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morbific-or-felicific · 2 years

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-KUEBIKO Featuring Childe

Meaning: a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world

Word Count: 1.4k~

Description: Childe coming home very injured and having to take care of him

Edited By: @pretty-princess-peach

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You could already tell there was something wrong. It had been hours since Childe should have been home. Archons, if he had gotten killed you’d kill him.

Childe was rarely home late. He liked coming home before his day got too long. In your time living with your boyfriend, there had been a total of 12 times that he had come home late, and there were even fewer times that it hadn’t been because of some kind of disaster he had either caused or gotten stuck in, and nearly all of those times it had been due to the fact that he had gotten distracted while on a mission to fulfill one of his siblings’ wishes after he was done with his work.

Gods you hoped he was looking for a figurine for Teucer and not causing property damage.

You had been waiting by the door for Childe to come back for nearly three hours now, nervously pacing back and forth, waiting for some sign of life. Finally, the front door opened, and you were overjoyed to know that your boyfriend was indeed okay, and- oh no, why was he covered in blood? You looked the man up and down, checking for any major injuries, trying not to get caught up with any ‘minor’ scrapes or scratches. He was leaning against the doorframe, trying to steady himself, both of his hands pressed to his side, seemingly trying to slow some bleeding from what looked to possibly be a stab wound.

He smiled at you.

“Hello my love, I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work.”

You snapped out of your daze and rushed towards the harbinger. Surprisingly enough, he actually accepted your help and limped forward, now using you as a support to stay upright.

“What happened to you…?” You were almost afraid to ask.

“Ah you know just- gods that hurts, just tried to fight another harbinger to have a little bit of- ah, fuck, a little bit of fun haha…okay maybe it was two other harbingers.”

Now in the living room, you dropped him lowered him to the sofa as gently as you could, but he still let out a loud groan of pain at the sudden movement.

“Ah, archons, ha that doesn’t feel too good.”

“Did they do all of this to you?”

“Yes, unfortunately they did. Turns out Pantalone doesn’t take too kindly to being called a weak old man and Arlecchino… well she doesn’t take too kindly to me.”

You sighed.

“I’ll be right back, I just have to get the first aid kit, alright?”

“Love, no, it’s alright. I just need to sit down for a second.”

“Childe, you’re covered in blood!”

“In my defence, not all of the blood is mine!”

“Take your clothes off you idiot, I'll be right back.”

“Woah now, I’d love to fuck you darling, but I’m unfortunately a bit too banged up for that at the moment.” :)

“That’s not what I meant!” you yelled as you walked into the other room to look for the first aid kit.

By the time you got back to the living room, you’d found a cloth, a small bucket of warm water, and the first aid kit you’d been searching for. Thankfully for you, Childe had taken off his pants and his shirt, revealing just how badly injured he really was. You stopped and stared for a second due to how hot he was covered in blood just how badly he was banged up.

He looked like he had been punched in the face once or twice, judging by his black eye. He had several cuts that looked to be from either knives or a sword (it was hard to tell), and he had what looked to be a shallow stab wound on his left side as well as a slightly less serious gash on his right thigh. This is, of course, not counting the numerous scrapes and bruises littering his body and the fact that he looked like someone had practically poured blood on him.

You grabbed a chair and moved it so you could sit in front of Childe in order to start fixing him up.

“You don’t need to do all this, you know. I’ll be just fine.”

“Of course I have to. You could barely walk over here.”

“It’s not all that bad. You don’t need to be so serious, I’m just a bit banged up.”

“You got stabbed, Childe!”

“Only a little bit!”

You rolled your eyes and started wiping the blood from his torso while he leaned back into the couch. Oh god there was going to be blood on the couch now…damn, you really didn’t want to have to buy a new one…. You let your mind run as you continued cleaning the blood off of your boyfriend in order to see how bad the shallow stab wound really was.

Childe watched as you ran the warm washcloth over his skin. He really wasn’t prepared for how badly he was going to lose the fight with Pantalone and Arlecchino. While he stumbled home after the fight he had been trying to think of how he could explain the state he was in to you. He knew you’d be worried, that was a given, but he didn’t expect you to have tears threatening to spill from your eyes while you gently cleaned him up.

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

“I’m just…you don’t take care of yourself well enough, and I’m scared you’ll let things get too far…”

“I can handle myself, love, you don’t have to worry so much.”

“You’re such an idiot, of course I have to worry!”

“Hey! No need to be so harsh.”

“You’re reckless and don’t care enough about your safety.”

Any protests died in his throat as you returned to cleaning him up.

When you had finally finished cleaning off the blood from his abdomen, it was clear how bad the stab wound was. It was deep enough to be a problem and blood was still slowly draining from it onto your couch, perfect. You took out some antiseptic wipes to disinfect it, but as soon as Childe saw what you were doing, he was already trying to stand to escape you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at the ginger struggling on your couch.

“I don’t want you to disinfect it, it’s gonna hurt!”

“You got stabbed and this is where you draw the line at too painful?!”

“Yes!”

“Stop moving and let me do this, idiot.”

He stopped his attempts to stand up and relaxed on the couch, starting to pout. You had expected to hear yelling or crying when you started cleaning the wound, but instead he was silent, just calmly letting you do your task. At least you thought he was calm until you were almost finished and you heard a loud crack. You looked up to see an embarrassed Childe who wouldn’t make eye contact with you.

After a few seconds of swiveling your head to see where the noise had come from, your eyes landed on the armrest of the couch where Childe’s hand had been resting. The armrest was bent at such an incorrect angle that any hope you had of your couch being salvageable was immediately shattered.

“I’ll uh, I’ll buy a new one.”

“A new armrest?”

“A new couch, idiot. If you want a better reason to replace it we can always see how badly we could break it while having some fun after this.” he was smirking at you now.

“What happened to being too banged up to fuck me?”

“Pfft, that’s in the past, I’m talking about now.”

“’Now’ you have an open stab wound.”

He laughed a bit before wincing at the pain it caused as you finished up disinfecting his wound. You continued to clean him up, putting gauze on his wound and starting to disinfect the injury on his thigh while he sat there trying not to curse. It scared you whenever he’d come home hurt, but it was especially bad this time. All you wanted was for the idiotic harbinger to stay safe. He’d been through enough already. He didn’t need to be out there causing himself more pain and suffering.

You finished fixing him up the best you could and helped him limp into your bedroom to lay down. He looked exhausted. Maybe it would be best to let him sleep, or maybe you should bring him some soup? While you were considering what to do to help your beat up boyfriend, you heard quiet, steady breaths coming from the bed, and upon further inspection, Childe had already fallen asleep. Maybe you would just make him a nice breakfast tomorrow instead of soup.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @yourlocal-bunny

morbific-or-felicific

#mae’s daily paper☕️*•̊��✧#childe.❣︎•*✧ ̊ⴰ #felicific.mae☀︎*•̊ⴰ✧#i restarted this so many times and i wrote half of it while i was asleep this morning so if it suck’s don’t come for me #childe x reader #childe fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact

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chuthulhu-reads · 11 months

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[ID: Three pages from Trigun Maximum. The first has four panels, and the first is a close-up shot of William Conrad looking startled and anxious. The second panel shows a frantic Conrad yelling "Let's go, Knives!". Knives does not respond, but Elendira asks, "What's the matter, doctor? You seem nervous." Conrad yells, "I'm begging you, please, let's leave!" The third panel is a closer image of Elendira as she asks, "The Last Run? What exactly is that?" The last panel is an unnamed plant technician, a kinda messy-looking guy with overgrown hair and a dirty coat, holding up a small crucifix as if praying to it as he says, "This plant is going to be retired. So we'll try and use as much energy from her as possible before she runs dry."

The second page depicts the death of a plant. She's roughly in her humanoid form, but in the main panel is being torn apart into flayed strands and chunks of flesh by a sphere of energy inside her abdomen. There's an inset panel that's close up on her face with her eyes wide and blank, her mouth open in a scream, and the tips of her pale hair starting to darken. The next panel shows her screaming so hard that her jaw has distended unnaturally, her hair fully black.

The third page has three narrow panels, the first showing the plant's horrifically withered and drained corpse collapsing at the bottom of her bulb in a splatter of dark fluid that might very well be blood. The next panel shows a frowning Knives, his left eye invisible, his right eye wide. The third panel is a closer up image of Knives with the same expression, his one visible eye looking even more wide, sunken and horrified as it hits him what just happened. End ID]

That last panel is very "photos taken seconds before disaster", but GODDAMN this scene is SO horrifying. I have to wonder how much Conrad wanted Knives to leave because he was trying to hide the black hair change as an indicator of decay, how much he was just trying to avoid Knives flipping his shit and killing everyone, and how much he just didn't want Knives to have to see this. I'm guessing that Last Runs are not common knowledge among the people of Gunsmoke, because even those who don't cultically worship plants still seem to hold them in regard/fondness, and it's really fucking disturbing to find out that they die like this just for the sake of using the batteries up completely before throwing them out. Like, I know they live on Planet Hellhole and need all the resources they can get, but it's definitely a lot harder to ignore the hints that plants are sapient when they die in such an overtly violent way. Like, it's one thing to eat some chicken wings and a hell of another to see the inside of a battery farm, you know?

...And Knives didn't know about it until this moment. I mean I can guess all the reasons Conrad never told him but this is the worst possible way to find out, especially for someone as notoriously emotionally unstable and capable of mass murder as Knives. He actually came to help her because he knew she was dying, he was going to just ignore all the humans around, but then... oooooft. His reaction is disproportionate but you do kinda feel it. Might've even felt justified if he'd stopped at the plant techs instead of going on a wider murder spree.

(Aside from the cruelty, Last Runs also seem like a bad idea because they're just... not sustainable? Plants are not infinite and you don't know how to make more. Have you even tried to see what happens if you just let her chill on reduced/no output for a while? IRL it's amazing what plants can regrow from if you let them... Trigun is not-so-secretly a parable about environmentalism and sustainability)

#Trigun #gore #body horror #Very ESH hours in this scene

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sssrha · 2 years

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Haunting

lxc/nhs, xisang week 2022, prompt: ghosts

tw: someone with mental health issues is treated awfully and their suffering is intentionally increased

read it below or on ao3

Lan Xichen sucks on the hard candy that Wei Wuxian had brought him from Caiyi Town, carefully observing the scene in front of him. Nie Huaisang is sitting, back straight, on his floor, gazing patiently back at him. His smile is serene as he leisurely flaps his fan and Lan Xichen can’t help but feel slightly nauseous.

“What do you want?” he finally asks without preamble. There’s no need for niceties when talking to men like Nie Huaisang—the only thing it will get you is manipulation.

Nie Hausiang flicks his fan shut. “Your help.”

“Hm,” says Lan Xichen. He continues to suck on the candy, savoring the sugar-sweet flavor as he tries to figure out what Nie Huaisang wants. They haven’t talked since the last Discussion Conference—and they haven’t really talked since that day in Yunping—but Lan Xichen still feels the last vestiges of betrayal swimming deep in his gut. It would be easy—too easy—to turn Nie Huaisang away right here and now. What does Lan Xichen owe him? Nie Huaisang has no power here, not when he has invaded Lan Xichen’s home.

Still, because he is honorable and just and everything that the man across from him is not, he says, “Explain.”

“I’m being haunted.”

“Haunted,” Lan Xichen says blankly. “Sect Leader Nie, you have your own disciples who can deal with this.”

“But none of them can,” explains Nie Huaisang. “And you’re one of the most powerful cultivators of our generation.”

“You’d have better luck with Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen points out. In fact, he goes to walk out of the Hanshi, to go and retrieve his brother-in-law. Maybe, that way, he can finally put an end to this disaster of a meeting.

Nie Huaisang immediately shakes his head. “Second Brother, I really don’t think he would be keen on helping me.”

Incredulously, before he can stop himself, Lan Xichen demands, “And you think that I am?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips thin. He continues to fan himself but his movements are sharper now—jerkier. Lan Xichen has touched a nerve. Good, he thinks viciously. To his displeasure, though, Nie Huaisang simply soldiers on. “Regardless, I’m in need of aid. Are you going to turn me away?”

Lan Xichen stares at the vile man who has ruined his life. Maybe he will turn Nie Huaisang away—maybe he will throw him out of the Hanshi, leaving him with no choice but to go and confront Wei Wuxian. Maybe he’ll ban Nie Huaisang from the Cloud Recesses altogether. Maybe he’ll irrevocably ruin the Lan Sect’s relationship with the Nie Sect in any number of ways just so that Nie Huaisang will suffer the backlash. Maybe he’ll trap Nie Huaisang here, tie him firmly to the door so that Nie Huaisang will always know how close he is to freedom without ever being able to achieve it.

Lan Xichen has long since accepted the cruel, awful thoughts that float through his head, the kind that he’d always thought only awful people thought of. But no, he knows the truth now—everyone thinks like this, the awful people are the ones who follow through on their thoughts and impulses. And Lan Xichen is not an awful person.

So, as much as he’d love to see Nie Huaisang shackled to his door, wasting away in the Hanshi, Lan Xichen simply sighs. “I will help,” he says. “What is the nature of your haunting?”

Nie Huaisang says, “It’s a ghost. It looks just as it did in life, but it makes no sound. No others can see it. It has taken to unsettling me with merely its image, which it occasionally morphs in order to evoke negative emotions in me.”

“Okay,” Lan Xichen says slowly, building a case in his mind. “Do you happen to know who the ghost is?”

“Yes,” says Nie Huaisang. “It’s Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Xichen’s mind screeches to a halt. For a moment, he’s consumed with rage—how dare Nie Huaisang come here and say that man’s name, taunting him with each flap of his fan? But no, the look in Nie Huaisang’s gaze is clear as day. He truly believes that he’s being haunted by Jin Guangyao.

“Sect Leader Nie,” says Lan Xichen, “Jin Guangyao is still trapped in the casket with your brother.”

“Which is why I’m concerned,” says Nie Huaisang. “Somehow, he has managed to find a way to escape.”

“To do what?” asks Lan Xichen. “Torture you, specifically? You think he intends to spend the rest of eternity trying to make you mildly uncomfortable?” It sounds mad. The casket that Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue had fallen into had been sealed several times over by Wei Wuxian himself, and Lan Xichen is aware enough to know that Wei Wuxian is among the most powerful cultivators to ever exist. Just being in the same room as the casket made Lan Xichen hiss from stinging pain, and looking at it was like taking a razor to the eyes. Wei Wuxian himself had seemed entirely unbothered, of course, only looking concerned when Lan Wangji began to tremble.

The bottom line is—no one is touching the casket, and no one will be breaking out of it.

Nie Huaisang’s claim seems incredibly unlikely. Still, Lan Xichen ignores Nie Huaisang’s protests to say, “I will look into it.”

The other man all but deflates. “Thank you, Second Brother.”

Offhandedly, not even thinking about it much, Lan Xichen adds, “And don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“‘Second Brother’. I don’t see any reason why you should continue to.”

“You say that with such a straight face.” Again, Nie Huaisang seems hurt. Lan Xichen has half the mind to curse him right here and now. The image of Nie Huaisang, wasting away in the Hanshi, pops into his mind again, but this time, he imagines Nie Huaisang’s hitching sobs of fear and betrayal. It’s awful but, well, he would deserve it, wouldn’t he?

Lan Xichen puts a stop to that train of thought quickly. He’d rather not act on it. Instead, he dismisses Nie Huaisang and gets to work.

As expected, the casket is still sealed. Wei Wuxian confirms this for him with ease. He also assures him that both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao are still inside, fighting and clawing at each other for the rest of eternity. He says that last part with a smile. Lan Xichen nods, used to Wei Wuxian’s occasional but intense bouts of savagery.

Still, that leaves Lan Xichen wondering—what on Earth is happening to Nie Huaisang? Perhaps another ghost has taken to him, utilizing his greatest fear. To know further, he summons Nie Huaisang.

The man arrives three days later, looking weak and exhausted from the journey. Lan Xichen, rather pettily, likes it. He doesn’t mention it, though, instead asking Nie Huaisang more and more questions about his ghost. It sounds rather standard for a haunting and Lan Xichen gets more and more irritated, wondering how Nie Huaisang’s own disciples haven’t been able to deal with it, but then they reach a certain point of questioning that piques his interest.

“Are you sure it’s Jin Guangyao?” demands Lan Xichen. “Are you absolutely positive?”

“Of course,” says Nie Huaisang. “Who else can it be?”

“Another spirit may be trying to scare you,” says Lan Xichen. “Or it might be a demon that’s feeding on your mind.”

“It’s not,” is the firm reply. “It’s Jin Guangyao!”

And on and on in circles they go, with Nie Huaisang absolutely certain that the ghost is Jin Guangyao no matter how much evidence he receives on the contrary. Lan Xichen eventually shuts the conversation down, absolutely baffled. He summons his uncle, confused and wondering if he’d somehow forgotten about some nasty spirit that confounds the mind. Lan Qiren listens to Lan Xichen’s descriptions of the predicament, carefully sipping his tea.

Then, his uncle says, “This is not the cause of any malicious force.”

“Then what could it be?” demands Lan Xichen.

“It sounds to me like a lapse in sanity,” Lan Qiren says. “It sounds like a surplus of guilt combined with a distinctly unwell mind. Whoever it is that is suffering from such a fate needs to see a healer. If they remain as they are, they will only become a hazard to themselves and others.”

Oh. It seems that Sect Leader Nie has gone insane.

Lan Xichen puts off telling Nie Huaisang the truth about his problem. Instead, he waits, and he thinks. That awful part of him that he always ignores tells him that, maybe, Nie Huaisang deserves this. His uncle had said it plain as day, after all—this wouldn’t have happened if Nie Huaisang weren’t overwhelmed with guilt, and the man can certainly stand to be guilty.

And what danger can he be to others when he can barely cultivate? Even more, what does it matter that Nie Huaisang may be a hazard to himself? What can he do to himself that he wouldn’t deserve? Nothing, Lan Xichen realizes—Nie Huaisang deserves this. He deserves to suffer.

So, when Nie Huaisang visits next, Lan Xichen doesn’t ignore the awful voice in his head. He says, “It is Jin Guangyao.” He says, “He’s haunting you for your sins.” He says, “He won’t go away until you’ve properly atoned for them.”

Nie Huaisang accepts the explanation without question.

Lan Xichen watches how, over the next several months, Nie Huaisang scrambles to make amends. He watches the man suffer and cry and beg and look into every corner with sheer terror. Sometimes, Nie Huaisang will come crawling back to Lan Xichen, collapsing on his knees in the Hanshi, and weep, “He’s still there, I haven’t done enough. When will it be enough?”

“Just a little more,” Lan Xichen says, cradling the man’s tear-soaked cheeks in his hands. He looks almost enticing like this, as if he’s truly innocent. “I’m sure that then, it will be enough.”

Nie Huaisang withers into a whisper of himself and Lan Xichen thinks it’s exhilarating. Nie Huaisang will always be haunted by Jin Guangyao because he deserves it. He will never be able to make up for what he’s done for as long as he lives.

He’s almost disappointed when the news of Nie Huaisang’s suicide reaches the Cloud Recesses.

It’s three months before it happens for the first time. Lan Xichen is in the Hanshi, reading through some scrolls pertaining to the supplies purchased by the Sect, when something flickers in the corner of his gaze. He pauses, setting the scroll down, and he turns to look.

He sees Nie Huaisang standing in the corner. His eyes are blank and distant. His mouth is moving but no sound comes out. He reaches out to Lan Xichen, tears streaming down his cheeks. It’s a scene that Lan Xichen used to find so striking.

Filled with terror, Lan Xichen screams.

#sssrha fics #xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #lxc #nhs #mdzs #mdzs fic #mdzs fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #fanfiction #xisangweek2022 #lessgooooo

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mareenavee · 10 months

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The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 24: A Future Without Fear

Present Day

Nyenna woke with a start, blinking away the grotesque green-tinged images of Apocrypha that still lived behind her eyes these days. She looked over to Teldryn, who had taken the first watch while she tried to steal a few minutes of sleep. At the moment he was absently prodding the campfire with a branch while he sat cross legged before it. He looked peaceful this way, expression almost boyish in the firelight. He waved his free hand and the sparks clumped together into sparkling miniature Flame Atronachs that faded away again just as quickly. She wished for the kind of calm he seemed to find – or create out of spite, it seemed – in moments like this.

Her own mind, however, was far more prone to wandering, stuck in the past. She knew she could be resilient even so, and that had been a skill hard-learned. The nightmares, especially of late, made that kind of strength difficult. All she had seen and done crept in without her noticing and stayed in the shadows of her mind. And the stress she had placed herself under lately did nothing to help. The second she started to feel comfortable, the fear would set back in. Fear that she would never quite be enough for what came next.

Who had she become, exactly? Surely not a villain. No. Perhaps something other. Not exactly the hero she had intended to be, after all. Fallible. Mortal, really. Legendary didn’t feel real, or even attainable. It was an ideal she’d never quite been able to reach, despite what the bards would have everyone believe. Despite the very enemies she’d defeated. It felt less about what she’d done and more about what she refused to accept. That she could never be the same as she used to be, no matter how desperately she’d tried. That version of her, before she became this hero, no longer existed. All that was left were the crumbling foundations of a life she thought she’d built right. But that was gone now. It hurt to touch the edges of those memories.

She had to remind herself of what Teldryn had said – that her friends would still be her friends, and that home could be anywhere. It wasn’t about all that, really, though. She was not going to be forced to run away from it all. The trouble this time, blessedly, was not Thalmor, but herself and her mistakes. The good she’d managed to do outweighed the bad, didn’t it?

But she had been cruel. She’d treated a person like a bookmark, stuck in a dusty tome and forgotten. A person she thought, at one point, that she loved more than anyone else. That was not heroic. Yet, the door had been open for Athis for a long time. She couldn’t make him walk through it. He had to want to try to salvage their old life. She felt he hadn’t. All she could do now was try to fix the wrongs their silence had created. That she’d created, if she was being honest. If there was blame, it was hers for never speaking up. For not knowing what she needed until it was too late to turn back. Things had so quickly become unfixable. She hadn’t tried to hold it all together at all, she realized. Still, even in the wake of such disaster, she grieved everything Whiterun once represented. A time before Alduin. Before Hermaeus Mora. Before guilt. Tranquility, anonymity – these things did not fit into the puzzle that her life had since become. -> Read the rest on AO3!

#MareenaWrites #The World on Our Shoulders #Nyenna #Teldryn Sero #LDB/Teldryn Sero #Skyrim #Skyrim fic #tes #tesblr #fanficblr #elder scrolls #writblr #writeblr

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araminakilla · 2 years

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Day 66: Vive la France!

Found new images of the third movie thanks to the instagram account of Paramount Pictures France, it also says that the movie comes out in August 24th, which is amazing that the movie premiers two days before the original release date in Spain, but maybe is an accord for using Paris as a location.

Anyway, time to analyse these images

Tad & Mummies with Jeffsoni (Beljeff?) on that strange bathtub that does a good job of being a boat, going fast as to reach land.

I'm sorry, I can not see Paris and not think of Miraculous Ladybug, so even if it's impossible I can at some point expect for Ladybug and Chat Noir to appear and deal with our heroes' predicament, thinking at first that they are akumas or something like that.

About the expressions, Tad & Mummy are looking at something and being worried about it, perhaps there are upcoming boats on their way (or said boats are from Victoria Moon and/or agents Pickles and Ramirez) while Jeffsoni seems to be happy as Jeff would usually be in this kind of dangerous situations while Ramona, iconic "I don't have time for this nonsense" Ra-Amon-Ah is with an almost boring, unimpressed face, but we know that some seconds later she will be full "Ahhh!" mode with the explorer and the incan. Although it's interesting to see her like this, almost like a foil to Mummy who goes easily scared by dangerous situations.

Next we have a scene that we already saw in the trailer. Tad telling Sara that everything is fine as the structure of wood behind him is a about to collapse. Basically, one of ten pictures taken before disaster. I'm just grateful it is not the olmec pyramid the one to fall.

Then we have Tad in Egypt with the same little black pyramid artifact that Sara is holding in the official poster, only that this one is releasing a white light, indicating that maybe he is close to the emerald tablet or something.

In this image I'm not sure if this is the moment when he is all alone about to cross that bridge or if the others are next to him but in an offscreen way.

And if they are not there, were they could be? A fight took place or they parted ways for another reason? We will see in the following weeks.

And last but not least, this picture of Mummy holding a jar of green slime with eyes on it. I remember seeing this kind of jar in Halloween celebrations, but why Mummy has one is a mystery. Maybe he purchased one when Tad was in Mexico, as he has many things Tad wouldn't have or use when the explorer returns to his apartment in the trailer.

Also, he is talking most likely to Tad in this scene. Not gonna lie, this pose that Mummy is doing and how he is expressing himself in this image is... really great if we think about it.

We generally see him as anxious, scared, goofing around and just plain comic relief. In this one, he looks confident, like he has things under control about his life. A similar attitude that he had at the end of the first movie when he is seen commanding the guards, not so much of the same energy of the second movie when he bragged of being the "Great Conquistador of Peru"

A similar energy, but not the same. I love all the details found in his bracelets, collar, crown and feathers. The animation really has improved.

Hope that at the end of the movie Mummy adquires character development and starts to feel more confident about himself and the world he decided to live in: The living world.

A world that was taken from him and now he is reclaiming it as well as his own happy ending and found family.

Bonus image

An adverisement found in a cinema. Looks like the movie is slowly starting to appear in the merchandising aspect. Good for them.

#I wanna see a Mummy Ramona and Belzoni interaction so bad now #I saw them together in that picture and I can't get the thought out of my mind #tadeo jones #tad the lost explorer #tadeo jones 3 #tad the lost explorer 3 #tadeo jones analysis #tadeo jones theory #tad stones #sara lavroff #mummy (tadeo jones)#ramona (tadeo jones)#Ra-Amon-Ah #tad 3 countdown #tadeo jones meta

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eve-to-adam · 1 year

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His beloved wife

“Young Jeremiah, nestled comfortably in the armchair in the living room of the military house, overcome by the sweet feeling of being close to home and drunk on liquor, sees his sister, Roesia, who, despite her condition, almost bursts running into the room, as when someone would have followed her to the hall. His first instinct was to jump to his feet, despite the dizziness caused by alcohol, and look for his weapon. [...] Before his eyes, the image of the disaster of the battlefield seems to be spread and the sound of the bombs resounds deep in his eardrums, shaking his whole body. The smell of blood and gunpowder with which he has become so familiar begins to take over his senses and in his mouth he feels the taste of earth and dirt, making his teeth chatter. For a few seconds he feels the ground shaking under his feet, making him dig his nails into the rose-print fabric of the armchair. The lack of reaction of Jarlath, his brother-in-law, who is content only to throw a furtive glance at his wife, makes Jeremiah remember where he is - at the shelter, in one of the houses where he spent the first years of his childhood, certainly safe - for now - from outside dangers. At first glance, it seems that his sister shares his fears. Of course she was also restless. Any pregnant woman is.

More than that, the circumstances require Roesia to be prepared for anything, so he cannot judge the paranoia with which his sister seems to have surrounded herself. No one was safe in these moments. No one could be sure that he would survive this ordeal, nor did they know when exactly this slaughter would end, which seems to have already ended so many lives, which broke so many hearts and which broke up so many families. And yet, he is among the lucky ones - he is at home, with his family, alive. "You would say that the war would make people more frugal," jokes Jeremiah, seeing his sister almost out of breath eating the cookies on her plate. "At times like this, luxury can make you greedy, sister. Don't tell me you want to keep it all for yourself!" "And if that's what I'm telling you...?" replies Roesia with a giggle. "You little spoiled brat!" he replied with brotherly disdain. "How dare you let your brother beg? I should send you to the front line of the battlefield for this!" Jeremiah knows his sister very well to know that he is taken for a fool; he knows her as well as he knows himself. For him, Roesia is the mirror to which he always looks to find answers, she is the person whose character is almost completely similar to him. And this mirror chose to be very clear today - as well as her arrogance. "Ah, my dear Jeremy!", she says his name while savoring the strawberry taste of the jam. "You should know that sometimes I will be spoiled even against my own will! Such a person is my husband, the Earl of Elkins." Roesia turns her gaze to Jarlath, who, although he remains relaxed on the sofa, is content to think of war plans rather than spend the afternoon doing nothings. For all those present there, it is very clear that work is the earl''s life. "Which can be both a blessing and a curse", concludes his wife with a resigned air. However, young Jeremiah does not have time to pity his sister - he realizes quickly that she should not be pitied, but envied - because towards of his brother-in-law's cold and calculating attitude, Roesia smiles as if behind this emotion there was hidden a secret known only by the two of them. She radiates, just like the sun outside.

And this gesture, so small and yet so significant, makes him realize it. His sister was happy. Despite the difficulties, Roesia speaks and behaves like a woman with a happy marriage. Like a wife loved by her man. Despite the disaster facing their country - and the whole world -, Roesia continues her snack, managing to find a semblance of normality in all this disaster: and this only thanks to her husband. [...] Young Jeremiah realizes that he also smiles at this thought, which eases his conscience, removing, for the moment, the darkest clouds of his mind. He knows peace, for the first time after a long time. He almost sinks into this delicious feeling, which contrasts with the rigidity and concentration of Earl of Elkins.

"A blessing and a curse, indeed," Jeremiah admits before the alcohol transports him to a completely different world. Maybe if he were brave enough, he could imagine that he was on a flowery plain.”

(Volume I, Part 2)

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msmelissalin · 1 year

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Therapy Session [02/06]

Summary: This one follows Melissa’s reaction to finding out Lara was dead, and how others saw her reaction, verses what she was like at home, once there was no one around to see. Please note, this one will be a bit shorter than the rest. However, the next one will be extremely lengthy and will have a lot of information which will be important to the following parts that are upcoming.

‘Have you ever thought that maybe the shooting did more damage than you’re willing to admit?’‘

Carla had been pushing forward for some weeks now, there were times when Melissa would have a breakthrough and show that she had the ability to explore the feelings she kept so close to her chest, behind that icy wall. Then there were times like now, where words either failed her or she out right refused to speak about them. With a sigh, Carla looked down to her notes once again, the pen between lips as she nibbled away. Thinking of any way possible to get this woman to talk. At this point she hadn’t quite decided where Melissa was just unable to verbalise it sometimes.

Or she was letting it fall upon deaf ears.

Silence passed, looking down at her nails, trying to let the clock tick down before her hour would be up and she’d be free to get back to work, back to what mattered, but the tapping of the woman’s shoe slowly wound itself into Melissa’s well put together external image. Annoyance radiating with a crick of her neck and a wrinkle of her nose.

‘’What about…’’ She looked down at her notes again. ‘’Vidal? You’ve not mentioned him for a while.’’

Disaster.

That was how she viewed this situation, eyes alight with a kind of fear that she’d only knew when facing death. When she’d been shot. It’d clawed deep within her chest tearing away at the skin until darkness had taken over. Until it had almost drowned her, watching the fire flicker out to nothing. The last thing she’d remembered was his face.

Vidal.

Someone she’d trusted, confidant and now betrayal.

Pure, unaltered silence.

‘‘How does it feel to be feel so boxed in, Melissa?’’ Carla was relentless, jotting away in that over-used fraying leather notebook that undoubtedly had doodles of nothing. She wanted to sneer at the woman but knew this was not the time. She was, of course, only doing her job. If there was one thing Melissa knew, it was that attempting to do one’s job when others made it hard was something that got under her skin more than most.

‘’Vidal is Vidal. He’s the kind of man you can usually trust inexplicably.’’

‘’Usually?’’ She pushed.

‘’it’s not just him. Gideon, Vidal, Johnathan --- Andrew!’’ Anger tinged her tone. ‘’It’s the fact that it wasn’t just immediate family that they deemed appropriate to know. There were others, that knew before me. I’m the second. The person who looks after business, and legal. Who shapes the press when they do something inexplicably fucking stupid.’’

Rage. That was the only way to describe what Melissa was feeling in that moment. Her language spoke for itself, she was usually so well put together. But in just a couple of seconds Carla could see something within Melissa she very rarely got to see. There wasn’t just icy within her but an unyielding fire.

‘’That Lara just waltzed back into your life, and they all knew?’’

Melissa flared her nostrils, huffing. ‘’Yes.’’

FLASHBACK.

Hands were braced against the wall of her apartment, breathing heavily, back heaving. How could she be gone? She’d waited until she was in the confines of her own home to let the reality of the news, she’d received sink in. But one name came to mind.

Andrew.

Clasping her hand over her mouth she silently sobbed for him. Although she’d never loved her own child, she couldn’t imagine it. That pain he must have felt. He’d lost Cerys, and now Lara. His beloved daughter. She’d seen how his eyes would light at the mention of his child, and how Melissa had always wondered why she couldn’t feel that kind of love.

Lara.

Although Melissa had appeared indifferent to those around her, there had been a feeling she’d never been able to decipher; it mirrored how she’d felt when she’d learnt of Cerys. How she’d become so still, she was sure she’d finally turned into stone. She had little feelings more many things, but yet, the things she did feel for, she felt it so powerfully maybe it scared her.

Melissa had fears, others just chose to see the side of her she allowed them too. To be strong in her eyes, was to appear unfearing. She was no more physically strong than the next person who stood by her. But her mind was strong, and her most solid ally was herself. Even in the face of the greatest pain, she’d taken every wound and pushed it into the next phase. To get to where she needed to be. When Cerys had passed it’d been like it opened and festered until she changed. However, it changed her in ways she could never imagine.

When Melissa had looked at Lara, she’d seen the potential of a woman who could take the greatest pain and channel it into nothingness. A face of indifference much like herself. And in her eyes, there were not many people like her at all. She had wanted things for Lara, almost like she should have wanted things for her own daughter. Power, success and to live.

And maybe that was why this pain caused her to feel boxed in.

She wondered what it was like the day she took her first breath, and what her moments were like when she took her last. How Lara had really spent her last months, and she sobbed quietly, so no one would hear. Because Melissa did not let others see her pain. Only ever Johnathan. They did not deserve her pain, or the satisfaction of what part of her it stole that time. Like a new wound she’d have to patch back together.

And tomorrow she’d be a new. As if nothing happened, a face of indifference.

Because Melissa Lin would never be weak.

#self paragraph #therapy sessions #part two; therapy sessions

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fiionawrites · 10 months

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Chapter III: Here’s the deal.

Words: 6,3k

A/N: Yes, I know! Chunky-ass-chapter ahead... but trust me it is so important! This chapter lays a lot of ground work for the next few ones, especially regarding Joel and Lana's relationship. We also have a much needed insight into Lana's past (that's why it's pretty much only her POV) and her - secret, but not so secret - plans. The next chapter was also one of my favorites to write of all time and I'm sure you will love it too! (Spoiler alert, we get A LOT of Joel and Lana, especially some lovely banter and a step further into their slow burn, oh fuck yeah!) Anyways, happy reading!

There were two other moments where Lana could remember passing out in her life, a rather rare thing to happen to her. The first time was when she was about twelve years old, and her mom had taken her to do a blood exam. It wasn’t because she was afraid or queasy about needles, per say, more just that they had extracted about six collecting tubes while she laid down, and when she rose to her feet in a rush, trying to impress her mom and the FEDRA staff of the Albany QZ that she was tough and totally fine, Lana had collapsed to the floor.

The second time was somewhere around her 18th birthday, about three years ago. She had gotten together with some of her friends from FEDRA school in Albany, snuck out and drank way too much after repeatedly - and stupidly - saying to themselves “you only live once” all night long, egging on the inevitable disaster. Lana had heard an earful from her superior officer the following day, a lovely thing to endure during a violent hangover.

Although the scenarios were drastically opposite, they did hold one thing in common, the dreadful after feeling. When waking up after passing out, she experienced a wave of headaches, dizziness, confusion and queasiness, anything made her feel sick.

So, as she stirred awake from the third and last time she had passed out, she felt all of those things once again. Lana hated that feeling so much that it pushed away any relief of her actually being alive, because the feeling of waking up, followed by the image of a very grumpy man before her, made her wish she never did return to consciousness. And she thought that maybe he’d make that very clear.

Lana’s eyes fluttered open as the tunnel vision subsided, her thoughts sharpening by the second, recollecting the events that led her here, strapped to a chair, arms, hands, legs, ankles and hips bound to it with tight ropes. A piece of thick tape strapped across her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was quite a threat to these people for them to take such measures. Then came the headache, blinding almost, it spread from the base of her head, down to her neck and pressuring behind her eyes.

Across from her sat a couple, who she knew already were Joel and Tess. They sat on old, chipped, wooden chairs, Tess leaning over herself, forearms braced on her knees, hands clasped together as she watched her. Joel sat back in his chair, legs spread as he lazily held a gun pointed at her, also watching her intently, the bite mark on his hand, bruised knuckles and the bloody nose making it evident it couldn’t have been that long ago. It was then that she took in the apartment she was in, old and batted... cozy, I guess. She glanced at the clock above the sink, 10PM.

Shit...

“Lana... Maeve? Is it?” Tess had spoken, glancing at the inside of Lana’s backpack, reading her name written in old green sharpie across the top. “This yours?”

Well... tape covered her mouth, and she made it a clear point to remind them when she didn’t answer, staring at them with hooded, almost bored-like eyes. Tess shared a quick glance at Joel, and Lana thought she was going to have it removed just before Joel cocked his gun and held it with more purpose towards her.

Lana’s eyes widened for a moment, suddenly becoming very aware that they didn’t need her alive to take back their shit. She was just some interrogation practice; strapped, vulnerable and powerless in a chair. Lana’s eyes met Tess’s once more as she spoke.

“Nod or shake your head. And be honest, I’ll know if your lying”, the older woman watched as Lana gave no reaction before sighing, letting her head fall back, “I’ve been giving him many excuses for the past couple of hours not to kill you just yet, so give me one good reason why he should and I won’t hesitate to oblige, understood?”.

Lana blinked once before nodding slowly, eyes flicking between Joel and Tess. There was not much she could do... except be fucking honest.

“Lana Maeve, that your name?” Tess repeated, more impatiently this time.

She nodded her head once, eyes focused on the woman interrogating her – which surprisingly she feared more than the man with a gun pointed at her - .

“So, this is all your shit in here?”, She asked, rummaging through the bag, finding ammo, a revolver, a relatively small dagger, a doodled-on map, ration cards, a lighter, and other little nick-nacks, “Well… the shit you’ve stolen, yeah?”

Lana’s breath hitched slightly, visibly tensing as she twitched under the restraints. She was undeniably possessive over the few things she owned, hating seeing people rummaging through it. There were few things she could call ‘mine’, and this sight was setting her off. Stolen or not, they were hers.

Lana took a breath, closing her eyes briefly before she dipped her chin down once, confirming Tess’s suspicions, her eyes had flickered to Joel, his knuckled white on the gun.

Tess’s eyes ran over her, like Lana was translucent and she could see directly through her. It felt like Tess was digging at her all her secrets, even one’s she’s tucked in places so far down herself she’s convinced they don’t exist anymore. It was a defense mechanism, closing off the natural acts of her brain to shield those memories away.

The older woman sighed, putting Lana’s bag on the floor as she stood with a light groan, walking closer to Lana. All the strapped girl could do was slightly lean back, back of the chair biting into her spine, following Tess’s movements with her eyes.

“Tess!”, Joel had whisper-shouted, not wanting to disrupt the curfew, “Tess, don’t-”

All she did to shut him up was raise her hand lazily behind her, towards the man’s direction. It made Joel fall silent, gun still trained on Lana, whose focus had fallen back onto the woman’s gaze in front of her.

“Remember that you only have to give me one small reason to let him shoot you. You’re tied down and being held at gun point, I don’t think I have to make it any more obvious the disadvantage you hold right now” Tess’s hand leaned up and grabbed the corner of the thick piece of tape on Lana’s face, the movement making her flinch slightly.

“I’m gonna take this off so we can continue to talk, unless you want to end things right now?” As if on cue, Joel stood from his chair and came to sit beside Lana on the edge of the couch, she followed the movement with her eyes until she could no longer turn to look at him, the tape beginning to peel and stretch off her skin painfully. But she registered him beside her as he pressed the barrel of his gun to her temple. Lana’s heart picked up, things were escalating quickly, and no matter how hard she tried to grasp any sense of control, she knew it wasn’t hers. Tess snapped her back with a simple question, “understood?”

Lana took a deep breath before nodding, screwing her eyes and scrunching her nose as Tess ripped off the piece of tape in a swift motion. Lana gritted her teeth to keep from making a sound, but she couldn’t help the yelp that passed her lips. Joel’s other hand came behind her back and around her face to cup her mouth quickly, muffling her soft cries.

The last thing they needed was FEDRA involved at this late of an hour.

“You’re fine”, Tess mumbled as she turned back, casually grabbing her chair and placing it in front of Lana, sitting down. Tess gave him a quick look, that made him drop his hand from her mouth, slowly. The first thing she did was try and catch her breath, stilling it as her eyes darted between the pair, excuses flying around in her head, she was already forming a script. Tess knew.

“It’s- It’s obvious that the couple of ration cards and ammo mean more to you than they mean to me, so...” Lana drawled, her voice a bit distant and raspy, speaking for the first time in a while, “you two already have my bag, why don’t you just take them back and leave me be?”

When they had both fallen silent for longer than she expected, sharing an unreadable glance, she thought she had said something wrong, and the next thing she’d hear was the slight tick of a trigger being pressed down on, so she hurried with her words.

“I swear I won’t cross you guys again, I-“

Lana stopped when Joel let out a huff of a laugh, almost incredulous before spitting beside her, “What the fuck are ya on about?”

Lana’s eyes darted from one side to another, did- she stole from Joel… just this afternoon… is that not what they’re holding me here for? What the fuck?

“What?”, Lana said under a puff of air, eyes narrowing at them as pure confusion edged her features, “what?”

It took a single second longer before Tess stood suddenly, making the chair skid across the floorboard behind her and fall to the ground. With a click of her tongue, she grabbed onto Joel’s elbow and pulled him up, into the kitchen.

“She stole from you? Directly off of you?”, she whispered between gritted teeth, leaning in besides Joels profile, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I-“, he stalled, sparing Lana a quick glance that made her cower in her seat a few feet away, even if the fact embarrassed him deeply, “I didn’t fuckin’ notice… jus’ caught up in catchin’ her and brinin' her back here before-“, he exhaled sharply, checking his breast pocket as Tess silently lifted a brow at him.

Unbelievable.

When Joel lowered his hands to the front of his jeans pocket, digging in them to confirm his suspicions, Tess let out a scoff, stepping away from him as she threw up her hands in disbelief, mumbling something under her breath about him ‘only thinking with his dick’. Joel was almost too late to notice.

“I told ya she posed as a damn hooker, I- I didn’t think she was the target, Tess. I got-“

“Distracted by her hands on ya, Joel? Yeah… figured”, Tess said with a sarcastic drawl.

Lana had to bite her lip and avert her gaze to keep from laughing and probably getting shot. But damn if this was the last thing she’d see before dying, it was fucking worth it.

“Oh don’t do that, Tess. That’s not what is was-“

“I don’t give a fuck, Joel. Whatever it was, it cost us a battery, ration cards and ammo.”, Tess’s hands came down to rub over her face, before she made a dismissive gesture with her hand, shutting up his small excuses and walking back into the living room.

Lana had then taken control of her expressions, easy work as the older woman walked into the room with a new set of rage washing over her.

“Listen…”, Tess started with a heavy sigh, dragging her chair closer to Lana, “we know you worked with Robert, whatever that was like, and we know you stole from him. Words from the man himself”.

Joel still stood in the kitchen, hands crossed over his chest and hips leaning against the counter as he let her take control, embarrassment still flushing his cheeks and neck. He watched the interaction go down.

“You took a battery from him, and unfortunately for you, that battery is ours.”

Oh…

Oh god no.

Hopefully Tess wasn’t talking about the battery Lana already sold (slash stole) for an actually working one to place it in a repurposed FEDRA vehicle and drive herself out West.

Hopefully.

“Ok”, Lana breathed out.

Tess stared at her for a moment, “Ok… Where is it?”

Lana’s first instinct was to lie. Tell her that it’s at her place and if they let her go, she’ll go and pick it up. Or say karma got to her and she was robbed of it too just last night. Or go as far as to say Robert made the whole story up to buy himself time for some dumb scheme he came up with, which honestly, was the most plausible one.

Her hands were tied, literally. Lying would only take her so far until they’d certainly get to her again and make their next encounter much shorter. She’s also talked her way out of countless things in her life, if she had any faith in making it out alive tonight, it was through a sly-not-really-the-full-truth-but-almost-there speech.

“Your battery was shit. No offense, but what Robert was gonna sell to you was waste”, first, blame it on someone else, “Whatever you were gonna use it for, doesn’t really matter that I stole it. Who really did the deal, was Robert.”

Lana thought she really had a chance until Joel left the kitchen and began walking towards her quickly, hard, dark gaze penetrating hers.

“So- so, I stole it… yeah, but I- I traded it off for an actually fucking working one, ok? It works. I swear, I know it does ‘cus I put it in a truck to travel out- “, well, that seemed like information enough, noticing Joel came to a halt before her, “to travel”, she concluded.

The restraints were biting into Lana’s wrists, pinching and burning the skin there. The air was quiet, heavy, dense, almost humid like until she glanced out and noticed it was pouring down rain. Before she could dwell to heavy on the fact that she probably left a window open at her place, Joel and Tess’s unnerving silence brought her back to them. They were just there, staring at each other, indulged in a heavy conversation that required nothing more than a few glances, and maybe an eyebrow raise from Joel.

There was a softly muttered “ok” under his breath until he came over to Lana, she thought maybe she said too much and now she held no use to them. She began sputtering “no’s” and “pleases” as he picked her up by the sides of the chair and carried her down a narrow hallway, Tess’s frame becoming smaller over his shoulder. Lana couldn’t quite remember the last time she begged like that, didn’t think she cared for her life that much to do so.

Until she remembered who she was living it for.

She thrashed and wiggled in the chair as Joel kicked open a door, a small bedroom – their bedroom, she supposed – and placed her back on the ground, still strapped to the chair as he kicked the door shut behind him. Joel ran a hand through his hair as his eyes darted a bit around the room, Lana’s pleading filling the air. Frustrated and out of better ideas, he focused back on her, baring his teeth like a feral animals as he snarled at her.

“Shut up”, His eyes darted between hers, his breath fanning against her skin with the smell of blood and whiskey, “just shut the fuck up- I ain’t gonna kill ya. Yet.”

Joel then straightened, and the sight of him looming over her brought her a new kind of fear. He took another quick glance around the room, seeming heavily preoccupied with something else as he began walking out, but not before throwing a hushed, “not a sound”, over his shoulder. The lock clicked and Lana was in a room alone again.

She focused on the footsteps retreating to the living room, then a low shushed conversation that quickly picked up into a whisper-shout. Lana wasted no time looking around the room, careful to note anything Joel might have missed.

Nothing.

And nothing…

Fuck, nothing again.

Shit-

Oh…

Is that-?

Bingo.

Of course Joel Miller had a makeshift half-broken-scissor-secured-with-duck-tape-looking shiv. It sat on his bedside table, about four feet away from her as she looked over her shoulder. It was ridiculous how it glinted in the moonlight, almost teasing her to grab it.

Lana did her part, she told the truth, they had her bag, all she wanted was – what she didn’t think was selfish at all on her part – her life. So as their voices mixed and grew louder over each other, she shuffled her way backwards to the small furniture, consequently moving closer to the door.

“- all that girl has done since she’s gotten here… lied- how could… risk we cannot take right now”, she heard Tess say, her voice fading in and out as she tried to control her volume.

By the time Lana reached for the shiv, her blood was pumping in her ears, fighting over the volume of now Joel’s muffled arguments, “not sayin’ we blindly trust her now… check it out… Tommy out there…fightin’…”

She made quick work of the ropes, a gasp of relief almost choking out of her as she felt them loosen around her skin, feeling the immediate relief – and soon after soreness - in her arms. Lana didn't have to hide anymore, play that tough character, but she did need to keep her voice down. It fueled her to work quicker, a tear of relief dampening her skin as her arms released from the restraints, bending over to work on her middle part.

“- she’s just trouble on our hands now, Joel… fucking dead weight- unnecessary work…”

“ F’she had a truck workin’… somewhere… new to Boston anyway could just…”

“Doesn’t fuckin matter! Think with your fucking head, Joel- and I swear to god, for once…not that head-“

“Oh for god’s sake! I! I-… telling ya… touched me! Me! Not the other way ‘round!”

Lana was practically standing, stifling her cries for later, trying to hold them in as she desperately worked on the last one, staring at the window like it was a dream she’d chased her whole life.

“… be fucking dumb if you don’t think she could be playing us right now.”

That made her freeze. Tears stop. Stomach drop. Hands tremble. The shouting stopped and the room behind the thin walls had fallen silent. Too silent.

Lana quickly pressed her ankle against the rope, snapping the last strings free as she tip-toed her way to the locked window. She shoved the shiv between the crevice, cracking and chipping a bit of the wood as she pulled back, breaking the weak and rusted lock, carefully sliding the windowsill up.

Heavy footsteps slapped against the wooden floors, making the ground shake slightly after every step. The noise became clearer and clearer until the lock clicked and the door swung open, hitting the door knob against the other side of the wall.

“What the fuck!?”

Lana knew by the voice it could only be Joel, but the low, dark, grumble of a sound was so new to her she just had to look over her shoulder to make sure. And there he was, taking the sight of one of her legs propped up and out the window, onto the thin metal steps that led her down the building and onto the open street. Half her body was already soaked from the rain.

Joel Miller was quite simply, fuming. Chest rising and falling, nostrils flalling with the intensity of his breathing. Neck and cheeks flushed a bright red in contrast to his pale white knuckles, fisted at his side. His frame looked even broader compared to the door frame he almost didn’t fit in.

And that was Lana’s cue. She popped her other leg out, sitting on the window frame, hands bracing at her sides as she ducked her head, giving herself a little nudge as her feet met metal below her, a sound of what she could only describe as freedom.

Unfortunately, she learned from a young age that birds that fly too high get their wings clipped. Dogs who run off to far get their leash tightened. And Lana? Well she had two broad, strong hands clasping at the top of her shoulders, blunt finger nails digging into her skin as Joel pulled her harshly against the building, back hitting against bricks as the air was knocked out of her. With a grunt, and what seemed like a ridiculous lack of effort, Joel pulled her up and back through the window, dragging her now wet and sore body inside.

Lana thrashed against his grip, making it harder for him to hold on to an already slippery skin-to-skin contact. He faltered a couple of times, letting her drop and inch or two even when her skin was far from smooth anymore, covered in harsh, deep gashes from his fingernails. Joel could feel her skin and blood begin to build up under his nails, pressuring the skin there. He finally got a grasp on her when he hooked his forearms under her arms, locking his hands in a tight grasp over her chest as he pulled her up and over the window frame, slithering back into the room.

Hitting her back harshly half over Joel’s chest and half over the wooden floors was an echoing sound of reality.

All for nothing.

All for nothing at all.

She’d die tonight, she’d die for the second time in her life but this time, she wouldn’t come back. She wouldn’t do him right. She wouldn’t bring him justice. She wouldn’t keep her promise.

She had died and lost her soul, but she’d survived. She had a chance to make things right for him. And now Joel was going to kill her, what’s left of her soul and drag her body with it. And she’d have died without doing anything significant, without filling her only fucking purpose left for her. All for nothing.

All for nothing.

Lana could only sob as she felt Joel move beneath her, pulling himself out from under her. She faintly noticed Tess in the room, breathing heavy as she helped him pull her inside. The sound of failure was deafening, but as tears slipped down her cheeks and into her ears, it made it that much easier to listen.

All for nothing. All for nothing. All for nothing.

Lana quivered and shook, her chest spasming against the floor, making her whole-body twitch as she continued to cry, shaking her head slightly. Suddenly she noticed Joel step into view, standing over her, breathing heavily, hair and clothes dripping onto her frame.

Joel looked down at her, observing at her bloody, scratched and bruised, and soaking wet body. He’d pity the sight if it weren’t for her behavior, if she didn’t bring this down on herself, now pinned to the ground almost looking like fresh roadkill. He bent down, picking her up, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other clutching around her wrist as he pulled her up and over his shoulder.

Lana didn’t protest apart from the unvoluntary grunt as she was thrown over his shoulder, a quick interruption to her sobs before they continued silently, her cheek brushing against the now soaked fabric of his shirt on his back. She could faintly make out Tess’s frame following behind him between foggy, tearful eyes.

He had placed her - somewhat gently - back onto the familiar wooden chair and left the room to look for new restraints. Tess stayed behind, watching her with her arms crossed, not making much effort at all as Lana’s sobs turned into a silent cry, tears effortlessly trailing down her flushed cheeks. She bore an almost numb look, staring down at her soaked shoes, on the small puddle of water that gathered from a loose string of her hair dripping in the same place, over and over, as she refused to move.

There was nothing to do. All for nothing.

After a full minute had passed Tess felt it was ok to even turn around and shut the window behind her, taking the shiv thrown beside it and pocketing it. And not so surprisingly enough, Lana still hadn’t moved an inch. Joel walked into the room, footsteps and creaky wooden floorboards making his presence known. He took both woman in before giving a short nod towards Tess and kneeling beside Lana, beginning to tie her once more.

He scooped up Lana’s wrists in her lap, securing the ropes around burned and bright red skin. If she showed any discomfort, it was in the slight quiver of her bottom lip, or the tinniest scrunch in her nose.

They didn’t have to. She was gonna die. All for nothing.

The dense silence was finally broken as Tess mumbled something under her breath and gestured vaguely with her hands, keeping her head low towards Joel who had paused midway through tying down her ankles.

“What?”, Joel said lowly, looking at her over his shoulder.

Tess hesitated for a moment, “C’mon Joel, you can’t think she’s much of a threat now…”

Joel stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her sudden urge to give a shit. Then his gaze fell on Lana. She could meet his eyes, didn’t have the energy to lift her head, not when she knew he’d be the one to put a gun between her eyes in the next moment or two.

“Tess… ya can’t be serious?” Joel said, shaking his head slightly as he looked back to the older woman.

“Her hands are tied, that’s enough. Not much fight left in her anyway… let’s uh…”, Tess paused, scratching the back of her head before she walked over to the bedroom door, pulling it open with a creek, “let’s talk… like you said”.

Tess didn’t wait for him, her footsteps becoming lighter as she walked down the hall and into the kitchen. He faintly registered her turning on the faucet and filling a cup of water, then another, and another.

He refused the urge to roll his eyes and scoff. He then looked back at Lana, fingers wrapping around her upper arm as he dropped the rest of the rope, “Ya done?”, he drawled out, voice low and husky.

All for nothing. Nothing at all.

Albany to Boston. Boston towards West. West. Wyoming. Montana.

West for him. For what’s left. For everything.

He’d died for nothing. Nothing at all.

All for nothing.

A deafening mantra followed by a ring in her ears, half broken by Joel’s voice one more, this time harsher, more present, matching the grip on her arm.

“I said, are ya done?”, Joel shook her slightly, tilting his head so she’d be forced to meet his gaze, “Are ya gonna behave? And I fuckin mean it ‘cus-“

Joel was cut off by Lana’s lazy nod, just once. Eyes still trained on his.

For a brief moment, Joel captured a flash of grief, of soul-crushing disappointment, failure. A kind of sight you’d recognize instantly, the image burned into the back of his mind, half lost in a faint memory twenty years ago, in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. One he’d seen in himself.

Lana was done. She had given up, crossed a line that he had only met and crossed once in his life. Only standing here to recognize it once more because he flinched the last time.

It was uncomfortable. There was not a hint of pleading, a look begging for mercy, for forgiveness. She had abandoned her pleas by the windowsill. It was oddly intimate. A moment this girl shouldn’t be sharing with a man like him. With the man she thought would be her last sight.

Joel shifted under it, clearing his throat slightly as she blinked it away, like it was never there. He didn’t say anything, didn’t shake her or question her again for an answer. Instead, he stood slowly, pulling her up with him by her arm as he walked over to the door, pushing it open with the palm of his hand.

He saw Tess in the kitchen, three glasses of water on the counter as he sat her on the couch, hands tied in her lap. The couple shared a look Lana didn’t care to dig for the meaning of. The air had shifted to something somehow heavier, uncomfortable, awkward really.

The glasses were placed on the coffee table in front of Lana as Joel and Tess sat in their chairs in front of her.

“Lana.”

All for fucking nothing.

“Lana”, Tess tipped her head lower, meeting the girls gaze, “how old are you?”

The information didn’t matter unless they thought about giving her a tombstone. Not that that even fit the QZ regulations. Her body would just be burned. Like his.

All for no-

“Lana”.

“I’m twenty-one. I- I’d be twenty-two in three months.”, Lana rasped.

There was a beat of silence, what felt like a sense of grief washing over the whole room. Over the three of them. I would be. Not I will be.

“What were you going to use the battery for? The truck?”

It stung more than her scratched arms. It ached more than her muscles and joints. It burned more than the sweat that seeped into her cuts. But the least she could do was honor her thoughts and plans to do right by him.

Plans she’d never meet. All for-

“I uhm… I was going to drive… up to... out West-”, she was too lost in her thoughts to register Tess’s eyebrows rising, Joel’s eyes slowly meeting his partners’, “I- I hadn’t quite figured it out… maybe Montana… maybe Wyoming… needed to uhm- meet someone”. Lana cleared her throat, feeling the sting in her eyes of fresh new tears brewing.

“Meet someone?”, Joel pressed, speaking up for the first time since the bedroom.

Lana didn’t want to share his story with these people. Neither did she want to share her revenge plans. Didn’t make sense to. So, she lied, just a little bit. Lies can’t catch up to you if you’re dead. Well, they can, but not that it would make a difference to her.

“My brother”, it brought bile up her throat to say it out loud, but she swallowed it, “he’s uhm… we got separated a few months ago… long story short I got a tip he’s out there… basecamp, or sum…”

After a beat of awkward and unreasonable silence, she filled the silence with something that made her lip quiver violently, “He’s the last family I have.”

Simple statement. A lie. Had.

It took maybe another half a second or two before Joel stood so fast his chair skidded behind him, “Let’s make a deal”.

“Joel”, Tess spit over her shoulder, face scrunching in disbelief. This time it was his turn to ignore her, not sparing her a glance as he walked towards Lana, who in turn cowered slightly against the couch.

“I have to go out we-“

Tess suddenly stood from her seat, scrapping wood against wood as she lunged at Joel, chest almost pressing against his as she tried to meet his eyes, unsuccessfully.

“Joel, Jesus- think about it.”

“I am”, he stated simply, as if obvious.

“No, you’re jumping the gun here, c’mon, Joel-“

Joel finally met her gaze, and what convinced her wasn’t his words, but the look he gave her. This wasn’t negotiable, it never was. And that’s what Tess feared, because negotiating was what she could do. There was just no room for her here. “This s’my only chance. I ain’t fightin' on this”.

Tess stared at him, hands on her hips as she slowly began to nod, averting her gaze beside him and gnawing on her bottom lip. Her hands came up at her sides before they dropped in defeat in a silent, ‘Fine. Whatever’.

Joel brushed passed her as he neared Lana, standing in front of her with a stern gaze.

“Where’s the truck?”

Lana understood that this was also not a negotiation. This was him asking her questions she’d have to answer and then him telling her what to do. And her obliging.

This was a blind game of chess on her side, only he could move the pieces, only he could see the board, hell, he could bend the rules in his favor. And she’d only blindly play along. You can’t beat a game you can’t see.

“Sneak out past the QZ gates on point 34… just outside the outskirts of the- the wall patrol officers... under a bright green tarp there’s an early 2000s Ford F-150 red truck”, she gave up.

“What other supplies you got for this?”

Of course Joel was the kind of player not to make his way straight to the Queen. He’d take everything he could get in his way. Every single one of her pawns.

“Radio… map… ammo, not many firearms, a 9mm pistol, revolver- some canned food, water...” Lana thought for a moment that the easier she gave him information the easier he’d go on her death, “Maybe another thing… or two.”

Joel nodded slightly, half in thought, half present with her as Lana’s eyes met his through her lashes. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“I’m goin’ out West to meet someone as well. The battery was for a truck to take the same damn route you’re takin’… And since ya stole my battery, I figured it’s fair ya owe me this… So m’thinkin’…” Joel took a long breath before averting his gaze for a moment. Lana thought he gave up on his plan when the silence stretched further than expected, until he spoke again.

“I’m thinkin’ we take that truck and go out West together. I got some supplies to add to that list of yours. I see my b- meet my person and ya meet yours. Then we go our separate ways”.

Lana hadn’t quite processed his proposal when he said it, let alone when he finished talking. Until about half a minute ago she thought she’d die, blood on Joel Miller’s fucking hands and now he proposed a road trip together. Over 35-hour experience of a will-he-won’t-he kill her.

“How do I know you won’t kill me? Or leave me stranded?”

Joel didn’t waste a second. “I’ll kill ya right now. Or ya wait to find out if I’ll maybe kill ya along the way.”

An option did sound better than the other, slightly. If he tried to kill her eventually, she could plan to do the same. Maybe with Tess not around it’ll make it easier, one on one. Although she hated creating the expectation that she might make it West, dying closer to her destination than she’ll ever be. What was in it for Joel to kill her then? If he thinks she’s a threat and an obstacle in the road he should kill her right now, not give her an option to live… but the fact that he didn’t think of her as a threat feared her. She needed that kind of control… Maybe he thought of her as somewhat useful, she did in fact steal off his person, that could find some kind of benefit along the-

“Are ya done thinkin? We have a deal?”

Lana stared at him for a moment before starting her pesky questions, “Why do you want me there?”

“I don’t”

“Then why not kill me now?”

“D’ya want me to kill ya now?”

“No”

"Alrigh'"

Silence.

“What if I steal you a new battery? We both go our separate ways.”

“S’take too long. Gotta leave tomorrow by dusk”.

“What if I say no?”

“For leaving at dusk?”

“No, for going at all with you.”

“Ya stay in Boston. I’ll go.”

Dead end. She either stays in Boston or he just kills her tonight. Not an option.

“How can I trust you?”

“Ya can’t”

“Do you trust me?”

“No”.

Dead end. Silence.

“That’s not how these things work, Joel.”

“It’s how this’ gonna work”.

Another silence. And he almost opened his mouth to ask if she’s done again, but she beat him too it. She’s not.

“So… we drive- best case scenario, 35 hours out West. Enough trouble as there is out there, but now with guns trained at each other’s heads”, Lana drawled, as if pointing out the obvious failure in his plan.

“M’not too worried ‘bout the gun against my head f’you’re the one holdin’ it”, Joel said smugly, shrugging his shoulder as he grew impatient with what was not supposed to be negotiation.

Lana held back the urge to roll her eyes, taking a moment to breathe and think. It was far from the best option, but it seemed like the only one she had right now.

“I’m driving.”

Joel hid what could’ve easily been a barking laugh into a small puff of air and the smallest hint of an amused grin, “No, ya ain’t. That’s out of the question.”

“Wha- No, it’s not ‘out of the question’- It’s my truck!”

“Runnin’ on my battery”, he stated matter-of-factly.

“Your battery wouldn’t make bloaters run straight, let alone a truck!”

“How old are ya again?”

“21”, Lana said as if stating her point, she was obviously old enough to drive.

“Exactly, I’ve been drivin’ since before ya were born. Push it and I’ll put ya in the backseat.”

“Woah- that’s totally-“

“Alright, enough!” Tess had stood from her seat, where her hands were buried in her face, fingernails digging into her scalp as she tried to endure the childlike banter. She walked to their side, almost between them, “This is already a bat-shit crazy fucking plan, let us not lose our minds before we even settle in that truck”.

Tess looked down at Lana, shutting her up. Then up at Joel, who’s look said something they would have to discuss in a later moment. Joel gave a short nod before looking down at Lana again.

“Ya spend the night, take the couch. Tomorrow first thing in the mornin’ we head to your buildin’, pick up your things and as soon as it goes dark, head to point 34, understood?”

Joel wasn’t asking if she accepted the deal. He knew she’d agreed the first time he’d mentioned it, bargaining more with herself to feed the illusion that she had any other option. That she had control over her choices. Truth is he gave her none, and he made it clear now.

And she’d oblige.

“Ok”.

Read chapter four, here:

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #joel miller #f!reader #tess servopoulos

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mochiable · 3 years

Text

— how you met nct dream.

anon request: hello! i don’t know if you take this type of request but i would love a scenario on how you meet nct dream ot7 if it’s possible, thank you!

warning: one swear word

wc: 1.5k

₊˚✧┆𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞

you had been watching that cute boy on the badminton court playing with his friends ever since you had started working in the gym and you couldn't help but become more and more interested in him with each passing day. the noises he made when he hit the shuttlecock, the whimpers that came from his pink fluffy lips when he missed the expected shot and the way he frowned and puckered his mouth when his partner missed were some of your favourite things about going to work. yet you had never been able to strike up a conversation. never until this day, when his friends decided to take a break and go watch the football match, while he preferred to stay and practice a bit more.

"you're good," you complimented him once you approached him and threw him a bottle of water, which he managed to catch on the fly. "thank you," he replied flashing you a shy smile, causing his cheekbones to bulge. "where did you learn all that?" you asked sitting down on the bench at the side of the court. he turned to look at you nervously, setting the bottle down once he had taken a sip. "my father... well... he taught me, i guess," he replied, averting his gaze to anywhere on the court except your eyes. "and what do you like best about it?" you questioned him, watching the feather he was playing with bounce on the ground. "ahhh, i... i like badminton, i mean... i like it a lot, like... the... the... the rackets are really nice," he replied trying to find the right words, looking even more tender than ever and causing a smile to form on your lips. but just then his friends arrived, so you stood up and approached him. "nice to meet you, mark," you bowed your head and he copied you, failing to hide the blush on his cheeks.

₊˚✧┆𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗨𝗡

you snorted once more when the card of the hotel you were staying at wouldn't open the door. you had just taken a dip in the pool and were starting to get cold from wearing only a t-shirt over your swimsuit. you had already used every curse word the dictionary had and still the door wouldn't open. until suddenly you heard a click and it did, so you hurriedly tried to enter. however, something a little softer than the door blocked your way, making you bump into it or, rather, into someone.

“can i help you with something?” the boy smiled kindly as two others a little taller than him appeared from behind. you frowned, looking at the number painted on the door and then looking at the number written on your card. it was then that you realised your mistake, “shit! sorry, sorry. i've got the wrong room,” you apologised, trying to hide your embarrassment and nervousness. “is your room next door?” he asked leaning the side of his body against the door frame, to which you nodded, “i hope to see you again then,” he spoke, as the other two boys who hadn't moved yet tried to hide their laughter. you smiled still a little self-consciously and turned around with the intention of getting out of there. “nice outfit, by the way.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗘𝗡𝗢

you were taking the dog for a walk in the park as you usually did, but this day was a bit different. you let the dog loose, trusting him completely, although you regretted it after a second when you saw how he ran away from you, starting to chase a boy riding his bike. you ran after him, calling his name and wishing you were born with more stamina, because your lungs weren’t strong enough for that. the boy slowed down when he noticed the animal running after him, who didn't think twice before jumping on top of him and knocking him off his bike, licking his face while getting petted. when you managed to get to where they were, you apologised repeatedly, getting several "don't worry" from the boy, smiling with amusement at your furry friend.

“i hope your dog doesn't attack me again,” he laughed softly, hopping on his bike and riding off, reassuring you that there would definitely be a next time.

₊˚✧┆𝗛𝗔𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡

in the summer you worked in a flower shop, you didn't get paid much but it was enough to pay for your studies. that day, your boss sent you to the most famous dance company in your city to deliver a bouquet with yellow sunflowers, something strange you had to admit.

leaving the lift you bumped into a handsome guy who apologized for not having noticed and almost destroying those beautiful flowers. as an apology he offered to guide you to your destination and you, a bit shy, accepted shyly. you could notice the look of confusion when you pointed out where you should deliver the sunflowers and, when you entered the room, he didn't hesitate to speak.

“so the flowers are for me, you’re the one sending them?” he approached them to smell their soft, fresh scent and then looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. you shook your head slightly, watching an amused pout form on his handsome face, “how bad, i would’ve wished to receive such a gift from someone so pretty.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡

Songpa Naru Park was perhaps your favourite place to spend the afternoon when you didn't have too much to do. coming here, watching the almond blossoms swaying in the wind, listening to the swallows singing and watching families having a good time were your favourite images. you couldn't miss the photographs, you were nobody without your camera and your snapshots.

at that moment, watching the black and white ducks arguing over which part of the lake belonged to each of them, you felt a flash in your right profile, which made you startle and your camera, which was in your lap, rush to the ground. however, a big hand prevented that horrible disaster.

“forgive me,” the stranger apologised, “i didn't mean to,” he showed you his perfect white teeth as he returned the camera to your lap. “did you take a picture of me?” you asked looking in his direction, remembering that bright light. he looked at you with regret and put his hand to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously, “sorry about that too.” you gave him a tight-lipped smile and lifted your shoulders, “don't worry, it's all right,” you replied turning your gaze back to the lake, “it’s beautiful, isn't it?” you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “yes, very pretty,” he replied, looking at your picture on his camera, which brought another smile to your face, a bigger one this time.

₊˚✧┆𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡𝗟𝗘

you were definitely lost. maybe if you hadn't listened to your brother, you would now be at the restaurant where your parents were waiting for you. but obviously, he didn't want to use the gps as he had "memorised the way". and this is when he forced you to roll down the car window and ask some stranger for help.

“excuse me, could you tell me where Las Torres restaurant is?” you asked a handsome guy, wearing a loose summer brown shirt. he smiled at you and asked for your phone so he could write it down for you, which you readily agreed to. “here you go. i’ve drawn you the official route, but also a small detour that will get you there faster,” he explained, handing you back the phone through the window. after thanking him and saying goodbye, he gave you a smile with a wink, which caused a slight blush to appear on your cheeks. you soon learned the reason for this gesture. he hadn't asked for your mobile phone just to guide you, but to write down his number as well.

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚

you were having dinner with a friend at one of your favourite restaurants, celebrating the end of the school year and another year of your friendship. however, you weren't paying full attention to your friend, as you were busier watching the boy who hadn't stopped looking at you all night and who, when you looked back at him, looked away, blushing slightly. halfway through dinner you could notice his friend saying something in his ear, looking in your direction, and how the boy's eyes widened while he began to shake his head. but suddenly, the other boy stood up and, ignoring his friend's prayers, approached you with a mischievous smile on his face.

“good evening,” he greeted, interrupting your conversation and resting his hands on the table, “you've caught my friend's eye, but he's too shy and cowardly to come and ask for your number himself, so i’m here to make his dreams come true,” he addressed you with confidence and amusement, pointing to the sweet boy who was now covering his face with the tablecloth. you finally decided to write down your number on the napkin and your heart skipped a beat as the boy smiled shyly at you after receiving the piece of paper with your number written on it.

requests are open!

main masterlist | nct masterlist

a/n: this is my very first multiple scenario and i have to admit i’m very nervous about it. i’d really appreciate it if you could provide me with some feedback and tell what do you think of it! hope you liked it, love you<3

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i-need-air · 3 years

Note

Hey it's me again ❤️

I'm just gonna whisper something in your mind (is that even possible?)

Having a baby with Hybrid Katsuki.

Just that. Imagine girl. Perfection.

Ok, real talk here. Every time I see a request from you I uwu a little bit bc I know for a fact whatever you're requesting will make me get so immersed and involved and I'm gonna 💕💞AAAAAA💕💞 while writing AND [lemmecatchmybreath] it happened once again skdjdkfkf Hope you enjoy and sorry it took longer than normal~

Word count: 1.8k

× listen 🥺 I already started and I'm melting, ok?

× when he finds out you're having a smol baby together?

× he freezes and looks at you in a whole different light

× if you're getting pregnant, he will definitely smell the change in your scent and will know even before you do; he'd be instantly by your side with a bewitched expression on his face, taking your cheeks into his palms to just soak everything in yet he's shaking slightly

× and even if you adopt [hopefully a smol hybrid], something deep inside of Katsuki, burried and long forgotten surfaces

× this is the life he always wanted, he always craved even in his darker moments

× this happiness, this fulfillment, this joy

× I absolutely believe he will diligently read and learn everything about the baby to come; will educate himself like no other, deciding to be the very best father he could ever be

× his life was rough and he was stolen away from his biological family, he will now have a chance to have his own and he will not fail you or the baby

× when you hold the little bundle of sunshine in your hands, head down admiring the beauty of a new life, he will stand there, again in shock, again soaking this moment in... so beautiful, so perfect

× will he ever tell you that? of course not; angry ass wild pomeranian—

× but his face gives him away every single time and when you tilt yourself to hand him his new son or daughter, he falls in love for the second time in his life;

× he burries his nose in the soft and fragile skin of the baby's head and breathes in, his instinct kicking in to defend, protect, care, look out for...

× watch carefully because once the baby makes a noise, he'll still, unsure of what to do, but smile so softly as the baby coos in his arms securely; that right there is the best image you can have of soft Katsuki.

× the first few weeks are actually horrible, sorry to break it to everyone aksjskdj not because he doesn't know what to do or does not want to help; on the contrary, he is so incredibly attentive but he also recites the books he learned by memory at this point and it's getting absolutely infuriating;

× although understand him, please; he wants to prove he's a good dad 🥺 except you wanna smack him bc he scoffs if you suggest something he isn't sure about.

× you will find him standing by the baby's crib as it sleeps; he's just???? making sure this is not a dream????? don't question anything though

× can we hc Bakugou with a daughter too? [ already established in the Hybrid!Kiri hcs that Kiri'd have daughter bUT i just really really like beefy men with tiny daughters;;; my heartttt;;; ]

× his little angel, no discussion, no argument, his daughter can do NO WRONG!

× he's very down to earth though, don't get me wrong, he just absolutely adores spoiling her

× speaks softly into her ear, the lowest you'd hear from him

× gruff, raspy, gutural voice ofter overused to scream now low and soft as he holds her into his chest; doesn't do baby-voices or anything like that, but calls her his angel then smirks at you if you're watching;;; then starts softly complaining and bitching about you to the baby 💀 all while rubbing her back

× omfg his hand is as big as her tiny back; guys, call an ambulance, I'm—

× Katsuki would be the type of little shit to pull what I just said then grab you and glue you to his chest too; he'd look down at you both, eyes shining in such adoration he'd take your breath away just before he continues his ranting about you;

× once the baby starts being more interactive, her giggles specially the ones induced by her daddy will make him melt; absolute diminute baby with a small wiggling tail clapping her chubby hands at her dad? his eyes would widen suddently, ears snapping high in surprise and he's taken back by the emotions overtaking him

× he's gone, man; she has him wrapped around her tiny little finger and you can't do anything about it

× instantly acts all in denial if someone is around though; scoffs to hide is obvious smile, placing a palm on his mouth to further block it out and tickles her with the other, earning another fit of giggles

× please, don't tell him his whole tail is waving from side to side

× the only clear giveaway apart from his ears and it's;;; a d o r a b l e;;;

× specially when your daughter also starts wagging her tail in response whenever he does it;

× "Hey, come see what the dumbass is doing!" or "Look at what she did" while showing you a video; proud pappa 🥺

× we're bringing back Proud Bakugou bc hIS DAUGHTER iS tHe BeSt; no, seriously, his kid is the mf best in the world and he will start this presentation with—

× now sit down with me and accept this: the baby; yes, your sweet daughter; mhm, that adorable screeching angel; mhm;;; she'll talk so early it's disturbing.

× at 6 months or so she's already saying mamma, dadda, kitty, woof-woof

× seriously terrifying how sharp she is and how she cannot shut up; for the love of gOd, Katsuki, this is all your fault... it doesn't matter, he just smirks as he has another reason to brag to anyone about his child

× did that street vendor look at him funny? "I'M GONNA FUCKING TELL YOU ABOUT MY DAUGHTER—"

× super-protective of her and fucking hates with a burning passion if anyone dares to do that thing where they match up babies saying "Maybe they'll get married when they grow up"

× hands down, no filter, he just looks deep down in whoever had the audacity and says "Like fucking shit they'd deserve her."

× drag him away before he throws fists

× he will definitely if you don't drag him away and you know it, they know it, the baby knows it and cheers for pappa, the whole world knows it at this point and they're buying tickets to watch the shitshow

× chest carrier and walks around with the kid like a boss

× man has shit to do, don't even dare to judge him;

× handles fits really well, he's impressive to say at least

× she's spoiled, yes and always has new toys, coloring books, whatever she wants but the moment she throws fits, he puts his foot down

× baby would be smol angery bb all adorable in all her Bakugou genetics anger and he'd just stare, tapping his foot

× literally waits in place until she calms and looks up at him with big, round eyes, puffy red cheeks and ears lowered

× mission accomplished; he nods then picks her up;

× and you're there amazed??????

× "The fuck you lookin' at?" lil shit still has a foul mouth tho, but make him get just as pouty and embarrassed as the child in his arms by saying something cheesy like "How amazing you are as a dad 💕"

× all rainbows and unicorns until she starts repeating insults and fr tho, Katsu almost shits his pants, fearing your reaction. Will, hands down, chill out with the insults even if he meant no damage with them; he has this unreadable expression on, a mix of shame and fluster, dread too? he's sorry, ok????

× loves, loves, loves cooking for you both and once the kiddo has her own special chair to sit at the dining table together, that's when he sees it: his dream

× you, wiping some food off her cheek with a loving expression, talking about your day casually, baby giggling while she moves her face away playfully; he loves you both so much.

× has these rare moments where, at the end of the day once you're settled in bed, he'd hug you tight and thank you in his mind for... for this... all of it...

× once she starts walking they're both a disaster

× seriously, do not expect the household to be silent ever again [ well, that dream was gone long ago anyway lol ]

× "Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?"

× rapid giggle running around from place to place

× "Oh, for fucks—"

× "Katsuki." you only need to say, catching him in his insults

× 😳 ... "Kid, come back, we're goin' to the park." Skdjkdfkl

× sudden adorable tiny fast steps approach him bc they're going for walkies!

× he is very careful with her and teaches her about stranger danger; also teaches her how to growl and even if her attempt is a total failure, small rawr leaving her lips, he's like "Yes. Good job. Now give it more heart."

× he growls as an example

× she growls back, sounding like a cute lil pup 🥺💕

× as she grows up, she obviously acts more like her father yet he knows when to stop the bad behaviors and it only takes a warning growl from him to get her to cease

× yet somehow you're the strict parent at the end of the day??????? tf????????? who made the rules??????

× starts calling her brat, squirt, lil shit 💕lovingly💕

× "your child" if she did something bad

× "Your fucking child kicked the ball into the vase and broke it." Aha, nice one, Katsuki. Good job.

× not to brag but her puppy eyes don't work on him but yours do; the problem is her puppy eyes do work on you bc she's the light of your life so if she wants something; she'll puppy-eye you knowing you'll get it for her bc daddy loves you very much 💕💞

× literally evil mastermind; didn't I tell you she's sharp? pft, she's playing you both so hard

× every day he comes back from work she runs to him at the door, tail wiggling happily behind her as she stretches her arms to be picked up and he always does, without a doubt, then proceeds to kiss the top of her head

× come out to greet him too? the whole loving routine is his absolute thing and wants to see you, have you kiss his cheek; he complains but adores it soooooo much!

× you have a family night; BONDING WITH MOODY POMERANIANS. Yes, plural, and it sounds perfect~

× even if it's just one of those animated movies he hates so much, he'll watch through all of it and make sarcastic comments just to make you both laugh; will grin satisfied asf if he manages to do so bc he's the best.

× will definitely want another kid, so how about maybe a boy??? hmm???

× asks you if you're up for the idea and if you agree, he'll roll his eyes and crack his shoulders, acting so very uninterested and purely exhausted yet his smirk would give him away:

× "Knew you'd torture me with another devil"

× throw him out, istg— 💀

#bakugou katsuki headcanons #noire writes #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #hybrid!bakugou #hybrid!au

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

Note

You mention how Edwina is the sweet princess but I feel like Kate is also truly loved by the people, they just maybe take a while to warm up to her.

Can we see a snippet of Kate being the Queen of everyone’s hearts like we know she would be and Anthony hyping her up the entire time?

Just you know to compensate for the angst today?

You don’t have to, of course but it’d be nice to read is all 🤗

Oh, Kate is definitely loved by the people by the time her coronation comes round because of a few things that happen during a televised event in two chapters time.

Make no mistake, the Royal family of Genovia is very well loved amongst the public and honestly, while they had thought Kate's relationship with Anthony might be a PR disaster, it turned into pretty well the opposite, let's take a look.

(I'm trying real hard not to spoil anything but some things might slip through and I'm sorry )

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sophie?" Anthony said nervously to the woman currently flitting around behind his chair, directing a lighting technician with startling efficiency.

"We've been over this, Anthony. Yes. All of my ideas are good, and if you question another of them, I'll tell your mother what really happened to steal you from your engagement party." Sophie looked pointedly at Anthony, whose cheeks flushed as he thought about how Kate had felt, moving against him in the water of the fountain.

"How do you-?"

"I know everything that happens in this palace Anthony." Sophie said dismissively, "Also, Kate told me."

He could see Kate smirking across the room as her make up team flitted around her, putting the final touches on her.

This had been the part of their relationship that was the hardest for him to adjust to. He hadn't thought he would have to. Had thought it would be easy, given he'd had a semi public life as a viscount, but he'd very quickly learned that being associated with the royal family proper was its own kind of pageantry. He had Kate hadn't been together a week before they'd been sat in a room, the Queen Regent's disapproving stare fixed firmly on him, as Sophie chatted with 15 PR experts all tutting and umming.

"Just how public do you want this to be?" Kate's mother had sighed her eyes barely leaving Anthony's hand clutched firmly in Kate's.

Kate had frowned, "I know you think this is a mistake, Mary, but I love him." Anthony's chest had ached, for the disapproval in Mary's voice, though he knew it had nothing at all to do with Kate and everything to do with him, and rightly so.

"I don't think anything, Kate. You're enjoying a not insignificant bump in public opinion given everything that happened at... your wedding, I'm just saying, the public might not take kindly to seeing you in a relationship with someone that tried to stage a coup."

Unfortunately the PR experts had agreed, even Sophie humming sadly, but Kate had insisted, she wasn't going to keep their relationship a secret and so, Lord Bridgerton had emerged as Princess Katharine's public companion two weeks later.

And to everyone's very great surprise, the new royal couple had been a hit. Magazines were filled with pictures of Kate, smiling down at his younger sister amidst all the other school children. Pictures of him kissing her cheek as they got back into the car, the two of them branded star crossed lovers. Two people who weren't supposed to fall in love, but couldn't help themselves, capturing the attention of the entire country. Requests for media appearances pouring in, Sophie's phone ringing off the hook. And it had only been worse when Kate had been spotted, three weeks ago now, coming out of his apartment, an engagement ring fixed firmly on her finger.

So here they were, about to give a televised interview discussing how they fell in love. And it should have been so easy. But it really didn't seem that way.

"You look very handsome. I might have to undo those buttons with my teeth later." Kate's voice growled in his ear as she settled on the sofa beside him, legs crossed primly as she tucked herself against his side, wrapping his arm over her shoulders, her left hand resting on his knee so the engagement ring was front and centre.

Anthony felt himself flush, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Your Majesty." he ground out, ignoring her little huff of breath against his neck.

"Who said I wasn't planning on keeping them?" Her fingernails gliding up his leg, heat rushing to his stomach.

"Can we dial this horniness back to about a 2?" Sophie sighed from her position, by the door, waiting for the journalist to enter.

"What do you think we're currently at?" Kate hummed directing her attention back to Sophie effortlessly as Anthony tried to redirect his thoughts elsewhere.

"As always, 25. We want young and in love not ready to rip each others clothes off and make a celebrity sex tape."

"You can't deny we'd definitely get a lot of viewers." The corner of her lips was tugging upwards in smirk.

Sophie rolled her eyes, "One of these days I'm going to- Sandra! Lovely to see you again!"

The journalist had entered the room, looking around curiously, greeting Sophie politely. Anthony knew Sandra Jacobsen had been very carefully chosen for this interview, the exact brand of questioning carefully plotted out by Sophie.

"Your Majesty." The woman dropped into a curtsy before Kate, who nodded politely.

"And you know Lord Bridgerton?" The woman curtsied again.

"Sandra, it's so lovely to see you again. How is your son enjoying university?" Kate slipped effortlessly into her public mode, kindly enquiring after people, and Anthony knew, while other dignitaries had this information fed to thm, Kate kept her own careful notes on everyone, ready to use at a moments notice, and people were powerless t resist her smile.

Sandra settled in the chair in front of them after several long moments, rattling off some introductions, sending Anthony's anxiety hurtling towards breaking point, Kate's fingers drumming on his knee keeping it from getting there.

"Now, the two of you sent the entire country into a spin a few months ago."

Kate laughed delightedly, "Yes, I suppose it was a little dramatic wasn't it?" She turned to Anthony, her eyes sparkling at him, sending his heart skipping.

"We're nothing if not dramatic." Anthony couldn't help but grin. It was easy to laugh about it now, all the tears shed months ago now disappearing in the wake of this beautiful thing that had blossomed between them.

"I think, I speak for the entire country when I say what a beautiful couple you make." Sandra was saying, but Anthony couldn't pull himself away from Kate's eyes, drowning in them a little, falling deeper and deeper every second nw that he'd let himself.

"Lord Bridgerton?" Sandra's voice caught his attention, as Kate's elbow caught him in the ribs. Sophie hissing behind him like an angry goose.

"Sorry, Sandra I got distracted. Could you repeat that?"

"I was just saying, the two of you met when you were invited to stay at the palace," The very public, very necessary lie always grated on him. But they could hardly have had him say The future queen let me take her home not even knowing my last night and fuck her in my shower. Could they? "What was the first thought that ran through your head when you saw her?"

Kate was smirking at him, her hand tight on his knee, he could almost see Sophie begging him not to say something stupid, an image flashing through his mind f Kate on a barstool laughing delightedly his breath leaving his body.

"Honestly Sandra? Oh No, She's really pretty."

The entire Genovian news cycle is taken up by clips of Anthony stammering through his words, unable to take his eyes off his fiancée, Oh no, She's really pretty played on a loop, made into memes and jokes on late night TV. All with the same sentiment It's what she deserves. And Anthony honestly, couldn't have agreed more.

#Anthony is a himbo #change my mind #royals #princess diaries au #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

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