#*PROGRESSIVELY LOUD BELL NOISES*

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 25: June 2024 - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet. Soft. Safe.

It always felt that way here — a small haven away from the noise of circuits and media storms, from the sharp edges of being forgotten and the new weight of suddenly being seen. The window let in filtered afternoon light, and Simone’s office smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

Belle sat curled in her usual corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t yet touched.

Simone sat across from her with her notebook closed, eyes kind, waiting.

“I think the worst part,” Belle said softly, after a long pause, “is that I didn’t expect it to feel so loud.”

Simone tilted her head slightly. “The public knowing?”

Belle nodded. “It was quiet for so long. Just ours. Just… safe. But now—one photo, and suddenly everyone’s watching.”

“Does it feel like a loss of control?” Simone asked gently.

“Yes. And no.” Belle looked down at her mug. “I wanted people to know. Eventually. I chose to walk into the paddock. I chose to kiss him. I posted the photo. It wasn’t an accident. But now everyone has an opinion. People I’ve never met are dissecting my life like it’s a press release.”

Simone let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, “What grounded you when it started to feel overwhelming?”

Belle smiled faintly. “Max. He always knows when I’m spiraling — even before I do. He’ll just take my hand or touch my back and everything feels quieter.”

There was a pause.

“I told Arthur,” Belle said, voice softer now.

Simone’s brows lifted slightly. “How did that feel?”

“Better than I expected,” Belle admitted. “He didn’t defend Charles. He didn’t make excuses. He just showed up. And he listened.”

“That’s progress,” Simone said gently.

Belle nodded. “But it’s only him. I haven’t spoken to anyone else.”

“Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet for a long time. Then: “I don’t know.”

Simone didn’t press her. Just waited.

“I think part of me still wants them to reach out. To say sorry without being prompted. To see me on their own. Not because they’re embarrassed or because the media caught on. Just… because they miss me.” Her voice cracked just slightly on that last word.

Simone’s tone was careful, but warm. “It’s okay to want that.”

“I know. I just don’t know if they’re capable of it.”

“And if they’re not?” Simone asked gently.

Belle looked up. “Then I move forward without them.”

Another pause.

“Can I offer a thought?” Simone asked.

Belle nodded.

“If you do choose to let them in again — not now, not even soon, but eventually — it might be helpful to bring those conversations into a neutral space. Somewhere safe.”

Belle’s gaze flicked toward her. “Like here?”

Simone gave a small smile. “Like family therapy. With boundaries. With someone to help hold the structure while you explore whether rebuilding is even possible.”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t want to excuse what they did,” she said. “Or pretend everything’s fine because I married someone famous and suddenly they care.”

“I would never ask you to,” Simone replied gently. “You’ve already built a life. A marriage. Soon a family of your own. The question is whether you want to let them try to earn a place in it.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked them clear. “I think I might be open to the idea.”

“That’s enough for today.”

Belle let out a slow breath.

And for the first time since the Parc Fermé kiss and the global chaos that followed, the silence in her chest didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like peace.

***

It started with a dress.

Just a simple, pale blue linen one — a favorite of hers. Soft. Easy. Forgiving in the waist. She’d worn it to coffee with Emilie two weeks ago and felt fine in it. Pretty, even.

Now, it wouldn’t zip.

Belle stood in the center of the bedroom, barefoot on the rug, hair still damp from the shower, the zipper stuck halfway up her back as she twisted and strained and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a flood of hormones and tears and shouting. It was quiet.

A soft, sharp ache of realization.

Her body had changed overnight.

She turned slowly toward the mirror. Pressed a hand to her stomach. What had once been the faintest suggestion now had shape. Curve. Weight. Not enough to scream pregnant to the world, but more than enough to make her clothes sit wrong. To make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

The zipper finally gave up entirely, and Belle stepped out of the dress with more frustration than grace.

She tried another — a black cotton shift. Still no. Then a flowy skirt — fine at the hips, but suddenly too snug at the waist. A button-down she’d always liked? The buttons across her chest strained so badly it looked like they were preparing for launch.

One by one, the pieces fell to the floor around her.

When she finally dropped into the edge of the bed, she was surrounded by the soft wreckage of what used to fit. A fabric battlefield. Her hands rested on her knees, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

She hadn’t expected to feel sad.

This was supposed to be beautiful — the beginning of something. The miracle. The glow.

But all she could think was: Nothing fits anymore.

And Max wasn’t there.

He’d left for the race two days ago — a back-to-back weekend with media, meetings, track walks. He’d kissed her forehead before leaving, pressed a palm gently over her belly, whispered something about texting her after every session.

But he wasn’t here.

Not now, when her body had changed without warning and she didn’t know how to dress it. Not now, when she just wanted someone to look at her and say, you’re still you.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it without hope — then saw his name.

Max: Morning, Schatje. I just got out of briefing. I miss you. How’s our co-pilot today?

Belle’s throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she typed back.

Belle: I miss you too. Co-Pilot seems to be growing faster than expected. Nothing fits. At all. It’s ridiculous. I feel like a puffed pastry with a heart rate.

The reply came almost instantly.

Max: That is the most adorable description of pregnancy I’ve ever heard. And also: please stop being mean to my wife. You’re beautiful. You’re growing our baby. I’m buying you stretchy things. All the stretchy things.

Belle let out a quiet, helpless laugh — one that cracked right through the tightness in her chest.

Another message came in:

Max: Also I demand a photo. Even if you’re in my hoodie with no pants. Especially then, actually.

Belle shook her head, smiling through the sting in her eyes.

She stood, padded over to the wardrobe again, and pulled out one of Max’s hoodies. It swallowed her whole, but it didn’t pinch. It didn’t judge. It just fit — in the way that mattered.

She took the photo. Hair damp. No makeup. Hoodie halfway down her thighs. The bump was there. Soft. Round. Theirs.

She sent it to him with one line:

Belle: This is what “nothing fits” looks like.

A minute passed.

Then Max replied:

Max: That’s my favorite person with my favorite future inside her. Perfect. P.S. I’m coming home the second this race is over.

And somehow, in that moment, even with her body unfamiliar and her closet defeated…

Belle didn’t feel alone anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Slightly odd question. Do you remember what you wore when you were trying to hide your pregnancies?

Victoria: Hahaha Has the bump arrived?

Belle: It ambushed me. Overnight. I woke up and suddenly nothing zips and my jeans are threatening to report me to the authorities.

Victoria: God, I remember that phase. I once cried in a Zara changing room because a wrap dress betrayed me. So yes. I remember it well.

Victoria: Okay. Hiding-the-bump tips from a three-time pro:

Flowy dresses

Button-downs + high-waisted trousers unbuttoned and safety pinned

Distracting accessories (big earrings = nobody’s looking at your belly)

Never underestimate a good scarf

Belle: You’re terrifyingly prepared. I love you.

Victoria: We all cope in our own ways. Mine is emotional support designer handbag. Also. You’re glowing.

Belle: I’m sweating and panicked.

Victoria: That’s pregnancy, darling. And when in doubt, steal Max’s clothes, throw on lipstick, and pretend you’re doing it on purpose.

Belle: I’m texting you before every outfit now.

Victoria: I expect nothing less.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Everything I own has turned against me. I just tried on five dresses. None of them fit. One popped a button and hit me in the face.

Emilie: i’m sorry but this is the funniest tragedy i’ve ever read

Belle: I’m going to have to start wearing Max’s hoodies exclusively. Like some sort of tiny, emotionally unstable Formula 1 driver.

Emilie: you say that like it’s not THE aesthetic of the season also: pls send a pic immediately

Belle: No makeup. Wet hair. Hoodie down to my knees. I look like if depression bought a scented candle.

Emilie: okay that’s going in your baby book "week 16: mother described herself as a sad candle in sportswear" you’re glowing, aren't you?

Belle: No. I’m sweating and mildly offended by cotton. But thank you.

Emilie: you are perfect and your body is doing literal magic and i will be there tomorrow with snacks, tissues, and an emergency haul of ethically-sourced maternity leggings

Belle: I don’t deserve you.

Emilie: no but you’re stuck with me anyway

***

The house was glowing.

Not literally — though the late afternoon sun poured golden light through the open shutters like a blessing — but in the way old homes do when they’ve been cared for. When someone’s loved them back into themselves.

Belle stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear, as Daniel and Jules stepped inside.

“Mon Dieu,” Daniel breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Jules let out a soft, stunned sound and turned in a slow circle, eyes catching every detail — the reclaimed beams overhead, the soft plaster walls in a mineral-washed hue, the original tile floor gently cleaned and sealed instead of replaced.

“I can’t believe this is the same house,” Jules said.

“I can,” Daniel murmured. “Because she did it.”

Belle smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s almost done. A few details left — hardware, window treatments, the stone for the kitchen counters is coming Tuesday.”

“Don’t rush,” Jules said. “We’d sleep on the floor if we had to.”

“No need,” Belle said, leading them deeper into the space. “The guest room is fully dressed. Just in case.”

They passed through the arch into the main living room. The old fireplace had been restored, the stone gently cleaned but still mottled with history. Belle had designed built-in shelves on either side — painted in a soft green-grey that picked up the light without swallowing it — and filled them with old books and ceramics she’d sourced from local artisans.

“Belle,” Daniel said softly. “This is… art.”

She smiled at that. Not flustered. Just pleased.

They moved into the kitchen, where Belle had reimagined the space entirely without losing a single antique tile. A large farmhouse sink had been inset into a custom cabinet she’d designed herself, and the walls were finished in limewash — textured, tactile, alive.

The wide French doors at the back opened onto the courtyard. Once crumbling, it was now a soft, green heart of the home. The old fig tree remained, but Belle had added lavender, herbs, and climbing jasmine that was already threatening to devour the wall.

Jules stepped outside. “You saved the soul of this place.”

“I didn’t want to change it,” Belle said. “Just… listen to it.”

Daniel glanced over at her, smiling. “It’s rare. What you do. Most people walk into old houses and want to erase the past. You made it feel like time had layered into the house instead of over it.”

Belle blinked. Something caught behind her ribs — not pride, exactly, but something deeper. Recognition.

“It’s the first full project I did under my name,” she said quietly. “No firm. No partners. Just me.”

“And it shows,” Daniel said. “There’s nothing generic here. Every choice feels personal. Considered.”

“There are still a few finishing touches. Light fixtures in the guest room, and one of the shutters needs repair. But everything else is… as planned,” Belle explained.

Jules looked around again — eyes slightly glassy now. “It’s more than we imagined.”

Daniel stepped beside Belle and nudged her gently. “You didn’t just design this. You gave it a soul.”

Belle swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat.

“I just listened,” she said. “To what the house wanted to be. And to what you needed it to hold.”

“You do realize this is what great designers say when they’re being modest,” Daniel said dryly.

But Jules only smiled and took Belle’s hands in his. “You made us a home.”

And somehow, that landed more than any award ever could.

As they sat down at the table with lemonade and cheese and fresh bread Jules had insisted on bringing from their favorite bakery, Belle let herself relax into the moment.

The laughter was easy. The compliments genuine. There was no shadow of someone else’s name over her work, no sense of borrowed validation.

Just sunlight, and two clients-turned-friends, and a house that now breathed.

And for the first time in her career, Belle didn’t feel like she was working to prove anything.

She had already done it.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: wanna tell me what the actual FUCK that was between max and lando????

Belle: Define “that.”

Emilie: THE AGGRESSIVE WHEEL-TO-WHEEL “ARE WE ENEMIES NOW” SLAP FIGHT THE DEATH STARES THE POST-RACE NON-HANDSHAKE I’M SORRY, IS THE BRO MANCE DEAD??

Belle: Ah. That.

Emilie: YES. THAT. YOUR HUSBAND WENT FULL FINAL BOSS MODE AND LANDO LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO BITE HIM

Belle: They’ll talk. Eventually.

Emilie: ARE THEY BREAKING UP DO I NEED TO GET THE DIVORCE LAWYERS DO I GET YOU IN THE CUSTODY BATTLE DOES LANDO GET VISITATION WITH THE BABY

Belle: 😂 You are so dramatic. And yes, obviously. 

Emilie: you joke but i’m FUMING i just spent six months convincing myself they were soft-launch brothers-in-arms and now max overtakes like that and lando’s giving “you were supposed to love me” after the race

Belle: It’s called racing, Em.

Emilie: it’s called betrayal he made him crash he gave him a puncture he RUINED HIM i’ve read enemies-to-lovers with less sexual tension than that post-race stare

Belle: Do you want me to ask Max for his side?

Emilie: no

Belle:For the record: Max says he “defended hard” And Lando “should’ve backed out sooner.” He also muttered something about “this is why I don’t have friends.”

Emilie: tell him that’s the most dramatic thing he’s said since “I’m not here to make friends” in 2015

Belle: He is the drama

Emilie: and you married him god i’m proud of you

Belle: Would you and Lando like to come for dinner tomorrow?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME??

Belle: Max is sulking. Lando is brooding. You’re screaming in all caps. I’m fixing it.

Emilie: YOU THINK A CHICKEN PARM IS GONNA FIX A BROKEN BROMANCE

Belle: Yes. That and a homemade lemon tart. Also, you’re bringing wine.

Emilie: oh my god you’re staging a peace summit this is monaco-based diplomacy you’re literally brokering a ceasefire

Belle: We’ve avoided a Red Bull–McLaren cold war so far. I’d like to keep it that way. Also Max gets weird when Lando’s mad at him.

Emilie: i’m bringing rosé and a truce playlist

Belle: Perfect. Tomorrow. 7 PM. We’re serving forgiveness with a side of grilled vegetables.

Emilie: you’re a queen a legend a domestic diplomat

Belle: Good. See you tomorrow. Also, if they refuse to make eye contact, we’re putting on a two-player Mario Kart match and leaving the room.

Emilie: excellent. passive-aggressive gaming therapy. you’re a genius

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Congratulations on the podium 🧡 You were phenomenal today. Clean, calm, clinical. (And you looked very smug on the podium. It suited you.)

Oscar: Thank you 😊 It’s always nice when Max and Lando are too busy crashing into each other to notice I exist.

Belle: Speaking of which... Care to tell me what that was?

Oscar: Which part? The wheel-to-wheel drama? The parc ferme tension? The complete emotional collapse of an F1 friendship?

Belle: All of it. I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s “spaghetti and feelings” dinner.

Oscar: I’d recommend garlic bread. And helmets.

Belle: Are they talking?

Oscar: Define “talking.” Max said “he’ll get over it.” Lando said “he can bite me.” So, no.

Belle: Excellent. Nothing like emotional maturity from two men who drive at 300km/h for a living.

Oscar: Incredible athletes. Emotionally 14.

Belle: We’ve having dinner tomorrow. I’m staging a ceasefire over lemon tart.

Oscar: Bold of you Godspeed Let me know if I need to be on standby for emotional support 

Belle: You might. If they refuse to speak, they’re playing Mario Kart until one of them cries.

Oscar: So, normal Verstappen conflict resolution. Got it 👍

Belle: Exactly.

***

Belle pulled the lemon tart out of the fridge at exactly 6:58 PM.

It was perfect. Glazed, golden, topped with thin slices of candied lemon and just enough powdered sugar to look effortless without trying too hard. Not unlike her strategy for this entire dinner.

She heard Max pacing somewhere near the front hallway again. That made lap four. Five, if she counted the loop past the cat bowls.

“Max,” she called gently. “It’s dinner. Not an FIA hearing.”

“They’re late,” he muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“They’re two minutes late.”

Max crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “Maybe we should cancel.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Because Lando didn’t arrive early to apologize like a teenager with flowers and a mixtape?”

Max looked away. Belle handed him the salad tongs.

“Go toss the greens and remember you’re a grown man with three world championship titles and a mortgage,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something in Dutch and obeyed.

The buzzer rang at 7:03.

Belle opened the door to find Emilie in her best peacekeeping sundress, holding a bottle of rosé in one hand and a smug smile on her face. Lando trailed behind her, suspiciously quiet, clutching a bakery box like it was a bomb.

“We brought peach galette,” Emilie announced. “And emotional tension.”

Belle stepped aside. “We already have both.”

Dinner began civilly enough.

The pasta was well-timed. The wine poured freely. The cats were temporarily bribed into not launching themselves onto the table.

Max and Lando, however, exchanged exactly four words in the first twenty minutes:

“Hi.” “Hi.” “Water?” “Sure.”

The eye contact was brief. The fork clinking was aggressive.

Belle and Emilie carried the conversation like diplomats on a sinking cruise ship. They talked about weather, Monaco construction permits, the absurdity of a $400 baby monitor Belle had returned on principle. They laughed. They smiled.

The boys sulked.

At one point, Max stabbed a roasted carrot like it had insulted his ancestors. Lando sighed in a way that could've shattered glass.

Belle met Emilie’s gaze across the table.

Time for the nuclear option.

“Okay,” Belle said, standing up. “Dessert in a bit. But first—living room.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Belle said, already walking, “I’m not hosting a three-course cold war.”

Emilie followed with the wine glasses. “We’re resolving this like adults.”

“In Mario Kart,” Belle added.

Max groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m married to you. I’ve never been more serious.”

Lando slumped onto the couch. “This is ridiculous.”

Belle handed him a controller. “And yet you’re already holding the remote.”

Max hesitated—just long enough for Belle to raise an eyebrow. “Afraid to lose?”

He sat down next to Lando like she’d physically shoved him. “I’ve beaten him in real life. I’ll survive Rainbow Road.”

“Your funeral,” Lando muttered.

By the second race, Max had stopped muttering under his breath.

By the fourth, he and Lando were arguing about blue shell etiquette.

By the sixth, Belle and Emilie had abandoned the couch entirely and were watching from the kitchen doorway, with Emilie sipping rosé and Belle snacking on lemon tart, like it was theatre.

“I give it ten more minutes before they forget they were mad,” Emilie whispered.

“Seven,” Belle said, just as Lando shouted, “That’s what you get for punting me off in Austria!”

Max howled. “YOU STARTED IT.”

Belle smiled. “And… there it is.”

By the time dessert hit the table, Lando was retelling the story of Max drunk in a night club and accidentally running into a wall while sneezing. Max was defending himself with increasing indignation. Emilie was crying with laughter. And Belle?

Belle sat back in her chair, hand resting gently over her stomach, watching her husband finally laugh again.

And she thought — this is what peacekeeping looks like.

A lemon tart. A glass of wine. A video game and a well-timed eye roll.

And love.

Always, love.

***

Max hadn’t meant to wake up early.

The apartment was still hushed in the pale-blue light of morning, curtains shifting faintly with the breeze from the balcony doors. Monaco always felt quieter before eight — like even the yachts were still asleep.

He stretched, one arm blindly reaching for Belle’s side of the bed.

Empty.

The faint sound of running water met his ears, and then the rustle of a drawer, a closet door sliding open.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

What he saw stopped him completely.

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the closet, turned slightly sideways, her back to the door. She was barefoot, her hair in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts and one of his white tank tops — the thin kind she always stole from his drawer without asking.

And her bump — their bump — was there. Real. Rounded. Glowing in the soft morning light.

Max felt something in his chest shift.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Watched the way she ran her fingers over her stomach, gently, reverently, like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Like it had finally hit her, too.

Belle caught his reflection in the mirror and startled. “God, Max—say something before you scare me to death.”

But she didn’t move to hide.

Didn’t reach for a robe or yank down the hem of the tank top.

And Max… Max couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t know it was like this already,” he said quietly.

Belle turned toward him, one hand resting low on her belly. “It kind of… popped overnight.”

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When he stopped in front of her, his hands came up automatically — one to her cheek, the other hovering just above her bump.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Belle nodded, her eyes warm.

He placed his hand against her skin. Warm. Soft. Alive.

A small intake of breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but softer. “You’re really in there,” he murmured.

Belle smiled, tired and radiant all at once. “Surprise.”

He kissed her, slow and steady, his hand never leaving her stomach.

When he pulled back, his voice was a little rougher. “How long until you can’t hide it anymore?”

She exhaled. “A few weeks, maybe. Less if they keeps growing like this.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Do you want to keep hiding it?”

Belle leaned into his chest, resting her forehead there. “I don’t know. Part of me likes having it just for us. But… part of me wants to stop hiding. Stop pretending nothing’s changed when everything has.”

Max nodded slowly. “We don’t have to post anything. Not unless you want to.”

She looked up at him. “Would you be okay with the media knowing? With the fans knowing?”

“I’m okay with them knowing we’re building a life together,” he said simply. “They’ll say things. They always do. But they don’t get to have this. Only see it. And only what we give them.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “What if they say I’m just—what if they think this is why we got married? That it wasn’t about us?”

“They can think whatever they want,” Max said firmly. “But I know. You know. And this baby—” he pressed his hand gently to her stomach again, “—will grow up knowing they were born from love. Not gossip.”

Belle nodded, slow and quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think…” She paused. “I think when it feels right, I want to share it. I just want to do it our way. Not through a headline. Not through some PR leak. Just… something honest. Something small.”

Max smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned into him again, and he held her there — the two of them wrapped in early morning quiet, one heartbeat becoming three.

***

He didn’t mean to play for hours.

But his hands moved without thought, without permission — soft notes tumbling out one after another, half-finished melodies bleeding into each other, no structure, no rhythm. Just the ache in his chest, transposed into minor keys.

Charles stared at the keys without really seeing them.

Everything since the Spanish Grand Prix had felt like that. Blurred. Half-lit. Shame washing over him in waves until it was hard to tell what day it was.

Fred’s voice still rang in his head.

"He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters."

It should’ve made him angry. Months ago, maybe it would have. But now?

Now it just made him tired.

The front door clicked open quietly.

Charles didn’t stop playing.

Alexandra stepped into the room, keys in hand, sunglasses pushed into her hair. She paused just beyond the piano, watching him. Listening.

He shifted into something sadder without realizing it.

She said nothing for a long time. Just let him play.

Finally: “That’s new.”

Charles nodded, fingers barely brushing the keys. “I didn’t write it down. I won’t remember it.”

Alexandra sat on the armrest of the couch across from him. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

Alexandra watched him a beat longer. Then: “You haven’t said anything since Fred tore into you.”

“He was right.”

That surprised her.

Charles didn’t look up. “He was right about everything. About Belle. About Max. About me.”

Alexandra folded her arms, softening slightly. “Charles—”

“I forgot her birthday,” he said, voice flat. “I forgot where she lived. I didn’t know she moved. I didn’t know she quit her job. And I found out she was married with the rest of the world.”

A pause.

“I used to be the person she told everything to.”

His voice cracked on used to.

Alexandra shifted closer. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” His hands stilled. “And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s your sister.”

“I forgot how to act like her brother.”

It wasn’t said for sympathy. It was just… fact.

He pressed a key. Dissonant. Hollow.

Alexandra exhaled. “You know what I think?”

Charles didn’t answer, but his silence invited it.

“I think you’re not upset she married Max,” she said gently. “You’re upset she didn’t tell you. Because it forced you to realize how far away you let her drift.”

That landed deep.

Charles looked at the keys like they might offer him absolution.

“She stopped waiting for me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“She had to stop,” Alexandra replied. “You never showed up.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Charles admitted.

“You can’t,” Alexandra said, standing. “Not completely. But you can start by owning that it’s not about you. Not her silence. Not her love. Not Max. You don’t get to demand a place in her life just because you regret not earning it before.”

That hurt more than Fred’s words.

Because it was the truth.

Alexandra stepped forward and kissed the top of his head, just briefly.

“Let her choose if you belong,” she said softly. “But maybe, for once, don’t try to race your way back in.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply.

Charles sat at the piano, still and quiet, and let the silence press in around him like a tide.

He looked down at his hands.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure they knew how to fix anything anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Arthur Leclerc

Arthur: hey just wanted to check in how are you?

Belle: Hi That’s a surprise A nice one

Arthur: yeah well i figured it was my turn to show up you always did that for me even when i didn’t deserve it

Arthur: so you okay?

Belle: I’m good. Quiet days. Work. Sleep. Max. He’s home this week, which helps. I’ve been reading again.

Arthur: you always read when you feel safe i remember that

Belle: I do. Books are still better than people sometimes.

Arthur: not going to argue there i just wanted you to know i think about you a lot even when i don’t say anything

Belle: I know. I think about you too.

Arthur: and I’m sorry for forgetting the little things for thinking you’d always be there whether I showed up or not I hate that it took losing you to notice how much I missed

Belle: You didn’t lose me. You just stopped looking. But you’re here now. That counts for something.

Arthur: thanks for giving me the chance to do better i won’t waste it

Belle: I hope you don’t. Because I missed my little brother.

Arthur: still here still annoying just a bit slower to grow up

Belle: You’re getting there One awkward text at a time

Arthur: baby steps

Belle: 😉

***

They were sitting at the dining table, Belle with her laptop open and a very stubborn government website loading at glacial speed. The overhead lights were low, the cats were asleep on the windowsill, and the apple tart from dinner was reduced to a pair of crumbs and a fork that Max kept stealing bites with.

“I need to go to the town hall next week,” Belle said, frowning at her screen. “It’s ridiculous how many steps it takes to change a last name. I have to book an appointment just to show them I’m legally married.”

Max looked up from where he was balancing a spoon on his finger. “Want me to come with you?”

She smiled. “I think I can survive bureaucracy alone.”

“I don’t know,” he said, mock-serious. “You’re pregnant and emotionally allergic to slow websites.”

“Barely showing and mildly inconvenienced is not the same thing,” Belle replied, nudging his foot under the table.

He grinned, then leaned back in his chair. “We should change your credit card too. It still says Leclerc.”

She groaned. “One paperwork nightmare at a time.”

Max tilted his head, thoughtful now. “And we should probably set up a meeting with our lawyers.”

Belle paused mid-keystroke. “Why?”

He shrugged, casual. “Just to go over everything.”

“Max,” she said gently. “What kind of everything?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still playing with the fork, but his gaze had drifted — focused, serious in that quiet way he got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“I want to make sure things are in place,” he said eventually. “For you. For the baby. If something happens to me.”

Belle’s heart pulled.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said softly.

“If something happens to me — if I crash or something stupid happens off-track — I want everything set up. No grey areas. No questions.”

Belle set the mug she was holding down carefully on the table and turned fully toward him.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” Max said, managing a half-smile. “But I also know how this works. I’ve seen it happen to other drivers. One second, you’re invincible. The next…” He trailed off. “I don’t want you or the baby in limbo if the worst happens.”

She reached out slowly, threading her fingers through his. “You think about that?”

“Every time I get in the car now,” he admitted. “Not in a panicked way. But it’s there. You changed the way I calculate risk.”

“I’m not planning to die,” he added, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just planning in case. I want to make sure you’re protected. That the house is in your name too. That there’s no confusion. That if I can’t speak for myself, you can. Not my father. Not my mother. You.”

Belle sat very still.

Not because she was scared. But because it hit her, suddenly and all at once, how much he was already carrying — not just the weight of fame and expectation and fatherhood, but this fierce, unspoken drive to shield her from the storm.

“I married you because I love you,” Max said. “But I also married you because you’re my person. And I want to make sure you’re not left sorting through a legal mess if the worst ever happens.”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Let’s make the appointment.”

Max exhaled — a little like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

And Belle, looking at the man who had been so many things to the world — champion, rival, myth — realized that this version of him, the one quietly planning a will while stealing bites of lemon tart, was the one she loved most.

The one who knew the risks. And stayed anyway.

The one who chose her. And kept choosing her.

Even in the fine print.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Lorenzo: We need to get ahead of this before she cuts us out completely. We’ve let it go on too long.

Charles: What do you want me to do, Lorenzo? I said I wanted to talk to her. She doesn’t answer.

Arthur: Because she’s not ready. You don’t get to demand a timeline for forgiveness.

Pascale: I sent her a long message last week. I said I missed her. She didn’t even react to it.

Arthur: Because she’s hurt. Because for years, we made her feel like she didn’t matter until she disappeared.

Charles: I’m trying to make it right.

Arthur: You’re trying to make it comfortable for you. Not better for her.

Lorenzo: Okay, enough. We need to approach this like adults. Arthur, you said she talked to you?

Arthur: Yeah. Because I apologized without making excuses. Because I didn’t act like she owed me anything.

Charles: So what, we just do nothing? Sit around and hope she decides to forgive us?

Arthur: Or we ask her what she needs instead of assuming we know best. Maybe try that.

Pascale: If she’d just sit down with us—if we could talk properly—I know we could fix it.

Charles: She won’t even look at me in the paddock.

Arthur: You yelled about her being married like the whole grid personally betrayed you.

Charles: Well it felt like that.

Pascale: Can we not assign blame? We all made mistakes. I sent a message. She didn’t respond.

Lorenzo: Because your message said, “I meant to text you, but I sent it to Charles instead.” Which we all know is a lie.

Pascale: It was a white lie. I didn’t want her to feel worse.

Lorenzo: She didn’t need you to protect her feelings, Maman. She needed you to show up. That’s what none of us did.

Charles: I’m trying. But every time I think about texting her, I hear Fred’s voice telling me I don’t deserve to.

Arthur: That’s because he’s right.

Pascale: So what do we do? Invite her to dinner? Send another letter?

Charles: I could try calling again.

Lorenzo: No. No more performing care. She’s not stupid. She sees through all of it.

Pascale: We have to fix this. She’s our family.

Isabelle:  You could start by remembering I’m in this group chat.

Isabelle:  I’ve seen every message. Every strategy. Every “how do we make her forgive us” as if forgiveness is a button to push, not something earned.

Isabelle: Arthur apologized. He listened. He didn’t make excuses. That’s why I’m speaking to him. Not because he said the right thing. Because he meant it.

Isabelle: The rest of you? You keep asking how to fix me. You never once asked what I need.

Isabelle: So here it is: If you want a relationship with me again, we start with family therapy. With a neutral third party. No justifications. No guilt-tripping. No “but we’re your family.” Just honesty. Hard conversations. Boundaries.

Isabelle: You want me back? You come sit in a room and prove it. Not with flowers or dinners. With work.

Isabelle: I am not your emotional support sibling. I’m not your afterthought. And I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt just because it’s inconvenient for you.

Isabelle: Therapy. Or nothing.

Arthur: …I told you.

Lorenzo: Family therapy it is.

***

[kaykay0315]

Na Baek-Jin x F!Reader Pt. 2

Synopsis: You recently transferred to Yeoil High School, you just want to get through school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. You’ve had enough of it in your past and don't want  to get involved with it any longer. But the world seems to not like the path you refuse to take, so it decides to put you in the worst place of all…sitting next to Na Baek-Jin, leader of the Union.

Warning: brief fighting

Word Count: 1.8k

Part 2: Tension Beneath the Surface

Week two.

The halls didn’t feel like a maze anymore, but they still weren’t familiar. You could find your locker without glancing at the numbers, and you remembered to bring indoor shoes today. Progress.

Most days you kept your head down, did your work, and avoided standing out. But that seat….your seat, right beside Na Baek-Jin. It made that even more impossible.

You still remembered the way he looked at you when you walked into class last week. Not shocked. Not even curious. Just… sharp. Like he was trying to figure something out.

And maybe he had.

Baek-Jin hadn’t spoken to you, not directly. But you could feel the awareness. The way he shifted when you moved. The way his eyes flicked toward you, never long enough to catch, but always long enough to notice.

Your pen tapped against your notebook as the homeroom teacher droned on. Morning announcements. A field trip notice. Nothing you really had to care about.

Baek-Jin leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out under the desk. Effortless confidence, like the entire room bent around him without him having to ask.

You hadn’t meant to look. But now you were.

He glanced sideways at the same moment, catching your eyes.

You blinked and looked away.

He didn’t.

Outside, it had started raining. You hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Of course.

You kept your head down as the lunch bell rang, waiting a few seconds before standing. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly,it was calculation. Most of the students swarmed out the door immediately, shouting about cafeteria lines and who was saving seats. You preferred to move in the quiet aftershock.

Baek-Jin didn’t move either. He stayed seated, elbow on the desk, eyes fixed somewhere past the windows. The rain had picked up, tapping gently against the glass.

You grabbed your tray and headed toward the cafeteria, winding through the corridors. The smell of steamed rice and frying oil hit you before you turned the corner.

The cafeteria was loud. Busy. Familiar and foreign all at once. You hadn’t made any solid friends yet. There were a few girls who smiled at you in the morning, and a guy from your literature class who’d asked for your notes once, but that was it. You didn’t mind.

There was a spot by the windows. Far enough from the noise, close enough to the exit. You slid into the seat and peeled the wrapper off your chopsticks, focusing on your food.

And then

A quiet shuffle of chairs across from you. You looked up, half expecting someone to tell you the seat was taken.

It wasn’t just someone.

Na Baek-Jin sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You froze mid-bite.

He said nothing. Just pulled his tray closer and started eating, clean and methodical.

You stared for a second before clearing your throat softly. “This is… the quiet corner. You know that, right?”

He didn’t look up. “Exactly why I came here.”

Silence stretched. The cafeteria buzzed all around you, but your table felt weirdly still.

You tried again, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You don’t usually sit here.”

“I don’t usually have people spill milk on my shoes either,” he replied without missing a beat, finally glancing at you.

Your ears burned. “That was an accident.”

“I noticed.”

You weren’t sure if he was teasing or just being observant. Probably both. His tone was unreadable.

“You don’t talk much,” he added suddenly.

You blinked. “Neither do you.”

A pause. Then…was that a smirk?

“I talk when it matters.”

You gave a soft, dry laugh. “Then you must think this conversation is extremely important.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

That shut you up.

Your chopsticks hovered over your food as he looked away again, as if nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just derailed the lunch you were planning to spend in solitude. Like it wasn’t strange that Na Baek-Jin—of all people—chose to sit here, now, with you.

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe he just wanted quiet.

But the look he gave you said otherwise.

By the time lunch ended, your brain was still catching up.

Na Baek-Jin hadn’t said much after that last line. He finished his food, stood up without warning, and left you sitting there like the whole interaction had been a figment of your imagination. The only proof he was ever there: his empty tray and the fact that two girls walking by had definitely done a double take when they saw him at your table.

You exhaled through your nose, gathered your things, and headed back to class.

You didn’t notice the guy watching you from a nearby table until it was too late.

Sixth period dragged. You stared at your notes, highlighting the same line three times without reading it. Something about Baek-Jin’s gaze lingered. Like it had scratched across your thoughts and left a mark.

When the final bell rang, you moved fast. Slipping your books into your bag, tucking your chair in, ready to make a clean getaway.

“Hey.”

You turned.

A guy leaned against the doorframe. Shaggy hair, hoodie halfway unzipped, bored expression. You recognized him, not by name, but by proximity. He was one of Baek-Jin’s people. Always nearby. Always quiet. But not invisible.

“You're the new girl,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

You kept your face neutral. “Yeah.”

“You sat with Baek-Jin at lunch.”

That wasn’t a question either.

You didn’t respond, just gave a shrug like it didn’t mean anything.

He pushed off the frame, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Union stuff.”

You arched a brow. “I’m not in the Union.”

He gave a half-smile. “Not yet.”

You followed him down the side hallway, the sounds of students fading behind you the deeper you went.

“Where are we going again?” you asked, glancing sideways at him.

Geum Seong-Jae didn’t look at you. Just kept walking like you weren’t worth the effort. “Somewhere you’ll either thank me for or regret later. Flip a coin.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” you muttered.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

His hoodie was faded, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he walked like someone who had nothing to prove because he already knew where everyone stood. That made him dangerous.

“You always drag new students into strange back rooms?” you asked, slowing your pace.

“Only the ones who get special attention,” he said, finally looking at you.

You frowned. “You mean the cafeteria thing? That wasn’t special. He just sat there.”

“Exactly,” Seong-Jae said with a knowing grin. “He never just sits anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, just walked in silence for a second.

Then he added, a little quieter, “Nice bow, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He motioned lazily to your hair. “The ribbon. It’s the kind of thing someone wears when they want people to think they’ve got everything under control.”

You reached up instinctively, fingers brushing the bow tied neatly around your high ponytail.

“…What, is this some weird Union psychology test?”

“No,” he said, chuckling as he pushed open the door to a clubroom, “just an observation. But hey,make sure it stays tied tight.”

The way he said it made something uneasy twist in your stomach. Like it meant more than it should’ve.

 Inside, the others looked up when you entered. Baek-Jin didn’t seem surprised to see you. If anything, it felt like he’d been expecting this moment since lunch.

You stayed by the door. “Am I supposed to be here?”

Baek-Jin’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your ribbon, then back up again.

“You are now,” he said.

You stayed near the door, arms loosely crossed, a little tension building in your jaw.

“This is a test,” you said, voice flat.

Baek-Jin didn’t confirm it. He didn’t have to.

The red-haired girl ‘So-hee’ if you remembered correctly and a tall boy with bleached tips stepped forward from the group.

“We just want to see if you're useful,” So-hee said, cracking her knuckles. “Nothing personal.”

“Right,” you said. “Because cornering someone in an abandoned clubroom is the perfect way to build trust.”

“You could just do what we asked,” the guy added, smirking. “But you keep saying no.”

“I’m not interested in Union politics.”

“You’re already involved,” So-hee snapped. “You sat with him.”

You glanced sideways at Baek-Jin, still silent, still watching. Seong-Jae, leaned back in a beat-up chair nearby, looked amused. Like this was his entertainment for the day.

“I’m not fighting you,” you said finally.

“Good,” So-hee replied, cracking her neck. “That means you’ll go down fast.”

The first swing came without warning So-hee moved fast, low and sharp like she’d done this before. You dodged, sidestepping cleanly. The boy came next, a half-hearted punch you ducked under with ease.

You didn’t swing back.

Not yet.

Just moved.

Slipped past them with dancer’s grace and narrow misses. You could hear Seong-Jae mutter something like, “Not bad.”

But the boy clipped you; an elbow to your ribs that knocked you off-balance, and So-hee followed with a sharp kick to your thigh that forced you to one knee.

Your fingers twitched.

You exhaled slowly.

Then, without a word, your hand moved to your ponytail. In one smooth, practiced motion, you slid the ribbon loose.

The air shifted.

Even So-hee hesitated.

The ribbon fluttered in your hand for a second and then snapped tight between your fingers like a silk blade.

You moved.

Fast.

Elegant.

Precise.

The ribbon whipped past So-hee’s shoulder, grazing her cheek just enough to draw blood. She gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face.

The boy lunged only to be tripped and spun with a yank of your ribbon, the tension around his wrist cutting just enough to sting.

You pivoted, low to the ground, spun it back around your arm, and snapped it up under his chin he stumbled again, breath gone.

By the time they stepped back, panting, you stood perfectly still.

No blood on you.

No scuffs.

Just that ribbon.

Hanging loose between your fingers like it never left its place.

So-hee touched the cut on her cheek, wide-eyed. “What the hell…”

You tilted your head, tied the ribbon back into your hair with practiced ease. Each motion slow. Deliberate.

The bow sat perfectly again.

You turned to Baek-Jin and Seong-Jae.

Baek-Jin leaned forward, arms on his knees, studying you like something far more interesting than expected had just revealed itself.

Seong-Jae let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Neither looked particularly surprised.

But they definitely weren’t bored anymore.

Baek-Jin’s gaze locked with yours. “You said you weren’t interested.”

You adjusted the ends of your bow calmly. “I’m still not.”

“But you showed up,” Seong-Jae said, grinning. “And you tied it back. That means something.”

Baek-Jin didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes. “You're going to be a problem.”

You smiled faintly. “Only if you make me one.”

(edit word count)

Part 1 Part 3

[taldigi]

I think I realized why I like dog boy Yosuke and the direction you are taking it. It takes the "would you love me as a worm" question but applied properly. It blends like the connections between disability/autism and furries. Disability/autism in terms of pain of progressing the transformation and acting more like a dog and Yosuke feeling bad about it but Yu being accepting of it. Like any relationship that a partner has a disability you have good/bad days. And furries in terms of slowly not feeling human anymore.

It's when Yu takes dog Yosuke out and about and people are like "wtf why you bring your dog everywhere it doesn't belong here." The same vein as people get harassed when they are severely disabled and try to go out in public and are an "inconvenience" to others.

It's the feeling of not being human because you are treated like an animal so much (autism) that you try to repeat to yourself you are human but then one day you just say "fuck it, maybe I'm not human, maybe I relate to an animal more" then boom fursona unlocked.

Or it's when dog boy Yosuke kinda likes the feeling of action out of emotion/instinct and not have to rely on human expression and instead growl or raise hackels like all furries/neurodivergent people want to do.

It's excluding chocolate/onions out of recipes is relatable to Chrons/IBS people and dog people! Or buying buttons to communicate as a nonverbal dog is the same as a nonverbal human.

It's noticing seats/items that can't be used for your disabled partner the same way as your partner-slowly-turning-dog.

It's when any car noise/classroom bell is so loud to someone with more sensitive hearing is the same for people with dog ears or autism.

Or going hella angsty is dog Yosuke slowly losing his memory and Yu having to accept it. Like families having family members with alzheimer's. Do you still call someone your partner when they don't know who you are? When will Yu know when dog Yosuke's memory is fully gone? Will he wake up and see that Yosuke's eyes doesn't have that sparkle of humanity to them? Is that the "bad end"? Yu ran out of time to get the curse removed? Does Yosuke really want to be human? Why not be a dog and have your partner do everything for you? All you gotta do is protect him (and not bring your HP down to zero) . No taxes, no school, just you and your partner and maybe walkies every other say. Wouldn't that be better?

Yosuke saying "I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience" and Yu saying "it's not an inconvenience to me cause it's you"

This is something I wished Persona 5 explored with Morgana or hell even with Shiho. Having people who need different accommodations than others and working with that and see how unjust society is if you dont have a full set of eyes/hands/functioning muscles or neurodivergent.

Maybe this au just scratches an itch I got. Or maybe I just want someone to massage my messed up joints and be with me when my flare ups are bad ;_;

Anyways, love your art as always!

this is a very generous breakdown!!

Yosuke loosing his mind is a very real fear i've only brushed on (with enough factors to suggest it be a possibility. When urges and behaviors happen- who's to say that it can't go further?) Personally, i hate bad ends, so it only stays a fear, and isn't ever a true possibility.

These drawings, specifically, were never mentioned to be: but follow discussions of that fear

However, it's an aspect i've touched on frequently with Morgana in B2I because I feel like Mona's story could have been more of that! He has to learn to control a body that is unfamiliar to him and act in ways he never had to before. He has to perform upkeep and behaviors and perform social rules he would never have to before... and he only has the grace of a year watching from the outside in. I think one of the few things i've written is actually Mona having a breakdown at being unable to hold something properly. (also, on disability in b2I: Ren suffers chronic migraines and Yu is blind)

[simplymarr]

Chapter five.

warnings: +18 smut; fingering, penetration, kinda praise kink?

notes: FINALLY i was so nervous but excited to write this. i know some of you were waiting for this so this chapter is long af. enjoy.

Head buzzing. Cheeks still warm. Heart racing.

As i went to bed that night i couldn't stop thinking about it. That kiss. My skin still shivered just thinking about his touch. His hands cupping my cheeks, his warm lips against mine.

He'd be the death of me.

One side of me was completely mad about him, and the other side was just as concerned.

What would we do now? What if someone found out? My heart almost hammering in my chest as i thought of my classmates' faces if they found out. I didn't want them to think i was trying to seduce him to get my thesis done, i didn't need to do that. I wasn't that kind of person, and he knew it. Or i least that was what i expected.

Thursday morning was already slamming at my door. All my thoughts still rambling through my head as i entered the classroom, and then there he was.

Formal but simple clothes as always, his hair always in-between of being put together and decontracted, his characteristic front strands fell on his forehead.

He looked at me stealthily among all the people during all class, and i could sense that he was thinking about it too.

As the bell rang, always at 10 am, i hessitated. Should i go and talk to him? should i go? All my doubts vanished as i saw him slowly walking towards me, as he was doing time while all those people left the place. Hands in his pants pockets and a side smile. Oh my fucking god.

"Hey".

"Hey".

Silence; the tension almost intoxicating the two of us. He broke it first:

"Listen, i was thinking about last tuesday and-"

"You don't have to worry about it, you know?" I said, stopping him mid-sentence. "You're my professor, i'm your student, it's all clear". My tone trying to sound convincing as if we didn't just made out in his car two days ago. Obviously, it wasn't that clear.

He smirked confidently, looking at me. "I know that".

I looked at him quite confused; Was he the same man that acted all nervous an hessitant last week? Didn't he care at all?

"Well, okay then".

"I've read your progress on the thesis, it's going very well" he continued like nothing happened, though i sensed some tension in his tone. "Though I have made some corrections starting from page fifteen that i would like you to look at".

"Oh, okay." I didn't even know what to say. "I will look at it when i get home then".

I looked at him, batting my eyelashes nervously as he kept watching me stoic, almost analyzing my movements.

Then, all of the suden, he grabbed me from behind my neck with both hands and pushed me against a near wall where nobody that would enter the room could see us. He kissed me hungrily, breathing heavily due to the fast movement that he had recently made. I responded quickly, closing my eyes and grabbing him from behind his neck as his hands traveled from my own neck to my waist, bringing me closer to him. Our mouths devoured each other, this kiss was not like the previous one. This was a hungry, sinful one, as if neither him or i could wait any longer. As if we both knew that all this could only bring trouble.

Heat starting to fill my body and his when suddenly a loud noise echoed the space, like a door slamming in the distance, not the one in this room but it felt like it.

We both broke the kiss in a heartbeat as a instinct reaction. Chests coming up and down quickly, eyes filled with unsatisfied hunger.

"I want to see you again". I whispered to him. If it was still a bit of shame left in me, it was already gone.

"Would you like to come home? you could bring all your drafts"

I laughed at his innocent proposition, given to what just had happened.

"I would love to" I said, smiling at him.

"8 pm is alright? I could pick you up if you want"

I looked at him, smiling nervously.

"What? it's not like you haven't been in my car before" He said, with a smirk.

I laughed and gave him a playful hit on his arm. "8 pm is just fine".

He smiled, quite hessitant. I could sense that he was just as nervous as me.

I mean, the damage was already done, right?

-------------------

Nighttime had already come beneath us as he parked outside his house. A big, but modest one. Light grey walls and big windows, now covered by dark blue curtains.

The inside felt very cozy; warm lights, a round, wooden table at one side with a brownish sofa and big book shelfs.

A few wall paintings and a wine cellar from where he picked a bottle and two wine glasses. I looked at him almost blushing at the whole situation.

He was wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans, a bit more casual than what he'd wear at class. Silver hair perfect as always, the lines forming in his mouth as he smiled and handed me the filled glass.

"Thank you". Our fingers touching so slightly as i took the glass. He sat besides me at the sofa.

"Well, how did you do?. He said as he pointed at the drafts and papers on my hands.

"Pretty well, i would say. What do you think?" I handed him the papers as he put his glasses on.

He observed them in silence with a hand in his chin as i looked him with doubt. He chuckled to himself as he read them.

"What?" I said, opening my eyes to him.

"You are very incisive" He said in a playful tone, french accent dripping deliciously onto each word.

"I thought you already knew that".

He smirked as i continued: "Takes one to know one, right?"

The warm, subtle lights carressing his features as he drank the red wine.

"What makes you think that?"

"It just seems that you always know what you want".

He stayed in silence and sat closer to me. One hand on the sofa backreast, behind me. I continued:

"Do you?". Maybe it was the wine, already starting to hit on my words, or the way his eyes looked darker in the night. He smiled softly at me.

"I don't always know, no" I looked at him over my eyelashes, silence echoed the room as he continued. "But i think i know what i want just now".

He carressed my cheek with his fingers, the touch so tender but intoxicating. I needed his touch, his mouth on me again. I couldn't wait any longer.

"Vincent" His name coming out of my mouth as a pathetic moan as i begged to him. "Please, kiss me"

"How could i ever refuse?"

He then broke any remaining tension grabbing gently my cheeks and kissing me deeply. Slowly this time, as we had the night to ourselfs. He tasted like the sweet red wine we just drank and so was i. His perfume smelled, in fact, like a classic one. Wooden but not too harsh, just perfect on his skin My fingers ran into his silver hair as we kept deepening the kiss, both now lying down the sofa.His warm tongue intertwined with mine as his hands ran through my waist and i could feel the heat coming down my body.

He broke the kiss, heavy breathing as he whispered near my mouth.

"Are you okay with this?"

I nodded at him and attempted to kiss him again but he insisted:

"I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, baby"

My entire body shivered just hearing the petname coming out of his mouth and his tenderness at each moment made me feel secure.

"I need you, Vincent. Please" My words coming out as weak whispers as my head buzzed, i needed his touch more than anything in that moment. His eyes getting darker as he was hearing me beg. He lifted me up softly in his arms and carried me into his bedroom.

The room was dark as only the weak, pale moonlight entered through a window besides de big kingsize bed. We were standing at the edge of the bed as i could feel my cheeks getting warmer and warmer under his touch. His hands slowly taking up my shirt as he stared with devotion at my body. His eyes wandered at each mole and each mark. Then he slowly kneeled in front of me, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down my stomach. He looked at me from below with greedy eyes.

"Can i?" He whispered to me, touching the button of my jeans. I nodded slowly as he began undoing them. My body now covered only by black lace underwear and bra.

"Mon Dieu" He whispered, still on his knees. "You're beautiful".

I carresed his chin with my hand as he stoop up slowly, without breaking eye contact.

"Now it's my turn" I said, as i took his sweater and the rest of his clothes off.

His skin soft and warm as we kept kissing deeply on his bed, the air so intoxicating as his touch. Wet kisses on my neck and collarbones. His hand slowly playing with the hem of my panties as i cursed under my breath.

"What's the problem, dear?" He whispered in my ear with a cheeky tone.

"Vincent, please"

"Give me words and i'll give you what you want" His fingers almost touching my aching flesh.

"Touch me, please" My words almost tripping.

He smiled and ran his fingers into me, playing with my clit as i left out a pathetic whimper.

"Merde, you're so fucking wet" He whispered to my ear as he kept touching every fold. He then slid two fingers into me, almost making me lose all reason.

"Oh, Vincent" I kept moaning his name, my core aching under his touch as i could feel his bulge growing against my leg.

"Yes, chérie?

"Please, fuck me." I begged to him, leaving all sense of shame behind. I needed him so badly, like i never needed anybody.

"I love it when you say my name like that" He said as he slid my panties down my legs and freed himself from his own underwear, his big length against my stomach as he pumped himself a few times.

He then stretched out an arm to reach the drawer of the nightstand from where he picked a condom. His firm body glistening as he put it on and then positioned himself between my legs, grabbing them firmly.

He sank into me slowly and i could feel every inch inside me, his head resting on the crook of my neck. He stayed still for a moment, feeling me warm against him.

" Putain. You feel so fucking good" He said as he began thrusting me, slowly picking up a pace.

My nails against his back as i could feel him so big inside me, my head buzzing as i heard the sinful sounds of his thrusts getting more wet and more sloppy.

"Fuck, Vincent" my moans getting more and more out of control. "Keep going, please".

He smiled and then bit my lower lip. "You're taking me so fucking well, baby"

Then he rolled me over the bed. My face now against the pillow as he began thrusting me from behind, hands grabbing my waist as he fucked me deeper and faster.

"You're being such a good girl. Just look at you"

I turned my face so i could see him while he kept fucking me, his silver strands of hair falling into his glistening forehead and his eyes dark and seductive. I started feeling pleasure waves getting bigger and bigger, my core aching for a release.

"Fuck, i really want to ride you" I whispered to him as i could, with half my face still resting on the pillow.

He smiled at me and slid himself out. I whimpered instinctively at sudden lack of contact.

"Go on, then. Show me how good you can fuck me" He said as he lied on the bed.

I climbed on top and sank into his length slowly, almost painfully slowly. My eyes pierced at his as i did it.

"Putain, tu vas me faire jouir" He moaned, almost cursing, under his breath.

My movements took a faster and faster pace as i felt closer to my orgasm. He grabbed firmly my breasts as i went up and down, playing with my sensitive nipples.

"Oh, God. Vincent, i'm gonna cum"

"Go on, chérie. Go on and cum all over me".

My body trembled as i felt closer and closer, i tried to close my eyes but he stopped me.

"No, no. Don't do that. Look at me, i want to see your pretty eyes"

Those words sending me even closer as i felt my orgasm reaching every part of my body, trying to keep my eyes opened. His eyes filled with magnetic lust.

"Fuck, Vincent" I moaned with the little energy i had left as he pushed himself one last time, cumming inside me.

"C'était tellement bon, chérie" He whispered into my ear as i lied on the bed besides him, totally surrendered by his words. I loved it when he'd speak to me in french.

He gently kissed me on the forehead as he put his arms around me. My head resting on his chest as we instantly fell asleep in the still warm bed.

next chapter soon

[melit0n]

MASTERLIST.

Key:

➟ - Work In Progress

✓ - Completed

☾ - Oneshot

✶ - Fic

❤︎ - Romance

☁︎ - Gen

Call Of Duty:

⋆☀︎. Knock Knock (Let Me Be Your secret) || Yan!König x gn!reader || 3.7k || ☾ ❤︎ ✓

Synopsis: "Come out, bitte, I am not here to harm you-” His voice is right by your door. His footsteps are a death toll and you swear you hear bells ringing.

You make the mistake of trying to push yourself further into the woodwork of the desk; the scrape of the desk’s worn legs is quiet, almost unnoticeable. But to the trained ears of König's, ever diligent to hear the movement of an enemy, it is as loud as a gunshot in a valley.

⋆☀︎. Half-Starved || Yan!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader || 3.7k || ☾ ❤︎ ✓

Synopsis: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was born hungry. Born with a relentless nagging feeling curled up right between his oesophagus and the squirming muscle of his stomach. From the very moment Simon opened his eyes, he was hungry for something he could never have; affection. But then there's you. The night owl so willing to offer the one thing he can't have.

And he finds that he'd bleed out if you told him you liked the colour red.

The Phantom of The Opera:

⋆☀︎. Miasma || Yan!Phantom x f!reader || 5.2k || ☾ ❤︎ ✓

Synopsis: In the halls of the Palais Garnier, a ghost holds a grasp on the minds of almost all those who enter. A ghost, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or, perhaps, a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloakroom attendants, or the concierge.

Basking in the glory of the golden auditorium, the burn of his eyes can be easily mistaken for the glare of the calcium lights.

Sleep Token:

⋆☀︎. Oh Warm, Distant June || Sleep & Vessel || 3.7k || ☾ ☁︎ ✓

Synopsis: “You knew. You were just desperate. And naive.” Sleep adds the last part on as an afterthought, another jab at him.

“Are you calling yourself two-faced, then?” What God calls its acolytes naive for following them, after all?

“Perhaps. But that’s how you like your friends and lovers, is it not?”

⋆☀︎. God Eat Dog World || Vessel || 1.3k || ☾ ☁︎ ✓

Synopsis: Maggot, pupae and worm, the trains writhe through the station; thousands of footsteps echoing like an off-key choir, thousands of faces passing by in ivory. Carved and motionless. Oblivious to him, to what he’s done, to who he is becoming.

As he sits there, salt-licked and still rocking with the tide, a burn in his stomach reminds him that maybe there is still some of him left–something he’s not sure is good or bad.

Please, mind the gap, man of God; lest you fall too far.

Original Writing (not x reader):

⋆☀︎. Madame Genesis || Knowledge & Brutus || 6.7k || ☾ ☁︎ ✓

Synopsis: It is quiet in The Library. Quieter than usual. Although, not silent; for here even the exhale of a breath can be heard. The familiar rustle of thousands of book pages echoes throughout the endless aisles of The Library, ink forever being sewn into their flaking pages. It is a constant hushed noise that holds a sense of comfort in this place.

⋆☀︎. Rising Waters || Knowledge & Brutus || 1.1k || ☾ ☁︎ ✓

Synopsis: Brutus does not like awkward silence, and deems Knowledge privy to his thoughts.

⋆☀︎. The Fire doth Sing of Iron and Devotion || Darya & Mel || 6.4k || ☾ ❤︎ ✓

Synopsis: Swathed in the cold draperies of night, hunkered down with their herd of cattle, two land-locked cowpokes rest their weary heads. As stars glimmer in silver and merigold, far, far above them, the fire crackles with that which goes unspoken, and that which sleeps under wit and the strum of a guitar.

⋆☀︎. Blessed Be || unnamed OC work || 1.1k || ☾ ☁︎ ✓

Synopsis: For the past few weeks, something sanctimonious—blessed and tortured—has been hiding in the corners of my mind. I can't get her out.

Original Writing (x reader):

⋆☀︎. Delicate Is The Flesh || Yan!demon OC x gn!reader || (currently) 121k || ✶ ❤︎ ➟

Synopsis: On the brink of the thriving new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned shops, homes and streets; mummified after a chemical outbreak in the seventies, leaving the town uninhabitable. Over the years, however, its streets have become home to a multitude of urban explorers and true crime junkies.

With whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worming their way into your friend's ears and nothing better to do on your winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

Prologue

Chapter one: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter two: Corvus and Krater

Chapter three: Belly of The Beast

Chapter four: Something Forgotten

Chapter five: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter six: Mumbling Conscious

Chapter seven: Heavy is The Head that Mourns The Past

Chapter eight: Be Not Afraid

Chapter nine: Eye for an Eye

Chapter ten: Blood will have Blood

Chapter eleven: Can you Remember...

Chapter twelve: Thirty Silver Pieces

Interlude: In a Gloomy Wood, Astray

Chapter 13: The Weight of Waking

⋆☀︎. Ao3 || Quotev || Wattpad (heavily innactive)

⋆☀︎. Requests are open for above fandoms <3

DISCLAIMER: I do not give permission for any of my writing to be used for AI, either for training a bot, or for the basis of a C.AI bot. If anybody sees any C.AI bots that use my writing as a basis, or follow the same storyline as my writing, please let me know.

[gorjee-art]

It happened slowly, yet steady. At first, it was memories and words that seemed to escape the lamb. Their thoughts ever circling softly, around their duty. Jokes and laughs became fewer. Joy and merriment seemed to disappear. It wasn't until they stopped to recognise their own name that they felt haunted by something ominous. A ceaseless pull towards ruin. A temple once divine laid barren and wasted. A single promise made... now forgotten. Nothing could have prepared them for the feeling of their own body becoming their tomb. Like a drop of water will hollow out a rock. It was a slow... yet stedy process. All the while, the one who waits... could just watch. A face who once inspired, frozen cold. Into a mask. Words that could sway your heart, now gibberish. Out of order. Their memories, once great comfort to one's mind... now a painful reminder of what has been lost.

Your art inspired me to a little writing and how I can't help to think of the agonising process of slowly losing yourself and for those around them. Kinda like dementia.

'Round the bedside, the soft velvet sinks where Narinder sits, head in hands lost in thought beside their leader. Laying bedridden, a haunting gaze sits glued on Lamb's face as they stare up at their tent, their crimson eyes tracing the golden trinkets and ornaments hanging adorned up above as if it was the night sky, clinking as they bumped into each other, twinkling as it reflects the soft glow of the sunlight peaking from tattered cloth. Many followers had come to peek at the tent to no avail, as the loyal disciple's cold tired stare told them everything that was needed to be known. The heat of the summer sun, the nauseating incense stained on everything, along the buzzing cicadas outside this blasted tent, were nagging at Narinder. What was meant to be a moment of solace, of peace, became an unbearable assault on his senses. He could feel his heart knocking at his ribs, pounding with the further progression of stress, with his wandering, wavering, mind. He felt as though he was going mad.

He pulled at his face, claws digging into his cheeks lightly parting heavy lids from his bloodshot eyes. Turning slowly to look at the lamb, only to quickly regret this choice, he choked a shivering groan and returned to his original position, eyes shut tight. Years. Thousands of years, of work, and knowledge of what was forbidden was required, knowledge that mortals could only dream of having, that they killed for. In the silent pits of the underworld, where the sands of time are eternal, he bided his time, to think, to learn, and observe the world that sat above him out of reach. With all this time...he still had no idea of what to do in this situation. No plan. Not a single clue. Of what was happening to someone he deems as a dear friend. He couldn't even stomach looking at them, grief was a feeling long forgotten in those years of solitude, and thinking of himself above such futile emotions was quickly proven wrong.

The noise of summer, the stench of blessings, the heat clawing at his skin...All too loud. Rising from the lavish silk beds, he desperately tried to calm his racing mind, clinging to his chest to slow his breathing. His eyes wide, full of madness and cindering rage, boiling beneath the surface. He became desperate for some fresh air, wiping the sweat from his face, disgusted once he felt the horrid matted and damp fur on his neck, his hand grasping at the entryway outside. Only for his prickled fur to rise, he hissed at the blasted bells as they clattered at the response of the harsh tug at the cloth. It was so loud, everything was so horribly loud, the noise could wake the dead, and then-

There was a laugh.

Narinder froze still. The sounds of nature became hushed. He blinks, and tries once more...to look at his leader. To see a smile and a face being buried in pillows, attempting to muffle an unknown sound. "Ita etiam, ego te slishu..."

"Lamb...?" He whispered to himself in a desperate plea, but there was no response. At least. Not to him. "Allo te," Lamb yawned in playful annoyance.

Gobsmacked, Narinder observed Lamb speaking in a dead language. It was soft but strained as if they just woke up from a gorgeous sleep. They rubbed their eyes, and lent out their hand, twiddling their fingers as if beckoning someone. Despite Narinder not understanding a single word of their gibberish, it was obvious that Lamb was cooing at an invisible creature. "Te vu stika? Mrow tü destrüir a te ura? Naglia sillabla..." They began lazily petting the air, clicking with their mouth. Narinder could somewhat understand what they were saying...something about...a silly animal? Disturbing their peace...? Or is it hour? His mind couldn't be trusted at this moment, but he knew what it was. The tongue of the lambs, it was ancient but it lived on in very few who conversed with the people. The culture was dying alongside the newborn god, but to see a glimpse of what can be considered a memory. Ached.

Lamb pulled their sheets aside and stood from their bed, stretching their arms, bones crackling. "No...What are you doing?" he hissed, "You're ill! Stop!"

But his pleas were ignored with furthering gibberish. "Uschia looh tge fas, Amir...Ego malavair gulae tuae spolia..." Lamb chuckled softly, reaching out for their precious shepherd's crook. "Tge qvai pensas habere prandium.? Uovs?" the crook's bells jingle softly as if a warm greeting. Lamb lightly bats the wooden crook against their temple, gently attempting to wake themselves up for the "morning". Narinder shook his head in disbelief, hoarsely whispering "Please" and "Lie down" in a hellish loop as Lamb began singing, clumsily opening the "door" with no knob, passing through the cloth and into the village. Haunted by the image, his claws shook, he saw what might be the last of the lamb's understanding. Staring into nothing, he felt his chest tighten hearing the hushed horrified gasps of the followers outside. He didn't know the language, but he knew that song, the song that every lamb knew, and sang in their tongue before their deaths.

"Oh the Joy, We dance our lives till Spring." "Oh the Joy, The roads are gone, but I've stayed." " There is no Morning Star, There is no Morning Star." " Lo, a burning light appears, Hope is burning bright and near." "I work my day, to feed and pray." "Sleep the night, I dream of love." "Oh, my mountains and valleys." "Protect this land from harm."

They've sung it straight from the heart.

...followers were inspired.

[harrietwritesstuff]

Title: And, all your blood in the water Chapter wordcount: 2,300 Chapter: 1/2

Notes: Apologies for the transparent lack of anything actually resembling a plot. I tried, but it's mostly just… three bundles of vibes, angst and yearning stacked on top of one another in a trenchcoat pretending to be a plot; but we move.

It hadn't started this way, grim and cold and silent, the rasp of his breath too loud in his own head. It had begun ordinarily, with coffee and a glance over the schedule - or as ordinary as one's day can be, when living somewhere bordered by an egomaniacal neighbour hellbent on the destruction of your country. 

It was meant to be a bog-standard frontline trip; a chance to give medals - to talk, to see what their defenders really needed, to look them in the eye. Maks had watched Vova’s growing enthusiasm, unable to hide his own smile as they neared the checkpoint on the outer edge of the forest, chattering happily. There was more planned for the day, but this had felt like a nice moment to begin - somewhere outside in the fresh air; it always gave Volodymyr something he so missed; those moments of connection that were so absent in the endless meetings, the reports and briefings. 

The morning had ended with a yelled curse as everything descended rapidly into a nightmare, his hand grasping, yanking Volodymyr away from the epicentre of chaos by his hand; all the rage, gunfire, shrapnel - the two of them keeping pace with one another as they fled deeper into the woods. Too stunned to really engage with what had just happened, Volodymyr's snarky commentary had been consistent enough- surely by now they ought to have perfected their aim, they’ve had long enough, no? It was there really to disguise his worry, and had continued apace until a few hours ago. 

First the bitter sarcasm had drained away, and then eventually any attempt at conversation too.

“Maks–” Vova’s voice is almost ripped away by the wind as it howls through the trees. The only noise for the last hour has been the weather; the two of them struggling on in grim silence.

“What-?” The usual grace, his quiet adherence to protocol - always ‘sir' never ‘Volodymyr’, much less ‘Vova’ - is gone. Instead, his voice is hoarse, his temper short. The wind and the rain have sapped his energy, his drive - but they have to keep going. They can’t stop. It repeats in his head like a mantra.

A stationary target is easier to hit than a moving one.

They shouldn’t even be in this position. Stupid fucking russians and their incessant inability to let them just live in peace. He could kill the lot of them with his bare hands right now, down to the last worthless specimen. The inherent rage rears its head again and he has to take a deep breath, to push it back down, else he expend his limited energy on something so unproductive as anger. After a moment’s quiet, a steadying breath, he repeats the question, louder this time - pinning a small shred of politeness to his tone. This isn’t Vova’s fault - it isn’t fair. He didn’t sign up for this. His heart aches.

“What is it?”

“Maks. I don't feel–”

He turns awkwardly into the driving rain and stops short. He hadn't realised how far Vova had lagged behind and his stomach drops. Vova is pale, more than usual, horribly so - the dark circles under his eyes are black, even in the waning light - and there is a strange grey cast to his face. He lists heavily against a tree, the rain streaming down his face as he grips onto his left arm as though to hold himself together. His knees look as though they’re about to buckle.

“Don’t feel well.”

Retracing his steps, trying desperately not to think of progress undone, he moves to Vova’s side.

“You’re alright. I promise. Just a bit further.”

“No. Maks. I’m tired. Can’t we just- stay here- just for a minute. Catch our breath. I’m sure I’ve got a protein bar in my back pocket, we could share-” his voice is almost slurred, something rambling about his speech that sends alarm bells ringing in Maksym’s head.

“You’re alright. Come on, we need to keep going.”

Who is he trying to convince? Vova, or himself?

He takes a breath in, grabs hold of Vova’s arm to encourage him onwards - only to be the recipient of an earful of half-uttered curses and he yanks his hand back.

“What’s the matter?”

He can hear the irritated desperation in his own voice and he tries to swallow it down. 

“Feel– strange–”

Maksym frowns, rubbing a hand over his face to try and clear his vision, blurred by the rain. There's the looming sense now that - he’s missed something– there’s something wrong.. He reaches out a hand, less abrupt this time, moving slowly in the way one might with a wounded animal, his palm flat, out and open.

“Strange, hm?” He smiles faintly at the description, a kernel of affection buffeting up against his annoyance. Of course, he’s not unwell, or tired or sick, just.. strange. “Can I see?”

He doesn’t wait for permission, grasping hold of Vova’s hand, intending to pull him closer; both their palms slick with rain. Vova shivers, his teeth chattering as he tries to pull away, pain blanching his features to an unhealthy grey.

“S fine leave it. Need to go-”

His words are slurred now, unfocused.

Maksym ignores him, letting go of his hand. He positions himself as close as possible to shield Vova from the rain and pushes aside the ripped material of his jacket. His heart thumping in his ears, he hurriedly shoves up his sweatshirt and the henley beneath, ignoring Vova’s feeble attempts to get him to stop. It's a slow, awful reveal; a clumsily applied field dressing pressed haphazardly against his ribs. It's soaked through, the weight of it thick and heavy; a strangely pulsing parasite that shifts with every breath Vova takes. Maks carefully prises the bandages away. As he does so, a familiar smell hits him in the face, a coppery sharpness above the old scent of decaying leaves, wet vegetation. The torn skin beneath the gauze is red and angry, the ragged edges of the wound are swollen.

He swears under his breath. How had he missed this? In all the chaos - this ever unfolding nightmare - he hadn’t noticed this - hadn’t seen the impact from the initial explosion, the only thought in his head had been to get them away from it, from any chance they could be found. He hadn’t noticed the hastily applied first-aid job, done in a brief moment when he had not glanced back. He hadn’t seen the way Volodymyr lagged behind, his step becoming less sure as the hours dragged on. Hadn’t seen either, the slow drip of blood across the forest floor. Shit.

Vova shouldn't be bleeding this much. Hastily, he replaces the dressing with one from his own kit, pressing the edges down firmly, feeling Vova shudder under his hand. Maks watches with a growing sense of alarm as the snow-white linen is dappled with crimson.

“Why didn’t you say-” the words are mostly for himself, shot through with fear, frustration. Even if he had said, what difference would it have made to all this? The light in the sky is starting to fade now, the wind growing louder, the rain colder. He wonders if they will ever leave here, briefly - a darkness fluttering at the edges of his thoughts. Of course they will. They just have to keep going. They’ll have been missed long before, and he trusts his colleagues implicitly - trusts in every plan they have for escape, for evacuation.

“S’ matter?”

Volodymyr blinks at Maks innocently, as though he hadn’t just been hiding a gaping wound in his chest.

“Nothing. You’re alright. You're doing so well-” 

Carefully, he pulls Vova’s sweatshirt back down, filled with the gnawing realisation that the material isn't wet with rain - it's bloody. He glances down at his hands, the dark red slowly washed away by the pounding rain. He wipes his hands shakily on his combat trousers, the stain barely visible - as though it hadn't been there in the first place, something dreamlike about all this; a ghastly nightmare he doesn't know how to wake up from.

A strange little laugh fills the air between them and Maks feels his chest go tight.

“Mm. Not sure about that- ‘vreyone’s tired Maks. I’m tired.”

You are. I promise. You're doing so well.

“Just a little longer. For me?”

Please. I don't think I can carry you through this.

Again, quieter, fainter.

“‘M tired Maks-”

For a while, in the forest, beneath the pounding rain - it's unclear what either of them means; the here and now, or something larger, wider than the two of them.

Vova looks at him and smiles thinly, taking a shaky step forward. Blood drips steadily onto the dirt, great fat drops swallowed up by the earth. For a long moment he seems frozen in the pouring rain; something unbearably unearthly about him; the rain dripping down his pale face, his eyes dark, so dark they are almost black. He gets no further as his eyes roll back into his head and his knees give way. It happens instantaneously - there is no shock or surprise on his gaunt face, just a silent shuttering, an emptiness.

He moves without even thinking and in a millisecond - Maksym is the only thing stopping the President from collapsing in a heap on the wet floor. He staggers beneath the limp weight, one arm around Vova, the other supporting his head, cradling him against his chest. Despite the freezing rain, the back of his neck beneath Maksym's hand is warm. 

This time, Maks swears aloud.

~~

Clutched in his arms, Vova is a dead weight, gone utterly limp, his eyes rolled back in his head, face slack - Maks knows this is bad; knows he should keep talking to him, demand he stays awake, keep pestering him until he glares balefully and grunts something annoyed. But he can't. He doesn't have the energy to spare, or the breath as he drags in another lungful of cold, sharp air.

It's all he can do to hold onto Vova without fucking dropping him. He can just imagine the conversation now-

Donets, why does the President have a gaping wound in his chest and a bleeding gash on his forehead?

I dropped him in the middle of the bastarding forest because I was too tired to think straight, too exhausted to do my job. Sorry about that. Blame the russians for the chest wound though-

He winces at the thought of the conversation and then again as his foot lands awkwardly on the slope, the ground half giving way beneath his boot, his knee twisted. For a moment, he stands there, breathing harshly, forcing himself to stay still, to ignore the sudden throbbing pain of his ankle and knee, his muscles screaming in protest as he tenses up to keep his balance.

He swallows down a stream of curses that linger at the back of his raw throat.

You need to keep going, but don't throw yourself and the President down the bloody hill you utter moron.

Having the both of them collapse onto the damp, leafy floor is not the best course of action, though it would certainly be easier at this point. His arms hurt. For all Volodymyr has lost an alarming amount of weight lately, he is still a grown man, all limbs and edges and muscles - somehow unwieldy despite his compact size. The weight of Vova wedged against Maksym's chest presses hard against his sternum, every breath is a grating gasp for air, his lungs too constricted to expand properly. If he moves Vova from where he's clasped against his chest, he isn't sure if his grip will hold.

His knuckles are white, his biceps cramped.

His legs hurt with a dull, burning pain that comes from over exertion in too-cold temperatures. He wants to lie down.

The cold wind slices through him again and he squints into the pouring rain. . He just..  has to keep going; his sense of direction enough, the hope enough. It has to be.

He takes a shaky breath in and then another step. And another. His calf muscles howl in protest, stretched beyond endurance. His ribs ache savagely, the dull thump of a swelling bruise settling below his skin, far too familiar for comfort. Everything hurts, his back too. In his arms, Vova is slack, the white column of his throat exposed, horrifyingly vulnerable. It would be so easy to stop, to stay here, to collapse to the floor and wait for the rain to stop. To stay here and wait for the russians to find them. It isn't fear that drags at the edge of Maksym's thoughts but a blunt, grey tiredness.

Vova was right. He is tired. They all are.

He bites down on his tongue until he can taste iron and salt.

Move. You need to keep moving.

He takes one step. And then another. His mind empties slowly as he continues on. His thoughts are hazy, filled with the sound of the rain, the weight of Vova against his chest. Even the driving, gnawing pain of his own body flickers, fades into the background. There's nothing else for a long, long time. Just the rain, and the dull, burning weight of all that he carries. Hours have passed, his whole self utterly numb with cold, his fingers frozen. His steps are slow, every one of them a conscious effort through the howling void inside his head. It feels endless - there is nothing else now except the next step, the weight in his arms. All he knows is that he has to keep going, to continue because- he can't stop. There has to be an end - either he reaches the edge of the forest where surely - someone will know they are missing, will have come to find them; because there is always a plan for escape, for evasion, and then- then what?

There's a dull roaring sound in his ears. He looks up.

[no1bookgirl]

Vacillator

agggtm x naturals

synopsis: Cecilia Bell, Becca Bell’s twin sister, wasn’t a party goer. At all. Having joined the Naturals at the recommendation of Dean when she was 12-years-old, she hadn’t seen much of a real party. But now, she was back in Fairview, being dragged into a house by Andie. You just need to get out some time, she said, even though that didn’t work so well for her in the end.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, and sex; underage drinking; an interaction with Max Hastings *gulp*; and verbal domestic abuse (ps. probably ooc writing… apologies 🙂‍↕️)

wc: 2.9k

a/n: I will let you know, this is a work in progress! I don’t know if I will post more of this and if so most likely not on tumblr… but we’ll just have to see if I even get past here. I would be (and have been) planning on having this be a full length fic but idk if people would like it or how it would be received. The ending might also seem rushed because it kind of is

october 17th, 2013

9:27 p.m.

The house before me was buzzing, music playing loud enough to warrant a noise complaint, little bits of colored lights filtering through the sheer curtain.

Pulling me along, Andie bounced beside me, walking at a speed almost impossible in heels she was wearing.

“You ready for your first party?” Andie asked, her words almost unintelligible over the loud music. She shimmied her shoulders at me, her lips pulling into a smirk.

I shrugged. “I guess… Can’t expect much ‘cause I didn’t know about it until last night.” My voice shook a little, and I tried covering it with a nervous laugh.

“You’ll have more fun than you think.” Andie nudged me. “I promise.”

My legs wobbled as we approached the door, light bursting through the poorly drawn curtains. If you’re going to have a party, cover up properly, I thought.

When I actually got inside, it wasn’t what I thought it would be. Red solo cups bouncing against each other, strangely colored liquids dripping down the rim. It was loud. Really loud. I couldn’t hear my breathing, I couldn’t hear my heartbeat, my legs were wobbling, desperately trying to stay balanced against the bass—

A nudge came from beside me, bringing me back. Andie was there, staring at my face, very amused.

“You look terrified,” I could almost hear her say (I had to read her lips more than actually hear). “Not sure if I can leave you alone.”

Dread washed over me.

“Why would you have to leave?”

“I have business that I have to do,” she said, a mischievous smirk playing across her lips as she sauntered her way into the crowd of people.

And now here I was: alone, confused, practically deaf, eyes straining against the light. There was one escape I could find: the phone gripped in my hand.

My hands shook, quickly opening my messages with Dean.

Me: this is… something

Lima Deans: What is that supposed to mean?

Me: it’s very underwhelming 😕

Lima Deans: There aren’t guys jumping all over you? What a surprise.

Me: it’s just very loud and my eyes hurt already

Me: someone i’ll probably pour a mystery concoction down my throat soon too

Lima Deans: Well, just make sure you don’t take drinks from random people

Me: remember how that ended for you last time

Lima Deans: Don’t even, Cecilia.

Me: you turned into Pinky Pie!!

Lima Deans: Then that can be your lesson: Don’t take drinks from strangers (or Michael and Sloane) because you might turn pink.

Lima Deans: Where did Andrea go?

Lima Deans: Is she not by you anymore?

Me: she went to “take care of business”

Lima Deans: I see.

Lima Deans: Just remember that if you need something you can call me, alright?

Me: yes, sir 👏

I clicked the power button, shifted my grip back to its original position. My hands were growing sweatier by the second, hastily wiping them on my practically-a-shirt sized dress that Andie threw at me. My eyes traced over the packed house, transfixed by the fluidity of their movements. Farther into one of the rooms, a head stuck out from the rest. He was tall and practically glowing, his hair still a visible blonde in the adjusted lighting. He turned, locking on my eyes. There was neon paint on his face, little dots and lines all around. As he walked toward me— Why is he walking toward me?

I shifted my stance, trying to appear more relaxed than I actually was. My eyes stayed locked on him, trying to get some sort of read on him. His hair was messy in a charming way, subtle smile lines, must be the laughing type.

Or it’s a practiced smile for fancy dinners.

He was wearing a polo shirt, a plain blue, and had a casual pair of jeans as well. The face paint didn’t fit the outfit, but he worked it in somehow. His shoes were clean, white and black Nike shoes—must have gotten them recently. He also looked naturally older. It could be the height, but there was something about him that screamed I’m-in-a-fraternity-at-a-fancy-out-of-state-college. There wasn’t anything aggressive about him. No urge to grab and touch, no tension in his movements. From what I can put together this guy was likely upper-class, lives in a fancy house, accepted into college—actual hard work? we’ll never know—lives with both parents, gets a new phone when the next comes out. He has to stay up to date with the newest releases because why else would the girls flock to him? He wasn’t holding a drink, but that didn’t rule out him being drunk.

The man I had just analyzed for what felt like hours was now standing directly in front of me, studying me. Probably not the same Dean-style way I had but enough to figure something out.

“Are you new here?” he finally spoke up. His voice was deeper than I would have expected.

“To the area? No. I’m just visiting family right now,” I asked, my voice wavering slightly. He noticed. And he enjoyed it.

He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes and leaning to try to find a similarity between me and anyone in Fairview. “Who’s your family?”

“The Bells. Like, Andie and Jason.”

His brows rose, the smile I’d predicted before finally coming to rest on his face. It was charming, charismatic. Too charismatic…

“So you’re the unknown third daughter, huh?” he smirked.

My brows furrowed. “Is that how I’m referred to here?”

“Oh,” he laughed, “that’s just one of your names; there are a lot of rumors.”

“Like what?” My voice was more panicked than I intended it to be, destroying whatever facade I was trying to put on before.

The man relaxed, leaning back slightly. He looked, blowing air out of the corner of his lips. “There are just,” he paused. “There are just too many to count.”

“What?!”

Looking back down at me, he looked like he was trying to not sm—

Ah.

He was joking.

The smile finally broke his face, a chuckle coming out with it.

“Okay, in all seriousness, there are rumors about where you’ve been,” he said, finally starting to compose himself. “There are two main ones. The first one is simple, quite boring: you are in some really smart program and moved out of the area to pursue your smart life. The second one, the better one, is much more entertaining. According to sources with no evidence besides you not being here, you are a long lost princess kidnapped by the Bells. When your identity was finally revealed, you went back to your original family and haven’t been back since.”

As he finished, I registered my open jaw, more brows somehow even more furrowed than before.

“They got one of them right,” I sighed.

The blonde didn’t say anything, just stared like he was waiting for something. “The smart one or the princess one?”

I deadpanned, staring at him. “Which do you think?”

He shrugged. “You’ve got the looks for a princess, so…”

I barely registered his draw out word, a blush creeping onto my cheeks—hopefully he couldn’t see it in this light.

“So, where do you go then? School, I mean.”

“I’m out in Washington, D.C.”

“Shit,” he laughed, “so you’re, like, smart, smart.”

I shrugged, mimicking him before. “If you think so.”

His eyes dragged over me, his tongue poking his cheek as he briefly stopped on my chest before moving back up. “Beauty and brains.”

My cheeks heated even more, my eyes looking anywhere but me.

“Hey, do you want to get something to drink?” he offered.

Trying to draw all attention away from myself, I obliged. We weaved through the crowd, a small conversation breaking out between the two of us again as we walked.

“You know, I still don’t know your name,” he said.

“Why would you need to know my name?” I replied in a nervous laugh.

“For your contact.”

“My contact?”

“Your contact in my phone.”

I see what you did there.

Looking up at him, a small smirk played on my lips. “I have to begrudgingly admit, that was pretty smooth.”

“Thank you, I’ve been cooking it up since I saw you.” He moved in a strange way, maybe trying to initiate a game of charades. Strangely flipping a pancake? No. Sautéing vegetables!

Right before we reached the table, I finally said, “Cecilia. My name is Cecilia.”

“And I’m Max, Max Hastings. You might heard of me before—“

“No, never.”

That took a blow to his ego.

Walking into the kitchen, the counter was stacked with beer bottles, used cups, and a bowl of (maybe) punch. An intense game of beer pong was being played at the dining table, the crowd erupting into cheers as someone landed their ball into the last cup. Max reached over, grabbing a beer bottle and popping it open in the edge of the counter. To fit in, I also grabbed a cup, taking a sip before almost spitting it right out. The sour concoction slid down my throat, burning the entire way.

“Oh my god,” I coughed, “that is terrible.”

Max only watched with amusement, laughing at me. Pulling me closer to him, he placed a hand on my lower back. He thrusted his drink toward me and it wasn’t like I could reject it now. I’ll have to ignore Dean’s prior warning.

“This will probably taste much better than whatever you just drank,” he said, a small laugh still lingering in his voice.

“Thank you.” I took a sip, the more familiar taste being much more pleasant.

After a moment of silence passed between us, Max finally said something, “What are your thoughts on the party so far? I’m assuming it’s one of your first.”

I didn’t want to be too harsh in case this was his doing, but he was the one to ask the question. “It’s… underwhelming.”

“Yeah, kind of expected.” I didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. “It’s a Freshman’s house,” he elaborated.

“What are they like usually?” I asked.

“Not this. Louder, more packed.” There could be even more people? “Things getting passed around if you catch my drift.”

“Mm,” I hummed in recognition. If Dean were here he’d tell me whether or not he was the one passing them around. When I mentioned being related to Andie before, he seemed intrigued. Most people would take that as because I was the missing Bell sister, but his interest seemed to go beyond that. He doesn’t have the intelligence to deal himself, seeing as he was most likely held back, so he’ll have the things passed on to him.

Coming back to reality, I blinked my eyes clear, finding Max with a concerned look on his face. His brows were furrowed, but his eyes were slightly widened.

“Why do you keep just staring at me? It’s starting to creep me out,” he said, trying to cover his actual nerves with a laugh.

Shit. I didn’t realize I was staring. He wasn’t angered by my staring which was a good sign.

“Sorry.” I lowered my head, looking off to the side to allow my hair to bring a curtain over my face. “It’s just—Andie left to go god knows where and you’re the only person who has come up to me; I don’t know what else to do. Also, eye contact is important in conversations,” I commented. And in control.

“You could probably guess where Andie went,” he said. So, he knows of her activity.

I shrugged. “Can’t blame her though, gets her a lot of money.”

“That’s not daddy’s money?” he scoffed.

“You think our dad would buy her all that? He buys himself a new car every month. And he has to pay for his favorite.” I smiled, closing my eyes and placing my chin on the back of my flattened fingers.

“Cece, we established this, I am the favorite,” a voice came from behind us. I turned to find Andie leaned across the other end of the counter.

I snorted. “Really?”

“Speaking of him,” Andie straightened, “we should probably get home before he sends out a search party for you.”

My eyes widened at that. “You didn’t tell him?”

Andie snorted this time, rounding the counter to grab my arm lightly. “I never do.”

She started pulling my arm, sloshing around the still full beer in my hand. But before we got more than two feet away, Max grabbed my other arm.

“I still haven’t gotten your number,” he stated. It was less casual conversation, more of a demand. He also straightened, making himself much bigger.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I pulled my arm away from Andie’s, taking Max’s phone once he extended it to me. I typed my number in quickly, giving his phone back.

“Cecelia, right?”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, a smile on my face.

Andie pulled my arm again like an impatient child, leaning her head back and groaning. “Cecilia…”

“I know, I know.”

Finally departing with a wave, we weaved through the crowd just as before, making our way outside. I didn’t realize how much I needed the fresh air until I was actually out here. The stuffy, hot room mixed with the smell of alcohol and puke was not the best.

“Already getting guys' numbers?” Andie quizzed.

“I guess,” I said, brushing it off like it was nothing.

The walk home was quiet, the house having not been too far. And when we got home, Dad was in the kitchen, waiting. Becca sat across the table too, dressed in pajamas, her body folded up to fit on the chair. I had forgotten she didn’t go. Just as quickly as I noticed them, a notification came to my phone. It was a text.

+1 (203) 172-2838: this is cecilia right?

+1 (203) 172-2838: its max

An unwanted smile spread across my face looking at the text.

“Who was that?” Becca asked, her eyes trailing down me. She noticed the dress obviously borrowed from Andie. It didn’t fit quite right, a little too tight. Too long. And if it was too long on me, I couldn't imagine how short it was on her.

My eyes flickered to her, dropping the smile on my face. “Just a guy I met.”

There was a sudden shift in the room, a subtle glance from Dad. “Really?” he muffled through a mouthful of steak. He must have gotten home late.

“Just got here and you’re already getting guys' numbers,” she said, a hint of disappointment and disapproval in her voice.

Turning to Becca, I put my hands on my hips. “Bec, you can’t question my online activity choices when you still use Wattpad.”

“No I don’t!” she burst, her earlier attitude completely faded.

“Yes, you do! I saw you reading your Percy Jackson stuff the other day,” Andie chimed in, bending over in laughter.

Looking around confused, Dad turned to the three of us. Andie was red in the face, holding her stomach. There was a slight smile on my face. Becca was bright red, holding her head in her hands.

“What is this Wattpad thing you are talking about? Is it a splash pad somewhere?” The question only cracked Andie up more, causing her to fall over, gasping for air between laughs.

“It’s—“ she said in a gasp “—a f-f-fa—“ she couldn’t get the words out. “It’s a fanfiction website!”

That didn’t seem to help.

“She reads porn.”

“I am not reading porn, Andie! Stop!” Becca shouted, slamming her hands against the table.

That did not go over well with Dad. “Becca! Do not hit the table!” he shouted back.

Becca instantly quieted, sitting back down in her seat.

Dad was seething. One hand pointed at Becca, the other clenched so hard his knuckles were white. His voice had a certain agitation that was more than just a parent being sick of their children bickering.

He turned to me and I expected the same treatment Becca got, but instead his words were quiet, calm. “Cece, is whatever your sister said true?”

I glanced between Andie’s red face, mellowing out now that the screaming had started, and Becca’s equally as red face.

But she was terrified.

You could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t going to yell back like Andie would. She doesn’t ever. My head dropped to the ground, lifting again.

“No, Becca isn’t doing any of that stuff,” I said quietly.

Andie scoffed. “You were that one who said—“

“Andrea! Enough.”

Her mood switched just as fast as Dad’s had. Andie’s face was angry now, a frown evident and her brows furrowed. Across the kitchen, Becca stood up.

“I’m going to my room,” she murmured.

Her feet shuffled, pulling her phone off the table and gripping it tight. Becca shuffled up the stairs, Monty following behind her, and finally clicking her door shut. I looked over to Andie, her face still annoyed. She got up from the ground, following the same way Becca had up the stairs to her room.

“You were right,” she said over her shoulder, “you are the favorite.”

“Andrea. We’ve discussed this. We don’t play favorites here,” Dad warned.

There was a faint scoff and with one last sentence, Andie disappeared up the stairs into her room. “You have a lot to learn about here, Cecilia.”

[abubblingcandle]

🌹🌹🌷🌹🌹 anything for The Richmond Job? If not a snippet, any fun ideas? (See because I snuck a tulip in. Because one of them’s a grifter)

There's so much so much I wanna share of this but then I don't want to spoil stuff or get people hyped for stuff that's like ... 150k into the story at least lol!

One of the things I am trying to do is build in some Ted Lasso plot points as well but for a heist crew not a football team lol. One of those is Ch24 which is based loosely on the Three Card Monte job and loosely on Man City. Jamie's dad has spent the whole first 23 chapters in prison for taking the fall for a mob hit in Manchester when Jamie was 15 ... but he's just got out and needs a hacker for a job to get back into favour. Ted knows some details about Jamie's dad from various conversations but no one else does. So when he comes back Jamie is trying to keep everyone out of his reach but also not regress all the progress he has made.

Now I thought I had written some of this ... but turns out I just did that in my head and all I had done was put these three scene headings in the plot spreadsheet

... so I've written a bit of it now

Ted was wiping down one of the tables when a echoing cackle crackled through the pub. “Good lad, good lad,” the man laughed patting Colin on the back as he placed a tray of chips and a pint in front of him. Ted was on edge. This was a pub of course there were going to be drunk patrons and this man looked no different to any of the others. He was portly, probably in his fifties with wirey grey hair that was too long to be fashionable but not long enough to be a style. His leather jacket was too big on him and he dug into the chips like a man starved. But that was no crime. Ted got back to wiping down the tables. “Tell me lad. You worked here long?” the man’s voice was just a touch too loud to be ignored even with the noise of the other patrons. “Yeah a few years now,” Colin replied with a shrug, stacking glasses on his arm. “Ah so you’ll know the locals then. Cause I ain’t been around for a while and heard ont grapevine and all that about an old pal of mine coming here an awful lot,” the man rambled, arms waving like he was using the chip as a baton to conduct an orchestra. “You ain’t heard of a James Tartt around these parts have ya?” he asked. Colin’s face paled and the stack of cups on his arm nearly went clattering to the floor. Ted leapt into action. “Jamie, you listening?” Ted hissed, tapping the earpiece. “Huh, am now,” Jamie’s voice echoed in his head. “I think the guy here that they are meeting is also looking for you,” Ted stated and then slid up next to Colin as Jamie was rattling off concerns a mile a minute through the earpiece. “Colin, you feeling alright lad? I’ll take over here,” Ted beamed, nodding to the man and guiding Colin away. “Stay out of his way,” Ted hissed and then pushed Colin into the kitchen. “Sorry there sir. Colin isn’t feeling too swell. Can I get you anything?” Ted smiled, slipping behind the bar to stand across from the mystery man. “Yeah, asking around for a lad that’s been seen around these parts. James Tartt ring any bells for ya,” the man asked, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell. Ted do not engage. Ted listen get out of there do not do anything until I get there,” Jamie squeaked, voice an octave higher than Ted had ever heard it before. So Jamie knew the guy … good to know.

[bereft-of-frogs]

friday! and a nice friday too, the sun is out and everything!

books:

(finished) This Wretched Valley - Jenny Kiefer: I maintain this would have been better/scarier if they had been good at their jobs lol, like I said last week. Like imagine how scarier if you're doing everything right and still can't escape and slowly realize there's some*thing* keeping you in the wilderness? Personal preference.

(finished) (phone book) Into the Dark - Claudia Gray: You know, I didn't love this one as much as I did on the first pass a couple years ago. A weird opinion shift: I really don't like Cohmac haha. I remember liking him before and this time I'm like...no you can't have custody of Reath, I don't like you. Ok, that's...not the most mature book critique but still. I wish either Jora hadn't died or Dez or Orla had taken custody of Reath :( But it does make me consider giving Midnight Horizon a second chance, because my opinions shifted so much, maybe the opposite will happen with that one. Or maybe I'll just be able to further justify my Cohmac dislike.

(in-progress) (phone book) The Rising Storm - Cavan Scott: Bell is back! I missed Bell and Ember. Not too far in yet but at least I am back on track. I feel like this is where things start getting sadder which makes me happy (sorry Bell) :)

(in-progress) The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien: I'm like 30 pages from the end lol, I only read this while I have my morning coffee, just to explain why it's taken me like three weeks to read a 250 page children's book.

tv:

(finished) Anthracite (Netflix): What an insane amount of subplots for 6 EPISODES?? Either Netflix needed to greenlight like...4x as many episodes or once they got their budget the writers needed to cut like half the subplots and tighten up focus. I'm still honestly reeling. It did do a good job getting you to care about the main characters despite all the insane plot stuff. Also this was weird: like 90% of it was really well shot, and then randomly there would be a scene that looked like it was shot by someone in high school. I don't know if they had to go back in for reshoots or what but occasionally it was like oof that's not good.

(finished) Baby Reindeer (Netflix): Everyone was talking about this so I had to check it out. It's very intense. Is it bad I found the comedy shows were the hardest scenes to watch, despite everything else?

(in-progress) Under the Bridge (Hulu): Seems like sort of a standard mystery but I'm really just here for Riley Keough and Lily Gladstone and the moody vibes and so far am satisfied.

(in-progress) Constellation (AppleTV+): Nice little bit of unreality/space horror so far. I actually got got by a couple scenes, I'm so desensitized to horror that it's nice when I actually get creeped out by something (the ARM in the second episode!!). Looking forward to seeing where this is going, judging by the first two episodes, seems like my pet conspiracy theory (the Lost Cosmonaut theory) is getting a high budget AppleTV adaptation, never thought I'd see the day. Also I got kind of hyped about the Canadarm cameo in the first episode. The shot panned over the space station and I out loud shouted 'it's the Canadarm!', startling the cat

film:

The Apology (2022): Apparently this was the only movie I watched this week, it was ok, mostly just background noise for making lunch/writing. I wish it had leaned more comedic, which is not something I usually say but I think it would have fit if they'd committed to making a really dark horror-comedy rather than flipping between predictable melodrama and some pretty funny catharsis.

craft update: I am free of the tyranny of having to purl! I joined up the two sides of my sweater so I'm knitting in the round now yay! It turned out I didn't have a problem with needle size, the whole thing did fit on one circular needle so now we're cooking with gas.

to do:

finish the work day. ick. but depending on how long it takes me to get through actual work, I can probably get some writing done too

laundry, both clothes laundry on my lunch hour (now) and sheets/towels at my parents'

I'm through 8 out of 12 chapters of current wip! Unfortunately chapter 9 is SO action-focused. why did I do this to myself. I mean I know why because then chapter 10 gets to be angsty but damn I have to block out so many action scenes. why.

I ordered a filing cabinet. it arrived. most of the negative reviews were about how hard it was to put together. so I should put 'assemble filing cabinet' on this list but I think 'let filing cabinet percolate' is a more realistic entry

I might go to a local yarn store on my way up to my parents' tomorrow, because it's local yarn store day and I do not need any more stitch markers but BUT I want more stitch markers. don't @ me I know I have plenty of stitch markers.

pick a new book: I'm torn between giving Kill Show another shot, starting the other book I have checked out of the library (The Deep Sky) or a secret third thing

have a good weekend everyone!

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

NAME: Aufhocker

ALSO KNOWN AS: Kludde

RARITY: ★★★★☆

THREAT LEVEL: ★★★☆☆ | Sometimes become a deadly threat, but weaknesses can be exploited by anyone who knows what they are (unlikely), or is lucky.

HABITAT: Aufhockers need both woodlands to roam in as well as a steady supply of travelers to eat. Most of them can be found around hiking trails, cabins, along roads, and other locations out in the woods that see a decent number of people.

DESCRIPTION: The aufhocker isn’t all that intimidating… to start out with. In its normal form, the aufhocker is a small, dog-sized wolf who enjoys following travelers around. Its fur is black and it has a friendly disposition. People say they even see it wagging his tail and begging for scraps of food. The trouble sets in when the traveler steps on and breaks a twig, sighs, or swears. Some individual aufhockers are set off by other, seemingly random things. 

Once this occurs, the aufhocker will jump on the person’s back, growing heavier and heavier every time they repeat their mistake– something that gets increasingly frequent when you’re lugging around a wolf on your back. The aufhocker slowly transforms into a towering, spitting, snarling, slobbering beast the size of a tiger, with glowing red eyes. There will reach a point where the person can no longer support the aufhocker, and falls over. They will then have their throat ripped out and be devoured. Once the aufhocker finishes their meal, they revert back to their smaller, friendlier form and go off in search of another traveler. It’s likely some of the more convincing “wolf” sightings in Wicked’s Rest were actually aufhockers.

ABILITIES: Aufhockers weigh more than you’d think just based on their size – which is impressive to begin with. Progressively, they’ll reach a weight that will simply just crush their victim. In addition to their own weight shifting, aufhockers have the ability to shift the weight of things around it, making a tree light as a feather or a feather heavy as a tree. They may do this to manipulate their victim into doing the thing that sets off the whole gruesome feeding affair, or simply for the mischievous fun of it. This ability gives their blood value to spellcasters as it can be used in potions that can have similar effects, and it’s typical for them to send rangers after the aufhockers for collection purposes.

WEAKNESS: Strong, negative smells and loud, high-pitched noises can scare the aufhocker off. If someone is able to carry the aufhocker until sunrise, the beast will jump off their back and run off. They’re afraid of church bells and sunlight and will retreat in fear if they encounter either. For whatever reason, they also can’t stand the sound of a harmonica and will flee in terror if exposed to the sound – even if it’s not real.

OTHER VARIANTS:

Pesanta: First encountered by Catalonian rangers, pesanta are large aufhockers that can have a canine or feline appearance, steel claws and fangs, and holes through their paws. They are breath-drinkers who change size to slip into homes and crush sleepers. Anyone being crushed by a pesanta is trapped in nightmares and must mentally escape the nightmare or asphyxiate. Pesanta are very friendly towards mares and bugbears, but will also “mooch” off their prey.

(Art credit: Aleksi Briclot)

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Virgil and Beatrice (A Starry Night Epilogue)

CW: Mentions of farting (idk if this needs a cw but I'm being safe) and anything related to AoIS and what happened earlier.

So this is just a funky epilogue I wrote to tie some stuff over. It's not requiered reading or anything, but I hope all of you enjoy :3.

----------------------

You spend a lot of time sleeping while in her camp. Your neck injury has been getting better, but there’s only so much her incantations can do. You can’t get up from your sickbed just yet, much less get out of the makeshift tent that was made for you, but you’re well enough that you can speak and sit up without wincing in pain. It’s been only three days, but you’ve been making remarkable progress. She comes over twice every day and keeps you company. This time she brings you your plain gruel and talks to you about anything really. She’s always been the chatty type, a bell on every tooth, but you don’t mind it. You’ve always been more of a listener anyway. It almost makes your gruel have some flavor, other than the iron taste of blood that lingers in your mouth, that is. “I’m sorry, but you can’t eat any solids still, not until I can make sure your neck won’t open up again.” She says upon seeing your dismayed expression. “At least I tried to make it as rich as possible. There’s nothing worse than watery gruel.” You sigh, looking at the beige colored paste on your plate. “I’m grateful, it’s just that the flavor leaves much to be desired.” You bring a spoonful to your mouth, swallowing the gruel carefully. “Yeah….” She says, looking at you as you eat away at your plate. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you’re getting a lot of fiber in your diet, I bet you haven’t been this regular in years.” You roll your eyes at the comment and continue eating despite the crass nature of her chosen topic.

She stares, but then a smile slowly creeps onto her lips. Oh no. “Well… I guess I don’t actually have to guess that your bowel movements are fine.” She says, trying not to laugh as you put your spoon down and look at her as deadpan as you can. Do you want to know? Probably not, but if you don’t ask it’s just going to be this weird inside joke, except she’s the only one in on it. You sigh. “... And how do you know that?” It’s better to get it over quickly, you tell yourself, but you feel instant regret the moment her barely contained laughter turns to a mocking smile. “Well… You probably haven’t noticed, but during the nights sometimes I’m woken up by a rather loud noise. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.” She says, setting up whatever wicked punchline you’re about to be the butt of. ”It took me a few nights of investigating before I discovered that… someone kept farting in their sleep!” She fully breaks into laughter after that. You feel your cheeks redden as shame washes over you like cold water. “W-what?! I don’t-” You’re about to defend yourself, but suddenly you’re reminded of something. The other day… you asked her if she’d seen any skunks or honey badgers around the camp. You remember smelling something foul as you woke up. She was barely containing her laughter then too! You cover your face with your hands as you groan. Maybe it’s not too late to die for real. “Hehe… Luckily the kids are pretty heavy sleepers, so don’t worry. ” She tries to comfort you, but it’s failing. Hard. She brings a hand to your chin and pets you beneath it. It feels… nice. Though you’re still very embarrassed. “... S-sorry.” You manage to say. “It's okay. I’m just glad you’re getting better, even if the process might not be pleasant.” She moves to pet behind your ears and you bring your hands to your lap. She hasn’t lost her touch after all these years.

You stay like that, eyes closed and mouth on the verge of panting, for a while until she pulls her hand away. Her touch immediately is sorely missing. “Now eat up. Flatulence or not, you’re not getting any better if you don’t keep your body nurtured.” She says, smiling at you kindly. You sigh and look down at your porridge. “Right… the gruel that makes me fart like a sheepdog on a short chain.” You pick up your spoon and continue eating with some trepidation. She shrinks her shoulders. “If it bothers you too much, I could always plug you up at night. I’m sure I have that toy in storage somewhere.” The gruel flies from your mouth as you sputter. This woman will be the death of you.

After lunch is done, she turns to cleaning your wounds. Slowly and gingerly she removes the bandages around your neck, then she applies antiseptic directly into the closing wound using some clean cotton. You can’t suppress the whine that escapes you as the chemicals sting in your skin. "Sorry. I know it stings, but that means it's working." She tries to comfort you as you try not to wince. “With this, your body should be able to continue healing even without incantations.” She pulls out new bandages and wraps them around your neck. Tossing the old bloodied linen away. “I’m just glad to be alive at all. If I died then….” You reach out for her hand, and she places it in your palm. So soft and so small compared to yours. “I would have never been able to tell you how I felt. I don’t think I could have taken such regrets to my grave.” You look into her eyes, and she smiles. Her other hand reaches up to pet behind your ears. “I’m glad you’re alive too.” She says, making your tail wag.

"Rogier's outside watching the kids if you need anything," she says as she's leaving. "I'll go check up on Iji. Hopefully, he's managed to dodge the assassins until now. It shouldn't take more than an afternoon." She leans down and kisses your forehead. "Try to sleep, okay? Recovering uses up a lot of energy." You nod. "Thank you. I think I can rest easy knowing Iji has you backing him up. Just come back in one piece, eh?" She smiles and ruffles the fur on your head before leaving. Once you are alone, you lean back and begin dreaming. For once, your dreams feel peaceful.

—------------------

The wolf’s bane and the violet they bloomed long ago  

And the brier-rose and the tulips danced amid summer glow; 

On the hill the sword-flower and the aster in the wood

And the snowdrop by the brook in autumn beauty stood  

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven as falls the plague on men 

but the brightness of their smile was not robbed from upland glade and glen

—------------------

You wake up sometime later. It’s hard to tell what time it is inside the tent, but you can guess the sun might set soon. There’s a slight weight over your chest, something light enough that you could still sit up if you wanted without much trouble, but something that’s breathing softly on your chest. You look down to find a familiar gray pup sleeping on top of you. Aster’s leaning forward while his legs are still kneeled by the side of your bed, his arms are folded beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. You have to wonder why he’s here. Isn’t Rogier supposed to be watching over them? Though you’re glad to see that he’s okay even after all that happened in the Moonlight Altar. Physically at least… You can only hope Aster wasn’t scarred by almost watching you die in front of him. The fact that his mother has been your only company these last few days made you afraid that maybe he didn’t want to see you. Well, he’s here now, so that can’t be.

You feel Aster stir. He opens his little mouth wide open with a yawn, complete with that signature whine. “Hello Aster. It’s been a while.” You say to the boy who smiles as he makes eye contact with those irises of faded lavender. “Dad!” He hugs you, careful around your neck. You put your hand on his back and return the hug as best as you can. “Mum said that you were getting better, but that you’ll need to rest some more before I can show you around our camp.” He says, his little tail wagging into a blur. “I would like that, thank you.” You respond. Aster hugs you for a moment longer, then returns to a sitting position by your side. 

His eyes linger on the bandages around your neck, then he looks away, wringing his hands together. The mood takes a hard dip into something more serious. Oh no, have you upset him? “Aster…? Is something wrong?” You ask, sitting up. Aster looks around the tent. He hesitates before speaking. “Umm… I’m sorry you got hurt because of me….” His little eyes meet with yours, they’re filled with honest remorse. “I should’ve paid more attention… Maybe then you wouldn’t have almost….” He trails off as he begins to sob, bringing his hands up to wipe the tears, but they can’t stop the deluge. You pull him closer and he cries into your chest. “It’s not your fault, Aster. I was responsible for your safety… I… I don’t mind getting hurt to protect you.” You try to console him, but he shakes his head. “But I don’t want you to! I *hic* I just want you to be okay….” He says between sobs. You’re not doing a good job at consoling him, are you? Maybe it’s time you stop thinking like a self-sacrificing shadow, and start thinking like a father. You let Aster cry until he’s calmed down, rubbing your hand gently on his back while he lets it all out. The boy sobs, unloading all the worry you’ve put him through since you were at the altar.

Once he calms down, you lean down as far as you can without straining your wounds and kiss him on the forehead. “I’m sorry I worried you so much, Aster. I promise….” You stop. It’s a big promise to make, but you’re shadowbound no longer, so you’ll have to get used to making them on your own now. “I promise I’ll be more careful from now on, is that okay?” The boy looks up at you, his eyes red and his cheeks stained with tears. You wipe them away with your thumb. “I’ll never regret protecting you, but… I also don’t want to scare you like this again.” You say. The pup leans into your hand as you pet him behind the ears. “... Okay… then I’ll be careful too….” Aster says. He’s still a little upset, but he seems better.

You stay with Aster a little longer. A little bit of his previous cheerfulness returns as he talks to you about the camp, his siblings, his mother and uncle Rogier. Just like his mother, he seems to be the chatty type. He talks to you about all the fun things he likes to do with his siblings, mentioning how going fishing to the creek is his favorite thing to do, you mention that you’ve never gone fishing before and he offers to teach you. “Fishing in Liurnia is really fun, but….” He trails off, hesitating to speak once more. Oh no, did something happen again? Before you can ask what’s wrong, he answers for you. “Are you… staying forever now?” He looks at you, his expression is a little hard to read, but he seems… hopeful. You look at the entrance of the tent. She offered you a place to stay, and you agreed, didn’t you? You want to stay forever, but… Truth be told, there is still a part of you that feels like this is more than what you deserve. A part of you that wants to continue running away. All this time it’s been you who’s the problem. You’re the one everyone had to work around. You’re the one who’s nature put everyone in danger.You don’t feel like you’re worthy of… this. And yet you look at Aster, his hopeful eyes tinted a soft shade of periwinkle. Another oath to keep, another promise you’re making on your own. You may not be worth them right now, but… “I’ll stay… forever.” You answer. He smiles and his little tail wags itself into a blur. If you’re not worthy of them now, you’ll just have to become worthy of them. It’s your new oath, you decide. This is your new fate.

—------------------

You approach the Three Sisters once more, the evening breeze blows through the now empty towers. Their owner has departed and their purpose now is to crumble. Were it up to you, you would never set foot here again. But Iji came this way, having discarded his spot by the entrance in an attempt to flee from his pursuers. The large troll footprints make it impossible to conclude otherwise. It’s likely the Black Knife Assassins approached him fairly recently if the prints’ freshness is anything to go by, it happened just this morning at the latest. So you return, but not without caution. All the assassins you’ve found have been dead, their bodies having crumbled to ash leaving nothing but their gear. Iji might’ve dealt with them on his own, but based on the shape of the notches left on the armor, it’s likely that whoever did them in did so with a sword. Wouldn’t Iji use his hammer? Furthermore, all of them had similar marks, meaning all of them were killed by the same person. That’s pretty insane considering it’s a twenty-four versus one match where the one side was victorious. That’s why if there’s someone even more dangerous than the assassins, you need to be careful not to catch their attention.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did….” You hear Iji’s voice somewhere nearby, you almost call out in response when you hear it again. “Yes… neither Blaidd, Lady Ranni nor the tarnished noticed your presence. Though I have to wonder why it would be problematic if any of them saw you.” It’s coming from the left. You wander over to Seluvis’ Rise, Iji is standing by the front of the tower, talking with someone on the top floor. You can’t see them from here, but it doesn’t look like it’s the unpleasant Preceptor. He would never be seen without his hat. “I see… Well, I’m grateful you took care of Astel and the assassins. I’m not sure Blaidd would have been able to while protecting the little one….” Astel? Was that the name of the thing you found past the Lake of Rot? And was the person in the tower responsible for killing the assassins too? You almost go over and call Iji’s attention, but you remember what was said earlier. This person was kept secret from everyone, even Ranni herself. If you go over right now, it might cause them to flee. You decide to hide amongst the foliage and listen. Perhaps it’s just morbid curiosity, but if something is being kept secret from you, you want to find out what.

Iji stays quiet. Listening to the person at the top. If only you were closer, you might be able to hear their voice. You creep towards the tower slowly so as to not alert either party. “Blaidd and the tarnished have returned to her camp, but I hear he’s recovering well. Lady Ranni did not wait to bid him farewell, but I shall tell him she did if he ever asks. It’s the least I can do to spare his feelings….” Iji says to the entity. From here you can almost make out a whispery voice. You strain your ears to make out what they’re saying. “... he’s always been so loyal to her, and yet she can’t even say goodbye properly? Here I thought nobles were supposed to have manners.” The voice, a man’s, says. Iji shakes his head. Then lifts his gaze up to the skies, the stars have started to appear and the moon is almost full. “I’m afraid Lady Ranni and Blaidd will never get a chance to truly reconcile. The shadowbound cannot be equal to their masters by design… Blaidd could never forgive her on his own terms for her failings.” The figure stays quiet, the evening breeze rustles the leaves off the trees. “... Maybe it’s better this way… I hope you’ll continue to watch over him after I’m gone. It’s unlikely that I’ll be returning….” The man says and there’s a certain sadness in his voice. Iji nods. “Of course. Blaidd may be boorish, blunt and unable to locate his nose with both hands, but he’s a good egg. I would be remiss if I didn’t make sure he acclimated to his new life as a free man.” You can’t be sure from here, but you almost make out the silhouette of the man at the top from here. A sharp, wolven profile comes into view in the dwindling light. Another half-wolf?! You audibly gasp and then immediately cover your mouth with both hands. Iji and the man in the tower take notice, and look around for the source of the noise. Iji looks behind him, trying to spot any interlopers, but the man at the top stares down directly into the bushes where you’re hidden. He steps out closer to the edge and you make out his suit of armor. Thin brass plate, intricately adorned and lovingly crafted, covered by a red shawl that extends up to the hands. His face is still hidden in shadow, but his eyes shine in the growing moonlight. An icy blue one and a faded lavender one. They stare directly at you and you can’t help but hold onto his gaze. The moment extends infinitely long as though a single second could last years. You almost give in and announce your presence when the man breaks away from visual contact. “... It was nothing… Probably some stray critter.” He says, clearly ignoring your presence. There’s no way he didn’t see you. “I should get going anyway… Stay safe, Iji.” The troll nods, deciding to ignore the noise as well. “Very well… With this I mark that you have upheld the ancient concord that binds our worlds together. Though it was a coincidence that joined us, it was comradery that led us to victory.” Iji recites what seems to be some sort of chant or sacred oath. From the tower you feel the soft glow of Grace. “With this I bid you farewell… Lobo of Medía.” With those final words, the man was returned to his world in fading light. So he was a summon from another world? You’ve heard of other tarnished summoning allies from adjacent realities, but you never gave it much thought. What do these other realities look like? Are they different from the Lands Between or are they all the same?

“It is rude to eavesdrop on conversations, tarnished.” Iji says, breaking you out of your interdimensional reveries. Fuck. You stand up from your crouched position, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught. “Sorry, but you can’t expect me to not be curious if you talk about me.” You say, causing Iji to shake his head in disbelief. “Good grief….” The old War Counselor sighs. You turn to look at the tower. From where you’re standing you can tell there’s no one inside. “Who was that?” You ask the troll. “That… was a collaborator from another world. Usually only the tarnished can summon such allies, but I have my own methods….” Iji explains. You nod, crossing your arms. “I figured that much out, but who was he? He seemed to know a lot about Blaidd and Ranni….” Iji shakes his head. “As I explained, he was just an ally from another world. Whatever his reasons are for helping are not for me to say ....” Iji remains stubborn about saying nothing. It doesn’t seem like you’re getting any more out of the troll.

“Huh… well whatever. I came to check up on you. I’m glad to find you’re safe.” You change the topic, trying to get the image of those eyes peering at you out of your head. Iji looks down at you from beneath his mirrored helm. From here you can truly appreciate how tall he is. “Thank you so much for your concern. I’m fine, the assassins are gone and I shall depart from this place soon.” His voice remains as calm as ever, despite the circumstances. “Hopefully we shall meet again soon. I doubt you’d refuse the services of a good smithing hand.” He seems happy. Maybe ushering the Age of Stars in has put him in a good mood. “You bet. I’m sure Blaidd will be happy to see you too.”

You accompany Iji out of the manor, but the strange circumstances on the tower stick with you. Maybe you were just imagining it, but you felt like maybe that half-wolf’s eyes looked familiar.

[goldenponcho]

You Can Lead a Castellan to Water…

Chapter 8: Confession

Gail had not been wrong in thinking her family had already gotten the authorities involved. In fact, her mother had been quite quick in alerting the police after Gail’s boss had informed her that her daughter hadn’t shown up for work on the previous Monday. That had been three days after her capture the preceding Friday. Honestly, it was one more reason to hang tight where she was. She was quite certain she had burned a bridge with her previous job now that she was going with the narrative that she had just…left. THAT would be hard to explain away.

But despite the clear worry, stress, and anger she had caused her mother, she had been, more than anything, relieved to hear that her daughter was safe, well, and taken care of. That certainly helped in convincing her that she had merely left in a hurry and previous attempts at contacting anyone had fallen through. It was a farfetched story, but not entirely impossible and so was just believable enough.

Now, she was growing somewhat accustomed to life in the castle. The zealots and servants had become background noise, blending in the right along with the ancient statues and shrewd oil paintings that surrounded her.

And meals with Ramon were an everyday occurrence, with a midday meeting when he would be caught up on current progress, often giving her an errand or two to run, where she would usually be paired with Pesanta or on a couple of occasions Isidro. She became surprisingly accustomed to both their presences too. She was even getting better at understanding their body language and what some of the noises they made meant.

Ramon was growing used to the new schedule as well, and though they would have their disagreements, he was happy to have the company. Certainly, he continued to be wary of Gail’s true intentions and aware that she was secretive about her true origins, but he couldn’t help but wish for the best possible outcome. He truly was quite fond of her.

It had been over two weeks now since Lord Saddler had put her in his care, and if all went according to plan, he would have two fully functioning and fully refurbished rail systems by the end of the day. He had already taken the time to plan several more future projects for her so long as Lord Saddler allowed him to keep her.

He thanked her skill again as the cart whisked him quite smoothly and quickly to the audience hall. He honestly did not miss all the walking.

As the tram ground to a halt, he was shaken from his thoughts by the echo of a strange sound in a nearby room. A sort of… buzzing, perhaps? Surely the Novistadors hadn’t escaped from the sewer… What in hell’s bells WAS that?

It grew a bit louder as he entered the audience hall, now sounding more like a loud, metallic racket, and he was met with a sight that might have struck him as funny if he weren’t so baffled already. Several zealots paced back and forth near the stairway that lead to the other rail system, coming in and out, clearly confused by the sound, desperate to find a solution but clueless as to where to even start.

He neared the corridor to the stairs, watching the rabble run back and forth past each other, the ones at the top standing at the closed door looking very much like a flock of curious birds.

Ramon sighed. Sometimes he wished the lower plagas would allow their hosts a SLIGHT bit more sense. As he pushed past them up the stairs, the noise DID leave an irritating tingle in the vicinity of his own plaga, as if it had been rattled around in his chest. That was probably what had them so agitated.

He growled, “Out of the way!” shoving the zealot that blocked him from the door for it to stumble clumsily out of its superior’s path.

It wasn’t until after Ramon had opened the door that he could tell that what sounded to his ears like cacophony was actually music. Music that his new engineer was swaying enthusiastically to.

“Something's wrong! Shut the light!

Heavy thoughts tonight, and they aren't of Snow White!”

A large radio sat in the chair just his side of the tracks, the main source of the clamor, and as loud as the screaming voice coming out of it was, she was belting just as audibly.

“Dreams of war! Dreams of liars!

Dreams of dragon's fire and of things that will bite! YEAH!!”

Ramon beheld the display as she continued to do what he could only describe as scream-sing. Then in a twirling motion, she moved from the overturned cart she was working on to the open panel of cogs to continue to scream into the small metallic chamber, her voice echoing quite effectively. He covered his ears as the blaring racket from the speaker crescendoed.

“Eeeexiiit light! Eeeenteer niiight!”

“Gail!”

“Taaaake my haaand!”

“GAIL!”

“We’re off to never never land!”

“GAAAIIIL!!!”

She finally turned on her heal with a start, standing straight as a board and the color draining from her face as she realized he had been there for who knew how long. She quickly extended a finger to press pause on the machine next to her.

“Uh…heh! Hello, Ramon.”

“¡Oye! What in the hell is that ridiculous caterwaul?! You’ve got half the ganados in the castle running around like decapitated hens!”

“Oh! Shit! …sorry!” The barely concealed laughter in her voice didn’t go unnoticed, and his mouth twitched as he tried to cover his own mirth as the ridiculousness of the situation was finally catching up to him.

The two stood awkwardly for several seconds before Gail was the first to snort with an eruption of laughter, and it was impossible for Ramon not to sputter with an uncontrollable cackle as well. Several seconds of belly laughs had the gasping for breath before finally being able to calm themselves.

“Leave it to you to enjoy music that sounds like a million dying souls…”

“Just one dying soul, I’m afraid,” she shrugged sheepishly, wiping a tear from her eye with a stray titter, “I thought it fit the dark castle vibe pretty well.”

Ramon came to rest a hand atop the rather impressive stereo system, “And where did you get this?”

“Pretty nice, idn’ it? Merchant found that for me!” She rested herself against the railing next to them, “I just asked for a radio, but he really outdid himself. Got ahold of some CDs for me, too,” she pointed to the pile on the adjacent chair against the wall.

“Are they all…” he eyed the radio, “…like that?”

Gail scoffed, “If you mean awesome, then yes!”

Ramon smirked, “Perhaps you should ask the merchant to look for a set of headphones.”

She sighed dramatically, “There’s gotta be SOMETHING you would like ok,” she snatched one of the plastic cases, “Rammstein, maybe.” She held it up to show him an image that looked like a man’s, most likely, severed head.

“Mm! Charming…”

She grinned, “So!” she slammed the wall panel shut and closed the latch, “Wanna see if I’ve made this one even faster than the first one?”

“Absolutamente!” Ramon held out an arm, and she mocked a curtsy before wrapping hers around his.

The ride was both swift and smooth, of which Gail was quite proud. “You should have me build you a roller coaster!” She followed him as they exited the cart and made for the double doors.

“Oh, I’ve already got one! …of sorts… There’s an extensive mine railway beneath the castle grounds.”

Her eyes brightened, “ANOTHER thing you’ve still gotta show me!”

He shrugged, “Perhaps…if you remain here for long.”

Gail examined the portraits that covered the walls, “Damn! How much of this castle have I STILL not seen?”

Ramon chuckled lightly, “Quite a bit,” he stood next to her, observing the paintings as well, “You will most certainly see it all, should you stay for a time,” he glanced up at her, “All eighty-two acres…”

Gail snapped her head toward him, to gawk for a moment, “Eighty-two ACRES?!”

“Indeed!” He bounced proudly on his heals, “And that is only the expanse of the structure. The grounds continue to the village and along the coast.”

“Christ! The Queen of England wishes she COULD!”

“I am sure she DOES.”

She flashed a crooked smile, “Well…hopefully all that can wait till after dinner? About time I should be getting ready.”

Ramon gave a light bow of his head, “Certainly! I also have a surprise for you.”

Gail’s jaw dropped slightly, “For real?”

He chuckled, “For real.”

“Well, let’s hurry, then!” she softly nudged his shoulder, “It’s not my new project, is it? Not that I’m not excited about it…”

“I should like to discuss that as well, but no,” he opened the doors again back to the tram, “This is a small gift for a job well done.”

“Nice!” She opened the swinging door of the cart to let them in, and they made a markedly speedy journey back to the courtyard.

~*~*~*~

Gail had managed to find a few outfits that she had liked and rotated through each evening, but tonight, she wore the bodice-coat combo she had worn on their first dinner. It was still her favorite.

Ramon gave her a once over as she walked to the head table where he stood beside his chair, “You do wear royalty well.”

She grinned with a muffled snort, “Well ENOUGH, I guess…” she sat herself and scooted into the table, “Sooo…?”

Ramon chuckled before snapping his fingers. Isidro stepped forward baring a heavily embellished, silver pitcher, which Ramon took and came to fill her wine glass with. The heavily fruited red wine mixture swirled and glistened.

She gasped, “Sangria?!”

He smirked, “Have a taste and tell me it isn’t the best you’ve had in your life.”

“With those strawberries?! I already know it will be!”

He sat the pitcher next to her and seated himself, raising his glass of wine, “To our first success!”

She smiled and raised her own, “And many more, Lord Saddler willin’.” She took a sip and swooned, “Oh my GOD, this is perfect! Thank you!”

“You have MORE than earned it,” he sipped his own wine, “If I had five more like you, I could have this castle looking like new in a week or two.”

“Maybe you could get Saddler to put some of his researchers on cloning,” she took another long swig of sangria before turning to her meal, “But I wouldn’t wanna unleash another five of me upon the world.”

“It would be better for it, I’m certain,” he nodded.

She smiled warmly, “Well that’s sweet of you to say.”

It wasn’t long at all before Gail found herself pouring herself another glass. Surely the occasion called for a bit of indulgence. “So, what’s my next project?”

Ramon looked up from the steak he was cutting with a simper, “Eager for more work already?”

“I’m just wondering what kind of contraption you’re gonna surprise me with next,” she motioned toward him with her fork.

“In that case…perhaps you would be interested in making some minor repairs in the fire chamber.”

“Finally! I’d been working right next to it for almost a week and still haven’t seen it!”

“Now is your chance! Oh!” He gave a wag of his finger, “And I would also like you to try something for me. A test of your skill, if you’d like…”

She raised a curious eyebrow, “I never puss out on a challenge…lay it on me!”

“Saddler’s mine workers have need of a drill. A BIG one. I think it is quite within your capabilities to build us one.”

She gave a determined nod, “We’ll sure as hell find out!”

Ramon smiled as he watched her refill her glass a second time. She was by nature a friendly and chipper person, but he could tell she was becoming just slightly more excitable…more loose-tongued. Absolutely, the sangria had been a reward, but what would the harm be if he were to use her lowered guard to get her to finally spill the beans about herself.

“You have quite surprised me at every turn, Gail,” he grazed a navy fingernail around the brim of his wineglass, “Not only are you a genius engineer, you are…rather gifted in many areas.”

Her eyes brightened, before becoming half-lidded, “Yeah? In what areas?”

“Where to START?” he made certain to lay on the charm, “You certainly bare a…unique physicality. One that I would imagine is coveted by many.”

She rested her chin in her palm, swirling her glass around in her other hand with a smile, “Care to be…specific?”

“Specifically…like how you lifted the entire front end of a two thousand pound rail cart with hardly an ounce of effort.”

“Oh!” She straightened up a bit, “Ok, uh…honestly…THOUGHT you were gonna tell me I had nice boobs or something like that, but…” She didn’t take much notice as Ramon’s eyes bulged for a moment and his mouth became a straight line. “But, YEAH! Yeah, I’ve always been stronger than most. Probably should have played some kind of sport and gotten a scholarship, but I was never interested. Not other than a bit of recreational soccer for a few seasons. I MUCH prefer making things. Ya know I can also sew? Pretty good at drawing, too; helps a lot in the planning process of a lot of things.”

Ramon had regained his sly gaze, “Do you remember how you found these abilities, Gail?”

Her own gaze darted to his, and a wash of something not at all pleasant slowly melted her smile away. Her hands dropped to her lap as she fidgeted, eyes drooping to look to her right. “I-I don’t…” she shook her head, “I dunno, it’s kind of fuzzy.”

He eyed her for a moment, not in a pressing way, but in observation. Her expression was not of a person trying to remember. On the contrary, it was of someone who remembered quite well.

“I know the look of a troubled past quite well, Gail; I see it in the mirror every day,” he tilted his head, the hand on the table nearest her edging subconsciously closer, “I told you of my past; trust me with yours.”

She wasn’t nearly drunk enough to not see what he was trying to do, but she knew she WAS drunk enough that she should think long and hard about what she said next. Why keep it from him, though? Saddler already knew. What would be the difference if Ramon knew? Perhaps she was keeping it from him to avoid some unforeseen consequences. She wanted to trust him. She DID trust him to an extent, though there was the constant fear that perhaps she shouldn’t.

She glanced back up at him, their eyes meeting, and in his, she saw something that she never thought she would see. Patience. She WANTED to trust him…REALLY WANTED to.

She closed her eyes for several seconds, before exhaling, and opening them again.

“I’ve been implanted with a cadou.”

Spanish translation:

Absolutamente - absolutely

[trans-lykanthropie]

See Part One

The weather the first mate was dreading continues unabated, and the atmosphere in the bridge is tense. The captain is striding the foredeck and laughing as the bow plunges down towards deep heaving waves, her oilskin seems to give her a curious, tall, hunching profile. The helmsman and first mate exchange worried glances. You are only worried about the engines for now, occasionally shouting down the speaking tube to the furnaces below and working the engine room telegraph.

A small figure wrapped in a raincoat crosses the foredeck and approaches the silhouette of the captain. From what you can make out through the lashing rain, the figure tugs on the captain's sleeve and shouts something in her ear. The captain doesn't move, seemingly reluctant to seek shelter from the growing tempest. Another shout from the figure, however, causes the captain to sweep the second figure up in a lift and carry her off in the direction of the crew's quarters. The navigator has gone bright red and is staring intently at her collection of maps, seemingly unaware at her inkwell sliding across the desk with the pitching of the ship. The first mate chuckles, seemingly relaxes, and mutters '...thank God she's got her distracted....'

The next day the sea is calm. You bump into the captain's steward on the way to the mess at four bells of the morning watch. She greets you jovially as she rubs White Cloverine salve into a curious arc of red marks on her lower neck, beneath her open collar. She seems remarkably energetic for someone who looks like she hasn't slept all night. Nobody at breakfast asks after her strange wounds.

Later you stroll the ship and talk to some of the passengers. Some comment on the rough conditions last night, others ask about the ship's progress to Port Boston. The severe and steely-eyed Madame F., clearly the wealthiest passenger aboard, icily remarks on the captain's absence from the table at dinner last night, asks if she means it as a personal affront to the guests, and interrogates you on 'why the engines sound so loud outside her cabin'. Confused and withering under her baleful gaze, you make a feeble excuse and leave for a safer part of the ship.

You find the captain gloomily watching the almost glassy ocean, leaning despondently on a railing with her chin on her hands. She looks like she hasn't slept either. She comments absent-mindedly on the 'boring weather', how there's 'too much sun', and on how you 'smell of coal tar and hot brass' before yawning. Was that a flash....fangs you just saw? You have no idea what she's talking about, but you ask the first mate about it later. They smile a little proudly.

"Oh we missed the worst of the storm for sure, but I think the captain's in a strop with me now. She'll forgive me soon enough mind."

The captain bounds through the door in her typical way and glares daggers at the first mate, who slyly comments on how splendid the weather is. She strides over to the navigator's desk, examines the charts, makes a sound almost akin to a growl, downs the lukewarm coffee-like contents of an enamel mug, and disappears below in a flurry of topcoat and that strange forest-like scent. The navigator makes the kind of noise you'd expect someone to make on seeing a cute animal. You reflect on how the dynamic of the bridge crew makes your head spin sometimes, as if there's a joke that you don't know the punchline too.

You've been meaning to ask the navigator why she keeps a lunar calendar pinned to the wall by her station. It's not the most pressing question you have.

[ceramicbeetle]

Okay! Here are my questions.

1. What’s the scale Sam and Evan have exactly? Is it just how loud the voices are? How distressed the is by them?

2. What did lead to Evan biting. I know he doesn’t remember but do you?

3. What does Evan’s collar look like?

4. Are there any other headcannons about this series/universe or thoughts you have that you’d be willing to share?

- Artistkitty on ao3

Scale was kind of decided by my gut instinct rather than anything coherently laid out BUT i would say Distress is the main factor for it. Voices can get kind of noisy without really being that overwhelming, especially if you can still maintain some level of dialogue with them, but when they start getting sort of like, past the point of coherence and to a point of like, finding it very difficult to adhere to your 'own' singular mental voice within the noise of it the distress factor amps up by an order of magnitude. Kind of tried to reflect that calming down by having his voices start to speak in Full sentences & with more coherent ideas as the fic progresses, rather than them like, Shutting Up sort of ?

It was primarily just the impulses / sort of sensory craving getting past the point of being able to suppress it any longer -- the same way a lot of more 'self-injurious' stimming can kind of 'just happen' without really realizing it will. BUT the last 2-3 bites Were a more deliberate attempt to provoke a response. Basically Evan started biting without really meaning to but did do a couple on purpose at the end.

I think he has a few different ones! the one he was wearing through the fics posted is one of those black leather ones that look kind of belt like? kind of classic simple dog collar :3 not an o-ring though; the tag is a little silver circle ! (some other ones that he has is one of those yellow NERVOUS collars, a pretty little pink one probably with a bell, and then one of those bigger black leather collars that have like, some fancy lining to them. maybe some spikes)

Yeah for sure! IDK when I'll get anything finished/posted ever lmao but I've had a few thoughts for potential future fics. I've kind of referenced it a bit in Sam's fic, but I think Sam is very fond of like, kind of classic puppy play mannerisms of really trying to Emulate a dog, like she thinks it's Very Extremely cute, but Evan is a little more uncomfortable with it! It's not a hard limit of his, but it is something he's reluctant about for 1.) like he's a little shy about it due to his Long history of being made fun of for his attempts at self-expression, so Trying to do something he Knows is 'weird' like that is difficult even (especially) if he likes it on some level AND 2.) I don't think Evan has ever actually spent very much time with dogs at any point, because his passengers Did make him unsafe to be around animals. I don't think he's afraid of dogs per se, but his first instinct when seeing one is definitely to flinch away bc of that gut "Something is going to hurt that dog" feeling, so he doesn't Actually know all that much about how dogs act AND SO 3.) since most of what he Does know off the top of his head is how animals in Pain behave, I think there's a kind of Guilt he feels about deliberately trying to emulate a happy/relaxed dog bc it all kind of twists around in his brain to feeling almost like he's making fun of dogs by doing so. SO they usually play sort of fast and loose with the dog concept Most of the time. Lot to say about that one bc Ideally it'll be another fic in the series unpacking it (current thought is to show the command training scene Sam referenced) !

Another fic I hope to write about is that I think Evan is extremely into being under the influence of Sam's magic during scenes, which is something She's a little more reluctant about, so they play with it occasionally but not super often -- sort of a mirror of the classic puppy play for Evan; I tried to show that Sam has come to terms with her more Dom-space Possessive feelings over the course of their relationship and getting more comfortable in realizing that dynamic doesn't have to be inherently Unhealthy, but with the magic there's that big underlying Weugan concern of "You can make them want it more" that she gets anxious about. They do sort of handle it in different ways though! Whereas Evan is more likely to safeword mid-scene (hence why I had them use the stoplight system -- Evan is a big fan of the "yellow = slow down a bit but don't Stop" thing) if he starts to get overwhelmed by something so they can hash it out in the moment, Sam (sort of by nature of the kink lol) prefers to do rigorous negotiations ahead of time so she's less likely to Need to safeword in the middle

I think I was going to mention this in the author's notes of the Sam fic but forgot but her doing training specifically for service dogs and referring to Evan that way is a little play on words re: Service Top lmao. Smut won't ever wind its way into this series bc I'm not very interested in writing it (no real reason why lol; just is) BUT to be clear they do 100% do kinky sex as well

ALSO! Sam is a trekkie imo; I think Discovery and Voyager are her favorites :3c

[themuseinthewoods]

Daughter of Warriors-Chapter twenty-two: Special chapter: Deck the (dwarven) halls with boughs of holly

(the masterlist)

The year after her Christmas in the shire, Amira had gone back to Erebor to see her friends and had managed to convince her to stay for their yule feast. Yes, that is how dwarves celebrate Yule. With ale, food, and songs. Although there were decorations which she helped put up, dragging Fili and Kili into helping her. The three were still very good friends, they regularly exchanged letters and even went on minor adventures together, when Amira visited the blue mountains and the Iron hills she brought the two princes with her.

The thing is, the ceiling of the designated room was tall as four average height dwarves stacked on top of each other. So, when Balin left the room, Kili and Fili persuaded Amira to try something that they said would be easier. Kili got on Fili’s shoulders and Amira hesitantly climbed up onto Kili’s shoulders, almost hitting her head on the ceiling.

It wasn’t too bad, when they weren’t moving. Managing to get two pillars completely decorated when Balin, Thorin and Dis (mother of Fili and Kili) walked in to see the progress, right when they were moving to the next pillar. Amira was trying not to fall or catch her extremely long hair in the decorations. Kili spotted his family and tutor and began to sing. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly!” “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la.” Fili and Amira responded, having not seen the older dwarves. 

“Tis the season to be jolly!” “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la.” Dis began to laugh at the sight causing the Amira and Fili to freeze. Bofor burst into the room from the other side and began to dramatically shout the words. “Don we now our gay apparel!” “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” The younger three respond with renewed gusto, figuring that they had already been caught and now, Bofor was clearly having the time of his life. “Troll the ancient yuletide carol!” Dwalin of all dwarves screamed from the other room, rather aggressively. “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” The others shouted back, it was quickly devolving into holiday chaos.

“See the blazing yule before us!” Amira sang jumping down, Kili following her and the three began dancing together. “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” Dis shrugged and joined in, dancing with her eldest son as Amira began jigging with Kili as Bofor kept time with his hands and Dwalin with something that made a loud clanging noise. “Strike the harp and join the chorus! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” Thorin, who rolled his eyes, pulled his harp from somewhere and began playing. Balin began to keep time with bells that had been used for decorating.

“Follow me in merry measure! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la! While I tell a Yuletide treasure! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” More dwarves from the company began to join in, receiving odd looks from those unused to the shenanigans. “Fast away the old year passes!! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la! Hail the new year lads and lasses! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” 

Amira and Kili began to dance around Thorin, who shook his head but a smile began to creep up on his face. “Sing we joyous all together! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la! Heedless of the wind and weather! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la!” Out of breath they all stopped and began clapping.

“Why is there so much Fa-la-la-ing?” Fili said, hands on his knees as his other two conspirators nodded in agreement. “Well, you did manage to decorate some,” Balin said calmly, "but we do have a lot more to get done.” Amira hugged Thorin and then Balin tightly. “Thanks for putting up with my nonsense.” She then turned to Dis. “Sorry I’ve been a bad influence on them.” She looked guilty. “Not at all dear, that was quite entertaining.” 

After they finished it was time for the feast which was fantastic. The kitchens had outdone themselves, roast meat, pies, fruits, vegetables, cheese, bread, cakes and candies were piled high making the hobbit hearted girl very happy.

(the masterlist)