#and my friend Pierre believes in the future and he's searching it out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thatsdemko · 9 months

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tale as old as time - p.gasly

the art of attraction series — part one

masterlist

warnings: fluff

a/n: decided to provide the wedding scene!!! I have some other little fics working around the first part as well! xx

age 23 & 25

the proposal

he’s always known he was going to propose. it was when was the hardest part of the question to answer. folks back home both yours and his family always eagerly searching for a ring on your finger. he knows your antsy, seeing friends and extended family members get the beautiful diamond ring and begin to start families. you’d longed for that idea, but you’d wait for whenever Pierre found the timing to be right.

it was summer break when Pierre asked pascale leclerc and Lornezo, your eldest brother, for permission. with teary eyes, it was an easy yes from the two of them. he now only needed your answer.

—

you’re in your hotel bed. makeup removed and dessert from a local bakery sit mixed in the comforters of the bed, you two are snacking amongst yourself when he turns to you.

his eyes say every word he wants to say. with tears brimming the rims, your mouth curls into a smile knowing what’s next. he says he wants more nights like this, and says he can’t imagine anybody else he’d love more than you.

“y/n leclerc, will you marry me?”

“yes.”

age 25 & 27 (now)

the gasly’s.

Charles watches his best friend pace the floor of the tiny church room. he’s sure Arthur and Lorenzo have you safe from a nervous spiral, while Charles struggles to find words to calm his best friend before the best day of his life.

he knows these nerves aren’t bad thoughts. rather, excited for the future and the big celebration. months, years, of preparation went into this wedding. from the flowers all the way down to the shoes you both wore, all the details were planned out.

part of Pierre wants none of the traditions. he doesn’t care for the ministers approval and the shitty piano music his mother got teary eyed about.

“do you think you can get ordained as a minister?”

“like now?”

Pierre shoots Charles a pointed look, “why would I ask if it wasn’t for right now?”

Charles frantically pulls out his phone, nervous hands shaking as he types it in the safari. he becomes ordained in a matter of minutes and soon enough he’s pulling you out of your bridal party with Lorenzo and Arthur.

Pierre waits outside the church, your white dress coming into his vision like an angel or a cloud in the sky. with your hair pulled back, veil covering your face, and the white train trailing behind you, he felt tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Aw don’t cry or else I’ll cry and they spent hours on my makeup.” you wipe your thumb across his cheeks until they stop and Charles marries you two in the parking lot of the church. an hour earlier than the actual wedding.

“I should’ve married you along time ago.”

“I agree, it took you long enough to ask.”

—

the reception is in the summer home. the bedroom you first fell in love with him, is the place you two hide from greeting guests and faking smiles.

“I can’t believe we have to go down there again.” you groan throwing your body against his crisp clean suit.

“if you get tired of this, go up to the attic and I’ll come to you. I can hold off the family for you.” he presses a kiss to your forehead, two of you finally deciding to get up off the bed and make your way down the stairs. family and friends begin to holler and cheer seeing your arrival to your own party. Pierre kisses you once again, lips colliding like there wasn’t going to be another time for this. the hollers and whistles become background noise to the sound of his heart beat and how his fingers feel against the white silk material. you want to capture these emotions forever and put them in a bottle.

Pierre holds on to his promise, he chats with your family and his family while giving you time to eat and linger with friends. all sorts of people compliment your dress, the taste for the venue, etc. there’s not a single opinion you could care about while you sit and listen.

“I always pictured your wedding happening here.” Arthur says from beside you at the dinning room table. the two of you tucked away from the rest of the guests.

“really?”

he nods, “yeah, the flowers in the backyard are the ones you’ve always picked for Enzo, the sunset is visible from here, and this is where you fell in love. I was shocked when maman told me you picked a silly church.”

you laugh at your younger brothers words, but ultimately agree. you’d wished you didn’t settle on the old church and rather just get married in the backyard. you didn’t have many guests as it was, and Arthur was right, this place did hold a special spot in your heart.

“you should get married here then. the place belongs to Pierre now.”

Arthur laughs, “no I’m getting married in bora bora. churches are a yawn.”

you scoff giving his shoulder a shove, “wow where were you at the wedding planning meeting?”

“sleeping. I didn’t care to hear about bouquets and bridal showers.”

—

the early morning/late evening hours seems to slip by you both. you’re curled in bed, fingers intertwined when you hear Pierre shift in bed. his suit jacket was draped across your lap as a blanket, while his dress shirt was torn off somewhere across the room. you’d both been to exhausted for anything fun to happen that night, but from the looks of the room it’d say otherwise.

your eyes flutter open— well attempt with yesterdays mascara sticking them together— you look over at Pierre in his peaceful state. you’d, shockingly, never noticed the contrast color of his lashes to his blue eyes, how the hairs under his lip were getting a little thicker, or even the finest line across his forehead from stress. these were things that seemed to come with time, but beauty you loved so deep within your heart.

“I should make you breakfast, shouldnt I?”

his voice startles you from your thoughts, his hand reaches across the bed to your leg. the guarder you’d worn was torn off, and you proudly wear nothing but spandex and Pierre’s tie around your neck. somehow along the lines you’d lost your bra, but your dress still lays perfectly across the floor.

“don’t be ridiculous, let’s just order breakfast.” you shift closer to him and reach across for his phone on the charger. he takes the chance to kiss your cheek while you enter his passcode and scroll through the millions of breakfast places open.

“I don’t think I ever told you how beautiful you looked last night.”

you give him a pointed look, “and yesterdays makeup doesn’t still say beautiful?”

he laughs pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, “amour, you’re beautiful everyday. just even extra yesterday.”

you feel the typical butterflies you get around him, but there’s even more than usual when you’re around him, you couldn’t pinpoint the feeling but it softened your heart and made you sink closer to him.

“what do you want from McDonald’s, mr. gasly?”

“whatever my wife wants.”

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime

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f1carsgovroomvroom · 2 years

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THE ENCOUNTER PART 7

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fan

Word count: 3k

Warnings: a lot of fluff, some smut

Note: this is a shorter part but the next one will be quite long.

He was searching for the words that didn’t seem to exist. However, me telling him that I am falling for him, after he turned up here to tell me he messed up in France, shouldn’t be anything that might scare him.

“Don’t tell me things like this, when a moment ago you wanted to never see me again.” Charles pushed himself to sit up on against the headboard.

“But I mean it. You hurt me in France, you were all over that girl.”

Charles laughed. “I don’t even remember. I never drink that much. It’s not like me, but it pissed me off. A few days ago you were going to my best friend to tell him we are just for fun.”

“Because that’s what I thought you wanted. We never discussed. I assumed you didn’t want to be associated with me.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. He paused for a second before starting to talk again.

“My father always told me to be humble, to remember anything can disappear as soon as it comes to you. I don’t care if you’re not a model, I don’t care if the world doesn’t know you. I know you and I like you and that should be the only part that matters to us.” He used a hand to push my hair behind my ear. “But what I want you to realise is that, this is my life. I will not always be able to come here, I don’t even get to see my mum for weeks sometimes. It’ll get tough at times. I’ll be gone more than I’ll be here and truth be told, there will be rumours about me all the time. It’s part of the career I’ve chosen for myself.”

“I’m aware of all of that. Not seeing you will be difficult, but I knew this before and it didn’t stop me from developing feelings. Rumours are rumours, as long as I can trust you, it’s okay. But at the moment I do not know what to believe after I’ve seen you all over a girl.”

“Yas, I promise, there was nothing between me and her.”

“But it almost happened.”

“And you slept with my best friend.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them and I could see it on his face, but it was too late.

I didn’t say anything, I picked my clothes from the floor and didn’t even bother dressing up there, I wanted to go to the bathroom and do it and then leave.

“No, no.” He said. “That’s not how I wanted it to come out. God, I’m bad with words.” Charles got up and caught my arm. “Look at me.”

Tears were forming but I didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Please just let me go home.” My voice was shaky and I could hardly keep the tears from running down my face.

“Listen to me, please. I didn’t mean it like that. We both make certain mistakes before we were sure of what we felt or wanted. That night I wanted to sleep with that girl, yes.” The words hurt, but not as much as the comment he made earlier. “But I realised I really wanted you, but I fucked up and pictures were taken and before I could discuss anything with you and clarify things, it was too late.”

I was still not looking at him because I was still scared I’d start crying any second.

“I know what happened with Pierre is not something you do often and Pierre has that thing about himself that makes you want him, I know. But he also told me he tried his luck with you after and you turned him down and he assumed it was because of me.” He didn’t try to move me, he just simply walked around and he was now in front of me, but I was looking down at my clothes. We were still both naked.

“But you were right, I slept with your best friend. I could do it again, I slept with both of you.”

“I don’t care. I make mistakes in the past that I hardly can forgive myself for, we just need to ensure that we can put the past in the past, and focus on the present and the future.”

“I did try to push Pierre away because I was starting to feel something for you. But it’s not the mistake that I am worried about. I realised you have hot girls throwing themselves at you all the time and I’ll not always be there.” My voice was calmer, but the words he said still stung.

“It’ll be the same for me. I have these worries, too. “ I rolled my eyes. “It’s the same, Yas. There are guys that will like you and they might be good looking, but we’ve got to trust each other.”

I nodded and his hand cupped my cheek. “Look at me, please.” His voice was gentle, apologetic.

I looked at him and that’s all I needed to let the first few tears falls down my face.

“Oh, no. I’m not good when people cry.” Charles looked genuinely distressed by the fact that I was crying. He used his thumb to wipe the tears. “There is no reason to cry. I’m stupid sometimes.”

I laughed, remembering the ‘I’m stupid, I’m stupid’ radio message.

“Sorry, but a lot happened in the last few hours and I got emotional.” This rollercoaster, because it cannot be called anything else, was getting me the highest I have ever been but it will also drop me to the lowest I have ever been.

“It’s okay, I just don’t want to be the reason you’re crying like this.”

Charles still looked unwell, he must’ve felt tired and mentally exhausted.

“I’m okay, let’s take a nap and when we wake up we can talk, okay?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Let me give you a t-shirt.” Charles goes to the wardrobe, still naked and grabbing some clothes for us.

A large t-shirt of his fit me perfectly, covering enough to not see that I was not wearing anything else underneath.

We got under the blanket and before I knew it, Charles was asleep. He must’ve been tired. The race was tough for him, the results were just not something he wanted to even discuss and I pretended it didn’t even happen.

Next morning when I woke up, he was already up and the bed was empty. Luckily my alarm still went off in the morning and I woke up in time to log onto my computer for work. I was smart enough to put my laptop in the bag before coming to Charles’s in case I needed to stay here over night if he felt really ill.

I quickly logged in and then went to brush my teeth. Today was going to be a quiet day anyway. As a management accountant, the end of the month is the worst and the first few days of the month. Luckily, the beginning of this week will be quiet, but the end of it will be complete hell.

I replied to a few emails and decided to go and look for Charles because I haven’t seen him since I was awake. Going downstairs, I could hear the music coming from the basement, he was working out.

There was no other person I knew that would do this after a shit day. I’d be in bed, crying and blaming myself but not Charles. He would wake up early and work out and become a better person.

I went downstairs and watched him, how motivated he was, he was not even paying attention to whoever would come down here.

“Charles?”

“You scared me!” he exclaimed.

I went up to him and apologised by kissing him. “Good morning!”

“Good morning!” He said, as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I will be done in the next 15 minutes and I will make us something to eat. Go back to work. I set up a desk in the downstairs room for you.”

His thoughtfulness made me smile. “Thanks!” The words “My love” were on the tip of my tongue, but it felt too early to say it.

The day went by quickly. Charles read his notes regarding the race, he looked over documents and analysis of what went wrong, where he could improve and then he did a bit of homework for the next race. He basically looked at the track and tried to think what he could do to do his best this week.

The breakfast and lunch he prepared was actually amazing, I was not expecting him to be able to cook anything that well.

The dinner time approached and we decided to talk after dinner about the issues we have, and that conversation made me nervous.

We ordered takeaway, which consisted of a lot of sushi.

“We have postponed this conversation for a long time.” He said as he dipped his sushi in the soy sauce. “But, I am fine with going public if you want and I am okay with staying private, if you want that but there are things to take into consideration either way.”

We looked over the options and keeping it low-key was actually the better option instead of making it public and feeding ourselves to the media before we were a bit more stable emotionally with each other. The next few races, were races that he would be under the eye of the media, they would study his actions, his surroundings closely, so me going to these meant that we could be the victim of an article. But there was only 1 race left before the summer break and after that we could spend the time alone for a few days before he goes to see his family.

The days went by quickly, especially with month end for me and Charles flying to Hungary midweek.

We talked a lot through messages, he FaceTimed me anytime he could and there were the odd phone calls he would make during his breaks. It was weird, it felt wrong sometimes hiding this from the world. I wanted to scream that he is my boyfriend and the girls to cool down, but I knew it was not possible.

The Saturday night after the very unexpected qualifying, Charles called me.

“I needed to hear your voice so badly.” He said, letting a sigh out. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, baby.” We started using baby, as it was his word really.

“I wish you were here, next to me.” His voice sounded heavy, the way it sounded when he was undressing me.

“Charles,” my voice now a bit flirtier, “are you horny?” If he wasn’t, then this might make him.

“So horny.” He replied. “I could go for a few rounds, I really need to work out how you can come to races without being the victim of the media.” He let another sigh out.

I pressed the camera on the FaceTime and propped the phone against the lamp in my room.

“Why are you calling me with the camera? I look terrible.” Charles said as he was accepting the video call. Disclaimer, he didn’t look terrible at all. “Ohh.” He exclaimed when he realised why I did that. I removed my top which left me in the bra I wore for the day, luckily matching my underwear. “I could rip these off you so I can fuck you.”

“Tell me how you’d fuck me.” I said to him, being thankful for being home alone today.

“I’m already hard, stop this.” Charles protested.

“Show me!” His eyebrows raised at my request but he did just that, he showed me the outline through his shorts. “I wish I was there to help you.”

“Me too, when I see you again, you’ll pay for this. Remember it.” Charles’s voice was just proving even more how horny he was.

“I hope you’ll make me pay.”

“You sound hornier than me. Did you touch yourself thinking of me the past few days?” He asked, but his eyes followed the way my hands played with my boobs.

“Yes, maybe a few times.”

“Argh” that’s the only sound he could let out. “Continue with this and I’ll take a flight over there now.” He laughed.

“I keep remembering the way you fucked my mouth the last time we were together and how you fucked me after.”

“I said I’d fuck you hard enough to destroy you for any other man. I will fuck you even harder next time.” Charles watched me remove my bra. “Touch yourself.”

“Is that an order? Should I listen?” I was teasing him, knowing exactly that it would drive him even crazier.

“Yes, remove the panties and touch yourself.” Charles replied, more authoritative than normal.

“Only if you remove your shorts and touch yourself too.”

“No need to ask.” He moved the phone further so I can see him all, his trousers were pushed down now and he fisted his cock. “Touch. Yourself.” The pause between the words made it sound more authoritative.

I touched myself and let a moan escape my lips but Charles’s breath also increased.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, put a finger inside your pussy and think of me.”

His fist was moving up and down his cock, his breathing increased and I could also see myself in the corner of my screen, my face redder than usual, I looked so needy but it turned me on even more.

I followed his instructions, then he asked me to add two fingers.

“Remove the fingers and play with your clit.” I did as he said. “You’re such a good girl, you’ll also get a reward if you continue this way.” I smiled at him. “Fuck, you make me wanna come right now, are you close?”

“Yes, I’m so close. Can I please increase the pace?”

“You learn so quickly. Increase the pace, make yourself cum and think of me.”

His pace matched mine and we both looked at each other, making each other cum even if our own hands were doing the work, we were getting off watching each other.

“Ah, Charles, Charles.” His name, muffled by the moans left my lips and that pushed his over the edge too.

He grabbed some tissues as he was finishing and he tried to not make a mess.

“Fuck, I never did this before, in all these years.” He said as he picked up the phone and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. “In all these years, no matter who I was seeing, I never wanted them this much.”

The thought that I was different and special made me smile.

“I want you more than you can imagine, so win the race, get your ass here and let’s fuck 10 times a day so we can make up for the time lost.” I laughed.

“You were so scared of doing any dirty talk before, and now look at you.” He smiled at me, and that genuine smile made me wanna teleport myself to hug him.

“I actually cannot wait to spend time with you and get to know you even better. I want the sex but I want your company too.”

“Me too, mon amour.” The words felt like they were floating in the air. He smiled. “I wanted to keep them for when we met next so I could say them face to face but it slipped. Mon amour.”

“I wanted to call you my love the other day.” I laughed, realising we are both as deep into this as the other.

“Call me that then.”

“My love.” I said it louder.

“Love. Such a strange word.” Charles repeated. “You make it sound better.”

“I hated French at school, but hearing you speak French, makes me wanna rip the clothes off you.” We both laughed.

“This might be a good moment to ask if you’d like to come with me to Monaco. My family would like to meet you. There we can keep it very low-key because it’s Monaco. My mum and brothers heard about and they are more than excited to meet you.”

At first it felt almost like I was dreaming, needing to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t.

“Yes, of course but are you sure? What if they don’t like me?” I panicked immediately.

“They will like you. They already adore you from what I told them, but you’re even better in person.”

I loved how much Charles saw the good parts in my personality and how he made me feel so lovable.

“Then yes, I’ll be very nervous but also so honoured too.”

“Great. Have your luggage ready for Monday afternoon.”

I had to arrange things at work so I could take some time off. Charles didn’t win, he wasn’t even on the podium, the race was disappointing but he was one of the most positive people I knew.

He never talked badly about the team, he appreciated every single person in that team, he adored the mechanics and admired every person that made a difference, good or bad during the race. It was just how Charles was. He couldn’t find bad words for anyone, only for himself.

He was the perfect person outside the car, calm, gentle, nice. In the car, he could destroy anyone that was standing in the way of him and his dream. To win. He was always chasing the next win, the next high, he was never content with just being good, he wanted to be the best, he wanted to work to be the best, and his determination made people motivated. That’s what I loved most about him. Like, I mean, not love. It’s too early to love him.

Monaco, here I come, please treat me nicely.

#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max thank you Mea!

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane.

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid.

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after.

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking.

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him, outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb.

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?"

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding.

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides.

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you.

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting.

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes, they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning.

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly oneshot #pierre gasly x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 rpf #f1 #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 rpf

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ikemencrossedmyth · 4 years

Text

Fury (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Comte x reader

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Summary: You have made it back to the mansion, but you and Sebastian were seriously hurt in the process. Comte comes to realization that more drastic measures need to be taken to protect you and the other residents inside the mansion from an ever-growing psychotic William.

Rating: 18+

Count: 3,972

Warnings: mentions of blood

AO3: Chapter 3

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3: A Difficult Decision Made

As Comte held your body in the entry way, he gave orders to Leonardo.

“Take care of that man for me, I need to see to _____’s injuries.”

He turned to look at Arthur.

“After you finish tending to Sebastian’s wounds, please come to my room.”

“Sure thing.” Arthur replied.

Comte quickly turned around and walked away from the unfolding scene behind him. With you in his arms, he made his way up the stairs and to his room. As he walked, he took in your injuries. He could feel the knot in his throat begin to tighten.

“I can’t believe I let this happen. How could I not see what was going to happen? How could William have orchestrated this right under my very nose?”

He carefully stepped into his room and pushed the door behind him closed with his foot. He headed straight for his private bath at the back of the room. You were floating in and out of consciousness, but your guard was down now that you were with Comte. He set you down on a chair and began to gently remove your clothes. Once they were undone, he tenderly picked you up and set you inside the porcelain tub filled with warm water. Grabbing a washcloth, he began to wipe away at the blood, the dirt, the grime…the filth that those men had left on your soft skin. The warm water lapped at your sore body with a welcome pleasantness. He placed a makeshift bandage on your head, a temporary placeholder for whatever Arthur would decide you needed.

You looked at Comte through glassy eyes. You could see the grief on his face. You knew that he loved you, and of course he would feel guilty. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he continued to clean you and look at your bruises. He stopped abruptly and raised a hand to your neck. He brushed his fingers over the bruise. A handprint was now clearly evident on your neck. A reminder of the struggle that you just narrowly escaped. You reached up to grab his hand in yours, as you both looked at each other through blurry visions in silence. He gave your hand a squeeze as a tear fell from his eye.

“_____, I’m so sorry. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” He whispered. He did not try to hide the tears; his remorse didn’t let him.

His voice was quivering. In all his years on this earth, he had never been so scared. He has searched high and low, believing that he would always be alone. But then you came into his life, an angel that fell in love with a fiend like him. He already felt undeserving of your love, but in this moment, the reality of what had happened to you hit him like a freight train. He was a pureblood vampire, and you…a human. Your life could have easily ended tonight. He might never have gotten to see your smiling face again. To look upon the smile that lit up his day. He might never have gotten to hear your voice again. His stomach turned and twisted at the thought of how close he came to completely losing you.

You could see that Comte was having an internal struggle with everything that had happened to you in town. You tightened your grip on his hand, pulling it up to your face. You laid a gentle kiss of the back of his hand. His eyes widened at the gesture.

“Comte, I don’t believe you have anything to be sorry for. It was not you that did this to me. It was William.” Looking at his face, he still appeared unconvinced. You reached your arms out to him and he leaned in a bit closer to your face and into your arms.

“I will always love you Comte. No matter what has happened to me in the past, today, or whatever will happen to me in the future, I will always continue loving you. Even when my life on this earth comes to a close, I’m sure that in the next life, I will continue to love you until forever comes to an end. Don’t you see, before I met you, I was incomplete. I was half of a soul wandering aimlessly through life. I genuinely believe that you are my other half. My soul is complete now because we are together. The happiness that I feel knowing that we found each other is immeasurable. Do you know how much I love you? Count the stars, and they will tell you how deeply my love for you runs through my veins. I could never be apart from you, so please, banish these feelings from within yourself. I love you.”

Upon hearing your words, Comte drew you into his arms. He held you against his chest, living proof that you were still alive and that somehow this angel still loved him. He whispered into your ear.

“_____, I will always love you. When you’ve long left this earth, I will love you. In a millennia, I will continue to love you. You are my everything. Before you, I was just existing, but now my life exists because of you. You are my life and life itself. I love you.”

You were both wrapped in a tender embrace, basking in the love you had for one another, a forbidden love that brought life into both of your existences.

Downstairs at the front entrance, there was no love of any kind to be found. Pierre lay whimpering on the ground as Leonardo stared coldly at him nearby. Dazai and Jean had returned with the stretcher and Arthur’s medical bag and were kneeling next to Sebastian, who still lay unconscious on the ground. Arthur quickly went through his medical bag and pulled out a neck brace and gently placed it around Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian’s face had begun to swell, both his eyes black and blue. His dried blood mingled with the fresh still weeping from his wounds, while his breathing grew more labored.

“Carefully, we’re going to put him on the stretcher and be sure to keep his head and neck as still as possible. We don’t want to cause further damage.” Arthur ordered.

Dazai, Jean, and Arthur carefully transferred Sebastian to the stretcher, making sure to heed Arthur’s warning. They picked up the stretcher, and headed inside to Arthur’s room, leaving the rest of the vampires outside, with Pierre still on the ground.

In his rage, Leonardo had done a number on Pierre. Pierre was bleeding profusely, taking shallow breaths in trying to regain his senses. He knew that something was not normal about these men, who so easily overcame him in strength and speed. One of his eyes had already swelled shut and was colored with dark purples and reds. He was missing a couple more teeth as blood flowed from his mouth down onto his clothes that were already stained with crimson and dirt. He struggled to breathe, as Leonardo had broken a rib or two in the process of teaching Pierre a lesson. His pained gasps gained no sympathy from any of the vampires, especially Leonardo.

Pierre tried to drag his body in agony, away from these men that he had already deemed to be some kind of monsters.

“Scusa, where do you think you’re going?” Leonardo said, pressing his boot into Pierre’s back.

Pierre yelled out in anguish, pain shooting throughout his whole body.

“You’re not going anywhere, bastardo.” Leonardo reached down and grabbed the back of his blouse, dragging his body into the house.

“Everyone else, wait in the dining room for me.” He instructed the rest of the vampires.

Leonardo headed towards the basement of the house, opening the old door that had rarely been used. He took his first step into the basement, making dust rise from the old wooden step. The weight of his and Pierre’s body made the stairs creak as he descended into the cool basement. He headed towards one of the stone walls. Some metal chains were attached to the walls, which he used to restrain Pierre. Pierre was unable to put up a fight with his injuries, not that he would have been able to if he tried. He was no match for a pureblood, an angry pureblood at that.

Leonardo grabbed Pierre’s face, bringing it close to his own. His forehead creased as he spoke in a low voice, almost a growl.

“We will deal with you later. Make no noise, understand? Or else I might have to come back and finish the job.”

Pierre nodded weakly, understanding his place and the situation that he was involved in.

“These men are monsters! Evil monsters! I never should have gotten involved in Jacques stupid ideas.”, Pierre thought to himself as the pureblood walked back up the dusty stairs.

Leonardo reached the top of the stairs, closing the door and leaving Pierre in total darkness.

In Arthur’s room, Dazai and Jean were quickly following Arthur’s instruction, trying to help their injured friend. They had set Sebastian down onto Arthur’s bed, as Arthur began a thorough inspection of his injuries. While Sebastian was still unconscious, they cleaned up his injuries, put him in a fresh set of clothes, and made sure to put salve and fresh gauze onto his open wounds. Dazai and Jean were left impressed with the English author. They had no idea that he was so proficient in the medical field, as Arthur rarely told anyone of his secret past as a doctor.

“Dazai, do you think you could stay here and look after Sebastian? I still need to check with Comte and look over _____’s injuries.

“Absolutely, I will let you know once he awakens.” Dazai said.

Arthur looked over to Jean, who had begun to sway upon seeing all the rags soaked in blood.

“If you want to head downstairs, I can handle it from here Jean.” Arthur said.

“Thank you, I think that would be best Arthur.” Jean left the room quickly, making his way downstairs into the dining room, where he found some of the other vampires waiting and discussing the nights events.

Arthur grabbed his bag and headed promptly to Comte’s room. By the time he arrived, Comte had already dressed you and laid you down onto his bed. You were resting when Arthur knocked quietly on the door. The knock roused you from your groggy state, as you were still a bit nervous from the assault.

Comte swiftly opened the door and let Arthur into the room. He motioned to you.

“I’ve already cleaned up the blood and took a look at her injuries, but it would put my mind at ease if you could have a look as well and treat her wounds.”

“Of course, that’s why I’m here.”

Arthur headed over to the bed and knelt down beside it. He took off the bandage that Comte had placed on your head and began to examine the gash on your head.

“You did a good job of cleaning out the wound, but I’m still going to apply some antibiotics and give her some medicine to ease the pain.”

Comte nodded as he watched Arthur apply a salve to your wound and place a clean gauze bandage on your head. He then mixed together some medicine in a cup and had you drink it down, making sure that you drank it all.

Arthur looked at you as you settled into the bed and then began to speak hesitantly.

“I know that a lot has happened to you today, but any information that you can tell us about William and how you found out would be very beneficial.”

You looked up at Arthur and Comte, you tried to sit up as a pain shot through your entire body. Arthur and Comte rushed to help you sit up in the bed, making sure you didn’t move more than necessary.

Your throat was still very sore and your voice hoarse, but you managed to tell them everything that had happened. You explained about the first bakery, and how they ran out of bread because of a certain English author donating money.

“I thought at first they were talking about you, Arthur. I never even stopped to think about William being the one.”

Arthur looked at you quizzically.

“Why did you think it was me?” Arthur asked.

“Well, the baker said that the English author would frequent the pub across the street. And I remember from last week when you helped me at the same pub. Remember those two drunk guys? Those were the same men that attacked me. I thought I was just putting two and two together and came to the conclusion that the baker was talking about you.”

“So how did you find out that it was William and not me?”

“Well, I went to the new bakery that had just opened up. On my way out of the bakery, I was walking by an alley, when I was grabbed and then pulled to the back of the alley. It was there where they were talking, and they mentioned the name Will and how he had told them where I would be. They also knew Comte and mentioned his title. They knew all along who he was, and they were just playing dumb yesterday. When I said that I didn’t have the money, they said that I would pay in another way.”

You proceeded to tell them about how he had hurt you and cut your blouse, and about how he had treated you. You shivered as you thought about how you were almost taken. Comte looked at you, his eyes looked down on you with sadness.

“Ma Cherie, did anything else happen? Please tell me what they intended.”

“I am certain that they wanted me to pay….with my body. While he was choking me, he…he ran his tongue across my neck.” You touched your exposed neck at the memory and started to sob softly.

Arthur and Comte looked at each other in alarm, as they came to terms with how close you were to being sexually assaulted. Your retelling of the events left everything clear to the two men: Jacques and Pierre knew that you wouldn’t have the money, and they were going to take payment from you in the form of your body.

Comte could swear that he felt his blood begin to boil inside of him.

“THE FUCKING NERVE, HOW DARE THEY?!”

He had to calm himself down and he knelt down beside the bed and laid you back down.

“Go to sleep, Ma Cherie. You need the rest; I will ensure that the door is protected at all hours so you can sleep in peace.”

You nodded your head as you closed your heavy eyelids. The afternoon’s events had left you tired and hurting. The two men watched as you dozed off to sleep, and quietly slipped out of the room to let you rest.

Outside of the room, Comte took quick strides towards the stairs. Arthur swiftly followed.

“Comte, what are we going to do? We can’t let William get away with this, this is madness!”

“Don’t think for a second that I intend to let William continue to hurt _____. This is the final straw, there will be repercussions for what has happened tonight, I guarantee it.” With a flip of his tail coat, he continued his descent down the stairs and into the main dining hall, where the rest of the vampires were congregated with Leonardo discussing the nights events as they waited for Comte to show up.

The dining room fell into silence as the vampires looked at Comte with serious faces. Comte looked across the dining hall at each of them. He began to speak in a clear and direct voice.

“What has happened tonight is inexcusable, I cannot allow for William to continue unpunished. I was the one that brought him to this time and as such, he is my responsibility, I am much more aware of that now.”

At those words, Leonardo sucked his teeth. His eyebrows furrowed at his old friend. Comte skirted his eyes over to Leonardo before continuing to speak.

“Arthur and I talked with _____ and she gave us some more information that can be valuable to us, assuming that you are all willing to help.”

All the vampires nodded their heads in agreement. There was no one in the room who was not willing to help you, especially considering that their precious human had been hurt so brutally.

Arthur told everyone your account of the night, including that William was frequently seen going into the bar across the street from the bakery.

“Since that old chap was seen going into the same bar that I go to, I was thinking that I would head over there tonight and see what I can dig up on those two drunks and anything I can pick up on William as well.” At his words, Theo and Napoleon volunteered to tag along.

“I’ll do anything to see that he gets what coming to him, he’s the real hond. How could he hurt _____ like that?” Theo remarked while shaking his head, muttering to himself more than to anyone else around him.

Napoleon stood up a little straighter pushing his shoulders back, his eyes clear with determination as he tightened his fists. He is a soldier after all, and he can’t abide by such an innocent being abused.

All three men were ready, anticipating the battle that lay before them in the murky streets of Paris. The three of the men filed out the door and headed into the dark city with a hive mind of achieving one goal: find the remaining culprits and bring them back to pay for their heinous crime.

Once the three vampires left, Comte gave orders to Mozart, Isaac, and Jean to stay near the mansion to protect it from any unwanted visitors that may be conspiring with William. The three vampires gave a curt nod and headed to separate points of the mansion, their eyes peeled into the darkness outside, looking for anyone that may intrude into their home.

The only vampires left in the dining room were Leonardo, Comte, and Vincent. Vincent sat at the dining room table as he ran a hand over his face. His shoulders sat low while a feeling of heaviness made its home in his chest. Comte looked at Vincent, his emotions in turmoil. He knew that Vincent was closest to William, and he had to be sure without a shadow of a doubt that Vincent was on his side. He took the chair next to Vincent and the two vampires looked at each other. Comte opened his mouth to speak first, determination in his voice.

“Vincent, I know you and Will are close, but I think that we would both agree that his actions here today are egregious. I don’t want to put you in any situation that would make you uncomfortable but understand that I cannot sit idly by and watch _____ get hurt. I need to know your honest opinions on William and this whole situation.”

Vincent shook his head and spoke with a low voice.

“I’m so sorry, Comte. I feel like since I am the one that is closest to Will, that I should have seen this coming. Clearly what he did was inexcusable, it’s just that I never perceived that he would be capable of such malice, especially towards someone as innocent as _____. I know that she is yours but do understand that I care for her and what has happened to her and shaken me to my core. I will do anything to keep her safe, even from William.”

Vincent had tears in his eyes, as he was speaking from a broken heart filled with regret. As they looked each other in the eyes, Comte could see Vincent’s true honest and empathetic nature towards what had happened. He grabbed Vincent’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you, Vincent, your words mean a lot to me. I have a favor to ask you, pertaining to what happened tonight.”

“Absolutely, anything. Just say the word and it’s done.”

“I still need someone to guard my room. _____ is still asleep and recovering from her injuries. I want to ensure that she is kept safe and if she needs any medical attention, that you get Arthur for her.”

“I’ll head upstairs immediately then. Thank you, Comte.” Vincent said, laying a hand across his chest.

“No, thank you Vincent.” Comte replied with a sad smile.

Vincent headed upstairs, leaving Leonardo and Comte alone in the dining room. An indignant Leonardo loomed over Comte, who still sat at the dining table.

“What do you have to say Leonardo? I can practically feel you seething with anger.”

“Listen closely, you ingrate, cuz I have a lot to say about what happened to _____ tonight.”

Comte already knew what Leonardo was going to say, but he felt he deserved the backlash that Leonardo was about to unleash upon him. He slowly stood up and faced one of his oldest friends. Leonardo continued his barrage, his voice rising in volume.

“I’m sure _____ told you sweet things upstairs. Nonsense probably, saying how this was not your fault and how you shouldn’t feel guilty. But I am here to set you straight. Everything that happened here tonight is entirely your fault. How many times did I tell you that William was no good? How many times did I tell you that you should be keeping a closer eye on him?”

Leonardo took a couple steps closer to Comte. His forehead was creased and his adrenaline was flowing as he continued to speak his mind, agitation and contempt filling his voice.

“You should not have let him go. Every time we cross paths, the man becomes more and more crazy. I know you kept saying that I was biased because Will and I hate each other, but now everything has come to a head. I was right about Will. He is dangerous, and you were the one that brought him to this time and allowed him the free reigns to do as he pleases. And now what?! He hurt _____, because of your lackadaisical attitude!”

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!” Comte yelled. “Don’t you think I know that it’s my fault that _____ was attacked. I know now that I should have heeded your warnings, but I never thought that he would stoop to such mad actions.”

Leonardo’s expression cooled upon hearing his friend admit that he was right. He spoke the next words without any combativeness, only with the intention to alert Comte to what needed to be done.

“You need to decide that you are willing to do what is necessary to stop William. You need to drop this pretend life of nobility and think about what needs to be done to stop him. Can you do it? Will you do it? Like you said to everyone earlier, this is your responsibility.”

Comte had a stoic expression on his face. His golden eyes were hard and dull, as he understood clearly what he might have to do in order to keep you safe. He had long ago banished that lifestyle, but he now realized that he had given too much trust to the playwright. Comte looked Leonardo in the eyes.

“I understand, I will take whatever action is needed to stop Will. I hope I still have your support.”

“Always.” Leonardo replied.

The two purebloods looked at each other, their actions now pointed toward a common goal. To stop William…by any means necessary.

Thanks for reading! The fourth chapter should be out next week! :)

@datenoriko @diagnosed-by-doyle @nad-zeta @darkfaerry @ohhmyyesplease @not-so-local-asshole @niphredil-14 @luzda @anonymous-whisper @nuttytani @kim-stxtches @choi-jiyu @itsannaslife13 @ravenarld @kisara-16 @a-maidens-dream

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte #comte x reader #comte x mc #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikemen vampire fan fic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Text

FFT: expecting someone taller; captain boomerang

Notes:

So idk where this one was going or anything. All I know is that I got this fake fic title and I got this idea, so I rolled with it bc there is not that much Captain Boomerang fic and I absolutely fucking adore the way Jai played him, tbh. So, maybe in the future you’ll see more Digger content here, idk.

Summary:

Vanessa is not a fan of blind dates. So when she’s roped into one by her friend Donna, she expects a 5 alarm failure. What she gets instead, purely by happy accident is a night with Boomerang himself.

Warnings:

uhh.. Digger being Digger, slightest alcohol tw - because location is a bar/nightclub and.. that’s it.

Pairing:

Captain Boomerang x OFC, Vanessa

“ This blind date was a bad idea. You know my luck, this is going to end badly. Either it’ll be awkward as hell or he’ll be a self absorbed jackass like Tom or I’ll drink way too much red wine and throw up all over the guy…” Vanessa could feel her best friend giving her the eye, so she trailed off after finishing weakly, “I’m just saying, it was stupid of me, letting you guys talk me into making a stupid dating profile. I suck at this and I attract the worst…”

“We accept the love we think we deserve. Just trust me. Tonight is going to be great.” Donna replied to her friend’s rambling. “Now the text said he’d be the guy in the black blazer… I wonder..” Donna’s eyes darted around the nightclub, particularly the VIP area, because that’s where Pierre, the guy she’d set her best friend up with tended to prefer hanging out when he came to this particular nightclub.

As Donna was scouring the VIP section, Vanessa’s eyes were also darting around, searching for any sort of an exit she could use if the date went south like so many of her others tended to. She spotted the man in the black blazer hanging towards one of the side doors and she swallowed hard.

“Wish me luck, Donna.”

“Huh?” Donna had just spotted Pierre, her friend’s blind date for the evening and she was just about to wave him over to their table and introduce Vanessa to him, but Vanessa was standing and moving quickly through the crowd towards the back of the club.

“Shit, she’s bolting. I knew she’d bolt.” Donna stood too, but Pierre reached the table just as she did and he let out a low approving whistle. “You look sexy tonight.”

Vanessa spotted the man again, just about to step out into the alley, and she tapped his shoulder cautiously.

Digger Harkness nearly jumped out of his skin and swearing, he whirled around. He’d been prepared to either throw a punch and run or chew out whomever had come up on him like they had, but all that changed as soon as he saw her standing there.

The girl from the dance studio just down from the bank he’d been casing -and had coincidentally just robbed, hence the need to steal someone’s jacket in the cloak room and try to hide out in the crowd until the cops were long gone. The one he’d spent way too much time lurking in the hallway watching after he’d gotten done casing the bank for the day.

“Wow… I.. Hi. You look nothing like Donna said you would. I’m Vanessa… Your blind date?”

Digger raised a brow and he started to say something, to clear up whatever it was she thought, but something inside him decided better of it. Instead, he leaned in a little, chuckling.

“What? Were y’ expectin someone taller, luv?” he asked, going into full on Boomerang charmer mode, something he hadn’t done in a while. Though she wouldn’t know it.

Vanessa gave a quiet giggle and shrugged. He towered over her -and it wouldn’t matter anyhow, she wasn’t very big on judging by appearance alone. He seemed excited.

Or maybe he was nervous?

Digger leaned in, muttering against her ear, “Do y’ want t’ dance?”

“I’d love that.”

His thought was that if he kept moving, if he kept himself towards the back of the club, then any cops who may come into the club searching for him wouldn’t see him and he wouldn’t have to pass up the chance to spend time with Vanessa. When she agreed to dance with him, Digger was quick to pull her close, keeping his back to the front of the club.

Something seemed off but Vanessa wasn’t too concerned with it. After all, this blind date had already beaten the others she’d been on as of late. The guy seemed nice enough, if not a little fidgety.

When his hand migrated down, gripping and squeezing her ass to hold her closer, she rested her face against his chest and he made this quiet noise, kind of like a groan.

That rough hand gripped at her body tighter and she sucked in a ragged breath as the end result was her, being rubbed right against his muscular frame. She tilted her head to look up at him and he leaned down a little, muttering quietly against her lips, “Havin a good time?”

“I am.”

“Me too.”

Just as he caught sight of the cops talking to the doorman, he swore to himself quietly.

“Think y’ might want t’ leave with me? Go for a walk?”

“I’d like that.” Vanessa let him lead her out of the club and he did so in a hurry. It was almost enough that she asked what the hurry was, but something told her that the less she knew, the better. She’d promised to at least try to give this blind date a chance, and so far, she’d been pleasantly surprised. Once they were outside in the alley, Digger pulled her against him, his arms going around her because he could see her shivering a little in the cold night air. He finally wound up shrugging off the black blazer and draping it around her shoulders as he stared at her for a few seconds, not saying anything.

“Is everything okay? You seemed kinda… Nervous?” Vanessa asked the question before she could stop herself and she felt a wave of relief wash over her when he was quick to reassure, “Oh yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just not all ‘at into crowds.” as he slipped his arm around her and they started to walk down the alley.

“Oh god, me either. I had to be talked into coming on our blind date tonight. I’m a disaster.”

Digger shook his head and chuckled quietly. He’d feel bad for the man who was supposed to be on a date with her, but honestly, he couldn’t be bothered to do so. Everything happened for a reason.

Or so Digger was choosing to believe.

“ Yer not.”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, I’m willin t’ bet yer not. And I plan t’ find out.” Digger pulled her closer against his side. Sirens screamed past the end of the alley and out of habit, Digger pressed against the wall and pulled her against him, Vanessa was now looking at him with a raised brow.

Digger shrugged and explained in the simplest terms, “ I’m not a fan of authority.”

“Ooh, a bad boy.” Vanessa wanted to kick herself, she barely knew this guy and here she was, flirting like this. Digger chuckled and leaned down slightly, staring intently at her mouth, “Y’ like bad boys, hmm?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yer really goin t’ have fun. Let’s get goin.”

“Where?” Vanessa asked as he chuckled, leaning in closer, pressing the side of his finger into her soft red lips, “It’s a surprise, luv. We’ve got all th’ time in th’ world. Let’s just get lost, yeah?”

#captain boomerang fanfiction #captain boomerang fanfic #captain boomerang fic #captatin boomerang oneshot #captain boomerang imagine #captain boomerang imagines #// this is cute not gonna lie #// no idea where I was going with it but it cute af

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rottenappleheart · 5 years

Photo

My current bookshelves, more or less in the actual order they appear! Deets below the cut. ( I really want to know what people believe about me based on what’s on these shelves...)

Top Left:

Richard Adams: Watership Down

Katherine Addison: The Goblin Emperor x2 (1 copy is signed)

Elizabeth Alder: The King’s Shadow

Svetlana Alexievich: The Unwomanly Face Of War

Hans Christian Andersen: Fairy Tales

Laurie Halse Anderson: Speak

K.A. Applegate: Animorphs: The Hork-Bajir Chronicles, Animorphs: The Andalite Chronicles

Kang Chol-hwan: The Aquariums Of Pyongyang

Margaret Atwood: Cat’s Eye

Lundy Bancroft: Why Does He Do That? Inside The Minds Of Angry And Controlling Men

Brooke Barker: Sad Animal Facts

J.M. Barrie: Peter Pan (illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman)

Peter S. Beagle: Giant Bones, The Last Unicorn x2 (1 copy illustrated by Peter B. Gillis)

Robert Jackson Bennet: City Of Stairs, City Of Blades, City Of Miracles

Allan Bérubé : Coming Out Under Fire: The History Of Gay Men And Women In World War II

Carol Birch: Jamrach’s Menagerie

Isabella Bird: A Lady’s Life In The Rocky Mountains

Pierre Boulle: The Bridge Over The River Kwai

Ray Bradbury: The Martian Chronicles

Paul Brickhill: The Great Escape

Bonus: my grandpa’s mug from the FBI, a picture book of sloth wisdom

Second Left:

Gillian Bradshaw: The Beacon At Alexandria, The Wolf Hunt

Assorted Brontës: The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall, Agnes Grey, Villette, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Shirley, The Professor

Lily Brooks-Dalton: Good Morning, Midnight

Allie Brosch: Hyperbole And A Half

Carol Rifka Brunt: Tell The Wolves I’m Home

Bill Buford: Heat

Lois McMaster Bujold: The Curse Of Chalion, Cordelia’s Honor

Joseph Campbell: The Hero With A Thousand Faces

Novella Carpenter: Farm City

Susanna Clarke: Jonathan Strange And Mr. Norrell

Susann Cokal: Breath And Bones

C.J. Cherryh: Rider At The Gate, Cloud’s Rider, Rusalka, Chernovog

Bonus: two Willow Tree figures and my ABRA-CA-FUCK-YOU cross-stitch

Third Left:

C.J. Cherryh: Alternate Realities, Foreigner, Invader, Inheritor, Precursor, Defender, Explorer

Henry Chancellor: Colditz: The Definitive Story

Evan Dahm: Rice Boy

Ellen Datlow & Terri Windling: The Year’s Best Fantasy And Horror (#16)

Tiffany DeBartolo: How To Kill A Rock Star

Gavin DeBecker: The Gift Of Fear

Tom DeHaven: Sunburn Lake

Charles DeLint: Dreams Underfoot

Seth Dickinson: The Traitor Baru Cormorant

Carole Nelson Douglas: Exiles Of The Rynth

Arthur Conan Doyle: The Lost World

Brendan Duffy: House Of Echoes

William Faulkner: The Sound And The Fury, Flags In The Dust, Selected Short Stories

Elizabeth Warnock Fernea: Guests Of The Sheik

M.K. Fisher: How To Cook A Wolf

Fannie Flagg: Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistle Stop Cafe

Fourth Left:

James Gurney: Dinotopia

Gillian Flynn: Sharp Objects

Anker Frankoni: Mexican Eskimo

Charles Frazier: Cold Mountain

Nancy Garden: Annie On My Mind

Maeve Gilmore: A World Away

William Goldman: The Princess Bride

Nicola Griffith: Ammonite

Marie Haskell: The Princess Curse

Frank Herbert: Dune

Victor Hugo: Les Miserables

Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived In The Castle

Mira Jacob: The Sleepwalker’s Guide To Dancing

Paulette Jiles: Enemy Woman

Susan Kay: Phantom

Brian Jacques: Martin The Warrior, Mossflower, The Outcast Of Redwall, Mariel Of Redwall, Pearls Of Lutra, Salamandastron

Stephen King: Duma Key, Rose Madder, Hearts In Atlantis

Bottom Left:

Stephen King: The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, The Gunslinger x2, The Drawing Of The Three, The Waste Lands, Wizard And Glass, Wolves Of The Calla, Song Of Susannah, The Dark Tower, Lisey’s Story

Andrew Lang: The Green-, Olive-, Yellow-, Orange-, Red-, Pink-, and Grey Fairy Books

Rudyard Kipling: The Jungle Books

Jon Krakauer: Into Thin Air

Ursula K. LeGuin: The Left Hand Of Darkness

Madeline L’Engle: A Wind In The Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Gail Carson Levine: Ella Enchanted

C.S. Lewis: Til We Have Faces, Out Of The Silent Planet

Lois Lowry: The Giver

James W. Loewen: Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong

George MacDonald: The Light Princess & Other Stories, The Princess And The Goblin, At The Back Of The North Wind

Helen MacDonald: H Is For Hawk

Top Right:

Marie Manilla: The Patron Saint Of Ugly

Yann Martel: Life Of Pi

Gavin Maxwell: Ring Of Bright Water

Bernadette McCaughrean: Peter Pan In Scarlet

Patricia McKillip: The Forgotten Beasts Of Eld

Robin McKinley: The Hero And The Crown, The Blue Sword, Spindle’s End, Rose Daughter

Water M. Miller Jr.: A Canticle For Leibowitz

Herman Melville: Moby Dick x2 (1 copy is abridged and illustrated for children)

China Miéville: The Scar

Rand Miller: Myst: The Book Of Ti’Ana, Myst: The Book Of Atrus, Myst: The Book Of D’Ni

Hayao Miyazaki: Nausicaa Of The Valley Of The Wind, The Art Of Nausicaa, The Art Of Castle In The Sky

Elizabeth Moon: Remnant Population

Lady Murasaki: The Tale Of Genji

Audrey Nieffenegger: The Time-Traveler’s Wife

Bonus: “but you are not weak” embroidery, hand-painted page from H Is For Hawk

Second Right:

Sena Jeter Naslund: Ahab’s Wife: Or, The Star-Gazer

Patrick Ness: The Knife Of Never Letting Go, The Ask And The Answer, Monsters Of Men

Garth Nix: Sabriel

Naomi Novik: Temeraire, Throne Of Jade, Black Powder War, Empire Of Ivory

Ann Patchett: Bel Canto

Mervyn Peake: Gormenghast

Julie Ann Peters: Far From Xanadu

Patrick O’Brian: Master And Commander, Post Captain, HMS Surprise, The Mauritius Command, Desolation Island, The Fortune Of War, The Far Side Of The World

Bonus: pottery my dead friend made, pottery I made, slab of picture jasper, my “Fun Things To Believe In” cross-stitch

Third Right:

Edgar Allen Poe: Stories

Phillip Pullman: The Golden Compass

Lawrence Raab: The Collector Of Cold Weather

Erich Marie Remarque: All Quiet On The Western Front

Mary Renault: The Charioteer x2 (1 first edition)

Alistair Reynolds: Revelation Space, Redemption Ark, Diamond Dogs, Turquoise Days

David L. Robbins: War Of The Rats, The End Of War, Last Citadel

Mary Doria Russell: The Sparrow, Doc

Karen Russell: Swamplandia!

Alexander Afanasyev: Russian Fairy Tales

Louis Sachar: Holes

J.D. Salinger: The Catcher In The Rye

Sarah N.B.: It Begins In A Garden

William Shakespeare: Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth

Mary Shelley: Frankenstein

Gene Stratton Porter: A Girl Of The Limberlost

Alexander Solzhenitsyn: One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich

Caitlin Starling: The Luminous Dead

Noelle Stevenson: Nimona

Fourth Right:

Bram Stoker: Dracula x2 (1 illustrated by Becky Cloonan)

Elizabeth Kostova: The Historian

J.R.R. Tolkien: The Hobbit, The Fellowship Of The Ring, The Two Towers (x2), The Return Of The King, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales

Elizabeth Whalen Turner: The Thief, The Queen Of Attolia

Catherynne M. Valente: Deathless, The Orphan’s Tales: In the Night Garden, The Orphan’s Tales: In The Cities Of Coin And Spice

Sheldon Vanauken: A Severe Mercy

Brian K. Vaughn: Saga (#1)

Tillie Walden: On A Sunbeam

Jen Wang: The Prince And The Dressmaker

Helene Wecker: The Golem And The Jinni

Elizabeth Wein: Code Name Verity

T.H. White: The Once And Future King

Simon Winchester: The Professor And The Madman

Bottom Right:

Gary Trudeau: The Doonesbury Chronicles

Adam Edgerton: Rediscovering Adak

Walt Whitman: Leaves Of Grass

Jane Yolen: Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Daniel Woodrell: Winter’s Bone

Patricia C. Wrede: Dealing With Dragons, Calling On Dragons, Searching For Dragons

Malcolm York: Mervyn Peake: My Eyes Mint Gold

Bonus: assorted DVDs and 1 lonely VHS tape, any manga I didn’t purge, plus some children’s books and self-published comics by high school friends

#books books books #the misc bits used to be more evenly distributed across all shelves but story has started to go mountain climbing #so the lower shelves are 'faced' to the edge of the shelf now #it's... not helping that much

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

Text

The Liberation of Mitt Romney

The newly rebellious senator has become an outspoken dissident in Trump’s Republican Party, just in time for the president’s impeachment trial.

MCKAY COPPINS | Published OCT 20, 2019 | The Atlantic | Posted October 21, 2019 |

Updated: Sunday, October 20, 2019, at 9:32 p.m. ET

Mitt Romney is leaning forward in his chair, his eyes flashing, his voice sharp.

It’s a strange look for the 72-year-old senator, who typically affects a measured, somber tone when discussing Donald Trump’s various moral deficiencies. But after weeks of escalating combat with the president—over Ukraine, and China, and Syria, and impeachment—the gentleman from Utah suddenly appears ready to unload.

What set him off was my recitation of an argument I’ve heard some Republicans deploy lately to excuse Trump’s behavior. Electing a president, the argument goes, is like hiring a plumber—you don’t care about his character, you just want him to get the job done. Sitting in his Senate office, Romney is indignant. “Are you worried that your plumber overcharges you?” he asks. “Are you worried that the plumber’s going to scream at your kids? Are you worried that the plumber is going to squeal out of your driveway?” I am playing devil’s advocate; he is attempting an exorcism.

To Romney, Trump’s performance as president is inextricably tangled up in his character. “Berating another person, or calling them names, or demeaning a class of people, not telling the truth—those are not private things,” he says, adding: “If during the campaign you pay a porn star $130,000, that now comes into the public domain.”

At this, Romney glances over at two of his aides who are watching silently from the other end of the room, and grins. “They’re going, Oh gosh, shut up.”

I’ve spent the past several months in an ongoing conversation with Romney as he’s navigated a Washington that grows more hostile by the day. Before arriving in the Senate, Romney nurtured a pleasant delusion that he could somehow avoid being defined by his relationship with Trump. He had his own policy agenda to advance, his own vision for the future of the Republican Party. He would use his platform to take a stand against Trumpism, while largely ignoring Trump himself. When I would speak with his friends and allies in Utah during last year’s campaign, there was often a certain dilettantish quality in the future Senator Romney they envisioned—a venerable elder statesman dabbling in legislation the way a retiree takes up tennis.

Instead, Romney has emerged as an outspoken dissident in Trump’s Republican Party. In just the past few weeks, he has denounced the president’s attempts to solicit dirt on political rivals from foreign governments as “wrong and appalling”; suggested that his fellow Republicans are looking the other way out of a desire for power; and condemned Trump’s troop withdrawal in Syria as a “bloodstain on the annals of American history.”

Trump has responded with a wrathful procession of personal attacks—deriding Romney as a “pompous ass,” taunting him over his failed presidential bid in 2012, and tweeting a cartoonish video that tags the senator as a “Democrat secret asset.”

These confrontations have turned Romney into one of the most closely watched figures in the impeachment battle now consuming Washington. While his fellow Republicans rail against “partisan witch hunts” and “fake whistle-blowers,” Romney is taking the prospect of a Senate trial seriously—he’s reviewing The Federalist Papers, brushing up on parliamentary procedure, and staying open to the idea that the president may need to be evicted from the Oval Office.

In the nine years I’ve been covering Romney, I’ve never seen him quite so liberated. Unconstrained by consultants, unconcerned about reelection, he is thinking about things such as legacy, and inheritance, and the grand sweep of history. Here, in the twilight of his career, he seems to sense—in a way that eludes many of his colleagues—that he’ll be remembered for what he does in this combustible moment. “I do think people will view this as an inflection point in American history,” Romney tells me.

“I don’t look at myself as being a historical figure,” he hastens to add, “but I do think these are critical times. And I hope that what I’m doing will open the way for people to take a different path.”

With his neat coif, square jaw, and G-rated diction, Romney has always emanated a kind of old-fashioned civic starchiness. In the past, this quality has been the object of occasional ridicule. (During his 2012 presidential bid, reporters like me often snickered at his penchant for quoting lines from “America the Beautiful,” which he called his favorite of the “patriotic hymns.”) But in these decidedly more vulgar times, there is a certain appeal to the senator’s wholesomeness.

When I first caught up with Romney, in June, he was in a buoyant mood, preparing to deliver his “maiden speech” from the Senate floor later that day. I asked him how he was settling in. “This is great!” he replied. “I mean, everybody told me I was going to hate it here.”

I confessed that I was among those who thought he might not enjoy being the 97th most senior member of the Senate.

“I think people forget I worked for 10 years as a management consultant,” Romney said, referring to his time at Bain & Company. “Which meant I was able to make no decisions, I was able to get nothing done, and I had to try and convince people through a long process.” In retrospect, it seems, he was destined for the U.S. Congress.

Romney told me that he doesn’t think much anymore about his 2012 defeat to Barack Obama. “My life is not defined in my own mind by political wins and losses,” he said. “You know, I had my career in business, I’ve got my family, my faith—that’s kind of my life, and this is something I do to make a difference. So I don’t attach the kind of—I don’t know—psychic currency to it that people who made politics their entire life.”

Not everyone he’s met in the Senate shares this outlook, he said. “People are really friendly, they’re really nice—except Bernie,” he said, laughing. “He’s a curmudgeon. It’s not that he’s mean or whatever; he just kind of scowls, you know”—Romney hunched his back and summoned a Scrooge-like grunt. “For Bernie, it seems like this is kind of who he is. It’s defining. It’s his entire person. For me, it’s part of who I am, but it’s not the whole person.”

After he was elected in November, Romney began typing out a list on his iPad of all the things he wanted to accomplish in the Senate. It was 50 items long by the time he showed it to his staff, and though they laughed, he continued undeterred. By the time we spoke, it had grown to 60, with priorities ranging from complex systemic reforms—overhauling the immigration system, reducing the deficit, addressing climate change—to narrower issues such as compensating college athletes and regulating the vaping industry.

As he searched the Senate for legislative partners, Romney told me, he was warned that his efforts were likely doomed. Even in less polarized, less chaotic times, the kind of ambitious agenda he had in mind would be unrealistic. But Romney was steadfast in his optimism. “I’m not here to say it can’t happen,” he told me.

When I broached the subject of Trump that afternoon in June, Romney’s face didn’t register the familiar mix of panic and dread that most GOP lawmakers exhibit these days when faced with questions about the president. If anything, he seemed a little bored by the topic. I had heard repeatedly from people close to Romney that his decision to run for Senate was motivated in part by his alarm at Trump’s ascent. But he still seemed to believe that he could illuminate a path forward for his party without incessantly feuding with the president. “I’m not in the White House,” he told me. “I tried for that job; I didn’t get it. So all I can do from where I am is to say, ‘All right, how do we get things done from here?’”

Anyone familiar with the fraught history between Trump and Romney might have known that a detente was unsustainable. Trump has nursed a grudge since 2016, when Romney denounced him as a “phony” and a “fraud,” and warned of the “trickle-down racism” that would accompany his election. After he won, Trump briefly considered tapping Romney as his secretary of state, but the match was not to be. And in the years that have followed, the tension between the two men has only grown more exaggerated.

They manage that tension in different ways: While the president spent a too-online Saturday earlier this month unloading on Twitter—launching #IMPEACHMITTROMNEY into the canon of viral Trump taunts—Romney enjoyed a quiet afternoon picking apples with his grandkids in Utah and refusing to take the bait. When I met him in his office a couple of weeks later, I asked if the Twitter insults bothered him.

“That’s kind of what he does,” Romney said with a shrug, and then got up to retrieve an iPad from his desk. He explained that he uses a secret Twitter account—“What do they call me, a lurker?”—to keep tabs on the political conversation. “I won’t give you the name of it,” he said, but “I’m following 668 people.” Swiping at his tablet, he recited some of the accounts he follows, including journalists, late-night comedians (“What’s his name, the big redhead from Boston?”), and athletes. Trump was not among them. “He tweets so much,” Romney said, comparing the president to one of his nieces who overshares on Instagram. “I love her, but it’s like, Ah, it’s too much.” (After this story was published, Slate identified a Twitter account using the name Pierre Delecto that seemed to match the senator’s description of his lurker account. When I spoke to Romney on the phone Sunday night, his only response was, “C'est moi.”)

He understands, of course, that many of his Republican colleagues live in fear of being subjected to a presidential Twitter tirade. In fact, some believe that Trump’s targeting of Romney is intended as a warning to other GOP lawmakers lest they step out of line. That fear is one of the reasons his caucus has attempted such elaborate rhetorical contortions to defend Trump as the House impeachment inquiry turns up damning evidence. “I think it’s very natural for people to look at circumstances and see them in the light that’s most amenable to their maintaining power,” he told me in an interview last month at The Atlantic Festival.

Romney told me that he does not have an abstract definition of “high crimes and misdemeanors,” and that when it comes to identifying impeachable acts, he follows Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s famous standard for defining hard-core porn: “I’ll know it when I see it.” Asked if he’s seen it yet, Romney told me that he’ll make up his mind once he hears all the evidence at the trial: “At this stage, I am strenuously avoiding trying to make any judgment.”

In the meantime, Romney is leading the Republican revolt over the president’s recent decision to pull troops out of northern Syria, leaving America’s Kurdish allies behind. In a withering speech on the Senate floor last week, he condemned the administration’s betrayal of the Kurds, and called for hearings on the matter. He told me that he wants to see a transcript of the phone call between Trump and Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan that preceded the troop withdrawal. “This is not just a disagreement on foreign policy,” he said. “This is a violation of fundamental American honor.”

Amid all the tumult, Romney has come to terms with the fact that there will be little progress on his legislative to-do list for the foreseeable future. (Between impeachment proceedings and next year’s elections, who has time to pass laws?) Nor is Romney especially well positioned to launch a bid for the Republican presidential nomination, despite endless fantasizing by pundits. (He has said he’s not planning to run again.) While his battles with the president have earned him plaudits from some in Utah—where support for Trump is uncommonly weak for a red state—he is widely viewed as a villain in MAGA world.

But Romney is looking beyond the next year, and beyond the president’s base, as he tries to lay the groundwork for a post-Trump Republican Party. While he acknowledges the failures of his own presidential campaign, he told me that he doubts Trump’s electoral coalition will be replicable in the long run. “We have to get young people and Hispanics and African Americans to vote Republican,” he said, adding that he hopes these voters will see his resistance to Trump as a sign that one day they could find a home in the GOP. If that seems naive, the senator is probably okay with it. In cynical times like these, someone has to serve as the guardian of lost causes.

After all, Romney said, “the president will not be the president forever.”

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the-invisible-self · 5 years

Text

I copied the text of this article below for anyone who is unable to read it behind the content blocker:

Summary: In the second season of Netflix’s series The OA, its creators question the relentless technological progress of our time, but the result is somewhat scattered.

The OA

Article by Sanja Grozdanic

In early 2017, soon after the release of the first season of The OA, its co-creator Brit Marling spoke at length with her friend Malcolm Gladwell about the series for Interview magazine. During the conversation, Gladwell asked Marling why she is so drawn to fantasy and speculative science fiction, both as a writer and an actor. These genres, she explained, best reflect her view of the world and the deep mythology she naturally invests in everyday moments and objects.

“I think I need to believe in that version of reality because I get very scared when I don’t,” she said. “I feel very alone when I don’t feel that.”

Social isolation, technological domination and the profound discontent of a generation are all explored by The OA, a series that positions itself against the exploitation demanded by capitalism and is strung together by a storyline dense with time travel. Understandably, it has divided audiences. It has been called “absolutely insane”, “batshit” and “brilliant” – and yet has also gained a cult following and brought into focus a desire for the construction of new narratives and mythologies.

As Marling told Gladwell, “The OA is our attempt at writing and making a new human language through movement, this mythology we’re inventing.”

The series began its first season with Prairie Johnson (Marling), a woman missing for seven years who is rescued following an ostensible suicide attempt. Prairie was once blind – now she can see. She will not reveal to her family how she gained her sight, nor tell them what happened to her. She denies she was trying to kill herself, insisting she was only trying to “go back”. To where is the central mystery of the show’s first season, tagged as Part I, slowly revealed over eight episodes.

As the first season unfurled itself, I understood The OA to be an extended metaphor for post-traumatic stress disorder. In another life, in another dimension, Prairie is held captive by the show’s central villain, Dr Hap (Jason Isaacs), a scientist obsessed with near-death experiences and the power they bestow on survivors. Prairie, I believed, constructed her captivity as a trauma response – a hyper-fantasy of good versus evil, which allowed her to regain a sense of control.

The show’s perplexing narrative structure echoed a survivor’s frenzied mental state, a reading of existential crisis that I liked. When mental illness is feminised, it is often depicted as tepid and lifeless. But The OA gave weight to Prairie’s somatic condition, depicting it not so much as a defect but as a lifeline; a way to give form to what she cannot say. “Madness as a defense against terror. Madness as a defense against grief”, as Susan Sontag described it. One cannot live in such a world, but its genesis is all too human.

Part II of The OA proved my reading entirely incorrect.

In this season, the series relocates from North Carolina to San Francisco, California. It feels a fitting evolution in many ways – from the margins to the centre of technocapitalism.

In San Francisco, Prairie awakens in the body of Nina Azarova – a Russian heiress who lives in a penthouse, dresses in Gucci and is engaged to a tech billionaire named Pierre Ruskin. She has no memory of this life of material excess, but no one from her former life – of Prairie, the blind orphan – remembers her. Concerned for her welfare, a psychologist sends Nina to a facility on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay for a 14-day psychiatric hold.

At the same time, elsewhere in the city, private investigator Karim Washington (Kingsley Ben-Adir) is hired by an elderly Vietnamese woman searching for her missing granddaughter, Michelle. Michelle disappeared after winning thousands of dollars playing an app, which seems to alienate and consume its users, while tempting them with the possibility of vast riches.

Following Karim’s attempts to trace the app back to its creator, the series starts to question the ethics underlying the startling decadence and terminal decline of the Silicon Valley social order. Karim discusses the app with a tech worker who suggests crowd-sourcing is nothing more than a euphemism for free labour. “What, erase the boundary between work and play, hide your sweatshop in the cloud?” he asks her. “Exactly,” she replies.

Who will protect those most vulnerable, like Michelle, in this rigged game? How are we compromised when our most intimate, private desires are mined as data? In a sprawling converted factory, Karim finds young women held in a literal dream farm, an attempt by a tech billionaire to instrumentalise the social unconscious in a search for the secret to time travel. A dystopia perhaps not radically removed from our present.

But amid all these subplots, the point is scattered, lost between too many narrative arcs. The choice to be so laser-focused on Marling’s character feels like a misstep – particularly while the profound discontent of this season’s younger characters seems far more urgent and vital than Nina’s struggle. Those characters are sidelined. Instead, the series insists upon a love story that has long since lost its romance or intrigue. Karim, too, is denied sufficient screen time and character development.

It is clear The OA is attempting to tap into something deeper. A renewed interest in the exploration of multiple dimensions and realities, including the series’ Netflix stablemates Russian Doll and Stranger Things, suggests a general recognition of a profound cultural lack. Suspended over a void, we face several conflicting futures. History repeats itself endlessly – infinite parallel worlds with interchangeable players.

Pierre Ruskin could be Peter Thiel, the billionaire tech investor long dogged by rumours he wants to inject himself with the blood of young people to stave off the effects of ageing. In another, more socially minded dimension, he could have been Alexander Bogdanov – the Soviet physician, philosopher and science fiction writer who also had an interest in what blood transfusion could do, but from a communist, rather than hyper-capitalist, perspective.

The 19th century defined the idea of progress as an infinite and irreversible improvement; the Hegelian idea of cumulative progress. Indeed, the myth of progress has been the West’s ruling ideology. But for downwardly mobile millennials facing social collapse, environmental catastrophe and unprecedented species extinction, this narrative has lost its primacy, or indeed its validity.

In the final episode of Part II, detective Karim saves one of the app’s users, but in doing so only manages to seem moralising and out of touch. Though addicted to the physically invasive, impossible game that inherently negates social life, the millennial doesn’t want to be saved. Remorseless and defiant, they see no future in the present Karim offers.

With this season, Marling and her co-creator, Zal Batmanglij, show themselves to be genuinely interested in moving The OA beyond emotional landscapes to the structural conditions fomenting this discontent. As Batmanglij explained, the pair sought to make “a gangster movie without the gangsters, because it’s the idea that it’s not just killing one bad guy or two bad guys, but it’s a whole city is to blame”.

But the question remains whether a show commissioned by Netflix – a company now worth more than Microsoft founder Bill Gates and only slightly less than Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos – can ever honestly critique our present moment, shaped by the dominance of the tech giants. A successful Netflix product can be judged by its compulsive consumption; how quickly do viewers watch a season? “At Netflix, we are competing for our customers’ time, so our competitors include Snapchat, YouTube, sleep, et cetera,” said Netflix chief executive Reed Hastings. Where profit was once maximised with families and romantic comedies, in our moment of precarity it is apocalypse that is commercially seductive.

#the oa #the oa articles #the oa analysis #the oa theories

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ninja-muse · 6 years

Text

Science Fiction Recommendation Masterpost

$ for LGBT characters £ for characters of colour € for characters with disabilities * for problematic content ! for #ownvoices

(all based on my slightly spotty memory, so feel free to correct if I’ve missed something)

Does not include time travel, superheroes, or alternate history.

Classics

1984 - George Orwell

Winston is a patriot, until a chance encounter and his job altering history start him thinking. Big Brother, it turns out, isn’t acting in his best interests.

A Canticle for Leibowitz - Walter Miller

In the centuries after a nuclear war, a group of desert monks have devoted themselves to preserving scientific knowledge with the hope of someday rebuilding civilization.

The Chrysalids - John Wyndham *

In a Newfoundland rife with religious fundamentalism and genetic mutation, a boy, his cousin, and his sister must hide their telepathy or risk everything to live freely.

Dune - Frank Herbert $*£*

Even before fleeing to the open desert of Arakkis and its taciturn worm-riding nomads, Paul Atreides’ life was fraught with danger. Now he must use his understanding of people and politics to weather everything his world can throw at him, including sandstorms, a baron with a grudge, and those who want him to be a prophesied hero.

Foundation - Isaac Asimov

Hari Seldon has designed a program that predicts the paths of civilization. What better way to test it than to start a utopian colony at the furthest edge of known space?

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

Victor Frankenstein is fascinated by anatomy and determined to prove resurrection possible. Once he succeeds, he’s equally determined to get as far from the sentient corpse as he can, when all the Creature wants is a hug and someone to talk to.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

When Arthur Dent woke up, he thought the bulldozer levelling his house was the worst his day could get. By teatime, he’s halfway across the galaxy on a ship that runs on probability, with his alien best friend, the two-headed President of the Galaxy, and a depressed robot—and things are just getting started.

I, Robot - Isaac Asimov

A series of short stories that outlines the evolution of robotic technology and society around it.

The Planet of the Apes - Pierre Bowles

An astronaut crashes on an alien planet populated by sentient, speaking great apes. They put him in a zoo until he proves he’s not an animal. A brilliant examination of race and what it means to be human.

Space Opera

the Expanse series - James S.A. Corey $£€

Humanity has colonized the solar system, but hasn’t fixed its other problems. The Belters are disenfranchised and preparing a rebellion. Earth and Mars are in a paranoid arms race. Corporations can do just about anything they want. Throw in a terrifying virus, an alien threat, and a space crew who do the right thing and damn the consequences, and things are about to get very interesting.

Fortuna - Kristyn Merbeth - $ - *

Scorpia Kaiser is a screw-up, the family pilot, and out to prove she has what it takes to take over smuggling operations from Mama. Corvus Kaiser, exiled from his family to fight a war he doesn’t believe in, is finally coming home. Then a smuggling deal goes massively south and suddenly, what was going to be a difficult time becomes much, much worse.

the Saga series - Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples $£€

An inter-species family flees the military powers tearing the galaxy apart. Their luck goes up. Their luck goes down. They meet the best and worst the galaxy can offer—and through it all, a little girl grows up. A nuanced look at prejudice, hope, and love.

the Shieldrunner Pirates series - R.E. Stearns $£€

A lesbian couple arrives at the pirate base on Barbary Station expecting a welcome to the crew, but are assigned to take out the murderous station A.I. instead. As much about social skills and interpersonal dynamics as it is about guns and hacking.

the Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold $*£€

How do you solve a problem like Miles Vorkosigan? He’s too smart for his own good, too impulsive and progressive for his military culture, surely too disabled to amount to anything. And he (and his accidental mercenary fleet) are going to prove everyone wrong. Dryly witty and generally feminist.

Horror, Apocalypses, and Dystopias

The Rampart Trilogy - M.R. Carey $£€

Koli wants more than his future offers, starting with becoming a Rampart, with control of ancient technology. His attempts to change his cards send him on an unforgettable journey of discovery.

Devolution - Max Brooks $£€

An elite sustainable community outside Seattle finds itself stranded after Mount Rainier erupts—and there are creatures in the forest. Hairy ones, with big feet.

The Girl with All the Gifts - M.R. Carey £

Melanie gets up, goes to school, eats her food, and idolises her teacher just like any pre-teen. However, when her school’s attacked by Hungries and she, her teacher, a doctor, and the surviving soldiers have to flee, Melanie begins to realise she’s … not exactly normal after all.

The Giver - Lois Lowry

When Jonah turns twelve, his regimented community assigns him to apprentice to the Keeper of Memories. The memories Jonah receives throw everything he knows into question, and he must choose between the quiet life laid out for him and the emotion and independence he’s discovering.

The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

In a world where most women are sterile, Handmaids are stripped of their identity and given out as surrogate wombs. This is Offred’s story of oppression, resistance, and escape.

the Hunger Games trilogy - Susanne Collins £€

In an America where teens fight to the death for entertainment and the survival of their District, Katniss Everdeen volunteers—and finds herself the unwilling face of the rebellion.

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant $£€ !

Was the terror on the Atargatis a hoax? Are there mermaids deep in the Pacific? A ship full of scientists has been sent to find out. They are not prepared.

the Newsflesh trilogy - Mira Grant $£€ *

A generation after the zombie apocalypse, humanity’s secure behind blood tests and heightened security and Georgia and Shaun Mason, and their Newflesh team, have been hired to blog the Presidential campaign, which is perfect until the first outbreak. Conspiracies, mad and sane science, and social critique ensue.

the Parasitology trilogy - Mira Grant $£€

Sal awoke from her coma to a family she didn’t remember, a body that wouldn’t respond, and restrictions on her autonomy that seriously chafe. Now she’s on her feet and resisting, but at the worst time. People are starting to die from their miracle-cure tapeworm implants and it’s looking like Sal’s implant might be … different.

the Passage trilogy - Justin Cronin £

A century ago, a virus turned most of humanity into bloodsucking monsters or food. Now the descendants of a group of survivors must strike out across a wasteland, looking for a safe new home. Better and darker than it sounds. Christian overtones.

The Space Between Worlds - Mikaiah Johnson $£ !

Cara’s climbed out of the toxic slums and into a job as a traverser, visiting parallel worlds and capturing data. She’s this close to having all her dreams—and then she uncovers a murder.

Other

Blindsight - Peter Watts

An independent observer is sent on a first contact mission, but the aliens and the secrets on board push him into a completely different role. About perception and ethics more than anything else, and I nearly “shelved” it in the horror section.

Congo - Michael Crichton £*

A team of scientists push deep into the African jungle in search of a society of mythical sentient gorillas, but the jungle pushes back.

The Diamond Age, or, a Young Lady’s Illustrated Primer - Neal Stephenson £€

An inventor misplaces a one-of-a-kind book. A girl from the slums finds it and it changes her life. A nearly Dickensian future full of hope, tenacity, vim, and nanotech.

Eifelheim - Michael Flynn

An alien ship crashes in the medieval Black Forest and the village priest, steeped in heretical philosophy and medieval science, must intercede between the survivors and the peasants who see only demons.

The Martian - Andy Weir £

Mark Watney wakes up to find he’s been left behind on Mars. Fortunately he’s a botanist, he’s smart, and he has potatoes. A thrilling survival story paired with hilariously explained science that will leave you believing it already happened.

Passage - Connie Willis €

Joanna Lander is a psychologist studying near-death experiences, which is hard when you never know who in the hospital will have one. When a new (and cute) neurologist finds a way to induce them, she turns to the closest subject she can find—herself. The most heart-wrenching of Willis’s novels.

Shine - Jetse de Vries, ed. £

An anthology of optimistic, uplifting science fiction, with stories ranging from space opera to solarpunk and everything in between.

Snowcrash - Neal Stephenson £

Hiro Protagonist is the hacker’s hacker. There’s a virus in the Metaverse that’s killing people and he’s on the case. At least when he’s not delivering pizza. Both glorious cyberpunk and a send-up of the same.

#masterposts #book recommendations #science fiction

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jade4813 · 7 years

Text

The Princess and the Pirate, Chapter 1

Author Notes: Endless thanks to @valeriemperez for her help editing this story and assisting me in figuring out how I wanted this story to go!

This will hopefully end up being the first in a planned Westallen Fairy Tale AU series!

Title: The Princess and the Pirate

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Princesses don't fall in love with pirates, do they? Anything is possible in a fairy tale!

A Cinderella/Princess Bride inspired Westallen AU.

Chapters: 1/?

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a small kingdom that was truly blessed. Surrounded by mountains on three sides and a coastline on the other, with nothing otherwise particularly remarkable to offer in trade or to warrant invasion, it had not seen conflict in as long as its people could remember.

The king and queen of this land were wise and just; their love for each other was only eclipsed by their love for their people. For years, they tried in vain for a child, and the kingdom rejoiced when, at long last, the queen gave birth to a daughter – the princess Iris. Finally, their happiness was complete.

From the day she was born, King Joseph and Queen Francine impressed upon Iris the duty she would carry one day, with all its joys and burdens. When she was young, they would take her with them on their travels throughout the land, introducing her to their subjects and teaching her all she would need to know to be a benevolent ruler one day. Iris was too young to fully comprehend the future stretched out before her, but she saw her parents’ love for their people and for each other, and she hoped she could live up to their example.

However, even a kingdom so fortunate as this could not avoid sorrow forever. The monarchs were traveling home after an extended trip to the borderlands when the queen fell ill. Not even the kingdom’s most renowned healer, Doctor Henry Allen, could save her. Within a few short weeks, she faded away. The king, in his grief, worried that his beloved daughter would fall prey to the same illness that had taken the wife he so loved. He no longer ventured beyond the walls of his castle and refused to allow the princess to do so either.

And so it was that, for the next few years, the princess grew up within the confines of the castle. Though she sometimes wished to be able to travel outside of her gilded cage as she once had, she did not wish to remind the father she adored of his grief. And so she stayed silent. She threw herself into her responsibilities, focused on her duties, and never spoke of her loneliness to anyone – least of all to him. For while she was surrounded by courtiers and servants at all times, she wondered sometimes if anyone would ever see beyond the crown to the girl beneath.

What she wouldn’t give for a true friend.

As she grew a bit older, her greatest pleasure came to be her daily ride across the palace grounds. On those rides, she could be anything she wanted to be – even an ordinary girl, riding towards mystery and adventure.

It was at the palace stables that she first met him. She was waiting for her horse to be saddled when she saw a young boy in one of the stalls, stroking the pony that had been hers to ride when she was very young. The pony was retired from such activity now, but Iris loved her and continued to spoil her into her old age.

“Who are you?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to peer over the side of the stall.

The boy startled and looked guiltily over his shoulder. His hand dropped to his side. “My name is Barry,” he murmured, blushing bright red. “Who are you?”

That caused her to pause. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “No. Should I?”

Iris frowned. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She’d never met anyone who didn’t recognize her immediately.

Before she could get used to this unfamiliar feeling, one of the stable hands called out to her. “Your Highness, your horse is ready.”

She sighed, her head dropping. For a moment, she had thought had found someone who would treat her as a person, not as a princess. Undoubtedly, that opportunity had passed. “Thank you, Pierre,” she murmured, stepping away from the stall. She didn’t want to see this stranger bow, his manner change.

She turned to go, but then she heard the stall door open behind her. “Are you really a princess?” the boy called out to her.

Iris paused and turned back to him. “Yes,” she said softly. He looked skeptical, so she prodded, “Don’t you believe me?”

He shrugged. “I s’pose.” His skeptical expression didn’t go away. “It’s just…I thought princesses were supposed to be older. They always are, in my mom’s stories. They always end up marrying the prince in the end, but you…You’re my age!”

She considered this. “That’s true,” she admitted. “But princesses can’t be old enough to marry a prince if they aren’t my age first.”

Barry seemed to consider the logic of this. “That makes sense.” Then he grinned and shrugged off this conundrum. “So does that mean I have to treat you like a –”

“How old are you?” she blurted before he could realize he should bow.

“Eleven. What about you?”

She grinned. “Me, too.”

He returned her smile before pointing out tentatively, “I think I’m supposed to bow if I meet a member of the royal family.”

Iris stifled her sigh. Princesses didn’t sigh, or so she’d been told many times by her governesses. “You don’t have to bow if you don’t want to.”

“My dad says I do,” he replied, though he looked dubious.

“But I’m the princess, and I say you don’t,” she retorted. “Come on; you want to meet Nutmeg? She’s my horse.”

All thoughts of royal protocol forgotten, he stepped forward. “Sure!’ he agreed readily, and she led him outside. Her father’s birthday gift to her the year before, Iris was convinced that Nutmeg was the most beautiful horse in the world – excepting Moonbeam, her old pony, of course.

“So, you’re new to the stables?” she asked as he stroked Nutmeg’s nose with a look of awe on his face.

He shook his head. “No, I’m here with my dad. He said I could play with the horses until he’s done. He’s a doctor, you know.”

Iris stroked Nutmeg’s ears as she realized Barry was Doctor Allen’s son. She liked the doctor. He told her stories to make her feel better when she was sick. “So, you’re going to be a doctor too, one day?” It was typical for children to follow in their parents’ footsteps.

Barry shrugged, apparently unperturbed by the prospect. “Maybe. I don’t know yet. There are a lot of things I want to do when I grow up.” He stroked the horse’s ears. “What about you? What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“That’s an odd question,” he murmured. “I’m a princess. I’m going to be Queen when I grow up.”

He frowned over at her. “Huh. That’s…weird.”

She scowled and straightened slightly. “Why is that weird?”

“It just is. But what would you want to be do if you weren’t going to be queen?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “I’ve never thought about it.” Why should she? She was going to lead her people one day; there was never a question of her doing anything else.

“There must be something,” he pressed.

“I suppose…a pirate?” It was the first thing that came to mind. Pirates always sounded so exciting in her stories. They were always having adventures.

“That’s a great idea!” he cried. “So you know how to sword fight?”

“I know how to fence –” she began, but he cut her off.

“That’s not the same thing at all!” he protested. “Come on, I’ll teach you!” He raced off to find some sticks while Iris called a stable hand over; she would have to miss her ride for the day. She whispered an apology in Nutmeg’s ear and then, after only a moment’s hesitation, raced off after the strange boy who was so eager to turn a princess into a pirate. Was it possible she’d finally found a real friend?

It didn’t take long for Iris to realize what Barry had meant when he said sword fighting wasn’t like fencing. It was dirtier, for one thing, and less constrained by rules. Of course, she adored it immediately.

Once they’d exhausted themselves with an epic duel that circled the stables and spilled onto the lawn, Iris volunteered to teach him how to do something new – how to dance. Though he threw his heart into it, he displayed more interest than talent. In fact, Iris doubted she’d seen a more abysmal dancer in her life. Not for the first time, he moved left instead of right in the middle of a simple series of steps, causing Iris to trip over his feet and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Embarrassed by his clumsiness, he asked if she was okay, but Iris was laughing too hard to hear him. She didn’t think she’d had such fun in her entire life. Before she could offer to try again, they heard someone call out Barry’s name, and the doctor came around the side of the stables as he searched the grounds for his son.

Though Iris was disappointed that their fun had been interrupted, she quickly hid her displeasure and rose to her feet. The rambunctious little girl who had gotten mud and grass stains on her skirt had disappeared, and the mask of the princess fell into place. “Barry!” Henry called to her companion, “Come on, son! Your mom is waiting for – oh! Your Highness. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Henry stopped in his tracks and gave her a deep bow, and Iris had to hide her wince when Barry shot a quick glance towards his father and then followed suit. When he straightened, Iris saw that he was staring at her in amazement, as though she had become a stranger. All at once, she realized how foolish her thoughts of friendship had been. “That’s all right,” she replied automatically, tearing her gaze away. “I met Barry in the stables, and we were – um – getting acquainted.”

Remembering her recent behavior, she felt herself blush as she realized how scandalized her governess would be to see the state of her dress, let alone to hear how it had come about. No doubt there were an endless number of lectures in proper princess comportment awaiting her.

Before she could embarrass herself any further, Iris mumbled something about seeing her father and swept past the doctor, racing towards the castle doors. As she darted inside, she threw one last look over her shoulder. Henry was still standing in the lawn, his head bowed as he listened to something his son was saying. Though she knew it was unlikely, she hoped she would see Barry again one day – and that, once again, he would forget that she was a princess for a short while.

Little did she know that she wouldn’t see him again for many years, or what fate had in store for the two of them when they did meet once more.

#westallen #my fanfiction #The Princess and the Pirate #Barry Allen #Iris West #fanfiction #fairy tale au #westallen fairy tale series

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years

Photo

Congratulations Hope you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Molly Weasley!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

This was such a tough decision for us but your interpretation of Molly won us over! It was clear from the very first part of your application just how much you love her as a character and you gave us such a good look at your vision for her and really brought her to life. Your writing sample also gave us a clear idea of who Molly is and explored so many sides of her as well as giving us a strong idea of her role within the Order and relationships to others around her. We are very excited to have you back and cannot wait to see what journey you choose to take Molly on! *your FC change to Rose Leslie has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello, hello! My name is Hope, I prefer she/her pronouns, and I live in the EST time zone!

ACTIVITY

WELL, I’m not in a show for a while, and all in all my class load is light. I believe I’ll be reliably within a 6-7, and I’m excited and thrilled at the prospect of coming back, better than ever!

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Former player, but before that I learned about this RP from a current member!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I’ve always been hard working and ambitious, with a drive to prove myself to people who don’t believe that I can achieve everything I want for my future. Therefore, I’ve always felt like Hermione Granger is the character I’ve related to the most.

ANYTHING ELSE?

That’s all from me, thanks darlings!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Molly Alexandra Weasley (née Prewett)

Alexandra is an ancient name, which became popularized in Europe after the thirteenth Century. It means Defender of Man, a meaning well suited to describe Molly herself.

FACE CLAIM

I prefer Rose Leslie, but Sarah Drew is a lovely alternative. Whichever you prefer!

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’ve adored Molly as a character since the first time I read the Harry Potter series, and since her first introduction. Molly Weasley saw a boy, alone and confused at King’s Cross Station, helped him find the platform (even though she had her hands full with five children of her own), and made sure he got on the train safely. Molly Weasley couldn’t bear the thought of that little boy waking up on Christmas morning without any presents, and who, despite having her strained time and resources, knit him a jumper like her children, to make him a part of her family. Molly Weasley is the ultimate mother figure, and a guiding hand without whom Harry could not have functioned. In a story with so many orphans, and casualties of war, and so much loss and pain, Molly and Arthur’s beautiful, supportive family, and their unbreakable love for one another, is an extremely inspirational beacon of light in the community.

Molly’s motherly instincts are a driving force within her, and her archetype of The Mother is apparent in all parts of her life. Even Molly’s exceptional aptitude for healing spells show her big heart, and how much of her spirit is dedicated to taking care of others. I see Molly as an old soul, and a romantic. She reads books about true love conquering all, and strong, wise women who, despite incredible odds, overcome their circumstances to build happy lives for themselves and those they love. Molly Weasley is the type of woman who would let a friend stay at her house indefinitely, if they ever needed to get away. Molly Weasley is the type of girl who would see her classmate who came to school without a lunch, and would bring extra, so they could be fed while maintaining their dignity. While Molly is gentle and kind, she is indestructible, and a force of nature to be reckoned with when she’s been angered. Molly would drag herself over broken glass by her fingernails for her family, and is fiercely protective of anyone she takes under her wing. I see Molly as a Mother figure within the Order, looking at these young people and doing her utmost to protect them, to shield what remains of their childhoods. She is especially protective of her younger siblings, Fabian, Gideon, and Alice, whom she has spent a lifetime caring for.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

MOLLY AND ARTHUR WEASLEY ARE MY DARLINGS. I love them so much. In my opinion, Arthur has been Molly’s lifelong love, since they were housemates in school. Their marriage is an example of true love, and hard work, and compassion. Which is not to say there is no conflict, which can be elaborated on within threads!

Molly identifies as female, and it is my belief that she has far too much love in her heart for gender determine her love for someone. She uses She/Her pronouns.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-AN AESTHETIC

(extended associations!)

~ golden sunlight ~ soft music ~ wooden record players ~ cream colored sweaters ~ steam rising from a hot cup of tea ~ lazy good morning kisses ~ wool on bare skin ~ red autumn trees ~ the crunch of leaves underfoot ~ vanilla ~ hugs around the neck ~ hour long conversations ~ earthenware bowls ~ hearty breakfasts ~ fresh cookies ~ spending all day cuddling ~ worn out armchairs ~

-A PLAYLIST (mini time!)

Artholly:

Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur

Dearest by Buddy Holly

Happy Together by The Turtles

Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

No One Else sung by Denee Benton from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

Molly:

Phenomenal Woman by Olivia Newton-John

-EXPAND ON THE TRAITS

Assertive: (+) Molly is a woman with a good head on her shoulders, and a strong moral compass. As such, when someone disagrees with her, she is able to deliver a competent, logical reasoning for her opinions. Molly is especially firm when her loved ones are involved. Molly will always stand for her family’s best interests, and will always stand up for herself and others when she believes there are injustices being committed.

Passionate: (+) When Molly gives her heart to something, whether it be an occupation, a goal, or a lover, Molly gives it all. She has never been one to let circumstance or hardships keep her from what she wants, and what she imagines for herself. For Molly, if you aren’t being passionate about something, you don’t care about it enough. So, she puts her soul into the things she cares about, like her relationships. She is tenacious, and will do anything for those she loves.

Temperamental: (-) However, Molly’s assertiveness and passion can sometimes result in her becoming very angry when she is hurt, or betrayed. Molly is a very stubborn woman, and when she encounters something that stands in the way of what she wants, or what is in the best interest of her family, she will blow up at it. In relationships, Molly’s temper is always in the best interest of the people she loves. For example, if she believes that someone she loves is doing something dangerous, something she knows they shouldn’t be doing, she will tell them so, and become very angry if they refuse to change. She can be easily provoked into an argument, but she’s never malicious or in search of conflict.

Overprotective: (-) While her motherly instincts are an asset in many ways, it can be one of Molly’s more annoying attributes, especially to her little sister Alice and some of the younger members of the Order. While they are technically adults, and fellow soldiers in this war, she can be sharp with them when she believes they’re being careless, or putting themselves in danger. She’s significantly protective of Alice, whom she has watched grow up from her childhood, and for whom she feels responsible. She can be smothering, trying to prevent someone from doing something because she believes it’s too dangerous for them.

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Boggart: Molly’s boggart is her siblings’ mangled corpses, with Arthur later included. She cannot stand the idea of seeing them dead, and even the thought is enough to bring Molly’s stomach into her mouth and set her in a cold sweat.

Patronus: Molly’s patronus is, appropriately, a bear. Bears are extremely protective of their cubs, and are representative of the overwhelming strength that lies within her.

Wand: Molly’s wand is a flexible 10-inch willow wood wand, with a unicorn hair core. Willow is a tree known for withstanding the toughest storms, due to its ability to bend and sway in wicked winds; it is best suited for those with great aptitude for healing.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS

❧ Arthur being injured during a mission, or during a duel against a Death Eater. Plots include her helping nurse Arthur to health, psychological aftermath of the idea of Arthur dying, and being left alone (as a young mother with young children, if they have their kids already), and the resulting paranoia and fear. How she overcomes it, or doesn’t.

❧Molly’s general involvement with the Order, and any missions/jobs she does to help them.

❧Molly meeting/having a conflict with a member of Aversio, because while they, too, wish to defeat Voldemort, she stands completely opposed to their methods.

❧Molly being captured and tortured by death eaters, her panic about not being able to protect her family and her fear that they’ll do something rash to save her

❧MOLLY GETTING PREGNANT (AGAIN) DURING THE WAR. MOLLY AND HER BABIES. MOLLY WEASLEY DEVELOPING SEPARATION ANXIETY BECAUSE EVERY TIME ARTHUR LEAVES OR SHE HAS TO LEAVE THE CHILDREN FOR A MOMENT SHE’S STRICKEN WITH FEAR AND GUILT.

❧Molly dealing with trying to raise young children and give them a normal life despite the threat of death and destruction all around them.

(Really anything, I’m open to any plots that can be thrown at me.)

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Oh! That’s a good one. I’d have to say… I’d like to create a way to cast several healing spells at once, just in case of an emergency. I’d hate to ever need to use it, but there have been times, you know–… Where things go awry. But if the situation arose, I think it could be invaluable.

Barring that, a potion to safely help the twins finish teething would be life-changing.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Oh, well, Arthur of course. I honestly can’t imagine taking anyone else with me! And for an object, I’d say either an invisibility cloak, or what Arthur says the Muggles call a “chainsaw”, in the event we need to get out quickly.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Those where I know the right thing to do, but it may put me or Arthur at risk. I have obligations to the Order—this is a war after all. But I have my children to think about. When I take dangerous missions, I feel immense guilt. When I shy from them, however, I still feel guilt. It’s a double-edged sword.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I failed to do enough to fight while those around me suffered. Or that I wasn’t good enough as a parent. If I ever gave my children a reason to say that about me, I couldn’t live with it.”

WRITING SAMPLE

Molly had learned to live her life with little boxes. Her cupboards and closets were stuffed to the brim with scratched wicker baskets, sturdy heirloom chests made of oak, old garment boxes with mismatched lids, all in an attempt to create the storage space necessary to support her growing family of seven. When there were so many of them in one house, and so much shared property, it was important to sort the few independent belongings the children had into labeled containers. Bill, a stern 8 and ½, and Charlie, an enthusiastic six year old, had had enough territory disputes to drive her mad; Charlie followed his big brother around like a puppy, and so often found himself with Bill’s things in hand, in an attempt to emulate his big brother. Bill, who’d had enough of his toys being smashed by the little one’s indelicate fingers, begged Molly to keep his things away from the toddler. For a long time, she insisted that he try to share, that he just teach Charlie to play nicely with his belongings. After Percy was born, however, Molly found it necessary to start dividing up her children’s things, which evolved into her obsession with keeping things in little boxes.

Boxes were how she kept herself sane. Compartmentalizing. She learned to keep parts of herself bottled up, far away from her children. When she was with the children, when it was family time, she belonged entirely to them. But when it came to matters of the Order, she kept those hidden, and never allowed the two to meet. Even the rooms in her house shared her divided mind. The dining room, for instance, which was a sacred place for her family, was a servant of two masters. By day, it was where she fed and nurtured her children; where Arthur read crisp, new printings of The Daily Prophet, beckoning her over if there was a story he thought she may like; where her and Arthur shed happy tears as their baby twins, now hardly a year old, babbled their first words; where her little Percy, who had learned to walk but much preferred to be carried, would perch happily on her hip while she made dinner for the family; the dining room was where her and Arthur would steal a tender moment alone after the children were abed, dancing slowly to soft music floating from the Muggle gramophone he’d enchanted and set on their windowsill.

By night, however, her dining room was transformed. It would frequently become a war-room for the Order of the Phoenix and its secret soldiers. Plans were made, defenses measured, good witches and wizards brought back, in agony, after violent run-ins with Death Eaters, and she would immediately set to healing their wounds. Blood had been shed in her family’s sacred space, blood which she would later diligently clean in order to keep her children from worrying anything was wrong. When the Order made camp in her home, she tried to separate her tender memories and moments with her family from the fear and panic that had often been felt inside her home. It was the only way she could keep her children safe; but she didn’t know how much longer she could. More and more frequently, now, Bill would creep downstairs, hearing a bump in the night, and she would narrowly scoop him up in her arms before he heard something that would surely make sleep impossible for him. More and more, he would ask her about the strange friends mummy and dad were having over after they were all asleep, and he was less and less satisfied by her flimsy explanations. It was not his fault: it’s natural for children to be curious. It was hers. She had brought this into her children’s lives. But she would keep it boxed up, and away from them, as long as she could. She just didn’t know how much longer that would be.

#Accepted App

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New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/rwanda-genocide-orphans-search-for-family-continues/

Rwanda genocide: Orphans' search for family continues

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Some orphans, who are now adults, still don’t know what their names were

A quarter of a century after the Rwandan genocide, some orphans are still desperately searching for any clues about their lost pasts.

Oswald knows nothing about his life before the moment a young woman picked him out of the pile of bodies in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital, as he tried to suckle a dead woman’s breast.

It is thought he was about two or three months old, but no one knows for sure.

What is certain is that he is one of many children robbed of their name, birthday, and history during the 100 days of violence which engulfed Rwanda, beginning on 7 April 25 years ago.