#here she is. this is home. this makes sense.

[imthebadguyyy]

whose afraid of little old me?

pairing : f1 drivers x reader

fandom : f1

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : your journey as a female driver alongside the rest of the grid.

warnings : angst

a/n : first time writing a platonic drivers x reader! let me know what you think! :)

you don't get to tell me about sad..

The press room was buzzing with anticipation as the Formula 1 drivers filed in for the pre-race conference. As the only female driver on the grid, you were well aware of the extra attention you garnered, but you had grown used to it. Today, you were seated between Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc, both of whom you had become close friends with during your time at Mercedes.

The questions started out as they always did: race strategies, car updates, and general banter about the upcoming Grand Prix. You handled them with the confidence and poise that had become your trademark. Then, a reporter from the back of the room stood up, his tone less than friendly

"Y/N," he began, "there's been a lot of talk about the difficulties you've faced as the only female driver on the grid. Some say you're out of your depth and that your results reflect that. How do you respond to the criticism that you don't belong here and that it's just too hard for you?"

You felt a surge of frustration. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced such pointed and unfair questions, but today, it stung more than usual. Before you could respond, you felt Lewis shift beside you, a silent show of support. Taking a deep breath, you looked the reporter in the eye.

"You don’t get to tell me about sad," you said, your voice steady and firm. "You don’t get to tell me about the difficulties I’ve faced or what I can handle. I’ve earned my place here just like every other driver on this grid, through talent, hard work, and perseverance. Criticism and doubt are part of the journey, but I’m here to stay."

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. For a moment, the reporter looked taken aback, but before he could say anything, Charles spoke up.

"Y/N has proven time and again that she belongs here," Charles said, his tone protective. "She’s one of the most dedicated and talented drivers I know, and it’s about time she gets the respect she deserves."

Lewis nodded, leaning forward to address the room. "We’re a team, and we support each other. Y/N has brought incredible strength and determination to Mercedes, and I have no doubt she’ll continue to achieve great things. If anyone here thinks otherwise, they clearly haven’t been paying attention."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart, and you saw nods of agreement from others around the room. Even drivers from rival teams like Max Verstappen and Lando Norris were giving you supportive looks.

The reporter, clearly outnumbered and outmatched, mumbled a quick thank you and sat down. The rest of the press conference went smoothly, with more respectful and genuine questions.

As you left the stage, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You handled that perfectly, Y/N. Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself."

Charles grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "We’ve got your back, always."

Walking out of the press room with your head held high, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of your teammates and fellow drivers, you were ready to face any challenge that came your way.

nothing makes me feel more alive...

The roar of the crowd at Silverstone was deafening as you took the final corner, the checkered flag waving wildly in the air. This was it. You were about to win your first Grand Prix, and not just any race—it was Silverstone, the home of British motorsport.

"Y/N, you’ve done it! You’ve won the British Grand Prix!" your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of celebration.

Tears of joy streamed down your face as you crossed the finish line. "Oh my God! We did it! We did it! Thank you, thank you so much!" you screamed, unable to contain your excitement.

As you brought the car to a stop in Parc Fermé, the realization of your achievement hit you full force. You had won. You had really done it. Climbing out of the car, you were immediately surrounded by your jubilant team, all eager to celebrate this historic moment with you. You jumped into their arms, laughter and cheers filling the air.

Lewis, who had finished third, approached with a wide grin. "Incredible job, Y/N! Welcome to the winners' circle," he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

Max, who had taken second place, clapped you on the back. "Amazing race! You deserve this," he said with genuine admiration.

The podium ceremony felt surreal. As you stood on the top step, the anthem playing, you looked out over the sea of fans cheering your name. You felt a wave of pride and accomplishment wash over you. When the national anthem ended, you picked up the bottle of champagne, the weight of it solid and reassuring in your hands.

Lewis and Max joined you, and the three of you shared a look before simultaneously popping the corks and spraying each other with champagne. The cold, fizzy liquid drenched you, but you couldn’t stop laughing, your joy infectious.

Grabbing the microphone for the post-race interview, you took a moment to compose yourself before speaking. "This is the best moment of my life. Nothing makes me feel more alive than being out there on the track, pushing myself to the limit, and achieving something I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl. Thank you to my team, to the fans, and to everyone who believed in me. This is just the beginning."

The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers echoing in your ears as you continued to celebrate with your team and fellow drivers. This victory was not just a personal triumph, but a statement to everyone watching: you belonged here, and you were just getting started.

As you left the podium, still grinning from ear to ear, you were greeted by more hugs and congratulations from your team. Toto Wolff, your team principal, pulled you into a warm embrace. "I knew you had it in you," he said, his voice full of pride. "This is only the beginning."

Walking away from the podium, champagne-soaked and elated, you felt an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. You had proven to yourself and the world that you could do it. And as you looked out at the sea of faces cheering for you, you knew that nothing could ever take this moment away from you.

so i leap from the gallows and i levitate down your street..

The aftermath of the Spanish Grand Prix was a cacophony of disbelief, exhilaration, and redemption. For weeks, you had been the subject of harsh criticism from pundits and commentators, their scathing remarks suggesting you were a failure, a shame to the sport. They doubted your abilities, questioning your place on the grid. The words stung, but they also fueled a fire within you that blazed brighter than ever.

"So, I leap from the gallows," you whispered to yourself as you took the final corner, the finish line in sight. The car beneath you was an extension of your will, each turn, each acceleration a defiant answer to the doubters. You crossed the line first, your heart pounding as you realized what you had just achieved.

"Y/N, you did it! You won the Spanish Grand Prix!" your race engineer's voice crackled over the radio, bursting with pride and excitement.

"I did it," you repeated, the weight of your victory sinking in. "We did it!"

The cool-down lap was a blur of tears and joy. You had proven them wrong. The people who had criticized you, who had doubted your skill and determination, were silenced by the roar of your engine and the unwavering support of your team.

As you pulled into Parc Fermé, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Stepping out of the car, you were immediately enveloped in the arms of your team, their cheers and tears mingling with your own. You felt a sense of triumph that was almost surreal, a weight lifting off your shoulders.

Carlos Sainz, who had finished second, approached with a proud smile. "Incredible drive, Y/N. You showed them all," he said, pulling you into a congratulatory hug.

Oscar Piastri, who had finished third, hugged you tight"That was one hell of a race. Well done," he said, his voice affectionate.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of emotions. Standing on the top step, the anthem playing in the background, you felt a sense of vindication. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your hard work and resilience.

When the time came to spray the champagne, you did so with a vengeance, soaking Carlos and Oscar as they laughed and joined in the celebration. The cold spray was a refreshing reminder of the moment you had seized, the victory you had earned.

During the post-race interview, you held the microphone firmly, looking out at the sea of fans and reporters. "For those who doubted me," you began, your voice steady and strong, "this is my answer. So I leap from the gallows, and I levitate down your street. I've faced the criticisms, the doubts, and I’ve come out on top. This win is for my team, for my supporters, and for everyone who believes that dreams are worth fighting for."

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers a resounding affirmation of your triumph. As you left the stage, still soaked in champagne and adrenaline, you felt lighter than air. You had not only proven your critics wrong, but you had also proven something to yourself: that you were capable of greatness.

Back in the garage, Toto greeted you with a proud smile. "You were phenomenal out there. This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

Walking through the paddock, the looks of respect and admiration from fellow drivers and team members were a stark contrast to the doubts and criticisms you had faced. You had leapt from the metaphorical gallows and soared, showing everyone that you were here to stay.

As you drove out of the circuit later that evening, the streets of Barcelona seemed to glow with a new light. The city's energy matched your own, vibrant and unstoppable. You had faced the gallows and emerged victorious, levitating down the streets of triumph and possibility. And you knew, deep in your heart, that this was just the beginning of an incredible journey

whose afraid of little old me? you should be...

The glitz and glamour of the post-race party in Monaco was in full swing, with drivers, team principals, and VIP guests mingling in celebration of another thrilling Grand Prix. You were enjoying the night, surrounded by the camaraderie of your fellow drivers and the electric atmosphere of the event.

As you made your way through the crowd, chatting with Carlos and Lando, a random guy who clearly wasn’t part of the usual racing crowd approached. He had a smug look on his face, his steps unsteady from one too many drinks.

"Hey, isn’t this the famous female driver?" he said loudly, drawing the attention of those around him. "Nice of you to join us, sweetheart. Shouldn’t you be somewhere polishing your car or something? Or maybe you’re just here because you look good in a dress."

His words were met with a few awkward chuckles from those who didn’t know how to react. You felt a surge of anger but kept your composure. Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your eyes locking onto his.

"You know," you began, your voice calm but laced with steel, "it’s funny you mention polishing cars. Considering you probably have never even seen the inside of one that’s been on a racetrack, I’d say your expertise on the subject is pretty limited. As for my looks, let’s just say I'd rather be known for my talent than for crashing parties and making snarky remarks to people I don’t know."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. The guy’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of surprise and irritation. Before he could respond, you continued.

"I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Every race, every victory, is a testament to my skill and dedication. You can try to demean me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that I’ve earned my place here. And by the way, the only reason you’re even noticed right now is because you’re making a scene. Maybe next time, you should think before you speak."

A ripple of laughter and applause broke out among the onlookers. The guy’s face reddened with embarrassment and anger, but he had no retort. He muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Lando, who had been watching the exchange with an amused grin, stepped forward. "You should be afraid of her," he said to the group, his tone light but sincere. "She’s not just fast on the track, she’s got the sharpest tongue in the paddock."

You smiled at Lando, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Lando. Sometimes people need a reminder."

Carlos nodded, clapping you on the back. "You handled that perfectly. That guy didn’t know what hit him."

With a sweet, innocent expression, you tilted your head slightly and asked, "Who's afraid of little old me?"

Carlos turned to the retreating guy, his tone serious and unwavering. "You should be."

The random guy's pace quickened as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you, Carlos, and Lando laughing and feeling victorious. The atmosphere lightened, and you found yourself surrounded by friends and allies who respected and supported you. The sting of the random guy’s words faded quickly, replaced by the warmth of genuine camaraderie. You knew that the road ahead would have its challenges, but moments like this reminded you that you were more than capable of facing them head-on.

Later, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the glittering Monaco skyline, Lando joined you, offering a glass of champagne. "To standing up for yourself," he toasted.

You clinked glasses, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "To proving them wrong," you replied, taking a sip and savoring the sweet taste of victory and vindication.

is it a wonder i broke, let's hear one more joke...

The opulent ballroom of the Monaco casino was alight with the energy of a sponsorship party, a glittering event where drivers mingled with sponsors, team principals, and celebrities. You were making your way through the crowd, putting on a brave face despite the whispers and stares. It was supposed to be a night of celebration, but for you, it was quickly turning into a test of endurance.

One of the sponsors, a man named Richard, seemed to have taken a special interest in making snide remarks at your expense. His laughter echoed through the room as he made yet another joke about you. "Oh, look, it’s the token female driver! How many races did you have to finish to get this seat? Or is it more about how you look in the team’s gear?" he jeered, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

The people around him chuckled awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. You forced a smile, trying to brush it off, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling. You excused yourself, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom, and quickly made your way to the nearest bathroom.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you and let the tears fall. The pressure, the constant scrutiny, the never-ending need to prove yourself—it all came crashing down. You sank to the floor, sobbing quietly, feeling utterly alone in that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis Hamilton had been watching from a distance. He had seen the way Richard had been treating you all night and noticed the moment you fled. Concerned, he made his way to the bathroom, hesitating only for a moment before gently knocking on the door.

"Y/N? It’s Lewis. Are you okay?" he called softly.

Hearing his voice, you tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your tears. "I’m fine, Lewis. Just… give me a moment."

But Lewis wasn’t about to leave you alone. He opened the door slowly, stepping inside and closing it behind him. When he saw you sitting on the floor, tears streaming down your face, his heart broke. He crouched down beside you, his expression one of deep empathy.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice soft and soothing. "I’m here. Talk to me."

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. "It’s just… it’s too much sometimes, you know? The jokes, the comments… I’m trying so hard, but it feels like it’s never enough."

Lewis reached out, taking your hand in his. "You are more than enough, Y/N. You are an incredible driver and an even more incredible person. Don’t let anyone, especially not some ignorant sponsor, make you feel otherwise."

His words brought fresh tears to your eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Lewis," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He sat down beside you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I know it’s hard. I’ve been there, too. But you have to remember why you’re here. You’ve earned your place on the grid. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. And you’ve got so many people who believe in you, including me."

You buried your face in his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. "I just don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Lewis pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You are stronger than you think. And you don’t have to face this alone. We’re a team, remember? We’ve got your back."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the pain and fear. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded. "Thanks, Lewis. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. "You’ll never have to find out. Now, how about we go back out there and show them what you’re made of?"

With his support, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. As you both left the bathroom, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you weren’t facing them alone. You had friends, allies, and a team who believed in you, and that made all the difference.

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean..

The press conference room was packed, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation. You sat between two fellow drivers, trying to maintain your composure as the questions came one after another. Lately, the questions directed at you had become more personal and offensive, straying far from your performance on the track.

As the reporters took turns, a journalist from the back raised his hand and was given the microphone. He stood up, a smug look on his face. "Y/N, there's been a lot of curiosity among fans about what kind of underwear you wear under your race suit. Care to enlighten us?"

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt a mix of anger and disbelief. This was the final straw.

You leaned forward, your eyes blazing. "Are you serious? I'm here to talk about my performance on the track, not my underwear. The fact that you think it's appropriate to ask me such a disrespectful and invasive question speaks volumes about your professionalism—or lack thereof."

The reporter's face turned red as he tried to stammer a response, but you cut him off, your voice steady and strong. "I have worked incredibly hard to earn my place here, just like every other driver on this grid. I will not tolerate being reduced to such trivial and sexist remarks. If you can't treat me with the same respect you show my male colleagues, then you have no place in this room."

You stood up abruptly, the microphone falling silent as you walked out of the press conference, your head held high. The room was stunned into silence, the other reporters unsure how to react.

Lewis, who was sitting beside you, took the microphone next. "That was completely unacceptable," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Y/N is a talented driver who deserves respect. It's disgraceful that she has to deal with questions like that."

Carlos, seated on your other side, nodded in agreement. "We are here to discuss our careers and our performance, not to entertain inappropriate and sexist questions. Y/N handled that with grace, and she has our full support."

The room remained silent, the gravity of the situation sinking The other drivers on the stage exchanged looks of solidarity, making it clear that they stood with you.

Backstage, you leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. The door opened, and Lewis and Carlos walked in, their expressions filled with concern and support.

"Hey," Lewis said softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You did the right thing. That was completely out of line."

Carlos nodded, giving you a small, encouraging smile. "You handled it perfectly. We're all behind you."

You smiled weakly, grateful for their support. "Thanks, guys. I just couldn't take it anymore."

Lewis shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "No one should have to deal with that. We're going to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Feeling a surge of gratitude and strength from their words, you nodded. "Together, we can make a difference."

As you returned to the paddock, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. You knew that you had allies who respected and supported you, and you were determined to continue proving yourself on and off the track. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you were ready to face them head-on, with your head held high and your team by your side.

then say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did?...

The news hit you like a freight train. Mercedes had decided to drop you from the team for the next season. The decision came shortly after Lewis announced his departure to Ferrari, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. You had poured your heart and soul into your racing career, and now it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you.

The paddock was a whirlwind of activity as the season drew to a close, but you felt like a ghost moving through it. Every smile, every cheer, felt like a reminder of what you were losing. You tried to put on a brave face, but inside, you were struggling.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the paddock. Your thoughts were a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. You ended up in a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes and constant noise, trying to hold yourself together.

Charles noticed you standing there, your shoulders slumped and your expression distant. He approached you cautiously, his concern evident. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. "They dropped me, Charles. Mercedes just dropped me. And with Lewis leaving too... I feel so alone."

Charles stepped closer, his expression sympathetic. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I know this must be incredibly hard for you."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure. "Why did they do this, Charles? After everything, why now?"

Charles gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "They didn't do it to hurt you. Sometimes teams make decisions that are hard to understand, but it's not always about us personally."

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain sharper. "But what if they did?" you whispered, your voice breaking. "What if they did it to hurt me?"

The dam broke, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over. Charles pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried. His embrace was warm and comforting, offering a safe space to release the torrent of emotions you had been keeping inside.

"It's okay, let it out," Charles murmured softly, his voice soothing. "You're not alone, Y/N. We're all here for you."

You clung to him, the weight of your grief and fear pouring out. "I gave everything to this team," you sobbed. "I don't know what to do now."

Charles held you tighter, his heart aching for you. "I know it's hard, but this isn't the end. You're an incredible driver, and there are other teams out there that would be lucky to have you. Don't let this define you."

His words, filled with sincerity and belief, began to cut through the fog of despair. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "Thank you, Charles. I just... I just needed to hear that."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. "You're stronger than you know, Y/N. And whatever happens next, you're going to come out of this even stronger."

As the night grew darker, you found a glimmer of hope in Charles's words and his unwavering support. You knew the road ahead would be challenging, but you also knew you weren't alone. With friends like Charles by your side, and the rest of the grid, you could face whatever came next. And as you stood there, taking comfort in his presence, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could rise from this setback and prove everyone wrong.

I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me...

The atmosphere in the Mercedes factory was tense as Toto Wolff stepped up to the podium, his expression somber. You stood among your colleagues, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the announcement. Deep down, you knew what was coming, but hearing it confirmed in front of the entire team was another blow altogether.

"Toto, are we ready to go live?" a technician whispered, adjusting the cameras to capture the moment.

Toto nodded, his gaze scanning the room. "Yes, let's begin."

The room fell silent as the live broadcast began. Toto cleared his throat, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "Good afternoon, everyone. I come to you today with news that is difficult for all of us to hear."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you braced yourself for what was to come. Toto continued, his words echoing through the factory.

"After much consideration and evaluation, we have made the decision to part ways with one of our drivers," he announced, his tone measured. "It is never an easy decision to make, and it is one that we do not take lightly."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Toto paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You glanced around, noting the somber expressions on the faces of your colleagues. They were your teammates, your friends, and the thought of leaving them behind felt like a knife to the heart.

"And so, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that Y/N will be leaving the team at the end of the season," Toto said, his voice faltering slightly. "We want to thank her for her dedication, her hard work, and her contributions to the team. She will always be a part of the Mercedes family, and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors."

The room erupted into a mix of stunned silence and whispered conversations. You stood there, trying to process the news, trying to swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment and betrayal. It was all you could do to keep from exploding in anger, from snarling and lashing out at the injustice of it all.

As Toto stepped down from the podium, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you met the sympathetic gaze of your teammate, Lewis. His eyes were filled with understanding and compassion, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you were feeling.

But as much as you wanted to scream, to demand answers, you knew that now was not the time. You had to swallow down your anger, to keep your composure in front of your colleagues. You had to be the bigger person, to leave with dignity and grace.

So you stood there, your jaw clenched, your fists tight at your sides, as the reality of the situation sank in. You would leave Mercedes behind, but you would carry the memories, the victories, and the lessons with you. And as you walked out of the factory for the last time, you vowed to channel your anger and disappointment into fuel for the next chapter of your racing career.

you wouldnt last an hour in the asylum where they raised me..

The news spread like wildfire through the paddock: you had been signed by Red Bull Racing for the upcoming season. As you made your way through the bustling crowd, you could feel the weight of judgmental eyes boring into you. People whispered behind your back, calling you a traitor, questioning your loyalty to your former team.

But you held your head high, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. You had made your decision, and you weren't about to let the opinions of others sway you. After all, this was Formula 1—a cutthroat world where alliances shifted like the wind, and loyalty was a luxury few could afford.

As you approached the garage, you heard the murmurs grow louder. "Can you believe she signed with Red Bull? What a traitor."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face the source of the comments. It was one of your former colleagues, his expression filled with disdain. "You're a traitor, Y/N. How could you do this to us?"

You met his gaze head-on, your eyes flashing with defiance. "It's a cutthroat game," you replied coolly. "You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the ruthless world you had grown up in. You had fought tooth and nail to get to where you were, and you weren't about to apologize for seizing an opportunity to further your career.

Turning on your heel, you continued toward the Red Bull garage, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. You may have ruffled some feathers, but you had made the right choice for yourself. And as you entered the garage, surrounded by your new teammates and friends who had stood by your side through it all, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

that I'm fearsome, and I'm wretched, and I'm wrong..

You sat in your motorhome, scrolling through Instagram after the chaotic Monza Grand Prix. The race had been eventful, to say the least, with a tense moment between you and Hulkenberg that had sparked controversy among fans and pundits alike.

As you scrolled through your feed, you couldn't escape the barrage of comments and messages directed at you. People were blaming you for the incident, calling you fearsome, wretched, and wrong. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on your shoulders, suffocating you with guilt and frustration.

But you refused to let the negativity consume you. Taking a deep breath, you opened the camera app on your phone and snapped a quick selfie. In the photo, you wore a determined expression, your eyes flashing with defiance.

You typed out a caption to accompany the photo, your fingers moving with purpose. "I'm fearsome, wretched, and I'm wrong," you wrote, the words a defiant declaration of self-acceptance and resilience.

With a sense of satisfaction, you hit the share button, knowing that your message would reach far and wide. It was a reminder to yourself—and to the world—that you were not defined by one moment, one mistake. You were a force to be reckoned with, flaws and all, and you weren't afraid to own it.

a/n : first ever platonic driver story! should I look into a romantic angle with anyone? any suggestions etc would be highly appreciated! happy reading and much love! as always, likes, reblogs, comments etc are always appreciated ❤️

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[incesthemes]

in provenance, the impala is depicted as quite dirty and beat-up, scuffed up and covered in mud. this is not the typical image that comes to mind when you say a man loves his car. in later seasons too, the impala tends to look shiny and new, and dean is seen performing maintenance on it pretty regularly—at least, there are many scenes that show dean taking care of it, and there are also many scenes which touch on dean's possessiveness and care for his car.

this isn't the case in season 1. season 1 dean has a beat-up hand-me-down from his dad which he loves and admires but is still willing to let it get dirty and dented and scuffed.

in season 1, the impala represents john.

based on how john talks about the car in dead man's blood, he still has a semblance of ownership over it: john gave dean the car, but he still considers it "his" in the sense that he feels entitled to judge how dean cares for it. dean, too, doesn't argue with this. in season 3, dream dean even uses this against real dean to drag out his insecurities and his abysmal self-esteem:

both john and dean agree that the impala is john's car. this makes sense because the impala is also sam and dean's literal home, or the closest to home they've ever gotten.

you have a good "home is where the heart is" kind of connection here: the impala is home, and john is the impala—john is home, john is their father, john is the thing that connects sam and dean by blood. et cetera et cetera.

so if the impala represents john, then how dean treats the impala gives the audience a lovely visual metaphor for how dean feels about john. provenance is just one episode after something wicked, where dean is finally starting to extricate himself from his father. the entire season has followed dean as he experiences betrayal after betrayal from his father, and in shadow we see evidence that he doesn't actually believe that his father will come to protect them anymore—he's effectively given up on john as someone to rely on, and he's spent the whole season separating himself from john and attaching himself to sam instead. provenance gives a nice wink and nod at this by showing the state of the impala—dean is upset with john, their relationship is crumbling, and dean doesn't know how to repair it.

one episode later john remarks on the state of the car, and one episode later dean finally defies his father for seemingly the first time.

so when dean starts destroying the impala in everybody loves a clown, what dean is actually destroying is john.

he feels angry, upset, hurt, betrayed all over again. john is dead, and his final words to his son gave him an impossible task. dean takes the crowbar to the impala right after sam corners him into another conversation about john—this is an outpouring of his emotions about him, all concentrated on the last remaining symbol of his father.

but what i think is interesting is that sam doesn't see the impala this way.

sam sees the impala as dean. the symbolism here is very, very obvious. if sam gives up on the impala, then he's metaphorically giving up on dean. and sam refuses to let dean die, so he can't let the impala die, either. to sam, the impala is dean. which necessarily means that to sam, dean is his home, as well.

which is exactly what he just chose in the season 1 finale when he picked dean over his revenge. sam spent the entire season scared to "go home," and in devil's trap he finally returns for good to his home—to dean.

and in bloodlust, the impala is fixed, and she's shining like new. from this moment on, dean shows a rather pointed possessiveness over his car.

this is also the first time dean calls the impala "baby." this is the first thing that happens after dean destroyed it in the episode prior. the dissonance gives a sense of rebirth: something happened between dean destroying the impala and dean fixing it. something happened between dean using the impala as a stand-in for his father and dean calling it his baby.

in season 2, the impala no longer represents john. john is dead, and dean killed him. "home" is no longer centered around john; their father is no longer the thing that connects sam and dean. in devil's trap they chose each other, they chose codependency, they created a relationship between them that transcends the family structure they inherited from john. john is not part of this new relationship—it's just sam and dean now, and john is dead.

dean assimilates to sam's perspective when he rebuilds the impala: his car is now an extension of himself, and he is the home that sam chose. this is now his car, not john's; he is now sam's family, not john. and throughout the first half of season 2 dean struggles with this new responsibility and what that means for him—how their codependency should work, whether or not he should try to fill john's shoes, what "home" is supposed to look like for them without john in it.

i think it's an interesting way to depict dean's emotional shift across this stretch of episodes. seasons 1 and 2 especially do a lot of great work to depict john even in his physical absence, from allegorical substitutes to his haunting presence to this, representing him through the symbol of their literal home. noticing this makes me much more emotional about the impala's role in the story, because it's a physical manifestation of the effort dean put in to become sam's home and commit to their codependent relationship. he loves his car because it's his home, and his home is where sam and dean's hearts are.

#supernatural #spn meta #dean winchester #that stretch of episodes from 1.19 to 2.03... damn good storytelling lemme just say that #i've been thinking about this for idk weeks maybe but i didn't really know how to talk about this #it shows considering how fucking long this post is. jesus christ #spn1 #spn2 #spn posting #.txt

[sunkissed-zegras]

ok this is officially the last one, had to go out on a fluffy note for my pookie nika muhl........

anyways could i request 🍀 for the prompt 45. "oh, you look so pretty when you've just woken up!" this screams nika and i love it

- 🪐

evangeline's 2.5k celebration !! [open!]

i am a SHLUT for domestic bliss and nika, they go so well together

─ warnings | nothing but fluff, like seriously absolutely nothing

YOU FELT NIKA'S arms pull you closer into her chest as she let out a content hum.

the sunlight was seeping through the windows of your now, shared bedroom and cast a warm glow over the room. the soft rays highlighted the dust particles floating lazily in the air, adding a magical quality to the morning.

nika's breath was steady and calm against your hair, her heartbeat a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a sense of tranquility. you nestled closer, savoring the comfort and security of her embrace.

“did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice still husky with sleep.

“mhm, i did,” you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm. “especially with you here.”

nika chuckled softly, her laughter vibrating through your body. “good, cause i plan on keeping you right here all day,” she teased, tightening her arms around you slightly.

this was the first whole day where you two were moved in together, in the same place and she wanted to savor it with you. it was a milestone in the relationship, it was finally getting to the serious tier.

you sighed in contentment, feeling a wave of gratitude for the woman who held you so tenderly. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

nika kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering against your hair. “good,” she murmured. “cause you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

the two of you lay there in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's presence. the outside world could wait; in this moment, all that mattered was the love you shared and the peace it brought you.

you turned over to face nika as her hands cupped your face, a small smile on her face. "god, how do you just wake up so effortlessly beautiful?"

you felt a rush of warmth to your cheeks as you let out a nervous giggle. you and nika had been dating for almost two years and her compliments still made you blush like a little girl, it was almost embarrassing if it wasn't endearing for nika.

“alright,” nika said eventually with a smile. “how about we make a deal? you let me pamper you today, and i promise to let you help with breakfast tomorrow.”

this was domestic bliss, you thought to yourself as you nodded. you were so content ─ life couldn't get much better than this. you had a beautiful girlfriend who loved and cherished you and now, you had a home with her.

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “deal,” you said, feeling a surge of affection for nika.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nika muhl #nika mühl #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl smut #uconn #wnba basketball #wnba draft #wbb #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #seattle storm #wnba players #wnba x reader #womens basketball #women's college basketball #uconn women's basketball #women's basketball #evangeline's 2.5k celly ☆

[sonamytrash]

Little one

Levi x reader fic about the birth of your first child. All fluff.

Warnings: Pregnancy, birth, labour, discussion of birth.

(I'm not as well versed with human parturition as I am with animals, couldn't tell you how many animals I've delivered. But I've tried to keep the science out of it for the most part.) Enjoy!

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, untouched by a single cloud. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees, their delicate greenery dancing in the afternoon sunlight. It was the kind of day that made you want to throw open the windows and breathe in the fresh air to revel in the simple beauty of nature.

The sunlight streams through the tall, arched windows of the conference room, casting a warm glow across the polished wooden table. The air is heavy with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the faint sound of birds chirping outside. It was a beautiful afternoon in spring, and yet there was an undercurrent of tension that seemed to permeate the room.

The familiar scent of your shared home greeted Levi as he burst through the door. He calls out your name, his voice hoarse from fear and adrenaline. The quiet that meets his ears is unsettling before he hears movement and a cry of discomfort from upstairs.

He enters the bedroom to see your face contorted in pain, one hand clutching the sheets, the other resting on your swollen belly. You let out another anguished groan.

Levi rushed to your side, his heart in his throat. "I'm here. I'm here. I love you," he murmured, taking your hand in his. Your eyes fluttered open, and you forced a weak smile.

"You made it." You whispered, gripping his hand tightly. "It hurts, Levi." Your voice broke, and you let out a shuddering breath. He could see the sweat beading on your forehead, the effort it took for you to breathe.

Levi's brow furrows with concern as he watches you grip his hand and the bedsheets, the lines of pain etched across your features. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your flushed face, he leans in, his steely gray eyes filled with a rare softness.

"I'm here, I've got you," he assures you, his voice firm but gentle. He reaches down to rub your back, hoping to offer some comfort. "You can do this. You're the strongest person I know."

You close your eyes and let out a shaky chuckle, "That's something coming from humanities strongest." You reply, your humerus side still shining through despite the pain, right as you feel your body tensing as another contraction grips you. Levi holds your hand tightly, feeling helpless as he watches you suffer. Wishing there was something he could do to take away the pain, to make it all better, as many fathers have thought before him.

"Just focus on breathing. I'm not going anywhere." Glancing up at the midwife, he arches a questioning brow. "How much longer?"

The midwife examines you again, "Not long now, you're doing great." She comments reassuringly rubbing your shoulders, smiling at Levi.

"You can do this," he whispers, kissing your forehead. "You're almost there." He could see the tension easing from your body as the contraction faded, and he took the opportunity to rub your back again, hoping to ease some of the pain. Guiding you to sit back comfortably on the bed.

Nothing in this world had frightened him like this. No calibre of titan could ever cause him to feel so scared and so helpless as he did in these moments.

"You're doing great. Just a few more pushes." The midwife exclaims reassuringly from the foot of the bed.

"You're doing amazing." He says again, though he's not entirely sure you're listening to him at this point. He watches as the midwife guides you through the next push, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride and awe as he watches you bringing your child into the world. A level of strength he has never seen from another human before.

Another contraction makes itself known, and you let out a primal scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. Levi holds you tightly, and he feels your body tensing, bracing himself for the final push for what feels like forever.

You let out a long, shuddering breath, your body relaxing into Levi's arms as the final contraction eased and the sound of a crying baby echoes through the room.

"Congratulations, mum and dad," the midwife says with a warm smile, deftly  cutting the umbilical cord and cleaning the baby up, bringing them to your chest. "You have a healthy baby boy." Levi's heart soars at the words, and he can't help but let out a shaky breath. Everything happens so fast, and yet time feels like everything around him is standing still.

Levi's eyes shine with unbridled adoration as he gazes upon his newborn son, a rare, tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the baby settles in your embrace.

While the midwife works around you attentively, making sure you're stable and comfortable. Levi feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him as he looks down at your child, marvelling at every detail: the downy fuzz on his head, the tiny fingers and toes, his little lips pursed.

Your eyes are filled with tears of joy and exhaustion as you gaze down at your son, your chest heaving with each breath, the pain almost a distant memory.

Levi wipes a tear from his own cheek, feeling a surge of emotion so intense it's almost painful. "He's perfect."

You look up at Levi and smile, your eyes glistening with tears of joy and relief. You reach out and gently touch your son's tiny hand, fingers entwining with his. "He is."

Levi's voice is low and gruff, barely above a whisper as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You did it, love," he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "You're amazing. God, I love you." He says. Shifting closer, he carefully wraps an arm around you both, his steely eyes reflecting the pure adoration he feels for his new family.

Levi brushes his fingers over the baby's impossibly soft skin, marvelling at the feeling of life, of newness in his touch.

Levi's lips curve into a faint, amused smirk as he gazes down at the dark-haired newborn, the resemblance to his own features unmistakable.

"Looks like he takes after his old man, huh?" His tone is gruff but tinged with a rare fondness as he brushes a gentle finger across the baby's downy locks. "Hopefully, he's got your personality to balance it out." He says quietly not to disturb the perfect scene in front of him.

He looks down at the dark hair that covers your sons head, the same hair that he has. It's a tangible reminder of the connection they share, of the life you've built together.

"Hello, little one,"

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #levi x y/n #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader

[polin-erospsyche]

Part 2 to my incredibly long reaction to the incredibly short trailer

Part 1

In other news, less dramatic ones, Kanthony are home and they’re bringing with them some much needed order and sense back into the mayhem that is the Bridgerton home and everyone’s happy about it

Yes Anthony, things have been swift. They know. They definitely know the gentleman Colin prised himself on being is long gone, and that he’s compromised Pen and the worst thing is Colin’s not even half apologetic about it. He’s just so pleased with himself? Look at him and his emotional support liquor, he’s li ke « hehehe I did finger her in the back of a carriage, it was wild, I finally know what love is hehe »

El is also hanging out with her emotional support champagne. “Here’s to truly knowing each other, completely” that stings. Also Colin is catching up on the fact that Pen is not being truthful, he’s slowly waking up to all the blatantly obvious clues. Queue to said blatantly obvious clues (also the ring!!!):

The boy is so confused though when she says she’s been writing letters. He’s like “to whom??? I’m right here??? Tell me there’s not another suitor you’ve been secretly seeing” —> actually talking about this do you think that’s how Colin starts to think that he has competition and makes up a completely fictional rival??!

In other news Pen is just there hanging out with a family who finds emotional support in alcohol while she’s just hanging out in her psychological horror show. It’s ok baby, breathe and go tell him. I promise he’ll find it way more appealing than we all thought originally.

Also did I mention I need more horny and domestic Polin??? And they look so good in their new flat??? Like it’s literally their colour. Did Colin really go out there the very next day and was like “I need a blue, green, and yellow flat for the love of my life”?

Ok this is where I start to freak out. First he’s exchanged his emotional support liquor for emotional support tea. So the angst?! I’m gonna need my own emotional support liquor

Also this is so strange to me, he’s in their flat most likely, he’s sitting on the couch. It’s morning so he’s had time to process. Pen (if the shot right after is the same scene) barely dares to go and see him but she also has her hair down and looks to be at home. So are they already living together before they get married? If so the scandal. Or is this ep 8? But there seems to be pillows on that couch too? So did he sleep on the couch? Do we get to see the awkward and fragile state of their relationship, where they’re hurt but their love for each other is still so incredibly deep? If so I will die in the angst ditch that is Polin

And we’re back to lighter stuff, I think this is ep6 so he still had no idea. And just the way she giggles? Oh my heart cannot handle the sweetness.

WHAT AM I GOOD FOR??? So much Colin. You’re worth and count for so much my sweet summer child. Oh hero complex Colin, we love you oh so much. I was dying the whole way through but this is where I perished. THE ANGST. They really need to meet each other midway though. She needs to let him in and he needs to learn that she does not need saving, she needs love and companionship.

Thank you Netflix, I love them ❤️ Polin was getting a bit too real and dramatic for a second there.

#part 2 of trailer reaction #polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3

[natashascumslut]

WHY? | natasha romanoff

SUMMARY: You said the wrong thing, and suffered the consequences.

WARNINGS: Angst.. 🥳

a/n - i wrote this at 2 am.. so.. sorry if it doesn’t make much sense and that it’s short lmfao ‼️

A sour expression spread across her face as the words slipped out your mouth, you froze, why wasn’t she reacting?

“What?” She asked flatly, her tone of voice had changed. Her hands fell from your waist. You started to panic, your chest tightening.

“I love you.” You repeated weakly, you watched her visibly become tense as tears blurred your vision. She stuttered, but no words came out. She didn’t love you back. After everything you’d been through together, all the ups and downs, all the breathless nights and sunny afternoons, she felt nothing.

You stepped back, your hand coming up to your mouth to stop yourself from speaking, or puking, you weren’t sure. You scrambled backwards, quickly gathering your bag and keys before leaving her apartment faster than water cascading into a sink.

You expected to hear her voice behind you, calling you back, telling you she was just shocked and that she loved you too. And then she’d cradle you in her arms and you’d feel like an idiot for thinking she didn’t love you back. But you heard nothing, nothing but the tapping of your shoes against the hard floor in the hallway and your ragged breath.

Rain immediately started soaking your hair as you stammered out of the building, what had you done wrong, why did she not love you back? You had done everything to be perfect for her, bringing her coffee in the morning or taking care of her when she was sick, why?

Your soft sniffles mixed with the rain as you hauled for a cab under the pouring rain, god this felt like a movie. Except in the movies, she would come running out into the rain and kiss you. You looked around hoping that maybe, just maybe, this really was like the movies, but the redhead was nowhere to be seen.

A cab finally pulled over, and you slipped your soggy, weak body into the back seat. You felt like disappearing when you noticed the look the driver gave you in the rearview mirror. He looked so annoyed by your sadness, Natasha would’ve cared, she would’ve held you until you felt better. Was it all fake? Did she not actually care when she cradled your face and wiped your tears away, did it all mean nothing to her?

You stared at the rain trickling down the car window, it being far too fast for you to focus on a single drop. But luckily it wasn’t long till you were home, weakly trudging into your apartment. It felt so cold now that she wasn’t here, god, you just wanted to be in her arms.

Maybe if you hadn’t told her you loved her, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You would still be in her warm embrace, cuddling up on the couch. Because believing she loved you was much less painful than knowing she didn’t.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so stupid as to think could she could love you back, you wouldn’t be here right now. You slumped down onto your couch, not caring about your wet clothes.

Your sobs echoed the now eerily quiet, dark room. No longer filled with her contagious laughs or lustful moans, you’d give anything just to hear the sound of her soft breaths near your ear as she fell asleep on your shoulder.

Why didn’t she love you?

You went three weeks without hearing a word from her, not even a text. You expected at least an explanation, or a sorry, but you got nothing. Until you ran into her in a store, immediately recognising the hum of her voice as she spoke on the phone. You froze as you heard the voice get closer, until it was right next to you.

You felt her eyes on you, but you refused to turn to her. Your eyes dragged along the shelf, acting as if you were looking for something, when in reality you were trying your hardest not to cry.

You finally turned when you heard her call your name, your breath hitched as your eyes met hers and you felt as if you were going to puke again. She looked unfazed, like you running out of her apartment after telling her you loved her didn’t affect her at all.

“Hi.” She said hesitantly, you tried to stop the words from leaving your mouth, but they were out before you could take them back. “Why didn’t you go after me?” You asked, your voice was weak and slightly shaky, she winced.

“I.. i don’t know.” She answered, this felt so stupid, you’ve never wanted to disappear so badly. You watched as her eyes changed, as if she regretted it. You felt a tinge of hope, maybe she did love you, maybe she was just scared. But it was gone almost as fast as it came, and so was your hope.

“I do care about you.” She affirmed, your shoulders dropped slightly. You didn’t believe it, and you didn’t think Natasha did either. “Then why haven’t i heard from you for three weeks?” Your eyes were heavy, you were so tired of this. She shuffled uncomfortably, her fingers toying with her rings. You sighed, “Forget it.” You turned, hoping to hear her voice, but it wasn’t any different than it was three weeks ago, she watched you walk away, she let you walk away.

You left the store, no longer caring about the things you went in there for in the first place. You didn’t understand why she didn’t love you, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Everything you had done together pointed to love, the way she would look at you, the way her fingers danced gently and innocently over your body as you drifted off to sleep, everything.

You just wanted to understand why, but by the looks of it, you never would.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #marvel #angst #black widow #black widow angst #sad #foryou #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x y/n #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson angst #angsty #love

[ladyfoxreads]

Justice for Tamlin

I'm sorry but SJM's character assassination of Tamlin is criminal. You cannot make me believe that the same guy who:

-Buried a fae from another court with his own two hands

-Killed Lucien's brother and gave Lucien refuge

-Replaced Lucien's eye

-Provided for Feyre's family when their own father wouldn't

-Tried his best to give Feyre every comfort and freedom instead of what some other fae would do to a human in Prythian

-Got sick at the mere thought of having slaves

-Hated having to kill literal monsters because he doesn't like killing

-Sent Feyre home and took on her life debt for killing Andras so she would be safe from Amarantha

-Did not enforce rank in his court and treated his subjects and sentries as friends

-Only wanted to be a traveling minstrel and not high lord...

Etc etc is the same dude that allegedly killed the guards on duty when Feyre left, had a sentry whipped, beat Lucien, abused Feyre, intentionally sold out Rhys' mother and sister and got them killed, on and on....

Not to mention the fanon claims that he intentionally got her sisters kidnapped and turned because he thinks he owns Feyre. That 100% didn't happen. Come on SJM, what are you thinking here?? All of this just to make Rhys look better when Rhys is out here slaughtering innocents with no remorse, not ruling 2/3 of his court, allowing females to be abused, locking Nesta up and threatening to kill her, tormenting a male who has absolutely nothing left just for the fun of it.... I could list a ton more.

And this fandom just accepts this as fact and doesn't argue it because they worship the ground Rhys walks on. Make it make sense for me....

#pro tamlin #anti feysand #anti rhysand #sjm critical #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin acotar #anti ic #tamlin deserves better

[ghouljams]

Just dropping in to tell you that I adore your Fae AUs. I have a question/request about one if you ever have the time or urge to go back to them :)

One of your later Price ones called Jealousy ends on a line like “you’d do the same for him” and I was wondering if you’d elaborate 👀👉👈

Jealous witch?

Witch tends to keep her emotions under very tight control, since her magic responds so readily to them, but she has her moments. Plus I feel like I haven't written for these two in ages. So of course you can have witch being jealous <3

It's a lovely summer day, warm and sunny. The air smells green from last night's rain and the sky is blue. It's well worth the trip into the country, even if your back aches from the train ride. OK maybe not from the train ride itself but from your plus one holding you at an odd angle to fuck you in the trains little stall bathroom. You smooth your hands over your dress and thank your quick thinking for being bringing a pair pair of panties. You glance at Price as he tucks the come soaked ones deeper into his pocket, looking perfectly content with himself.

You ignore him in favor of checking your mental list. Pagan festivals are one of the best places for you to buy harder to find ingredients, and sell more specialized potions, they're also one of the few places you feel right at home. Or can delude yourself into feeling at home. Truth be told you still feel out of your element with all the new witches. You don't speak the same language as them, don't carry yourself the same way, don't look at the world like they do. You're glad to have Price with you. At least having someone to lean on when you're drained is enough to keep you going.

Price's fingers skate over the wards you'd drawn down your arm to hold your hand. Giving it a reassuring squeeze before pulling you through the train station to the gates. The little town is positively buzzing with magic, you can see wards carved into cornerstones, rosemary by garden gates, and iron locks on front doors.

"Wild's creeping it's way in," Price hums, and you stretch your senses a little further to feel for the edge of it. You suppose it's as good a place as any for fae to mingle with humans, you doubt they'll stick around though. Here for the party and gone before they set down roots. You glance at Price, good hunting too you suppose.

You don't realize how right you are until you're counting lovage seeds, and see Price talking to another witch. You assume she's a witch. You pause, staring at her. She's rather pretty, with dark hair and blue eyes, and a black tourmaline necklace. It isn't her looks though, no it's her magic. You can feel it like an overflowing bucket. A small cup stuck under a running faucet, she can't hold all the magic she's pulling in and she's set up no guards to stop the overflow. You wonder what she did to be siphoning magic off like that, how naive she'd have to be to try to take more than she can handle. You worry your brows, no, maybe it's simpler than that: she simply has no wards set up to keep herself contained.

You tuck your newest purchase into your bag, sure that Price must be trying to make a deal. It churns something strange in your stomach that he chose someone so pretty to try and snare, but this is what he does. There are too many crones here, too many people warded against the fae, he has to take his chances with those that don't know better.

She smiles at him and you feel your blood run cold. He touches her arm and your fingers tighten on the straps of your bag. He leans closer to speak to her and she laughs. Your breath comes too quick, your eyes latched onto the pretty blush that's painting her cheeks. You hope it's the sun making her warm and not your man. It's too sudden for you to tamp it down, too aggressive an emotion to bottle. You hate her. You hate her with every fiber of your being. It's written on your bones, it's stamped on every platelet every nerve ending: you hate her. You want her gone. You want that stupid smile wiped off her face. You want those pretty blue eyes to pop out of her head and that pretty blush to bleed out of her pores. You hate, hate, hate-

Her nose starts bleeding. A small trickle of red that pools on her cupid's bow, and drips over her pink lips. She frowns, her brows twitching together. She touches her lip, then her temple. Bloodshot veins creep over her eyes, as she blinks to stop the sharp pain of tears. Price looks at you as her skin pales, and takes a step in front of her. You try to glare through him, your anger feels so palpable, feels so justified.

He grips the back of your neck, and pulls you up out of your angry hunch. You meet his raised brow with a petulant glare. "You're tainting the meat," he tells you with a smile. You blink. Your head hurts. Price releases his scruff on you to swipe his thumb over your forehead with a hum. It's like a cold towel being pressed to your brow, blissful in the heat, and tight against your quickly boiling headache. "Are you gonna curse all my meals or just this one?"

"She's pretty," you mumble, explaining yourself as best you can in the face of such an accusation. His thumb strokes your head, affectionate, calming. There's no magic to it besides the gentle affection that flows between you. You press into the feeling all the same.

"And come from so far away," Price agrees, "just another poor girl gone missing on holiday."

"Not funny," you warn, though it does stop some of that awful squirmy feeling to know he was going to eat her. You don't think you like how cavalier he is about murdering this poor girl(never mind that you were going to murder her).

"Man's gotta eat," he glances over his shoulder, "and it's not like I'm the only one eyeing her."

You glance around him, another man's taken his place, cooing over her and offering her a tissue. His eyes are too bright, his smile too wide. He has an extra finger. Price grips your arm tight before you can run to help a woman you had, not two seconds ago, been cursing.

"Chumming the water," Price mumbles. You wrap your hand around his wrist and tug him in the opposite direction. You're so cute when you're angry.

"You don't eat me enough?" You grumble, he can feel the embarrassed heat coming off of you. If he knew you'd be so jealous over him, he might have tried this sooner. She was pretty, you're right, but nothing compared to you.

"Not even close," Price says pressing close as you drag him along, "happy to get on my knees now if you need me to prove it, know quite a few people would be dying to see me do it too."

"You're incorrigible," you take a sharp turn back to your little booth.

"Two on your right, one ahead, three behind staring at you like they'd do the same." Price lists, "you think I don't want to rip their fucking eyes out?"

"I wasn't cursing her." You huff.

"If you think that's going to save you, you'd better start trying a different line," Price hums happily. He's never had someone kill for him without orders before. It's rather nice. Your table cloth would probably hide him if he crawled under there, right?

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #1fae1 #captain john price #captain price mw2 #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price #john price x reader #cod price #fae!price #price x witch #oc: witch #shes mad mad

[oceantornadoo]

mad max: the 141 (price x f!reader)

ch 3: johnny's home

canon-typical violence, sexual violence is referenced (but will not happen), general misogyny. the 141 are the good guys, just a bit rough around the edges

series masterlist (also has more world building info)

--

you screamed.

john woke with a start, forcing you behind him as he searched for any danger. ghost and gaz burst into the room, guns at the ready. you were shaking uncontrollably, fear coursing through your body and tightening around your throat. and suddenly, ghost, that hulk of a man who had given you grunts and gruff words, started laughing.

it was a gravelly sound, like a dirt bike over desert sand. gaz joined in, his laughter like the flow of gasoline, rich but tainted. the absolute gall of them. there had been a man, you’d seen him! he was sitting there in the corner, shaking with laughter himself while john’s grip on your waist loosened. john reached for the lightbulb near the wall, flooding the room with light.

“steamin’ jesus, lass, almos’ gave me a heart attack.” the man in the red mask huffed out in between laughs. his accent was unfamiliar to you, almost foreign. “soap, it’s good to see you.” gaz was patting him on the back while ghost shook his head, the shock of the scene still wearing off. john was still holding you, you realized, still pressing your front to his back. but now, his harsh grip was gone and replaced with a warm touch. he rubbed circles into the thin fabric of your shift, inherently calming you down. “darlin’.” john was moving you out from behind him, the tension in his shoulders releasing softly. “this is soap.” he tried to coax you towards soap, who was still catching up with ghost and gaz, but your feet stayed firmly planted. “i thought…i thought he was dead.”

“‘m alive and well. had some other business.” soap acknowledged your question. gaz made another comment under his breath and the group laughed again. you could see the day’s tension finally fading away. you’d thought the group was just harsh, beaten down by the desert sun like every other man in the wasteland, but it was clear they were just worried about soap’s business, whatever that was. john, sensing your refusal to move, left you standing as he made his way over to his men. they all straightened their back almost imperceptibly, giving him a true captain’s respect. he gave soap a couple pats to the back, almost ensuring he was truly here, and the group relaxed again.

“sorry fer scarin’ her, captain. jus’ wanted a look at the wee lass.” john looked back at you, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress as you recovered from your previous fright. “and?” soap grinned. “aye, she’s a bonnie one. you sharin’?” that was the wrong question to ask. john’s face became a mask, hard as desert stone. “no. there will be no sharing.” john looked each of his men in the eyes, making his point clear. a course of whispered “yes, sirs” reached his ear, their deference easily earned. “go’on now, back to bed. long trip in the morning. good to see you, soap.” the men nodded, taking their leave, still huddled together and shooting you glances as they left.

you were already back in the bedroll, front facing the wall as you gave john your back. he turned off the light, then climbed in, refusing to give you the space that you clearly desired. “you mad at me, sweetheart?” his large hand traveled over your hip to the bottom of your stomach, pulling you in closer to him. you shook your head, unsure why the scene had affected you so. you were practically their prisoner, yet you were mad they didn’t tell you about soap? it didn’t make sense. you were obviously suffering some delusions from being surrounded by such an oasis.

john nosed at your neck as he pulled your ass against his crotch, his body all hard against yours. “say it.” it sounded like an order, but it could have been a plea in the way he said it, his voice low in the dark. “you’re not my captain, you can’t order me around.” he chuckled behind you, the sound warming your core like the sun, making you squirm in his arms. “that’s it, hm? mad your captain didn’t clue you in?” he was almost taunting you now, that hand traveling from your stomach to the underside of your breasts. his knuckle brushed the underside of your tits so lightly, you almost thought it was a dream. “well, you lied to me too, so we’re even.” you turned around quickly, all fire now. “what are you talking about?” he gave you a small smirk, beard shifting with the movement. “you’ve been with men before.”

your jaw dropped. “i’m a virgin.” he clucked his tongue at that. “sure you are love, but you’ve been with men before. you’re too comfortable with me for that to be false.” you huffed, turning back to your original position. “so, what.” his arm snaked back around you again, that hand inching up until he was massaging your tits, like he had the right. “jus’ like to have all the facts, love.” he inched his thigh between both of yours, the meat of it pressing against your core. you bit back a moan as you tried not to hump him, willing your body to calm down. you blamed it on the adrenaline of the night’s earlier events. “i’m not going to let you fuck me.” he laughed at the sound of a curse word leaving your lips, your princess facade abandoned. “no, you’ll be begging me for it. now go-“, he pushed his thigh harder against you, leg hair providing delicious friction against your clothed clit, “to sleep.” and under your captain’s orders, you slept.

—

i’m grasping around for a plot but i just keep coming up with smutty interactions😔

#simon ghost riley #cod 141 #tornadothoughts #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #cod price #captain john price #john price #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #price imagine #price x you #john price x f!reader #john price smut #mad max au #captain price #john price x you

[sturniolo-simp4life]

Hard to say- pt. 3

overview- you and the sturniolo’s have been best friends since you remember, but you’ve always had a thing for Matt. When a new girl, Abby, moves into town, things between you and Matt change.

warnings- crying and a little angst.

pt.2 pt.4

it’s been about a month since Abby came to the school. Somehow her and Matt have become closer.

thankfully Chris had been there to comfort you. He would say ‘he’ll come to his senses eventually,’ or ‘he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.’

but did he really?

Like, Abby was looked like a goddess in human form. You couldn’t blame Matt if he did like her.

still, the thought of the two of them together made your stomach clench.

-

You were at the triplets house right now. You and Chris were supposed to have a ‘study session.’

you knocked on the door and Matt answered. “Oh hey y/n.”

“hey,” you said. “Is Chris home?”

Matt tensed a bit at Chris’s name but you didn’t notice. “Yeah he is. Come in.”

“Chris y/n is here!” Matt yelled. You sat on the couch. “Why don’t we study together anymore?” He asked.

You shrugged. “These days you’re always with Abby. Whenever we make plans you always just blow me off.”

Matt felt bad after hearing this. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. You shrugged again. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“So… you’ve been hanging out with Chris a lot lately.” You smiled at his name.

“I mean yeah. He is one of my best friends after all.” Matt’s heart sank a little. Did you even still consider him as a close friend anymore?

“Hey y/n/n!” You looked up to see Chris grinning at you. “Hey Chris. You ready?” “Yeah let’s go to my room.”

you got up. “Nice talking to you Matt.”

you sighed as you entered Chris’s room. “I’m not sure if I can do this anymore Chris. At this point he doesn’t even know he’s avoiding me. It’s like Abby has him on an invisible chokehold.”

Chris gave you a sad look. “I’m sorry y/n. I wish he would open his eyes and see the amazing person you are.”

you sighed and shrugged. “There not much that can be done now. Now, where is your science notebook?”

-

when you got back to your apartment, you saw your mom sleeping on the couch.

after your dad died, she had made sure to work extra hard to provide for both of you. She was your true best friend.

she would always listen to your problems and help you solve them. She deserved a break.

you kissed her forehead and walked to your room.

-

when you walked into English the next day, you already saw Matt and Abby laughing about something.

you decided to expand your social boundaries and sit with someone new today.

you scanned the classroom until your eyes landed on a boy looking at his computer with an EarPod in.

you walked over to the desk and sat down next to him. He glanced up at you, a little confused.

“um, I’m just gonna sit here today. Is that okay?” You asked. “He just shrugged. “Do want you want, I don’t care.” He went back to watching his screen.

you couldn’t help but look at it. “Are you watching bridgerton? I love that show.”

He looked up at you and smiled. “Really? I just started watching it recently.”

“oh,” you said. “What season are you on?” “Season one. Episode 4 to be exact.”

“oooh. You have a long way to go.” He chuckled in response. “Y’know, I haven’t seen that many guys watch bridgerton.”

he shrugged. “I don’t know. I like it.” You laughed. “What’s your name?” “Logan. Yours?” “Y/n.” “Y/n..” he repeated. “I like that name.”

“thanks.”

you and Logan continued to laugh the rest of class period, gaining attention from Matt. He felt jealously bubble in his stomach.

You didn’t laugh that way around him anymore.

he shook the thought from his head. Why was he thinking about you so much all of a sudden?

“I feel like we have other classes together,” Logan said. “Yeah me too.. I think we have this class, history and science together?”

“yeah that’s it.” The bell rang. “I’ll see in our other classes, yeah?” You smiled at him. “Yeah.”

-

in Math, you were sitting with ally. Abby and Matt were sitting at another table.

“Matt, I have something to tell you,” Abby said. “What?” He asked curiously.

“it’s about y/n.”

his eyes widened slightly. “What is it.” She hesitated a little before speaking. “I’ve heard her talking to a guy in the hallway the other day… apparently she pays guys for sex.”

Matt’s eyes widened. “W-what?” “It’s true,” she continued. “That day she was practically begging the guy to fuck her. Apparently she’s done it with a lot of guys in this grade.”

Matt was still in shock. Y/n wouldn’t do that. Would she? “I mean, she has been acting kind of distant lately..” he trailed off.

Abby shrugged and glanced at you. “I just wanted you to know.”

-

“hey guys,” you said as you approached your usual lunch table. You were met with hi’s and waves.

you sat down across from Matt. “Hey Matt did you get the notes in math?”

he didn’t even look up to acknowledge you. “Matt?”

“what,” he snapped. The blinked at him. “Are you okay?”

he huffed. “Can we talk in private please?” “Okay…” you said a little unsure.

you followed him into an empty hallway.

“Matt what’s wrong?”

he sighed and shook his head. “Abby told me that you pay guys for sex. How long y/n? How long have you been doing this?”

your eyes widened. “I would never do that Matt! You should know this.”

“Should I?” He asked. “It makes sense- you have been pretty distant lately.”

you laughed in shock. “I’ve been distant? You’re the one who spends every second of your time with Abby.”

Matt just rolled his eyes. “You know that I’ll only have sex with the person i love. I’ve told you this!”

Matt just scoffed. “are you saying that Abby is lying?” “Yes I’m saying that. Who are you gonna believe? Someone you’ve known all your life or some girl you meant less than 2 months?”

Matt paused for a second. He had only known Abby for a short while, but he should believe her, right?

“I don’t think we should be friends anymore y/n.”

that was enough to crack your heart. Tears started rolling down your cheeks before you could even comprehend it.

Matt looked hurt for a second, but he just walked away from you, leaving you to slide down the wall, holding in your sobs.

-

the rest of the day was blur.

when you got back to your apartment, your mom was on the couch watching something.

“Hey sweetie!” she said. “How was your day?”

that was enough for you to start crying again. A look of concern washed over her face as she got up and hugged you.

She led you to the couch where you cried on her should. “Don’t cry sweetie.” She hushed you and patted your hair.

she waited for you to calm down a bit before talking. “Let me guess- it has something to do with Matt and Abby?”

you sniffed and nodded your head. She cursed under her breath.

“that bitch,” she mumbled. “Mom!” You laughed. “Don’t tell her I said that. Anyways, wanna tell me what happened?”

you sighed. “Abby made some rumor about me and she told Matt. Apparently he’d rather believe her than someone he’s known his whole life.” Your mom frowned.

“listen y/n. If he can’t see the amazing person in front of him then he’s not worth it. Trust me, he’s going to see it one day.”

“thanks mom,” you said. She kissed your forehead. “Any day. Anyways, legally blonde and popcorn?”

you grinned. “Always.”

tags- v4mp1r3c4t sturniololvrrr sturnssan blahbel668 arleanka futuristicladywonderland iloveneilperry sturnstvr jetaimevous britishamerican11 alicejwebster sturnsforlife ldrloverrrrrr

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #matthew x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo smut #chris x reader #chris smut #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets fluff #matt x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in Your Fire (pt2)

Summary: Y/n goes into the the Cauldron, and ends up in Velaris. A strange place with a sentient house and hopefully some new friends. Y/n much navigate what being fae means for her now.

Pairing: Future Eris x Reader ! Eris is in this chapter y'all! It's not much haha I'm dragging it out !

Word Count: 4,900

Notes: I'm so glad people liked the first chapter and I hope you stick with me to see where this story goes ! I wanted to get to know the reader a bit more, and have interactions with the other characters to add depth to the story and who the reader is so that she's not just some rando haha Please comment your thoughts and opinions, I love hearing what you liked about it so I can try to make each chapter better than the last ! Hugs <3

Find part 1 here

Her life flashed before her eyes as the Cauldron scanned through her every memory, as if in search of an answer, but she didn’t know what the question was. All she felt was cold. As the Cauldron raked through images of their mother and her neglect as Feyre and Y/n did whatever they could to get her attention. Even if she was yelling at them, it was better than being ignored. It took Y/n a long time to realize that Nesta wasn’t ‘lucky’ for having all their mothers’ attention. The cold continued to settle into her bones as she watched her mother get sick and their father fall deep into depression after losing his fortune. Flashes of what she had to do with the baker’s son to feed the family some weeks, of Feyre being taken away by Tamlin, of Nesta looking so hopeless as they searched for their sister, and finally of tonight, being taken from their home in the night, the pain of her sister’s faces and the fear that shot through her as her toes touched the Cauldron’s edge. Deeper and deeper the water soaked through her too thin nightgown, into her skin, and settled in her bones. the water the warm when she first touched it, but as she felt herself drift further toward the bottom, an icy cold took over her senses.

At last, a flicker of warmth ran through her as memories played of watching Feyre, Nesta, and Elain try to fit into the too small bed of the cabin as Y/n curled up right in front of the fireplace, laughing at her sisters bickering for space and urging Nesta to move her cold feet away from them. Eventually, her sisters stopped bickering and they too started laughing. Those were the glowing moments of joy they were able to find in the darkest times. The warmth in her body spread as the next memory played; the four of them dancing around a bonfire in the late Summer, early Autumn. Laughing and dancing like idiots because Y/n was able to convince the baker’s son to sneak her a cake. They hadn’t had a real cake, with icing and candles, in years, but she had seen it through the window and knew she needed to share it with her dearest sisters. The leaves were just starting to change color and the warm fire light casted the already orange and red leaves in the most stunning light.

The last memory that played was the night that Nesta brought home paints for Feyre. In the low light of the evening fire, Y/n begrudgingly gave up her spot directly in front of the flame so that Feyre had the best light to paint in. She painted their tiny dresser drawers with something to symbolize each of them. Nesta had her own dresser, full of the beautiful-and large-dresses their mother used to make her wear. Nesta requested her dresser be painted black. Simple, but a bold sentiment. Y/n’s drawer, of course, was painted with flames. It was a well known fact to everyone who met her that Y/n was drawn to the heat and comfort of fire. Sweet Elain’s drawer was painted in the flowers she loved to tend in the rather pathetic gardens. And for a reason she didn’t understand at the time, Feyre painted her drawer with the night sky. Dazzling stars and a bright moon to look down on her wherever she may be.

Y/n’s chest started to glow at that memory and finally she felt warm again, seeing that dingy old cabin, that fireplace lit, and the lives it made brighter, warmer, safer.

A sudden rush of the Cauldron’s freezing water had Y/n gasping for air that was no where to be found. She wasn’t drowning, but she wasn’t breathing either. She was stuck in this terrible, dark, cold place and feeling like all was lost. So, she spoke into the void, “you may take my body and soul, as long as you promise to watch over my sisters. Keep them safe and happy and whole.”

“Your eldest sister took something from me. Something very dark and very important. You are in no position to make a bargain for her safety.” The voice came as a harsh whisper that sounded like death itself. “I will get back what she took, and more, but I haven’t met a being a very long time who was willing to give. For that, I will reward you. What gift I have bestowed upon you, you must find out for yourself. It will either breathe life into what you love most… or suffocate it.”

With those final words spoken straight into her heart, Y/n felt the world shift as she was dumped from the Cauldron, back onto the ice-cold stone floor, soaking wet. The King of Hybern’s magic lifts just enough for Feyre to rush to her and cling to her like life depended on it.

The following events at Hybern will be scarred into Y/n mind for the rest of her newly immortal life. Lucien's painful screaming that Elain was his mate, the human queen going into the Cauldron and coming out old and decrepit because of what Nesta stole from it, Tamlin demanding that the King break the bond between Feyre and Rhysand, and Feyre saying that Rhys had her under a spell all this time.

If it weren’t for their relationship as twins seeming to strengthen now that they were both Fae, and for Feyre’s daemati powers, Y/n would have freaked the fuck out. Lucky for them all, Feyre explained the whole plan, albeit almost too rapidly for Y/n to understand given what she just went through in the Cauldron. Y/n played along and acted disgusted by Rhys and horrified as he winnowed her away. The cry of her sister's name was not forced or faked.

When they landed in what she could only assume was the Night Court, a beautiful female with eerie silver eyes and black hair came rushing around the corner. “Where is she?”

Rhysand explained everything. Only after calling for his best healers to help Cassian and Azriel. By the time he finished, Mor appeared after hiding Y/n's sisters away somewhere that they could rest and process.

“She is your mate, not your spy. Go. Get. Her.” The one with silver eyes, Amren, demanded.

“She is my mate. And my spy. And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.” Rhysand said softer, but not weakly.

“What?” Mor gasped.

Rhysand explained it all, and finally said, “Your High Lady made a sacrifice for her court, and we will move when the time is right.”

“Until then?” Amren asked sharply.

“Until then,” Rhysand spared each of them a glace, “we go to war.”

Mor showed Y/n to her room, told her to ask the house for whatever she needed, and that she should rest for as long as she needed. And that they were all here for her when she was ready to come out.

The first thing Y/n asked the house for was a fire to be lit. She was ready to get on her knees and beg for the heat of it, but when the house responded immediately, Y/n let out a sob and threw herself on the floor in front of the large hearth. She sat with her legs tucked under her, staring into the dancing flames as tears streamed down her face and choked sobs rocked her body. She stared into the blaze. Fire, she thinks, looks alive but is not. It dances and sways in the phantom wind and dries the tears that had long stopped coming. Y/n wished she could climb straight into the inferno and wrap it around herself to make her bed. For a moment she wonders if her new Fae body would allow such a thing, before she grabs a plush red dyed wool blanket, and a soft enough throw pillow from the couch, and she curls up in front of the glowing heat and sparkling embers. Right where she feels the safest and most at home.

Y/n slept off and on for four days if she’s been keeping track of time correctly. The house delivered food, that at first, she was hesitant to touch, because what does a house know about cooking? But once she got hungry enough to try the steaming soup and heavily buttered bread it delivered for dinner on night two, she ate her words. Literally. The house quickly learned that Y/n preferred black tea and something sweet to eat at breakfast, something light and fresh for lunch, and a hearty dense dinner. The fire had remained lit since the first night, when the house thought it would be okay to let it die out once Y/n fell asleep, and Y/n woke up screaming and shaking, nightmares plaguing her. The fire had not gone out again. Not even a flicker.

Y/n was feeling rested and eager to learn if there were any updates about her twin in the Spring Court. She needed to know if Feyre was okay. When she swung the door of her bedroom open, Rhysand was standing there, smirking, looking like he knew every thought in her head.

“I’ll need to teach you about mental shields.” His smirk grew, “you’re just as bad as Feyre was when she first got here, practically shouting your thoughts. I could probably hear you from the house of wind.”

Y/n blinked at him. Sure, she knew that Feyre’s daemati powers allowed her to speak into people’s minds, but to just openly heard other’s thoughts? How miserable that must be.

Rhysand gaped for a fraction of a second after hearing her thoughts, before his brows furrowed. “You- you’re not angry or afraid about the invasion of privacy?”

“I mean, would I prefer you not listen? Sure, but you just said you’d teach me to block you out, so really, I just feel bad for you both. I never want to know what’s going through other’s heads. That’s their business and it probably gets gross and annoying.”

There’s a silent pause before Rhysand throws his back and laughs, “It does get gross, and annoying,” He straightens again and says, "thank you, Y/n. Not many understand that or think about how it feels for us.”

“So then you probably already know that I was about to come find you and ask about Feyre?”

“Yes. Let’s talk about it once you’ve had a bath and change into clean clothes. Have you been sleeping and living in that for four days?” He eyes her absolutely filthy, no longer white, nightgown that she had been wearing when the Hybern soldiers took her.

“Yes. Yes, I have, Rhysand. But I will take that bath and clean clothes. I smell like the deer I killed the day we first met.” Y/n’s face scrunched at the memory of the stench that she never got used to, even after all those years of hunting with Feyre. “I’d say I would come find you, but you’ll probably know exactly when I’m ready.” She winked and tapped her finger to her temple before turning on her heel back into her room. The house must have been listening, because a hot bath was waiting for her in the bathing chambers. Soaps and oils that smelled like pine and cedar, a crackling fire, and the forest after it rains. Y/n had never smelt anything so lavish. Never smelt anything that captured the feeling of home so thoroughly.

Ridding herself of the disgusting nightgown, Y/n went to dip a toe in the steaming water and stopped. It felt so much like the Cauldron. But Y/n, like always, reminded herself to be adaptable. She was fine. This room was nothing like that place. This place had bright windows that lit up the room. She could see the bottom of the tub, nothing like the dark mirky waters she was forced into. She was fine and she was safe. Y/n prided herself on being able to choke her feelings down. She thought that if she could intellectualize her feelings, they wouldn’t be able to control her. It hadn't come to bite her in the ass yet. She calmed her racing heart, and plunged into the hot water and washed herself clean of the memories using the soaps that smelled like home. Those smells soothed her soul like a balm and she started to feel like herself again.

After taking her merry time in the tub, the house keeping the water hot as long as she needed it, Y/n stood and grabbed a towel from the vanity in the corner of the room. Y/n hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror yet, but figured now was as good of a time as any. She sat on the round cushioned stool and slowly lifted her head. She tilted her head back and forth, examining the subtle changes that suddenly made her Fae. She tucked her hair behind her ears to reveal the exaggerated, but soft, pointed ears. Smiled at herself to get a look at the elongated canines, and noticed how bright and sharp her eyes looked. She didn’t have her twin’s steely blue eyes, her father said she had his mother’s eyes. Y/n looked into her own y/e/c eyes and just blinked a few times. She was most definitely Fae now. And she would adapt.

Getting dressed quickly, Y/n stepped into the hall to find Rhysand, already waiting for her. He examined her loose, flowy brown pants, and the soft grey seater she chose. “No Night Court black?”

She tripped over her own foot at the words, “oh- oh no, I’m sorry, I’ve offended you. I’ll go change-!

“No! No, Y/n stop,” he gently griped her arm to prevent her from running back in her room. “It didn’t even occur to me that you might feel comfortable in something else. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He tilts his head, so their eyes meet.

“I just feel better in colors that remind me of the woods we grew up in. It makes me feel like myself in their new, strange body and this new world we’ve been brought into. I did not have any intention of disrespecting you or your home, Rhysand.”

“Please, Y/n, call me Rhys. We are family now, right? Humans would call us, ‘in-laws’?” His smile grew as Y/n’s lips twitched into their own smile, his hand dropping from her arm.

“Of course, Rhys. I’m glad to know my sister has found someone who loves her so well. I look forward to getting to know you as we work to bring Feyre home.”

“Yes, let’s get to work on that. Follow me.” Rhys guides her down the hall and through the foyer into a large seating area. Mor, Cassian, Azriel and Amren are all speaking lowly. Rhys clears his throat as he and Y/n enter the room, and all eyes fall on Y/n. More is the first to stand up and wrap her in a tight embrace. Y/n is shocked for a brief moment, before wrapping her arms around Mor in return.

Mor pulls back with tears in her eyes to say, “we love your sister so much. We are honored to have you in our family too. We will get her back.” Y/n smiles at her fondly and Mor turns to sit back down next to Cassian. Cassian and Azriel both smile and wave at her, just like they did the first time they met in the human lands. Amren and Y/n exchange nods, and Y/n predicts that is the most emotion she’ll ever see from the female.

Rhys is the first to speak next. “Let’s get started shall we?” He took a seat in the remaining armchair, and Y/n took up a spot on the floor, directly in front of the fireplace. Her favorite place to be. “Y/n, you don’t have to sit on the floor. We can ask the house to provide another chair.”

“I’m perfectly content right here, but thank you, Rhys,” Y/n went as far as to shuffle further back toward the heat.

Azriel’s usually calculated expression fell as he stared at her in total confusion. Never had he seen someone look like they wanted to be consumed by flames. He couldn’t even comprehend it. He schooled his features when he felt Cassian pop him in the ribs with his elbow and clear this throat.

“As you wish. Azriel, I know you’re still recovering, and I do not want you to push it, but have your shadows told you anything?”

“Not much. Feyre is still hardly allowed to leave the house, Lucien is still warry of her, and Tamlin is none the wiser. She isn’t eating enough.” He says the last part so quietly and with so much anger, a shiver runs down Y/n spine. She decides to never get on Azriel’s bad side.

“Have you heard from her? Can’t you two talk through your minds or something?” Cassian asks.

“Not much. We don’t want Tamlin, or Lucien for that matter, to get suspicious. But when we do speak, she sounds so far away and it’s an effort to keep the line open. Something isn’t right, but I don’t know what it is. When she was in Spring before it wasn’t this hard. It has to be Hybern’s presence there.”

“So all we can do is sit around and wait for more information?” Mor asks incredulously.

“I wish it could say otherwise, but for now, yes. Azriel and Cassian, you need to heal and get back to training, so we’re prepared when something changes and we have to move.” They call nod their agreement and accept that it’s all they can do right now.

“I want to train too.” Y/n’s voice startles them, as if they forgot she was there.

“Of course, we’ll work on your mental shields and-“

“No- I’m sorry- I don’t mean to interrupt. I mean, yes, I do want to train with you to build my mental shield, but I also want to train with Cassian and Azriel. I want to feel strong. I want to be strong. I never want what happened in Hybern to happen again. I never want to feel helpless like that and I want to help my sister.” Y/n was firm and confident when she locked eyes with Rhys, even as tears welled in her waterline.

“Okay. Whatever you need, we’ll do it.” Rhys looked at her like he could see right through her. To the scared little girl who lost her mother, who had to learn to hunt and steal and sell her body for godsdamned bread. She had never felt so vulnerable, and she quickly broke the stare.

“Are you okay with that?” Y/n asked Cassian and Azriel.

“Yes.” “Of course.” They replies in unison.

“Thank you.”

The day turned into evening and the group is still sitting around the tiny coffee table in that grand living room. Just relaxing in each other’s presence and sharing stories with Y/n, learning more about her. “Everyone thinks that the fire painted on the drawer was for Nesta because she is so fierce, but it’s not true,” Y/n chuckles fondly as she thinks of her sharp tongued eldest sister. “I have always been drawn to the flames. Even as a baby, my parents had to keep candles far away from me.” That gets a laugh from everyone in the room. Even Amren lets out a short breath that could be considered a laugh.

“So which one was Nesta’s? Don’t tell me it was the flowers,” Cassian asked. You could tell he was attached to her, even though they had only a few brief interactions and Nesta was far less than pleasant.

“Nesta had her own full wardrobe, painted black and full of dresses our mother stuffed her into when she gave her those awful etiquette lessons.” Y/n shuddered at the memory. And then paused, just now realizing that she had no idea where her sisters were. Her heart started racing and her eyes shot to Rhys’s, knowing he had already heard every thought.

“They’re safe. They aren’t adapting as well as you are, but they’re safe and they’re okay. I promise you; I will not let anything happen to them.” Y/n laughed internally as that word. Adapting. It’s what she was best at she supposed.

Weeks had passed and Y/n had been dedicated to training with Cassian and Azriel at least once every day, sometimes twice if her energy is pent up enough. And she has a lesson with Rhys everyday too. She’s learning to read, and her mental shield is solid. Her body had never felt so strong. It was a real hit to her ego though to learn that she had been carrying her body weight wrong and lifting deer over her shoulders incorrectly her whole life. Training with Azriel was calmer than training with Cassian. Azriel moved with so much grace and control and was making you learn all the movements and balance exercises. Cassian was intense. Teaching you how to move swiftly to block and avoid kicks and punches. The fact that was going easy on you was an even bigger hit to your ego.

On this particular day, Y/n trained with Azriel in the morning, noticing how much more balanced her body felt, could isolate muscles and utilize them. After lunch was her lesson with Rhys. She’s able to push him out of her mind now, still with some effort, but she doesn’t break out in a sweat now. She spent the afternoon resting and reading when Cassian stormed into the library and asked if she wanted to train. That brought them to the training area on the townhouse. Cassian complains that it isn’t as big as the one at the house of wind, but it did the job. Cassian had just gotten back from visiting the house of wind and he was angry. He was throwing punches and seeming to forget who he was sparring with. He was moving too fast and punching too hard, but Y/n couldn’t seem to get the words out to tell him to stop. He advanced forward and as she backed up, she stumbled, allowing Cassian to land a punch straight to her jaw. Her head rattled but before she could even register the pain, she yelled, teeth bared and fists clenched to her side, “ENOUGH CASSIAN!”

The world stopped, and after two, three, four heartbeats she realized Cassian wasn’t breathing. He was staring at her as his eyes went wide and he grabbed his throat. He crashed to his knees and reached for her hands. Releasing her tight grip on her own fists, air rushed back into Cassian’s lung. He gasped for breath as Y/n fell to her knees too and let out a sob. “I am so sorry Cassian. I am so so sorry; I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.” She somehow managed to get the words out between sobs and gasping for air.

“Y/n, Y/n it’s okay! I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe I hit you, I am so sorry Y/n. Please, look at me, I need you to breathe. I’m okay. I’m sorry.” He held her and rocked her back and forth until her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and she could lift her head to look at him. “Shit. Rhys is going to kill me when he sees that bruise on your face. Mor might beat him to it though. I’m so sorry.”

Y/n stands up and walks to the bathing room down the hall. Cassian ran to her when he heard her start…laughing? The picture in front of him as he skidded around the corner was one he could never have predicted. Y/n was clutching her stomach, leaning over the sink and laughing hysterically at her reflection. Cassian had punched her so hard that the bruising started at her jaw and gave her a black eye. Cassian was horrified, but Y/n just kept laughing, so eventually, he did too. Mor, Rhys, and Azriel came running around the corner too, wondering what the commotion was about. When they saw Y/n face, a collective, “what the fuck Cass?” Was sounded by the other three Fae. This made Y/n and Cassian double down and laugh even harder.

When they caught their breath again, Cassian stood up proudly, patted Y/n on the back and said, “I helped Y/n discover her powers today. No big deal,” he said with no small amount of smugness.

“You mean you needed a punching bag and I had to defend myself?” Y/n quirked a brow at him.

“Semantics!” He argued.

“Wait wait wait, Y/n has powers?” Rhys’s eyes went hazy as he mentally called for Amren. “Tell me everything.”

Y/n recounted the events of their fight and how she literally took his breath away. She didn’t know she was controlling any magic; she hadn’t felt it rise up, but it must have subconsciously come to her defense.

“You’re going to have to drop down to one lesson with Cass and Az a day and pick up an extra with me and Amren. We need to learn more about this power. Power gifted by the Cauldron itself is new territory for all of us. We don’t know what the boundaries of your power are.” The sudden seriousness in Rhys’s face felt sobering as Y/n and Cassian were pulled out of their laughter and back into the reality of who and what Y/n was. Cauldron made.

Another few weeks passed of training non-stop. The magic was a lot harder for Y/n to figure out than the fighting. As of today, she can suck the air out of a room that’s about 12ft by 12ft and hold it for five minutes before faltering, and she can send a blast of air and knock Cassian over from 30ft away. Cassian was used as the dummy for both tests as an apology for decking her in the face.

Y/n was in the middle of her reading lesson for the day when Azriel came crashing into the room. “We found her. Feyre got out of Spring; we have to get her. We need your help and your magic.”

She was up in an instant. She didn’t care that she wasn’t in fighting leathers, she just needed to get to her sister. Before she had a chance to ask any questions, Azriel grabbed her and jumped from the balcony. Y/n hadn’t flown before. Never wanted to be a burden to the Illyrians. But wow, what an experience. Azriel quickly caught up to Cassian and the three of them flew swiftly and precisely.

“Where are we going?” Y/n noticed the moment they left Velaris and the landscape changed to an icy tundra. She missed the heat and comfort of her spot in front of the fireplace in the library already.

“The Winter Court. I’m sorry there wasn’t time to get you in warmer clothes. I know you have a hard time with the cold. I should have prepared you.” Azriel felt terrible, but Feyre needed them. Y/n would adapt.

“It’s okay, Az. Feyre is more important. I’m okay,” and she meant it.

The touchdown was quick. Not a lot of time to slow down and land gently. The Illyrians landed and shook the ground. Azriel was softer about letting Y/n down. Before her was quite possibly her worst nightmare unfolding. Her twin sister, her favorite person in the entire world, was being restrained by the thing that brought her the most peace. A strange male was standing above her sister, using his gift of fire to hold her at her wrists and her neck. Y/n was frozen in place. Her mind went blank as her body was slammed with fear and disgust at the gross misuse of the flames licking at her sister’s throat. It felt like a violation to her very core. Her very soul was raging at the sight. Not only for her sister being in danger, but because of the way the male was using the thing Y/n held closest to her heart and found the most precious, as a weapon to do harm.

“Y/n! Y/n!” She was thrust back into reality by Cassian’s large hands shaking her back to consciousness. She blinked at him a few times before looking over his shoulder to see Azriel already taking down the other red-headed males and saving another. Lucien. Lucien was on Feyre’s side? Blinking again and trying to remain present, she and Cassian turned to the male holding Feyre. “Now, Y/n.”

With those two words form Cassian, Y/n approached the male, and he had the audacity to laugh at her. Granted, she was still in her house slippers, baggy linen pants and oversized sweater, so she wasn’t looking her most intimidating. But he quickly stopped laughing as Y/n lifted her hands above her head, closed her fists, and threw her hands down to her side. It didn’t take long for the male to realize that he could no longer take a breath. So focused on clawing at his throat, he didn’t notice that his flames had no oxygen to restrain his hostage either. Cassian, being well versed in her magic, ran into the void she’d created, grabbed Feyre, who unfortunately also couldn’t breathe, and got her out of your field of magic. Azriel was there with Lucien in a second, Mor winnowing in to grab Y/n, Cassian, and Feyre.

They landed in the townhouse seconds later, Azriel and Lucien not far behind. Y/n was in her sister’s arms before anyone could blink. They held each other tightly, but Feyre looked over Y/n shoulder to Mor.

“He’s on his way. He’s far away, but he is rushing home to you as fast as he can. He felt the bond and sent us ahead to get you.” Mor was crying too, and Y/n turned to wave her into their hug. Right now, her sister was home and everything else could wait for tomorrow. Even if Y/n couldn't stop thinking about that red haired male on the frozen lake today. the way he laughed at her and made her feel small, and she sucked the air from his lungs like it was nothing. She thought it would have made her feel good. but it didn't, and she wasn't sure why. She would fall asleep picturing his fearful face for many nights.

Taglist: @abysshaven @minaethrym @ivy-34 @stained-glass-eyes0708

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #autumn court #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #eris x reader

[indigosunsetao3]

Homecoming

Another submission for @the-californicationist 500(ish) word no name COD Challenge.

MDNI | smut

He was home.

You haven't seen him yet but you can sense him, as if your body could feel the energy shift in the house you share. You toss your keys into the bowl by the door before peering into the living room which is empty.

"Love?" You call out as you walk further into the house, eyes spying the duffle on the ground.

There's a shuffling noise from the kitchen and he appears in the doorway. A sneaky grin plays on his face as he sips on his Scotch and leans on the jamb to look at you. He's already showered, his chest still glistening with droplets of water and the smell of his bodywash permeating the air.

"There she is," he says softly as he tips back the last fingers of his drink, the ice clinking on the glass before he sets it down on the bookshelf nearby. "Come here."

You clear the gap between the two of you, reaching your hands out to him. You let your palms slide up from the waistband of his sweats, over the scar on his stomach, slowly scratching your nails through his chest hair before settling them on his shoulders. He watches you like a predator, his eyes trailing over your movements before meeting your gaze with clear intent as he grabs your hips.

This is how it always went, talking would come later. You both needed to feel one another; your soft touches cooling the raging soldier underneath his skin while his rough calloused hands set your dormant passion ablaze.

He pushes you harder into the door frame and you whine a bit at the bite of pain on your spine. He doesn't give you a chance to protest more than that, his lips finding yours roughly as he slides his hands down to your backside and under the skirt to heft you up in a quick motion. His fingers knead the skin there as he possessively kisses you, not giving you a chance to breathe properly as his mouth steals the oxygen from your lungs and he grinds himself into you.

Your nails rake through his hair feeling how he needs a proper haircut. The edges are jagged and uneven with the way its grown out but it gives you something to grab and pull lightly. He leans his head back in your grip with a surprised chuckle as he gives you a moment to pant. For as big and rough of a brute he is, he enjoys when you fight for control every now and again; pushing his buttons and riling him.

You tug a little more with a smirk and he huffs bending his head back further. His eyes never leave your face and you can see the hunger, the need, in his gaze as you watch him curiously. His fingers dig into your soft thighs in warning; his restraint is waning.

He gives you one more second of control before he leans in to bite at your lip and yank you roughly against him. He moves toward the kitchen counter pushing things to the floor with a sweep of his arm, not caring as the sound of tinkling glass meets your ears as it hits the tile.

There is a perfectly good bed upstairs, or even a couch in the living room, but patience was never his forte. He wants you there and now.

He doesn't bother to strip out of his pants, only tugging them down enough to free himself from the restraint of the sweats. You squirm as you stare at him pumping himself as he looks at you, the feral smirk on his features making your heart flutter.

He's even less concerned about your own clothing, his fingers sliding the soaked thin cotton of your underwear to the side as he notches himself at your entrance. One last soul-altering kiss is all you get before he's inside of you with a rough thrust that makes you both cry out in one another's mouths.

He gives you a few seconds to adjust before he sets a brutal pace, his arms caging you so you have nowhere to go as he slams home over and over. The pleasure he pulls out of you is enough to make you not care about the fact that walking was going to be difficult the following day. Especially since you knew this barely counted as round one; this was just for him to take the edge off.

#cali’s nameless challenge #cali's challenge #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod #my fic #fanfiction #reader x anonymous 141 #reader x anonymous #you x anoymous

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

HELLO I HAVE ARRIVED WITH MY REQUEST! HERE I GO!

I’ve been kinda thinking about this one recently and I don’t think this will be a “X Reader” thing but I wanna know how Alastor’s Mother found out that he had died, also including that she found out that he was a serial killer, I feel like she would be devastated but I feel like she’s the type of mother to still love her son even though he had killed people, so to put this together what was her reaction when alastor died / killed people? what did she do?

Thank you! I hope this isn’t to confusing, feel free to decline this request if it’s to much but just DM me if you do so anyways so I know, 谢谢 (:

I love this question because I’ve thought and read about it so many times, so im glad to finally be sharing this with people!! I kind of always felt like Alastor’s mother would die before him, so he wouldn’t have to face her, but in the case scenario that he did, I think it’d be a bit hectic.

Reacting to The News of His Death

Alastor’s mother would receive the news of his death first. The initial reaction would likely be one of profound shock and grief. She might be at home, going about her daily routine, when a knock on the door interrupts her. A police officer or a neighbor might deliver the tragic news.

Immediate Grief: She would be devastated, overwhelmed by the sudden loss of her son. The house would fill with her cries of sorrow, the sound of breaking glass as she drops whatever she was holding in shock.

Denial and Disbelief: In the following hours and days, she might experience disbelief, clinging to the hope that there was a mistake, that Alastor was still alive somewhere.

Then there’s Learning About His Crimes

The revelation of his crimes would come shortly after, perhaps through police investigation or media coverage, either way she’d definitely find out what he did. This could go one of three ways I feel like:

Initial Shock: The first news of his criminal activities would hit her like a second wave of grief. The realization that her son led a double life as a serial killer would be almost incomprehensible.

Denial: She might refuse to believe it at first, convinced that there was a mistake, that her son was being falsely accused.

Acceptance and Sorrow: As evidence mounts, she would have no choice but to accept the truth. The acceptance would bring a different kind of sorrow—a mourning not just for his death, but for the loss of the son she thought she knew.

Then there’s the factor that I feel like everyone thinks about the most, especially since Alastor is a momma’s boy: A Mother’s Unconditional Love

Despite the horrific nature of his crimes, her love for him would remain. This love would be complex and fraught with internal conflict and a lot of questions on her end. This could be rough for her, and though from what I’ve read she seems to be a kind hearted woman, I feel like she’d feel like she’s partially to blame for it.

Remembering the Good: She would cling to memories of Alastor as a child—the sweet moments, the times he showed kindness and affection. These memories would provide some solace, even as she grapples with his dark side.

Rationalizing: She might try to rationalize his actions, looking for explanations in his past, in their family history, or in his personality. This could be a way to make sense of the senseless. She would feel like this is because of his father’s absence, or her lack of parenting skills and how she feels like she could’ve been a better mother to him. That maybe she went wrong somewhere and that this isn’t his fault but her’s.

Secret Support: Even though she couldn’t condone his actions, she might secretly still feel protective of his memory, hoping to shield his name from complete disgrace. He is still her son, and though he’s done horrible things in her mind he’s never been a violent man.

Coping and Moving Forward

In the aftermath, Alastor’s mother would have to find a way to move forward, bearing the heavy burden of his legacy. I feel like this would affect her day to day life. People would stare at her awkwardly, she’d have the reputation of birthing a monster, and would most likely be shunned out from society. Or people would feel bad for her for having a ‘sick’ child and never knowing, or just feeling so awful for her and pitting her because she’s related to such a ‘monster’.

Private Mourning: Her grief would be largely private, as she might face ostracism from the community or even her own family.

Visiting His Grave: She would likely visit his grave regularly, talking to him as if he could hear her, seeking some form of closure.

Acts of Redemption: She might engage in charitable acts or community service, trying to bring some light into the world to counteract the darkness of his actions. This could be her way of coping with the guilt and sadness.

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin demon #alastor #hazbin hotel #isuckatwritingsobenice

[nellie-elizabeth]

Doctor Who: Dot and Bubble (14x05)

Wow, holy shit. This season keeps getting better and better.

Cons:

I really only have one tiny complaint, and it's that I wish the walking thing had been done a little differently? I think, allegorically, the idea that they all need arrows and instruction to be able to walk around when they have their bubbles up all the time is a good idea. Like, often when I'm driving somewhere I should know how to get to on my own, I still pull up the map on my phone just as an extra sense of security, or because I never bothered to fully memorize which side street to turn down or what have you. So it makes sense on that level. But the part where Lindy is literally running into poles and desks and stuff read as a little too ridiculous. I wish it had been a little less literal? Like what if instead of running into stuff, it's that Lindy is overwhelmed by the variety of things she's looking at around her, constantly distracted and overwhelmed, and she needs to mutter instructions to herself in order to force herself to walk, and she still takes the sharp 90 degree turns everywhere because that's what she's used to. And then when faced with a monster right in front of her that's blocking her most natural path towards the exit, she freezes up and can't figure out how to make herself find an alternative route right away. That would work better than the scene where she's literally just running into a pole multiple times.

Pros:

But honestly! What a fucking stunning episode, with one of the best... I guess you could say, "twists", of any Doctor Who episode I can ever remember seeing. I'm not talking about the computers turning on the citizens of Finetime, I'm not talking about the home-world being taken over and not coming back to save everyone. I'm talking about Lindy and the others rejecting the Doctor's help at the end of the episode. That scene is an all time classic, instantly, I just know it.

But first let's back up and talk about Lindy as a character. I think this episode hinges on the way she toes the line the whole episode - you don't understand at first if Lindy is an example of her society, the same as everyone else, or if there's something special about her. Is she an exception to some rule, or just a coincidental POV character? She's terrified, but she tries her best - I was moved by the moments when she realizes how truly helpless she is without the bubble and cries out "I'm so stupid!" You feel a certain sense of connection with her utter helplessness and fear. She's so coddled, so trapped in her bubble, literally, that everything new and scary seems hostile to her.

So... she can be forgiven for not instantly trusting the Doctor and Ruby, right? Right? I mean, they're strangers who came out of nowhere, and she has no idea what's going on. She's just a girl in a socially dystopian scenario where everyone's so addicted to their phones that they've shut out the rest of the world, and she needs help!

That's layer one to what's going on here.

But underneath that layer, you start to notice other things pretty early on. We learn about Finetime, we learn that it's a place that only the most elite people send their children to work. We learn eventually that the very computer program running their lives has started to get sick of them and has decided to exterminate them due to the... inanity, the intolerable repetitiveness, of their pointless, vapid lives. This isn't a situation where everyone in the world is like these people. This is a situation where the wealthiest and most privileged have literally cut themselves off from experiencing anything outside of what they know, and it's a look at the reinforcement of certain beliefs that exist in that society, due to the extreme level of shelter these people are subjected to.

The way that privilege operates within the episode is also subtly and effectively condemnatory to the viewer, or at least to this viewer, in a way that really worked. I did note the whiteness of this world, specifically the white, blonde, stereotypically attractive, thin, able-bodied woman serving as our protagonist. She seemed to represent a type of person; she stands in for a type of ignorance and privilege that we recognize in our own world. But when that moment came at the end where Lindy and the other survivors reject the Doctor's help? You bet your ass I was scouring the background of the scene, searching for any people of color in the shot. I didn't find any. And yeah, it hadn't occurred to me that all the faces we see in Lindy's friend group, all the people we see in this whole world, were white - a white majority is burned into our brains as a default, it's what I, a white person myself, am accustomed to seeing on the screen.

I think the reason the scene at the end is going to stick in people's heads is because it's not a metaphorical bigotry the Doctor suffers in this moment. It's actual, it's in your face. These people aren't "symbolically" bigoted of the Doctor's otherness, they're literally just racists. They're fucking racists. And Lindy never was special - she only lasted as long as she did because her last name starts with a letter later on in the alphabet. She is utterly typical of the people in this world, and this world is a world of white supremacy, and that's all there is to it.

Ncuti Gatwa's performance of outrage and grief was absolutely stunning. I saw one reviewer talk about how it makes sense that the Doctor being Black hasn't been addressed on screen yet, as it would be a pretty wretched look for the show to cast this actor in the role and then have the character immediately suffer racism because of it. But at the same time, it should be addressed in some way, and here's the way in which it finally is. I was also moved by Ruby's silent grief. For the treatment of her friend, but also for the way in which something so evil and stupid and pointless is going to result in all these young people probably dying in the forest, all because they couldn't look past their ingrained prejudices to accept help from someone they deemed their inferior. Gatwa screams and laughs and it's clear that he's feeling so many things, such helplessness and bewilderment and frustration. I don't know how much the show will go into this, but it would be so interesting to have the character reflect on this moment where he realizes something completely arbitrary and out of his control actually has an impact on his ability to do his job well. The character has been a white man a bunch of times in a row, then a white woman, and now a Black man. The mind fuck of having direct evidence of how the world's prejudices work in all ways big and small... what an interesting avenue for the show to explore.

I should also bring up Ricky September, legend, gone too soon from this world, shoulda joined the Doctor and Ruby in the TARDIS and had a threesome with them, tbh. I love what this character represents. At first, he seems like the ultimate symbol of this vapid, image-obsessed, bubbled society, as he's shown mugging the camera singing twinkly little songs and being a sex object for his followers. But then we meet him, and he's a genuinely nice, thoughtful person who does his best to help Lindy. We learn that it's possible to live a life using the bubble for work and then logging off, learning more about the world through history instead of constantly partying and getting caught up in the moment. This story isn't really one about "kids these days on their phones with the TikToks and the blah blah blah." It's more about being entrenched in a loop, stuck with your head in the sand. And Ricky is someone who proves that there is a way to operate outside of that system. He's not necessarily a paragon of anti-racist virtue, but he's a dude who at least has taken some steps to push back against that automatic entrenchment, proving that such a thing can be done, even given the social pressures to sink into the reinforced bubble of prejudice. I also loved Ruby and the Doctor both having a crush on him.

And I love how his character winds up, a turning point where we're starting to realize that Lindy might not actually be redeemable as someone we need to be rooting for. Her sacrifice of her celebrity crush to the killer Dot was brutal, and it feels like such a good appetizer for the final scene of the episode, as the twist comes fully into play.

I think that without that final reveal at the end, this would still have been a good episode of Doctor Who. But with it, it's an all-time great episode. God, I already feel like I want to do a re-watch just to catch more of the build to that moment. I hope that next week we get more time with the Doctor, as we've had two Doctor-lite episodes in a row. But seriously - this season just keeps getting better and better as it goes.

10/10

#review #doctor who #doctor who review #dot and bubble

[polin-erospsyche]

So I did a full analysis/reaction to the trailer because it dropped as my plane was about leave and I was going out of my mind and I needed something to do. Thank you @polinsated for sending the video of the trailer for me to obsess and hyperventilate over while stuck on a tiny chair in a very public place.

Also I apologise for how long this is going to be. I literally had to break it down in parts because tumblr can’t process it but also I had so much fun making this that I just really want it on my blog 😂😂😂

She seems way to happy with herself for someone’s whose carefully constructed life is hanging by a thread. Pen what are you up to?

Everyone is so happy and Eloise is just holding on for dear life and some sense of normality. She’s carrying such a heavy secret from her favourite sibling and she’s loosing Pen in a whole new way. The very fragile ground she’s been walking on is collapsing right under her feet. But also please El be kind to Pen and understand that this girl has been wanting this boy her entire life, finally has him and now is being put against the clock to drop this huge bomb that will destroy everything. It’s terrifying and understandable, give her time.

Give me more of mama Bridgerton with baby Pen. This girl is about to receive so much motherly love she’s been lacking her whole life. Violet has probably been waiting for this moment since Colin was like 5. She’s so happy to welcome the 5th daughter she never had into her home and her family.

Tbh their reaction at the engagement was my reaction at the trailer drop, jaw on the floor, choking on my tea. Also Finch is just the happiest brother in law??? Like let this man and Rae be the best man and bridesmaid at the wedding at this point. You know it would make his entire year.

Pen is dressed entirely, from head to toe in lilac, she’s so in love and we love to see it ❤️

Pen, love, please be happy about your upcoming nuptials. Why do they all look like they’re about to go to a funeral and Portia’s the one planning it excitedly?

This is the moment we all started to die. Like the fact that we all collectively lost our shit precisely at this moment??? The way they just gravitate towards each other when everyone is going outside? I have always loved you Colin, there’s nothing that makes me happier than being with you??? The way there’s a huge grin on his face and he proceeds to twirl her around?? Just both of them happy and so so in love??? Oh god it is too sweet in here for me to breathe properly.

Then we collectively just kept loosing our shit but for another entirely different reason

El, darling, I know you’re stressed and unhappy but please be kind to your bestie. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, she just got the boy of her dreams and you’re giving her a clock to drop the bomb that will destroy her dreams. Although we all agree with El, Pen you really should tell him before he finds out on his own and kisses you in the dark alleyways of London

#part 1 of trailer reaction #my shit posts have taken on a whole new level of unhinged #I AM SO SORRY #but also I am not #it allowed me to process the bomb #that just fell on all of our heads #and I had so much fun making this #polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3

[cece693]

Can you create another Bella Swan x Male Reader. Maybe a human reader, a new student in her highschool. Bella that stuck in her room for weeks after Edward leave her, finally went to school, she didn't expect talking to m/n is easy and making her feel better, but it did. And loving him is easy, no danger to her or charlie, no threat from his family for dating him. Idk if this make sense, but i hope for fluffy moments between them and maybe a little angst when Edward comeback, Bella choose m/n of course. Thx in advance🥰🥰

Second Chance at Love (Bella Swan x M! Reader)

Sorry for the late delivery but I hope you like it. I tried to include everything you asked for, but I'm no magician :)

tags: depression, edward being manipulative, bella finally getting some sense knocked into her, charlie approves, human male reader

Charlie stood outside Bella’s open bedroom door, his heart heavy at the sight that had become a permanent fixture. Knees pulled into her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, it seemed as if that was the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the hardwood floor. Lifeless brown eyes stared out the window, as if searching for something that wasn’t there, with only her shallow breathing proving she was still among the living.

Anger churned within Charlie, directed at the Cullen boy who had caused his daughter so much pain. It was his departure, along with that of his family, that broke her, leaving her alone to wrestle with a heartache she wasn't equipped to handle. The sight was eerily familiar to how he spent his days after Renee departed, leaving him not only an empty home but a heart. Stepping into the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, Charlie stood behind his daughter.

“Bella,” he said softly, hoping to break through the fog of her despair, yet received no response. “You’re moving back in with your mother.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Then, finally, Bella turned to him, her eyes filled with defiance and despair. "No." she rasped, her voice weak from disuse. “You can’t do that. I’ve built a life here—”

“Which you’ve abandoned,” Charlie cut in, rubbing his face tiredly. “When was the last time you spoke to Jacob, Angela, Jessica…? You haven’t been to school. You barely eat.” Clearly, he struggled to get the words out, his wish for Bella to remain in Forks being overridden by his desire to see her get better. “Perhaps a change of environment will do you good.”

“No, please.” Bella pleaded, her last connection to Edward about to disappear if she didn’t do something quickly. “I’ll go to school. In fact, today I plan to hang out with friends in Port Angeles.” It was an utter lie, but when Charlie looked somewhat relieved, Bella knew she had to commit to it.

“Alright. But if I don’t see a change, we’re calling your mom.” With that, Charlie turned and left for work, leaving Bella to prepare for school. Moving almost mechanically, Bella went through all the motions of getting ready—she showered, dressed, and grabbed her backpack, all with a sense of detachment. As she drove to school, the world around her seemed muted, the colors dull and the sounds distant.

The school day passed in a blur. She drifted from class to class, barely aware of her surroundings. She saw her friends in the hallways but avoided making eye contact, too exhausted to engage. Lunchtime came and went without her touching her food as she instead sat at the Cullen table, looking out the blinds as if they would appear at any moment.

Finally, Bella found herself in English class, seated at her desk with her head lowered, staring at her hands. The chatter of the other students faded into the background as she lost herself in thoughts of Edward. His face, his voice, his touch—they haunted her every moment, a constant reminder of what she had lost. The seat beside her was empty, until a shadow was seen from her peripheral and a new voice broke through her reverie. “Hi, I’m M/N.” he introduced himself, his voice warm and friendly. "Mind if I sit here?"

Bella took a deep breath, struggling to respond. "Sure." she whispered, after what most likely was a minute too long. Yet, M/N paid no mind, taking the seat to her right, his presence strangely comforting. He was the new student Bella had heard moved from [hometown/state]. His arrival created an uproar not only due to his mother, who was a Forks native, but also for his handsome features. There were whispers among students of him being related to the Cullens, but Bella disagreed. M/N was beautiful, but not like her Edward. 

As the days went by, M/N made several attempts to engage Bella in conversation—he would ask her how she was doing, talk about the latest assignment, or share stories about his life, yet Bella’s responses were always short, barely a sentence. He ignored Jessica’s warnings about getting too close to her, going on and on about how Bella became mute and unresponsive after breaking up with her boyfriend, yet M/N remained undeterred. Everybody needed a friend, even if they didn’t think so. 

“Good Morning.” M/N greeted after a month and a half of one-sided conversations. Sitting down at their table, the boy was surprised when Bella smiled and returned his greeting. She looked happier, shoulders not hunched into themselves and dressed in something other than baggy clothing. But it wasn’t just him who noticed, it was the school, but most importantly Charlie. He was glad to see his daughter turn back into herself, and although he didn’t know what exactly caused this, he was thankful for whatever or whoever returned the life to her. 

Bella couldn’t pinpoint where thoughts of Edward disappeared from her head, but as she got to know M/N further, they did. The dark cloud looming over her, asking why Edward would do such a thing, the hope of them returning, was erased and replaced with present thoughts regarding M/N. At this revelation, Bella was frightened. She was scared of falling in love again, only for it to end with M/N leaving, but a part of her was also relieved and excited. M/N had shown her he cared—who else would’ve kept trying to talk to her after such a cold shoulder? And even if he didn’t feel the same, Bella was content to keep him in her life.

October

November 

December 

January 

Months have passed by and Bella was happy. After months of dancing around each other, she and M/N have begun dating. The transition from friends to something more felt natural, a gradual deepening of their connection. Bella couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease, so genuinely content. However, her good mood soured when she entered the school parking lot and a familiar volvo greeted her.

Hands growing clammy, Bella turned off her engine and sat inside the truck for a minute—she didn’t know what to feel. If this was months ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated in walking towards them, but now only anger filled her veins. Why did they come back? What were their intentions? However, Bella couldn’t hide forever, so with a determined mind, she exited her truck. Feeling eyes on her, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and entered the school. 

The day passed by in a blur, with Bella effectively avoiding the Cullens. She ignored Alice’s attempts to catch her eye in the hallway, quickly changing directions whenever she saw the petite vampire approaching. Edward’s gaze was harder to dodge, but Bella managed to keep her head down and her focus straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of even a glance. When school ended, Bella immediately walked out. Sprinting towards her truck, she wasn’t quick enough when the hair on her neck rose, alerting her that someone was behind her. 

“Can we talk?” Edward whispered. 

Bella froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her expression hardening. “There’s nothing to talk about.” she said, her voice steady.

“Please, Bella.” Edward pleaded, his eyes filled with regret. “I just need a few minutes.”

Debating with herself, Bella sighed before nodding. Edward broke into a smile, the vampire probably thinking she would jump into his arms once he said sorry, but he would be soon mistaken. “I know I hurt you, love, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my existence. But I still love you, Bella. Can’t we give each other another chance?”

“No. I’m with someone else.”

Edward's expression fell, the hope draining from his eyes. “Who?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Bella hesitated, then took a deep breath. “His name is M/N.” she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. At this, Edward knew he needed to get more information—see if Bella was serious with this boy or just trying to make him jealous. 

“M/N.” he repeated, his voice neutral. “Tell me about him.”

“M/N is…he’s amazing.” Bella struggled to find a word that even began to describe M/N. “He’s kind, caring, and always there for me. He understands me in a way no one else ever has.”

Edward listened intently, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. “Bella, please.” He pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. “You can’t be serious about him. You deserve someone better. He can’t protect you like I can. He’s human, Bella. He’s fragile, and he can’t offer you what I can.”

Bella’s eyes flashed with defiance, her defenses rising. “M/N may be human, but he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” she retorted, her voice firm. “And he doesn’t need to offer me protection, Edward. He offers me love, support, and understanding—things you couldn’t give me. You’re the one who made the mistake when you left me. And now, I’m choosing to move on with someone who actually cares about me.”

Edward’s eyes darkened with regret, but he refused to give up. “Bella, I love you.” he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ve always loved you. Can’t you see that my leaving was a sign of that?”

Bella didn’t answer the vampire, growing tired of his excuses and inability to accept her choice. Turning back to her truck, Bella opened the door and went inside. If Edward could leave her in the woods all those months ago, she could leave him in a parking lot. Turning the engine on, Bella drove towards Port Angeles. After all, she and M/N had a date planned to celebrate their two-month anniversary.

#the twilight saga #x male reader #male reader #twilight #alice cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #jasper hale #twilight saga #jacob black #charlie swan #rosalie twilight #rosalie hale #rosalie cullen #jasper whitlock #new moon #emmett cullen #forks washington #the volturi