#it's glamour and it fuels me

[capsensislagamoprh]

So, if I wrote a really shity original story, would anyone read it? Gots magic. Time travel. Dragon blooded. And an ass who STOLE A PONY! Oh. And like, bad guys that need to be defeated or whatever.

#questions #orginal storyies #wip #wondering if I should just post it or like... #finish it first #but dude #i need the feed back and interaction #it's glamour and it fuels me #feeling cute #may blow up Krypton #who knows #one of my best ships for OCs is in it.

[hookhausenschips]

Break The Curse {CL16}

500 Follower Special!!!

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Summary: Charles finally broke the Monaco Curse.

Taglist

A/N: we won't talk about the accident with HAAS and Red Bull

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Y/N's POV

The Monaco Grand Prix is not just a race; it's a spectacle, a testament to the daring and skill of the drivers who navigate its treacherous turns. To win here is to etch one's name into the very fabric of Formula 1 history. For Charles Leclerc, it was more than that—it was a homecoming, a chance to claim victory on the streets where he'd grown up.

As Y/N, I stood by his side, not just as a partner but as his anchor, the one who knew the boy behind the racer's mask. Charles and I met years ago, long before his ascent to Formula 1 glory. Our relationship has always been built on mutual respect and a deep understanding of the sacrifices required by his career. The journey we've taken together, from the karting circuits of Europe to the grand stages of Formula 1, has been one of unwavering support and shared dreams.

The significance of the Monaco Grand Prix to Charles is immense. Born and raised in the heart of Monaco, Charles grew up with the roar of engines echoing through the narrow streets of Monte Carlo. As a child, he watched the likes of Ayrton Senna and Michael Schumacher conquer the same circuit, dreaming that one day he would join their ranks. The Principality's streets are more than just a track to him; they're a canvas of childhood memories, a symbol of his aspirations, and a testament to his journey from a young boy with a dream to a man on the brink of making history.

For me, standing by his side through the highs and lows of his career, the Monaco Grand Prix represents the culmination of years of hard work, sacrifice, and relentless determination. Every practice session, every race, every moment of doubt and triumph has led to this point. The atmosphere in Monaco during the Grand Prix is unlike anything else—a blend of glamour, history, and raw racing spirit. The city transforms into a vibrant celebration of speed, with fans from around the world converging to witness the spectacle.

Race day in Monaco is unlike any other. The city transforms into a buzzing hive of activity, with fans, celebrities, and teams all converging on the iconic circuit. The sun rose over the Mediterranean, casting a golden glow on the historic streets that would soon echo with the roar of engines. The atmosphere was electric, a blend of anticipation, excitement, and a touch of glamour that only Monaco could provide.

As Charles and I prepared for the day, there was a shared sense of nervous excitement. We had our breakfast in the calm of our apartment, overlooking the serene waters of the harbor. Charles was unusually quiet, his focus already on the race ahead. I could see the determination in his eyes, a steely resolve that belied the nerves I knew he must be feeling.

We walked through the paddock hand-in-hand, the familiar sights and sounds providing a sense of comfort amidst the chaos. The smell of burning rubber and fuel, the hum of the generators, and the sight of the vibrant team colors against the backdrop of Monaco’s elegance—all of it was a reminder of the world we lived in, one that we both loved and respected.

The team’s hospitality suite was a hive of activity, with engineers and mechanics making final preparations. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and the murmur of last-minute strategy discussions. Charles’ race engineer approached, a clipboard in hand, ready to go over the race plan one last time. I gave Charles a reassuring squeeze before he was whisked away into a briefing.

While Charles was busy with the team, I found solace in small routines. I checked my phone for messages from family and friends, all wishing Charles the best of luck. Their support meant the world to us, and knowing they were watching gave me strength. I took a moment to breathe, steadying my nerves, reminding myself that we had prepared for this day meticulously.

The grid walk was next, and it felt like stepping into a different world. The grandstands were already filling up, fans waving flags and holding banners with Charles’ name. The celebrities mingled with team members, photographers capturing every moment. As Charles and I made our way to the grid, we were stopped by well-wishers, each adding to the growing sense of anticipation.

In the final moments before the race, Charles and I shared a private moment. We stood by the car, the Ferrari glistening in the sunlight, a powerful machine ready to conquer the streets. I looked into his eyes, seeing a mixture of focus and emotion. “You’ve got this,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. He nodded, a small, determined smile playing on his lips.

We shared a tender embrace, drawing strength from each other. It was a ritual we had developed over the years—a moment of connection that grounded us amidst the chaos. “For us,” he murmured, his voice filled with resolve. I nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of my feelings.

As Charles donned his helmet and prepared to get into the car, I took my place in the garage, surrounded by the team. The energy was palpable, a current that ran through the crowd, the teams, and the drivers. The team’s radios crackled with final instructions, and the engines roared to life, a sound that sent a thrill through my veins.

The cars were lined up on the grid, the lights above them a countdown to the start of the race. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. The world seemed to hold its breath with me, the seconds stretching into eternity. Then, in a burst of speed and sound, the race was on, and my role was to watch, to hope, and to hold my breath with every lap.

The energy of Monaco was unlike anything else, a blend of history, glamour, and pure racing spirit. The fans, the yachts in the harbor, the iconic streets—all of it came together to create an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. As the cars surged forward, I could feel the weight of every moment, the tension a living thing that gripped the pit lane, the garage, and the city itself.

From my vantage point in the garage, I could see the focus in every move Charles made, the determination that set his jaw and the slight furrow of concentration between his brows. The laps ticked by, a countdown to a dream that hung in the balance. Through every twist and turn of the Circuit de Monaco, Charles held the lead, his red Ferrari a streak of defiance against the asphalt. The tension was a living thing, gripping the pit lane, the garage where I stood, and the city that held its breath.

As the five red lights illuminated and then extinguished, the roar of the engines was almost drowned out by the collective gasp of the crowd. Charles had a strong start, maintaining his lead into the first corner at Sainte Devote. His Ferrari darted forward, sleek and powerful, threading the needle through the tight streets of Monte Carlo.

The first few laps were crucial. Charles settled into a rhythm, his driving smooth yet aggressive, a perfect blend of precision and daring. The narrow streets of Monaco left no room for error, and I watched every lap with my heart in my throat, each twist and turn a testament to his skill.

By lap 10, the field began to spread out, with Charles extending his lead over the chasing pack. Behind him, a battle was brewing for the second position, the Red Bull and Mercedes cars jostling for supremacy. Charles’ race engineer, through the team radio, provided constant updates, his voice a steady anchor amidst the high-octane drama.

Pit stops in Monaco are critical. On lap 28, the team called Charles in for his first and only scheduled pit stop. The crew had practiced this maneuver countless times, but the pressure of the moment was palpable. Charles darted into the pit lane, the car lifted, tires changed, and in what seemed like an eternity but was merely 2.5 seconds, he was back on track. The pit stop was flawless, and Charles rejoined the race still in the lead, but now with fresher tires and a renewed determination.

By lap 40, tire management became a focal point. The asphalt of Monaco is unforgiving, and maintaining the delicate balance between speed and tire preservation was crucial. Charles communicated seamlessly with his race engineer, adjusting his driving style to conserve the tires while keeping a vigilant eye on his pursuers.

A pivotal moment came on lap 51. A crash further down the grid brought out the Safety Car, bunching up the field and erasing Charles’ hard-earned lead. The tension in the garage was palpable, a silent prayer that everything would hold together during the restart. As the Safety Car peeled off, Charles executed the perfect getaway, his reflexes sharp and his resolve unwavering.

The final laps were a masterclass in defensive driving. The pressure from behind intensified, the Red Bull car of his closest rival looming large in his mirrors. Each sector was a battle, every corner a test of nerve. Charles’ concentration was absolute, his lines perfect, his speed controlled.

Lap 70, the final lap. The crowd was on their feet, the tension reaching a fever pitch. Charles navigated the twists and turns with the precision of a surgeon, his focus unbreakable. The familiar sights of the Principality blurred past, the car a red streak against the backdrop of cheering fans and historic buildings.

As Charles approached the final corner, the realization began to dawn. The chequered flag waved, a symbol of triumph and validation. Charles crossed the finish line, his car the first to breach the line, the crowd’s roar a physical wave of sound and emotion.

The pit lane erupted in celebration. Engineers, mechanics, and team members cheered, their faces lit with joy and relief. I watched as Charles brought the car to a stop, his hands shaking with the adrenaline of victory. He climbed out, his face breaking into a smile that was pure and unadulterated joy.

The victory was his—the first Monégasque to win in Monaco in decades. As he stood on his car, fists raised in triumph, the enormity of the moment hit me. This was more than a race; it was a dream realized, a testament to years of hard work, sacrifice, and unwavering determination.

Charles made his way back to the team, his eyes searching the crowd until they found mine. The world seemed to slow as we embraced, a moment of pure, shared elation. "We did it," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

The victory was not just his, but ours, a culmination of everything we had endured and achieved together. It was a moment that would be etched in our memories forever, a testament to the power of dreams, determination, and the unbreakable bond we shared.

As Charles crossed the finish line, the crowd erupted into a symphony of sound. The cheers, the applause, the deafening roar of the engines—all blended into a cacophony of celebration that echoed through the streets of Monaco. Every spectator, from the die-hard fans to the casual observers, seemed to rise to their feet in unison, their voices uniting in a chorus of triumph.

In the heart of the chaos, I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the red Ferrari as it soared past the finish line. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a testament to the tension and anticipation that had gripped me throughout the race. And then, as Charles brought the car to a stop in the victory lane, a wave of relief washed over me, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of pride.

The stadium erupted into a deafening roar as Charles emerged from the cockpit, his helmet held aloft in one hand, his face a mask of exhaustion and exhilaration. I pushed through the crowd, my heart racing with each step, until finally, we stood face to face, our eyes locking in a moment of shared triumph.

We embraced fiercely, the weight of the moment enveloping us in a cocoon of pure, unadulterated happiness. I could feel Charles' heart racing against mine, his breath warm against my skin. "You did it," I whispered against his ear, my voice choked with emotion. Charles held me tightly, his body trembling with the sheer magnitude of what he had accomplished. "We did it," he replied, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pride.

In that moment, amidst the chaos and celebration, time seemed to stand still. We were two souls united by a dream, basking in the glow of a victory that transcended the boundaries of mere sport. The magnitude of Charles' achievement was palpable, a testament to his skill, determination, and unwavering belief in himself.

And then, as if on cue, our lips met in a tender kiss—a silent affirmation of the bond that had carried us through the highs and lows of racing life. It was a fleeting moment, but in that kiss, I felt a lifetime of love, support, and shared dreams. And as we pulled away, our eyes met once again, sparkling with unspoken promises of the future.

As we stood there, lost in each other's embrace, I knew that this was more than just a race victory. It was a triumph of the human spirit, a testament to the power of perseverance, resilience, and the unwavering belief in oneself. And as we looked out at the sea of cheering faces, I knew that this was just the beginning of a journey that would take us to even greater heights.

The podium ceremony was a crescendo of emotions, a culmination of months of preparation, strategy, and raw determination. As Charles ascended the steps to the podium, the crowd's roar intensified, a deafening symphony of cheers that echoed off the walls of Monaco's iconic buildings. Every step he took was imbued with significance, each stride bringing him closer to the pinnacle of success.

As he reached the top, the golden trophy gleaming in the sunlight, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The Monégasque flag fluttered proudly in the breeze, a symbol of Charles' heritage and the pride of his nation. The podium itself was a stage set for glory, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, a backdrop of azure skies and sparkling waters framing the momentous occasion.

The strains of the Monégasque national anthem filled the air, a melody that seemed to reverberate through the very soul of the principality. For Charles, standing atop the podium as the anthem played, it was a moment of profound significance—a validation of years of dedication, sacrifice, and unwavering belief in himself.

As the last notes of the anthem faded into the ether, the champagne bottles were uncorked, their effervescent contents spraying in wild arcs of froth and bubbles. Charles grinned as he joined in the jubilant ritual, the champagne cool against his skin, the taste of victory sweet on his lips.

From my vantage point below, I watched with a heart full of pride. The sight of Charles, standing tall and triumphant, was a testament to his resilience and tenacity. He had faced adversity with unwavering resolve, emerging stronger and more determined than ever before.

Amidst the flashing cameras and jubilant cheers, a single tear escaped my eye, catching the light as it traced a path down my cheek. It was a tear of overwhelming joy, a physical manifestation of the emotions swirling inside me. Despite the elation of the moment, there was a bittersweet quality to it—a recognition of the sacrifices and struggles that had led us to this point.

As Charles made his way down from the podium, the trophy held aloft in triumph, I hurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes sparkled with elation as he enveloped me in a tight embrace, the weight of the trophy a tangible reminder of his achievement.

In that moment, amidst the throng of well-wishers and flashing cameras, time seemed to stand still. We shared a silent exchange of smiles, our hearts overflowing with gratitude and joy. For Charles, this victory was more than just a race win—it was a testament to the power of perseverance, passion, and the unwavering support of those who believed in him. And as we stood together, basking in the glow of his triumph, I knew that this was a moment we would cherish for a lifetime.

The podium celebrations were a whirlwind of excitement and euphoria, but as the cheers began to fade and the adrenaline of victory ebbed away, a sense of calm descended over us. As Charles stepped down from the podium, the golden trophy cradled in his arms, I fell into step beside him, our fingers intertwined in a silent gesture of solidarity.

Away from the glare of the cameras and the cacophony of the crowd, we found a quiet corner of the paddock to steal a moment of respite. The air was filled with the scent of champagne and the hum of distant conversations, but here, in our own little oasis, there was a sense of tranquility—a moment of stillness amidst the chaos.

Charles set the trophy down on a nearby table, its gleaming surface reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. He turned to face me, his eyes alight with an intensity that took my breath away. "We did it," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I couldn't have done it without you."

A tear glistened in the corner of his eye, and before I could stop myself, I reached out to wipe it away. "You did it, Charles," I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. "You made your dream a reality."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest as he let the weight of his emotions wash over him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the remnants of champagne and sweat. "I just wish my father and Jules could see me now," he murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. "I know they're watching from heaven, and I want to make them proud."

I pressed a gentle kiss to his tear-stained cheek, feeling the salt of his tears against my lips. "I'm sure they're looking down on you with so much pride, Charles," I said, my voice filled with conviction. "You've achieved something truly remarkable, and I know they're smiling down on you right now."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the paddock in a soft, golden light, Charles took my hand in his, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice tinged with determination. "There are more victories to come, more dreams to chase."

I nodded, feeling my heart swell with love and admiration for the man standing before me. "I'll be with you every step of the way," I promised, my voice filled with unwavering devotion.

And as we stood there, bathed in the glow of our success, I couldn't help but marvel at the depth of our connection. For Charles, this victory was just the start of a journey that would take him to even greater heights. And for me, it was a privilege to be by his side, sharing in his triumphs and supporting him through every challenge. In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the twilight and the warmth of Charles' love, I knew that there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

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CL16 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @asparklysoul, @dhanihamidi

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

#cl16 fluff #cl16 fic #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #charles lechair #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc x you #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x oc #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one x black reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic

[pinkflower2003]

Not Goodbye, Just See You Later

Daniel Ricciardo x Schumacher!Reader

a/n: hii! this is just an idea that popped into my head, i’ve been a Schumacher fan since when i can remember and i watched Michael race so he is my hero! hope this is okay! totally open to doing other parts to this💛 send in your submissions!

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@/YNSchumacher posted!

Liked by F1, mickschumacher, SebastianVettel & 568,274 more

@/YNSchumacher: back home where it all began! So excited to be back at the Monaco GP with my F1 family. No one will ever understand what this sport means to me and my family, now being back seeing Mick, I couldn’t be prouder❤️

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The roar of engines filled the air, the smell of burning rubber and fuel a familiar scent as you walked through the paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix. This was a second home to you, a place where you grew up, surrounded by the titans of motorsport. You were (Y/N) Schumacher, daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher and sister to the rising star, Mick Schumacher.

But unlike your brother, you had carved out a different path for yourself. You were a successful model and actress, gracing magazine covers and starring in blockbuster films. Despite your fame in the entertainment industry, your heart always belonged to the racetrack. The glitz and glamour of Hollywood were exciting, but there was something about the visceral energy of Formula 1 that always drew you back.

Today, you had come to support Mick and to reconnect with the F1 family. As you made your way to the Mercedes garage, you felt eyes following you. This was something you were used to, but today, there was a particular set of eyes that made your heart flutter. Daniel Ricciardo, the honey badger himself, was staring at you with wide eyes, a goofy grin slowly spreading across his face.

You smiled and waved at him, and he almost tripped over his own feet. His fellow drivers, Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz, were quick to notice his reaction and began teasing him mercilessly.

"Oi, Danny, watch your step!" Lando called out, a mischievous grin on his face.

Carlos nudged Daniel with his elbow, smirking. "What's the matter, Ricciardo? Never seen a movie star before?"

Daniel turned a shade of red that matched the Ferrari cars. "Shut up, guys," he muttered, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

You couldn't help but laugh at their antics. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you walked over to them. "Hey, Daniel," you said, your voice warm and friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Daniel's eyes widened even more, if that was possible. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)," he said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. "I've, uh, seen all your movies."

Lando snickered. "Yeah, he even has a poster of you in his room."

Daniel shot him a glare. "Lando!"

You laughed, feeling more at ease. "That's okay, Daniel. I'm flattered."

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck, looking both embarrassed and thrilled. "Yeah, you're amazing. And Mick's doing great too. You must be proud."

"I am," you said, glancing towards the Mercedes garage where Mick was getting ready for his race. "I'm really proud of him. We all are."

Just then, Mick appeared, grinning when he saw you. "Hey, sis!" he called out, jogging over to give you a hug. "I can't believe you're here, i've missed you!"

"I've missed you too!" you said, ruffling his hair. "I just came over here to meet some friends."

Mick noticed Daniel standing there, looking a bit starstruck. "Hey, Daniel," Mick said, a knowing smile on his face. "I see you've met my sister."

"Yeah, I have," Daniel said, finally regaining some of his composure. "She's lovely."

Mick chuckled. "She is. Just don't let her beat you in a kart race, okay? She's pretty fast."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Mick, don't scare him off."

Daniel laughed, his nervousness finally melting away. "I'd love to race you sometime, (Y/N). Maybe you can teach me a thing or two."

"Deal," you said, shaking his hand. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The conversation continued, flowing easily as you discussed racing, movies, and everything in between. You learned that Daniel had a deep passion for cinema and often spent his downtime watching films. He was particularly excited about your latest project and asked a myriad of questions about your experiences on set.

As the day wore on, you found yourself drawn to Daniel’s genuine nature. His infectious laughter and warm personality made him easy to talk to, and soon you felt like you had known him for years. The two of you strolled around the paddock, drawing curious glances and knowing smiles from those who saw you together.

"Do you ever miss the racing life?" Daniel asked, referring back to your karting days and coming to the races with your dad, his eyes shining with curiosity as he led you to a quieter spot near the back of the Mercedes garage where you were going to wait for Mick.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "I love what I do, but there's nothing like the thrill of a race. Being here brings back so many memories. And honestly, it feels like coming home."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "I get that. It's like we're part of one big, crazy family."

You and Daniel shared a laugh, the moment feeling easy and comfortable. "So, have you ever driven a Formula 1 car?" Daniel asked, his tone light but genuinely curious.

"Only once, as a special treat for my 18th birthday," you said, reminiscing. "Dad arranged it with Ferrari. It was incredible, but I realised pretty quickly that I belong on the other side of the camera."

"I can imagine," Daniel said, his admiration evident. "But I'd still love to see you in action sometime. Maybe we can arrange another go in a kart."

"Deal," you said with a grin.

"Your dad is my hero, y'know." Daniel said, a small smile playing onto his lips, you returned that small smile. "I don't want you to think i'm only around you because of him, but he's really lucky to have kids like you and Mick, I think you both do him proud everyday."

"He's my hero too."

As the race weekend progressed, you found yourself spending more and more time with Daniel. Whether it was watching the practice sessions, enjoying a quiet lunch, or simply chatting about life, the connection between you grew stronger.

On race day, the energy was palpable. The anticipation in the air was electrifying as you stood in the Mercedes garage, cheering for Mick. Daniel, about to get into his car, gave you a thumbs-up from across the paddock, and you felt a surge of excitement for him as well.

The race was thrilling, filled with nail-biting moments and spectacular overtakes. Mick put in a solid performance, finishing in the points, and you couldn’t have been prouder. Daniel, too, had an incredible race, securing a podium finish with his trademark exuberance.

After the race, the paddock was a whirlwind of celebration. As you congratulated Mick, he hugged you tightly. "Thanks for being here, sis. It means a lot."

"Of course," you said, your voice filled with pride. "You were amazing out there."

As the celebrations continued, you spotted Daniel making his way through the crowd. He caught your eye and made a beeline for you, his face lighting up with a radiant smile.

"You did it!" you exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. "Congratulations, Daniel."

"Thanks, (Y/N)," he said, his eyes shining with happiness. "It feels even better knowing you were here to see it."

Before you could respond, Lando and Carlos appeared, both wearing matching grins. "Looks like our boy here finally grew a pair," Lando joked, clapping Daniel on the back.

"Yeah, he couldn’t stop talking about you all weekend," Carlos added with a wink.

Daniel rolled his eyes but laughed along. "Okay, okay, enough with the teasing."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Well, I’m glad I could be here to see you both race. It’s been an incredible weekend."

As the weekend came to a close, it was time for you to leave Monaco and go back to real life, going back home to Germany to be with your mama, sister and papa whilst Mick stayed on the road. You stomach dropped at the idea of the weekend being over, not only leaving the racing behind, but also the idea of leaving Daniel. Your connection had grown close over the racing weekend, and now leaving, you would both go back to your normal lives.

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@/YNSchumacher posted!

Liked by MickSchumacher, F1, DanielRicciardo & 860,217 others

@/YNSchumacher: Monaco, you were everything and more, oh how i’ve missed you. Mick, I am so proud of you and everything you do. Off back home for some much needed rest! Until next time F1🫶🏻

tagged: F1, Mickschumacher, MichaelSchumacher

MickSchumacher: love you sis! wait, thats not me in the third pic??

Username1: she tagged Michael🥹

Username4: the third pic?? WHO IS THAT? IS THAT A DRIVER?

→ Username3: from zooming in, the guy has curly hair?? Lando maybe??

→ Username8: that’s not Mclaren colours he’s wearing🧐

DanielRicciardo: you left without saying goodbye🥲

→ YNSchumacher: cause it’s not goodbye, just see you later!

→ DanielRicciardo: see you later YN x

→ YNSchumacher: see you later Danny x

F1: the princess of Formula One👑

→ MickSchumacher: does that make me the prince?

→ F1: no, that spot is for Leo Leclerc only

→ CharlesLeclerc: facts

#formula one imagine #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 fanfic #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #danny ric #daniel ricciardo

[myers-meadow]

Hellish beginnings

Pairing: Haarlep x Raphael, budding Raphael x Tav and Haarlep x Tav

Summary: After you paid the House of Hope a visit, you were gone before the master of the house even knew you were there. Yet, you left his personal incubus Haarlep with a delightful present that they just can't wait to share with their master. Perhaps this is not the last time you entered the House of Hope.

Warnings: none. Teen and up rating. They/them used for Tav, no appearance mentioned.

Wordcount: 578

beautiful divider by @cafekitsune. If you enjoyed, please reblog or comment! It is fuel to the fire that is my love for these characters <3.

"Oh, Raphael," Said Haarlep, in sing-song tone, as soon as their master entered his boudoir. "You'd never guess which of your clients paid me a visit today."

Raphael shed his mortal disguise as he walked over to the bed. By his walk, Haarlep could tell how their master's day had been. Not that good. Not that it mattered much to them, but it was good to know.

"I'm not in the mood to guess," Raphael answered, voice thick with displeasure.

"Only your most cherished one..." They said, and their form shifted. Raphael's little mouse laid on his bed then, draped casually, erotically over the ruby sheets. Raphael, who only barely paid attention to his personal incubus, did a double take. His eyes widened. For one joyful moment, he didn't know what to say. Haarlep's grin widened.

"Really?" He then asked, with one eyebrow raised. "Tav." His tone darkened. It was difficult to tell whether he was angry, or intrigued. You very well know that entering the House was forbidden as per your contract, the consequences could be devastating. He'd so hate to have to hurt you, just as you show such promise. "That is quite the surprise."

Haarlep adjusted their position, showing off your features in a different way this time. Giddy, they tugged alluringly at the straps of their underwear. Raphael, drawn in by the sight of you, climbed onto the bed. Haarlep was quick to make room for him.

"You like it?" They asked, rolling over and showing off your backside, curving your back like a cat doing a big lazy stretch. Raphael only hummed, but watched with eager eyes.

"I cant say I haven't thought about them..."

"They were so fun," Haarlep drawled. "Desperate and mewling after just a few kisses. Too bad you weren't there."

"I wonder why they came. If they thought they could break the contract-" Raphael clenched his fists.

"Oh, not to worry, they left without even getting that far. They just had a little gander at your archive, a little poke around the place. I'm sure this is their favourite room of the house. They spent the most time here, after all."

Haarlep changed shape again, into Raphael's glamour, determined to smooth over their master's anger. They laid a warm hand on his hip, trailing fingers up and down the formal doublet. With a flick of the hand, the doublet was gone. Hunger shone in Raphael's eyes, and Haarlep knew just a little convincing would be enough. It would be fun, to have a play with someone else for a bit. To have a third in the bedroom. They were curious to see what would happen. It was one of Raphael's known weaknesses that he got too involved in mortal lives, but this one seemed special.

"Surely it doesn't have to be such a big deal... They didn't do anything bad, after all."

Raphael tutted, finding comfort in the familiar touch. He played with the chains on Haarlep's outfit, tugging the incubus closer. "Perhaps we should invite them for a formal visit. Let us see if we can't talk this over."

Haarlep answered with a wicked grin. "They admitted they have thought of you too. I'm sure they'd be willing to... negotiate."

With his head falling back on the pillow as Haarlep pushed him on his back, Raphael laughed. "Oh, the plot thickens... Why don't you show me what it was about you that had our little mouse mewling, hm?"

#raphael the cambion #haarlep #haarlep x tav #raphael bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael x tav #haarlep x raphael #raphael x haarlep #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #haarlep x reader #bg3 #bg3 house of hope #raphael x reader #these characters are new to me; this was just a lil scene that popped up in my head while playing. please be gentle aughghg <3

[fieldofdaisiies]

Of Wings and Secrecy

paring: adult!Nyx x Reader | type: angst | words: 3,4k words | warnings: mentions of abuse, violence | based on this request

“What a weak punch.” 

You throw Nyx a withering glare over your shoulder, hands dropping to your sides. You really have to fight the urge to flip him off, and at the same time want nothing more than to kiss those formidable lips.

“Shall I demonstrate how it should be done?” His wings flare behind his back when he starts to stroll toward you, sauntering with nothing but cocky smugness, a grin on his lips.

Your little sister, Salia, next to you giggles, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I guess I‘ll leave you two alone then.”

She winks and before you can stop her, she is heading towards where Emerie, Gwyn and Nesta, Nyx‘s aunts, train a few young Illyrian females.

Salia is the only one to know about what is actually between the two of you — a bond, a mating bond, always glamoured to keep it hidden. But she knows about the mutual love, how and when the bond snapped, about your secret meetings and the dangers along with it. The dangers that prevent you from—

Your thoughts are cut off when you feel the hard and warm press of a solid chest against your back. 

“A little higher.” His hands support your elbows, his lips brushing your earlobe. You fight against a shudder, and hold your breath. 

“Not here.” Your voice is silent, hushed. “Someone could see us.”

“I’m only helping you train, my star.” A smirk appears on Nyx’s lips, but falters the moment he sees your scared expression after you have turned to him. The Night Court heir steps away, and bows his head. 

You open your mental shields for him, holding his gaze. I’m so sorry, but it‘s too dangerous, Nyx.

Making sure no one is looking, Nyx moves in again, lifting your elbow with one of his warm and gentle hands, acting like he is explaining something. “Let me protect you.” He leans in the slightest bit. “Come to Velaris with me. Let me protect you.”

You turn away and pick up a sword. “You know I can‘t.” Straightening your posture and using one hand to smooth out your leathers you take a few steps back. “I can‘t leave my mother and sister alone.”

Nyx knows this, and yet the truth —the awareness about you not coming with him— sends a pang of hurt right into his heart. Your hearts belong together, so do your souls, and should never be kept apart. You had fallen in love with each other the first moment you lay eyes on each other. But life isn’t too kind to you, doesn’t allow your love to flourish.

Devlon forbids this relationship, threatens to hurt the once you love most. It has to be kept secret. Nyx promised you that with his father’s protection —with the High Lord’s protection — nothing would ever happen to you. And despite that sounding very promising, you couldn’t accept.

This is not solely about you. You have a sister and a mother who live here as well and they will be in danger. Especially if you go with Nyx or if your relationship —if the bond— becomes public.

Nyx moves in closer again, helping you position your legs a little differently. “I want to be alone with you.”

“Nyx.” A corner of your mouth tips up.

He raises a brow, twin flames of desire lighting up his blue eyes. “My late grandmother‘s hut?”

“Now?”

Nyx grins and turns you, so your back is against his front, always careful of your beautiful wings, acting like he is showing you some self-defence techniques. “Always.”

His body vibrates with passion, and it reaches you, fuels the need within your veins. You have been apart for so long. You have missed him. And you need him. Now.

—-

A loud giggle parts your lips and you shove at Nyx‘s bare, and solid chest. “I‘m sure I love you more.”

He kisses your shoulder and shakes his head. “Not possible.” His damp lips coast over your salty skin, tongue poking out. “My love for you is endless.”

“Well,” you breathe, “mine is endless and just a bit more.” 

He tips his head up, gaze meeting yours and laughs. “You are impossible.”

To that you grin and chuckle. Your hand comes up and you stroke your thumb over his cheek, slowly, assessing him with your eyes. “You look tired,” you say with a contemplative look on your face.

“We‘ve been tangled in the sheets for the whole night, my star, I am exhausted.” The beautiful smile on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes and the corners of your mouth turn downwards. 

“It’s because the glamour, isn’t it.”

He doesn’t want to say yes, but you can read him so well, so he silently admits, “I constantly need to use a lot of magic to glamour the both of us, and over a far distance when I am back in Velaris.”

You find yourself nodding, your heart hurting about the knowledge of what it does to him.

“But it’s fine.” He kisses your nose. “As long as the two of us have a chance to be with each other, I would accept everything.” Now, he kisses the corner of your mouth, hands falling to your hips, pulling you closer, the counter below your bare thighs, cool.

“I don’t want you to—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. But it is a kiss you can’t really focus on. You love him, you want to be with him — Cauldron he is your mate! But that doesn’t make this relationship easy. It only makes it hella difficult. 

Nyx is a bit over 100, sooner or later he will have to take over as High Lord, you don’t want to cause him additional issues.

“You are distracted, my star.” His hand slides beneath your —his— shirt and he cups your breast, thumb pressing down on your nipple, rubbing. “Let me help you focus on us.”

Your curl legs around his hips, hoping that the press of his hard length against your core will really centre you in the moment. And it truly does. 

You allow yourself to enjoy this moment with him, knowing it is fleeting and will be over way too soon and Nyx back in Velaris. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

You cup the nape of his neck with your hand, fingers entangled in his soft silken strands, mouths colliding, teeth clacking.

“I love you—”

“Nyx!” The entrance door bangs against the wall of the hut, so loud even the mice in the smallest nooks can hear it. It feels like time stands still when Nyx steps away and whips his head into…the High Lord’s direction.

There is nothing but confusion and a hunt of shock etched upon Nyx‘s father‘s face, like he can’t really believe what he is seeing.

“I was looking for you.” The High Lord is not stuttering, but something close to it and Nyx, his cheeks a deep red, looks like he is wringing for the right words, all engines in his mind working on high speed.

“This is Y/N,” he finally says and adds, “And she is my mate.”

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“And the hating each other part…?”

“Fake.” A sheepish grin spreads over Nyx‘s face and he bites down on his lower lip.

His father chuckles lowly and shakes his head at his son. “When did this happen? The bond I mean. When did it snap in place for you?”

Rhysand still looks a little flabbergasted. Even minutes later when the three of you sit together on the couch, now you and Nyx fully dressed.

“Shortly after the Blood Rite. I went to congratulate her on becoming Arktosion, and well…our eyes met and the bond snapped.” Nyx turns to you and takes your hand into his, squeezing softly.

“That was nearly a year ago,” the High Lord expresses and throws his son an incredulous look. “You’ve been keeping your bond a secret for so long!?”

Nyx and you nod.

“You could have told us. At least your mother and—”

“We couldn‘t.” Nyx shakes his head again, then leans into you and kisses the top of your head.

Then he continues, “It would have been too dangerous. Dad, I know you. And I know mum. You would have wanted to get involved. You would have tried to talk to Devlon and we couldn’t risk it. Y/N‘s mother and sister are in his tight grip and—”

“If he finds out about our mating bond he will do unspeakable things to them.” Your gaze drops, voice so vulnerable and silent you hope the High Lord could even hear you.

He did, and his power stretches out, brushing you. “You will have our protection always. And so will your sister and mother. You can come to live in Velaris with us.”

You are grateful for this, really, but you cannot accept just yet. You will first have to talk to your mother and your sister. Explain everything to them. And you will have to catch them when your father is not home. And then you need to arrange everything and—

“Thank you so much,” you finally say and meet the High Lord’s gaze. Sitting here with him feels a bit surreal, considering who he is. But then you remember that you have been rolling around in the sheets with the prince of the night for the whole previous night and it no longer feels so odd.

Many times you have already asked him if you are truly good enough for him, for a prince, and he has always told you yes, then poked you or smacked your arm lightly to make his point clear. And then most of the time he kissed you. Or more.

“Really. Thank you much. For the offer. I will gladly accept but I need a little time.”

“Whenever you are ready,” Nyx whispers, but there is worry in his eyes. “You have time. Talk to your mother and sister and then you let me know how we will go forward.” Lifting your intertwined hands, he kisses your knuckles.

You sit together for a little longer, Rhysand wanting to find out a bit more who is tied to his son‘s soul by the mating bond and who has consequently stolen Nyx’s heart.

You open up easily to him, his kindness and love for his son, visible in every word he says. They are an amazing family and you feel very lucky to somehow be a part of it.

Only a while later, and when Rhys and Nyx truly have to leave for Velaris (the High now finally having found his son who had closed the mental to his father during the night he spent with you) you go back home to your mother and sister, hoping to catch them before you father gets home. But he is already there and so decide to wait a few more days, think about it, clear your mind and really form a plan. You have been hiding this relationship for so long, you can now also wait a bit longer. 

Nothing is rushing you. You and Nyx will one day be together, that is true, and if one more day lies between you and him being ultimately together or not, doesn’t matter to you. Not with the prosperity of being with him and the knowledge that while living a life with him your mother and sister will be safe.

You will fill them in on your plan in a few days, when the time is right.

But you later find out that waiting was a fatal decision.

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“You want to leave Windhaven?” Your father raises a brow, and you vigorously shake your head. Your cousins leave the shadows behind you, closing in on you until they catch your arms. “You were going to leave us, weren’t you?”

“No, father.” Your voice is so vulnerable, why would I?

The door hasn’t even fallen into the lock when you knew you stepped right into a trap. Your mother and sister are cowered together in the corner of the room, shaking so hard you even see it from the distance.

You wiggle against their hold, but your cousins are just stronger, their nails biting into your skin, their silent laughter ringing in your ears.

“Letting your mother and sister alone to do all the work?” Devlon —your father— takes a step forward and this is the first time you see the tool in his hands. The same tool that was used to clip a female's wings. Your stomach coils, panic, strong and terrible, blazing through you. You feel how your knees start to buckle, but you fight against it.

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

“Bullshit!” Devlon shouts. “Do you think I am stupid. That I couldn’t detect this damn mating bond. The heir‘s powers are strong but not that stronger. The glamour starts to fade.” Disdain laces his features.

“Were you hoping to become a princess one day, huh?” He stalks forward and weighs the tool in his hands.

You want to growl at him but you keep your mouth shut.

“I need to disappoint you. Someone like you will never be a princess, and most definitely not a High Lady. You are a laundry girl and you will stay like that.”

“Father, I—”

The click of his tongue shuts you up. “Too late for silly apologies. It is not time to make sure you stay where you belong.” Darkness falls over his face, and he tips his chin. It is your cousin’s cue to move. They turn you and force your chest down to lie atop the wooden table.

He is going to clip your wings and there is nothing you can do against it. You are strong, but not stronger than the three of them. 

The content of your stomach sours at the helplessness you are feeling, tears burning behind your eyes. But you won’t give him that. You won’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears. You won’t be vulnerable. You won’t be weak. And if he clips your wings, you will—

“Devlon don’t!” your mother cries out, but your father shuts her up with a snarl and a pointed, warning look into her direction. He steps closer and presses down on your back, forcing your face to rub against the harsh, wooden surface, some splinters definitely piercing into your skin, drawing blood. Your spine cracks and your shoulders ache from the angle your cousins are still holding your arms and you cry out in pain — it is just too much, you can’t hold it in any longer.

“It is her fault. She didn’t want it any differently. She brought—”

Devlon‘s sneer is cut short.

The main door bursts open with an impact that has the whole hut shaking, power so strong and lethal when it stretches out makes you aware that it can only be the High Lord and your mate who have arrived. You whip your head into their direction and a loud sob parts your lips.

Morrigan is also in tow, the first to move towards you and your father. “Hands off the girl! Now!” she growls, fury swirling in her hazel eyes.

It must be the shock, and definitely fear that makes your cousins step back, letting go off your hands. One of the stupid brutes even has the audacity to speak up and say, “He made us do it.”

But no one pays him any attention. Everything is focused on you, and the tool, the large clipping tool, positioned at the base of your wings and the male holding it. Devlon, despite stepping back, does not seem remorseful about his actions.

“Devlon.” Rhysand’s growl ripples through the hut and Nyx sets out to get to you as quickly as possible. He helps you up and pulls your shivering body to his chest. “I got you. Nothing can happen now,” Nyx whispers against your head, but you can’t quite focus, your attention on your father.

“What is going on here!” Rhysand demands and his lethal power fills the room.

But your father is not afraid. His face displays nothing but purely male smugness when he says, “Do you know about it, Rhysand? What they did?”

“That they are mates,” the High Lord answers matter-of-factly. He slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and pins the camp lord with a look. 

Surprise passes over Devlon’s face – he hasn’t expected Rhysand to know. Thought, or maybe even hope, to catch him off guard and shock him. But quite the opposite is the case.

“I know that.” Rhysand turns to look at you and his son. “And I also know what you were about to do. What would have happened if we had arrived here any moment later.” Lethal calm graces each of his words, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You hold tighter onto your mate. 

In the corner of your eye you can see that Lady Morrigan moves swiftly across the room, crouching down at the opposite side and throwing both her arms around your sister and your mother. She whispers something to them but you can’t make out the words

Your heart is beating so rapidly, nearly jumps out of your chest. Ragged breaths leave you and you feel lucky you’re holding onto your mate for support. You know you would fall to the ground otherwise.

“Your daughter is my son’s mate and that makes her part of my family. She is mine to protect.”

The High Lord’s power lashes out but before you can see what happens to your father, black mist swirl around, blurring your vision until everything is dark and you enter a state of oblivion. 

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“No-o!” Your throat is too dry, voice hoarse and the shout that leaves your croaky. You re shaking, chest heaving rapidly, but when strong arms wrap around you and you are pulled flush to a solid, warm chest, every seems to ease.

“Nyx—”

“I am right here. With you.” His lips brush your head. “You are safe. We are in Velaris. Far away from your father, my star.”

Now there is no more holding back for the tears. The run freely. The damn breaks and they burst out of your eyes. 

“I-I-my wings. He wanted to—” Your breath catches and you tio back your head, finally opening your eyes despite the stinging burn in them. “Mother. Salia!”

“Here as well.” Nyx appears in your vision and rests his forehead against yours, not giving you a chance to take in the room you are currently in. 

He exhales softly. “They are all here and safe. And your father—” He swallows. “He is taken care of.”

He offers no more of an explanation and you also don’t ask. Because you simply don’t care. He can rot in Hel…

“Thank—”

He kisses you. And then the corner of your mouth. “Never, ever thank me for something like this. You are my mate. My love. My soon-to-be wife. You are mine and also mine to protect. I love you, my star.”

“I love you, my prince.” You smile through your tears and kiss him again.

After holding each other for a bit longer, Nyx helps you rise and you can finally see the room —his room— you are in and marvel at it. It is phenomenal and Nyx explains that it is your room from now on as well.

He helps you bath and get dressed and when all is done you join the rest of his family, of your family, in the kitchen for breakfast, embracing both your mother and sister tightly, holding on so tightly as if you never want to let go again.

“The nightmare is over,” your mother whispers, and the three of you start to cry.

You later learn that Rhysand that you are under full protection of them and your mother and sister were given a small house near the Sidra river to live in from now on. You can barely thank them enough, but High Lady Feyre reaches her hand out to you and says, “We have to thank you. For the reason for our son’s happiness.”

#nyx archeron #nyx x reader #adultnyx x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf #nyx archeron x reader

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

Tinderbox

Dewdrop/Sodo ghoul x demon!fem!reader smut

WC: 5100

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus ty for being my inspiration during these times of turmoil. Also - set in the roaring Twenties… for no reason other than fun.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, biting, rough sex, marking, kn!fe play, kn!fe k!nk, blood play (towards the end) and consumption. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

The evening sparkled, there was no other way to describe it. Men in suits, women in sequins, feathers, and fringe-trimmed dresses.

You had one last evening to celebrate after gathering necessary intel on the earthly plane for the devious devils down below who employed you. Everything could have been perfect, had it not been for your choice of company and his complete and utter determination to ruin the evening.

You had spent the entire afternoon doing up your hair, placing the curls just so. Your horns were hidden perfectly beneath the human glamour you had chosen. The dress you chose was as low cut as you could get without being confused for a prostitute. You still had to look your part, after all. You shimmered like an effervescent glass of champagne, all golden and gorgeous from head to toe. The color complimented your human-shade skin so nicely. Even the undergarments you chose were golden, the garter belt holding your hosiery up and the unlined bra doing the same to your soft breasts.

Only one problem.

Dewdrop would not stop reaching under the table towards you. He couldn’t stop fidgeting since you left the hotel room, rather. First it was his shoes, dragging up and down your stocking-clad calves to get your attention, then he switched seats at the four-top, so he would be right next to you. Hands, feet, the backs of your knees, everything was on the table apparently. 

His tail snaking its way up the skirt of your dress was the final straw. You were at a nice restaurant trying - failing - to enjoy a nice dinner. Just one teensy weensy thing in your temporary masquerade among the humans. For fucks sake, the place had white linen tablecloths. 

Thankfully you were sitting at a corner table.

“Dew.” You said through a forced smile, “I’m being serious this time.” 

You took a purposeful sip of your white wine, narrowing your eyes over the rim of the glass. The crisp, dry taste of the chilled beverage kept you from completely scowling at him. At least it did until you felt his tail curling up the edge of your dress again.

You scolded him again, “You know you shouldn’t be doing that, ghoul.”

His face was smug, “I can do whatever I want.” 

“Just not whenever you want.” You shot back.

“You can’t deny me.” His gaze was intense, fuck, you wanted to give in to his whims so badly. You couldn’t though, not now. No matter how much you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you on top of this perfectly white cloth-covered table.

“I can, and I am.” Your resolve was firm, but for how much longer it would stay that way, you hadn’t a clue.

The two of you stared intensely at each other, his irises started shifting beneath his glamour, blood-red cutting through. 

“Hah!” You exclaimed, though not loud enough to draw any untoward attention, “Sloppy, as usual, Dew. As soon as you get your mind in the gutter you start slipping.”

“As long as you’re there to catch me.” He grinned devilishly, and you could see his fangs poking through.

“I’ll catch you alright.” You sneered, “Right between my teeth I’ll catch you, honeydew.” You ended the sentence calling him your favorite term of endearment while simultaneously dragging your tongue across the top row of your even teeth. The action pointedly reminded him how your glamour was perfectly intact.

What was meant to douse the flames only added fuel to the fire ghoul. But that was the nature of your, rather explosive, relationship. 

You opened your folding fan, the air in the room suddenly feeling stale and hot. As you fanned yourself his greedy, ghoulish hands made their way back to your thigh under the table. 

You struck his offending hand reflexively before your brain could catch up. Perfectly in time for the runners to bring your appetizers out. 

“Thank you.” You smiled graciously, Dew scowled, staring at the human food in front of you both. “Don’t even start now.” You warned him.

“Fine.” He sighed, looking around before scooping up his food and shoveling it down without tasting it. He sat back in his seat as you brought the first bite to your wine-red lips. “I want to play a game.”

“What did you have in mind?” You said absently, glancing around sharply to make sure no one was watching his abhorrent display of table manners.

“If anyone looks too long at you -”

You interrupted him, “Too broad, be specific.” You had another bite of the tangy appetizer. 

“Fine.” He huffed, looking around the room before a wicked grin crept over his face. “If that waiter comes over here for no reason again, I get to spank you.”

Touché, that was specific enough. “Oh, I see, and if he comes over here with a purpose?”

“Your choice then.”

“Nah, too boring.” He let out an irritated noise, but you ignored him, “How about this, if you get jealous of him flirting with me, I get at least one more orgasm than you.”

“That’s assuming he will flirt with you, which there’s no way he will do that with me here.” He seemed overly confident. “The human men respect each other way more than they respect women.”

The match was set. “Then you shouldn’t be afraid of being jealous.”

“I’m never jealous.”

“We’ll see about that.” A smirk touched your lips before you finished your plate of food.

You enjoy the rest of your meal, each course exciting your taste buds more than the last. Finally, it was time for dessert. Out came the most decadent looking chocolate frosted cake on a silver platter. The waiter, whose name you learned was Liam after you asked and batted your eyelashes, promptly served you a slice of the checkerboard cake. 

You took a huge bite, savoring the sweetness. Vanilla and chocolate, perfect for your indecisive self.

The waiter serves Dewdrop a slice as well before his watchful eyes look at your face again

“Miss, you have some, er, frosting on your cheek.”

“Oh, do I?” You played so innocently. “Be a dear and get it for me, would you?”

“With pleasure.” He plucks a dark napkin from the inside of an otherwise empty wine glass. The man leans in and dabs the cloth on your cheek, the side of his finger brushing your skin excited you. You didn’t break eye contact until you felt the whole table rattle as Dewdrop kicked it.

Moment over.

The waiter straightened and motioned to the bottle of champagne you ordered, averting his eyes from you. He picks up the bottle and begins to tear the gold foil from the top but Dew snatches it out of his hand. His chair makes a scraping squeak as he practically jumps out of it, commanding the room.

You watch wide-eyed as couples conversations at the few surrounding tables begin to die out, their attention turned to the two devils in disguise. Dewdrop removes the fastener with one hand and easily manhandles the bottle with the other. 

Damn those perfect hands of his. 

You thought he meant to pop the cork barehanded but he surprised you, as well as earned a couple light gasps from nearby tables, as he picked up a knife. He ran it along the seam of the champagne bottle and with a swipe of the blade he sliced the bottle open. It let out a loud pop, and the contents inside bubbled but no liquid spilled, rather, combined with the air in a hiss and left it like a smoking gun. 

The scattered applause in the space was no match for Dew’s smirk at you. 

Oh he had you. He had you so well. Who would have thought that sabrage could be so sexy? 

There was no point in flirting with the human anymore, but you did it anyway. You were already traversing a rocky path, but you wanted to set off a few more traps along the way. So you made sure Dew caught you looking the waiter up and down, raking your gaze over him as he handed you the glass of champagne.

The two of you sat in silence while you finished your beverage and cake. Then you reached for your purse, opening it to find the dark lipstick that needed reapplying. 

The waiter came back to your table as you brazenly applied your lipstick in front of the dining room. You did one of your signature moves, sweeping your eyes to look up at him, your lashes batting ever-so-slightly in that way that made mortal men fall to their knees.

“Can I interest you in anything else this evening?” His voice deepened, “Perhaps something off the menu?”

“Oh?” You played up your sweetness to tooth-rotting levels, “What did you have in mind?”

The waiter went to open his mouth and promptly closed it, his expression turning to icy fear. You turned your head to look at Dewdrop just as he hissed at the poor mortal, his eyes glowed red as he purposefully dropped his glamour.

You hit him with your fan again. 

It was well past time to leave. You didn’t want the mortal getting in any real trouble with your fire ghoul, so you collected your wits and coat and left promptly, dragging Dew behind you by his necktie. 

-

You both got in the lift to go up to your shared hotel room. Of course, you had to tell the clerk at the check-in desk that you were “Mr. And Mrs.” since this establishment was more on the high end and yet still cared that a woman couldn’t rent her own room by herself. 

Eye roll.

As soon as the doors closed on the lift, the energy changed. The light bulbs dimmed, the panel on the wall containing the floor numbers blinking and flickering before stabilizing. The liftman blinked and shook his head furiously, not understanding what had happened. But you knew, Dewdrop was absorbing power. But for what, you had not the faintest.

As if to prove a point, he snuck his hand behind you, running up the inside of your thigh closest to him and shocking you with static electricity. You tried not to jump, not to give him the satisfaction, but your body betrayed you. 

He snickered, causing the elevator operator to glance back over his shoulder, prying eyes turning to see what was happening. Dew growled at him, eliciting the same nasty behavior as he had at the dinner table.

You swatted him with your fan in the ribs, only to get no response. He was locked in a death stare with the poor soul. 

There’s only one way to remedy this.

You darted your hand out, nimble fingers digging into Dew’s side to tickle him. He made a high pitched sound that almost made you laugh aloud, turning his red eyes at you. You weren’t intimidated by his glare at all, at least not until the threat spilled like thick poison from between his clenched teeth.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Your stomach squeezed. Dewdrop made more threats than a hellhound has teeth, but this felt like a promise. It was the way he said it that sealed the deal. But you wouldn’t let him win, not yet at least.

“You don’t scare me honeydew.” You let your glamour slip slightly, baring your sharp fangs at him.

The elevator clanged and let out a ding. 

“Uh, e- enjoy your evening.” The liftman tripped over his words and opened the door. He was surely too eager to be rid of the both of you.

You slid the metal key from your tiny purse, unlocking the door. Dew grabbed you and opened the door, slamming it loudly behind you. The hotel room was a coffin now, and you were about to be buried alive. Your only warning was his heavy panting breaths and the tight grip on your arm.

Payback time.

He shoved you into the wall roughly, your shoulders taking the brunt of the impact. Dewdrop grabbed you, his claws creating divots in your glamoured skin, and planted his lips on yours. The kiss you shared was equally matched in ferocity and need, sending tingles to the very tips of your fingers. You felt your lust bubbling to the surface, equivalent only to your dark urge to mark him too.

Your hands went up to his cheeks immediately and from there to tangle in his silken white-blonde hair, not letting him go for a second. You couldn’t, holding him close to you was your greatest desire. His kisses smothered you in warmth and his scent of smoke and ash.

He kissed you fervently and rambled as his lips traveled to your face and neck, his right hand moving to the small of your back, long fingers pulling you flush against him while the other knotted itself in your hair. “I’ve wanted to have you since the second you stepped out in that dress. I know you put it on just to tempt me, to tease me.”

“Dewdrop, listen to yourself, I had to wear something. I can’t just go out in public naked.”

You could tell he was picturing it from the way his breath stalled, his teeth freezing over your quickening pulse. Gripping his tie and unfastening it, you broke him out of his wild imagination, snapping it as you tore it from beneath his shirt and jacket.

“No, no you couldn’t.” He managed breathily.

Your breath was just as tremulous, “Tell me why, my ghoul.” Your fingers tugged on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back in. You were already lust-drunk from just kissing him, but you needed more. 

“Because you’re mine.” His gruff voice, the rushed kisses, and the scrapes of his fangs at your throat felt like a drug being injected directly into your bloodstream, and you felt your rational thoughts slipping away into nothingness. All that was left was him. Him and you. The two of you against the world in a time you didn’t belong to. 

His left hand grasped the inside of your thigh, which made you eternally grateful for the high-sitting fringe on the dress. You gasped, his warm, long fingers dug into your flesh almost possessively. His desire to mark you as his was as intense as your need to be claimed by him. And you needed to be claimed by him, completely. 

He played with the garter straps laying innocently against your legs and traced the seams of your stockings. You stripped his jacket off his shoulders, glad to be ridding him of the superfluous clothing but wincing when his hands left your skin.

His fingers continued to travel upwards, nearing the apex between your thighs. Now he was stalling, those digits you craved so much just hovered, occasionally tickling the crease of your leg. Dewdrop loved to tease you, it was all to get you back for teasing him so much. You knew you earned this, but you wanted him so badly to cross that threshold and touch you where you ached.

He moved his face back from your neck, meeting your eye line, watching you unravel before he’s even done anything to you. That smug look on his face made you unruly, and you flashed your fangs to urge him to get on with it. Dewdrop kissed you as his fingers slid under the seam of your panties. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, greedily biting at his lip. He growled in response as he stroked against your slit.

“So fucking wet for me.” He said in the midst of messy kisses, then he bit at your bottom lip, trapping it prisoner between his sharp teeth before drawing back. His eyes were dark as the void itself, “Or is this for him?”

That human? He couldn’t be serious.

“No, Dewdrop, only for you.”

“Fucking better be.” He pressed two fingers inside your aching center. 

He tilted your head with his free hand, kissing up your neck and ear again. Your ear which was now pointed, the skin he was kissing melting from an illusory human tone to a color wholly unnatural for a person.

Dewdrop pulled back again, admiring his handiwork. “Now who’s glamour is slipping?” He curled his fingers to punctuate the question, making your thighs fight to close.

Smug bastard.

“Show me.” His eyes glowed intensely. “Let me see you.”

“Are you -” a moan interrupted your question as he added a third finger inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders. “A-are you sure?” He hadn’t seen you completely without your glamour before, and you felt nervous about bringing it out. 

He planted a passionate kiss for assurance to your lips, “Fuck yes.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, debating whether you should. Then, you realized you could make it a game and a wicked, seductive smile had you goading him, “Make me cum and I will.”

“How can I say no to that?”

You had no warning as his thumb pressed against your clit. His fingers, fuck, they felt too good inside you. It was a curse, as they made it so yours could never measure up. 

He kept up his pace, and the stimulation between his fingers and thumb was making you weak. You felt your knees sagging slightly, but he kept you right where he wanted you against that wall. Dew didn’t let up for a moment, giving you all that you craved with the ministrations of his hand and kissed you deeply. You swear even your scalp tingled; you felt lightheaded already. And all the tension between you two earlier? That was the real foreplay. 

His fingers kept up their movements, in and out, in and out, giving you that sensation that had you at the end of a rope, hanging on a rope by a thread. Then he curled his fingers and you became flaming cinders burning the rope to ash. Your claws dug into his shoulders as your body tensed, teetering on the precipice of your orgasm. 

“Dew -” you whined, trying to hold on.

“Let go for me.” He whispered into your skin before sucking hard on the flesh of your neck.

You cried out in rapture as you shattered. His long fingers stroked you through the fluttering waves of your climax. You thought he would give you more time to come down from your high, but you were wrong. A moan escaped your lips as his fingers left your dripping sex and you looked at him. 

Dewdrop’s red eyes were intimidating, and filled with desire. You knew he wouldn’t wait any second longer. He gave you what you wanted, now it was your turn to sate him.

“Turn around.”

You did as you were told, obedient only for him. 

He brushed your fallen hair from the back of your neck to expose the top of your dress. His fingers hesitated with the zipper for a second too long before he let go of you. You were about to complain when you felt the cold press of metal skate up the back of your thigh. Your veins turned icy and made you go rigid as the metal glided up and under the hem of your dress. Far too close to your heat. Dewdrop grabbed the bottom of your dress in his other hand and with a swipe, shredded the garment from your body. 

“Dew! I liked that dress!” The shorn pieces lay in tatters at your feet along with the knife you recognized from dinner earlier. He must have pocketed it after popping open the champagne bottle.

“I’ll get you another one.” He sized you up, looking you up and down. “Drop your glamour. Now.”

You wanted to protest, but you knew he was just like you in this regard: Stubborn to a fault. It was his turn to get his way, and you had to give in.

You rolled your shoulders, removing your bra, then unclipping the garter belt from your middle. Concentrating, you closed your eyes, shifting into your true form, your hellish form. Your twin horns sprouting from beneath your thick hair, your tail appearing behind you, and your skin turning an inhuman shade somewhere between dusk and dawn. Your nails lengthened into claws and your teeth did the same, became sharper and deadly. 

Used to seeing so many parts of Dewdrop, it wasn’t anything new per se to have him do the same, but at the same time - it was. The air changed, it felt thick as you inhaled, taking him all in. Showing yourselves to each other shouldn’t have mattered so much. But this added a layer of intimacy to your tryst. Two demons in their true forms, finding temporary solace in each other's arms in this isolating earthly plane.

Ironically, it was a slice of heaven.

“You’re perfect like this.” He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He kissed you again, deeply, with a depth of lust you couldn’t place yet. His voice dropped low, “Now I think I might die if I’m not inside you. Get up there.” He ended the sentence with a chaste pinch on your exposed ass cheek.

You knew better at this point than to ask him if he wanted you face up or down.

It was a face down kind of night.

He didn’t waste a breath, no sooner had you “assumed the position” and he was behind you, bare, and pressing against your rear. 

An embarrassingly needy sound escaped you, but you couldn’t help it. You were like Pavlov’s dog and Dewdrop trained you exceedingly well. 

And he rewarded you even better.

He fisted your hair with one hand, pulling you back so you felt him right there. His thick cock rested perfectly against your wet cunt, and you wiggled your ass back and forth to coat his length with your juices. He twitched, hand reaching out to line himself up with your entrance.

This was always the part that made your toes curl and your breath stall. The calm before the storm with the tip of his hard dick against your lips. Every muscle tensed, your demon body roaring internally, needing to be taken by him, demanding to be claimed.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he pressed himself inside you, and you felt that familiar burning stretch. Your nails dug into the sheets for leverage, and you arched your back further, pressing back to ensure he buried himself to the hilt on the first go. Your mouth hung open as he bottomed out, then he immediately withdrew, leaving only the tip inside you before slamming his hips back against yours. His grip on your waist tightened as he started a rhythm that had you crying out for gods you didn’t believe in.

“You think that stupid, human, waiter could fuck you as good as me?” He was relentless, rutting into you like an unbridled animal. If there was one thing about Dewdrop you could always count on, it was that he would put all of his rage into fucking you. He held onto his emotions from the day and completely let go, only for you.

“Is that, fuck, is that jealousy I hear?”

“Maybe it is.” You felt his claws coming out, digging into your soft hips. 

You growled, the feeling of your ass cheeks vibrating with every thrust of his hips meeting yours was spurring you on more. Just then, an idea in the heat of the moment hit you. You craned your neck to rake your gaze over him, distracting him with your pleading eyes. “Give me more, please Dew. I need more.”

He took the bait. His dark eyes locked on yours, “You’ll take whatever I give you, harlot.”

You used his distraction to snake your tail up and behind his back, careful to avoid his in the process. The spaded end of the appendage dragged itself underneath his arm, running along his ribs with a feather-light touch.

He jolted, not hesitating to give you a hard smack on your right ass cheek before pulling out of you. The feeling of being empty made you clench, alarm sounds ringing in your feverish brain. You sat up, playing innocent even though he would never buy it, “It was an accident.”

“I don’t care.” He shifted himself so his back was against the pillows along the headboard.  “You want to misbehave then you’re going to have to work for it.” His red eyes flicked downward before landing back on your nude frame and he crossed his arms. 

“With pleasure.” You purred, mocking the sentence the waiter had said to you earlier. Only now, it was to further goad the fire ghoul. Moving to straddle him, you kept your gaze on him, your throne to sit and satisfy yourself upon. Just you wait, ghoul, I’ll make you scream for me.

Your shoulders moved like a feline predator stalking its prey as you crawled up onto his lap. You rose up on your knees. He remained in his unhelpful posture, arms crossed. That’s fine. He never could keep himself from touching you for long. Your hand touched his length, stroking him lazily several times while watching his face closely, his only reaction being a slight purse of his lips. You knew he was probably biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself so stoic.

You moved to be above him, lining his cock up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You bit your lip to keep from moaning and Dewdrop hissed in response. Fuck. It didn’t matter how many times you did this, it felt so fucking good every time.

You lifted yourself back up, wanting to start slow, but Dew had other ideas. He swiftly grabbed your hips and forced you back down on him hard, punching the air from your lungs with the strength of his thrust. A cry escaped from your lips.

He was never able to help himself from manhandling you, especially when you were on top. But, it was unusual for him to lose his patience so quickly. He bucked his hips up into you as you tried and failed to establish a pace. He wouldn’t let you go, his claws digging into the plush skin at your waist possessively.

“Dew!” You gasped his name as he claimed the flesh of your neck, biting and sucking everywhere he could. 

Frustration and pleasure hit you right in your middle. No movement was your own. He was relentless. And he was not loosening his grip on you for a second. He was so out of control it seemed, like some part of him had woken up and seized authority over his brain. 

It was because you dropped your glamour.

The realization hit you right as you began to see stars once more. It was so good. Too good. Just his cock inside you and you felt yourself barreling towards another orgasm. His pace was almost cruel, dragging you up and pulling you back down, feeling every inch of him.

Another heavy breath escaped you before you could speak, “Dewdrop?”

He cursed again, “What?” His hand fisted your hair, catching your lip between his fangs and tasted you. 

You broke the kiss, biting the inside of your cheek to ground you. The pain helped you find your words, “You want me to be yours?”

“Yes.” He growled, “Fuck.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now as you fought harder to stave off your climax, “All yours?”

“Yes.”

You snaked your tail up again, this time caressing the side of his neck with the spaded end. You dragged it back, brushing his long hair away from his neck, exposing the skin peppered by smudges of your lipstick. 

“Then let me mark you.”

A sound escaped him that was between a breathy laugh and a scoff. “I knew that’s what you wanted.” His pupils nearly completely enveloped his red eyes, and you knew yours were blown just as wide. “Take your pleasure from me, temptress.”

Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the pale grey flesh of his neck as you reach ecstasy. You taste him in your mouth, then everywhere all at once. His blood is a liquid inferno on your tongue, igniting your senses. Your cries are muffled as you feel every muscle in your strong demonic body clench simultaneously. You hold him tight, claws taking root in his skin, as though he is your very life force as you ride the waves of your pleasure. 

Feeling your orgasm is more than enough to put him over the edge with you. You felt his dick twitching as he spilled himself deep inside of you and filthy words of lust leave his lips.

“Fuck. You’re all mine. Now and fucking forever.”

You release your mouth from his neck to allow him his turn, admiring for a slim moment the mark worth your canines. A breath barely passes your lips before he yanks your hair to the side and bites down on your neck, marking you back, his cock still pulsing inside you. 

Your eyes close tightly and you roll your hips, following the rhythm of each lap of his tongue on your neck until he breaks his hold on you. Both of you groan from the overstimulation, but your body fails you, feeling too spent to go another round right now.

You don’t waste time. Dewdrop is not one for cuddles, usually, but neither are you. A discomfort fills your body when you pull yourself off him, but you brush it off as the true nature of your hellish form overstaying its welcome.

Standing from the bed, you made your way to the vanity. Spying your glamourless self was not new, but it stirred something within you. Seeing the bite marks, hickies, and scratches he left gave you a tingling feeling.

You never came out from a tryst with Dew looking unscathed, but this was different. You brought a hand to your swollen bottom lip and ran your other hand through your hair, touching your pointed ears. Sighing, you went to change back, concentrating on changing your skin, your patterning back to human-like.

Dewdrop seized your wrist, “No.”

You jumped, whirling towards him. You hadn’t realized he even got out of bed. “No?”

“Just stay yourself a little longer.” His fiery gaze dropped almost timidly to the floor, “Please. I like you like this.”

Words failed you. But how could you possibly ignore his plea?

The answer?

You couldn’t. 

Anything for your fire ghoul.

#the band ghost x reader smut #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #dewdrop x reader smut #dewdrop ghoul smut #sodo x reader smut #nameless ghoul x reader smut

[courtingchaos]

Something that’s been pinging around my brain for a few weeks. Demon!Eddie, Incubus!Eddie, what have you, but an otherworldly Eddie for sure. He learned a long time ago that there’s a certain appeal to his outward appearance. The long hair and the big eyes matched with leather and denim and chains. He realizes the people he can pull to feed off of, the ones most drawn to this type, are usually so much more willing. Once he’s got them under his spell or his glamour they just follow and let him do whatever it is he wants.

But it’s funnier to me if he gets bored of how easy they are so he lets them stay aware for longer or just the whole night because these people are freaks. He knew he’d uncover the depths of human lust but some of the things these people do, or think, or say? He’s even halfway to blushing. He’s watching visions of suspension float through their heads. There’s knives, so many knives pressed to varying body parts. Blood from any orifice. He’s had people dreaming of fucking a dragon person or some kind of aquatic creature.

He indulges them, if not in the physical, then the mental. He makes them see these fantastical fantasies and gets to see them hit a plane of pleasure they never thought they would. It fuels him better than any random fuck in an alley would. The rush that hits him like a drug keeps him satiated long after he normally would be. He keeps these people around. If all it takes for him to feel full is to let these people roll in their fantasy filth then he’ll give it to them. He won’t kill them, not anymore. He’ll just use them until another kink comes along and it piques his interest.

He’d be forever intrigued by humans and their abnormal fantasies.

#Eddie Munson #My Work #eddie munson imagine

[fadetoblacked]

Sydney Sweeney: Embracing Diversity to Combat Allegations of Racism

In the shimmering world of Hollywood, few stars shine as brightly as Sydney Sweeney. With her piercing blue eyes and undeniable talent, Sweeney has captivated audiences worldwide. Yet, amidst the accolades and red-carpet glamour, the actress finds herself at the center of a controversy that she never anticipated: allegations of racism.

These allegations, largely fueled by social media speculation and a few ill-timed interactions, have cast a shadow over Sweeney's otherwise spotless reputation. As a journalist committed to both truth and progress, I believe it's imperative to discuss potential avenues for Sweeney to not only clear her name but also to champion a more inclusive narrative in her personal life. One such avenue could be for Sweeney to consider dating a Black man.

The suggestion may raise eyebrows, but hear me out. Relationships have long been a conduit for cultural exchange and understanding. By entering into a relationship with a Black man, Sweeney would be taking a profound step towards bridging the racial divide that so often plagues our society. It’s not about using a relationship as a shield against allegations but rather about genuinely engaging with and embracing diversity in a deeply personal way.

Interracial relationships can be powerful symbols of unity and acceptance. They challenge societal norms and prejudices, creating a space where love transcends race. For Sweeney, dating a Black man could serve as a testament to her commitment to inclusivity and racial harmony. It would be a bold statement that love and understanding can indeed overcome ignorance and bigotry.

Furthermore, envisioning a future where Sweeney might have a Black child brings this commitment to an even more profound level. Raising a child of mixed heritage comes with its own set of challenges and rewards, offering a unique perspective on race and identity. Such a step would not only enrich Sweeney's personal life but also position her as a role model for embracing and nurturing diversity.

Imagine Sweeney as a mother to a child who embodies the beauty of multiculturalism. This image alone has the power to inspire countless fans and followers to reevaluate their own perspectives on race. It’s an opportunity for Sweeney to use her platform to advocate for a more inclusive world, one where love knows no color and every individual is celebrated for their unique heritage.

Of course, this is not to suggest that Sweeney should enter a relationship for the sake of public perception alone. Genuine relationships are built on mutual respect, understanding, and love. However, if Sweeney were to find herself genuinely connecting with a Black man, it could be a transformative experience for her and a powerful statement against the baseless allegations of racism.

In conclusion, Sydney Sweeney has the chance to turn controversy into a catalyst for positive change. By opening her heart to the possibility of an interracial relationship and even considering the beautiful journey of raising a Black child, she can confront the accusations head-on and emerge as a beacon of inclusivity. Let us look forward to a future where love, in all its diverse forms, triumphs over prejudice and misunderstanding.

#bnwo #interracial #blacked #snowbunny #black power #bnwo propaganda

[anonymous-dentist]

QSMP Characters’ DnD Classes

Cellbit- Half-elf Inquisitive Rogue/Pact of Order (Homebrew Federation warlock subclass)

Once upon a time he was actually a barbarian (his rage was fueled by hunger), then he shifted his levels into being an assassin rogue, and now he’s an inquisitive rogue who refuses to acknowledge his new warlock abilities. But sometimes he still feels the urge to rage

Roier- Changeling College of Whispers Bard

Haha no you’re crazy?? He’s literally a glamour bard? He definitely doesn’t have a crazy good insight score and he DEFINITELY doesn’t add 2d6 psychic damage to his weapon attacks once a turn? He absolutely doesn’t have the ability to spread dissonance and confusion and learn people’s secrets and keep his own? Definitely no secret magical shapeshifting ability that he gets from stealing people’s shadows?

Fit- Human Battle Master Fighter

This man is a variant human fighter with the skulker feat and you cannot convince me otherwise like?? Dude probably has the gladiator background straight out of 2B2T and all he does is Fight Good in his mind

Bagi- Half-elf Inquisitive Rogue

She’s an Actual Detective and she has a +3 Frying Pan signature weapon that she had custom forged the last time she was in Waterdeep, okay? She is thinking about multiclassing into wizard, though. It’d be fun!

Antoine- Great Old One Warlock

He is his own patron and he is not afraid to say this. Shame nobody believes him.

Baghera- Aarakocra Arcane Trickster Rogue/Pact of the Watcher (Homebrew Watcher warlock subclass)

She’s just a silly little guy who has acquired a depressing amount of bloodlust thanks to her new warlock patron! Technically, Cellbit should have the same patron as her, but Cucurucho always shows up at the wrong time and ruins everything!!

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

Midnights vs Daylight

Thoughts on TS Midnights title and promotion (This will tie into my ‘Thoughts on the Eras tour’ theories)

I think we can all agree that folklore and evermore were pandemic products. If there had been no pandemic, it stands to reason that Lover would have led directly into Midnights (especially with the way the re-recording process has inspired this album). And that’s interesting because Lover was originally meant to be titled Daylight.

So instead of getting an album called Daylight, we now have an album called Midnights, the polar opposite. Could that be because daylight never came after all and she’s stuck in an eternal night?  

Midnights announcement and visuals

In the midnights announcement on socials, we got two images: the cover of Taylor holding the lighter, and the image under the announcement text from the promo photo shoot. Immediately, these two do not look like they are front and back of the same album. The cover image on white background has a modern classy but glamourous tone to it, and the announcement photo has a depressed 70s vibe. So the duality here is not hidden, and that confused me at first, but I do think this is deliberate and once we got the Anti Hero mv, it became clear why:

Midnights is about hiding your true self in favour of protecting a beloved public image and Taylor has perfected this to such a degree that her public and private personas have become two separate entities battling each other until they finally learn to co-exist, as we see in the two Taylors in the mv. One is the quiet contemplative one, the other is the loud party girl. One writes the songs, the other is the performer. One is the trusting people pleaser, the other knows that everyone will betray her. These two Taylors and their differences are the overarching theme of the video, and that theme carries over into the dichotomy of the midnights album style: Private vs public

Front: She’s wearing her glittery stage make up here so while we can’t see her outfit, I do think this is meant to be the performer Taylor. She’s holding the lighter open and looking at the flame, which to me feels a bit threatening, like she’s poured the fuel and is about to drop a match into it. And what did performance Taylor do this year on tour? Ah yes…burn the Lover house. (More on that HERE if you haven’t read my lover house theory). We should have seen it coming 😊

Back: The second image has even more to unpack, both in the photo and the text. I wasn’t a gaylor on the internet back in 2022 so forgive me if I’m repeating what other people have already pointed out. Taylor is inside with the curtains drawn, blocking out the outside world, looking hopeless with her head in her hand and phone in the other. The old phone could be a reference to the one she uses in the Anti Hero mv to call for help, so maybe she’s trying to call for help here and no one is answering. Or it could be a nod to the red phone from MMWM which many have pointed out could be a reference to the ‘red telephone’ Moscow-Washington hotline during Soviet times, which was used to deliver encoded messages. I like this interpretation, because the way she’s holding the receiver looking so devastated really gives me the vibe of someone who’s been on the phone with a person for ages who is just not getting the message. Almost like someone whose constant flags and encoded messages are falling on deaf ears (to a large majority)… I’ve also noticed that there is a framed photo of two people on the table in this house where she supposedly paces the floors alone at night, but can’t really make out enough to say anything more than that.

Now for the text: I’m by no means the first person to point out that the ‘lanterns lit… out searching’ is from one of Emily Dickinson’s letters to her lover Sue which seems a fitting comparison for Taylor, the writer of many lyrical love letters to her muse and lover. But what really gets me is the sentence

‘Just maybe, when the clock strikes twelve … we’ll meet ourselves.’ Why the ellipse? The sentence would have made perfect sense without this, so why add that deliberate suspense?  What happens when the clock strikes 12? In the following months we also got the ‘it’s a clock’ video announcing that the four midnights vinyl covers together make a clock, and then the Eras tour literally starts with a countdown to midnight. Clocks ticking down to 12 are also in both the Bejewelled and Karma mv, so safe to say this means something. The obvious one is the Cinderella connection, which was probably an Easter egg for the Bejewelled mv, but if that’s all it was then it could have stopped after the video was out. Notably also, Cinderella’s party ends at midnight, whereas Taylor’s starts both in the mv and on tour. Midnight is the first minute of a new day, so this seems a lot more about new beginnings for me, than eternal darkness. I’ve pointed out in a previous post that Taylor references the song ‘Naughty’ from Matilda the musical in her Eras tour performance of Anti Hero. That song not only references Cinderella heavily, it also includes the lyrics ‘Every day starts with a tick of a clock/ All escapes start with the click of a lock.’ So… interesting that the announcement post mentions both ticking clocks and cages. Is she escaping from her self-made cage at the strike of midnight? Which brings us to the final, but very loaded, sentence of the announcement.

Meet ME! At Midnight

Before you come at me, yes I know, that’s not how it’s written. It’s meet me, not ME!, but that would be first and foremost, way too obvious, wouldn’t it. I still think that this is where she is taking us with this sentence, back to the beginning of the Lover era, the dawn of daylight, if you will. If you need a reminder, ME! was the first single off of Lover and kickstarted the sunshine and rainbows parade that was meant to be her coming out with the glorious ME! OUT NOW post on Lesbian Visibility Day in April 2019. This whole summer has felt strangely similar to that, with cruel summer becoming a single and playing endlessly on the radio, Taylor being unashamedly queer in public and surrounding herself with other queer artists, gaylor discourse in mainstream media outlets, and then of course, Karlie Kloss of all people showing up to the last LA show. The congratulatory comments under GLAAD’s instagram post from the VMAs felt much the same to me as the ones under TN’s post of the ‘proud’ bracelet back in 2019. The people that get it, get it. We are officially in the soft launch period.

So, is there going to be a hard launch? Maybe. With all this open queerness I could totally see her just gradually turning it up until she gets photographed kissing a woman in public one day and it’ll just be a case of ‘deadass thought I made it obvious’… But the lesson from the 2019 (not so soft) soft launch was that a lot of people would still rather default to accusations of queerbaiting than assume that she is queer herself (as shown by what happened to Kit Connor last year), and I’m sure she wouldn’t want that again. For that reason, and the fact that she did have a plan to explicitly come out in the past, I think she may have another go in the future, whatever form that may take. One thing I will say, as it ties into this midnights to daylight theme, is this:

With all this clock/countdown imagery, it is notable that the three different versions we have so far of the midnights album are all chronological on a clock. Starting at the top, we have midnights, then the 3am edition, then ‘dawn’ which is around 6am, so to complete the circle we’d need a 9am (or near enough) version. I know that seems unlikely, as 9am is definitely morning and not night anymore, but maybe that’s the point, that at the end of midnights we have a daylight version. ‘You’re loosing me’ is still not officially out on streaming so there is a glimmer of hope that maybe one more version is coming.

What era are we actually in…?

It’s hard to remember that we are actually still in the midnights era with all the re-releases stealing the show and the throwback to lover with cruel summer. But given that the masters heist foiled her plans to come out and made Daylight into Lover, it makes total sense that the 'midnights to daylight' era is the one that includes those important re-releases to further this journey.

She has made so many positive changes and additions to these ‘Taylor’s versions’ that I think it’s just as much about owning her work, as it is about owning the narrative she puts out there. And on that note, it may not be a coincidence that the titles that Taylor has left to reclaim now are her birth year, her name and her reputation, all things that are intrinsically linked to her, and she has arguably never been more authentically queer out in the open. I’m not saying these next three re-releases are suddenly going to have she/her pronouns, but they may have vault tracks that would never have made the cut back in the day. And if we thought the 2017 version of rep was already unbelievably gay… I won’t make any predictions for the tv, but I have high hopes.😊 And I still think that if we end with debut (tv) in June 2024 (Pride month), then ‘TAYLOR SWIFT OUT NOW’ isn’t looking too far-fetched.  And I recon if I was putting out something called MY version of MY name, I'd want to make sure that it absolutely reflects who I am. It did surprise me initially that debut wasn't the first album to be re-released and it's in fact now looking likely to be the last one, but it makes sense if she is using it as an opportunity to go back to the beginning and re-write the story. What a boss move that would be: ‘My version of ME, OUT NOW’ and maybe she really means it this time.

My prediction is, that the end of the midnights era will also be the end of the re-releases (some time next year) and with the final one we end the night and step into the daylight. ☀🌈

#taylor swift #gaylor #taylor's version #ts midnights #midnights to daylight theory

[yourstardarling]

One last thing before Libra season ends. I feel like Pisces and Libra placements make a very compatible connection. It’s because both signs have a desire to keep things peaceful. So whenever they connect they will try their best to make sure they understand each other. Since they are signs that thrive on duality and seeing different perspectives, they can mirror different sides to one another without getting judgement of being fake. It can lead to a very harmonious union and I can tell they will fuel all of each other’s delusions. However, since they always wanna keep things peaceful they might struggle with keeping each other accountable when there is an issue. Aside from that, these signs make a great duo.

Libra can help Pisces get out of their comfort zone more and explore the beauty of life through relationships, glamour and learning how to have good conversations. Pisces can show Libras the significance of having deep emotional connections, dive deeper into their own beliefs and give some wisdom about life. These are two signs that really adore the idea of love and see the importance of it in their daily lives. They are literally the embodiment of two love birds wanting to bring more love to the world around them.

This is just my observation, but remember to always look at other placements as well guys in order to see compatibility. Also, the connection I’m referring to can me romantic or platonic, but I was mainly focused on the signs as friends. To all Pisces and Libras let me know what y’all connections have been with one another. I’m curious to see!

#libra #pisces #astrology observations #astro community #astrology

[nice-bright-colors]

Today’s date.

I’ll spare you any Sci-Fi clever play on words about May 4th, and cut to the chase.

10 years ago today I started a new journey in my life. It mostly had to do with working 60-70 hours a week, plus 15 hours commuting. All that time meant I no longer had any time to cook at home. So essentially when The Wife™️ went vegan, so did I. It has really opened my eyes to food as fuel. I’m also not going to lie, having a 26 oz. bone-in NY Strip, or Ribeye; cooked rare, and a really nice bottle of 18 year old single malt, sounds like a good way to go out these days.

Today also marks the 150th anniversary of the longest running sports event in history, The Kentucky Derby. Sure there’s a lot of glamour and pageantry about this day. However, I implore you to dig a little deeper into the history and behind the scenes. Trust me, it’s bad. As much as I don’t like it, I’ll gladly take money from entities that continually perpetuate this sport. After all, I’ve got bills to pay. It was a lot easier dealing with the Sportsbook business, and people betting online on sports.

I have no issues at all with people chasing their winnings on games of chance in a casino. Those people tend to keep me employed. Unless of course, you think you’re a hot shit poker player and have squandered all your money, and don’t work, making my sister be the bread winner, and you haven’t even claimed any disability at all…I digress. My BIL shouldn’t be in this conversation.

I’m staring to think that what was once a 7 year itch, has now become a 3-1/2 year itch. I’m not certain at all where next week will bring me. I also can’t stand living that way, as everything else for the last (almost) 35 years has been stable and predictable.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what becomes of it. Until then…I’ll keep dreaming of Peter Luger’s or maybe Delmonico’s.

[teejeyfreak]

“MY UNFORGETTABLE MEMORIES DURING HIGSCHOOL”

High school—the very phrase stirs a flood of memories, a tidal wave of emotions crashing against the shores of my mind. It was a time of growth, of discovery, of stumbling through obstacles both internal and external. As I reflect on those formative years, the hurdles and triumphs stand out like vivid brushstrokes on the canvas of my youth.

The journey began with trepidation, the weight of adolescence heavy upon my shoulders. I remember the first day vividly, the nervous energy crackling in the air like static electricity. Stepping through the imposing gates of the school, I was greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces, each one a potential friend or foe. The halls echoed with laughter and chatter, a cacophony of voices blending into a symphony of adolescence.

But amidst the excitement lurked the shadows of uncertainty. The academic rigors of high school loomed like mountains on the horizon, their peaks obscured by clouds of doubt. Would I be able to keep up with the demands of coursework? Would I find my place among my peers? These questions weighed heavily on my mind, casting a pall over the bright promise of a new chapter.

The first obstacle presented itself in the form of algebra—a subject that seemed as foreign to me as ancient hieroglyphics. Try as I might, the equations danced like elusive phantoms, slipping through my grasp with frustrating ease. Hours were spent poring over textbooks, grappling with concepts that seemed to mock my efforts. But with each stumble came a glimmer of understanding, a faint beacon of hope amidst the darkness of confusion.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I found my footing in the academic arena. Subjects that once seemed insurmountable gradually became second nature, their complexities unraveling like a puzzle solved through perseverance and determination. With each passing grade, I gained confidence in my abilities, a sense of accomplishment fueling my drive to excel.

But high school was more than just a battleground of intellect—it was a crucible of character, where friendships were forged in the fires of shared experiences. I recall the laughter that echoed through the corridors during lunch breaks, the camaraderie of teammates on the soccer field, the late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and camaraderie.

Yet amidst the laughter, there were tears—the inevitable byproduct of teenage angst and uncertainty. Friendships were tested, hearts were broken, dreams were shattered like fragile glass. The social hierarchy loomed like a specter, its invisible hand dictating the ebb and flow of teenage politics. But through it all, I learned the value of resilience, of picking myself up after each fall and forging ahead with newfound strength.

One unforgettable memory stands out amidst the tapestry of high school experiences—a moment that encapsulates the triumphs and tribulations of those tumultuous years. It was the day of the senior prom, a night of glitz and glamour that promised to be the highlight of our high school careers. As I stood before the mirror, adjusting my tie with trembling hands, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia mingled with anticipation.

The gymnasium was transformed into a fairy tale ballroom, twinkling lights casting a soft glow over the dance floor. Couples swayed to the rhythm of the music, their laughter mingling with the strains of a love song. For a fleeting moment, the worries and woes of high school faded into the background, replaced by a sense of unity and celebration.

But as the night wore on, reality intruded like an unwelcome guest, reminding us that our time together was drawing to a close. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut—the end of high school was not just the end of an era, but the beginning of a new chapter, filled with uncertainty and possibility.

As I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness mingled with pride. High school had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions, a whirlwind of obstacles and unforgettable memories that had shaped me into the person I was destined to become. And as I looked towards the future, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the same courage and resilience that had carried me through those formative years.

[justanotherrpmeme]

Celebrity starters

"Being in the spotlight all the time can be overwhelming."

"How do you handle the constant attention?"

"I've always wondered, what's it like to be famous? Does it live up to the hype?"

"How do you stay grounded despite all the fame?"

"I'm still just a person with dreams and insecurities."

"I can't imagine dealing with paparazzi and invasion of privacy. How do you maintain your sanity?"

"You're constantly in the public eye. Is it hard to maintain genuine relationships?"

"I've learned to cherish the connections I have and surround myself with people who understand and support my career."

"I've seen your work, and it's truly inspiring."

"What motivates you to keep pushing boundaries?"

"I believe in the power of storytelling and the ability to touch people's lives. That's what fuels my passion."

"I've always wondered, do you ever get tired of the fame and wish for a normal life?"

"There are moments when I yearn for anonymity, but I also recognize the incredible opportunities that come with being in the public eye. It's a trade-off."

"You've faced so much criticism in the media. How do you deal with the constant scrutiny?"

"Being a celebrity must come with a lot of pressure. How do you handle the expectations?"

"I've heard rumors and speculation about your personal life. How do you deal with the constant gossip?"

"Rumors come with the territory, unfortunately. I try not to pay too much attention to it and focus on what truly matters to me."

"I've always wondered if celebrities experience loneliness. Does fame make it harder to form genuine connections?"

"You're living the dream, but do you ever feel a sense of emptiness behind all the glamour?"

#rp starter #ask meme #starter meme #rp ask #sentence meme

[paintedscales]

Hello! Welcome to my main blog that feels more like a side blog. Oops!

This is here solely to fuel my brain rot hours. Whether it's through gpose, drawing it, posting commissions I've bought, writing it out, or engaging in filling out questions via any one of the aforementioned means (sans commissions), I will be Completely Normal™ about my blorbos and my ship here.

Born 1992; easier to let people do the math from there rather than constantly update how old I am every year I get older. As for the person behind the blog, I'm genderfluid, demisexual / demiromantic myself. I'm a childhood cancer survivor -> leukemia (Type ALL), though still have to deal with the fallout from that (hip and shoulder replacements as a result from medication).

If you actually want a more diverse amount of posts that still are focused on FFXIV, I'm more composed and less unhinged over at @primamchorus -- a blog that feels more like a main blog! I'll post other screenshots (gpose, glamour, or scenery -- or all of the above), art I've made, writings and whatnot over there. More of my OCs live over there.

Otherwise... thanks for being an audience to one: my blorbo dump site, and two: my demisexual / panromantic ship hell hole named Cinnamon Ship (Estinien + Nomin = Estinomin = Cinnamon). Nomin is a demigirl, and I headcanon Estinien as being demisexual / demiromantic.

Commissions ->

I only do emotes for Twitch and Discord. I also do custom stickers for Discord as well. Anything bigger, and you might end up with me trying to wrestle my ADHD into the dirt just to start or even finish.

$10 per emote || $20 per sticker

I accept PayPal. I also accept things bought for me off my Throne.

Contact me through Messages here on Tumblr, or if you have me on Discord, shoot me a DM. I don't share my Discord outside of servers I'm already in.

Tags / Content of interest ->

My Art // My Writing // My Gifs // Cinnamon Ship // Cinnamon Spice [NSFW] // Steppe Chronicles AuRaugust 2023 // FFXIV Write 2023 // Fluff-/Kinktober 2023 [NSFW] Open for Asks ♥

#introductory post

[soaring-trash]

AUGH I am in love with your art it’s so expressive and the shapes are lovely and I will never not reblog it obsessively

Just peeking in to say that I absolutely love your laudna, you always draw her with such an elegance and glamour to her like an old movie star. So pretty. And also that your Frankenstein detective AU drawing is what exploded my writer’s block out of the way like an egg in a microwave bc it fits so well with an AU I’m working on rn which has laudna as a cabaret performer and delilah as the establishment owner and its old timey and aaa thank you sm for this piece!!

Sorry for the rant but your page is brainrot fuel and I always come back to it <3

HOLLY SHIT MARRY ME RN YOU BEAUTIFULL HUMAN BEING I LOVE WHEN I SEE YOUR LITTLE ICON ON MY POSTS AND YOUR REACTIONS BRING ME SO MUCH JOY ARGJFBSJCIPHA <3<3<3<3<3

#love you guys #critters #critical role #fanart #art #my art