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pucksandpower · 7 months

Note

hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

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astraystayyh · 6 months

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We recently learned in our media class about the four indicators that reveal a country's use of propaganda to justify its actions/build a national and international consensus over its stance. This is exactly what Israel is doing now. Please read this to learn more about the Israeli propaganda (with sources) :

i. Establishing a distinct "us" versus "them"/"the others" divide: The Israeli media has been actively engaged in crafting a narrative that portrays Palestinians as sub-humans and animals, that deserve to be killed, butchered, and deprived of essential resources such as water, electricity and fuel. This dehumanizing narrative serves to rationalize the grave atrocities committed against Palestinians, reducing them to mere statistics, rather than acknowledging them as fellow human beings who have the right to be protected as well.

A recent example of this dehumanization (that encompasses children as well) is Israel's Prime Minister's words in a now-deleted tweet, on Oct 16, stating: "This is a struggle between the children of light and the children of darkness, between humanity and the law of the jungle."

This is also a common practice in Western media as a whole. In the context of conflict, the choice of words plays a significant role: Israelis are often described as "killed," and Palestinians are referred to as having "died" (example of BBC). The distinction can be seen as a way to omit Israeli responsibility, portraying the deaths of nearly 10,000 Palestinians as a result of circumstances beyond its control, rather than the outcome of deliberate and targeted actions.

ii. Use of emotion instead of logic: a stark example would be the whole international outrage that was first sparked due to the false claim that Hamas had beheaded 40 babies. This fake news was confidently shared by U.S. President Joe Biden, who later admitted that he had never actually seen any pictures of such events, neither did anyone in the IDF because there was never any instance of 40 beheaded babies (source) (also trust me if Israel did have any pictures of killed children they would not hesitate to share it)

CNN journalist who first shared this fake news has later apologized for being "misled." (which isn't the case that was a conscious choice of the news agency but that's another conversation)

Israel knew what it was doing by sharing this particular false information, they knew that the simple imagery of such a horrifying notion, even without concrete proof, would be a strategic tool to garner international support through emotional manipulation.

They are still trying to use emotion when it comes to children particularly to sway the public opinion : Israeli government spokesman has shared images of "fallen teeth of burnt children." This post has been debunked by dentists, pointing out many contradictions in the pics that conclude that these are props and not the teeth of actual children found in rubbles. (source)

(Meanwhile, there are factual documented videos and pictures of dead Palestinian kids and babies, decapitated, injured beyond belief, tangible proof of the war crimes Israel commits and yet the public outrage isn't the same, because Israel has already established that Palestinians are lesser people)

iii. Attempting to Influence Both Elites and Ordinary Citizens: In addition to their efforts to secure international support from world leaders, Israel has employed a multifaceted approach by spreading advertisements that regular civilians view. These ads serve to rationalize their actions, and they are strategically placed ahead of unrelated programming, including children's shows or games.

This tactic aims to integrate their ideology into various aspects of our lives, in order to promote their agenda and inundate us with recurrent pro-Israel messages. This strategy capitalizes on the psychological principle that the mind tends to retain information it encounters most frequently. (a more detailed video explanation)

iv. media manipulation tactics : For example, the night before Israel bombed the Baptist hospital in Gaza killing more than 1000 people, BBC published an article with the headline "Does Hamas build tunnels under schools and hospitals?" giving way to a "justification" for the heinous, war crime act that is bombing a hospital, under the guise of targeting Hamas hidden bases.

The use of the Israel-Gaza war as a headline for the news leads us to believe that this is a war with two equal (or slightly disproportionate) parties who are both able to defend themselves. Whereas this is a genocide led by Israel (a powerful military with international backing by the world's most powerful nations- U.S, U.K, France, Germany.. to cite a few) and CIVILIANS. Because those are the people that Israel is targeting, by bombing hospitals, schools, mosques, churches, refugee camps.

It is a genocide, an ethnical cleansing, an attempt to eradicate entire families, then to relocate the survivors out of Gaza, making it impossible for them to reclaim their land, and resulting in a total takeover of Palestine by Israel.

Another manipulation example (because there are so many) is the first and most prominent question that many Western journalists ask their guests: "Do you condemn the attacks of Hamas on Oct 7?"

This question completely disregards the root of this entire conflict, which is the 75-year ongoing colonization of Palestine. By omitting all the previous crimes against Palestinians that led to the attack (the killings, the wrongful imprisonments, the torture, the stealing of land…) these 'journalists' actively manipulate the public opinion, portraying the Hamas attack as unprovoked, when you cannot possibly expect a colonization to have 0 resistance.

And an honorable mention to the zionists who are trying to morph the anti-Israel stance into an anti-Jew one. This isn't about religion, I've said this once and I will say it again, Jews around the world are condemning the actions of their government. Just recently, Jews were arrested in NYC for standing against Israel. (source)

This is a humanitarian cause. We're humans, this is the one denominator factor that unites all. We read about previous genocides in history. We wondered how people could support the killings of innocent people, men and women, and children and babies. It is happening right now again, and media propaganda plays a significant role in shaping public perceptions.

I couldn't include everything here but please, I urge you to use your critical thinking. Don't believe everything the media tells you, and this is coming from a graduated journalist. We learn about propaganda and how to counter it, which also means we learn about how to manufacture it.

So don't be gullible, boycott the companies who support Israel (mainly HP, Siemens, AXA, Puma, Israeli fruits and vegetables, Sodastream, Ahava, Sabra. check BDS for more information) and urge your governments to support the ceasefire. We have a voice and we should use it, even if we're uncomfortable, even if we're scared. Do it. By staying silent you become complicit in genocide.

#free palestine #palestine #gaza strip #free gaza #propaganda

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Slight Voyeurism , Possessive Behaviours, Masochism, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Begging, Handjob, Fingering, Kissing, Gun!Play, Angst.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Forty minutes.

Forty whole fucking minutes. Could you survive that? Could you withstand the intensity of locking eyes with Theodore while out on the dance floor--fully aware that in a mere forty minutes, you'd be ditching him for his best friend, who would undoubtedly have his tongue halfway down your fucking throat within seconds? Amongst other parts of him?

Surely, you thought, initially. Surely, you could navigate this without a damn hitch.

And yet, as the seconds ticked away, the problems seemingly multiplied, each one more intricate than the last. Did your strategic dance around the room, weaving between curtains and moving with the rhythm of the crowd, make you a coward? Or were you simply just a troubled girl, trying to avoid an explosive drama?

Cursing Emily and her carefree advice, you acknowledged that her fearless disposition most likely wouldn't have flinched at such a predicament. However, you, caught in a tumult of conflicting emotions and uncertainties, found the prospect far more overwhelming than you thought you would.

And as thirty-five minutes finally fucking ticked away, urgency propelled you across the room, each step hastening toward the bathroom as if evading a blazing fire.

The door swung open, revealing a sanctuary of stark white tiles and dimmed lighting. Your breaths resonated in the confined space, a palpable blend of anticipation and trepidation saturating the air. In the mirror, you appraised yourself, eyes reflecting the tempest swirling within. The bathroom, a cocoon of silence, seemed to pulse with your internal turmoil.

Every moment lingered like a suspended breath, the minutes stretching thin as you awaited Mattheo's arrival. Each heartbeat echoed in the quiet space, the air electrified with the promise of an electric encounter, a typical mix of ecstasy and chaos that Mattheo was known to cause.

And then, before you could even process it, the bathroom door creaked open, prompting you to look up. Despite having only been in there for about 30 seconds, Mattheo smoothly glided into the room. You caught his dark eyes in the mirror, wasting no time before his intense gaze locked onto you, and with a practiced motion, he secured the door shut and locked it behind him.

"Matt-"

He shook his head, his voice cutting through the air, low and deep. "Quiet, Raven."

Mattheo closed the distance with deliberate steps, his predatory focus narrowing onto you. Hunger radiated from his eyes, an intensity that filled the room. As his gaze swept over you from head to toe, the air thickened, and the sound of your heart pounding echoed in the confined space, a rhythmic accompaniment to the charged atmosphere.

"Turn around," Mattheo commanded, his voice authoritative and husky, laced with a potent blend of desire. "Face me."

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as you slowly spun around, obedient to his directive. His eyes, now intensified with lust, burned into the exposed curves of your form, claiming every inch with an intensity that left no doubt about the restrained fervor filling the room. Mattheo circled around you, his predatory nature manifesting in every calculated step. The fabric of his black suit jacket strained against the contours of his strong shoulders, emphasizing the raw power that simmered beneath the surface.

His eyes, dark pools of desire, moved with precision, taking in the sight of your body adorned in the tight red dress. The sharp lines of his jaw tightened as he absorbed the visual feast before him, a hunger burning in his gaze that echoed the primal instincts of a predator closing in on its prey.

And then, he stopped behind you, his hand coming up to graze your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips, softly tugging down your bottom one before releasing it.

And with his mouth grazing your ear, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Your lungs stalled, and you turned your head slightly, trying to glimpse him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you try."

Without another word, Mattheo snatched your hips, spinning you over and shoving you onto the counter as his lips smothered yours. The flame that had ignited in the ballroom instantly roared to life, drenched in the fuel of your connection, setting your skin ablaze with need. Your fingers instantly dove into his hair, wringing around his luscious curls, and he groaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth, a large hand coming to cup your head, to trap you there, the other coasting up and down your side.

Your legs spread for him, welcoming him, cunt already throbbing in anticipation. For a brief second, you pushed away, running your hands over his sophisticated chest, taking a moment to admire him, to soak in how absolutely fucking beautiful he looked. Mattheo did the same, seeming new, somehow, a reverent awe in his gaze--not just feral, but tormented, needing to have you in his arms.

"Fuck, Raven..." he breathed, his voice a low, husky cadence. "I don't even know where to fucking touch you first because I want all of you...I need all of you at once..."

"Gods...you look so fucking good, Mattheo..." you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips as you let your gaze travel up his body, meeting his intoxicating brown eyes. "You clean up deliciously well for a man with such a reckless reputation."

"Hm," Mattheo huffed, fingers moving with a delicate precision over the fabric of your dress, gliding sensuously along the curves of your hips. "You're cute when you're nice to me, Raven..."

Playfully, you inquired, your fingers tracing a teasing path across his chest, "And what am I when I'm mean to you?"

His devilish smirk grew. "Hot as fuck."

"You're a bloody masochist..." you whispered through a smirk of your own, your voice merely a breath as your hands found his shoulders. "Kiss me, you piece of shit."

His lip twitched, and without any hesitation he kissed you again, jerking you closer, sucking in air through his nose while his tongue swirled over yours. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair once more, fingers teasing the warm shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, nearly shoving you into the sink as he trembled.

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard. Your hips rolled forward, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem.

Mattheo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a finger through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "So fucking wet for me," he murmured. "And all mine..." He dragged a slickened digit over your clit, the sensation new and delicious--you quivered, biting your lip. "Only for me..."

You nodded, inching forward, the only articulate words escaping as please, please, please.

"Isn't that right, princess?" He said, free hand gripping your jaw as he stared directly into your soul, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide with lust. "This tight little pussy belongs to me, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you mewled, lids fluttering. "All yours...it's all yours, Matty..."

"Fuck...I'm going to make you cum now, then I'm going to make you cum on my fucking cock..." he leaned close, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "And by the end of the night, the only thing this pretty mouth will be able to say is my name."

"Oh--" you began, but then he plunged into you. "God!"

He snickered. "Wrong name."

Riddle crooked his fingers in your cunt, focused on your flushing face, the tempo of your intermittent gasps, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, his pace merciless, and you snuffed a whimper in your chest, staring at him. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you noticed the outline of his impressive erection straining at his pants. Your hand burned to stroke it, to feel it.

"I missed you so fucking much, Matty," you whimpered, your voice a desire filled plea. "I think I missed that pretty cock more, though...I can't lie..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the depth of it reverberating almost as a growl, increasing the heat in your lungs. "It missed you too, Raven...my fucking hand could never compare to this tight little cunt..."

"Fuck, Mattheo..." you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as you clung to his strong, muscular frame. "Did you think of me?"

"Never stopped," he murmured, catching your lips in a brief kiss, increasing the pressure of his thumb on your clit--forcing you to cry out in delight. "Fuck. How does a cunt this little take me so well, hm?" Another kiss, lingering. "Just thinking about how tight you are makes my cock hard."

You whinged, lava boiling in your blood--you weren't sure what was going to make you cum first, his words or his fingers. "Oh...Mattheo..."

"That's right," he said. "I make myself cum every morning thinking about fucking you. And it's never enough." He was panting, kissing a path down toward your neck. "I could fuck this pretty pussy every night for the rest of my fucking life and it still wouldn't be enough..."

Your brain swarmed with that distant feeling again, dizzying you, robbing you of language, weakening your joints. You clung to him, a raft in the sea of your lust, choking back your moans as his palm rocked against you, thumb circling your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt--you let your lids close, let pleasure encompass you, let yourself submerge to his will, trusting him to give you exactly what you needed.

"Shit..." you whimpered, digging your nails into him as he nipped at your pulse, teeth grazing over it softly. "I fucking need you, Matty..."

"Have me, Raven...It's yours." He said, his voice cracking with lust, throat shredded with emotion. "I'm yours."

Heat flooded your face, and while chewing your cheek, you reached for him, grasping at his trousers. Mattheo's hand left your jaw, reaching behind him and pulling the familiar black gun from under his waist band, tossing it down onto the counter before allowing you to unzip his fly. You hardly even flinched at the sound, too lost within your own primal fervour, fingers moving swiftly as you tugged everything down his thighs, his thick length springing free, smacking his clothed stomach. He barely seemed to notice, seemingly lost in the heat of your cunt in his hand.

You scooted closer and wrapped your fingers around his warm, heavy cock--and he choked, jabbing you deep, forcing a quaky breath from your lungs. Swallowing, you tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes as his jaw tensed, and his lips parted in pleasure.

He throbbed, twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, and his breath was uneven, tattered from the weight of lust--but so was yours. Mattheo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse like perfect poison--a feeling you should never have wanted, but would now die without.

"Yeah...stroke my fucking cock, little slut..." he purred, tilting his head as he glimpsed your lips, something devilish and dark and amused in his gaze. "...make your owner feel good."

Before you had the chance to respond, he kissed you again, shoving his tongue past your teeth, canting his hips in pace with your hand. He was smooth and silky and so big--in the back of your head, you couldn't believe you'd managed to take all of him--the memories had you clench and groan into him, and his cock throbbed in your palm. The air was humid, thick with sex, dizzying you, shooting static through your skin.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, "you're so tight..."

You hummed in delight, walls clenching around his fingers. "And you're so hard..."

"That's right...that's what you fucking do to me, Raven..." he purred, and with each thrust of his fingers, pleasure built inside of you, intense and all-consuming as it threatened to overrun your senses. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the brink, your body pulsing with electrical sparks of delight. "Fuck...I feel you squeezing me, princess...cum for me..."

Mattheo held you tightly against him, his words sending shock waves of their own straight to your fucking core, his fingers working in their relentless rhythm that had you seeing stars. And then, with a sudden burst of ecstasy, you came hard, your entire body convulsing as pleasure ripped through you like a tidal wave. You moaned loudly, your muscles clenching and spasming as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smirk, his fingers still working inside of you until he was certain you were past your high. And then, he eased back, meeting your eyes, both of you slowing to stop as something slammed you in succession, a chasm of greed opening between your bodies. A snap, an ignition--and in one smooth movement, you'd released him while his fingers left your core and yanked your underwear to the side, cock thrusting into you with a sweet sting.

"Fucking hell..." Mattheo hissed in bliss, sheathing himself in your heat. He grappled your hips, grip tight enough to bruise, slowly fucking into you, watching his dick disappear into your pussy. "Tell me how that feels, Raven..."

"Fuck-so good..." you mewled, mouth dropped in ecstasy, head fighting not to fall back onto your shoulders. "So fucking good..."

"Mhm...yeah..." shuddering at his own words, he groaned, shifting closer, murmuring into your ear as he increased his pace, hips snapping, cock fucking deep into your cunt. "Tell me how fucking bad you missed me...how fucking bad you missed this cock..."

"Oh, Gods..." desire had consumed you both, his pace embodying complete desperation, a frenzied, urgent need to bring you both to orgasm. "I missed you so fucking much...I missed your cock-oh! Fuck-"

Mattheo's strokes were rough, painful, incredible, your breath catching up with your brain, the euphoric fullness of his cock ready to fling you to another plane. And then his thumb grazed over your clit, beating it in time with his thrusts--you cracked, crying out, your words cut short.

"That's right," Mattheo growled, "that's right--you're mine, you're mine..." he pressed his lips to yours, short and sharp. "This pussy is mine, that perfect little body is mine...your heart and your fucking soul is mine..." he was slamming you deep, panting with every snap of his hips, your pussy hot and slick and pulsing with your oncoming climax. "No one could ever fuck you like I do...understand me?"

"Yes. Yes!" Rapture numbed you, at the edge of your skin, a typhoon ready to wreck you witless.

"Say it." He hissed, kissing you again, mouth millimeters from yours. "Say no one else could ever make you feel like this. Fucking no one."

"Oh-oh...fuck..." you could barely respond, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through your body. Waves upon waves of pleasure charged through your veins, every inch of your skin tingling with delight as Mattheo took you higher and higher. "No one, Matty...only you-fuck! Only you..."

He growled, a primal shredded sound, his pace of your clit increasing. "Fucking cum for me, whore."

"Yes! Fuck!"

A sudden, explosive burst of bliss slammed into you, making your back arch in ecstasy while moaning a string of indecipherable curses. Your walls clamped around his cock, milking him for all he was worth as you rode out the second wave of pleasure that rocked your body. Mattheo growled hungrily, his lips crashing down to capture yours in a fiercely passionate kiss as he continued to drive into you without consideration. He thrust harder and deeper, his body slamming against yours as you both reached new heights of pleasure together.

Mattheo's eyes were hardly open, his breath leaving his throat in mere growls as he fucked you deep, both hands shifting to your hips now. "Mhm...that's my good girl...so fucking tight..."

Every nerve in your body felt alive, thrumming with the raw power of your shared desire. You were consumed by the heat of the moment, lost in a world completely separate from reality, when a loud, sudden knock at the door abruptly interrupted everything--both of you stopped, fear creeping into your eyes, ears straining to decipher the voice behind the door.

"Hello?" It was deep, male, and recognizable. Mattheo kept his cock inside you, each of your heads turned, staring at the door, brains buffering as you tried to put the voice to a face. "Anyone in there? C'è qualcuno?"

Your jaw dropped, terror clutching your chest, watching as Mattheo simply smirked--something so fucking dark creeping into his eyes it'd put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame. With a quick, aggressive motion, he pulled out of you, ripping you off the counter and spinning the both of you around, making you face the door as he pulled up the back of your dress and aligned himself with your cunt, one hand on your stomach and the other clamped over your mouth.

He released a deep groan in your ear as he plunged his cock deep inside you once more, the muscles in his chest tensing against your back, your heart pounding in your fucking throat. You were sure this man had completely fucking lost it.

"You think I should let him in here, hm? Let him see what I fucking do to you...who you fucking belong to..." each word from his lips was barely spoken, his voice so low and gravelly in your ear that you involuntarily moaned into his palm, hoping to Godric himself that it was muffled well enough. "Maybe I should make you scream for me...make you show him who the fuck you call daddy..."

He slammed into you with abandon, his hips grinding against your ass as he took you from behind, his hands gripping you hard.

“Tell him it’s occupied,” he muttered, his voice so deep and dark it involuntarily made you clench around him. “Tell him you’ll be right out.”

You shook your head, panic gripping you, but Mattheo wasn’t interested in your protests. In a swift motion, he reached behind him, grasping the gun off the counter, pressing the cold metal of the barrel tight to your temple.

“I’m going to release your mouth, and you’re going to do it, understand me?” You felt the overwhelming power of his need radiating through every inch of your body. “Do it, or I’ll unlock that door and let him in.”

You clenched again, body trembling as he continued fucking deep into you, his hand slowly leaving your mouth as you reluctantly nodded. You knew this gun couldn’t hurt you, even if Mattheo wanted it to, but the mere prospect of it being held against your temple did something to you, enough to make you want to submit to him without hesitation.

When his fingers slipped to your jaw, you inhaled, gathering your strength to speak. “O-occupied! I’ll only be a f-few…”

Mattheo huffed, slowly descending the gun from your head before tossing it back onto the counter. He slowed his pace for a few seconds, as though he was waiting for Theo to leave, before his fervour took over and his palm clamped over your mouth again.

"Mm, fuck..." he moaned, seemingly unable to help himself. You could feel his breath hot on your neck, his muscles flexing and tensing with every powerful thrust. "I'm going to cum so deep in this pussy...you're going to be so full of my fucking cum, Raven, fuck..."

Mattheo growled hungrily, driving into you even harder as he chased his own release. You felt his body tense, you knew he was close. "You're going to feel it, baby...for the rest of the night you're going to feel my cum dripping from your tight little cunt...running down your thighs..." he groaned, lips pressed against your ear. "As you walk out of here...as you look my best friend in the fucking eyes...fuck-"

Before he could finish the sentence, his breath sputtered, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he spilled his release deep inside of your pussy. You could feel the warmth spreading through you as his cock continued to pulse and twitch, each ministration sending new waves of pleasure crashing over your body.

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, gasping for air, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks of your shared passion. It was as if time stood still, the world outside the bathroom door ceasing to exist as you remained locked in your embrace, lost in the aftermath of your all-encompassing ecstasy. And as the intensity between you and Mattheo finally subsided, leaving both of you exhausted and sated, a comfortable silence enveloped the room. Amidst the quiet, you subtly moved to fix yourselves, the air still charged with the remnants of passion.

Once you were settled, you noticed a moment when Mattheo's attention waned, and curiosity got the better of you. Deciding to seize the moment, you reached for his gun.

"What's the purpose of this?...especially tonight?" you inquired, your fingers tracing over the barrel. The cool, unyielding metal pressed against your skin, raising questions in the hushed aftermath. "Why do you carry it with you?"

Mattheo's gaze lifted, his fingers diligently working to fasten his belt, yet his jaw tensed in response to the proposed questions. You could tell his brain was already formulating ways to deflect, his guarded expression betraying the reluctance to divulge.

"Don't worry about it, Raven," he retorted, the words coldly dismissing you with a mere glance. “It can’t hurt anyone.”

“Still,” your brow furrowed with concern. "You could get expelled, Mattheo, or even worse-"

"Could, but I won't," he interjected, the statement delivered with a stark flatness. Stepping toward you, he extended a hand, a slow and deliberate gesture. "Give it to me."

A firm "no" escaped your lips as you instinctively backed away. "Not until you tell me what it's for."

Mattheo's smirk emerged, a slow and calculated advance accompanying an amused glint in his eyes. "Don't play with me, Raven. You know you won't win."

Your measured retreat brought you ever closer to the approaching wall, the only thing that you knew would put a for-certain end to your defiance. The intensity in your voice reflected your internal struggle, demanding answers.

"Why won't you tell me?" The question hung in the charged air, a challenge he couldn't sidestep. "I can't think of one good reason why-“

"You said you trusted me," he countered, his jaw clenching with a mix of frustration and determination.

"I'm trying," you hissed, your teeth barred with emotion. "You're not making it very easy for me."

Amusement danced in his eyes as your back met the unyielding wall, a soft gasp betraying your resolve. He tilted his head, closing the remaining distance until he stood right before you. Two strong arms encaged you against the wall beneath him, asserting dominance in the charged silence, the unspoken standoff between you escalating with every passing heartbeat.

"Now what, hm?" Mattheo mused, a twinkle of sadistic amusement dancing in his eyes. He wet his lips, his gaze flickering to yours, the gun in your hand tucked securely behind your back. "I've got you trapped, princess..."

"Mattheo, please," your voice held a desperate plea, refusing to entertain his games. "This is me begging..."

"For what?" he demanded, a challenging edge in his tone.

"For even the smallest glimpse into your life..." you whispered, your voice quivering, as if fearing the vulnerability of your admission. "I want you, Mattheo, but I can't keep doing this if you won't open up to me...you know everything about me, and all I know about you is that you hate the colour yellow..."

Mattheo huffed, smirking. "It's a wretched c-"

"Please," you interrupted, lifting your free hand to his face. Your thumb brushed gently over his cheekbone, the gesture laden with a tender plea. "I'm on your side…no matter what."

The intensity in your gaze drilled into him, each word you spoke carrying a profound weight that you hoped he could decipher. The silence that lingered between you was thick, fraught with unspoken tension that hung in the air like a dense fog. Then, he inhaled sharply, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifted his wrist to check the time on his watch.

"Fine," he uttered, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion, a stoic façade masking the complexities beneath. "But we have to leave right now."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, lips parting to voice your inquiry. "What?"

"Right now, Raven," he reiterated, urgency punctuating his words. "You want to know what the gun is for, I'll bloody well show you."

As you blinked in response, still partially stunned, he extended his hand once again, gesturing for you to surrender the weighty weapon. Swallowing your confusion, you carefully placed the firearm in his calloused palm, searching his eyes for any clue about the impending journey.

"Where?" you finally questioned, your gaze unwavering as he tucked the gun back into his pants. "Where are we going?"

Mattheo sighed, a complex mixture of emotions crossing his features as he ran a hand through his hair. Each step he took toward the door seemed laden with the gravity of a decision yet to unfold.

"The Forbidden Forest."

——————————

Here’s chapter 27->

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artemismoorea03 · 9 months

Text

DC x DP or Marvel Prompt: The Gremlin Janitor

When Wayne Enterprises/Stark Industries hire two new people at the same time who just happened to share the same two references they just though it was a weird coincidence. After all, one was hired on as a programmer due to his excellent hacking abilities while the other was hired on as a Janitor.

They of course ran background checks on both of them but they came up clear. Fresh out of High School, lived in the area, came from Amity Park Illinois, and no criminal record outside of what they had actively admitted to which was only the one who was hired as a Programmer. He got caught for Hacking - hence how they knew about his skills.

But what caught everybody off guard was the first meeting.

Tucker Foley is rather tall, looks his age, and despite looking around like a kid in a candy store seems to have everything in order.

But then there's Danny Fenton. He looks too young to be out of High School though all of his information was sound and he even had paper documentation and other such proof that he was 19 and was as he claimed "Just short". But he was just here to be a janitor.

So did it truely matter?

If anybody was going to be a security risk it would be the hacker with a record.

The first week goes smoothly, but half way through the second week things start to get noticed. Not about Tucker but about Danny. Sure, there had been plenty of comments about his age but other than that he was just praised as being a hard worker even if he didn't understand the concept of wearing a mask and gloves around spilled chemicals.

But no injuries were reported any time he did this. Even when an experimental suit went out of control and started rushing through the building. It was small compared to some of the other tech, but it was still over six feet tall and easily 400 pounds. It wasn't necessarily on a rampage but it was out of control. People ran out of the way, tried to block it, but nobody was successful until Danny - short as hell Danny Fenton - threw himself right in front of it.

Danny blocked it, with just his forearm, stopping it from running over an intern who had been running from the area in fear of getting crushed by the machine. The intern would report that the area was terribly cold when Danny did this but when Tucker came out of hiding a few seconds later saying the machine had been shut down they attributed the cold to anxiety and figured that Tucker had stopped the machine before it had actually hit Danny.

A few weeks later there was a break in the dead of the night, a fight between the intruder and Danny broke out and again Danny held his own and managed to chase off the intruder but not before one of the metal tables were snapped in half. Danny claimed that the intruder had some kind of blade on his arm that cut through it but it was clearly not cut through.

After that Bruce/Tony starts paying more attention to Danny.

More and more minor things popped up until they were finally driven to a point where they just had to meet this kid in person and see him work.

Within moments of arriving they saw Danny Fenton pick up spilled container of Hydrofloric Acid like it was nothing. Which was just one of MANY things that Danny did within an hour that should have ended in disaster.

The final straw though was when Bruce/Tony decided to finally approach Danny and caught him yelling at a box that was mysteriously floating a few feet off the ground.

"PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME!" The box then dropped, Danny let out a hiss that sounded like a feral animal, then turned and made eyecontact with the man a few feet from him. Danny's only response? To lean against the broom he was holding and smile. "Oh, hey boss!"

#dp x dc prompt #dp x marvel #Danny Fenton is a Menace #my prompts #dc x dp prompt

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just-aake · 8 months

Text

Boundless Devotion - Part II

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: slight angst, violence, abuse

Words: 2582

The carriage leaves the castle gates, carrying the two noblewomen inside.

“I don’t understand why I can’t be outside with the other knights,” Kate pouts as she looks out the window at the guards riding their horses beside the carriage.

Her dog mirrors her position, resting its head sadly against the opening of the window.

Flipping to the next page of the book Queen Melina gave you earlier today after your meeting with her, you respond without looking up at her.

“Because, Kate, even though you chose to become a knight, at the moment, you are still the daughter of a noble family."

You finally glance up at her with a pointed look as you continue your explanation.

"That means you still need to have some form of protection until then.”

Kate groans in disappointment as she slumps back on the seat across from you, crossing her arms as she sulks.

After numerous pleas and persistent requests to her mother about her desire to join the Royal Guard, she finally gained permission to begin her training, though under a lot of conditions and restrictions.

Quickly bored with her sulking, Kate glances at the book in your lap curiously before asking.

“Chronicles of the Red Room? Why are you reading about that?”

With a nonchalant shrug, you reply casually, “I just wanted to learn more about my family’s involvement in the war.”

The book in question recounts personal stories from the previous war between the Romanov Kingdom and the Stark Kingdom.

More precisely, it focuses on a place known as the Red Room, which was apparently under the control of your family's house during the war.

According to your findings so far, this place was mainly used for interrogating captured enemies, and it appears that during the war, the Dreykov House gained considerable recognition for its effectiveness in infiltrating enemy ranks and securing strategic advantages for the kingdom through the Red Room.

The queen graciously provided you with some books on the subject when you inquired about it.

Kate hums in casual interest before commenting curiously.

“Wasn’t your old governess also a general during the war? What was her name again…?”

Kate snaps her fingers when she remembers.

“Madam B!”

Your hand pauses mid-flip at the name, but Kate doesn’t notice your sudden discomfort as she continues.

"She's always been by your side since you were young, but I haven't seen her around for a while now. Where did she disappear to anyway?"

You compose yourself quickly when Kate looks at you, giving her a faint smile before replying, “I believe she moved to the countryside.”

Kate nods in acknowledgment, accepting your words.

As you're about to return your focus to the book, Kate's next words cause you to tense once again.

“It's odd that she decided to leave you now. You'd think she'd want to stay close, considering what happened."

Kate looks at you cautiously, knowing how sensitive the subject of the incident is for you.

You sigh internally at her words.

Despite her cheerful and carefree demeanor, you sometimes forget how observant Kate can be about certain matters.

“Madam B has been a part of my family's employment for many years. It was just simply time for her to get what she deserved,” you explain vaguely.

Noticing Kate nervously biting her lips—a telltale sign of her uncertainty—you anticipate there's something else she wants to say.

Eventually, she gives in with a sad expression.

“That wasn’t the only thing that changed.”

Letting out a deep sigh, you're already aware of what she's referring to.

“I already told you, Kate,” you reassure her gently. “Just because we don’t spend all of our time together anymore doesn’t mean Natasha and I are not still friends.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you return your attention to your book, commenting, "We just…each have our own responsibilities now.”

Kate sighs sadly, slumping back into her seat, “I know, but it just doesn't feel the same. We miss having you with us like before, especially Natasha.”

Choosing not to reply, you pretend to concentrate on your book, ignoring the tightness in your chest at her words.

The truth is — you miss Natasha too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The carriage stops at the entrance of your family’s manor.

Your gatekeeper, Pietro Maximoff, waves at you as you enter. When he opens the carriage door for you, you see your lady-in-waiting, Wanda Maximoff, rushing down the front steps.

“Welcome back, Lady Y/n.”

The twins stand side by side when they greet you.

You give them a warm smile and nod at them graciously.

As orphans from the remnants of the war, Wanda and Pietro were brought into your family’s house by some of the staff members.

Due to their young age when they joined your household, the three of you practically grew up together.

As a result, you genuinely see them more like siblings than anything else, and they reciprocate the same sentiment.

However, in the presence of those outside the manor, they still try to maintain a respectful attitude toward you.

“Thank you,” you say before gesturing to the back of the carriage. “Pietro, can you help bring in the box?”

He nods at your request, moving to reach for the item.

When you’re about to go up the stairs, Wanda places a gentle hand on your arm, stopping your movement.

Her face holds a tense smile as she speaks.

“Your father has come home early from his meeting,” she states in a casual tone. Though, her eyes dart behind you with a meaningful glance.

The news causes you to freeze, your eyes slightly widening. Swiftly, you turn around and intercept Kate's path, stopping her in her tracks.

She tilts her head at you curiously in confusion.

You offer her a reassuring smile, dispelling all the tense emotions that had crossed your face just moments ago.

“I think I’m just going to rest early today, Kate. It's probably best if you head home," you suggest.

Kate begins to examine you carefully, her expression turning worried.

“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”

You shake your head, turning her around and lightly directing her back to the carriage before responding.

“I’m fine, just a little tired from reading during the ride.”

Kate casts a skeptical glance your way as she ushers Lucky back into the carriage.

“Okay…,” she says, her voice trailing off. She bites her lip again with uncertainty, remembering something. Then with a deep breath, she speaks again.

“Yelena and I plan to have a picnic at the usual spot by the lake tomorrow,” Kate hesitates briefly before continuing. “Natasha will be there too. I could come in the morning, and we can go together if you’d like?” she proposes with a hopeful tone.

You give her an apologetic look and shake your head, denying her offer.

“I can't, Kate. I have a meeting with Lady Maria tomorrow.”

Kate acknowledges your response with a disappointed nod, retreating back into the carriage with a sad goodbye.

You wave as the carriage disappears through the gates. Once you're certain she's out of sight, you hurry up the front stairs and make your way into your family’s manor.

Wanda and Pietro fall in step beside you. Together, the three of you move swiftly along the hallways, taking a less direct route to your room within the manor.

“Where is he now?” you ask, turning slightly to Wanda.

“He was in his study before you arrived,” she replies.

You glance at the box in Pietro’s hand, which contains other books that the queen gave you today. These books concern subjects that you don't want your father to know you are researching.

“Can you keep that in your quarters for now?”

“Of course,” Pietro replies, nodding without hesitation.

You turn the corner toward the staircase that leads to your floor.

“What do you think you are doing?”

The booming voice from above causes you to freeze, and you look up to see your father, Lord Dreykov, standing at the top of the staircase. His gaze is fixed on the three of you, examining you critically before shifting his eyes to the person behind you.

He points at Pietro, ordering, “You, take that box to my study.”

Pietro doesn’t move at the command. Instead, he turns his attention to look at you for direction.

Dreykov watches the interaction with narrow eyes, and a flicker of irritation crosses his face. He descends the steps slowly, clasping his hands behind his back.

You hold your breath nervously when he stops in front of you, your eyes watching him cautiously.

The sound of a sharp, echoing slap rings out in the room, and your head snaps to the side from the impact of the hit.

As you instinctively bring your hand to your cheek in shock, you cry out in pain when he harshly grabs your wrist and pushes you forcefully to your knees.

You hear some movement from behind you. Glancing back, Wanda and Pietro both have shocked and concerned looks as they step towards you.

“Don’t move,” Dreykov commands threateningly.

Your father twists your wrist in a painful direction, causing you to cry out in pain again.

In response, Wanda and Pietro come to an abrupt stop, freezing in their tracks.

Dreykov chuckles darkly at them.

“So, the two of you can follow orders after all.”

He observes your two obviously loyal attendants, seeing a mix of restrained anger and concern etched across their faces. Annoyance tinges his expression as he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“It seems that in my absence from the manor, some of the staff have forgotten who’s the one in control here.”

He turns to Pietro threateningly, his hand still holding your wrist in a deathly grip.

“Am I going to have to repeat myself?”

Pietro clenches his teeth in anger, his gaze shifting between you and your father’s vice-like grip on your wrist. With a reluctant bow, he hurries away toward the study with the box in tow.

When Pietro disappears around the corner, your father finally lets go of your wrist.

You swiftly pull your hand back, cradling it protectively against your chest.

Immediately, you sense Wanda’s presence behind you. Her hands grasp your arms, pulling you up and drawing you closer to her, creating a safe distance from your father.

Dreykov sneers at you, turning to leave.

“Don’t ever disrespect me like that again, daughter,” he warns, his tone threatening.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“The nerve of that man!” Wanda fumes as she holds your injured wrist in her lap.

You could see the purplish discoloration on your skin, indicating that a bruise was already forming.

“He’s absent for most of your life. Now, suddenly, he decides to stay and terrorize you and everyone else in the manor!”

Though her words are angry, Wanda is gentle as she applies the medical salves on your wrist.

She's also not wrong about your father. Throughout your childhood, he was rarely at home, always away on trips and meetings to other kingdoms.

Honestly, any memories of moments when he was actually at the manor are hazy to you.

For some reason, he has chosen to stay in the kingdom for a full year now. His return happened shortly after the incident that unfolded on Natasha's birthday.

However, it's hard to believe that his presence is solely driven by concern for you.

Wanda continues, “Not to mention those creepy guards of his that hide in the shadows.”

You wince when she begins to wrap the bandages around a tender area.

“Which is why you should lower your voice, Wanda,” you warn her.

A familiar knocking pattern sounds at the door before Wanda can respond.

Knowing who it is, she calls out, “Come in!”

Pietro slips inside quickly, his gaze immediately focused on your wrist in concern.

“How is she?”

You respond before Wanda can continue her rant.

“I’m fine. Both of you calm down.”

Wanda huffs at you, crossing her arms, before noticing Pietro’s slightly disheveled hair and asking, “What took you so long anyway?”

Pietro's expression shifts into his usual mischievous grin as he pulls out the bundle of books from behind his back.

You recognize them as the ones the queen had given to you from the box.

“I ran to the library and switched these out with some of your geography books,” he explains proudly.

“Pietro!” you chastise before reprimanding him with a sigh. “Thank you, but please don’t do something that risky again. Who knows what my father would do if he caught you.”

Noticing Wanda and Pietro communicating silently to each other with their eyes, you ask them knowingly.

“What is it?”

Wanda's gaze turns sad and uncertain as she speaks, “We can’t really help you much given our position, but maybe if you tell Princess Natasha…”

Wanda gives you a knowing look before confidently stating, "She wouldn’t let this happen to you."

Sighing tiredly at the repeated reminder of the princess’ absence from your life, you adjust your sleeve to conceal the bandages as you explain.

“Her coronation is in a couple of months. I’m not going to burden Natasha with problems of a single noble family when she’s going to have to worry about an entire kingdom soon.”

The twins give you sympathetic looks, already aware of the real reasons for your reluctance to involve the princess.

With a sigh, you remind yourself of the decision that you made after that incident last year.

It was the best option.

The further you stay away from Natasha, the safer she will be.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The following afternoon, accompanied by Wanda, you go to meet Lady Maria Hill at her manor.

The purpose of the meeting was to see the compatibility between the two of you.

In other words, it was sort of like a first date.

The Hill family is renowned for their significant contributions to the kingdom's military. A majority of their family members hold distinctions as decorated soldiers or knights in the kingdom.

In fact, her cousin is the Captain of the Royal Guard at the castle.

Even now, Maria wears her commander uniform while she sits across from you. Her posture remains perfect and attentive as she places her cup down on the table before addressing you.

“To be honest, Lady Y/n, I was surprised that you still wanted to meet with me today, given the recent news.”

Confused, you glance at Wanda in question, wondering if she knew what Maria was referring to. She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders in response.

With a polite smile, you return your attention to Maria.

“I’m afraid we haven’t heard any news,” you tell her.

“Well, it’s more like a rumor, just something Steve heard amongst the castle workers,” Maria comments casually before leaning forward slightly as if whispering a secret.

“Apparently, Princess Natasha disclosed last night that she’s in a secret relationship.”

You ignore the new uncomfortable feeling in your chest at the fact that there was something concerning Natasha that you weren’t aware of.

You manage to conceal the surprise and discomfort on your face as your hands cradle the cup in front of you, its warmth offering you little comfort.

“Oh? And did she mention who it is?” you ask, curious to learn more.

“That’s what makes this meeting so strange,” Maria pauses before nodding at you.

“She said that she was in a relationship with you, Lady Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you for reading! Hopefully the tags work, just let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series.

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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spidergrotto · 4 months

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i love aus where peter works at stark industries as an intern, but he doesn’t work directly w tony and the two don’t know eachother, tony doesn’t know peters spider-man— he doesn’t even know the intern program exists.

both of them working well into the night, peter eleven floors underneath tony’s lab, working on his webs while tony adds another layer of security to one of his suits. both completely unaware of the others presence until one day peter hears tony ask his ai a question about spiderman.

“get me everything you can on him.”

he’d always try to ignore the movement happening upstairs, easedropping was fun on the ocassion but ir always made him feel bad, he avoided it, and he was learning how to control it! matt was a great teacher, he was just.. lucky? unlucky? enough to catch tony’s voice.

and now he’s freaking out, because holy shit?

#marvel mcu #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #peter parker and tony stark #tony stark #found family #irondad and spiderson

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sageandravens · 10 months

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Patience - Something

Summary: Bucky and Sunshine’s first meeting

Featuring: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Tony Stark

Word count: 1997

Warnings: Bucky being self deprecating. Tony being smug ass.

This was it. This is where all the hard work you’ve completed led you. All the sacrifices you’ve made to reach your goal has finally brought you to were you wanted to be in your career. Your background in Special Forces Night Stalkers Unit and your time in the CIA had caught the eye of Nick Fury, after all the constant training and tests and interviews, you found yourself staring at the grand building that was the Avengers compound. Pride swelling within your chest, this one achievement outshining all the others you have accomplished in the past.

To say that you were eager was an understatement. Your body vibrated with unrestrained excitement about meeting the people responsible for saving the world. People you had admired for their accomplishments. People you get to call your coworkers and maybe one day, your friends.

You carried on, practically skipping your way to the entrance of the building. Reaching the entrance, you smoothed your hands down the yellow knee length pencil skirt and adjusted your white blouse of the imaginary wrinkles that the nerves in your mind believed were there. With one last tug of your skirt, you plastered on a smile and walked to reception.

The receptionist had you sit on a nearby bench as she called to inform of your arrival. You smiled and greeted at whoever glanced your way and chatted with the receptionist in between her calls, your politeness helping you to pass the time.

“So, you’re the new recruit?” An amused voice snapped you out of your conversation with the receptionist. Looking to your left your eyes widened as they landed on Tony Stark himself.

“Mr. Stark! You’re leading my orientation?” You mentally slapped yourself as you straightened your posture. “I mean, yes, yes I’m the new recruit.” You offered your hand to the billionaire, internally holding back your excitement.

Ironman! Oh my god, oh my GOD.

“When I went over your file, I didn’t expect someone who was the personification of puppies and rainbows.” Stark stated. You quirked a brow at him.

“I was observing you from our security system on my way here.” He shrugged like it was no big deal for him.

“Ok, Bubbles. Let’s get this show on the road.” You grinned back at him, following his lead as he explained the workings of the compound and the work you will be doing within its walls. The whole time absorbing all the information that he spewed, asking questions, and matching him snark for snark.

Tony gave you a very grandiose tour of the facility, which you didn’t expect anything less considering his reputation. He showed you the gym, the dining facilities, the offices and the briefing rooms in the compound. Along the way, he had introduced you to some of the Avengers that you will be working closely with.

You hit it off immediately with Steve, who had congratulated you on joining the team and looked forward to working on missions with you in the future. You beamed at his praise and thanked him for being so welcoming.

Natasha took a little longer to warm up to you. Upon introductions she had stared you down while giving you a once over, making you feel as if she was trying to seek out anything that made you suspicious. She stepped back giving a nod to Tony.

“She’s good, welcome to the team.” You blinked at the abruptness of her departure, watching her as she walked down the hallway.

“You’ll get used to that, Bubbles.”

You and Tony continued on your tour, listening as Tony explained your moving in process. He lead you down another hallway with less foot traffic, you looked around at the various decorative art pieces along the walls, glittering light caught your eye, focusing on its source you saw it reflecting off a tall, muscular man ahead of you.

Reflecting off his metal arm. His very recognizable metal arm.

“Is that who I think it is?” You ask, catching Tony’s attention. He looked in your line sight and raised a brow.

“The arm doesn’t give it away?” You rolled your eyes at Stark. “I’ll introduce you, just don’t expect a warm welcome. He’s still a little frosty.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The metallic clang of the weights echoed throughout the gym. Sounds of grunts and bodies hitting the floor mats as agents trained and worked out all around the gym. It was almost mid morning by the time Bucky finally decided to put the weights down, having been in the compounds gym since five in the morning. Another night where a nightmare has plagued his already battered mind, usually, a couple of hours in the gym calmed him down but this particular nightmare he couldn’t seem to shake off.

The screams of the victims. His victims, still echoed in his mind, their horrified faces and their blood that he spilled was a slide show on repeat. The frown on his face deepened, matching the aggravated look on his face.

Frustated, he placed the weights back on the rack with a grunt. Pushing back the lose strands of his hair that escaped from his low bun away from his face he looked around, taking in all the agents around him. It was getting too crowded for his liking, and his anxiety wasn’t letting up, he gathered his items and trudged back to his room within the compound. Hoping a hot shower would ease his frazzled mind.

Bucky stomped through the halls, ignoring the way the agents and other employees quickly moved out of his way with worried looks. He knew they feared him, fearing that he would snap back into his Winter Soldier persona. Worried that whatever deprogramming they did in Wakanda didn’t actually work.

They should fear me. They’d be dumb if they didn’t. His face turned darker at the thought. He continued down the hall towards the elevator reserved for the Avengers that lead to the residential floor. The promise of a long, hot shower to process his racing thoughts and wash away the sweat from his extended workout this morning within a short distance. The hope of finally being away from lingering fearful stares and hushed whispers only an elevator ride away. He placed his hand upon the scanner built into the wall, waiting patiently for elevator to make its descent.

“Hey, Manchurian Canidate!” Bucky groaned at the sound of the irksome nickname. He silently prayed that the elevator doors would open at that second to make his escape. The frown on his face getting even deeper as he realized that his need to be alone was disappearing the closer as they footsteps approached him. Turning around, Bucky accepted his fate, hoping that his post workout odor makes this impending conversation short. Bucky was not in a mood for Starks antics today, or any day at all, really.

“Whoa, you are ripe! You know there are showers in the gym right?” Bucky rolled his eyes and grunted a response. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of his belated escape plan, turning back around when Bucky entered the elevator and much to his annoyance Tony followed. The movement of someone clad in bright yellow caught his attention, tilting his head up, his eyes focused on the young woman standing next to Stark.

“Oh, by the way.” Tony passively gestures towards you. “This is Y/N. Our new recruit, former sergeant first class. She outranks you.” He added smugly.

Bucky refused to take the bait, giving Tony another short grunt, not even bothering to look at him. You looked at Bucky, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the sweat clinging to his brow, evidence of his strenuous workout. But, you noticed something behind his blue eyes that spoke of something darker, an emotion that seems to plague him.

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you!” Your peppy voice rang in his ears. The joyfulness of your tone making him wince. He glanced back at you, your (y/e/c) eyes bright matching the smile that graced your lips, your hand reaching past Stark waiting for him to grasp it. Bucky just stared at it.

“Oh, well, I look forward to working with you and the others.” You say, the pep in your voice never faltered. You brought your hand back to your side, you had hoped that being your usually bright self, you would come off as a potential friend to Bucky and break the grumpy exterior Tony warned you about. No luck, not letting Bucky’s rebuff of your greeting bother you. Bucky’s eyes landed on your face once more giving you a confused look.

“I’m excited to learn how you and the rest of the team work together quickly. I know my skills will be of great use to you all. Maybe we’ll be paired up for a mission some time?” His lack of words made you want to fill the silence between you. You were alright with that, you understood that some people weren’t the talking type. Bucky’s stare made you continue on with your rambling.

“Since you know, we both have military experience. I think we would pair well with each other.” You smiled brightly once again.

Bucky continued to stare at you. Completely, blindsided that you continued to look him in the eye and talk to him without fear and worry. Did you not know who he was? Are you confusing him with someone else? Bucky shifted his gym bag on his shoulder, his grip on the strap making the mechanics of his metal arm begin to whir.

Well, if she doesn’t know who I am, she does now. Bucky frowned again.

Stark looked on between you and the living statue that was Bucky, getting some amusement from the completely polar opposite personalities in front of him. He watched on as you continued on with the one sided conversation. Smirking to himself as he watched Bucky become increasingly uncomfortable.

Ding!

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the elevator doors opened. He readjusted his bag, and quickly left, leaving you and Tony in the dust without so much as a goodbye. You watched as he walked away, the tension still present in his shoulders making you frown. He walked with a heaviness, a weight of bottled up emotions and dark thoughts. You recognized that stance, you’ve seen it with some of the soldiers that were under your command after grueling missions.

“Told ya he was still frosty.” Tony placed his hand upon your back guiding you out of the elevator to finish the tour of the compound.

“He’ll warm up to me, I’m sure.” You smiled at Tony with confidence.

“Hope you’re up for a challenge,”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that day Bucky exited his room. Refreshed and gym odor free from his long hot shower. It eased his mind somewhat, pushing back his memories enough to not be distracting. He walked to the communal kitchen of the residential floor, his stomach begging for some leftovers from the night before. Popping in a plate of some leftover fettuccine into the microwave, he leaned against the counter waiting for the time to go off.

Steve sat at the kitchen island across from him, with a cup of coffee in his hand looking at the file in front of him. He glanced over at the file that had his best friend so intrigued. He noticed that it was your file.

“Have you met the new recruit yet?” Steve asked him.

“Yup.” Bucky replied, popping the P. Steve continued to flip through your file, feeling impressed more and more with all of your achievements.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Steve started with with awe.

Bucky thought of your bright smile, your relaxed and bright presence. He thought of you carrying on introducing yourself, never stopping even if he was not responding. But what he thought of the most was how you didn’t have fear in your eyes.

“Yeah, she’s something.”

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel

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jyeshindra · 7 months

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ALL ABOUT TAURUS ASCENDANT

Hey there folks! I'm back again to continue our ascendant series. Today we're going over our lovely Taurus risings, ruled by lady Venus.

The ascendant is a highly personal point in the chart, revealing the ways in which our energy initiates. It is our mask, and the first thing the people who meet us see and experience. It is what we see when we look into the horizon for our next adventure, experience, or transformation. It is the ways we approach each area of our life and in its own way tells a story about how our lives will go.

Like always, it's good to start with the natural chart ruler of Taurus, Venus. Venus makes these risings charming, pleasant, and sensual people. Being bound to the earthly sign of Taurus, Venus isn't so much about connecting with others (more of a Libra quality) and more-so about enjoying pleasure and worldly things. You can be a little indulgent, Taurus, don't hide from it. It is Venus who is just as lusty and desiring as Mars. You wish to consume, and to possess, and to own, and to embrace all that the world has to offer, for it is the senses that guide your spirit and your vessel through this world. Some may call you greedy, but you know what the true worth of things are. This is also the gift of Venus. You manage your resources well, and are well-minded on matters of money and art. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what an eye you possess, Taurus!

These risings usually have a sense for fashion and aesthetics, appearing well put together and fashionable. There's a sturdiness to these risings, with the neck and shoulders being accented. There's something unassuming and classically beautiful about them, with a knack for cultivating glorious spaces of art and comfort.

Being in a feminine sign, these risings are more internally focused, with a slow and conservative approach to life. They don't like to waste energy and approach things with a stark patience. They have the staying power to get what they want and they will get it. Think of the bull, grazing along in the pasture. That is, until there's something to attack! Don't wake the bull, for Taurus anger is something to be feared, and not something many see.

Taurus is also materially concerned and prioritizes security. Being fixed in nature, these ascendants aren't as dynamic, preferring to do things the tried and tested way. Here's where the stubborn bull rears its head. Taureans like consistency and resist change!

Venus is also, I think, responsible for their stable, calming qualities . Taurus you are a pleasure to be around and can put anyone at ease. You enjoy a peaceful, calming environmnent, right Taurus? And, you can certainly keep a secret. Taureans make great listeners!

Taureans, ultimately you are here to attract. It's the principle quality of Venus. Your senses are your greatest asset as you approach each new environment, taking in sight, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. You calibrate and you beautify with your fixed perspective. Do not succumb to inertia, but keep moving forward ever so gracefully, imparting your wisdom and your knowledge upon each new pasture. You remind me of the Queen of Pentacles, nurturing and guiding things to their fruition with care and ease and love.

With your 8th House being ruled by Sagittarius, I think your power is awakened the moment you adopt the mutability of the sign. Be open to change when necessary and don't be so stuck in your ways Taurus. Let life teach you and let life show you new ways of thinking and looking at a situation. Then your ability to impart your wisdom will be even greater.

That's the Aquarius Midheaven, after all! You have so much to share with the world! From your observations and your experiences, there is a deep wisdom others must hear. Even if it causes you to operate against what others may expect of you, even if it breeds feelings of loneliness and confusion. You know what you have to offer the world will change it. What you touch automatically increases in value and is long-lasting, perhaps even progressive and innovative!

Scorpio Descendant will reveal the kind of partners you crave, as well as your own shadow Taurus. You, who wants to possess and own, may find a kinship in your Scorpio partners who also bring a kind of intensity to their relationships. You want someone loyal, someone who will not abandon you, and someone who will listen to you. There are dark things brewing beneath your surface, Taurus and you aren't always so open about the traumas and pains of your life. Water will soften your earth Taurus and open you up, allowing you to confess about the demons assailing your heart.

For this is what exists in your shadow, Taurus! You go through intense periods of transformation and you endure tough, brutal emotions. You do feel things, and at times you hold grudges. You hold onto those emotions until you explode, which doesn't always spell well for the people around you or yourself. Learn to process those emotions and talk to someone. Learn the art of letting go.

Perhaps a Scorpionic partner can teach you these things?

I fear this post grows too long. I could go further, but I believe this already paints quite the picture.

Next will be my dear Geminis!

#astrology #astro observations #natal chart #zodiac #horoscope #taurus #taurus rising #astrology signs #ascendant #astrologer #zodiac signs #astroloji #star signs #earth signs #astro community #astrology notes #birth chart #astro notes

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remotepixel · 4 months

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Platonic Yan!Tony Stark headcanons:

First post, very nervous </3.

(Request are open btw!!)

I've seen him called a mother hen multiple times but it's definitely amplified here.

-He's always wondering about the what-ifs and, as an important part of his life, most will be centred around you.

-Even small things like not wearing a coat when it’s cold will probably mess up his heart even further (please put one on, for his sake).

-Tech will be made in your honour because 'you never know'.

-And, as for giving it to you, I think it would go two ways:

-Straight-up giving it to you as a gift (pretty casually for him).

-Or leaving it really obviously somewhere and when you ask about it he acts all casual like he didn't spend the last week on it.

-In either of these scenarios he would be impatiently waiting for you to praise him.

-Like you're looking at it and he's making his usual quips while internally dying in suspense.

-He lives off your approval even if he'd never admit it.

-Any sort of positive reaction to him or his work would lift his mood for the rest of the day (though it may indirectly encourage him to work instead of living to get that same reaction).

This is probably obvious but mf would definitely stalk you online.

-Like, the tech isn't just for you, he isn't that selfless.

-Its a way to monitor you:)

-The Stark phone is tracking you 24/7 and reading/watching everything you're doing.

-There's a screen in his lab just for your activity and JARVIS is on alert in case he misses anything (which is kinda hard when he's glancing at it every 2 seconds but the lack of sleep catches up sometimes).

Just like his constant seek of approval, he wants to constantly be in your life and know everything about you (other reason why his inventions are handy).

-Knowing everything allows him to feel comfortable and increases the chances of you actually liking him (or at least, that’s his logic), and it’s the same for being around you 24/7 (though it also helps his paranoia, that he will be there to protect you if anything happens).

-He'd play nice with your parents (lowkey reluctantly) , teachers, background check all your friends, anything to keep himself involved and in the loop surrounding you.

(He definitely has a whole terabyte or more of information about you with a lot of security measures just in case anyone finds it).

I think due to his upbringing (yk, not having a good dad lol) he would compliment you often.

-He's not an overall affectionate guy so it would probably be the subtle 'good work' or pat on the shoulder but he'll try at least.

-That's why he normally goes with gifts- whether tech like mentioned before or anonymously paying for any subscriptions, bills, etc.

You not liking him for any reason would crush his soul.

-He overthinks everything, to the point where if you forget to say hello to him or something he'd convinced he's done something wrong.

-He knows self-loathing isn't good and he's reading too much into it, but it doesn't help when all he can think about is yet another person leaving.

-He'll play it off ofc but he'll be searching for ages trying to find any more clues for your behaviour.

-He isn't good at comforting so, if you’re in any sort of negative mood, he'll make more jokes, drop in a few not very subtle 'you can talk about anything to me', just anything to try and get you happy once again.

-If you're happy, you'll want to be near him and that makes him happy in return.

-In his mind, its a fair deal.

Although impulsive, he’s self aware.

-He knows his behaviour is strange to say the least, but he basically gaslights himself into believing it’s the best choice.

-Like, you fall over once? Well, that wouldn’t have happened if he was your guardian.

-I don’t think kidnapping would happen unless you get put into serious danger which he then believes warrants keeping you ‘safe’ in the tower, or he overreacts to a trivial thing (he’s in his mother henning mood), decides enough is enough, and then realises what he’s done an hour later and now has to live with the consequences.

Overall, he’s a paranoid, approval-seeking, obsessive silly little guy :)

#yandere mcu #yandere #yandere tony stark #platonic yandere #platonic yandere tony stark #yandere marvel #RemotePixel

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irondad-and-spiderson · 2 months

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Hi! Sorry to bother, idk if you take asks like this (if you don't feel free to ignore!) but do you know any good fics where SI employees bully/threaten/mistreat Peter and Tony comes to the rescue? Thank you so much for your time 💙💙

Hi! I absolutely do! I might just take forever to respond and take your prompt a little loosely 😃 The three under the cut are employees with (valid) security concerns. I know there are more that I can’t find, so anyone feel free to add some 😉

A Big Security Issue by FotiBrit

When Peter lost his Stark Industries Staff ID, Tony handed the kid his own. That was never an issue, until Peter had to check in at the front desk.

The Cusp of a Breath by SpaceCowboysFromMars

“That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever experienced.” Peter says as he and Tony make their way into the crowd. He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs, cringing when he remembers how much the suit costs.

“You got shot on patrol last month.”

“This was worse.”

Or; Peter is introduced as the official heir of Stark Industries, but not everyone is completely welcoming of his presence. Luckily, he has a pretty awesome mentor to keep him on track.

the love (and other things) you inherit by ironfidus

“Which is why,” Catherine says, unblinking, as delicately as she can, “the board requires that you name a successor in the event of your untimely demise. The risk has simply become too great for us to ignore.”

Tony Stark’s spent a large portion of his life thinking about legacy: his legacy, his company’s, Iron Man’s. He’s spent a lot of time fighting to protect his legacy, too. But today, with a lawyer as his witness and FRIDAY as his one-AI cheerleading squad, he stops, takes a step back, and lets go instead—because for the first time, his legacy isn’t about him, not really.

And as FRIDAY would say: it’s about damn time.

Alternatively: Tony updates his will and gets himself an heir, Peter gets a promotion (for lack of a better word), and the rest of the world gets a wake-up call—in that order. Ft. an impatient board of directors, a Stark Industries charity gala, and a universe in which Tony Stark gets to be happy.

Security Bias by Sara (ctrsara)

Happy Hogan asks Daren Anderson to help him out with a little project.

My take on idk-bruh-20's irondad fic ideas #128: Fic where, after a security incident in which some bozo accused Peter of trespassing at Stark Tower, Happy holds an emergency briefing for the entire SI security team.

The topic of the briefing? The absolutely untouchable, vital-to-know-if-you-want-to-keep-your-job level of importance of one Peter Parker.

Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited by kingdomfaraway

While Leroy didn’t like gossip, he wasn’t immune to it and he’d heard about a young boy claiming to be Tony Stark’s intern showing up randomly throughout the building. He just figured it was some random mystery, a Stark Industries cryptid if you will.

Never did he think he’d have a sighting.

“Are you Peter Parker?” Leroy questioned, narrowing his eyes at the young boy, looking for any signs of deceit.

“Oh yeah, that’s me, hi!” Possibly Fabled Intern Peter Parker reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge and lanyard, this one with his face on it and INTERN written underneath it. “Mr. Stark got me a badge so I can get nachos whenever I want.”

Chapter 1 of 200 Park Avenue (5+1) by Sara (ctrsara)

Peter hasn't seen Mr. Stark, or been able to go out as Spider-man since he turned down his invitation to join the Avengers a few weeks ago. He ends up at Stark Tower rather randomly, finding an unlikely hero in Mr. Stark's AI, then keeps returning for different purposes.

The first chapter is a short I did for Comfortember 2022 that I've just kept thinking about. I'm building on that story and creating a 5+1 to explore the new dynamic (post-Homecoming) in another way.

5 Times Peter Visited Stark Tower and 1 Time He Stayed

Home by patrochilles_trash ((it’s less angsty than it sounds))

Tony had been out of the country for weeks on SI business, and Peter was having a hard time. He missed him, plain and simple.

Okay. Maybe not so plain and simple.

Peter had a rough time in the weeks and months that followed the final defeat of Thanos in the ruins of the Compound. Thrust back into life, only to be forced to fight for the lives of the entire universe for the second time at only sixteen-years-old, and then to be told that his last living relative died in a crash during his five year absence did wonders for his psyche.

He developed a nasty form of separation anxiety toward his mentor-turned-adoptive-father -- not that Tony fared much better himself -- and his therapist had said it was a side effect of PTSD and that it would get better over time.

A small field trip fic to SI where Tony has been out of the country for a few weeks, and Peter isn't handling it well.

Don't be fooled. This garbage fluff to avoid my other fics that I'm writing

#ask #fanfiction #iron dad #tony stark #spider son #peter parker #fic rec #answered

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scribbledghost · 20 days

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Fem!Simon Riley SFW Alphabet

By request: the SFW version of the alphabet meme for Fem!Simon! I really hope you guys enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing this!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

In public, she's not very affectionate. She'll hold your hand, maybe put an arm around your waist, buy she won't do much more than that. It's not that she's ashamed of you or anything, she's just not particularly into PDA.

In private though, she's much more affectionate. She likes to cuddle, likes to lay her head on your chest while you run a hand through her hair. She's also very prone to random hugs; if you're standing somewhere in the house doing something when she passes by, she's probably going to hug you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

She's that no-nonsense friend who will 100% commit crimes for you if need be. She'll tell you how it is, but that doesn't mean she's cruel about it - she just doesn't particularly beat around the bush. If she thinks that shirt doesn't look good on you, she'll tell you lol. That sort of thing.

It'll probably be the type of friendship that starts because you're both in the same vicinity enough over a long enough period of time. She doesn't typically seek people out on her own, so her friendships mostly happen in this way.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She does like to cuddle! It takes a while for her to get used to the idea, since you're her first long-term relationship. But once you ease her into it, she starts to crave it. She finds she sleeps better when she's got a hand on you somehow, and even if you two are just sitting on the couch watching a movie, she likes to at least have an arm around your shoulders.

Fem Simon likes spooning the most, if she's honest. She leans towards big spoon due to her size, but she's not opposed to letting you be the big spoon if you ask. She mostly likes to curl around you and bury her face in the back of your neck.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think she wants to, but it takes some time to work out her feelings on it. She's not used to a stable life like that, and at first it feels... wrong. Like she should be waiting for the other shoe to drop. But once she gets more secure and used to it, she finds she really enjoys it.

She's good at cleaning, especially due to her time in the military. Cooking is... fine. She can't really do gourmet, but she can make the basics and she does just fine with recipes or instructions. Because of this, she tends to lean more towards taking over cleaning duties when she lives with someone.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Much like canon Simon, fem!Simon would break up as efficiently, quickly, and decisively as possible. Like ripping off a bandaid. She's not the type to "break up and make up" constantly - when she's done, she's done.

That being said, it takes quite a bit to push her in that direction. Unless you've got some major red flags going on or you refuse to try and work something out, she's in it for the long haul. Simon has no problem compromising in most areas, but she'll let you know real quick if you overstep a boundary (for more info, see letter Y).

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

In a stark difference from canon Simon, fem!Simon desperately wants to wife you up. She's hearing wedding bells by like. Date 2. She has daydreams purely about being able to call you her wife. She loves the idea of putting that ring on your finger.

However, as much as she wants to, she does put it off for a bit just as a measure of practicality. She thinks it'd be best to date for a while, probably live together for a bit, just to make sure you're both truly compatible. Sure, she's internally calling you her wife pretty quick, but she does still do her due diligence. She wants to make sure she'll only ever marry once.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Truthfully, it completely depends on who she's around. If it's just you, she's incredibly gentle, both physically and emotionally. The last thing she ever wants to do is hurt you. But around others, she's much more harsh and no-nonsense.

The difference is striking, especially if you surprise her on-base while she's training recruits or something. She flips on a dime, going from loud insults to soft "hey there love"s in 0.7 seconds once she sees you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She likes hugs from you and ONLY you. No one else gets the privilege (as much as Soap would kill to have it). The most she'll give others is a fist-bump or a solid pat to the shoulder.

With you, her hugs are encompassing. Bear hugs to the max. The woman is huge, so no matter your size, she can envelop you pretty well. She also does that thing where she doesn't let go until you're ready, and gives you that little extra squeeze before she releases you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She doesn't lol. You could flat-out get married and never hear those three words out of her mouth. But that absolutely does NOT mean she doesn't love you with everything she has. She just prefers to show it as opposed to saying it. She finds the phrase trite and overused to the point of meaningless.

If she does use her words, she still doesn't say the words "I love you". Instead, she says things like "you're everything to me" or "don't know what I'd do without you". Sometimes it's just a certain look in her eyes that tells you she'd burn the world down for you without a second thought.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She gets... moderately jealous, just because she still holds some insecurities about your relationship (see letter R). If she spots you getting friendly with another person, she worries that you'll see she isn't good enough. (She still worries about this even though you keep telling her she's more than "good enough".)

In these moments, she gets quiet and broody. She won't say what's bothering her, but it doesn't take much to piece things together. She won't take it out on you. However, if she's not careful, she can start letting her brain run away and she gets a little possessive. She doesn't particularly want that, so she tries to keep a tight rein on it.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Fem!Simon's kisses, much like canon Simon's, are... engulfing. She pours everything she has into kissing you any time she's able to. Like she's trying to memorize how you feel against her lips (she is). A hand on your jaw, guiding your lips to hers, and a slow build up to something more heated if that's where she's going. Sometimes she just likes to have those slow makeout sessions that start and end with kissing.

As for where she likes to kiss you, nowhere is really off-limits. She'll accept whatever you offer her. For herself, she's not picky either. As far as she's concerned, your lips on her body is the closest she's getting to heaven anyway.

...uncomfortable lol. Truthfully, fem Simon doesn't care for kids too much, especially young ones/babies. She won't be mean to them, but her discomfort is very plain to anyone who sees her. Part of her is afraid she'll accidentally hurt them or something, and honestly she tends to scare kids most of the time.

On the other hand, if she comes into contact with one that isn't scared of her, she'll play along as best as she can until she can escape the situation politely. (i.e. hand the baby back to its parents, quietly excuse herself, etc).

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

This depends on her schedule. If she's working, it's very routine and to-the-minute. She wakes up at a certain time, gets up, then does her morning routine. Even this is pretty step-by-step; she'll have a morning cuppa, shower, get dressed, then run a comb through her hair/put deodorant on/brush her teeth. Then she's out the door (after a "have a good day" kiss from you, of course).

If she's off, she likes to lie in. All but turns into a cuddle monster who begs you for five more minutes or to call in sick if you've got work yourself. She'll get up slowly, and it's 50/50 on if she'll even get dressed that day if she has no plans.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Again, this largely depends on her schedule the next day. If she's working, she likes to keep to a tight schedule just to ensure she's not a tired, cranky mess the next day (bedtime is 2200 always). If not, she's more lax about it and tends to skew towards being a night-owl.

She doesn't particularly have any sort of nighttime routine. She doesn't really do skincare, and she showers in the mornings, so it basically amounts to "pajamas then bed". However, she won't object if you ask her to share in some of your routines. As long as you promise cuddles as compensation later.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

She reveals things piecemeal and slowly. And, especially early on, what she does reveal, she leaves pretty vague. She'll tell you she's in the military, and maybe even in the air service, but she won't specify that it's the SAS for a while. And she takes even longer to tell you about the task force.

As for her past/personal life, that's VERY slow. She doesn't like to talk about it much, and it probably takes years plus you two getting married for her to say much more other than her father was a bastard and her mother and brother passed away.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With you? You'd have to move mountains to get her truly angry at you. Frustrated, perhaps, but never angry. She never wants to be the type to lash out or to have a short fuse with you. It'd probably take constant teasing/bothering to get her to even snap at you to knock it off.

With others? She's different. She has no problem tearing the recruits a new one, or putting the sergeants in their places. But even then, unless she's barking orders or drilling rookies, she doesn't yell.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Okay, so I have this specific headcanon for Fem!Simon specifically that she has a journal. Her old therapist recommended it for detangling her thoughts, and it become a habit. That being said, it's more commonly used now to take notes on you.

Your likes. Dislikes. Favorite color/movie/food/etc. The fact that you have an appointment next Tuesday that you're nervous about. Stories you've told her that she thinks will come back up later. Important dates. It all but turns into a case study on you specifically.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time she came back from deployment after you two had begun dating. Deep down, she was still a bit insecure at the time about your relationship; worried that her inexperience would drive you away. She had a fear of coming back and having no one there to greet her.

But you were there. And the way you ran up to her, all but wrapping yourself around her without the slightest care of who may be watching, instantly became a core memory for Simon.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Imagine this: a former prized fighting dog with their person who is the first human being to show them soft kindness and love. That's where fem!Simon is. She's loyal to the bone, and will never do anything in your honor until you give her the ok to, but once you let go of that leash, she's a force to be reckoned with.

As far as how she likes to be protected: she finds it more amusing when you try. And adorable. Like a cat standing in front of a giant, scarred Cane Corso. She does appreciate it though, it makes her happy to know you're willing to go to bat for her just as much as she is for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She does try very hard, if only to try and make up for how often she's away during those important dates. She'll treat you to anything your heart desires when she's home, and is almost desperate to make up for missing something like your birthday or anniversary.

Simon also has a knack for gift-giving. She quickly picks up on the little things you collect, what sorts of experiences you'd like the best, those sorts of things. She somehow always knows just what you'd like and when. How she does this, she'll never tell.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She has to keep a tight eye on her behavior at times because during times of extreme stress, she can be prone to being overly possessive/obsessive. It comes from a place of concern, of needing you to be safe, but it can definitely be overkill if someone doesn't bring it to her attention.

There are also times when she distances herself because she still sometimes struggles with her sexuality. She closes herself off because she doesn't want to drag you into her own issues, no matter how much you reassure her you want to help. Just... give her some patience and time. She'll open up eventually.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not very. Not at all, actually. She doesn't shave, doesn't wear makeup, only wears comfortable clothes, keeps her hair cut close. There's almost no traces of traditional femininity in fem!Simon, and she doesn't have any intentions of changing that.

That's not to say she's a slob or anything, she just prefers existing in her natural state. There are a few times when she'll dress up a bit more sharply, like for special dates or when she wants to catch your eye. There are few times she has to dress up in her dress uniform, but she has a deep dislike for it lol.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

With fem!Simon, I very much see her as the type of person who really has trouble bringing people into the fold of her life. As such, she's fiercely independent, and prides herself on being self-sustaining as much as possible.

That being said, she by no means WANTS to be without you. Its less that she feels incomplete, and more that she deeply loves you and does not want to leave your side. Especially now that you've wiggled your way into her life and her heart, she doesn't want you to leave. Could she go on without you? Yes. Does she want to? Never.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Fem!Simon was raised Christian, and as such as a very hefty dose of that good, old-fashioned Christian Guilt. Even though she's no longer religious (agnostic but leaning towards atheist), she still can't help but feel like there's something wrong with her when she's sleepless on certain nights.

She desperately wishes she could bring you home to her mum. Her mum was the only person in her life to even imply she'd be okay with Simon being gay as a kid (frequently defending her from her abusive and homophobic father), and deep in her bones, Simon knows her mother would've loved you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Someone who's quick to anger or prone to explosive anger would be a hard no-go for Simon. If you're the type to easily be brought to yelling or throwing things, it isn't gonna work. You've got to have emotional maturity in order to be in a successful, meaningful relationship with her.

In the same vein, she needs a partner who is at least decently independent. She loves it when you rely on her, but she also has to be able trust that you can take care of yourself when she's deployed (or if, heaven forbid, something happens to her in the field).

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

The vast majority of the time, she sleeps on her back. The only time this changes is if she's on her side, and she has to be facing the door. But for the most part, she's a back sleeper. She sleeps light.

She doesn't toss or turn too much, and though she does have frequent nightmares, she usually wakes up from those with a heaving breath instead of screaming (which she credits to a looooot of therapy). All this to say she's pretty ideal to share a bed with. Plus she loves to hold her partner, so that's an added plus too.

#fem simon #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost scribbles

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nayziiz · 2 months

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Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 4

As the weeks wore on, Lando and Amelia found themselves navigating a precarious game of cat and mouse, their every move shadowed by the looming threat of exposure. Despite the setbacks, they managed to orchestrate several successful shipments to various parts of the world, each one a testament to their resilience and resourcefulness. From the bustling streets of Paris to the neon-lit alleys of Tokyo and the sun-drenched beaches of Rio de Janeiro, they navigated the intricate web of international logistics with skill and precision.

But as the shipments continued, so too did the speculations between Lando and Amelia, casting suspicion on everyone from trusted allies to low-level associates. With each passing day, the sense of paranoia grew, fueled by the nagging fear that someone within their ranks was working against them.

In the absence of concrete evidence, they could only wait and watch, their nerves stretched taut with anticipation for the inevitable confrontation with George and his father, Steve. They knew that it was only a matter of time before the Russells reappeared, armed with questions and demands for answers.

Steve was unrelenting in his pursuit for answers. George's conflicted loyalties became increasingly apparent as the tension escalated. He found himself caught between his father's ruthless demands and a lingering sense of compassion for Amelia, a girl he once cared deeply for. He pleaded with his father to spare her harm, emphasising the need for restraint, but his appeals fell on deaf ears. The elder Russell remained resolute, driven by a relentless pursuit of answers, regardless of the methods employed.

In the pursuit of those answers, the Steve saw instilling fear in the young Rossi as a perfect means to an end. The calculated decision to create a climate of intimidation was intended to extract the information they sought. In George's mind, this heavy-handed approach seemed unnecessary, but he had little influence over the methods his father deemed fit for the situation.

The tension reached a boiling point when an unexpected intrusion disrupted Amelia's ordinary night at the car dealership. As she diligently worked at her desk, finalising purchase paperwork, a mysterious figure slipped into the shadows, wielding a gun. He stalked her as he made his way up the staircase to her office. The sudden appearance of danger shattered the illusion of Amelia's once seemingly idyllic life. The threat materialised from the dangerous undercurrents of her business dealings, casting a dark shadow over her personal space.

In the harrowing moments that followed, Amelia faced a stark realisation – the vulnerabilities that came with her involvement in the less-than-clean aspects of business had breached the sanctity of her private world. The once distant dangers of the underworld had materialised at her doorstep, leaving her to confront the consequences of her choices and the menacing presence that now lurked in the shadows of her seemingly secure life.

Amelia swiftly recognized the orchestrator behind the menace—Russell, and by association, George. Driven by a toxic blend of jealousy and a warped sense of rivalry, they had crossed a line that Amelia could not dismiss or forgive.

The bitter irony lay in George's role, someone who had once pleaded for leniency and attempted to protect Amelia from the ominous reach of his family. However, his own history of betrayal and a pattern of undermining friendships, including those with Lando and Amelia, had now come full circle. The loyalty he had hoped to foster had eroded, replaced by a perilous alliance with his ruthless family.

For Amelia, this was more than an isolated incident; it was a pivotal moment that shattered the facade of normalcy. The underworld, a realm her father had sought to shield her from, now unfolded at her doorstep, and she found herself at the centre of the dangerous game by her own volition.

Amelia's heart raced like a drumbeat in her chest, each thud echoing the gravity of the chilling reality before her—an imposing gun pointed unwaveringly at her forehead. The tension in the air was palpable, and despite her training in various martial arts, the starkness of the situation eclipsed anything she had faced before.

The training that once instilled confidence now offered only a fragile shield against the looming threat. Her breaths, normally measured and controlled, came in quick, shallow bursts, as she grappled with the instinctive surge of fear. In the dimly lit confines of her dealership, the menacing presence of the intruder cast an ominous shadow, and the world seemed to contract to the immediate proximity of the weapon aimed at her.

Drawing upon every ounce of her strength, Amelia fought to steady herself, her mind racing as she attempted to approach the perilous scenario with a facade of calm reasoning. The pulsating seconds felt like an eternity, each one magnifying the weight of the gun and the precariousness of her position.

In the face of imminent danger, her training became a delicate dance between muscle memory and raw instinct. She focused on the intruder, attempting to decipher the intentions behind the cold, unyielding gaze. The air hung heavy with unspoken threats, and as the seconds stretched, she steeled herself for the unfolding confrontation.

The assailant's demand cut through the air like a sharp blade, his words resonating with ominous intent—he sought information about her business dealings with Norris. Amelia, despite the palpable fear coursing through her veins, summoned a steely resolve and met the demand with a measured composure.

With unwavering determination, she firmly denied any involvement in fraudulent activities, each word spoken with deliberate clarity. In the face of the menacing weapon trained on her, Amelia asserted her autonomy, emphasising that her business operated within the bounds of legality. The echoes of her denial reverberated in the dimly lit room, a defiant stand against the threat that loomed before her.

The air became charged with an unspoken intensity, the intruder's gaze a piercing scrutiny that sought to unravel the truth hidden beneath her words. As the minutes stretched into an agonising crawl, Amelia's strategic mind worked swiftly, seizing upon a fleeting opportunity to lower the gunman's guard. In a moment of calculated precision, she initiated a series of manoeuvres, skillfully disarming him with a deftness that belied the urgency of the situation.

The sudden, unexpected struggle erupted through the quiet dealership, the scuffling sounds echoing in the otherwise silent space. Amelia's training in martial arts became a decisive advantage as she defied the odds, turning the tables against the assailant. The struggle played out in a dance of survival, the stakes heightened by the threat that had initially loomed over her.

Amidst the chaos, the sudden commotion escalated, the tension reaching a fever pitch. In the frenzied struggle, a gunshot shattered the silence, its reverberations ricocheting off the walls and distorting the perception of time. The deafening sound momentarily drowned out all other noise, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake.

Amelia's heart raced in the aftermath of the gunshot, her senses heightened as she assessed the situation. The abrupt eruption of violence had shifted the delicate balance within the dealership, leaving a lingering tension in the air.

Amelia's body tensed in the aftermath of the gunshot, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as time seemed to freeze. The once frantic struggle now hung in suspended animation, and the dimly lit dealership became a stage for the unknown. The surreal silence that followed the deafening sound of the gunshot enveloped her, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

In the oppressive stillness, Amelia waited with bated breath, her senses heightened, and her perception attuned to the slightest shift in the air. The harsh echoes of her own laboured breaths reverberated in the quietude, underscoring the gravity of the situation. Panic gripped her, the uncertainty of the unfolding events amplifying the fear that coiled within her.

The profound sense of relief that washed over her was palpable, a wave that momentarily eclipsed the lingering fear. The realisation slowly dawned—she had not been the target of the gunshot. The threat had been redirected, and it was the assailant who now bore the wounds inflicted in the struggle.

Amelia's gaze fixated on the fallen gunman, his laboured breaths a haunting symphony in the aftermath of the struggle. The reality of the situation seeped into her consciousness, and a heavy silence enveloped the dealership. Time, momentarily suspended, resumed its relentless march, yet Amelia remained frozen in place, a silent witness to the unfolding consequences of the violent encounter.

The man, now a mere shadow of the menacing threat he had posed, struggled with the injuries inflicted during the tumultuous struggle. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutal clash that had transpired within the once-quiet confines of the showroom. Amelia, caught in the aftermath, grappled with the weight of the encounter settling heavily on her shoulders.

As the wounded assailant choked on his own blood, the air became charged with an eerie tension, the sounds of his suffering echoing through the space. The dealership, once a sanctuary for luxury vehicles, now bore witness to the stark realities of the dangerous game Amelia had willingly entered. The poignant contrast between the opulence of the surroundings and the brutality of the confrontation lingered, casting a sombre pall over the scene.

As the dealership gradually settled into an eerie calm, the remnants of the recent struggle lingering like ghostly echoes, Amelia took a moment to collect herself. The adrenaline, which had surged through her veins like a tumultuous tide, began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a mix of shock and a subtle undercurrent of accomplishment.

Surveying the aftermath of the violent encounter, she found herself amidst overturned furniture and the tangible residue of the struggle that had unfolded within the walls of her once-secure sanctuary. The normally pristine office space now bore the scars of the confrontation, a stark reminder of the perilous world she had been abruptly thrust into.

“Shit.” She mumbled as she stumbled to switch off all the lights on in her office.

With her heart still pounding and her once-white satin blouse now stained in scarlet, Amelia made her way to her desk, a silent witness to the turmoil that had unfolded in her sanctuary. The stark reminder of the recent struggle clung to her, an indelible mark on the fabric of her existence.

As she reached for her phone, uncertainty gripped her. The weight of the decision loomed over her—should she call her father, the protector who had shielded her from the dangerous undercurrents, or should she call Lando, the ally who understood the shadows of their shared past? In a moment of visceral instinct, she chose the latter, trusting in Lando's unwavering support and the absence of judgement that their history promised.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited in breathless anticipation for Lando's voice to resonate through the device. The seconds seemed to stretch, each one echoing with the aftermath of the struggle. In the silence that enveloped her, the phone call became a lifeline, a connection to the one person who could comprehend the complexities of the perilous world she had been thrust into.

The pulsating beat of music and the lively atmosphere of one of Lando's clubs enveloped his surroundings as he answered the call. Amidst the rhythmic sounds and vibrant energy, a voice, laden with urgency, cut through the noise.

“Amelia?” Lando's voice crackled through the phone, momentarily competing with the lively ambiance of the club.

“Lando. I need your help.” She replied, the weight of the recent events evident in her breathless tonemanages to breathe.

“Now’s not the best time.” He informed her, his words navigating the delicate balance between the two worlds—one of immediate revelry and the other, a world in which Amelia grappled with the aftermath of a dangerous encounter.

In the background, the ambient noise of the club continued, underscored by the playful distraction of Zara kissing down his neck—a glimpse into the lavish and carefree surroundings that defined Lando's realm.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.” She emphasised, her voice a stark contrast to the surrounding revelry.

The weight of her statement penetrated through the distractions of the club, prompting Lando to take decisive action. In a swift motion, he pushed Zaral off him, leaving behind the allure of the night's festivities. Rising to his feet, he stepped away from the vibrant chaos, a silent acknowledgment of the urgency embedded in Amelia's call.

“Where are you?” Lando's voice held a sense of urgency as he sought to understand the specifics of Amelia's situation.

“I’m in the dealership. Just make sure you come alone and come around the back.” She informed him, her words laden with a discreet plea for discretion and swift action.

Amelia, far from being a passive victim, emerged from the ordeal with a silent vow etched in her heart. The betrayal she had endured fueled a fierce determination to retaliate. The past bonds that once tethered her to George were now severed, and she understood the gravity of the situation. It was no longer just about self-preservation; it was a commitment to safeguarding those she held dear, a pledge to shield not only herself but also the loyal allies who had stood by her side.

The passage of twenty minutes left the dealership in an eerie stillness, the back door creaking open to admit Lando into the shadowy expanse. The showroom, once a realm of gleaming luxury, now lay shrouded in darkness, the ambient glow of the city's night seeping through the windows.

Lando, attuned to the urgency of the situation, cast a glance upward at Amelia's office on the first floor. The dim light emitted from her phone served as a lone beacon in the otherwise darkened space, guiding him towards the heart of the unfolding drama.

Making his way up the spiral staircase with cautious steps, Lando's senses heightened. The air hung heavy with the aftermath of the struggle, and a palpable tension gripped the surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a hushed realisation settled in—there, in the semi-darkness of the office, lay the assailant's feet.

“What the fuck?” The immediate shock and disbelief coloured Lando's voice, echoing through the silent expanse of the building.

“Shut up!” Amelia hissed, her urgency cutting through the tension that hung in the air.Amelia hissed.

“What did you do?” Lando's voice, now lowered but no less intense, sought answers in the darkness.

“I will answer all of your questions, but you need to help me get rid of his body.” Amelia's words carried a weight, a confession that reverberated through the shadows.

“Amelia.” Lando's tone held a mix of concern and incredulity.

“It was either be killed or kill. I had to choose.” She explained, the gravity of her words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

Lando, confronted with the grim reality of the situation, snapped into action. The urgency of the moment prompted him to shed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves with a focused determination. In the silence that hung over the showroom, his mind raced with logistical considerations.

His thoughts turned to the practicalities—they needed a different vehicle. The trunk of his car, by his quick assessment, wouldn't accommodate the task at hand. A calculated and strategic mind, Lando contemplated the intricacies of the situation, considering the weight and gravity of each decision.

“Alright.” He said, his voice steady despite the unfolding chaos. “We'll use another vehicle. We need to act fast, and we need to be discreet.”

Lando dragged the unconscious man by his feet, the chilling reality of the situation sinking in. The dealership, once a pristine display of luxury, now bore witness to the aftermath of a violent struggle, leaving behind a trail of stark evidence.

“Fuck, the blood is everywhere.” Lando muttered under his breath.

As Lando manoeuvred the body onto a rug, his gaze shifted upward, and he found Amelia, the once-composed orchestrator of her business, now completely spaced out. Disgust etched across her face, her eyes fixated on the volume of blood that stained her office floor—a visceral reminder of the choices made in the throes of danger.

“Are you hurt?” Lando's concern cut through the tense air, a reflection of the gravity of the situation.

“No.” Amelia replied, her voice holding a trace of weariness.

“You have blood on your shirt.” Lando observed, his gaze fixated on the stained garment.

“It’s not mine.” She clarified as the weight of her words underscoring the gravity of the struggle she had endured.

“You need to get bleach and a ton of paper towels.” Lando suggested, his mind already racing with plans to address the aftermath.

“I’ll get it.” Amelia responded, her resolve unwavering even in the face of the disconcerting scene in her office.

The logistics of the cleanup became a practical focus, a way to navigate the aftermath of their choices and restore a semblance of order to the chaos that had unfolded within the once-tranquil dealership.

In a matter of moments, Amelia descended the staircase and reappeared, carrying the cleaning supplies needed to address the aftermath of the struggle. The cleansing scent of bleach filled the air as she sprayed it onto the blood-stained tiles, the pungent odour mingling with the lingering tension in the showroom.

Amelia's movements were deliberate and focused, the rhythmic sound of the paper towel wiping away the evidence of the violent encounter. The dim light cast shadows on her determined expression as she worked to erase the physical remnants of the struggle that had disrupted the tranquillity of her office.

“I’ll have my security guys wipe the footage from the CCTV database.” Lando informed her, his tone authoritative and decisive. The practicality of his suggestion was evident—a strategic move to eliminate any traces of the recent events. “And, I’ll have them send some guys down to be here when you’re in the office.”

“That’s not necessary. My father-”

“Your father cannot know a thing. He’ll know that you're busy with shady business. Just say you had a security breach and I offered.” Lando interjected, his voice firm and insistent.

The weight of his words conveyed an understanding of the delicate balance they needed to maintain in the face of a situation that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facades of their lives.

In the strategic dance of shadows and secrets, Lando's offer became a lifeline—a shield against the prying eyes of those who couldn't be trusted.

“He always liked you.” Amelia acknowledged, a subtle nod to the complexities of her father's affections.

“Precisely.” Lando responded, recognizing the leverage that goodwill might afford them in navigating the intricacies of their clandestine actions. “I’m going to need someone to help us. We can’t do this alone.”

“Just not Max. Or Alex.” Amelia stipulated, expressing a cautious reluctance regarding the choice of allies.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pretend like nothing happened.” He directed with a pragmatic approach to maintaining the illusion of normalcy in the wake of the violent encounter.

“I can’t go home looking like this.” Amelia confessed, her voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and concern.

“You’ll come home with me. We’ll get you cleaned up, get rid of your clothes and get you back home. No one needs to know a thing.” Lando assured her, his tone a blend of reassurance and determination.

“Thank you.” Amelia responded, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the support she found in their shared alliance.

“This is technically my fault.” Lando admitted with a sense of responsibility underlying his words.

“No, it isn't.” Amelia countered, her conviction unwavering.

“This has to be George, no?” Lando pondered, drawing connections between the recent events and their shared history.

‘It can only be him. He was the only one asking questions.” Amelia affirmed, a trace of frustration in her voice.

"You know George, he's only ever happy when he's included in something." Lando observed, a rueful acknowledgment of their former schoolmate's tendencies.

In the dimly lit showroom, Lando wasted no time. With determined efficiency, he rolled the unconscious assailant into the rug, the fabric concealing the evidence of the violent struggle. As he straightened up, he wiped his hands on his jeans, a pragmatic gesture to rid himself of the residual traces of the grim task at hand.

Pulling out his phone, Lando dialled the number of his right-hand man, Jon. The urgency of the situation echoed in the hushed tones of their conversation as Lando briefed him on the need for assistance.

“Jon, I need you to come to the dealership. We've got a situation. We’ll leave everything open at the back for you. Just a clean up and disposal.” Lando spoke, the weight of the words underscoring the gravity of the clandestine operation unfolding within the confines of the dealership.

As Jon's acknowledgement reached Lando's ears, the stage was set for the arrival of assistance—a strategic move to navigate the aftermath and ensure that the shadows of the night kept their secrets hidden from prying eyes.

“Jon will sort out the body and his car. He'll get some people in to give the room a proper clean. You and I need to get out of here. I'll be your alibi if shit hits the fan.” Lando asserted, his words carrying a sense of urgency and commitment.

“Feels like we're back in high school.” Amelia remarked, a wistful note in her voice as she drew parallels between their current predicament and the challenges they faced in their youth.

“Neither of us killed someone in high school.” Lando responded, his tone a mix of pragmatism and reassurance.

"We saw someone get shot and we kept quiet, Lan. That makes us look fucking guilty." Amelia countered, her words laden with the weight of their shared past.

“We weren't out there that night looking for a murder scene.” Lando asserted, drawing a distinction between the events that unfolded in their teenage years and the unforeseen circumstances that now required their discretion.

Flashback

They were just 17 that night. Lando, bold and adventurous, had snuck out with one of his father's Audis to pick up Amelia for a house party. The night took an unexpected turn when they got lost, the dimly lit roads leading them to an abandoned stretch. Eager to regain phone signal, they pulled over, the night air thick with anticipation.

As they sought connectivity, the tranquillity of the night was shattered by screams and yelling, the ominous sounds drawing them in. Their curiosity propelled them forward, and seconds later, they found themselves witnesses to a harrowing scene—a man being shot several times, the violent act searing into their young minds.

The shooter's face remained hidden in the shadows, a faceless perpetrator of a crime witnessed in the dead of night. Lando, quick on his feet even in the face of danger, grabbed Amelia before she could utter a scream, and they sped away from the scene.

In the aftermath of that fateful night, a silent pact emerged. Lando and Amelia, bound by the shared trauma of witnessing a crime, made a promise—an unspoken agreement never to speak about it with each other or anyone else. The weight of that secret forged an unbreakable bond, a shared understanding that transcended the boundaries of adolescence and lingered as a shadowy thread woven into the fabric of their friendship.

“This is different.” Lando voiced with a discernible tension in his words as the echoes of their past mingled with the challenges of the present.

“Lando.” She implored, her gaze seeking reassurance from the one person she had turned to in times of both peril and secrecy.

“Remember you called me, Amelia, not the police, not your dad, me. You called me because you know I won’t tell a soul about any of this.” Lando reminded her, his tone carrying the weight of their shared history. The unspoken bond that had endured the trials of teenage secrecy and witnessed the violence of that night now became the anchor in the tumultuous sea of their present predicament.

As Lando and Amelia made their way down the staircase, each step echoing in the quiet showroom, a pregnant pause settled between them. Amelia stopped halfway down the staircase causing Lando to turn back to see where she was.

“If this is your way of reminding me that I make shit decisions, it is not the time.” Amelia retorted, a note of defiance in her voice as the weight of the night pressed upon her.

“You forget that when you agreed to do this, you agreed to get your hands dirty. And, I know you didn't mean to kill that guy. It was an accident and you were defending yourself. So, when I offer to help, just take it and trust me.” Lando explained, his words carrying a mix of understanding and urgency.

“Of course I trust you.” Amelia conceded, a hint of vulnerability in her admission.

“Then start acting like it.” Lando urged, his tone firm but laced with a genuine concern for her well-being.

In the wake of their tense conversation, Amelia followed Lando in the dimly lit showroom and out to the back parking lot to where his sleek McLaren awaited. The low hum of the high-performance engine punctuated the stillness, and as they settled into the car, the interior became a cocoon of shadows and shared secrets.

The engine roared to life, and the McLaren glided out of the parking lot, merging seamlessly into the city's nocturnal symphony. The darkened streets unfolded before them as they embarked on a journey to the Norris family home, a sanctuary where they hoped the shadows of the night could be momentarily left behind.

As the city lights streaked past, the McLaren became a vessel hurtling through the spaces where choices and consequences collided.

“We might need to keep a low profile on exports the next few weeks and wait for the Russells to sink their teeth into someone else's business.” Lando suggested, his voice carrying the weight of strategic thinking in the face of external threats.

“Fucking George and his incessent need to make everyone's lives difficult.” Amelia muttered, frustration evident in her words.

Flashback

In the hazy atmosphere of the party, Amelia and Lando, still reeling from the shock of what they had witnessed that night, arrived seeking refuge in the noise and distraction. However, George, always on the lookout for drama and mischief, was quick to spot their anxious and flustered demeanour.

Seizing the opportunity, George, with a mischievous glint in his eye, began to weave a narrative of his own. He subtly suggested that the two had hooked up during their absence, letting the whispers of the partygoers carry the story further into the crowd. The rumour spread like wildfire, growing more exaggerated with each passing moment.

The consequences of George's manipulation reached unforeseen heights when the school, influenced by the escalating gossip, decided to intervene. Concerned about the well-being of the students, they went so far as to phone Amelia's mother, urging her to discuss family planning with her daughter. The supposed affair between Amelia and Lando had transformed into a spectacle, a testament to the power of whispers and the lengths people would go to spin a tale in the shadows of high school drama.

In the quietude outside the Norris family house, Lando parked the McLaren, the engine's hum subsiding into a gentle purr. Anticipating the need for discretion, he reached back to grab a hoodie, a makeshift cover for Amelia's stained shirt.

As they entered the Norris residence, Flo, one of Lando's younger sisters, zipped past with the carefree energy of youth, barely offering a greeting to Amelia. Lando, recognizing the need for privacy, ushered Amelia upstairs to his bedroom. With a deliberate gesture, he shut the door and locked it, creating a temporary sanctuary where they could navigate the aftermath of the night undisturbed.

“We'll have to burn everything.” Lando stated matter-of-factly, the weight of the recent events hanging in the air.

“Everything?” Amelia queried, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah. Panties too, I'm afraid." Lando confirmed, a touch of humour attempting to lighten the gravity of the situation. The necessity to dispose of all evidence, even the most personal items, underscored the severity of their predicament.

As the gravity of their situation hung in the air, Lando took charge, crossing the room to the fireplace. He skillfully arranged the wood, the flames flickering to life under his deft touch. The warmth emanating from the growing fire cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a play of shadows on the walls.

The crackling flames seemed to dance in rhythm with the uncertainty of the night, their flickering light casting a comforting yet eerie ambiance. As the fire gained strength, its radiant warmth began to fill the room, creating an intimate haven where Lando and Amelia could confront the shadows of the night and embark on the delicate process of erasing the traces of their clandestine actions.

“You're disgusting.” Amelia remarked, her tone a mixture of reproach and weariness.

“Well, you're not exactly the girl I thought I was bringing back home tonight.” Lando retorted, his words carrying a note of frustration and perhaps a tinge of regret.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Amelia responded, a touch of sarcasm underscoring her words.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of the firelight, became a stage for the raw honesty and tension between them—a moment where the repercussions of their choices unfolded

In a silent acknowledgment of the need to erase any trace of the night, Amelia retreated to the bathroom. There, she methodically stripped away the stained clothes, leaving behind the remnants of a tumultuous evening. Wrapping a towel around her body, she returned to the room, a vulnerable silhouette against the warm glow of the fire.

Lando, understanding the gravity of the situation, took her discarded clothes and tossed them into the crackling flames. The fire eagerly consumed the fabric, its hungry tongues licking at the evidence of the night, reducing it to ashes. The room bore witness to this ritual of cleansing, the dance of shadows on the walls telling a silent tale of discretion and consequence.

“Now a shower.” Lando suggested a practical continuation of their efforts to cleanse themselves of the night's events.

Leading Amelia back to the bathroom, Lando started running the shower. A moment of vulnerability hung in the air as Amelia expected him to leave her to her privacy. However, to her surprise, Lando began undressing, leaving him stark naked in front of her.

Amelia, caught off guard, quickly averted her gaze, her breath catching in her throat. The unexpected intimacy in that vulnerable moment accentuated the complexities of their relationship, adding another layer to the shadows that seemed to linger in the spaces between them.

“You have blood in places you can't see so I might as well help you with that.” Lando remarked, his practicality cutting through the awkwardness of the moment.

“If you wanted to shower with me, you could have just asked.” Amelia grumbled, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Memories of a similar situation resurfaced, adding a layer of familiarity to the present. “I vaguely remember you doing this one night after we went out. I was so drunk and covered in alcohol. You showered me that night, dressed me and tucked me in.”

The echoes of the past mingled with the present, creating a sense of déjà vu in the bathroom.

A small smile crept onto Lando's face as the memory of that past night played in his mind.

Flashback

Amelia sat at her desk, buried under a mountain of textbooks and lecture notes, her mind buzzing with the weight of her upcoming university exams. She had been studying for hours, pouring over endless pages of information, but the words seemed to blur together in a haze of exhaustion and frustration.

With a sigh, she pushed her books aside and rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the stress of her studies weighing heavily on her shoulders. She needed a break, a moment of respite from the relentless pressure of academia.

Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, searching for a familiar name amidst the sea of numbers. And then she found it: Lando.

With a sense of relief washing over her, Amelia dialled his number and waited anxiously as the phone rang. And when he answered, his voice was like a lifeline, grounding her in the midst of chaos.

“Lando.” She said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I need you.”

His protective instinct kicked in immediately, his concern evident in his voice as he asked her where she was. And when she told him, he didn't hesitate for a moment.

“I'm on my way.” He said, his tone firm and reassuring. “Just hold tight.”

And true to his word, Lando arrived moments later, his car pulling up to the curb outside the club where Amelia had sought refuge from her studies. With a sense of relief flooding through her, she hurried outside to meet him, grateful for the familiar sight of his reassuring presence.

When she climbed into the car beside him, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, knowing that no matter what challenges she faced, Lando would always be there to protect her, to guide her through the darkest of times.

As they drove away from the chaos of the club, the weight of her worries lifting with each passing moment, Amelia couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of her friend.

Stepping into the shower, he extended a helping hand to Amelia, the towel dropping to the floor.

In the intimate space of the shower, the warm water cascaded around them, washing away the physical remnants of the night. The small smile on Lando's face carried with it a mix of nostalgia and genuine care, a reflection of the bond they had forged through the years.

The spacious shower, though offering room to breathe, found Lando and Amelia pressed against each other beneath the hot water. In the closeness of the moment, Lando took a loofah and squirted shower gel onto it, gently scrubbing away the dried blood from Amelia's arms and hands.

“You OK?” Lando inquired, his voice carrying a note of concern.

“I'm still processing.” Amelia admitted, the vulnerability in her words echoing the weight of the night.

“Scared?” Lando asked, his touch and presence offering a sense of reassurance.

“Terrified.” Amelia confessed, her honesty underscoring the gravity of their situation.

“Understandable.” Lando acknowledged; his understanding becoming a silent promise that they would navigate the aftermath of the night together.

As Amelia took over the loofah, the roles reversed in the warm embrace of the shower. The steam-filled air carried a sense of familiarity, a tangible connection that transcended the immediate circumstances. The loofah glided over Lando's tanned skin, the intimate act of washing away the remnants of the night weaving a tapestry of shared history.

It had been a while since they'd been this close, the memory of past intimacy echoing in the quiet moments between them. Recollections of nights filled with solace, where Lando sought refuge after heartbreak, resurfaced. Amelia had offered him comfort and affection, creating a bond that endured beyond the ebb and flow of relationships. Their connection, built on shared vulnerabilities and unspoken support, had weathered the storms of life.

They were never strangers, and the shower became a canvas where the past and the present merged. In the dance of shadows and steam, Lando and Amelia continued to navigate the complexities of their intertwined lives, finding solace in the comfort that only the truest of companions could provide.

“Everything will be fine.” Lando reassured, his words carrying a comforting certainty.

“I know.” Amelia responded, the weight of the night and the shadows they faced momentarily lightened by the shared understanding between them.

Lando, in a tender gesture, pressed a finger to Amelia's chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. In the closeness of the shower, their eyes locked, becoming mirrors reflecting the intimacy they both crave.

“We can't, Lan.” Amelia asserted, a note of restraint in her voice.

“Why not?” Lando questioned, his gaze searching hers for an answer.

“Because you have a girlfriend and I'm seeing someone.” Amelia explained with the weight of their entangled personal lives adding complexity to the moment.

“I don't have a girlfriend.” Lando clarified, challenging the assumption.

“Then what is Zara?” Amelia pressed, her gaze holding firm.

“I didn't realise you and Charles are together now.” Lando countered, revealing another layer of their tangled connections.

“It's just casual for now. No pressure.” Amelia admitted, her tone suggesting a nonchalant approach to her current situation.

“Yeah, that's because he's got another girl in Monaco waiting for him.” Lando remarked, a touch of frustration in his voice.

“Stop it.” Amelia implored, the tensions of their conversation escalating.

“Amelia, seriously, why do you waste your time with these men who offer you nothing? First it was Daniel, now it’s Charles.” Lando questioned, a hint of concern in his words.

“The sex is great. What more could a girl want?” Amelia retorted, her response laced with a mix of defiance and humour, attempting to diffuse the underlying tension.

The exchange revealed the intricacies of their personal lives, the complexities that had always lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. Feeling flustered by the intense conversation in the shower, Amelia stepped out into the cool air, the droplets from the shower clinging to her skin. The exchange had laid bare the complexities and unspoken tensions that existed between her and Lando, their words echoing in the silence of the bathroom. As she wrapped a towel around herself, the lingering steam seemed to magnify the uncertainties that hovered between them.

“What about love?” Lando questioned, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“Lando, I appreciate the concern, but I don't question who you date.” Amelia responded, her tone attempting to maintain a sense of detachment.

“Well, for your information, Zara isn't my girlfriend.” Lando clarified, seeking to dispel any misconceptions.

“So, she's just met your family for fun then.” Amelia retorted, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Amelia Rossi, are you jealous?” Lando teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off, Norris.” Amelia snapped, her response revealing a mix of frustration and defensiveness.

Quickly drying herself off, Amelia made her way into Lando's room, searching for a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Lando followed behind her, the atmosphere carrying the lingering tension from their earlier conversation in the shower.

“Do you remember what happened that night?” Lando inquired, the memories of a pivotal evening resurfacing in the quiet space of his room. “When the shooting happened.”

“We went to the party like we planned and George told everyone we hooked up.” Amelia recounted, the events of that night etched in her memory.

“What happened after that?’ Lando prompted, seeking to revisit the moments that had shaped their relationship.

“We drove home early from the party and I stayed over.” Amelia replied, the details unfolding.

“You're forgetting the part where you could barely speak for hours after and refused to leave my side.” Lando added with a touch of sincerity in his voice.

“Do you blame me?” Amelia questioned, the vulnerability in her words hinting at the impact of that night on her.

“Just don't go all silent on me again. Tell me if something is bothering you or if you want to end the deal before things get worse.” Lando implored, the weight of unspoken concerns lingering in the air.

“The deal sticks. Now, are you driving me home or should I call for a driver?” Amelia shifted the focus, steering the conversation toward the practicalities of the present.

“I'll drive you back.” Lando agreed, a silent understanding passing between them.

As Amelia locked herself in her room, the weight of the night's events bore down on her. Alone in the quiet confines, she spent the whole night reliving the harrowing moments of the shooting in her office. The memories, vivid and haunting, replayed like a relentless film, each frame etching the fear and uncertainty of that critical juncture.

This ritual, revisiting the scenes in her mind, was not unfamiliar to her. Years ago, she had engaged in a similar process, attempting to etch faces and features into her memory. It was a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos, to understand the shadows that lurked within the corridors of her own life.

In the solitary hours of the night, as she grappled with the echoes of gunshots and the weight of her choices, Amelia navigated the complex tapestry of her past. The walls of her room became a sanctuary for introspection, a space where the shadows of her memories danced in the darkness, revealing the intricate threads that wove together the fabric of her existence.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #mafia!au #mafia!f1 #f1 drivers #f1 driver x oc #lando norris x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 x reader

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hannahmanderr · 11 months

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(AO3)

Valerie had always found the Guys in White a bit bothersome – butting themselves into situations they had no business being involved in – but she never felt particularly threatened by them. She knew they were aware of her and her vigilante gig, but, in general, they stayed away from her and let her do her thing.

That was, until they led her into a van and carted her away to their facility.

They had no reason to be there, in the park. It had just been the Box Ghost, and in retrospect, he wasn't even doing anything other than being a nuisance. Phantom hadn't even been there. Still, the moment she'd touched down after securing him away in her containment device, two agents practically materialized from nowhere and demanded – or, as they put it, requested – that she come with them immediately.

She had said something along the lines of "okay," but there had definitely been an intended follow-up to that "okay." Unfortunately for her, there hadn't been much time for her to protest though before one of the agents cuffed her and practically dragged her into a windowless, white van. It took more self-restraint than she would've liked to bite her tongue and keep from lashing out at them for being treated like some criminal. These guys were feds. She didn't really want them on her case more than they already appeared to be.

One goon jumped into the driver's seat while the other sat her down in the back and slipped something over her helmet that made the world go dark and quiet. "For security reasons," he assured her.

It did nothing to calm her nerves. She'd read about these kinds of special masks before. They were supposedly used by agencies like the CIA and the FBI to transport prisoners, specially designed to block out all vision and hearing. She didn't appreciate being treated like a prisoner when she hadn't done anything wrong (as far as she knew), and she didn't hesitate to voice her displeasure.

She was only met with the sound of her wildly thumping heart echoing in her ears.

Valerie didn't have the best internal clock, but it had to have been at least 20 or 30 minutes before the van came to a stop and her babysitter lifted the mask from her head. Blinding light flooded her vision, and she tinted her visor immediately. After being in the dark for so long, the light was disorienting, to say the least (the fact that the garage was stark white didn't help matters much). The full tint at least helped alleviate some of that.

No wonder they wear sunglasses all the time, she thought.

She was handed off to a third agent, who barely gave her a warning before setting off into the facility proper. They walked no more than a hundred yards before coming to a security checkpoint. The agent swiped her badge and easily stepped through the detector before the security guard turned to Valerie.

"You'll need to remove your suit," he said. "Visitors are not permitted to have weapons in the facility."

Her alarm bells had been going off ever since the GIW had appeared back in the park, but they started ringing at full volume after hearing that. Being without her weapons was one thing, but her suit entirely? That thought was unsettling.

It was deluded of her to think she had anything resembling a secret identity around them. They were government, after all. The minute she'd debuted herself, they'd probably poured a number of resources into finding out who she was. They probably had fingers in many areas of her life. If she didn't comply, they could ruin her life far worse than any ghost ever had. The thought was terrifying, and Valerie Gray didn't do terrified.

Even still, having her suit and helmet on was comforting. For one thing, the armor was fairly strong; should worst come to worst, she could at least defend herself and be protected, but it was more than that. With her helmet on, she could pretend they didn't know anything, that she was just some faceless vigilante. In the back of her mind, she knew it didn't matter in the long run, but it still.

It felt nice to pretend.

She pressed a button on her gauntlet, and a hum reverberated through the suit as it entered standby mode. "There. I deactivated everything," she told the guard, deciding not to mention certain features that couldn't be deactivated. "The suit is staying on, though."

"That won't cut it, miss," the guard said with a shake of his head. "Zero tolerance policy."

"No, I mean like I can't take it off. It won't deactivate while it senses an ectoplasmic presence in the area." Was it a lie? Absolutely. She just hoped it was believable enough for it to slide.

The guard opened his mouth to protest, but the agent cut him off. "Leave it," she said. "We're on a tight schedule. We need to get her to O, now."

If O was the same Agent O that was the co-commander of the Amity Park squadron, then Valerie was really not looking forward to this. She didn't have much time to think about it though before the guard ushered her through the detector and handed her a temporary badge. The agent grabbed her by the handcuffs' connector and led her down the corridor, into the heart of the facility.

Her own heart raced so fast, she was sure it would jump out of her chest.

The facility ended up being more of a labyrinth than she'd been expecting. They wound through endless hallways with white linoleum, stark walls, and bright, fluorescent lighting. She tried to study the route they were taking, searching for any identifying characteristics on the walls and doors- cameras, room numbers, anything really - but the task was much easier said than done. Everything was bare and unmarked. No signs on the doors, no markers, nothing.

How did the agent even know where they were going?

As they continued, she got fidgety. She wanted to pull out a gun and tinker with it or something. Although her father was less than happy about it, poking around her weapons when she was agitated was something along the lines of a coping mechanism for her. It helped take her mind off things with the added bonus of learning more about her technology, sometimes not even on purpose.

Right after her breakup with Danny, she'd been messing around with her ecto-rifle so much that she'd accidentally increased its firing speed two-fold. She'd immediately done the same to the rest of her weapons.

Calling up a weapon probably wasn't the best idea, though. Even though they were technically powerless at the moment, the agent probably wouldn't take too kindly to her fiddling with a gun, and causing trouble probably wouldn’t end too well for her in a place like this. As much as she hated it, she needed to keep quiet and compliant for the time being.

Without anything physical to distract her, her thoughts began escalating. Why did Agent O want to see her so bad? Why go through the trouble of tracking her down and giving her the prisoner treatment and everything? Had she seriously done something wrong?

She couldn't think of anything she might've done that would've offended them. In fact, she hadn't been doing as much as of late, period. Ghosts were showing up with less frequency than they had when she first started, and the ghosts that did decide to show up tended to be hard-hitters who were specifically looking to pick a fight with Phantom. In other words, she hadn't had as much hunting to do recently.

As much as she enjoyed hunting, though, she had to admit the relief was welcome. She’d managed to swing an A- on the last chemistry exam, and her essay for Mr. Lancer was coming along nicely. She’d been able to hang out with Star a bit more, and she’d even gotten to sit and have a pleasant conversation with Danny while waiting for her dad to pick her up from work. Dad was much more pleased with how her life was looking, to say the least.

Oh God, how am I gonna explain this all to Daddy?

The question frayed her nerves so much that she almost collided with her escort, who'd stopped suddenly. A door stood in front of them, unmarked just like every other one she'd seen so far. The agent didn't say a word as she pulled it open. Valerie couldn't see her eyes behind the sunglasses, and she couldn’t read any sort of emotion on the agent’s face.

She couldn't help but wonder if there was a different, darker reason for wearing them.

She only hesitated a moment more before entering the bare room. It was no less white and lit than the hallways she'd just come from. There was no furniture; a door and a large, frosted glass window took up most of the back wall. Some sort of interrogation window, maybe one of those fancy, one-way mirror things, she figured.

The only other thing in the room was the man who apparently was so desperate to see her, Agent O. He was tapping at something on a tablet, but he looked up when he heard her enter. A smile bloomed on his face, but there was no warmth behind it. "Hello, Valerie," he greeted.

It took a great deal of her willpower to resist the urge to flinch at the use of her name. It had been coming, of course, but at least she’d been able to pretend she was just some faceless vigilante before.

She silently thanked herself for tinting her visor. It did a wonderful job hiding her true emotions.

"Thank you for coming in today," Agent O continued. He seemed oblivious to her worry. "We apologize for the lack of notice, but this situation was completely unprecedented. We believe it may require your certain… expertise. There wasn't much time for formalities or contacting you to set up an appointment."

Valerie crossed her arms indignantly, her fiery stubbornness reigniting despite the nerves. "It's not like I had much choice," she grumbled.

"Yes, well, as I said, this is a situation of sensitive and urgent nature. We couldn't afford to waste time going through niceties," he said, unfazed by her displeasure.

"What could be so urgent that you need to track me down personally and practically kidnap me?" Valerie deadpanned.

If possible, Agent O's face hardened just slightly. "I will remind you, Valerie, that you came with us willingly. There was no kidnapping involved."

Valerie opened her mouth to protest, but stopped before she said anything. It could maybe be argued that she hadn’t consented to being jerked around and cuffed and hooded and carted off, but at the same time, she technically had agreed to come with the agents, as coercive and unofficial as it had been. There wasn't much she could do with that to peg them.

He raised one eyebrow, seemingly waiting for her to object. When it didn’t come, though, he continued speaking.

"Some interesting information has recently come to light about a certain ghost. Information that some of our scientists are having difficulty wrapping their minds around. We believe your more… intimate knowledge of the ghosts of Amity Park may be of value to us," he said, scrolling on his tablet. The glare of the screen reflected off his dark sunglasses lenses.

She resisted the urge to make a snarky comment about how a teenager knew more than a whole team of adults whose lives were dedicated to this sort of thing. Instead, she asked, "And what sort of help do you think I could be?"

The corners of Agent O's mouth twitched upwards. "What do you know about ghosts with human identities?"

That made her freeze.

Her encounter with Danny Phantom's cousin and Vlad had only been a few weeks ago, and she'd spent those past weeks agonizing over what had happened and the implications. It was hard enough knowing that these sort of ghost-human hybrids - or whatever they were - existed, and then she had to go and discover that the man she trusted had been using her this entire time.

She’d been desperate to talk about it with someone, but no one knew of her secret identity. The Fentons may have known something about the subject, but they could be overbearing at times. And there was no way she could talk to her father, who still didn't fully approve of her ghost hunting. He would flip a lid if he knew the truth.

She’d nearly spilled everything to Danny when they’d talked the other day. It made sense, in retrospect; he was the person she trusted the most outside of her dad, and he was just so easy to talk to. The idea of just telling him about her ghost hunting had crossed her mind more than once, but the fear of endangering him and getting him hurt - physically or emotionally - was too strong.

Especially now knowing how dangerous Vlad truly was.

Really, at the end of the day, there was one person she knew had the answers and could maybe help her process through it, but there's no way she'd admit she needed his help in a million years.

And so despite her mental turbulence, she’d resolved to hold her tongue. It was probably for the best, anyway. She had a distinct feeling she was never supposed to know about this ghost-human thing in the first place, and a part of her wished she'd never found out at all.

On top of it all, she still wasn't even sure how to feel about the idea of these kinds of ghosts, the ones with human attributes. She'd hated ghosts vehemently for so long, it was difficult for her to think they could be anything but trouble. Dani, of course, had proven her wrong (with a little encouragement), and her cousin had made a good point that it wasn't just the fact that they were ghosts, they were humans too, but just how far did that go? Goodness wasn't an issue with Dani, but Vlad was clearly a monster of a person.

She didn't feel any remorse for him.

Still, something held her back. She hated to admit it, but Phantom had hit the nail on the head that night: she had no problems with destroying ghosts, but she couldn't bring herself to destroy a human, even if they weren't fully human. As long as there was some human there, they couldn't be all that awful, right? But such logic countered her long-held beliefs.

It gave her a headache just trying to reconcile the two. Most days, she avoided thinking about it. It wasn't her problem, it shouldn't be her problem. And yet she was standing here, having been dragged into it again.

Without moving her head, she glanced towards the window. Was it possible they really found another ghost that was also human? Or did they get to Dani? The thought of that little girl being held captive in this facility caused her stomach to drop.

A chill ran down her spine as she wondered if it could be Vlad behind that window. She didn't think she could stomach the idea of facing him right now. She'd strategically avoided meeting with him these past few weeks for that exact purpose. And if the Guys in White could get their hands on a powerful ghost like Vlad… She wasn't sure how to feel about that.

She forced herself to calm down. Agent O had said ghosts with human identities. That didn't necessarily mean that it was one of these hybrid type ghosts. It could be a ghost like Spectra, who disguised herself as a human therapist, or Ember McLain, who posed as a pop star.

Actually, in retrospect, there were several ghosts who'd pulled one over on the people of Amity Park, and they'd all had a number of tells that should've given their identities away. Maybe they just wanted to talk to her about this sort of thing. She knew enough about ghosts and their interactions with humans to spot their tells. This was information she could easily give to the Guys in White and be done.

Agent O was watching her carefully. She was taking a long time to answer his question, and she knew he was getting suspicious. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Well, Amity Park has had a lot of ghosts that have posed as humans to try and get to us. It's a fairly common tactic, and overall, people have gotten better at finding them, but – "

He waved her words away. "Yes, we know all about them. I'm talking about human identities on a deeper level. Possibly to the point where they may not be as ghostly as they seem."

Once again, she had to use all her willpower to avoid cursing out loud. Stay calm, think logically, she told herself. She couldn't afford to screw up here. She didn't want them knowing she knew way more than she should. She couldn’t have them knowing she knew more than she should.

It was every possibility that it was just some random person behind that window with some obscure connections to ghost activity, or maybe some dumb ghost trying to be cool that ended up getting captured. It was very possible that she could walk away from this without revealing anything.

Well, she hadn’t participated in middle school theater for nothing. Knitting her eyebrows together (despite the fact Agent O couldn't see her face) and putting on her most innocent voice, she said, "I'm not quite sure I'm following you."

Agent O turned back to his tablet. "Valerie, you're a smart girl.Think about it: what if there was a specific breed of ghost that could disguise itself beyond the poor masquerades we've seen so far? One that could take on the physical attributes of a human in order to hide?” He broke into a smile. “This may not even be a matter of disguising, either. This could mean the existence of interspecies hybrids with humans, something unheard of throughout history."

He scrolled and tapped until he found what he was looking for, turning the tablet around to show her. She wasn't much of a scientist, so she wasn't quite sure what she was looking at, but she could definitely see a strand of DNA in the diagram, although there was something off about it. Parts of it were discolored and disfigured.

"This is from a sample taken from a ghost's bodily ectoplasm right after a fight in Amity Park,” he explained as she studied the diagram. “Needless to say, we were quite surprised to find actual DNA in the ghost's proverbial blood, considering ghosts are held to not have DNA. Ectoplasm has never been able to retain the same DNA structure that a human can. Maybe that’s why we were even more excited to find that parts of the DNA we found made up genomes resembling that of a human's.”

The diagram and the agent's explanation suddenly made the situation even more real to her. Once again, her mind drifted back to Dani and Vlad. Was this what their ectoplasm looked like? Or even their human blood? Swimming with the genes of a human and the traits of a ghost? And just how many others were out there with this same type of ectoplasm?

She glanced up at Agent O. "How can someone be human and ghost at the same time? It's like being dead and alive at the same time."

He frowned. "We're not entirely sure. Our scientists are still working on their analysis of the ectoplasm and working through their theories. That's not entirely important right now, though. What is important is that it is possible. Just think of the implications."

She was, in fact, thinking of the implications. The thought that there could be more of these kinds of ghosts nauseated her only because she relentlessly shot at just about every single ghost she came across. She couldn't stand thinking that she'd come close to accidentally destroying a human being, part ghost or not.

For the sake of the situation, however, she pushed those thoughts away. Instead, she said, "You mean there could be ghosts hiding under our very noses and we wouldn't know about it?"

He nodded. "Exactly. But think beyond just that. This could be used to our advantage! A military weapon, far more advanced than any technology on the market right now. A soldier able to sneak up on the enemy without being noticed, one who can't be touched by bullets, and be able to take them out with his bare hands. If we can learn to replicate this," he said, shaking the tablet and splitting his face into a wicked grin, "our army would be unstoppable."

Her stomach churned. "Isn't that kind of illegal?" she asked weakly, hoping her voice wasn’t betraying her. "Taking people and doing that to them?"

Agent O’s eyes grew dark and hungry. "Forgive me for sounding brash, but it would give purpose to some of the more… undesirables."

She wanted to run out of the room right then and there. Feelings of ghosts aside, taking innocent (or even not-so-innocent) people like that and forcing them to turn into some strange half-human creature and then conscripting them to fight in the army against their will… It was sickening. Horrifying, really. She couldn't believe these words were coming from the mouth of an American government agent.

She wouldn't let that happen. Not on her watch.

She took a few deep breaths to calm her anger and her twisted stomach. "I hope you know I'm not here to do your dirty work for you," she bit back at him.

Again, he was unfazed by her outrage. "We're not asking you to do anything like that, Valerie. That's our job. However, you'll be doing a great service to your country today either way. You'll help us get to where we need to be."

"How so?" She really didn't want to hear whatever he had in store for her.

"The ghost we found is being extremely uncooperative. It refuses to tell us anything, even after multiple attempts at eliciting information," he said.

The suggestions of torture weren't lost on her, and it only fueled her anger. If this ghost truly was part human, then these guys really were breaking the law.

But they were federal government. Didn’t they basically get to decide the law?

"You've encountered this ghost before during your time in Amity Park," Agent O continued. Somehow, she wasn't surprised, though her heart sank just a little more. "We believe that a familiar face may be able to… persuade the ghost to give us our information and reveal to us its human identity. We want you to go in there and get us what we need."

She'd figured as much. He was right when he said she wouldn't be doing the dirty work of beginning to replicate the mutation and experimenting and all that, but she was practically doing just that by agreeing to interrogating whatever ghost they had.

"What if I don't want to?" she asked. There was no sense in drawing this into a long thing, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He fixed her with a look. "You don't want to make this difficult on you and your family, Valerie. We're only asking one simple task of you."

Oh, hell no. He did not get to threaten her father like that. She’d take this entire facility down with her bare hands before she let them use him as a bargaining chip like that.

And yet there wasn't much choice for her. She couldn't put Dad in that position.

She deflated. The victorious look in the agent's eyes bothered her to no end. "Fine. I'll do it. But you better not even so much as look at my father or I'll tear you - all of you apart." She felt stupid saying it. The threat sounded foolish and hollow, even to her. Still though, he nodded, satisfied.

"Who is this ghost you have anyway?" she asked with a sigh.

"Ah," he said, turning to his tablet once more. "I'll show you." He tapped a couple of buttons and the frosted glass of the window became clear.

Valerie's knees almost buckled when she saw the ghost bound to a metal chair.

A shock of white hair. A logo plastered around her city. Alien green eyes burning with terror.

Her face burned red under her mask. Whether it was from anger or shame, she couldn't tell. Something inside of her was paralyzed to the point where she could only hear white noise echoing in her head. She was only vaguely aware of Agent O watching her carefully, but she didn't exactly care at the moment.

She had to get in there and talk to him.

But even as she walked through the door and met Danny Phantom's horrified gaze, she wondered how she was going to make it through this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny liked to think of himself as a brave guy. Since starting this superhero gig, he'd gotten into some terrifying situations. Watching his family explode at his own hands was pretty bad. Or almost dying as he tried to keep the most powerful ghost in existence locked up. Or even that time Sam almost killed him for accidentally letting Cujo use her favorite skirt as a toilet. He'd survived all of those and bounced back from them fairly easily.

He had to admit to himself, though, that he'd never been this scared in his life.

As quietly as he could, so as not to get the attention of the two agents assigned to guard him, he tested his bonds for what had to be the tenth time. They still held fast against his hands and ankles.

He didn't like having his hands tied behind him. Every survival instinct that came with his ghostliness screamed that it left his torso very vulnerable to an attack. Not only that, but the hands were what he could defend himself best with. There was a good reason that hands behind the back was a universal sign of surrender and submissiveness in ghost body language, something he’d learned over time. You couldn't fire an attack at someone from behind your back, and you were leaving yourself open to your opponent. You were putting yourself at the mercy of the other.

It was an instinct and an implication he couldn't ignore, especially because the Guys in White were the kind of people who wouldn't hesitate to put a scalpel to him. Thankfully, they hadn't gotten that desperate yet.

Trying to break my hand, electrocution, psychological warfare, he thought dryly, but no vivisection at least. Or would it be dissection?

Admittedly, it was getting harder and harder to keep his mouth shut, in more ways than one. The more stressed out he got, the snarkier he got. It was a defense mechanism, Jazz once told him. An attempt to mask his anxiety and fright using humor and sarcasm, apparently.

He wasn't sure if he believed her (or any of her psychobabble about him), but if it was true, it was definitely working to hide how he really felt. Of course, his sass just antagonized the agents interrogating him and made them push harder.

But it was also getting harder to keep quiet about the information they wanted. Namely, his secret. He had no idea how they figured it out, but they kept telling him they had proof of his human half. That revelation itself almost shut him down right then and there, but he vehemently denied the accusation. His identity was his most carefully guarded secret, and he would not let it go without a fight.

No one ever said it wasn’t tiring work, trying to keep Phantom and Fenton as separate as possible. Thankfully, they hadn't mentioned anything about Danny Fenton yet, but they hinted that they knew he had some sort of human form. Part of the torture had been to get him to change into his human form, in fact.

The fact that they didn't know too many of the details about the whole half-ghost thing was somewhat reassuring, and it helped him stay quiet. The less they knew, the better, and he wasn't about to add to their arsenal. He was sure they had a bunch of science nerds foaming at the mouth trying to work out more, but that process would take more time than him spilling the beans.

If he had to stay here and endure to keep the secret, then so be it. He couldn't put Dani in danger like that. And he hated to admit it, but he couldn't even put Vlad in danger like that. As much as he hated the guy, betraying him like that went against every single one of his moral codes.

And so he sat in the chair with his arms and wrists growing sorer by the minute, terrified out of his mind. Agent O, the guy who had been doing the bulk of the interrogation so far, had left a while ago without explanation. It had to have been at least an hour since he left, Danny figured, but he'd lost track of time a long while back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door opened. Danny straightened, expecting to meet Agent O and face him with more tenacity than before.

What he didn't expect was for Valerie Gray to march in and slap him across the face.

He could only stare at her, flabbergasted, as she jabbed a finger into his chest. "You dirty liar," she growled, the sound of her voice distorted by her helmet. "All this time, and you've been lying to me since day one."

Danny's heart sank. They had to have told her. She probably put two and two together already, given what he'd told her about half-ghosts during their encounter with Dani. He'd hoped that experience had warmed her up to him a little bit, but any progress he'd made with her had just been undone in an instant.

She was taking the revelation far worse than he'd hoped.

Agent O had entered the room silently and was standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. He watched the two teenagers with mild interest, but his face was mostly unreadable.

Valerie turned to him. "I need to have a minute with him alone," she said, her voice hard. "We need to have a heart-to-heart."

"Anything you have to say to it can be said in front of us, Valerie," Agent O replied calmly. “We’re all on the same side here.”

I’m not, he wanted to sass back, but he managed to keep himself quiet.

"No," she said. "This is personal. You knew that when you brought me in here. If you want me to do this, then you leave us alone. No guards, no cameras, no nothing. This is just between me and him."

Danny watched the argument unfold. It would make sense that these goons would want to be a part of whatever happened in here, but he didn't understand why Valerie was being insistent on not having them around. Normally he'd think she didn't care whether they saw or not. Especially if she was as mad at him as she seemed.

Agent O was also watching Valerie intently. "We need a way to record the information you're getting for us," he said. The calm in his voice annoyed Danny just as much as he knew it drove Valerie crazy. "You're asking us to simply take your word for what happens in here."

"What, you think I'm gonna lie to you?" Valerie retorted. She turned back to face Danny, and a chill ran down his spine. Seeing her like this, with her mask so dark and anger radiating from her body like her own mini aura, was haunting. "There's no way I'm gonna lie to protect him."

His heart shattered.

He shouldn't have been surprised, but it still hurt more than any physical torture to hear the girl who once said she'd give up ghost hunting for him say that to his face.

She looked at Agent O again and pointed to her helmet. "I have recording equipment set up in this thing. If you guys are so desperate for your information, I'll give it to you after I'm done if anything interesting happens, if my word isn’t good enough for you."

Agent O considered this, all while still staring her down. As hurt as he was, Danny sat in awe at the way she refused to back down to this man, both in argument and in her body language. It was one of the many things about her that caught his attention. Too bad in this case, like many others, this steadfastness was being used against him.

After what felt like an eternity, the agent nodded. "Alright. You can have it your way. But we'll expect you to submit to a full debrief afterwards, including surrendering that helmet."

"Deal," Valerie said, a little too eagerly for Danny's tastes, and she stuck out a hand for Agent O to shake. He took it, and Danny saw the muscles in his hands tense as he squeezed the hand harder than he probably should. Valerie, however, still did not waver.

After realizing that she wasn't going to show any sign of discomfort, he let go of her hand and pulled up the tablet by his side. He tapped a couple of buttons, and Danny saw the tiny blinking red light in the corner of the room die down. "Cameras and audio have been disabled," Agent O said. He turned to Danny's babysitters and waved them out of the room.

Before he exited and closed the door, he gave Valerie a pointed look. "Remember who you're doing this for," he told her darkly, and he shut the door, leaving Valerie and Danny alone.

Danny was taken aback by the tone the agent had used on her. "Valerie, are they threatening you?" he asked. It was the first thing he'd said to her since she'd come in.

Apparently speaking had been a mistake. She whirled on him with an accusatory finger jabbed into his chest, saying, "Don't act like you care about me, Phantom!" Her voice had suddenly grown hoarse and cracked. "You don't care about anything except your own hide!"

So he was Phantom. He couldn't exactly tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Look, I know how this all seems to you," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and placating as possible without seeming condescending, "but I never meant to hurt anyone, especially you. Can't you see that?"

To his surprise, she yanked off her helmet and dropped it with a clatter. His heart and core both sunk to the floor when he saw just how upset she was. Her face was pink and blotchy and her eyes were bloodshot. There were actual tear stains on her cheeks.

In all the time he'd known her, he'd never seen Valerie Gray cry.

"Just because you may not have meant to hurt me doesn't mean you didn't," she said, the heat in her voice unmistakable. "All this time I've been hunting you down, and you didn't think it was important enough to tell me?"

"In my defense," he began, a little miffed by her arrogance, "it isn't exactly something I go around telling everybody, you know? Especially people who are always yelling about how much they hate me. Sorry if I didn't think you'd handle it all that well."

If possible, Valerie looked even more hurt. "You seriously think I would hurt a human? Who do you think I am?"

"I didn't know if you would care about the human more than you hated the ghost," Danny snapped. He hated having to explain himself to her like this. Under these circumstances. He’d never been great at knowing the right things to say in these sorts of conversations, and it was even more difficult to figure out what to say under pressure like this.

"So that's it then? I'm just some heartless monster who resorts to shooting first, no matter what?"

Danny didn't answer. He knew she wouldn't shoot. The Valerie he knew would care. She'd be upset, but she'd try to be reasonable and talk it out before making any rash decisions.

Of course, that was the Valerie that Danny Fenton knew, and as of now, she still didn't know about that. The Valerie that Danny Phantom knew was a ruthless hunter, capable of being reasoned with, but only in extreme circumstances.

He took a deep breath. "The issue is that I really don't know you all that well," he said, avoiding her eyes. At this point, every word that was coming out of his mouth was a lie, and he knew it would come back and bite him in the butt. But what else could he do? "Basically every time we’ve come across each other, it’s ended with you having a gun pointing at me. That doesn't exactly invite much confidence."

"But I helped you with your cousin," she countered.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He hated what he was about to say. "Yeah, but even when you found out about who she was, you had no problem turning her over to Vlad. I had to convince you to go back and help me rescue her."

She was quiet for a long time, her lips pressed into a thin line. Another tear trickled down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "That was when I trusted him."

That was… unexpected. "What are you talking about?"

"I found out he's been lying to me this whole time, too," she said quietly. "Just like you, apparently."

He felt a pit growing in his stomach. There was no way this was gonna end well, but he had to know. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

She started pacing in front of him, slowly. "I went back, after you and Dani left. I heard him talking to his AI of Mrs. Fenton. I saw him transform." She stopped abruptly and looked at him. "But I'm sure you knew all this, right?"

Danny found himself reeling. After all the lengths Vlad went to in order to protect his identity, after their conversation about their stalemate, and she found out that easily? It seemed impossible. Vlad had always been the untouchable type.

"And now to find out that you've been lying to me too, about the exact same thing!" Valerie was still saying. "Don't you understand? How that feels?" She scoffed. "Never mind. What am I saying? Of course you don't. You only care about yourself."

He hadn't caught up to what she was saying to process her accusation. His brain was still stuck on the Vlad revelation, and rightfully so. The things Vlad could do to her if he knew his secret was blown…

It was less about saving his own hide at this point. He knew his own secret was toast. But Vlad was a powerful man, and Valerie was nothing but a disposable pawn to him. He'd made her into who she was; he could do the same to another unsuspecting victim. She could be removed from the picture easily. The thought sent a horrifying chill down Danny's spine.

"Does he know that you know?" he demanded.

She furrowed her brow. "Does who know? About you?"

"No, Vlad! Does he know you found out about him?"

She opened her mouth, probably with some biting comment on her tongue, but she left it hanging open. In the days to come, Danny would wonder what came over her or what caused her to change, but he saw her soften before his very eyes, just ever so slightly. Maybe it was the desperation in his voice, or her own realization of the danger, or even just exhaustion.

Whatever happened, though, her eyebrows lifted and the creases near her eyes smoothed out just a little bit. The angry gleam in her eyes died down to a skeptic glare, still heated but with a little less fire. "No," she said slowly, watching him carefully.

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He didn't miss how Valerie's eyes shot down to watch his chest deflate, but he tried to ignore it. "Good. You can't let him know that you know."

The hardened, angry look returned just as fast as it had disappeared. "I know that! I'm not stupid," she retorted. It may have just been his imagination or some sort of delirious hope, but her voice sounded a little less harsh than it did when she'd been ranting a moment ago. "Besides, this is about you, not him. I mean, you lied to me about both of you anyway. And you probably would've lied to me about Dani too if you could've."

"I was trying to protect you," he said, and he instantly regretted it. He hated having to be on the defensive like this, especially when it came to verbal arguments. He tended to get too caught up in the moment and make stupid comments like that one. Ghost fighting was so much easier; no tactful arguments involved, just good old physical fighting with a snarky quip thrown in every now and then.

He braced himself for the tirade coming his way. She was sticking him with one of her worst death glares.

"Protect me?" she seethed. "I don't need protecting. I don't need protecting from anything. And even if I did, I especially don't need protecting from you of all people. That would be like – like you holding a gun to my head and telling me that you're taking care of me. You say you were trying to protect me? Well look where we're sitting right now! Tell me how stellar of a protector you are now."

He hesitated. She was right. For all that he'd done to shield her from the complicated underlying truth, he'd failed. Failed miserably, at that. Here he was, tied to a chair with his secret identity hanging on by a thread, and there she was, driving herself crazy with all the new information she was being forced to deal with. Neither of them were in a favorable position.

It killed him so much to have to see her like this. It only served as a bitter reminder of his inability to protect her, whether she wanted the protection or not.

"You… you're right," he said, bowing his head. "I did a sorry job of it. And you're your own person. You're capable of defending yourself. I can't control you, or what other people do, or anything. I couldn't stop either of us from ending up here, and I couldn't stop you from finding out about Vlad and Dani. I just wanted you to be able to live as normal as possible and not have to deal with all of… this."

She barked a hollowl laugh. "Putting aside the fact that I refuse to believe you care about me whatsoever, normal hasn't been a thing for me ever since you showed up."

"It's not like I asked for this either, Val," he said. His mouth was beginning to get ahead of his brain, but he couldn't stop the words from coming out. "I haven't had normal for a long time either. I've had to deal with this stuff since day one, ever since I became what I am. I just figured there was no sense in both of us having to deal with it."

"That's not your decision to make!" she shouted. She cupped her mouth with her hand, pausing a moment before speaking again. "This is why I can't trust you! You literally just went on and on about how I'm my own person and you can't control me, but you talk about deciding what I should and shouldn't know. Every other word that comes out of your mouth is some sort of lie or trick, and you expect me to be able to trust you? Or believe that you actually have my best interests at heart or something?"

This conversation was going absolutely swell, he decided. All he was doing was talking himself into a hole. He needed to convince her that he was on her side. Whether or not he got out of here, he needed her to know that he never meant her any harm. Even back when he hated her.

She wasn't going to listen to anything Phantom had to say, that much was clear. She was too hurt and angry. But he still had one last card to play and use to break through to her.

The only issue was he had no clue whether revealing himself as Fenton would make things better or worse, especially now.

She was staring out the one-way window. He watched her reflection carefully. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her shoulders were creeping forward and up towards her ears. As angry as she was presenting herself and as loud as she generally was, this was the smallest he'd ever seen her.

"The worst part is that I did start to believe in you for a moment there," she said after a long time. Danny looked up in surprise, taken aback by the admission, but he kept his mouth shut. He needed to hear more.

Sighing, she continued, "Everything that happened with Dani shook me, alright? And it wasn't just finding out about her and Vlad. You were almost the weirdest thing about that night. The way that all you could focus on was saving your cousin when I was ready to rip into you. You were just so determined to save that little girl that you didn't care what happened to you. And I saw you when she disintegrated. You just… you seemed absolutely devastated. And then after all that, you stayed behind to keep up your end of the deal. You just willingly offered yourself up to me. I think I was so surprised that I just let you go. I didn't know what else to do.

"And I kept thinking about it, too. I had no clue what to make of it. It went against everything I knew and believed about you and other ghosts. For a while there, I started to think that maybe you hadn't been lying to me; that maybe you really were different from the rest and that you did care."

She shut her eyes. "And now come to find out that you were lying to me the whole time. About who you were and everything. When they showed me you sitting here… I didn't know what to think. It felt like I'd just been stabbed in the back. It was just… I felt betrayed, alright? So betrayed. More than I had with Vlad. I have no idea why, but it felt like I was maybe beginning to understand only for it to turn out you were just playing me the whole time."

He didn't understand why she was being so transparent with him. It was very out of character. Even when they'd dated and she was talking to someone she actually liked, she'd never talked about her feelings in this way.

"I never lied to you about being different," he said slowly. "Obviously, I'm not like the rest of the ghosts. But I never lied about caring for you either. That's the different part of me."

She looked at him through the reflection in the mirror. Her back was still towards him. "Yeah, well, being part human doesn't suddenly make you a saint."

There was a pause, and then, "And what's all this with caring about me and protecting me and stuff? You sure didn't seem to care that much when I first met you. Why would you want to put so much effort into me and then not even tell me the truth?"

The answer was on his lips. He wanted to tell her so badly. He wanted to tell her how much he really did care for her, how much it hurt him seeing her like this, maybe even how he sometimes wished they'd never stopped dating. He wanted to change back and spill his heart out to her and beg for her forgiveness.

It would be so easy. The transformation was like blinking. He could do it without even thinking. With no one watching except for her, all the cameras off and her helmet face down on the ground. He could make it happen.

And yet he couldn't. Shame of his cowardice burned at his face. Any response he could've given her got caught in his throat. He didn't have the words to explain to her. Only his actions could show her, but he was still too scared to even do that.

Do you really even trust her then?

When he didn't answer, Valerie turned to him with an eyebrow raised. "Well?"

He couldn't meet her eyes. "Please don't make me answer that," he said in little more than a whisper.

Through his bangs, he could see the emotions tumble across her face. Surprise, anger, realization, solemnity – they all flashed across in a moment. It was easy enough to tell that her brain was hard at work, trying to reconcile his answer with a suitable explanation. He only felt more dismayed when she finally settled on hurt again.

"I know you, don't I?" she asked.

It almost wasn't a question. He knew that she already knew the answer. She needed to hear it from him, to confirm or deny it. He knew that she didn't want it to be real. She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, that he was just some random kid she didn't even know existed.

And yet, he'd run out of lies to tell. His silence was answer enough.

"Oh my God," she muttered, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my God, I do. I know you. You're probably someone I sit in class with every day and I've been trying to kill you…"

The sudden turn toward self-blame snapped Danny out of his guilt. "Don't even start with that. Look, you were right. It is my fault for not telling you, okay? I should've just come out with it at the very beginning and put a stop to it before it came to this." Once again, he found himself unable to stop talking even after having been silent a moment ago. "I should've told everyone at the very beginning. I shouldn't have tried to keep it a secret."

He couldn't help but think of his parents. He was supposed to have been home hours ago. Even if he was out late at night, he was usually home for dinner if he didn't have other plans. At this rate, he wouldn't be home for a long time. They'd be worried sick about him.

It would've almost been easier if they knew.

Valerie, clever as she was, didn't miss the implications. "Does anyone else know?" she asked. Her voice was softening just a little. Still very much distressed and hurt, but not as bitter as it had been. Maybe the mini-revelation that they knew each other outside of ghost hunting had made it a little more real to her.

He took a breath. "Most of the ghosts know. Vlad does, obviously," he answered honestly. "Humans?" He shrugged as best as he could, trying to keep it a little casual. "Not many. Only a few." He didn't want to give her too many details. He wanted to hang on to his identity for however long he could.

Valerie pressed her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. "Do they know, like, who you are?"

Numbly, Danny nodded. He almost didn't have the energy to lie anymore. The exhaustion from the whole situation – getting captured, being 'interrogated,' dealing with Valerie – it was suddenly beginning to take a toll on him. He just wanted to go home and curl up in bed and sleep for a week and forget that everything was falling apart at the seams.

The silence stretched on. Valerie, arms wrapped around her legs and chin resting on her knees, stared at a spot on the opposite wall. Danny watched her as discreetly as he could, desperately wanting to know what she was thinking. At least she's not yelling anymore, he thought.

Of course, the silence was almost worse to deal with than her anger.

He wondered what the Guys in White were doing. He wondered if someone was on the other side of the mirror, watching the conversation play out to make sure they got the info they wanted. He wondered about the scientists that were probably frantically analyzing his DNA. Did they know what they would be condemning him to if they discovered the truth?

And what was Valerie going to do? Her helmet was still on the ground, face down. He assumed she never turned the recording equipment on; she was the kind of person who would want the answers for herself before even thinking about sharing them with someone else, especially someone like the Guys in White. As far as he knew, she didn't particularly care about siding with them, so to speak.

But they wouldn't take this sort of insubordination sitting down. The last thing Agent O had said echoed in his mind. They had something over her, some sort of blackmail maybe. Maybe it was her identity. Maybe it was her dad.

He shut his eyes. He was assuming that she was going to side with him on this. After all the hurt and anger she'd shown, how could he expect that of her? There was every possibility she would walk out of this room and spill the beans.

And yet she hadn't said anything about Dani. Or Vlad. She'd gone out of her way to protect Dani once she found out she was innocent. At the same time, she was clearly furious with Vlad and no doubt wanted to get him for what he'd done for her. In the end, it all depended on whether she believed in his good intentions or not.

Basically, he had no idea what she would do.

He took a deep breath. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Do you want to know?"

Their eyes met. Hers were filled with an emotion he couldn't comprehend. He couldn't imagine the turmoil she was facing, having these kinds of revelations thrown on her so suddenly. It hadn't even been that long since they rescued Dani. He'd at least had a little more time to deal with these sorts of things, and he'd had Sam and Tucker (and Jazz, later on) to help him through it. She didn't have any sort of support system, not even her dad.

Suddenly, her expression steeled. She stood up and walked around to the back of his chair. It took him completely by surprise; he craned his neck to try and see her. "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer. He heard the telltale hum of a laser, and he immediately flinched. The pain didn't come, however. Instead, the bonds around his wrists suddenly fell away. He immediately brought his hands back around and massaged his sore wrists.

She circled back around. "Valerie, seriously, wha-" he began to ask, but he was cut off when she knelt down and used the laser in her gauntlet to cut through the bonds around his ankles.

For a moment, he couldn't even speak. She looked down at her boots, unable to look him in the eye. "You hurt me. A lot. You can't really change that, and I don't know if I'll be able to forgive you, at least for a while. I need time to think and go through it and stuff, but we don't really have that right now," she said, fidgeting with her gauntlet. She took a breath before continuing. "Even though part of me still wants to strangle you for lying to me, I kind of get it. I think. I don't know. But either way, these guys don't have the best of intentions, for you and for a lot of other people. I can't be a part of that. I just… can't."

Danny frowned. "What do you mean a lot of other people?"

She shook her head. "The specifics don't matter. You just gotta get rid of whatever they've got on you before they start doing something we'll regret."

It wouldn't be too difficult, he figured. The Guys in White had their security and all, but their scientists weren't known for their intimidation or defense. It would be a little tough to get over to their department (what with phase-proof walls and cameras designed to sense invisible ghosts), but if he turned human and then turned invisible, it might be enough to fool the cameras. As far as he knew, they only started tracking when they detected a certain amount of ectoplasm.

And Tucker had been able to hack into their network before. That had taken a while, and they might've updated their security since then, but Tucker was a whiz. He could get in, delete anything necessary, and get out without being noticed.

"Wait a minute, what about you?" he asked, the thought hitting him like a brick wall. "They were threatening you earlier; they're not gonna be very happy when they find out you freed me."

She kicked one of the shackles that had been around his ankles. "I didn't cut it in exactly a straight line. I'll tell them you broke through or something and that you shorted my helmet. I was lying about the recording stuff anyway," she admitted. "I'll say I couldn't fight back because I had to deactivate all my weapons and they wouldn't come back on in time. They'll believe me. They'll be mad, but they'll believe me. They already hate you enough anyway."

Danny grimaced. He hadn't thought that far ahead; he'd been more focused on Valerie and getting out of here. If the two of them really were able to pull this off, then the Guys in White would be gunning after both of them harder than ever. They could get rid of DNA, they could delete data, but they couldn't erase minds. He'd have to be on his guard even more.

And Valerie would have to be on her guard as well. She claimed they'd believe her, but he knew agents like O would still be suspicious. They'd watch her carefully. Not to mention the fact that she still had to pretend she didn't know anything about Vlad…

It wasn't fair. She hadn't done anything to deserve any of this. Burdened with all of this pressure, having to keep all these secrets, constantly having to worry about her life and her father's.

Sam would tell him he was being ridiculous. He had to deal with those sorts of things, too, she'd say, and arguably on a larger scale in some circumstances, but as he watched her face become more resolute with a sad solemnity, he couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if he'd been able to stop that dumb ghost dog all that time ago.

His crime was playing around his parent's portal and releasing all those new threats into his world. He was paying that price. Her crime had been nothing other than being a normal girl.

No wonder she hated him so much.

"And you're… you're okay with this?" he asked hesitantly.

Valerie rolled her tongue in her mouth. "I don't know. I'm sure I'll wake up in the morning and regret this. But…" she trailed off. He recognized the look on her face. She was thinking something, but she refused to say it out loud. She didn't want to admit whatever it was to him.

He saved her the awkward silence. "You're a good person, Val. Your heart is in the right place, I'm sure. It isn't fair that you got all this dumped on you so suddenly. I'm just really grateful you're willing to do this for me."

"Yeah, well," she said. She blew out a long breath. "You seriously owe me one after this."

He hadn't realized he made up his mind until she said that. "I'll tell you. Uh, my identity, that is," he said quickly before he could second guess himself. His core fluttered and his stomach turned over and he could feel the ectoplasm rushing through his veins, but he felt sure that it was the right thing to do. "You deserve at least that much."

That earned him a look. She studied him for a moment before shaking her head. "No. Not right now. They're gonna question me about whatever happened in here. At least I can truthfully claim ignorance then. They'll know if I'm lying about your identity." Danny considered that, and he had to admit she had a point.

His heart warmed at the thought that she would lie to protect him.

"Besides," she continued, "it's hard enough finding out that I know you for real. I don't think I can handle putting a name and face to that fact right now." The words came out stunted, like it was too difficult for her to say out loud. "I guess it's like maybe if I don't know the whole truth, I can pretend the rest of the truth isn't real. Or that it's not as close to home. Ignorance is bliss and all."

Danny nodded. He knew he shouldn't be surprised – he thought she'd be demanding him to reveal himself by now – but her motives were understandable. It was odd, seeing her thinking things through like this and not jumping to conclusions or anger like she tended to do when it came to ghost stuff, but it was also incredibly encouraging. He almost wished he could show Sam and Tucker as proof that she could change.

She started to turn away, but he caught her hand. Her mouth opened, undoubtedly to tell him off, but she stopped herself. Danny hesitated a moment before saying, "Whenever you're ready then, okay? I'll tell you." She watched him with analytical, green eyes, and he instinctively looked away. "Besides, you might figure it out on your own or something."

Valerie didn't say anything, instead choosing to pull her wrist from his loose grip. From her belt, she pulled off a stick-like weapon. She pointed it toward her side and clicked a button, causing electricity to spark up the sides and hover dangerously over her suit.

Danny was taken aback. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Not everything was deactivated," she told him, staring at a spot on the wall behind him. If she was worried about the electricity three inches away from her, she didn't show it. "Just chill, alright? It's only set to stun, and it won't be that bad since I'm human. The important thing is the effects are similar to ecto-electrocution, so they'll just think you jumped me and knocked me out."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Things were suddenly moving way too fast for him to fully process, but he could at least process the gist of what she was saying. "I'm not gonna stand here and let you hurt yourself!" he protested.

She glared at him, but the corners of her lips twitched upward into a slight smirk. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Phantom," she said.

Before he had time to say anything else, she closed her eyes and inhaled, steeling herself for what she was about to do. In one quick motion, she pressed the stick into her side. Electricity scattered across her suit.

Danny reached out, but he couldn't find it in himself to say anything or even grab the stick away. He could only watch in dismay as her body shook with the shock, her curly hair becoming even frizzier and her teeth clacking together as they buzzed. It was only a couple of seconds before she dropped to the floor, unconscious.

He couldn't help but stare at her limp body. Every instinct was screaming at him to scoop her up and take her with him, but he gritted his teeth and took in one slow breath. He had to trust she knew what she was doing. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, she’d told him, and he'd witnessed it firsthand. She'd be okay.

And if, for some reason, she wasn't…

"I'll come back for you," he promised her, more for his sake than anything.

Pushing away all thoughts of her, he swiped the taser-stick off the ground and set off in search of the research wing.

#danny phantom #danny phantom valerie #valerie gray #gray ghost #sort of #hannah writes #danny phantom fanfic #yeah yeah i know im not done with dannymay #but who doesnt love reading val and danny having Feelings

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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being a cynic comes naturally to scaramouche.

if he had a heart, it'd undoubtedly be hardened by this point in his centuries-long existence. to be made callous is not so bad. it offers certain protections, acts as both a sword and a shield. he's never had reason to regret the towering walls erected around his soul, if anything, his only regret would be that he hadn't done it sooner. he saps the energy from the room upon entering. excited conversations die down into cautious whispers for those who are brave and silence for those who are smart.

he is feared, rightfully so.

it's a wonder, then, that he tames his unruly tongue in your presence.

certainly, he's still disagreeable. petulant, argumentative, always ready to give an opinion you never asked for. compared to how he treats everyone else who has the misfortune of knowing him, though, the difference is stark. for the longest time, scaramouche never dwelled on this out of self-preservation. the door to exploring the deeper reasons behind his behavior isn't locked, yet he acts like it is. he writes it off as begrudging intrigue for as long as he can.

yes, it's to satisfy some mild curiosity that he winds up in your area more often than not. allows himself to sustain wounds he could've easily avoided so that he may experience your healing touch. why he falsely claims he's still recovering so that he might sleep beneath your roof another night. this is a passing fancy that'll lose its glow as every star is fated to. maybe he'll even revel in the reveal that he isn't who he's presented himself to be — you've been granting sanctuary to a harbinger, sharing silly childhood anecdotes with a being who delights in cruelty.

he entertains the thought, finds amusement in it. he'll part his lips, ready to unleash vitriol that'd shatter the illusion he's meticulously maintained, then you'll smile. or laugh. or maybe make a joke that's perhaps the tiniest bit clever. then he'll forget himself, the monster which lives beneath his unblemished skin. he'll lose his appetite for sadism. what you offer tastes far superior, and just when he thought he was averse to sweet flavors, you challenge the notion.

you'd look cute with glassy eyes, a trembling lower lip, and upturned eyebrows. but you almost look like you were the one destined for divinity when your countenance is beaming, enthusiasm carved into every crevice.

it irritates him to no end. if you happen across a pretty flower, you can either pluck it and delight in its beauty until it wilts, or leave it to bloom in peace. why is he opting for the latter? preserving this mirage is more trouble than it's worth. he has to go days without you — weeks even, when dispatched into the abyss — he should just secure you in a fatui stronghold and be done with it. perhaps your petals would wither away, but it's no matter, he'd see to it that you'd blossom again in time.

and still, he leaves you where your roots are spread. it's unlike him. this benevolence, this consideration.

when it comes time to leave, he'll often mull over these thoughts. this could be the time he takes you back. the difference in your strength is laughable, he'd barely need to exert any effort. while he weighs his options on an internal scale, you'll amble over, giving him homemade snacks for the road and a hug. your warmth envelops and washes over him, softer than the first rays of sunlight come dawn. as always, he falters. next time, he'll think. next time for certain. there's no more convincing liar than oneself.

the world made him cynical, but for as long as he can, he wants to prevent it from doing the same to you.

#i really like the thought of a reader far removed from society just vibing who happens upon mr mouche #and he's like well. this thing is cute. and mine now #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche brainrot #concepts

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turtle-paced · 6 months

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Revisiting Chapters: Catelyn VI, ASoS

Bit of a horror movie, this chapter.

The story so far…

Amidst terrible weather and even worse fortune, the Starks are now arriving at the Twins for Edmure’s wedding.

A Bunch of Assholes

The chapter starts with the approach to the Twins, accompanied by the growling of the flooded Green Fork. It’s a beefed up version of the very natural conditions that led to Robb asking for Frey support back in AGoT. It’s a watery, miserable scene - towers appearing from the mist like ghosts in wet stone, banners on the opposite bank hanging like dead cats, and everything in general grey and sodden.

This is a happy place, where happy things will happen.

Robb starts thinking about appearances a little ways out, putting on his crown and making sure his mother and uncle are riding next to him. Catelyn, for her part, has some last minute advice. First, Walder Frey’s an asshole. Second:

“If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse. Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine.”

This is advice based on the fact that there are many ways Walder Frey might be an asshole. If refreshment is offered, because Walder Frey might not extend guest right to his guests. On no account refuse, because Walder Frey might extend guest right by serving stewed crow smothered in maggots (as Robb suggests he might). Bread and cheese and a cup of wine so that Robb doesn’t give excuse for further insult either by asking for the bare minimum (thereby highlighting the fact Walder Frey hadn’t offered the bare minimum) or by asking for something lavish and difficult to obtain.

But mostly Catelyn’s concerned that a) Robb obtains guest right, and b) Robb is known to have obtained guest right. Which says a lot about what she suspects the Freys may be capable of. She thinks that the strongest customary protection against violence may be needed.

The Tully siblings then get their own cattier tendencies on when a Frey contingent comes out to greet them. There’s Ser Ryman, heir to the Twins, whose face Catelyn’s internal monologue describes as “fleshy, broad, and stupid.” Edmure doesn’t keep it to internal monologue but does keep it sotto voce when he describes Edwyn Frey as having a “constipated look” and wishing that Roslin Frey does not take after Petyr Frey with the “unfortunate,” acne-stricken face. Calling Black Walder a nasty bit of business though, that can stand.

Catty or not, the Freys quickly prove themselves to be…not the most pleasant bunch. After Grey Wind startles Petyr Frey’s horse, Robb dismounts and offers his own. Not only is this gesture barely even acknowledged, Ryman Frey proves to have zero courtesies and calls Jeyne Westerling “the woman.” Edwyn’s got more manners, described as “careful courtesy.”

Better question is, why is this party being headed by Ser Ryman? While Catelyn openly gives Walder Frey the benefit of the doubt, since fair enough the nonagenarian doesn’t want to go riding in the rain, in her internal monologue she suspects it’s an insult.

There are more diplomatic overtures, as Edwyn Frey arranges for Robb’s armies to be seen to the far side of the river, where they’ll all have access to a drink on House Frey to the health of the married couple. Lame Lothar cheerfully sees Grey Wind to a dry kennel and a leg of mutton. This is another kind of assholishness, one that goes beyond the bounds of the words. The Freys here know what the plan is. They know that the plan is to lull the people they’re talking to into a false sense of security before murdering the vast majority of them.

But then there’s the main event, Walder Frey himself, and GRRM gives us a refresher on his appearance in a way that leaves no doubt he’s the chief asshole before he even says a word:

His chair was black oak, its back carved into the semblance of two stout towers joined by an arched bridge, so massive that its embrace turned the old man into a grotesque child. There was something of the vulture about Lord Walder, and rather more of the weasel.

Also noted is Walder’s mouth, which “moved constantly, sucking at empty air as a babe sucks at his mother’s breast.” So while Walder’s an old man, he’s compared to child (because that’s the level of emotional maturity going on here), vulture (he’s an opportunist), and weasel (he’s sneaky).

Additionally, Walder’s brought out his grandson-slash-fool, who’s wearing a fake crown. Catelyn can’t be completely sure, but she thinks giving this particularly unfortunate grandson (Aegon “Jinglebell” Frey) the crown is meant to be an insult. It’s just dubious enough a jab that complaining about it would be met with something along the lines of “what are you talking about - you’re so sensitive, god.” Walder soon follows that up by saying Jinglebell has “less wits than a crannogman” and that talking to him is about the same as talking to a chamberpot. Pretty much the entire Frey family is here to listen to that description. Then he starts in on describing Roslin. He wants to know where Jeyne is. He was very keen to see her!

What might have been a suspicious interest in the whereabouts of Jeyne Westerling at this totally not an ambush is quickly covered by, you guessed it, more assholery. Walder Frey waves a hand and all his eligible daughters and granddaughters hurry forward to be paraded in front of the King in the North.

And how does the author emphasise that Robb really might have legitimately preferred to marry someone he was attracted to? By having their gradfather expound on their physical flaws.

“It would have been an impossible choice, my lord,” Robb said, with careful courtesy. “They’re all too lovely.” Lord Walder snorted. “And they say my eyes are bad.”

Delightful. Absolutely delightful. But Robb gives his apology as he knew he must. Roslin is brought out, and the topic changes to Edmure’s impending nuptials.

Politics as usual

After that reception, Catelyn and Edmure retreat for a post-mortem. Despite all the times I used the word ‘asshole’ above, both of them are like ‘wow, that was not as bad as I thought it would be’. Says volumes. Edmure’s got his own comments on the parade of Frey ladies and notes he expected that he’d be given an ugly bride. Catelyn, meanwhile, thinks Roslin is pretty and seems nice enough, but she’s seriously alarmed at how small she is and how difficult that might make childbirth. Back to the relative attractiveness though:

“Your fondness for a pretty face is well known,” Catelyn reminded [Edmure]. “Perhaps Lord Walder actually wants you to be happy with your bride.” Or more like, he did not want you balking over a boil and upsetting all his plans. “Or it may be that Roslin is the old man’s favourite. The Lord of Riverrun is a much better match than most of his daughters can hope for.”

Everything with Roslin just goes to show how commodified the marriage market is in Westeros. The physique of these young ladies is political. Edmure’s sexual preferences are political. And these poor girls were ordered up in front of complete strangers for at least one of them (Catelyn) to look at them all and evaluate them as breeding stock. Indeed, Catelyn ends up going to ask the castle’s maester about Roslin’s potential fertility, and the man tells her.

After this particular conversation, Catelyn goes to find Robb, who’s mid-meeting. Catelyn was not invited. But when she asks, she does get answers. Wylis Manderly has been recaptured by the Lannisters; Roose Bolton’s brought news that Cley Cerwyn and Leobald Tallhart were killed at Winterfell, with several survivors taken to the Dreadfort by Ramsay. Catelyn has problems with this.

“Your bastard was accused of grievous crimes,” Catelyn reminded him sharply. “Of murder, rape, and worse.”

Roose’s response? Sure. But he led the battle (ahem), and Robb can judge from there whether that makes up for it. Not like Roose will be out an heir, since he has Lady Walda.

This is a cold man, Catelyn realised, not for the first time.

Catelyn does not know how cold yet.

Robb then asks for news of Theon. Roose gives him the skin from Theon’s little finger, flayed off by Ramsay. We haven’t had solid reports of Theon since the end of ACoK, and the mention here is intended to inform the reader he’s still around, just busy being tortured.

Roose offers Catelyn the skin, and she makes herself refuse it, though part of her “wanted to clutch the grisly trophy to her heart.” Lady Stoneheart does not come out of nowhere, but is the unhappiest extreme of Catelyn’s rage and grief. She, and Robb, are both unhappy with Roose’s suggestion that they keep Theon as a hostage. Roose clarifies that he just means keeping Theon hostage and demanding concessions to execute him. Robb okays this.

Back to the Lannisters, though, and it’s here that I’ll move into what this chapter really does.

Foreshadowing

This chapter is all about the leadup to the Red Wedding. Red flags abound this chapter, not just in a literary sense but in concrete in-universe signs that something is amiss. The first nasty bit crops up as Catelyn and Robb discuss guest right and the need for him to avail himself of it.

Robb looked more amused than afraid. “I have an army to protect me, Mother, I don’t need to trust in bread and salt.”

Neither will do Robb much good here.

Next, Grey Wind starts growling at the Freys, and then even lunges at them. Not a very diplomatic start to proceedings. Even when Grey Wind is called off, he has to be coaxed into entering the Twins. More good signs.

During the meeting with Walder Frey, he’s being his usual pleasant self (see above). The worrying signs come when Roslin is introduced.

“M,y lady is beautiful.” Edmure took her hand and drew her to her feet. “But why are you crying?” “For joy,” Roslin said. “I weep for joy, my lord.”

Uh-huh. Moving on, Lord Walder’s got his own comments to make about the wedding. He orders Roslin taken away, because she has a wedding to prepare for: “And a bedding, heh, the sweetest part. For all, for all.” He further adds, “We’ll have music, such sweet music, and wine, heh, the red will run, and we’ll set some wrongs aright.”

We see here that Lord Walder being an asshole and Lord Walder planning to kill a bunch of people at the wedding are inextricably intertwined. We know, with the benefit of hindsight, that Walder’s referring to murdering a whole bunch of people here during the bedding, that the music he refers to is the signal for the slaughter, and the red that will run is blood. The characters can’t pick this up in advance because Lord Walder is just that much of a jerk.

There’s also a reference to the Frey childrens’ game mentioned in Bran I, ACoK, where all oaths are binding unless someone says ‘mayhaps’. It’s doubtful anyone here has the full knowledge, but by the rules of the game, Walder Frey as the Lord of the Crossing retains the right to use a stick and push anyone into the river any time he likes. Another thing the readers know but the characters don’t.

After this exchange, Catelyn calls for food. Walder wasn’t offering it, but he had it ready to go when asked for. He makes the show of it, welcoming all present as his honoured guests, while Robb accepts the hospitality.

Catelyn tasted the wine and nibbled at some bread, and felt much better for it. Now we should be safe, she thought.

Note the ‘should’. Catelyn does not fully trust that Walder Frey will keep to the laws of hospitality, even now. A paragraph later, she’s telling Edmure that they should post their own guards on their doors.

There’s more as Catelyn goes in search of Walder Frey’s maester to make her discreet inquiries about Roslin’s fertility. She finds a group of Freys drinking by the fire and asks about Ser Perwyn Frey, Roslin’s full brother, who as Catelyn reminds us, escorted her to Storm’s End and back in the previous book. Alas, Ser Perwyn is away, and not expected to return for the wedding.

Finally, there’s the disposition of Northern forces discussed at the end of the chapter. Brought to us courtesy of totally not a traitor Roose Bolton. Roose owns his ‘mistake’ in leaving Harrenhal too late. Strangely, it seems the result of his delay was that the Freys made it across the Trident okay, but soldiers from the hill clans and the Manderlys were left behind. Even more coincidentally, Roose left a bunch of Stouts and Cerwyns as rear guard. The author also reminds us of Northern losses at Duskendale - these were mostly Glovers and Tallharts.

What Catelyn wants to know is: who did come with Roose?

His queer colourless eyes studied her a moment before he answered. “Some five hundred horse and three thousand foot, my lady. Dreadfort men, in chief, and some from Karhold.”

Cold as Roose is, he’s most likely wondering whether the jig is up in this moment. But we don’t get to see what Catelyn thinks of Roose’s reasoning that it’s just too dangerous not to keep the Karhold soldiers close, because Robb winds the conversation up. They’re going home, he says.

Chapter Function

This chapter is 95% about the Red Wedding. It’s here to put the final pieces in place. Robb is welcomed as a guest; Lord Walder is not as much of an asshole as he could have been, but dropping ominous hints anyway. Grey Wind is freaking out, Roslin is crying, Ser Perwyn is missing. For perfectly logical, not at all Roose-related reasons, there’s a high proportion of Bolton and Karstark soldiers present. That’s all this chapter. The plan has been set into motion. It cannot be entirely hidden anymore, and the perpetrators only want to wait as long as it takes for the trap to snap fully shut. What’s been happening behind the scenes is about to come into the open.

Related, we do get the reminder on Catelyn’s part that she does have impulses towards violent revenge, when we see her reaction to the flayed skin of Theon’s finger. She restrains herself now, but she’s about to lose all reason for restraint.

Finally, this chapter gives us a bit of an update on Theon and Ramsay. Without PoVs in Winterfell, we’re relying on this belated, partial report. Theon’s alive, Winterfell is severely damaged, a bunch of Stark loyalists were killed (cough, by Ramsay, cough), and survivors have been hauled off to the Dreadfort.

Miscellany

Catelyn tells Robb that Walder Frey’s an asshole and no doubt some of his sons are too, liable to provoke Robb. It’s always interesting to note when the intelligent, politically active female characters show that they too are products of the patriarchy - Catelyn has not allowed for the possibility that any of Walder Frey’s daughters (or granddaughters) may also be assholes capable of provoking Robb.

Catelyn also remembers her own wedding. Specifically, she remembers how Lysa ‘wept lakes’ before the ceremony. She puts it down to nervousness and considers it to be entirely expected. It’s true, some people cry when nervous. But the way marriages are arranged in Westeros, nobody can tell what’s just nerves and what’s the bride distraught from being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want (or from knowing that all her in-laws are going to be murdered at the feast).

Clothing Porn

Jinglebell Frey wears costly blue wool and grey satin, with a crown and collar ornamented with brass bells. Roslin wears a pale blue gown with a lacy bodice. Catelyn wears warm wool in Tully red and blue. Roose Bolton’s got a pale pink cloak trimmed in white fur. GoT robbed us of Roose in pink, I’m telling you.

Food Porn

None.

Next Three Chapters

Bran II, ASoS - Tyrion V, ACoK - Eddard X, AGoT

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #revisiting chapters #catelyn stark #robb stark #walder frey #edmure tully #a storm of swords

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