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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 3 days

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Sins Of The Father, Fuck The Daughter - Lewis Hamilton

Switching Team pt 3

Dark fic 18+ - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Warnings/themes: Age gap, smut , coercion, manipulation, corruption/innocence kinks, gaslighting, parental intervention, baby trapping, revenge

@omgsuperstarg is being massively credited bc she has helped inspire so many ideas w this series so have to give a shout out.

One more part after this and then we're calling it on the series.

Another race weekend. Another endless train of clips seeing his very recently wrecked daughter dripping in red.

The whole world has noted that y/n always seems to have swollen lips, from whatever activity herself and Lewis were enjoying before arriving. Her red dresses practically uniform and this week came with an addition of all red Louboutins and a gust of wind did give some of the paddock a peak at what is better described as red string under her dress rather than anything that could be described as underwear

The media has tried it's best not to dwell too much on the matter but the transformation of the quiet and shy girl who seem to definite the innocence of wearing white has now been touched by Lewis and seems to be transformed. Hardly recognisable as the same person.

"Toto, we know that you have seemed to have lost two people to supporting red. How are you feeling about y/n's new relationship?" The reporter asks with a smile jumping at the opportunity to get Toto's opinion since everyone knows of his and Lewis' feud.

"I think I will have to console my daughter when she comes to her senses and sees Lewis is only corrupting her to hurt me. Which I think is quite poor form from someone like Lewis. Perhaps Fred can get his driver under control." Toto states making somewhat of a joke at the end, though even picks up on the tone and suggestion behind it.

"Fred?"

"I imagine Toto has more control over his daughter than I do over Lewis. It is my job to handle my drivers as drivers, not to monitor their personal lives." Fred shrugs earning a slight glare from the Mercedes team principal. "We are here to race."

"You should try reminding your driver of that when he's flaunting my daughter around like a possession." Toto grumbles earning a very obvious side eye from the Frenchman.

Y/n feels Lewis' hand clap over her mouth as his other hand pushes down on her stomach, forcing the bulge almost up into her other organs with the sensation of pain merging with pleasure and earning a muffled but still audible moan as she milks ever drop of cum from him.

Lewis has decided that he won't be fully satisfied about having successfully taken y/n from Toto until she's got his child. Though he might have to ease up on bruising her insides at that point, he's almost certain her tummy does actually have a small bruise from his dick.

Seeing her in all red actually brings out some primary instinct to fuck her till she's walking like the memory of his dick being in her is permanently there.

He'd had a conversation with Fred and then he saw the press conference and he decided that if Toto was so eager to see his daughter then he'd see it be done.

"That's a lot." Y/n mumbles commenting on the feeling of his cum flood out of her. "You want me to not wipe it?"

"No. We're going to see your dad."

"I really don't want to." Y/n mumbles then wincing when two fingers press into her before he removes them and raises his fingers to her races.

"Clean up." Lewis instructs making her look as his other hand squeezes her thigh in warning.

Y/n swallows before holding his hand to put his fingers in her mouth licking his fingers clean of the salty cum.

"Come on. We're going to see your dad and Susie."

"But-"

"Y/n." Lewis cuts in his short temper being a result of Toto's comments and the hurt expression on y/n's face makes him realise that he maybe needs to remember that she might be his daughter but she's an innocent in this matter. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but we don't have time and you know I like-"

"I know. But I don't even want to speak to my dad...I don't understand why you're pushing for it." Y/n mumbles with a pout.

"Because he wants to see you and he's blaming me stopping you as the reason why you won't." Lewis states earning a small nod. "You don't have to speak to him for long."

"Can't you just do the talking?" Y/n sighs earning a small smile of amusement.

"You have to say something, but I'll talk to him as well." Lewis assures her while helping her stand up. "Good?"

"Yeah."

They walk through the paddock moving to the Mercedes unit where Toto is actually sitting outside with Susie and Jack.

Despite their relation, Jack doesn't know much of his sister. By the time he came alone she'd long since been left in isolation and the two are anything but close.

"Why don't you go find George, Jack?" Susie asks, not wanting to leave but also not feeling Jack should be involved in the conversation. Thankfully he rushes off eager to speak to George since he admires the lanky Brit a lot.

"Y/n, how have you been?" Toto asks as Lewis pulls out a chair for her and tucks it in. "I didn't know you had such a love for the colour red."

"Toto." Susie scolds as Lewis sits down looking fairly smug.

"I'm here because Lewis asked it of me, if you intend to be disrespectful we can leave." Y/n states crossing her arms and frowning at him. "I didn't ask for this you know."

"Well if Lewis would stop using you-"

"Enough, Toto." Susie cuts in sharply.

Y/n swallows since Susie has always defended her but it's complicated between them.

"Lewis, whether your intentions were motivated by revenge on Toto or genuine feelings for y/n. You clearly have made her happy and that is what is important." Susie smiles looking at y/n. "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters." Susie assures her then linking her hand with Toto's. "Your dad won't be making anymore public comments about it."

Toto makes no verbal confirmation, too busy trying to stare Lewis down but the driver is unwavering.

"I'm glad we all had this talk, it's been important. Y/n and I have to go, things to do. Come on, y/n."

The two leave though Toto and Susie both notice the bodily fluid that's now leaked low enough to be visible and if you glimpse you'll spot it.

"He is doing it on purpose. He is trying to provoke a reaction-Susie, you cannot expect him to allow this." Toto hisses to his wife. "He treats her like property and with no respect. How can you be ok with it?"

"Y/n is an adult. We have to let her make her own mistakes to learn her own consequences." Susie sighs then smiling at him. "We can only hope the consequences don't come in a form that she regrets in the long term."

Y/n watches Lewis talking to his engineers, ready to get the car out onto the grid.

There's been an off feeling since her and Lewis left that very short and uncomfortable meeting with her parents. She appreciates Susie's efforts but it's fairly obvious where Toto's feelings lie and she didn't miss that Lewis was purposely sitting like the cat who got the cream. Quite literally.

"Y/n, good luck kiss?" Lewis smiles catching her attention and earning a smile. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just thinking about earlier. It's...fine."

"Hey...don't let them ruin a good day. You look gorgeous, the race is going to be good and I want to see you afterwards with that gorgeous smile. All for me."

Y/n actually does genuinely smile over his words and when he leans in for a kiss it's fairly obvious his goal of perking her up was very successful. Something they're both very grateful for.

Watching the race y/n is so focused on Lewis she doesn't actually notice the cars around him, not till George appears and looks like he's trying to be the next torpedo driver as he tries a dive bomb and just completely smacks into Lewis, ripping through the right side of red sidepod and wrecking the floor.

"What the fuck?" Y/n whispers standing up as collective groans and yells of outrage shout through the garage.

That's race ending damage even if he wanted to continue.

They call for him to come in and he's pulled into the garage after trying to see if there's any chance of the car continuing but as suspected it's done for.

Lewis gets out being weighed before he takes a moment then sighs moving to his engineer. They spend a while watching replays, onboard, looking from different angles and he even moves back to the care talking to the mechanics as they inspect the damage which is severe.

"Are you ok?" Y/n mumbles making him look at her as he places his helmet down.

"You're never talking to your dad again." Lewis states earning a slightly shocked expression. It's one thing for her to be angry at.

Now George truly could've pulled that move of his own decision, he's the exact type of driver who would. Like an idiot. He got off lucky doing it.

"Y/n, I mean it." Lewis grumbles as a PR assistant appears telling him they need to get him to media. "I'll see you in the unit."

He then goes and spend the next half hour absolutely rinsing George calling him Toto's runner boy and directly making the accusation that the move was a matter of George being told to target Lewis and do anything to ruin is race. All because he's dating y/n.

Lewis made it clear.

He also used her as a bit of a cushion for frustration, she woke up this morning and decided she wouldn't be getting out of bed, although he did apologise for the sex that was about as rough as it's ever been. It's not as if she didn't enjoy herself. But the man certainly knows how to leave her feeling the effects of his dick the following day.

Luckily her is more than happy to do everything for her, he kisses her constantly and just holds her in cuddles, orders room service, gives her all his attention.

"You're the best thing in my life, you know that?" Lewis whispers gently pushing her hair back.

"You're the best thing in my life too."

"So...as an apology for the weekend-"

"You don't have to apologise." Y/n states quickly than moving over to straddle him. "I always love having sex with you."

"Do you?"

"Are you really going to make me prove it?" Y/n laughs earning a quick chuckle.

"No. You are in a rest day. Same as me. I think we're both owed it."

"Lewis...did it hurt?"

She knows that any impact in an F1 car can make the body ache but she really wants to know that Lewis is ok.

"It always hurts a little. But that one wasn't the worst." Lewis smiles then pulling her down to kiss her lightly. "You're sweet to ask, baby."

"Well so long as we can cuddle for the rest of the day, I think we're both resting enough."

"Agreed."

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stars-in-a-jam-jar · 23 hours

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Moar Buddy Dawn Shit in relation to this post

Buddy was dead for about 10 to 15-maybe-20 minutes. Kristen and Gorgug at the top of Freshman Year were only dead about 3 to 5 minutes and they still got some form of time in the afterlife, (side note: Gorgug not knowing what Orc Heaven looks like and being Deeply Fucking Terrified and shellshocked by the entire experience is So Juicy To Me, like. Something that should by all rights be familiar to him being foreign. Of deep spiritual significance, but not in the way it was 'supposed to be'; he didn't even know how it was 'supposed to be' at the time or after he learned it, he's still not really sure if it was ever a 'supposed to'.) so I'm quite sure Buddy experienced Something beyond the grave and chose to leave it for this nameless aspect of Ankarna. The version of her which exists as a result of her complete death and incomplete resurrection/preservation.

In that 10 to 15 minutes, Buddy passed into the place he was going. Perhaps some cornfield out on the edge of Helio's domain where Helio figured 'I'll get to him or he'll find me sometime, there's literally infinite time here'. Perhaps as a petitioner on the Astral Sea- wait, no, I'm thinking about Rolling With Difficulty cosmology, the Astral Realm is not a sea in Fantasy High. (also go listen to Rolling With Difficulty) Regardless of if he went to the afterlife the adults all told him he'd go to if he'd been a good boy or to some more limbo-like place, he had just enough minutes for the reality to sink in that he's Dead. He's dead and the feeling of a hand gripping his shoulder as if to hoist his assailant high enough to slit his throat presses like a cold weight on his skin. As if this body has skin, no, he's just a solid soul given form in this place.

So jarring. Resting dead in some corner of the cosmos like finding the one empty room at a big loud party where you've mostly been taking things in, sticking close to people you know, not doing anything you're not supposed to. Sitting down on the unfamiliar furniture or swaying idly in place as you listen to the murmur of this foreign world around you. Only it's not like that, not truly at all. You're not at the party anymore, the echoes of your life aren't some thing you're taking a break from to rejoin or building up the nerve to excuse yourself from to get a proper change of scene. There is no going back or moving forward.

He's dead. Buddy Dawn is dead.

How many minutes did it take him to lose composure? Did he even? When the ultimatum was posed to him, did he harden his heart to any regrets about abandoning his original faith, or did he relax into knowing he could live again, in service of something that reached for him and he reached back towards?

Why was he so chipper saying 'Dang, y'all, I worship a nameless god of rage.'? He didn't sound horrified by his decision in much the same way he didn't sound in touch with reality when he said 'Sometimes I raise my hand and magic that burns folks to a crisp comes out, but that's just the lord Helio working through me.' His death didn't change him so much as it fixed his gaze onto something new.

He is still a Cleric. Through and through. His soul needs a divinity to latch onto. And this is the first time he has latched onto a divinity wholly and completely for himself. He was not taught how to live for himself. He was taught how to live and die for a cause. For Helio. He earns a nice afterlife via sacrificing his autonomy to whatever the church tells him is good and right.

But he doesn't want a nice afterlife.

He wants another life.

And he no longer has faith that Helio will deliver him from any hardship, because even after he's just barely grasped how dead he is and has been for the past 11 minutes, his soul is wrent into an ultimatum by a different power. Go back to his body and continue living under a new banner, or be trapped in a dark, solitary purgatory which his soul may never be free from.

It's an easy decision, really. Barely requires any thought, only following a feeling. He no longer wants to stand by the god who allowed him to die so unceremoniously and so unfairly. He honestly feels more betrayed by Helio than he does by Kipperlily. Kipperlily hardly made any promises to him, just asked for him to be the party's cleric. He never expected her to do that, sure, but... His whole life he was promised that every bad emotion he ever felt in response to every wrongness in his life would (should, must, has to) simply evaporate away in the golden light of the corn god. And it's been an eternal 12 minutes, but he only feels worse and worse.

And if all Helio could promise him was a flat expanse of farmland overseen by someone who didn't even properly greet him when he walked in (if the celestial bureaucracy were even doing their jobs and funneled the soul of Helio's cleric to Helio instead of some cosmic waiting room or other), but this nameless deity can promise him a life for himself? Then by god he's taking that ultimatum, come back to life, sit up with a slightly surprised little smile and announce to the world (as he has been taught is right to do when you are devoted to a god) 'I worship a nameless god of rage!'

And he'll be happy with this choice-that-is-not-a-choice which he was betrayed and coerced into. Because it truly feels self indulgent to choose anything. To choose ragefully living for himself instead of obediently dying for an unfulfilling promise. He'll choose the intensity and the darkness because the gentle constant pressure cooker of walking in the light gave him nothing but sunburns and a slit throat.

#fantasy high junior year #fantasy high junior year spoilers #i love him #buddy dawn #kristen applebees #gorgug thistlespring #fhjy #dimension 20

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zarvasace · 3 days

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Ugh tumblr is not cooperating with my readmores and art. Oh well we can do it this way. AU masterpost

Say hello to Shackle and Nothing, dark Wind and dark Time :D more art and long descriptions beneath the cut!

Shackle

Shackle is dark Wind.

To me, one of Wind’s core themes is freedom. He goes wherever he wants on his boat (and has fun), he frees a couple girls from the Helmaroc King, and when I think of him, I think of wild blue skies and an endless horizon. He loves life and is one of the most determined heroes.

Shackle, on the other hand, is a bit of a control freak. He doesn't mind not being in charge all the time (he does mind, but he doesn't like to be challenged, and knows that he'd lose any fight for the top place, so he pretends to not care) but he does mind when things don't go his way. If someone or something is annoying him or not listening to him, he will readily use one of the many chains he carries to threaten or restrain. He likes being in control of others, and he likes when people are afraid of him. He keeps fairies nearby, not so much in case of healing, but because he can shake their bottles and listen to them chime in fear.

Shackle is a rather skilled manipulator, and one of the few Darks that look pretty much human, so he's often the one to head excursions into town (Prince is more of a charismatic diplomat, but his powers don't work on whole crowds at a time.) Because of his strength and chains, he's often the one to be on Dire duty, something he doesn’t mind much. Shackle is also very fond of money and luxury. He’ll pinch rupees on anything that doesn't have to do with him, like someone else’s supplies, but he's happy to splurge on himself.

He doesn't have any mystical powers, but he does have enchanted chains that grow and shrink according to his needs. He eats food like any mortal. He's as young as Wind is but is more often successful at bluffing his way into bars and the like. He “jokes” often about earning a couple rupees from selling one of the others—usually Lost or Madness, or Nothing if he's being annoying (a normal occurrence.) Shackle’s ambition is to break free of the others and start a true pirate empire, and the way he wants to do that is by starting a slave trade. That way he can indulge his loves of intimidation and money at the same time.

In terms of design: Shackle is pale to Wind’s tan, a bit beefy to Wind’s young lankiness. He wears red instead of blue, leaning into the pirate aesthetic with sashes and belts and leather and eyeliner. He got a chain tattoo because he thought it was cool. He fears losing everything he has, and some of what he doesn't have.

The only thing that Shackle and Wind would agree on is that Aryll must be protected and lavished with gifts at every opportunity (even though Shackle hasn’t technically met her, yet.) He'd treat her like a princess—as long as she agreed with him about what a princess should be. He isn't a very good listener.

Nothing

Nothing is dark Time. He appears as a petulant child: sharp and angular and half-dead. He takes all of Time’s gremlin tendencies and turns them into cruel pranks and mean-spirited insults. Time is a leader, and Nothing intentionally holds the group back if he can get away with it. Nothing is resentful: he remembers fighting Time, though he, like Agony, is different now—he can think more clearly and has a purpose beyond just being something's guardian.

Nothing gets along best with Madness. He hates being given orders and actively goes the other way unless it was his idea. The group at large only barely puts up with him, but they keep him around for a good reason: he's kind of a genius. He knows dungeons, traps, and gimmicks like nobody’s business. He won't ever give advice on one of Depth’s plans if asked, but they've figured out that if they give Nothing an opening to dunk on someone and hurt one of the Heroes, he'll jump into it and put that genius to work. He's excellent at predicting what the heroes might do, which makes everything just that much more sinister.

On occasion, Nothing will fall into fugues. During these periods, he appears as an older teenager instead of a child, and he's virtually unresponsive. He'll move if prodded. He’ll fight—and fight very well—if told to, but he won't speak, the embodiment of his name. Pretty much everyone finds the contrast rather creepy. These periods don't last long, and soon enough, Nothing is back to his bratty younger self.

Most of all, Nothing wants everything Time has, but if given the option, he wouldn't take Time’s place. He innocently wishes he could be a hero, but he knows he can't be, so he's going to go as far the other direction as possible. He wants to build his own life. But the people around him wouldn't ever let that happen, so Nothing is bitter and lashes out, without any reason not to.

Nothing is designed very much after the Dark Link in Ocarina of Time’s Water Temple, with a few significant tweaks. He is based on young Link instead of the older one, and he is also covered in signs of decay. There are faint red and purple lines like veins on his skin, like corpses that began to decompose underwater, and his tunic and hat show signs of the same. When he appears as a teenager, the decay is even worse. His sword is patterned after the Master Sword, but is just a normal, nonmagical thing.

Nothing is the Hero of Nothing, a sad admittance of his own emptiness and a jab at Time’s forgotten timelines. He wouldn't even know how to seize the opportunity to be a hero of something if it showed up in front of him.

#my art #linked universe #lu z darks au #this is so. cringe.#but whatever #we'll be back to scifi times when i finish these

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danibee33 · 3 days

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The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 6: Promise

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

word count: 2.5k

[<<< chapter 5]

For the first time, in longer than you can remember, you don’t dread the morning sun. You watch it crest the horizon, feel its warmth radiate on your skin, bask in its dewey light- bathing you in a delightful glow.

And it feels so surreal, like you’re surely doomed to wake from this dream, like the strong arms that had held you so tightly, and the lips that kissed yours so passionately, were only figments of your imagination. Yet, when you reach out, your fingers graze over the very real, and very smooth, cold, dark surface of Simon’s helmet still sitting on your bedside table; unmoved since he had retrieved it from the balcony hours ago-

“It’s real, My Queen..” You suck in a breath at the thick rasp of Simon’s voice in your ear, earning you a sweet chuckle, the arm around your waist pulling you closer so he can bury his nose into the soft hair at the nape of your neck, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

A deep sigh parts your lips at the way he feels, how solid and hot his body is wrapped around yours, his breath sneaking beneath the collar of your nightgown,

“Tell me,” You say, wriggling yourself even further against him, “can you read minds, Ser Simon?”

Your question riles a deep and genuine laugh from him this time, though he does his best to keep it quiet, only for your ears, and hopefully none that dare to pry-

“Why?” He asks, gently tugging you to turn over, “Somethin’ up here you wouldn’t want me to know?”

Smiles pull at both your lips when he taps your temple with the pad of his finger, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen something as glorious as Simon’s dimpled smirk- Gods, why would he ever hide under that helmet.. it’s a fleeting thought, but one you hope to learn the answer to eventually. Hm, eventually, when is that? How much time do you really have with him? What could possibly-

“Hey..” His calloused palm settles over your cheek, thumb tracing a soft, back and forth pattern, his eyes narrowed in concern, “What is it? I lost you..”

Such a simple question, and such a simple statement, but they feel incomprehensible. That you could have given your life to man for years, and he still knows nothing of you, thinks nothing of you- but Simon, who has only been with you for a handful of months, has somehow learned you, maybe even better than you know yourself.

You rest your palm over his hand, unsure of what to say, or where it could possibly go; his promise ringing in your ears, reverberating through your marrow and bones-

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

“If we leave.. Where will we go?”

“When we leave..” His voice is steady and hardly above a whisper, the tip of his nose grazing over yours, “We’ll go wherever you like. The coast, inland, mountains, and forests- we’ll see it all.”

“But.. Simon- the King..”

So, so sweetly, you feel him pull your head forward just enough to crush his lips against yours- effectively silencing all your relentless thoughts, even if only for this glorious moment. Because it’s so easy to be consumed in him, in his power and his gentility, his brutish strength and the way he holds you as if you were made of the most precious and rare element he knew. And once again, you feel your body giving in to him- feel the tightness gather in your belly, and the ache grow between your legs. You want him, in every way that a woman can want a man- but all too soon, he’s pulling away again, his forehead pressing against yours,

“I will deal with the King, sweet girl.” He studies you, biting harshly at his bottom lip before glancing behind you towards the sunrise, “I have to dress- your hand maid will be here soon.”

You know you should let go of him, but it feels like you only just got him- and your stubborn heart wins against the logic of your mind as you lean into him again, kissing him with a little more urgency, a fervor behind your actions that he gives into, but only for a moment. He holds you back, eyes clenched shut in a silent battle all his own,

“Little Queen, you might think me a better man than I am..” He practically groans out the words, reaching down to hitch your thigh up over his hip, pushing his pelvis forward so that his want and arousal are made quite evident to you, “But, I beg of you, not here.. Not yet.”

There’s nothing in his words or his tone that could lead you to believe he doesn’t want all the same things you do, nothing about the hard length that presses against your cunt that could possibly make you believe he isn’t holding on by the thinnest of threads, trying his damnedest to be good to you- so that you’ll never, ever think that he simply wants your body and nothing else.

“Ok, Simon..” You nod, letting him press one more kiss to your lips, one so full of pining and longing, that it threatens to steal the air from your lungs as you reluctantly relent your hold on him so that you both could sit up, a little breathless and out of sorts.

But even though you’ve parted, it doesn’t stop him from planting a few more chaste kisses over your jaw and cheekbone before tearing himself away, allowing you to watch as he moves across the room. Seeing him only in his thin base layers is enough to raise your heart rate, remembering how you helped him shed his bulky armor last night- and now, you watch ardently as he picks it up and puts it back on, piece by piece- the thick muscles of his back and shoulders rippling and flexing with every practiced movement.

And, far quicker than you like, he’s sauntering towards your side of the bed, where you’ve sat so entranced by him- seeing him once more covered by the heavy steel plates, the ones that only make him larger than life, that make his already broad frame almost unnaturally bigger, his pitch black cloak billowing behind him,

“I’ll assume my post like always,” Simon says with a low tone, taking your bare hand in his gloved one just so he can place a gentlemanly kiss to the soft, pale skin, grabbing his helmet when he lets go.

You stand, looking up at him- committing every wonderful feature and flaw to memory before it’s covered again,

“And I’ll have a raven sent to Clan MacTavish, he can help us-”

But Simon shifts on his feet, your hand still engulfed by his own, “Are you sure, My Queen?”

And you can see the way his dark brows furrow behind the helmet, he doesn’t trust Johnny, but you can understand his apprehension- he doesn’t know the Scot like you do, and if what you think is going to happen, there can be no loose ends in what’s to come.

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s not a soul that we could trust more, Simon. I promise.”

This time, it’s you who lifts his hand to your lips, kissing the black leather as if to seal your own words- something a proper queen should never do, but the warmth that spreads through you when you see his eyes widen slightly makes you want to do it again and again.

He gives you a nod, not allowing himself the chance to waste anymore time, because gods know he would never leave you if given the option- but he must. There is much to plan, much to do, too many seeds of doubt to sow in far too short a time.

Johnny’s POV——

Work. That’s what it feels like for Johnny to come home. There’s no rest for the weary, no, not at the MacTavish estate, they’d never dream of allowing such a luxury-

Buncha fuckin’ dobbers they can be.. I swear.

Yet, he greets them all the same. Giving his Da a stiff, one-armed hug, exchanging the traditional three harsh pats to the back before moving down the path towards his childhood home.

“You’ll tell us about yer visit to court, won’t ye, Johnny?”

A warm smile spreads over his face as he looks down at his youngest sister, throwing an arm lazily over her shoulder,

“Well, hi to you, too, El..” Johnny teases, ruffling her dark brown curls playfully, “I’ll give ye all the juicy gossip tomorrow- after we get some shut eye, eh?” he says, nodding at the maid as they cross the grand threshold, “And I wan’ tae hear about this new constellation ye’ve discovered, my wee little genius!”

Elsie giggles and tries to escape his hold, going on about him being a numpty- all smiles and laughter until the most senior Lord MacTavish blows out a loud scoff,

“Enough o’ that, you two. Elsie, go on, need tae talk tae yer brother.”

She shies away almost too quickly, and it makes his stomach turn, seeing the flash of fear in her eyes as she gives his side one more weak squeeze before flitting off up the stairs-

“Been a long few days, Da. ‘M right ready for a bed-“

The door to the Lord’s study slams shut, cerulean eyes pinning Johnny down in an instant,

“I dinnae give two shites ‘bout how long it’s been, son. I told ya, if you were comin’ back here, ye’d better have a wife in tow.”

Johnny rolls his eyes- big mistake.

His father is a big man, and he’s never had an issue using his size against the lot of them- Johnny being the eldest, all the way down the line, and even their Ma, gods rest her soul.

Which is how he ends up with his back shoved against the closest wall,

“Mind yer fuckin’ attitude with me, boy.” He spits the words, making sure Johnny knows just how little he still in his father’s eyes, “Ye think yer someone big and important out there, huh? Think the army made ye tough, gave ye a big heid, that it? Well, dinnae forget who-“

But, see, Johnny isn’t that little boy anymore, he isn’t that frightened little teenager constantly in fear of the good Lord MacTavish’s thumb crushing him under its weight. His time in the army has treated him well, in fact. He’s bigger, taller, stronger, and faster- and too much time spent on the front lines has made his skin thick and calloused.

With a deep snarl, Johnny is quick to grab the older man by his collar and reverse their positions before he even knows what’s happening,

“Tha’s not how this works anymore, m’lord.”

If Johnny could sketch the shock and surprise in his father’s eyes, he would- hells, he might, because it’s a beautiful sight. One he thinks he’ll remember for a long, long time to come-

“And if I hear one more cross word out of yer filthy fuckin’ mouth, I’ll cut yer tongue out m’self. Is that clear?”

Matching blue eyes stay locked in a silent battle, young and old, a battle as old as times itself, father and son going head to head, a true fight for dominance.

The old lord’s lips curls in anger and disdain, his breath hot and laden with the thick scent of Scotch,

“Ah..” he coos, a chuckle bubbling from his barreled chest, “Aren’t ye a big hotshot, spent time with the little traitorous Scottish queen herself and suddenly yer invincible, that it?”

Johnny growls right back, pulling his father forward before slamming him against the solid wood even harder, “What? And yer still mad it wasn’t one of yer daughters, huh?”

The lord struggles against his hold, but turns out, the boorish old man isn’t all that strong anymore- at least not stronger than his son, which only enrages him more,

“I’m only here to settle my inheritance, ye insufferable old bastard. We’ll talk tomorrow, when ye think ye can speak to me like an equal-“

Johnny lowers his tone to something heavier, his voice dripping with malice, “and there will be none of this, ye won’t put yer hands on me, and I willnae put mine on you. Aye?”

A long silence stretches across the space between them, a heated pause, one that threatens to explode on a hair trigger- and maybe, it’s not actually that long, maybe it’s really only a few seconds, glaring daggers into his own father’s eyes before the old man gives a hateful, “Aye.”, in return.

And if Johnny just so happens to shove the self-righteous old cunt into the wall one more time for good measure, well- that’s between him and the gods he chooses to answer to. But, fuck all if it didn’t feel good to do it.

——

When he finally gets to his room, it’s a disparaging sight- dusty and stale, not a thing changed since he left years ago. And he wishes so badly to feel peace, to feel warmth and love in the place that he should feel all those things and more- in the place he did feel all those things when Ma was still alive.

Yet, it’s just sad and cold now, just how it was when he left. But, a smile does tug at his lips when he unlatches the case Sunny had sent home with him, packed to the brim with treats and fine fabrics and leathers. Some for him and each of his sisters, and an abundance of spares that would last them for a long while-

“Yer too good to us, Grianach..” he mumbles, popping a delightful, citrusy sweet in his mouth as he continues to unpack.

And it takes a while, but eventually he pulls a lone envelope from under a primly wrapped hunting vest, one of the finest he’s ever laid his hands on- the dark brown leather soft as butter in his fingers as he lays it to the side with care.

The bone white paper is thick and stiff, royal stationary that he knows well from letters and messages he’s gotten from her before; the edge sealed with a deep green wax crest- the king’s crest. It brings a disgusted grimace to his face, thinking of the last days with her, the terrible, mottled bruises on her skin- it makes him ill to his stomach to remember.

But, with a deep sigh, he gently pulls the seal apart- recognizing her handwriting right away- though, the farther he reads, the more his guts twist and wrench, the harder his heart beats and the less air it feels like he can suck into his seizing lungs-

No.. no, no, no. This isn’t right, it can’t be- not you, not my Sunny. How could you not tell me? Why didn’t you tell me how much pain you were in-

My dearest Johnny,

I pray this letter finds you well, cousin. And, I pray for your understanding in what I feel I must do, not only for myself, but more importantly, for you. Though.. I do not think you will see it that way, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry, Johnny. You’ve been my best friend since my first memories, never letting me forget that you’re one month and one day older than me, or that you learned to ride a horse first- remember sneaking out to the stables? I thought Mother would kill us both when you brought me back home covered in scrapes and muck. Oh, I miss the simplicity of those days, I miss it so much it hurts. That life I had for just a moment, where I was free and untethered- or well, I thought I was. And, I suppose, perception is what really matters, isn’t it?

That is what I’ve been taught my whole life, afterall, perception is key. That I must be at my best, presented in a pretty, pretty package- pleasing to the eye and well groomed enough so that the masses may never know the chaos that lies beneath the silks and jewels.

Well, my sweet Johnny, no more. I won’t do it, I will not be scruffed by the neck any longer, I will not live as a possession, an item, an object that only exists to be pretty and used. I am more than that, and I pray.. I pray you forgive me, I pray you are not disappointed, I pray that you remember me only as I was, and not what I have become. Remember me covered in scrapes and muck with a broad smile on my face and joy in my heart. That is the real me, not this fallacy that everyone thinks they know.

I have a trusted courier at the ready, the few earthly possessions I own that mean anything to me are to be delivered to the estate. They are yours. We always shared everything anyway, no need in changing that now. Be well, cousin.

All my love, your Sunny.

[chapter 7>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt

#call of duty #but make it medieval #medieval au #knight!ghost #queen!reader #simon ghost riley #cod fandom #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #lord mactavish #are you kidding me #also on ao3 #simon riley x reader #maybe a throuple?#slow burn #eventual smut #i promise #it’s coming #🫢🫢🫢

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teehee-vibes · 1 month

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Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

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last-flight-of-fancy · 2 years

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made myself emotional thinking about how smart sora actually is and how little credit he gets for it just because he struggles with stuff like math

#ITS RELATABLE OK #you can't math and everyone immidietly goes 'lol ur dumb'#'haha he counts on his fingers' yeah so do i. you gonna call me dumb too?#because i've heard it before and you're wrong. i'm unlearning that shit and i'm not dumb. i'm smart as hell actually #thirty years of thinking i was stupid i think i've earned the right to say 'nah yknow what. they were wrong. i'm not.'#the prioritizing of mathematical smarts over every other kind drives me nuts tbh #artistic intelligence? emotional intelligence? kinetic learners? there's so much more than just math #sora is SO GOOD at a lot of things!!#he's incredibly intuitive and emotionally intelligent #and he is probably a legit genius in terms of like... learning things on the fly #never gonna get over him learning lingering wills moves after fighting him (presumably) once #he learns to fly the gummiship- and probably would have done fine that first time if donald hadn't taken offence #(it also should be noted that i don't think sora's ever *wrong* in his numbers*. it just takes him a while to get there)#(* except six hearts but uh. there's probably more going on there. like memory loss. again)#stop talking to yourself flight #kingdom hearts #'he can't keep up with the plot' bitch WE as the audience can barely keep up with the plot and we have the benifit of seeing all of it #do remember that sora is running on about a third of the information we have at any given time #anyway sora isn't dumb he just has adhd and that's the hill i'm gonna die on

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journey-to-the-attic · 3 months

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bold of you to assume we (or atleast i) dont want to read paragraphs about ik's and belphie's dynamic 😈😈

if you feel like writing that, i'd absolutely love to read about it!!! ^^

RIGHT YES this took me a hot minute but let's go!!!!

so the main points that this is all built around:

belphie is someone who is absolutely shit at understanding himself

ik is someone who has a knack for understanding anyone she talks to for long enough

belphie's first resort is usually to leave things to someone else, but easily asserts the things he wants

ik will actively pursue you if she thinks she can help, despite usually feeling guilty about requesting anything

they both have very simple views of very complicated things

building from point 1: this is not entirely belphie's fault - i've talked about this before, so i'll just paste the pertinent bits here:

belphie, as the youngest brother, has been detrimentally coddled in regards to these things, and has NO fucking idea how to properly deal with loss the others haven't tried to talk to him about his grief for lilith, nor about their experiences during the celestial war; when they all had to support each other after the fall, they comforted him, but never ever discussed the pain of it all it's like the doctor refusing to talk about your actual symptoms because they're afraid of making you uncomfortable, and instead just soothingly going "it's okay, just take some ibuprofen and see me in the morning"

belphie underestimates himself and, at the start of the year, is convinced that there's no way forward - 1. he feels he's left it too late, 2. he feels he's the only one still hung up on lilith's death, which only makes him more bitter, and 3. he thinks that the hatred and grief is just who he is now

now take ik, who finds him in the attic and takes worryingly little convincing to help him - even more concerningly, she decides to go through with it even upon finding out he was lying about his identity. this is a direct contradiction to his conviction that humanity is selfish and cruel - more than that, the more ik visits and chats with him, the more he remembers why he'd been so fascinated by humans as an angel

except it also reminds him of how much lilith loved humanity. belphie doesn't think he's capable of letting go - he doesn't think he's allowed to, and to him befriending a human and moving on is the same as betraying his sister's memory. so he represses any feelings of good-will and continues to nurse his hatred

i think it's important to note that belphie's hang-ups have always been self-destructive before this, but the more he lets his own grief fester, the more it threatens to burst. his threat to lucifer about destroying humanity is an early indicator of this, and it culminates in a moment of extreme emotional distress where it finally all implodes

so ik - in the wrong place and the wrong time (in the literal sense) - finds him in the middle of a nightmare, wakes him up, and gets murdered for her troubles

belphie shuts down immediately after, because to him this is a point of no return. he's already convinced himself that nothing can be done for him, and this is the proof. except then everyone else forgets what's happened, and, panicking, he goes along with it - out of fear of losing his family if he comes clean.

so: point 2 - consider that a big thing with ik is that she just doesn't get why belphie acts the way he does after killing her. she's been able to get into the heads of his brothers before him, and even now can somewhat rationalise them forgetting, but she has no idea why belphie - who first killed her and then acted like he'd forgotten about it - would suddenly seem so wracked with guilt upon finding him in the dreamscape

belphie does not think he is strong enough to move on. ik, somehow, intrinsically, already knows this is not true. this is why she's so bewildered by belphie telling her lilith's story. he's convinced this is some kind of damning evidence, but ik doesn't get how this explains anything. and because she doesn't understand, she seeks answers.

now take point 3 and 4. belphie does not attempt to seek forgiveness - he just sits in the cell solomon locks him in. he doesn't try to get out, he doesn't attempt to repent, and he doesn't want to, because as far as he's concerned there's nothing to be done

ik, on the other hand, is going to put her home back together by force if necessary, so she goes to find him. multiple times, she climbs up the tower stairs to rescue him from a waking nightmare - the same thing that killed her - because her family is still his family, and she knows too well what it's like when you go without.

belphie has been sitting stagnant for millennia on end, and now ik has decided that she is going to KICK him along until he figures out that he can stand on his own two feet and keep going. and it works, because for some reason digging demons out of emotional pits of their own creation is ik's specialty

and now point 5: ik and belphie fall quite easily into a typical sibling dynamic of the "i'll make fun of you constantly, but if anyone messes with you they're dead" kind. they never really sit down to talk out all the residual Baggage of everything, because neither of them are the type to overthink these things

but EVEN THEN. they may be simple-minded but the complication of the everything that led up to this means there's little hidden meanings even in the normalcy of their behaviour, and neither of them ever register it

for belphie it's "i'll never understand you. thank you for understanding me. i don't know what to say, so i'll tease you for tripping on your laces instead. i'd throw someone down a gorge if they made you cry. let's go shopping. i think i'll spend the rest of my life wondering if i can ever close the wound i tore in your soul."

for ik it's "i'll never forget what you did to me. i see you in my nightmares sometimes. thanks for waiting for me after school. quit making a show out of helping me reach the top shelf. sometimes i'm glad you regret things so much. can you help me with this homework? i think we're alright."

and for both of them it's "i like hanging out with you. sleep well. i'm glad we're home."

in conclusion,

i am crazy about things i made up entirely. perhaps i am cringe but i am free

#answering asks #valenrien #and also #anon asks #i meant to write this out like two days ago but i got Super Invested out of nowhere #in drawing this one thing of solomon and mephisto #idk if i'll get around to fully finishing it so like 75/25 whether i'll ever post it #but it's been very fun. i finish my work and then get to go 'hehehe time to go draw gay people'#for brief moments my youth was returned to me and i was fifteen years old #and drawing godzilla going on dates with various dinosaur and dragon ocs again #i haven't drawn godzilla in years. i used to be so good at it. i should draw him hanging out with ik #but anyway. in conclusion #belphie is a wounded animal in a beartrap and ik is the farmer's boy who loses a finger trying to prise it open #ik's unrelenting and fierce campaign for everyone she loves to just be NICE to themselves is almost frightening to belphie #who doesn't quite comprehend how she does it and doesn't feel he's quite earned forgiveness #except what ik's forgiveness forces him to confront is exactly what he deserves

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s0fter-sin · 2 months

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so lately i’ve been obsessed with a 141 dancer au

gaz runs classes, has a youtube channel and quickly becomes one of the most sought after choreographers in the music video scene. soap is his dance partner for his classes, he helps run them and does demonstrations with him

ghost is also a choreographer and he’s gaz’s Arch Nemesis

he's famous for never performing his routines, never doing public appearances without his skull mask and being highly exclusive with who he allows to perform his choreo which earns him his name (since he’s a ghost creator). gaz however is a social media darling, his classes and videos regularly doing huge numbers

they both popped up around the same time and are neck and neck in terms of popularity and skill and they immediately rub each other the wrong way

gaz accuses ghost of not actually choreographing his routines himself bc no one has ever seen him dance and ghost thinks gaz is a clout chaser who's just in it for the fame instead of passion

he became a dancer as a way to channel his rage after years of being an underground fighter, the discipline and physicality helping him more than fights ever did. he hates the thought of someone just using it just to get famous when it literally saved his life

deep down they know their accusations are wrong and they have a grudging appreciation for the other's talent but they'd both rather die than admit it

price is a famous dancer turned director they both work with frequently and they always fight over him; trying to get their routines picked for his music videos. he's also the only one in the industry who's ever seen the ghost perform (before he got famous and before the Incident™)

he finally gets fed up with them constantly being at each other's throats and hires them both to work together and choreograph a joint routine. they're both famous in their own right but this video is for a huge artist so neither of them can refuse no matter how much they hate the other

gaz has a gymnastics background but also a ballet background which lends him to a more fluid style whereas ghost’s style is stronger, more masculine with sharper movements so they naturally end up butting heads

then there's soap who has a completely different style altogether, focusing on a more modern, breakdancer style which makes him see everything completely differently

but it also adds to his self-doubt bc he didn't have a formal dance education, he built his entire repertoire by himself. people see him as inferior to gaz who has that very formal, highly disciplined style. his insecurities about only ever being seen as gaz's demonstration partner and that he can only do gaz’s routines so all his skill is just an extension of him instead of being seen as a dancer in his own right forces him to adopt a rigid - destructive - perfectionism in himself and his body

soap meets ghost before the first rehearsal. he gets to the studio early to practice when sees this beautiful man dancing

he has no idea who he is but he moves so seamlessly, almost better than gaz, and he immediately falls a little in love. the man catches him watching in the mirror and he flusters, getting worse as the man just smirks at him and flawlessly completes the routine

soap tries to save face and asks him to teach him the routine he's doing

the man agrees, introducing himself as simon. the style of the routine is familiar to soap but he can't focus on it when simon's hands are on his waist, guiding him through the steps; his chest pressed up against his back. they work together beautifully, picking up each other's body language and dancing together easier and better than they've ever danced with anyone

then gaz arrives and the vibe in the studio immediately changes

simon's easy confidence becomes hostility, pulling up the skull gaiter he'd let hang around his neck as he practically pushes soap behind him to square up to gaz

soap’s shocked when gaz hits back with the same energy until he realises it's the same way he acts whenever he talks about ghost and his stomach drops

he steps out from behind ghost to side with gaz and the betrayal in simon's eyes hurts more than anything he's ever felt

from there it's romeo and juliet; camp gaz versus camp ghost as they fight over every step of the choreo and soap is the poor bastard stuck in the middle

soap tries to channel that “you’re my best friend’s rival, i have to hate you,” mindset but he can’t forget the way it felt to dance with simon

and how much he wants to do it again

#my friend mimi introduced me to gymnast gaz which made me think he grew up in competitive gymnastics and left it to be a dancer #whether his family was disappointed in that decision i havent figured out yet #the Incident™️ was roba getting simon directly from the underground and manipulating him into working at his strip club where price finds h #and pulls him out when roba tries to force him into sex work too #soap earned his name for being such a clean dancer and never making mistakes during performances #which just make his insecurities worse bc now he has to live up to his new reputation as well as fight of the gazs partner image hes gotten #farah and alex are definitely team gaz and i think nikolai would be his manager #then im thinking alejandro and rudy are team ghost with laswell as his manager #then bc soap is the odd man out hes used as tie breaks when they get into arguments about what move should go next in the routine #the pressure of picking correctly and the routine being essentially on his shoulders freaking him out just as much as having to choose #between his best friend who expects him to always side with him and ghost who always has good ideas #this isnt a negative haz au btw i think it would be a good way to explore his arrogance and stubborness #hes decided ghost is his enemy and nothing can pull him away from that #(except for what eventually does but im not sure what that is yet lmao)#i want soap at some point to completely overwork himself and his bad knee swells and gets irritated and finally gives out #and its ghost who forces him to take a break and convinces him that working his body to death wont help him be a better dancer #cue tender wound care and ghost backstory as he reassures soap that he is an amazing dancer #he offers soap a no stress space at his studio if he ever wants it & gaz overhears and thinks soap is betraying him and leaving so cue angs #we’re a team. ghost team #coming out of my cage and i’ve been doing just fine.txt #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #save post #john price #cod 141 #soapghost au

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