#the uke is the one who takes it up the ass

[fluffyblue-multifandommess]

so in aikido the person you’re doing a technique on is called the uke

the fujoshi in me has a hard time keeping a straight face through this sometimes

[moralesmilesanhour]

pretty

hobie x reader

summary: you wake up with a nasty hangover. you know the rest.

wc: ~500

A/N: if I'm using UK slang wrong pls beat my ass about it I tried 💀

Edit: made minor edits bc I did, in fact, use UK slang wrong 👍🏾

The light from the morning sun bounces off of the peeling white paint on the surrounding walls of the tiny apartment, forcing you to open your eyes. You squint as they adjust; It feels like someone is currently inside your head and repeatedly taking a sledgehammer to your skull.

The familiar cracked corners of the ceiling tell you that you're at Hobie's place. You grunt as you lift yourself into a sitting position, which doesn't help the headache.

What does, though, is the smell of cinnamon and cornmeal wafting beneath your nose from the kitchen. The sudden rumbling in your stomach makes you curious enough to swing your legs off of the couch and rise to your feet.

Bad idea.

Hobie enters the room just as you stumble backwards onto the couch, and barely holds back a loud cackle so that he doesn't drop the two bowls of porridge he'd just made.

You don't see it, of course, because the ceiling is currently spinning.

"Not so fun dealing with those fourteen shots the morning after, eh?"

Hobie's diamond-shaped face came into view, his wicks sticking out from every direction like the halos in those medieval paintings he liked to make fun of. He'd replaced his vest and usual get-up with a white tank top.

You groan, "How long was I out?"

" 'Bout twelve hours,"

Hobie set the two bowls down on the coffee table in front of you. "Had to call a cab just to get you here all in one piece."

You finally look down once you feel the couch sink next to you. He smells of hard soap and nutmeg.

"You cook?"

He shrugs, picking up his bowl and shoveling the contents into his mouth. He nods, deeming his work satisfactory.

"From time to time," he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You don't get over a hangover on an empty stomach, yeah?"

He chuckles when you immediately grab your bowl without a word, and soon begin to absolutely destroy it.

Just as Hobie said, the hammering has begun to subside by the time you scrape the last bit of golden liquid from the bowl. He still has yet to finish his own meal, so you watch him.

You silently admire the way his lashes almost brush his cheek when his eyes are downcast. The sunrise reflected off of mahogany-smooth skin, and you envy how he did almost nothing to it to get it that way.

"You're pretty," you think out loud, and Hobie nearly chokes on his porridge before his head snaps to face you.

"S-sorry, who?"

Your brows shoot up on surprise momentarily, unaware that he'd actually heard you. There was no one else you could have possibly been referring to, giving you no choice but to double down.

You laugh nervously, “Well, you are.”

His full lips quirked up at the corners, as if he was trying to figure out if this was a bit or not. But you kept staring at him, no joke in your expression.

“Yeah, I think you’re still hammered, man.”

[boiohboii]

Protective girl (Charles Leclerc x reader)

Inspires by @charles-eclair16 's fic

When fans go too far, yn wants to protect the one treasure in her life

or

in which we finally get to see the roles reversed

N.B: this is been in my drafts for so long, omg! Let me know what you guys think!! WARNING: not proof read, some swear words, might have messed up a date, don't focus on any dates mentioned, this is all fictional anyways. Hope you guys like it

masterlist

Liked by Arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, pierregasly and 1,379,064 others

itsmeyn: charles always goes above and beyond for every single fan of his, he tries to take as many pictures and sign as many autographs as possible, but what happened last night was a fucking joke. He doesn't like what I'm writing cause he says that it was just a mistake and that it was fine, but it really isn't, it's so disrespectful and disgusting! He always wants to meet his fans and make them happy only to receive this insanity, him falling AND HURTING HIMSELF because some of you can't fucking wait and be organized like a human being! Charles isn't an animal in a zoo where you race to pet him! He is a human being, he is a son, a brother and a boyfriend! This wasn't just an accident, i have seen these 6 girls multiple times in multiple places! it's so obsessive and so so sick of you to follow him everywhere.... Charles won't speak up because he is Charles and he lives seeing the good in people, but I will tear everything and everyone for his safety, so for you 6 girls you will be hearing from court soon so better prepare a good lawyer you assholes!

Comments on this post have been disabled.

Liked by leclercboy, ynistheitgurl, fuckferarri and 91,739 others

F1_updates_live: Charles Leclerc's girlfriend, YN LN, seen today arriving in front of the UK's courthouse in a red SF9 Ferarri. It had been quite a week for YN as she was seen hitting a fan after the said fan pushed Charles. YN took this fan and 5 others to court, no one knows on what bases but what has come out is that she has won the case which means that Charles and YN have restraining orders against the group.

username: OHH HEEEELLL YEAAAAAHH

username: yn doing God's work

username: yn serving justice

username: that's what we needed

username: hot girl shit

username: the car and suit combo is so fucking hot of her

username: I think this is too much, like these girls just wanted to see Charles

username: @.itsmeyn can we make them 7?

username: another one

Liked by Charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, pierregasly and 617,829 others

itsmeyn: don't blame me, love made me crazy

username: YN IS A FELLOW SWIFTIE?!?!?

username: if I had a nickel for everytime yn and I had something in common I'd have 2 nickels, which is not a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice

username: now I just want her to watch all the charles edits done with a taylor song

itsmeyn: who says i already don't 🌚

username: and I oop-

username: THIS IS THE SWEETEST AND CRINGIEST SHIT EVER!

Liked by wolfffam, maxverstappen1, lance_stroll and 817,629 others

itsmeyn: congratulations to my baby, the love of my life, you deserve it and so much more ♥️♥️

username: FINALLY!!

username: idk how to react, ferarri has let us down too many times that all I know is lose

username: I don't see how he deserves it tbh, all of his results are shit for quite a while , he's only where he is cause he's driving a ferarri 🤷‍♂️

itsmeyn: oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the one in a formula one car, in a ferarri, that by the words of many professionals is at its worse era. I don't care about you and your opinion but don't state it as a fact, no one can do better with these strategies. I hate to keep saying this but when your own fucking team doesn't have the same dream as you it turns to shit. Even if charles is the only one in the car, it's still a team sport, not a one man sport. Fuck you and your tiny ass brain that can never survive one lap in a formula one car, it'll probably explode cause of all the bullshit in it before the first lap anyway. So next time you wanna talk shit maybe try to do fifth of who you're criticising is doing, I bet that'll shut you up real quick you dimwit.

Liked by leclercpascale, pilotesofmonaco, tswiftyn, and 52,719 others

F1_updates_live: YN LN, Charles' long time girlfriend, seen today fighting Xavi in Bahrain due to his mistake on the radio which resulted in Charles losing his podium position.

username: good for her

username: charles is so lucky

username: I love how she always stands up for him

username: honestly, whenever charles or carlos ignore the strategies they win... I really wanna see more of that.

username: this is just Monaco 2024 GP all over again, yn was so fucking furious (rightfully so) cause Xavi's mistake costed charles a p1 in his home race.

username: this shit was so heartbreaking man

username: I think this was the first time we ever saw yn angry at sabotaging charles, like the most we saw was her holding his hand when crossing the street, making sure he eats first, playing with his hair when nervous, but I've never seen yn make someone literally cry until 2024 with Xavi being her victim

username: pffft, victim, he 100% deserved it

username: oh yeah, definitely. All my homes hate Xavi, like can you not say the strategy properly 😒

[vivwritesfics]

Lando Norris HC's

I'm burnt out and exhausted and I just want someone to love me haha

Masterlist

Lando

Where to begin?

He's... something else

Don't get me wrong, he's amazing

What's not to love?

High performance athlete who also streams on Twitch

Every bit the golden retriever boyfriend everybody wanted

Every bit the golden retriever boyfriend Y/N got

This man? Attention WHORE

He doesn't stop

Comes out with the weirdest stuff

It's so much fun

Wants his girlfriend with him for race weekends

Because he hates going a long time without pissing her off

Very important that his girlfriend gets along with Carlos

She's there when they're pissing about

During their McLaren days?

Mayhem

You kind of have a love every minute of it if you're dating Lando

Sitting in while he streams sometimes

Not every time

But being in the room, doing something while he streamed

Y/N could be doing her own work while Lando gamed and streamed

Chief cuddler

But can't sit still long enough for them to properly cuddle

Loves getting his hair played with

Oooooo running your fingers through Lando Norris' hair? Literally can't imagine anything better

Stealing hats and hoodies purely because they smell like him

Lando loves snogging

Kissing by lamp light, hands on her hips, grip almost bruising

Or his hands would be on her face, pushing away her hair

Man loves marking up

Marking up his girl and being marked up

Aka, hand prints, hickies, scratches down his back

Lando loved that the most

Feeling her nails raking down the skin of his back

Plus, it was easy to hide

Unless he was participating in an ice bath

Then he'd mark her up twice as good, since she couldn't leave marks on him

Out in the club, Lando is very touchy

Aka, doesn't let go of her

Holding her hand

Holding her hips or her ass as they danced

Y/N becoming one of the more photographed WAG's

Simply because she didn't want to stay hidden

She wanted the world to see her with Lando

She wanted the world to know how much she loved her man

After a race, when Lando was in the top three, he'd climb of the car, wave to the crowd, run over to the McLaren team at the barriers to celebrate

And then he'd pull Y/N against the barrier and she'd kiss his helmet, where she'd think his lips would be

Holidays with Lando!!

Oh my god, literally the best

Fancy hotels and Yachts

Adventuring together

Holidaying with other drivers

There was one particular holiday

It was very spontaneous, they hadn't booked anything

Just hopped off a plane and off they went

To the Canary Islands

It was difficult to get a hotel

When they landed, they could only get one

It was... hell

Kids everywhere, booming music like baby shark playing around the pool all day

It was all inclusive, with drunk, neglectful parents spending every minute getting burnt on the sun loungers or around the buffet

Y/N and Lando found themselves as far away from the pool and buffet as they possibly could

Y/N would be reading her book as Lando did... something

When parents came and took their kids for dinner, they got a break from it

They could go in the pool without kids swimming into them

The hotel had crazy golf

Happy Lando

Happy Lando dragging Y/N around the crazy golf course, giggling like a child

Driving with Lando

Ugh, simply the best

Driving around Monaco in the Fiat Jolly (before he sold it) with his hand on her thigh

Driving in any vehicle with Lando's hand on her thigh

Hitting every red light

Kissing at the stop signs (darling)

Lando belting out the lyrics to any song that comes on

Having a car playlist so that the both of them could sing along

Going to Lando's parents for Christmas

Traditional British Christmas

Aka, roast dinner, pulling crackers, drinking, playing board games and ending the night with a cheese board

Taking his girlfriend around Guildford while they're in the UK

(I'm pretty sure it's Guildford - a youtube video from five years ago just popped up which said Guildford)

(Guildford is the halfway point between where I live now and where I actually live)

After a year and a half, Lando asks her to move in with him

Six months after that, they get a dog

A Doberman, collie, or golden retriever, I think

The name? Badger

Why? Daniel

Aka, Daniel knew the couple were going to adopt a dog

He had to get himself involved somehow and

He placed a wager - if Lando finished below P5 he'd get to name the dog

Y/N readily accepted

Lando DNFed that race

And so, the dog was named after the honey badger himself

To this day, Lando doesn't know

Lando is such a good dog dad

The dog doesn't come to the race weekends like Roscoe does with Lewis

Either Y/N stays home or the dog stays with a trusted friend if they had both gone

Lando's social media becomes a fan account for the dog

Having oh so many pregnancy scares with this man

Who doesn't love a late night run to the shop to get a pregnancy test or two?

They do eventually get pregnant

Y/N finds out on a race weekend

She was at home with Badger when she saw the pregnancy test in her bathroom cabinet

Video calling her best friend, Y/N took it

She waited the mandatory couple of minutes before she checked the little stick

She had to hang up on her friend

It was just meant to be for fun

Nothing serious

But then it turned serious

What the fuck was she going to do?

When the fuck would she tell Lando?

Should she tell him now, before he's about to go and race?

Yeah no, not a chance

Not with how much she was currently freaking out

She waits until he gets home from the race weekend

The test (and all of the others she'd done) had been thrown in the bin

All she had was herself

This was fine

She wasn't freaking out

(she was freaking out big time)

Y/N stayed up, waiting with Badger for Lando to come home

As soon as the door opened, she jumped up and faced him

Lando dropped his things when he saw her

He'd assumed she'd been asleep when he got in

But no, she was still awake

And he'd been waiting for him

Warmth spread through him

Normally, when Y/N waited up for Lando, she'd jump into his arms

But not this time

No

She just stood there, staring at him

"I've got something to tell you"

Anxiety spread through Lando

Y/N told him

He dropped to his knees

Well, his one knee

For the longest time Lando had been looking for a sign that he should propose

He wanted to, he desperately wanted to

He was just looking for some sort of sign

This wasn't a sign, it was a slap in the face

With all of the racing, Lando hadn't yet managed to buy her a ring

He'd really meant to

When he got down onto one knee, it was at the very back of his mind

"Marry me?"

Yeah, that was how he asked

Of course, Y/N said yes

Lando began running around, looking for some rope or yarn or twine that he could wrap around her finger until he got a proper ring

[soapskneebrace]

in the early morning

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: All Ages Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none Author's Notes: I am dedicating this specifically to @yeyinde who is so graciously assisting my poor American ass with basic UK knowledge, and to @guyfieriii who I've had so much fun talking about Professor Price with and has thus inspired me to play with my own AU. Thus, I present: Neighbors AU! MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

You’re about to knock again when your neighbor finally answers the door.

It’s the last place, time, and chore you want to be involved in—nearly 6am, looking to register a noise complaint with a man you’ve never met, shivering in flannel pajamas and bundled into two coats on his stoop.

The landlady Mrs. Walmsley had pitched for your flat hard on the basis of this mystery neighbor being absent for months at a time.

“He’s SAS, dear,” she’d said in that little nasally voice. Her eyes had been excitedly wide behind thick, round glasses. “A captain. They have him going all over the world, so it’ll be quiet as the countryside here at home.”

Evidently not.

The world is still swaying a little, indignant on behalf of your interrupted REM, as the door swings open before your knuckles can connect. Then you’re sure you’ve fallen back to sleep, because in the doorway stands a tall, handsome, shirtless man with a bowl of cereal cupped in one very large hand.

You’re not sure where to look, but your gaze has not waited for your brain’s directive, because you take in a trim, sturdy waist, full pectorals, and thick, strong arms all dusted in a pretty composition of dark hair before thinking to actually look the man in the eye.

Oh. Equally disconcerting. He has a kind, lined face, a dark beard and soft blue eyes that are focused directly on you.

Whatever words you had half-planned to say flee like birds startled away from a park bench. You think, SAS. Captain. Couldn’t Mrs. Walmsley have mentioned even once that he looks like an honest-to-god movie star?

You must look like you’re staring into the headlights of an oncoming car, because the SAS Captain’s dark brows crease in the middle. “You alright, love?”

You blink. “Um.” Goodness, no man’s voice deserved to sound that sultry so early. Or did it sound that way because it’s so early? “I, um.”

He tilts his head, listening. You have to rub your eyes so you can stop looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, noting the dumb, drowsy slur of your thus-unused voice. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

“Not a bother at all,” says the Captain. “What can I do for you?”

This is going somehow far better, and simultaneously much worse, than you could have imagined.

“It’s,” you try, peeking at him as you reluctantly lower your hands from your face, “it’s the telly. Or the music. I—you’ve got something playing, and I don’t mean to be a pest, but it woke me up, and—”

His brows shoot up his forehead, and you can see realization bloom across his expression. “And it’s loud, isn’t it?”

Before you can nod, he steps away from the door, and you can see him retreat into the living area to retrieve a remote. He points it at something, his long, muscled arm outstretched, and the noise, which you had failed to even notice once he’d opened the door, instantly silences.

He comes back to the door. “Better?”

You blink. You try very hard not to stare at his chest, which is pebbling with goosebumps in the morning cold. “Uh—yes, that should be alright. Thank you.”

“No trouble,” says the Captain, stirring his cereal without looking at it, blue eyes once again directly on you. “I’m sorry, didn’t know someone had moved in.”

“Just a month ago,” you admit. And you introduce yourself, because even half-asleep your manners haven’t completely fled you.

The Captain nods. “That explains it. I’ve been out of the country. I’m John Price. You can just call me John.”

Out of the country. SAS. Captain. Strong arms, and soft blue eyes. Suddenly you feel very small, shivering on this man’s—John Price’s—front doorstep, bundled up like you’ve never experienced a cold day in your life, while he stands there half-naked and not even blinking at the bite of 4C.

“Well,” you say, trying to remember how conversation worked, “welcome home?”

John Price smiles at you, then, and you’re struck even in your drowsy state by it. It’s a sad smile trying its best to be happy.

“Thank you,” he says. And by the way he’s looking at you, blue eyes gone even softer than before, you think he’s appreciated your half-hearted pleasantry far more than it deserves.

“Well, um.” You flounder. When you stepped up to the door, your only intention had been to make this as quick as possible, wanting to return to the warmth of your bed underneath six blankets as fast as you could manage.

Now—okay, you still want to get back into bed. But Captain John Price (still shirtless) seems in no rush to hurry you away, and it isn’t every day that a mysterious, dashing soldier trains his attention solely upon you.

The still-asleep part of your brain wonders shamelessly if he’d be as warm as those blankets if you touched his bare skin. You strangle the thought immediately.

“I don’t know if you know Mrs. Walmsley,” you say, “but she had some quite nice things to say about you.”

Captain John Price smiles again, and it’s a little less sad and a little more amused. “Did they have to do specifically with my absence?”

SAS. It’s only six in the morning. The lying part of your brain is still asleep, if it would even be any use here. “It came up? Sorry?”

He doesn’t laugh, but the huff that comes out of him resembles it enough that you know he’s not offended. “Don’t be. Seems like she has trouble keeping the place lived in as it is. Think you’re the first one who’s actually talked to me.”

“That’s a shame!” you say in earnest.

But John Price shrugs. “I can’t imagine they would’ve enjoyed talking to me too much. Career soldiers aren’t all that interesting—I should know, I spend most of my time around them.”

“Well, I think you seem very nice,” you insist, and despite the morning’s rude awakening, you’re being entirely truthful.

John opens his mouth to reply, but a cold wind chooses that exact moment to blow, and you are not able to suppress a full body shiver as it hits. You tug your coats more tightly around your body, tucking your hands into your sleeves.

John frowns. “Not nice enough to send you back inside where it’s warm, clearly.” He sets the cereal bowl out of view and crosses his arms loosely across his bare chest. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Me?!” you exclaim, astonished, face warming. “You’re wearing less than I am!”

“I’ll be fine,” says John. “I hate to think I’ve kept you out here suffering. Please, I appreciate the conversation, but you don’t need to indulge me.”

But you want to, you find, and very badly. You want to stay in this man’s soft blue gaze, listen to his rumbling voice, even if you stop being able to feel your own body from the cold. There’s something about Captain John Price that’s unusually compelling (helped by the absence of a shirt), and you feel in that moment a little like you’re brushing up against someone more important than someone like you will ever be.

But you recognize a polite dismissal when you hear it, too.

“If anything, I’ve been the one keeping you,” you say, smiling apologetically. “But it’s been very nice to meet you, John.”

He smiles at you again, and it’s the same one from before—sad, trying to be happy. He says your name, and it sounds better than it has ever sounded, wrapped in the rough baritone of his voice. “Pleasure to meet you too. Truly.”

You smile back, and leave his doorstep. You’re not sure now how you’re going to fall back to sleep now.

You’re twisting the handle of your front door when suddenly John calls your name. When you turn to look at him, he’s leaning a little out of his doorway, balancing himself with a hand on the inside of its frame.

“If I ever get to noisy for your liking,” he says, “just knock on the wall, and I’ll bring it down, aye?”

“Okay!” you reply. “And you too, yeah? I don’t want to bother you, either!”

“I don’t imagine you could,” John says, giving you another amused huff, “but sure.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you wave, and escape inside.

[ms-taurusvenus]

Sagittarius Placement Observations

To all of my Sagittarius placements, ensure you have people that are open-minded and optimistic. Or else that shit is gonna bring you down and feel like shit. Be wild and free. Dream big and that will manifest.

What is covered: Mercury, Moon, Venus, Mars, & general/random observations (at the end).

Mercury

Usually have humour that people find offensive. They're also very sarcastic. Ie, The UK has humour that many find offensive and don't understand when whatever they're saying (to them) isn't meant to be taken as offensive or to heart and that is just their way of bantering/joking around. Curse like sailors when they're upset/mad about and sometimes even when it's about something that they're passionate about. As much as they love to be playful and all, they are very optimistic and open-minded which makes them great for deep conversations They love to exaggerate things and be drama queens even when things weren't deep or serious (and they know it .. usually). It sometimes like a mix of Leo and Gemini energy if you ask me. But due to this they may have a tendency of jumping into conclusions. May struggle with paying attention to detail and the nitty-gritty of things. Bold.

Moon

Usually very adventure, craving challenges and new experiences. May also be spontaneous due to this. Often they're smarter than you think they are and they tend to be sly about their intelligence. Carefree and optimistic in nature. Might've grown up with optimistic mother, hence their optimism. Ride or die type of friends. Applies for all Sag placements but I see this especially with Sag Moons.

Venus

May enjoy traveling with their partners and trying new things. Enjoys a balance of independence in their relationships. Might feel restrained to love because they have a lot of love for those that they love and may not want to seem clingy or overwhelm their partners. Tend to be go with the flow with their relationships.

Mars

If you ask me ... Sagittarius Mars are the scariest. Jupiter (Sags home) is the planet of expansion. You put that together and boom, you got a ruthless ass Mars placement.

May get annoyed with people with narrow mindsets, double standards, liars, being controlled/those who try to control others, arrogance, complaining, lack of action to things. Laughs shit off even in awkward situations. Tend to be very energetic. Playful and may act like a kid.

General

Really well educated and may have thought about getting multiple degrees, a PhD, etc. Really intuitive. Loves to travel and may/often have either been to a lot of places or plan to go to a lot of places. Also tends to travel often. Enjoys learning and trying different cultures, languages, and cusine/food. Might have deep voices. Tend to be detached and have detachment issues. Might also have a avoidant attachment style. Are able and may tend to be the ones making/willing to make the first moves. Due to your 10H Virgo, you may prioritize and care for your career and profession a lot. Often taking your time and however much is needed/necessary to prefect your craft and profession. Really wide range of music they like and listen to. Might be open to drugs or at least trying them. Usually are wild when they're younger but chill down as they grow older. Easy going and don't like to be tied down. Due to Sags 2H/3H being ruled by Saturn you may be sensitive or struggle to singing and making different sounds from your voice. Tend have deep, philopshial questions about life, universe, and even themselves. Wants to find out the truth of things. Tend to have a lot of skills and hobbies.

Thank you for making it this far! I hope you can relate/resonate with anything in this post. My inbox is open for questions, discussions, etc! Reblog's are appreciated :).

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym. 

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes. 

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season. 

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day. 

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with�� well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place. 

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special. 

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname. 

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain. 

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body. 

And then you went about destroying your legs. 

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates. 

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer. 

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.” 

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it. 

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.” 

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through. 

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed. 

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.  

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

[hoedamn-eron]

shut up, kid

You awake to your first Mother’s Day with baby Bateman.

Warnings: Nathan is honestly the only warning you need. I suppose some hints of breastfeeding too (a fed baby is a happy baby, whether bottle or breast). Actually proofread for once, but probably still mistakes that I missed. Word count: 750 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

This was written VERY last minute (by last minute, I mean at 9:30pm on Mother's Day in the UK 😂). Anyway, happy Mother’s Day to all the parents out there! 😊 I’ve recently been very broody and very Nathan oriented, so I created this mostly self-indulgent fic (loosely based on this post from a few weeks ago).

I struggle to write Nathan, I feel like I can't get his personalty, or his demeanour right, so please let me know if I can improve anywhere! I want to write more Nathan!

It was the sound of a loud, high-pitched, excited squeal, that woke you up.

“Hey,” came the voice of your boyfriend, sounding distant and muffled as the sweet caress of sleep called back to you. “I know we came to wake up your mom, but that’s not the way to do it. You want to deal with the dragon before she’s had her morning coffee? No? I fuckin’ thought not. Shut up, kid.”

“You shouldn’t swear at your son,” you muttered into your pillow, knowing now that sleep was just a distant memory.

“Ah, shit.”

You grin into the pillow before you look up, your eyes blurrily settling on your boyfriend, who had a mug of coffee in his left hand (in your favourite mug – one you got from a Blue Book convention back when you were in college, long before you met Nathan...Nathan hated it), and his other hand was occupied supporting your seven-month-old son, Silas, who was happily sitting on Nathan’s hip, still in his footsie pyjamas, chewing on his pointer finger. It was sickening how you carried the kid for nine months, and going through a 36-hour labour, sacrificing your body and your boobs (your nipples will never be the same again), for him to look exactly like Nathan.

You still love the bones off him anyway.

“Kid doesn’t know what I’m saying, it’s fine,” Nathan continues, coming over to you and holding out the mug. You take it, smiling up at Nathan as he leans down to you and presses a kiss against your lips, murmuring a ‘good morning’ to you before he straightens up.

He’s so hot. Even now, he’s just wearing some old sweatpants and a t-shirt (it even has a stain of old baby throw up, which you just couldn’t get out), but it’s the way he’s holding your son...it does things to you.

“Good morning,” you greeted back, taking a sip of your coffee. You nod at Silas as he continued to chew on his finger. “Lost another pacifier?”

“I don’t know what he does with them,” Nathan said, shaking his head, gesturing with now free his hand around the room. “Spend all my fuckin’ spare time trying to find that blue one that he refuses to nap without.”

“Language,” you tell him, take a sip of your coffee.

“Sorry,” he says, almost on autopilot. “I’ll request more for the chopper next week. Think 50 will be enough? Obviously fuckin’ not, he’ll lose them all within a week.”

You laugh as you shake your head at him before looking at Silas. “Is your dada silly?” you ask him in your most annoying baby voice.

The kid loves it. He smiles widely at you and kicks his legs in excitement.

“Anyway,” Nathan says, adjusting Silas in his grip as he looked back at you, evidently choosing to ignore your comment to your son. “Happy Mother’s Day, or whatever. I made you breakfast, your favourite. The kid had some, he loved it, so now we’ll probably have to make it for him every day. I’ll run you a bath and by the time you’re finished it should be ready. While you’re being a lazy ass in the tub and skirting your duties as a mother - “

You go to swat Nathan on the thigh, but he dodges you swiftly and carries on like he was never interrupted.

“Me and this one,” he nods to Silas. “Will work on some tummy time, see if we can start crawling today.”

“Not all kids start crawling at seven months.”

“Not all kids are mine.”

“Debatable, regarding all the sex you were having before we met.”

“You’re reaping all the benefits from ‘all that sex’.”

“You pig.”

“You love me.”

You do. God, you do. So much. But you’re not going to tell him that.

You take a gulp of your coffee, hiding your smile.

“Get your pretty ass out of bed,” Nathan said, already turning away from you, grabbing Silas around the tummy and tossing him lightly in the air and catching him, causing Silas to laugh that cute baby giggle he has that melts your heart. “Come and celebrate your first Mother’s Day.”

He leaves the room, and you laugh to yourself as you distinctly hear the sound of Nathan giving Silas a raspberry on his belly as he walks down the corridor, the squealing sound of laughter from your son following right after.

It sends a warm feeling of joy and happiness through you.

[roombanator]

Fuck you Matty Healy. And all of you fans celebrating this.

Malaysian Queers are the ones affected by this. Listen to us.

Matty Healy's instagram posts literally prove he does not care about us malaysians. He's going to go back to the UK (The country where the roots of Malaysia's laws and government started during colonisation!) and sit his privledged ass down, not caring about him losing fans in Malaysia because we only portion to a miniscule amount of his money.

If he really cared about our rights as queer malaysians, he would have contacted the LGBTQ NGOs and offered his assistance to protest. Not speaking up over our voices. Not mocking a Malaysian Queer who dm'ed him being rightfully upset. Not posting mocking Malaysia (and only West Malaysia! Shows how little he cares) Not saying, "I'll take your money" then fucking off (Many queer Malaysians were probably at GVF as well!)

We have the right to be concerned, government elections are coming up, and the right wing extremist party WILL use this as ammo against us.

In fact, they're already doing it!

On reddit malaysian fans are concerned, worried, yet their worries are being downplayed or straight up ignored. While international fans celebrate this guy for doing "the right thing"

News articles right now are only posting about the incident, but not our opinions as queer malaysians. In fact, I've only seen ONE news article with our voices heard.

Listen to us. Please.

Support our LGBTQ organisations. Donate if you can. AMPLIFY our voices. Don't speak over us. If you really care about our safety and rights, listen.

It's the least you can do. We don't want much. We just want you to listen. We're in a third-world country that nobody really pays attention to, and if this just sweeps over like nothing in a few days, we will be stuck in the same situation or worse.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Snack Foods (Good Omens)

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: You're originally from the US and are feeling homesick. Your partners somehow just always know what to do to make you feel better.

Good Omens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Moving to the UK had not been something you’d seen in your future when you were young. It was one of those things that just sort of happened. One week you were working minimum wage and working towards a degree, and the next week you were studying abroad. A month after that you were securing a job in your chosen field and you just… never looked back, really. 

Your family was sad but supportive, thankfully. They understood how much your career meant to you and what these opportunities meant for you. They rang as often as they could and visited once or twice a year, which was great, but you still missed them, of course. 

Your main source of solace when you really missed home was the Bookshop. You’d found it by accident one day after going to the coffee shop across the road. You’d met some friends there who had recommended the place. It was indeed now your favourite joint for a pick-me-up latte. There was nothing quite like a hazelnut coffee frappe, was there? 

But you digress. You’d gone to the coffee place to meet your friends and spied the vintage-looking bookstore while you’d been there. After you’d finished with your friends you’d popped over to see what they had to offer. 

Being so far from home had been particular torture that day and you’d been hoping to pick something up to distract you from your misery and transport you elsewhere. At least for a little while. Browsing rows of books, parchments, scrolls and everything else under the sun was where you’d first met Aziraphale. 

A stout, comforting man (or you’d thought he was a man, anyway- at first) who had seemed to be trying to herd you out of the store before you bought something, which you had thought very odd for someone paying rent in the middle of London for a multiple storied building. But that was neither here nor there.

It had been an accident, really. You hadn’t meant to, but as soon as Mr. Fell had mentioned your accent and asked where you were from in an effort to divert your attention to his precious books, you had burst into tears. The poor man had looked so startled as you chastised yourself internally and wiped away the tears refusing to stop leaking from your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, absolutely horrified. 

“Oh, dear,” was his response. “It’s quite alright- though, I must ask- why are you crying?” 

And so your friendship had begun. With a dash of tears and a sprinkle of awkwardness. After that, you’d popped in to the Bookshop whenever you were lonely or missing home to catch up with Mr. Fell. He’d set you up with a recommendation, a comfy chair and a cup of hot chocolate and leave you for hours to engross yourself in other universes. 

You’d met Crowley shortly after you started going to the store regularly. It didn’t take very long for the two of you to become thick as thieves. You had a similar sense of humour and both of you found more joy than you should have in the misfortune of others. Not anything serious, of course but neither of you were able to not giggle when you saw the ass end of someone’s shopping bag just fall right out. 

Anyway, all this was to say was that the two of them had fast become your best friends, confidants and then, one day after that, your partners. And as partners, they were very finely attuned to when you were not having a great day. Today was one of those days. 

Crowley had ducked out for a bit before you’d gotten to the shop, and Aziraphale was pulling out all the stops to help you feel better. A new book, hot chocolate, a funny dance, even. Nothing was working. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. The dance and the following cuddles helped, but not by a whole lot. 

Your Angel was doing his absolute best for you, and you were currently curled up in his lap with his hand stroking through your hair. You were sniffling sadly. You couldn’t even call back home with the time zone differences. 

“Don’t look at those, my dear. You know they will only suffice to sadden you further.” 

You were flicking through old photos, and as soon as the words left his mouth you turned the phone off with one more longing look. He was right, as usual. 

“There, see? Better already. Crowley will be back soon, I’m sure. Perhaps you and he can play that game that you both enjoy so much?” 

“Maybe,” you replied noncommittally. 

The game in question involved doing your best to come up with more and more ridiculous ways to spend eternity. It was quite an amusing game. Particularly when drunk. 

As if summoned by his name, Crowley wandered his way into the shop. He was toting a plastic bag which- judging by the bright colours within- meant it contained some sort of food. The Demon picked your legs up and sat down on the arm of the recliner, re-placing your legs back on his thighs when he was settled. He gave them a soft, comforting pat. 

“Right. Can’t have you being sad, can we, Pet?” He supplied as a greeting. You blinked at him, nuzzling your head further into Aziraphale’s hand in your hair. 

“S’pose not,” you replied suspiciously. 

“It’s, erm, not much,” Crowley said, peeking into the bag before handing it over to you, averting eye contact awkwardly. “Might help, though.” 

Your brows drew down in confusion and you moved the handle out of the way to view what was inside. 

“Oh.” 

Crowley repeated the statement, deflating somewhat. 

“I- this is- Crowley.” 

Aziraphale was beaming at you, scratching at your scalp. The motion gave you the shivers which in turn made Aziraphale chuckle. 

“This is so nice? I can’t- oh my God- Cheetos!” 

“Let’s not bring her into it, shall we? I don’t believe she had anything to do with it, eh?” 

You shot the Demon an apologetic look and started ripping items out of the bag. Mike n Ikes, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, Reese's cups, and- was that a root beer? A real, precious root beer? Was this Heaven? 

This was possibly one of the kindest things someone had done for you since moving. ‘Demon,’ your ass.

“This is perfect, thank you so much,” you say tearfully while ripping open the bag of Cheetos and shoving one in your mouth. “Where did you get these from?” 

Crowley squeezed your foot comfortingly. You wiggled your socked toes in his hand.

“Nipped over to the store in Edinburgh. Our Angel here heard they had specialty foods.” 

You pecked Aziraphale on the cheek, giving him an absolutely beaming smile which he reciprocated happily.

“Oh, it’s no problem, really. I’m happy to do anything for either of you. More than happy.” 

You picked up a Cheeto, offering it to the Angel who looked at its colour sceptically. You can tell he’s about to respectfully pass on the snack before he sees the expression on your face and he gives in, opening his mouth for you to feed it to him. He looks horrified as the taste sits on his tongue. 

“Oh,” he says, chewing faster to get it out of his mouth. “That’s just… that's lovely, dearest. Thank you.” You offer him another. “No thank you, one was quite enough. More for you, after all.” 

Crowley snickers and rejects the snack you offer him. He wasn’t big on food in general, but it would be rude not to at least offer. Crowley was more of a drinks man, anyway. 

Once you’d had your fill you gave each of them a big kiss on the forehead, thanking them profusely for the effort. It really was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for you.

And as it turned out- it actually worked. It didn’t ease the ache of missing your family, but it did alleviate a little of that homesickness. You made Crowley promise to take you to the store sometime (and regularly after that) and while you certainly didn’t see your family often enough, you realised that you’d created a new family here instead- in addition to the one back home, that was. 

As thanks, you promised to never make Aziraphale chow down on American snack food ever again. He was very much grateful. To thank Crowley, you washed the Bentley for him in skimpy clothes. It was safe to say he was a fan. 

You may miss your birth home, but you had a lot going on for you here too, and wasn’t that just as important in the end? You thought so.

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags, @onthewaytosomewhere and @welcometololaland and @littlemisskittentoes! Once again it's time to share works in progress and I'm sitting here having just posted something wondering why I don't have more unpublished words to share. Such is life, etc etc. SO, why not write and share a little something for my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic that I'm co-writing with @ships-to-sail?

His mom sighs, fingers twitching slightly as she reaches for one of the papers. “The only consolation is that somehow, the UK has come out of this looking even worse than we do.” Alex reaches out, plucking it out of her grasp. The headline is ridiculous—“Let America Eat Cake! Declares Prince Henry”—and the text of the article is surprisingly scathing. Even the US media usually fawns over Henry, apparently forgetting that this country fought an entire fucking war in order to not give a shit about the royals anymore.  “Okay, so…” Alex tosses the paper onto the coffee table before standing up. “It’s all Henry’s fault. Which I already told you, so. We good here?” “Sit your ass down,” Zahra tells him, and Alex is back on the couch before he quite realises it’s happened. “No, we are not good here. You’re on damage control.”

Tagging @agame-writes @anincompletelist @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge

@cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love

@inexplicablymine @jellibuns @junebugclaremontdiaz @leaves-of-laurelin @lizzie-bennetdarcy

@magicandarchery @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts

@nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @piratefalls @read-and-write-

@rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse

@stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[marsupialmenace]

I am incredibly tired and unwell, but I think I've finally cracked so this is very much a vent post, BUT:

I desperately want to take "Romani Dick Grayson" away from fans until they can learn to be nice. Specifically non-Romani fans.

I've seen so many terrible, invalidating, frankly stereotypical and racist takes from people who are 'claiming to be sensitive' to Romani people.

I don't particularly get upset about peoples headcanons, or the desire for diversity (because I have those desires/HCs too!). It's when I see the 'has to' or people arguing their headcanons about Dick's Romani heritage without the experience or the knowledge to do so beyond their five-minute google search that I get upset.

I saw a nice piece of fanart before that had Dick drawn tanned, and it had a reply on it to the effect of "thank you for drawing Dick brown, he's romani." It makes me sad to see people say things like that, that 'Dick has to be brown', because my pale white ass is also Romani. However, on the flipside, if someone draws him too pale, I see people attack the artists and calling them racist in vagueposts for drawing him 'wrong' (white-appearing) despite it being completely possible for a Romani person to be white.

In another place I saw someone refer to the Graysons as 'definitely travellers, so they couldn't be Romanichal'. Are you saying that Romanichal (English Romani people) are less Romani? I don't really understand the need to exclude other Romani people from the 'list Dick could be descended from' based on...whether on not you (royal) consider them 'travellers'.

Not to mention, the word 'Travellers'. Travellers is used in a derogatory way to the Romanichal in the UK, or at least in my area it is, there is a turn of phrase to avoid calling someone a slur in public, people say "Oh, that ones a travelling girl" or "They're travellers" and it has all of the implications with it.

Romani people are diverse, and we're not limited to a skin colour or religion, we all have different culture and traditions and languages, yet I see people insisting Dick has to fit into a box of a 'specific Romani'.

I don't really care for it in fic, I filter out the 'Dick Grayson is Romani' tag. I don't care for it in comics, because it has always been done poorly. I don't care about peoples HC's, 'cause even if I disagree, they can't affect me.

But to see real people talk about a comic book character using words, stereotypes, and phrases that hurts other real Romani people to attack or build up their own worlds/HCs is just so frustrating.

[landograndprix]

imagine lando x sushi chef! tsunoda! reader where they meet for the first time in suzuka he is absolutely smittened at first sight tries to impress her and her brother learning some japanese, interacting and commenting on her ig and even trying some sushi but eventually she realizes he doesn’t like fish and makes wonderful non fish sushi alternatives chdkskogjdjsk

No but Yuki would pretend he doesn't know who you are because ain't not way another driver is liking his sister but lando is on a mission and it doesn't take him long to find out you're yuki’s sister, he'll have a little stalking session on your socials before following and diving straight into your dms.

Yuki doesn't really realise what the Brit is trying to do until he sees a comment from lando on one of your posts, its a poor attempt at Japanese and you're 100% sure he used google ranslate but you're both impressed because he's ✨ trying his darn best ✨

And maybe you moved to the UK or something to open up your own restaurant so you casually invite him over with some of his friends and this love sick boy isn't going to say no so he'll find himself stuck behind a plate full of sushi and he's visibly struggling but god he needs to make a good impression so he's on the edge of gagging with each bite and his friends laughing their asses off around him isn't helping either— one of them will blurt out that he doesn't even like sushi or fish at all and miss Tsunoda would be offended at first because what do you mean you don't like fish? That's basically what sushi is all about?! 🤨 and lando would've turned green by now and would struggle to say he's trying to impress you and that he actually can't continue eating it or he'll end up throwing up.

You're not even working in the kitchen yourself that night but you don't think twice and get your little apron to make this man some good goddamn sushi and you best belief that from that night he'll be on yuki’s ass asking if he could bring some to the track next time and everytime Yuki has to remind him he doesn't even live close to you. And he'll be asking for said sushi at least once a week when you finally move in with him. 🥺

[melishatweedy]

My take on Mrs Melisha Tweedy and why she is the way she is:

One of the first things that stuck out at me from reading “Mrs Tweedy’s Pie for the Soul” was Melisha’s backstory. Her father gifted her a puppy but her mother was disgusted with this. She wanted him to buy Melisha something “valuable”. Melisha reacts the same way as her mother does.. however we see a glimpse of her father in her when she agrees to try to bond with the puppy.

It seems she tries to make her mother happy the most, by saying she wanted a “gold telly” which is… unheard of for sure… and unrealistic. This tells me that she comes from a wealthy family.. this is maybe where her lust for money and power come from.. her mother. Her father seems very down to earth. He talks about how a young girl shouldn’t want riches, she should want something along the lines of a puppy, like other kids her age. I was obsessed with getting a puppy when I was a young girl.. just like most of my peers. The way her mother talks to her father is the same tone as she talks to Mr Tweedy.. a learnt behaviour.

We also see that Melisha doesn’t get along with her young peers. She claims she has no friends and is okay with this. It seems her mother’s words about being rich and alone seemed to have stuck with her. She’s accepted she has no friends, which is probably why she wants to be rich. She doesn’t want to be both poor AND lonely, which she ends up becoming after the end of the first film, or even the start.

Conclusion? She’s just like her mother. Her father tried, probably countless times to bring her back into reality and show money isn’t everything. But she’s stuck in her mother’s ways.. which is what we see from the first Chicken Run. The way she talks to Mr Tweedy, the way she’s obsessed with being rich. She most likely feels like she’s failed her mother now she’s poor and on a farm worth nothing. There’s a hint of emotional abuse from her mother.. cold and bitter, especially about how she should act. Here she’s a child, a child who cannot make friends and cannot see why most kids love puppies and toys etc. Thanks to her mother’s rich tendencies.

But why did she end up poor? Where is all this money and riches she once talked about? My guess is something happened with her father and they went bankrupt. Her parents lost everything during the wars. She was probably a teenager when the Wall Street crash happened.. remember it did affect the UK too quite a bit. When she met and eventually married Mr Tweedy, she probably saw the already probably dying farm as a new big business adventure.. but it didn’t go to plan. And in the second film, where she’s now married to Dr Fry, it’s mainly due to money and power. She married Mr Tweedy for love and a big future.. possibly children, which we saw never happened... she married Dr Fry for his money and intelligence.

Mr Tweedy… where do I start? The comic relief of the film one may say. He is a funny character. But she wasn’t abusive towards him. Emotionally? Perhaps some may say. We see her call him all sorts of names.. but physically? No. (Apart from that boot to the ass but that’s not relevant here). A simple man from a long line of farmer, most likely inherited Tweedys farm from his own father.

We see from his excerpt that the marriage is all but dead. However he says that he likes “a kind word from the missus” which indicates there is still a spark there. They do love each other but she isn’t in love anymore. She still does give him these “kind words” from his segment, and we see in the film her pinching his butt in one scene. My theory is they did marry for love, but with the farm failing and them becoming poorer than usual, that once love is now gone, from Melisha’s side anyway.

They divorce because well.. there’s nothing left. The farm is gone, the chickens are gone, money.. gone. They probably sold the farm and then divorced, he mayhaps moved on to work on another farm as a farmhand, and she met Dr Fry and the rest is history. There’s one part in the second film which sticks out to me, where she says “my current husband” meaning she probably will divorce him and take a lot of his money, investments and inventions. Yall know miss Melisha signed her name on many of these things. All I can say there is girlboss!

My ultimate conclusion: she’s had a hard life, give the woman a break. she’s not the “villain from chicken run” she’s a businesswoman with goals and aspirations.

I am all for any other theories or discussions with any of you!! I love it.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk!

[user-rui]

Dominant!Seme!Male!Reader x Submissive!Uke!Male!Insert - Part 1

(U/n) = Uke name

(Y/n) = Your name

This story is so long I have to split it into two. This is part one.

A simple, smutty short story. Will contain BDSM. The scenario I'm imagining is like the uke is a 'pet', and the seme is a master, just so that you can better understand the story. They're still in a romantic relationship, but they enjoy sex this way.

-Narrator's Pov-

"Did you do what I asked you to?" You asked, as you observed your lover walk into the bedroom, wearing nothing but bright red latex cuffs, that were skin tight around his wrists and ankles. (U/n) nodded, shyly looking down and avoiding eye contact with you.

"Show me."

It was a simple task, but to the (uke hair colour) haired male, it almost seemed impossible. "W-wait.. That's too embarrassin-"

"Show me," You repeated, your tone much more sterner than the last, causing the other to let out a yelp, before frantically turning around to and bending over and presenting his ass to you. (U/n) let out a soft moan as the anal beads shoved deep inside of him brushed against his walls, dangerously close to his sensitive spot. The furry tail attached to the beads swayed, as the smaller male shivered in both pleasure and humiliation. "That's a good boy.." You hummed with an aroused grin, licking your lips as you stood next to the smaller male, groping the other's ass cheeks with one hand, and trailing the other over the plug, making (U/n) shutter and let out a whimper.

"A-ah... (Y-Y/n)..." The smaller male moaned, pushing his hips back in an attempt to move the toy deeper. "Being naughty right after I praised you," You say with a growl, moving your hand up, then forcefully bringing it back down on your lover's butt cheek, making a loud sound and startling (U/n), who stumbled forward a bit.

"Trying to get pleasure without my permission, when did I say that was okay?"

"N-never.." The smaller male mumbled, shaking from the pain you caused. "Bed, now," you instructed, walking over to your cabinet of S&M goodies and picking out a whip along with some other toys. When you turned back around, you could see the other on all fours on the bed, the tail still swaying as the other shivered out of anticipation, arousal, and a small amount of fear.

(U/n) small cock was erect and dangling, and it looked as if he was already about to cum. Better fix that, You thought, grabbing a cock ring along with your other pile of other 'treats'. "How much do you think we can fit in this tight hole of yours," You asked, easily slipping the small ring onto the other, making him gasp at the sudden contact of cold metal.

You began to prod around the other's entrance, stretching it even more than it already was. You were still careful, of course, nothing would be worse than hurting (U/n) more than needed. "Ngh... Ah! N-no.. I-I can't take anything else.. I-It'll break.." he replied, his (uke hair colour) locks swayed as he violently shook his head.

"I can still fit a finger in here," You exclaimed as your index finger slipped inside, poking around the other's tight walls. (U/n) cried in shock from the sudden movements of your finger, trying his best to stay in place and not buck his hips like you asked him to. "Maybe we can put something else in there..." You rummaged through your small pile before pulling out a vibrator, roughly the size of a small egg. "Let's give this a try," You inform, showing the other the toy before sliding it over the other's entrance.

(U/n) was whimpering and shaking like a leaf, afraid of what was about to come, but he didn't retort back, since that would result in a bigger punishment than what was already going on. "Ngh..." The smaller male moaned, trying his best to relax and let the toy slide in, to avoid any unnecessary pain. "You're doing well, (U/n). Just relax and let it go inside of you," You praised, patting the other's back to try and comfort him. Soon enough, the egg had fit a considerable distance inside.

"Good boy. You did well," You hummed, gently pressing kisses into your lover's back until he got used to the feel. "Mhm.. Ah..~ P-please stop teasing already... I-I want yours..." You turned on the vibrator up to a high setting, and with a blank look on your face.

The smaller male couldn't form proper sentences as he head shot up from the sudden vibrations, which caused the plug to move as well. Both toys combined were pressing harshly against his prostate, making him feel very pleasured, but unable to release it due to the small ring around his member.

(U/n) was a sobbing, drooling and panting mess, as he violently jerked whenever he felt the toys push themselves deeper inside of him. You watched, with the most sadistic smirk on your face as your lover's eyes rolled up and became lidded, from what you thought to be a pleasure overload.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. You're going to have to speak much clearer if you want me to hear," You teased, knowing perfectly well what he wanted from the way his ass was shaking in the air.

(U/n) was gripping the sheets tightly as he opened his mouth to try and communicate what he wanted: "Y-Ywours~ Inside.. Me~! P-please!!" He managed to say without any moaning to interrupt.

[nut4shuri]

DATING LETITIA WRIGHT PRT 2!!🤎

Since yall loved the first one ive decided to make a second one.

(this one is a little shorter tho)

Letitia grew up in the UK,meaning she didnt have much knowledge to how things work in the US,cultural,lifestyle,and just a new atmosphere wise.

She's always so in awe by everything about you.

Whys your hair so damn long? Is it so i can pull it."" She said as she combed through the long locks of silky hair.(That 40 inch,yall know it.)

"No it's not so you can pull it,pull my shit its gone be me an you."

She smirked "Or it could just be me in you." she said as she gathered your hair together playfully bending you over the bathroom sink.

"Nasty Ass"

"Where's the rest of your shirt baby" she said as she attempted to pull the cropped tee down lower.

"And yall these are the Good4thebody Blue jeans from shein they're so comfy and they really shape the body" you walked into the camera attempting to give a quick 360 but letita walked in front of you.

"Yall good. Yall dont gotta see all that" she said

"Girl get out my video."

Meeting Your Family

“Y/N who's your friend?“

"Your daughter is just a handful."

Your family chuckled as every one sat at the dinner table,taking in laughs,making jokes,and the atmosphere just felt so right.

Many different Dishes sat on the tables,Greens,Yams,Cornbread,Beans,Chicken,Etc.

"Shes been like that since she was younger"your mom said as she let of a big and vibrant smile.

"Y/N come help mama with the dishes" your mama spoke.

"I like her.."she said making you smile.

"I do to mommy."

"Is she good to you,she seems sweet and full of love"

"Shes amazing,i wouldn't ask for anyone else."

"Well you know what im finna say.."

"Mama..you do know she's a girl-“

“girl yesss“ your mama said laughing.

“I meant like are y'all planning on adoption or something..“

“hmm maybe we haven't really talked about children yet mama.“

"Well you know i want some grandbabies"

You walked and stopped in the door way of the living room. Letita sat talking to your aunts.

"Y/N girl you done got thick on us." Your aunt said as you walked past.

"You been eating good"

"I have."

"She has." Letita looked at you with a smirk.

Yall do fun things like Tik Toks,Vlogs,Pranks And ETC.

“girl no that's wrong way!“ you said as you attempted to teach your girlfriend a new trending dance.

“I be seeing them edits y'all be making about me.“ lettita said as she laid stretched out on the bed beside you,she had her hood on and low eyes. She smiled cocky at her camera making you mug her.

“yeah and y'all better just keep wishing the fuck.“ you said making her chuckle.

“yeah y'all know y/n crazy as he'll. .“

“whatever.“ you said mugging her. She was feeling herself a lil too much.

“come onnn“ you said attempting to pull your girlfriend to the backseat of the car.

She licked her lips and looked at you speaking in a raspy voice “if I come back their,you not gone be able to walk for a month. Now get your narrow ass back up here and put on this seat belt y/n.“

She was always so sweet to you no matter what.making sute you ate and making sure you got ate...

“ma you hungry?“

“ma you want some taco bell?“

“ma whatchu want from the store?“

“I bought you breakfast in bed mamass“

“you want some head?“

She always took you on set whenever she filmed. Making sure you got everything you wanted while their and where was comfortable as you could be.

“you ok ma? You need anything.“ she said as she rubbed your thigh lightly.

You smiled shaking your head and taking a sip of your water sitting back in your chair.

She treated you like the queen you where and would t let up for nun. She constantly reminded you that you where the baddest no matter what.

“ma you dont need no plastic surgery.“

“but..“

“but nothing.“ she said using her hand to raise your chin.

“you beautiful as fuck.“

END