23 days until gaon's 23nd birthday

day 4 - jungsu-hyung ♥

[volfoss]

im the first to admit that sometimes i can be blinded by american centrism in research but its driving me fucking nuts how the british do their money. ive got multiple tabs open trying to figure it out because they expect me to understand that d. is a penny abbreviation. that makes no senseeeee <- in agony and hell currently. btw.

[skitskatdacat63]

"average person creates 3 new AUs per year" factoid actually just statistical error. average person makes 0 AUs per year. Alternate Universes Catie, who lives in cave & makes over 2 each month, is an outlier adn should not have been counted