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harryspet · 29 days

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well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway. When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress.

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now.

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery.

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said,

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged.

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you?

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out.

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that.

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes.

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected.

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo.

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice.

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs.

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness.

“Pull up your dress,” He said next.

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back.

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today.

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded.

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind.

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at.

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace.

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong.

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.”

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling.

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen.

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest.

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening.

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped.

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient.

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs.

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys.

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered.

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted.

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap.

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate.

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

His words all jumbled together.

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.”

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond.

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once.

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang.

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured.

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms.

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails.

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”.

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor. “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock.

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

#dark fic #well kept #rafe cameron #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe x reader #topper thornton #billionaire au #billionaire!rafe #ceo au

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lylahammar · 9 months

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People always talk about how Laios is a character who gives fat vibes even if he isn't technically fat in canon which is very true, and I have some thoughts on that!! (this will be a long post lol sorry)

There's a lot of material in the dunmeshi extras that show how fatness factors into dungeon exploration, which shows that only the most skilled adventurers are able to keep weight on while in the dungeon (thank you to @savaralyn2 for the translations! links to the individual posts these panels come from are added on the pics):

So we know, at the very least, that most of the characters are kept thinner than they would be naturally through the strain of death/revivification in the main dungeon. We also see that Laios has some fat on him, which through the text means that he's skilled enough to at least keep some of his weight (which makes sense, he doesn't die very often in canon).

(to be clear this ^ doesn't constitute as "fat," he is built as fuck here he just has some fat on his body which shows his prowess as a fighter in this universe) HOWEVER my personal little pet theory/headcanon is that Laios actually has a difficult relationship with food! I know that doesn't make much sense at first since he's shown to eat a lot in canon, but hear me out. In pre-canon, before he reunited with Falin, he's shown to be extremely gaunt:

But after partnering up with Falin, he gains weight and looks much more healthy very quickly. Part of this is definitely because of his unstable living situation/mental illness, but he and Falin still live in very poor conditions after this and he still manages to gain weight/get healthier, so I believe it's mainly due to her making sure he eats enough. We also know that Laios is. most certainly autistic. Nobody argue with me on that it's like pretty much widely accepted as canon for a lot of reasons lmao. So my theory is that he's actually food sensitive. He's shown to not really care about food that isn't monster-related. Even when he eats regular food, he's usually imagining it being a monster instead.

He has never eaten squid before, which is totally normal, but could also support my theory in a way :P it being a monster still can't save it from the autistic sensory bad experience in this case, though.

So I think that his adventurous eating during the course of the story isn't because he's actually an adventurous eater normally, it's purely because of his special interest (monsters, duh). During his journey to recover Falin, he's able to build up a healthier relationship with food through Senshi's guidance and the involvement of his special interest.

By the end of the story, after he's retired from dungeon exploration and living in comfort/safety, and with his newly healthy diet, he's finally able to gain a lot more weight. Imo, his is a story of someone who's naturally meant to be fat, but is only able to reach that point when in a stable and healthy environment.

(for the record I know he's not that fat in this post canon comic, but this is only a year and a bit after the end of the story so there's still time lol)

alright I'm goin back to drawing now just had to infodump for a minute ✌️ keep it sleazy

#lyla's talking again #this is all probably common fanon but I just wanted to type out my specific thoughts on it lol #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #laios touden #long post #CW disordered eating

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imaginesig · 3 months

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“I was enchanted to meet you”

Kimi Antonelli x Norris!Reader

SMAU + Written parts

You’re Lando Norris’s little sister (18) and a spark flares up with a notable F2 driver (18) , how does everything go down?

Bonus: “I had the best day with you today”

I wanted to state that as I’m writing this I am 17 years old, on top of that I am an American. I do not know how to be 17/18 as a Brit so I did a bit of research but I’m not 100% confident. I gave Y/n an internship bc I assumed she’d be at the end of her secondary schooling. Sorry if that’s wildly off base.

~~~

A laugh erupted from my chest as a balled up sucky note made contact with Kimi’s forehead. I quickly grab my takeout lid to block his response attack. Only when I heard the ball make contact with the plastic did I relax my shield. On the other side, Kimi laid out on my hotel bed in sleep pants and a racing sweatshirt. His messy curls barely moved as he laughed. The soft light of the hotel lamp illuminated the scene like some kind of dream.

In here, it was a dream. No pressure, loud engines, cruel media, or annoying deadlines tainting the scene. It was authentic; our looks to each other were obvious, no sneaky glances.

In one smooth motion I moved from the desk chair to the opposite side of the bed from him. Propped up on my side, I mustered my best reporter voice, “So Mr. Antonelli, you've touched down in beautiful Barcelona a few hours ago and are gearing up for the weekend. The Spanish Grand Prix is known for its special conditions: corners of varying speeds, high chance of tyre wear, and many openings for overtakes. How confident are you in the car for this weekend? Any good strategies in the works to take advantage of rough tyre conditions the other teams will face?

Kimi and I laughed so hard we both turned red, “Well Ms. Norris it looks like someone’s done their homework.”

“It is my job” I shrug, “I also just love turn 9. I quite literally look forward to it every year.”

“Of course you love the hard one,” Kimi pulled his arm out from under his weight and fell into the bed.

“No sir, you have to go. Dont get comfortable,” I said.

“Y/n” kimi whines.

“No,” I laugh, “you need to go back to your own room.” With a huff and a few more comments Kimi is reminded of the reality outside of the hotel room, one where he has to return to his own room and wake up alone. With a hug and kiss, Kimi is on his way and I turn back to start cleaning up. Next to the takeout trash, my work bag also lays unpacked. I fall into a steady rhythm of tidying before bed while my mind wanders off to my secret relationship.

Kimi and I got together right before this season started. We met last season at a couple of different Motorsport events and spent the season getting closer. Then we spent the offseason working through the new depth added to our friendship. And now, we’re navigating unforgiving media who might not take our relationship too well and potentially ruin it.

With a yawn I finish up my task and head to bed. I go to turn off my bedside lamp and notice a goodnight message from Kimi.

~~~

yn_norris

liked by kimi.antonelli, landonorris, user1, and 918,289 others

yn_norris: Barcelona, you have kept me busy 🥴

tagged: no one

Lilyzneimer my busy bee!! Best gp watch buddy ever, you always keep me updated with the top info 💖💖

yn_norris love you sm 💖💖 thank you for letting the teammates sister join you

user1 my fav intern 😍😍

user2 she always delivers 👏👏

user8 and grinds until the end everyday

landonorris wow I don’t even get shown, I’m hurt

yn_norris I completely flooded my stories with celebrations and you when you won. This is my moment

landonorris proud of your work always!!

yn_norris🫶🫶🫶

martagarcialopez19 pleasure to be interviewed by you!!

maya_weug lovely panel❤️🏎️

hamdaalqubaisi_official women in motorsports forever!!

user3 I love how Y/n and Lando always have 2 comment threads with varying emotions under every post

user4 KIMI IN THE LIKES???

user5 he stays in her likes

user6 tbh most of the F2/F1 academy drivers are, between her being Landos little sister and covering them the most with her job/internship they’ve gotten familiar

user7 exactly, even her and Ollie Bearman have reported they talk and could consider themselves in a friendship

user8 Abbi Pulling and Hamda Al Qubaisi have been known to hang out with Y/n apart from the track

~~~

It was a beautiful sunny day in Barcelona, Spain. I was so thankful I was able to take a few remote work days so I’d be able to stay another day and explore. It all worked out perfectly because both my brother and his teammate invited me to join their exploration and Kimi was able to get a late flight.

With the sun shining and birds singing I made my way down a less crowded street and was met by my boyfriend snapping photos of the scenery around him. I decide to quicken my pace and give him a hug.

“Hello there,” he says surprised. A chuckle escapes his mouth once he’s turned around to reciprocate the affection.

“Hi,” I smile. I look around as he pulled back and saw the iconic kissing mural surrounded by greenery, “wow.”

“Pretty right,” he says.

“Beautiful,” I gush,”let’s get a photo.” Kimi nods and I set my phone up to record a video to screen record to screen shot from since there was no one around at the early hour.

“How do you wanna pose?”

“Let’s kiss and really be that couple, you know,” I joke.

“Come here then,” the warm air and slight breeze made the moment feel like a fairytale. The world melted away as I enjoyed the sweet kiss. For a moment it felt like we were out to the world. But when the kiss ended, I felt disappointment that no one has seen us. Part of me grew restless with the secret keeping, “I found a really cute place for breakfast I think you’ll like it.”

We walked hand in hand down the quiet streets, passing by locals going through their morning chores. Soon enough we arrived at a small restaurant and were sat outside. Concealed by aged buildings, the place itself was low traffic and gave up peace of mind.

“Smile,” I look back towards Kimi from the surrounding scenery to see him holding up his camera. We took a couple of different shots before returning to conversation.

“I had the weirdest feeling earlier,” I start. Kimi looks a little concerned, “when we took that kissing photo I wanted someone to see. I wanted our relationship to get out.”

“I’ve been feeling the same way. It’s been and is so nice to have our little bubble, but part of me just wants to be and not worry about the when and where.”

“Exaclty my feelings. I’m glad we’re talking about this, let’s let the idea sit for a little while longer and then we can come up with a plan. I’m scared to rush into an announcement and not be ready for the outcome.” Kimi agrees and we fall into other topics of conversation over breakfast. After we go to an outdoor market and look around. I purchase some trinkets for other interns at the office who cover other sports. As the air slowly got hotter, Kimi’s time with me got shorter. Eventually it was time to take him back to the hotel to take a ride to the airport. We said our goodbyes and he promised to call me when he landed.

I quickly traveled to the lunch spot my brother informed me to meet the group at. We spent the rest of the day enjoying the scenery, taking cool photos, and just enjoying each others company since extra days like this were scarce.

Too soon the sun went down and our activities ended. Back in my hotel room I worked in the soft lamplight and prepared for my flight back to reality tomorrow.

~~~

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, lilyzniemer, user91, and 928,827 others

oscarpiastri: pro tip: never explore with the Norris siblings, they’ll make a scene everywhere

tagged: lilyzneimer, landonorris, yn_norris

yn_norris ummm this is embarrassing you seemed to have misspelled “Y/n thank you so much for the adorable pic of me and Lily! Thankfully your skill is far superior to your brothers so I was able to post one”

landonorris you twat

yn_norris I mean he didn’t post yours so…

oscarpiastri that’s it I’m getting a restraining order on you guys

landonorris we only made a couple…

oscarpiastri yea bc Y/n was only with us a few hours

user1 LMAO THE BIKE PHOTO

user2 they were ready to square up

yn_norris I kicked his ass

user2 OMG SHE REPLIED

user3 everytime I see a Y/n and Lily interaction it always gives little and big sis🥹

user4 omg ikr!! It makes me so happy that even though her bio sisters aren’t able to be with her 24/7 she has someone at gps and such

user5 what I wouldn’t give to explore the world with this group

kimi.antonelli

Liked by user4, yn_norris, olliebearman, and 819,728 others

Kimi.antonelli: Barcelona, beautiful as always 👏

tagged:no one

olliebearman 💪💪

Prema_team glad to see the weekend allowed for relaxation 😎

user1 happy with the results this weekend!!

user2 ok scenic shot

user3 Kimi is coming for Y/n with the digital camera effect

user4 I wonder why it’s only on the last photo tho?

user5 maybe this is where she was when she wasn’t with the McLaren boys…

user6 ok grandma get back to bed

Yn_norris

liked by kimi.antonelli, carlossainz55, abbiepulling, and 718,828 others

Yn_norris: España, mi amor

Tagged: lilyzniemer

oscarpiatri so glad my gf make the post and I didn’t

yn_norris cry me a river

landonorris who took the first pic you don’t have any friends other than me 🤨🤨

yn_norris choke

carlossainz55 always love your love of Spain 🇪🇸♥️

yn_norris with every bit of my heart!!

Riabish gorgeous!!

abbiepulling travel looks gorgeous on you

yn_norris 💋💋

user1 she ate this up

user2 first pic >>>>>

yn_norris posted a story!

Caption: I get door dashed coffee even when he’s thousands of miles away 🫶🫶

Replies:

landonorris

who what when where why

idk, it’s coffee for those of us who don’t have the energy of a seven year old, this morning, my office, bc I’m loved

wdym “idk”

Y/n are you soft launching?? Your own brother doesn’t get to know before Instagram

I have a plan no fear

🙄

Kimi.antonelli

I’ve discovered you can special order a message or simple drawings through the app too

I can see that

so be prepared, there’s so much more where than came from

as much as I love this and would love to see what you come up with, I can get my own coffee

not happening

lmao ok

Not my hill to die on

I love you

I love you too, have a great day

Oscarpiastri

your bother is pacing

Lmao good

Let him squirm

Yes ma’am 🫡

~~~

The smell of exhaust fills my senses and V6s roar across the track. Lando and I were currently camped out in the Prema garage with our eyes glued to the screen. We let out a few comments and had mini conversations throughout.

When Kimi’s car cross the finish line the enter building jumped up. As the crew and engineers all ran out to the baraxade. I decided do lead Lando over where the podium is interviewed before the cool down room so we don’t interrupt team celebrations. We stand meters away so we don’t bother anyone but I still might be able to sent Kimi a thumbs up and a wink.

“I didn’t know you two got so close,” Lando mused as we still admits the buzzing padock.

“Well you know through other friends I’ve made from tagging alone to events and races with you we were bound to meet, especially with him being Ollies teammate this season,” Lando nods at that. “So how are you feeling about your race, the home ones always a big deal.”

“I’m super excited, but the nerves of potentially messing things up are there,” he confesses, “I want to win really bad.”

“Call it reporter’s gut but I feel-“ suddenly I was cut off my someone yelling my name.

“Y/n!” Kimi is sprinting over to us. So much for not making a scene, I think.

“Kimi! You did it!” I yelled back. Soon, he was a meter away and not stopping. I was grabbed along with him and brought a couple steps away as he slowed down. Before I could even comprehend the previous action, Kimi let out another victory cheer, grabbed my face, and kissed me in the middle of the paddock. The adrenaline and joy from his win charged the kiss from both ends. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. All those kisses in hotel room or hidden corners of the world were put to shame, this was the kiss. I was so focused on the moment that I didn’t remember that there were eyes on us everywhere, including the eyes of my brother.

“Y/n- I- What!” Lando stuttered with wide eyes. He still stood in our previous spot and seemed to be stuck there. After a moment of staring back, I realized my hands had come up to rest on Kimi’s biceps.

I quickly jumped back before turning to look at Kimi again, “Hey, I’m so proud! We can catch up and all that later. Go do your media stuff, I love you.” I wave him off and walk back to Lando, “before you say anything we need to talk privately.”

Once we find a quiet place I begin explains everything, “And that’s brings us up to now. We had a plan to slow launch and then during that time we hoped to tell family and close friends before anyone else. I swear this weekend was the one-“ he cut me off.

“Y/n don’t worry, I can tell the adrenaline got to him,” he smirks, “I know the feeling well.”

“Ew, ew Lando please stop there,” I cringe. “Are you sure you’re not mad? It wasn’t supposed to come out this way, especially not to you.”

“I’m fine. Granted I only saw a few seconds of that this relationship is but any man who’s gonna come running to you after a race before even heading to a mandatory interview or cool down then he’s a good one. Also you can’t fool me, your eyes lit up and you forgot I was even next to you when he showed up. I’m happy for you,” Lando pulled me into a bear hug.

“I love you Lan.”

“I love you too,” he pulled back and added,” but mum might be so give her a ring before she finds out.”

We both laugh before I FaceTime the family group chats for round 2 of explaining.

~~~

f1updates

Liked by user82, user282, user1, and 173,827 others

f1updates: After his first F2 win, Kimi Antonelli kisses Lando Norris’s little sister in the middle of the paddock! Videos from multiple sources have been reposted on our Twitter account.

tagged: Kimi.antonelli, yn_norris

used1 WHAT

user2 this was not on my 2024 bingo card

used3 after watching the videos it was right out of a romance movie

user4 the way he sprinted to her while ignoring everything else

user5 lando’s face killed me

user6 he was just as shocked as we are

kimi.antonelli

liked by yn_norris, user43, prema_racing, and 918,828 others

Kimi.antonelli: maiden win anyone??

tagged: prema_racing, mercadesamgf1, yn_norris

yn_norris “where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me” 🤭🤭

Kimi.antonelli ❤️❤️

landonorris 😑

yn_norris fuck off

prema_racing that’s our boy 👏🏆

User1 KIMI IS A RACE WINNER

user2 anyone else absolutely die when he kissed her

user3 yea I think Lando almost did

user4 Y/n’s comment 😭😭

carlossainz55 the last pic 🤨

danielriccardo so it is true

landonorris OF COURSE ITS TRUE A VIDEO HAS BEEN TRENDING ON TWITTER

Carlossainz55 honestly I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying but he could be worse

landonorris mate.

danielriccardo I say shovel talk before his next race see how he celebrates then

yn_norris no no no yall are done scheming in my boyfriends comment section

~~~

The British Grand Prix had been a rollercoaster for the younger Norris who sat in the coverage of the McLaren garage watching the race. Kimi and I had sent a few messages about the race but since Lando lost his lead during his pit in lap 40 I have been zoned in. I’ve been praying since Lewis passed that something would happen, that by a miracle Lando would regain his lead. Unfortunately as the laps dwindled, Lando lost time between the winner and in lap 49 Max had successfully overtaken him. Sighs and cuss words could be heard all throughout the building. My head fell into my hands as I watched the race though hooded eyelids, weight down with sadness.

When the race was over I slowly took the same path Lando and I had taken yesterday towards the media area. I flashed by badge once again and found a stop on the r of the action. Eventually, Lando made his way to Jensen and completed his interview.

“Hey,” I said empathetically as I pulled him into a hug. “I know you hate this and I know you’re upset. Lando, you hold yourself to the highest standard imaginable, but please know you did great. Third place is still a handful of points and now you’ve gotten more experience so you and the team can make better calls in the future. This wasn’t a race that you could predict, you had to roll with the punches and you did. I’m so proud of you and now I have a new trophy I can steal for my future apartments decor!”

Lando let out a loud chuckle before he hit me on the head, “you’re not getting my trophies you muppet.”

“That’s what you think,” I fired back before he pulls me into another hug, this one more playful than the last. I waved him off to the cool down room and said a quick congratulations to Lewis before heading to get a spot with McLaren for the podium ceremony.

~~~

landonorris

Liked by yn_norris, user3, mclaren, and 819,928 others

landonorris: Silverstone I love you, my sister not so much ❤️ congrats on the win @/lewishamilton, we’ll review, do better, and come get you next time 😜

Tagged: lewishamilton

yn_norris I cried real tears @/lewishamilton

yn_norris you fought hard, it was entertaining race. Love you to the moon and back🫶🫶

landonorris love you to the moons and back twice 🫶

user1 HELLO?? THIS IS TO SWEEET

used2 with no warning either 😭😭

yn_norris also for the record I did nothing

Kimi.antonelli ok now I said I was sorry

user3 why war McLarens strategy all messed up this week

Kimi.antonelli great driving today 💪

landonorris 😑

yn_norris lando try that again.

landonorris 👍

user4 you still did great!!

user5 lmao the jab at Y/n 😭😭

yn_norris

liked by danielriccardo, olliebearman, user88, and 198,828 others

yn_norris big weekend :)

tagged: landonorris, kimi.antonelli

landonorris big weekend? BIG WEEKEND? THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY??

yn_norris I mean a lot happened

danielriccardo I think that trophy was kissed better than you

yn_norris 🙄✋

Kimi.antonelli love you ♥️

yn_norris love you too ♥️

user1 her and Lando 🥹🥹

olliebearman thanks for the support on your off weekend 👏👏

yn_norris anytime care bear

user2 “care bear” IM CRYING YN YOU CANT DO MY MAN LIKE THAT

user3 the McLaren flag slays so hard

kimi.antonelli

Liked by yn_norris, landonorris, used928, and 727,828 others

Kimi.antonelli: I owe an apology to Y/n for ruining our soft launch on a whim, Lando for doing it front of you, and my family for not telling you guys sooner. But that’s all besides the point because I can finally say LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND

tagged: yn_norris

yn_norris omg I love you ♥️

Kimi.antonelli I love you more ♥️

user1 the uppercase at the end he’s so cute 😭😭

user2 you can tell he’s so excited

oscarpiastri so does the Barcelona photo prove that’s who Y/n was with that morning?

landonorris no shot they snuck around right under my nose

Kimi.antonelli no comment

yn_norris not my fault you’re an idiot who doesn’t ask enough questions

landonorris oh just you wait for my questions now

Oscarpiastri oh look now you’ve opened Pandora’s box y/n

carlossainz55 I guess I like you

Kimi.antonelli that’s comforting?

Carlossainz55 be happy it’s not hate

yn_norris he’s a tad bit overprotective

danielriccardo you’ve got balls kid, I respect it

Kimi.antonelli thank you 😁

user3 pls not this summoning all of Landos old teammates

user4 guess he’s not the only one they’ve grown attatched to

landonorris this is cute ig

Kimi.antonelli I’m taking this as a win

yn_norris don’t act all grumpy on main

yn_norris

liked by Danielriccardo, user817, Kimi.antonelli, and 817,828 others

yn_norris: “this night is sparkling, don’t you let it go”

tagged: Kimi.antonelli

Kimi.antonelli fav taylor song 🫶🫶

yn_norris see aren’t you glad I made you listen to it

user1 Kimi is an Enchanted stan???

landonorris wtf is that last picture

yn_norris 🤷🏼‍♀️

user2 I love them so much 😭😭

User3 she dedicated Enchanted to him?? Girlie is in deep

Carlossainz55 does he make you happy?

danielriccardo this is is a very important question

yn_norris very 🥰

landonorris cancel the plans guys

Kimi.antonelli I’m scared

yn_norris

Liked by lilyzniemer, user4, carlossainze55, and 981,828 others

yn_norris: he’s family approved ☀️😌

tagged: Kimi.antontelli

Kimi.antonelli Aunt Y/n 😍

landonorris absolutely not

danielriccardo I’m watching you

carlossainz55 stop right there

yn_norris do you guys always materialize in time to ruin the fun 😒

oscarpiastri 👶🚫

yn_norris OSCAR YOU TOO???

Landonorris take that helmet off her now, Uncle Lala’s is the only one allowed

yn_norris possessive much

user1 I can never tell how Lando feels about Kimi

user2 right mixed signals much? He bullies him in insta comments but openly supports him irl

user3 speaking from personal experience, that’s just him being an annoying older brother

lilyzniemer the matching outfits 🥰🥰

abbiepulling they are too cute!!!

yn_norris I love you both 🫶🫶

#f1 #f1 imagines #f2 #f2 x reader #formula 2 #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli imagine #kimi antonelli #formula 1 smau #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader

446 notes · View notes

pancake-breakfast · 3 months

Text

Sorry it took me so long to get these notes up. Between internet issues and pure busy-ness, it's been rough. But here they are! The notes from AX Day 1's Trigun Stampede panel! Now with images! (Sorry for Chilchuck's head in most of them. He's awfully tall for a half-foot.)

Trigun Stampede presented by Toho Animation, Studio Orange, and Crunchyroll

The guests for this panel were Yoshihiro Watanabe (producer at Orange) and Katsuhiro Takei (producer at Toho animation), with Steve Liu from Crunchyroll hosting. (They had a translator as well, but Watanabe promptly stole her job.)

One other thing I'm going to note before we get started is that this was Takei's first time talking about all this in front of an audience since Episode 12 aired. He kept looking out at the practically full auditorium (the panel was held in one of the ballrooms, so easily one of the biggest rooms at the venue) and seeing all the fans and cosplayers and just grinning from ear to ear. He was clearly very exited.

Introduction

They started off by playing a quick video recapping Season 1. (It really made me want to watch the show on a big screen. It looks great even on a projector!) After the video, Liu started in on the interview questions. Please don't take anything below as a direct quote unless it's in quotation marks; I'm not that fast with my notes, so I'm mostly paraphrasing and relying on my memory, either of which could include my own misinterpretation or just be flat-out wrong.

The first question was, how do you feel about the future of the series?

Watanabe said their passion (for creating more of the series) was burning within them.

Takei noted that when the show was initially announced at AX some years back, they were very nervous about it since they were remaking a well-known and well-loved title, but today, looking out at all the fans, he felt a lot more confident.

Behind the Scenes of Trigun Stampede

They then showed some concept art from the famed Trigun Bible. This included what Watanabe called "Vash's projection of Rem." Seems like they came up with this design before coming up with Vash's dark design.

They also shared some concept art of what most people assume to be spiky-haired Vash...

...but which Watanabe quickly noted is actually Vash in Episode 1. You know, when he's hanging upside-down. Takei added that Muto, the director, was a bit mischievous and had a tendency to lie to the staff about when certain designs would appear in the series. He apparently hid a handful of Easter eggs and foreshadowing (like Vash having spikier hair) throughout the series.

They also had some concept art of Knives and of Vash's wing.

They then showed some concept art for some friends all y'all might recognize if you read the manga....

...but in case you didn't, I'll identify the characters below:

Top Row: Vash the Stampede, Millions Knives, Meryl Stryfe, Roberto Deniro (the blank one), Legato Bluesummers

Bottom Row: Monev the Gale, Dominique the Cyclops, Leonof the Puppet-Master, E.G. the Mine, Nicholas the Punisher, Midvalley the Hornfreak, Hoppered the Gauntlet, Rai-Dei the Blade (his name doesn't actually look like Rai-Dei here, though, so they may be calling him something different or they may just be subbing in kanji; it's too small for me to tell), Grey the Ninelives, Livio the Double Fang, Zazie the Beast, Elendira the Crimsonnail

If you're sitting there thinking, "Aww, they came up with all these designs but we saw so few of them!" then I have news for you! Watanabe said we should be keeping an eye out for more of these folks in the next part.

Favorite Scenes

Next, Liu asked both of the guests about their favorite scenes, and before they got into talking about them, we were shown a video not just of the final scene, but the storyboard, the rough cut version, and the version used for dubbing, all on one screen.

Takei answered first, and he chose the scene from episode 1 where Vash goes up against Chuck Lee, a.k.a. the military policeman from July.

(The audience kept laughing at Vash's wonderfully goofy face in the storyboard.)

When asked why he loved that scene, Takei noted that everything they wanted to accomplish in Trigun Stampede was encapsulated in it. In the manga and '98, Vash is more funny and tough (although "a good-looking guy"), and here in Stampede, he's rather more wimpy (although "still a good-looking guy"). This scene is a good blend of both sides of Vash.

It also showcases a "good action scene," which he clarified by noting there aren't many anime where so much drama and emotion is centered around one bullet. Takei also noted (though it's hard to convey to you all via still images) that Muto trusted his animators to improve on the storyboards. He's not as strict as some other directors and didn't want them to feel confined to stick to it too closely, but rather wanted them to enhance what was storyboarded out as they felt was appropriate.

Which leads to Watanabe's choice for favorite scene: the one where Vash is running through his shattered memories toward Rem and finally breaks free of Knives' prison and yeets Knives himself out. (Alas, Watanabe did not, in fact, use the word "yeet.")

Watanabe said he chose this scene because he loved the details that the team added to it after the storyboarding. The storyboard just had Vash running, but they added all these subtle movements and emotion that created a much stronger impact. When the completed scene was presented in Studio Orange, all who saw it were in awe.

Upcoming Trigun Stampede Merch

First up, as many of you already know, we have the Special Edition DVD/Blu-Ray set, which is currently available via preorder on Crunchyroll.

Second up is a new Vash figure! So new they haven't finished coloring it yet, BUT they did note this will be Black Vash (a.k.a. Grape Juice Vash) from Ep. 12. Takei is particularly excited about this because he always wanted to get the Black Vash figure from back in the day, but wasn't able to, and now he's gonna be able to get his own Stampede version. This figure is actually designed by the same person who designed the Vash figures for the manga back in the day. Interestingly, after they picked him but before they met to collaborate on designs, he came up with the current design for the figure. This worked out exceedingly well, since the design Orange wanted for the figure was basically the same thing.

Also, this Vash figure will soon have a Wolfwood companion figure. Because you can't have just one of them. The Wolfwood figure is still being designed, so alas, no images of it yet.

There's also been a restock of the orders for the clothes collaboration they had with SuperGroupies before, so a bunch of that stuff will be available again soon. They're also adding a new item to the lineup, and that's a black version of the Vash jacket. (I checked their website and it looks like they might also be adding a Livio EoM jacket. Hot.)

Preview Stuff for the Next Season

Ok, first and foremost, I'm gonna note there was NO TRAILER SHOWN, so let's crush those hopes now lest they linger and lead to disappointment. What they DID show was this:

First, a preview image of the characters for the upcoming season....

TBH, the only difference I really noticed is Knives' hair seems fluffier, but new art is always nice! Also, this one looks like a win for foot, ankle, and/or hand fetishists.

Second, we got a lovely video thanks from Nightow himself!

(He said he wanted to be there, but unfortunately there wasn't a strong enough headwind for him to run to the con. And for the curious, he's wearing a Guillermo del Toro shirt.)

Nightow being a fan of Stampede and overjoyed that so many people love his story isn't new. (Wonderful, but not new.) What IS new is he drew this nice little piece of art for us all.

He said this was his first time drawing Stampede Wolfwood. He had to get them to send him 3D images of the Punisher to be able to get it right, but he enjoyed making it! He said "it felt old and new at the same time." He can't believe next year will be the series' 30th anniversary. (Congrats, OG fans. Now we can all feel old together.)

The third thing they released was this.

Given the amount of trouble I've had posting this, I'm sure plenty of you already know that the next season/final chapter is going to be called Trigun Stargaze. Liu asked Takei about this title, and Takei said something like, "I don't know what this is about. Trigun Stargaze? What's that? This is news to me." He then (after noting he had just been joking) launched into what little he could tell us about the upcoming season.

He said he can't talk about the reason for the specific title, but that manga readers can probably make some good guesses.

Trigun Stargaze will take place 2 1/2 years after Stampede. They want to keep in mind the original concept behind Stampede, that being that because the previous Trigun stories have been so amazing, what they create needs to be amazing, too. He said they're proud of what they've made so far. It went beyond your imagination. He hopes Stargaze will go beyond your imagination, too.

Cosplayer Highlight

They decided to call all the cosplayers up to the space in front of the stage next. There were SO MANY COSPLAYERS!! Foolishly, I didn't take a panorama.

Costumes included '98 and Stampede versions of Vash, Wolfwood, and Meryl, as well as a handful of Millys (Millies?), not one but TWO groups doing Barbie & Ken-styled Vash and Wolfwood (the Barbie Vashes shouted, "Hi, Barbie!" at each other when everyone went to sit back down), an old-school Legato, a Zazie, and a group fully cross-playing the characters (with Meryl and Milly being male while Vash and Wolfwood were female; they did NOT change the costumes for any of the characters).

Liu handed out prizes to a few of them (they didn't have nearly enough prizes for all of them), and then they had all the cosplayers bunch up and face the stage and the guests turn around and took a picture of everyone. (If anyone has a link to the picture anywhere, let me know and I'll add it here. No, you can't see me in it; I'm much too far over to the side.)

Guests' Closing Thoughts

They were actually running early on the panel, so Liu opened it up to any additional comments either of the guests would like to make.

Takei still seemed overwhelmed by all the cosplayers (like I said, he spent the whole panel grinning from ear to ear at the audience), and he noted he had been worried about the Stampede characters being accepted by the fans. This was his first time seeing all the cosplayers, and he said that made him "feel safe."

Watanabe said he loved looking at the "multiverse" of Trigun. It had these previous iterations, and now it has Stampede, and the fans have both adopted it and adapted it, blending the different versions together and even adding their own things, and he really appreciates that. Takei added that while they created Trigun Stampede, if in 50 or 100 years, a new Trigun series is made, that would be great.

The animation for Stargaze is in process. Watanabe said he just recently saw some of it (a clip of only a few seconds that he, of course, couldn't show us) and it blew him away.

Both Watanabe and Takei are fans of the manga and the original series, and Takei said he's really wanted this series to happen, so he hopes we all look forward to it, too.

#orange does have one more panel on saturday but it probably won't be very trigun related #i'm gonna sleep nao #yoshihiro watanabe #katsuhiro takei #trigun #trigun stampede #studio orange #toho studios #crunchyroll #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #meryl stryfe #millions knives #anime expo #ax 2024 #anime expo 2024 #trigun stargaze

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ashrayus · 1 month

Note

PLSSSS MORE FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS OF JASON TODDDD!

DUDEE!!!! really happy u asked but also omg this got long agaiN who would have thought (!) i added summaries this time tho :)

here is part one of my fic recs XD

andd heres the new ones!! pls give them some love if u read them :D

Dick and Jason:

how lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill by sunlitlemonade

There were blood drops dripping down his fingers to the ground. The puddle was big enough for it to have spread around more than half the tub. His breaths shuddered, they were shallow and waning. But he was breathing and Dick’s world centered around that.

starting strong with Angst go read all of sun’s fics i always die and get revived <333 pls mind the tags on this one

cast on/cast off by hellsreluctantheir

“This is surprisingly non-destructive for Jason,” Dick comments, lightly. In the parking lot, Jason pulls a grenade out of one of his pockets, yanks the pin, and tosses it through the roller door and out of sight, before tearing out of the parking lot in chase of the truck. “Well, for a minute there,” Dick amends. He takes a step back towards the alley the batmobile is parked in, giving Bruce a quick glance. “We following? “No,” Bruce says, as the grenade goes off. “He’s cleared the warehouse. We can get into the office.” Dick sighs again. But Jason knows he can call in if he needs help.

time loop!!! read most of this writer's fics and fell in love with them all,, go read fr

bloodstained by hellsreluctantheir

“I know where the clinic is, asshole,” Jason said. The wad of gauze he was using to keep pressure kept slipping against his shoulder. The knife had caught the space between two panels, split to allow movement. Lucky shot. “Ok, let me make sure you get there without passing out from blood loss,” Dick said, a deliberate evenness to his tone, like he was doing his best to accomodate someone who was being completely unreasonable. Shithead. “I’m not going to pass out,” Jason said, ignoring the fact that he was actually feeling pretty unsteady on his feet. He caught himself with his good shoulder on the entry to the bathroom, took a deep breath. “What would Daddy Bats think if he knew you were here, trying to help me?” “I assume something like, ‘Wow, Dick, you’re such a good brother, trying so hard to make sure Jason is ok even when he’s being a complete idiot about it,’” Dick sniped.

heres another one from them. jasons scars and dick. andd another one next

brothers in arms by hellsreluctantheir

It wasn’t like none of them went undercover. Jason practically lived there. And he’d punch anyone who tried to make it a sob story for him, to cluck over the times he’d been alone in a pit of vipers, act like it was some tragedy. But given half a minute to think about it, Dick somewhere completely cut off from everyone but Bruce, no allies on hand, surrounded by enemies. Angry as he was at the lie, there was something about that he just fucking hated. or Thinking your brother is dead and then finding out he's been alive the whole time really has a way of making you rethink the relationship.

Shelter by Ptelea

Two safe houses, two nights dealing with the aftermath of fear toxin, multiple conversations, several meals. Written for Sholio's September 2020 Comfort Fest for a prompt from Musesfool. Warning-wise, there's nothing graphic here but there are definitely references to past canon trauma for both the characters.

the way they are written here <33

Rotten Fruits by couldyoublameme

“I’m fine,” Dick assured gently, sitting up slightly. “Just a bad night, is all.” It’s a familiar phrase he has used so often. Whenever the addiction crawls back into his mind, a parasite he can never truly get rid of. The family knows what it means. Knows what the ‘bad’ is. Knows what to do. “Oh,” Jason says. “Why?”

absolutely murdered me. pls do mind the tags

You Can Do Better Than That by AlexaAffect

All Jason could hear was his own ragged breathing. He desperately gasped for air, each breath more exhausting than the last and his lungs and throat burned with the effort. In. And, he needed a second longer with every breath he took, out. His arms had been suspended for the last… 15? minutes? Jason had quit keeping track of the time, he’d been too preoccupied trying to hold himself upright, trying to ease his position, switch it up, anything to prolong the guaranteed death. “Red Hood?” That was Dick’s voice. Huh. So they had found him fast enough. Or alternatively; Dick finds a kidnapped Jason shortly before he asphyxiates.

this fic is just oddly comforting to me idk. very precious

Equivalent Exchange by Lysical

Apparently favors don't expire on death. --"What do you want, Dick?" "For you to be happy, Jay." Dick leaned over and pinched his cheek. Jason reached up and swiped at him, scowling. "And world peace."

ADORABLE and fun

Just for Now by Lysical

Jason was back in Gotham and the timing couldn't be worse for him to need assistance on a case. He didn't want to see any of the Bats and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Nightwing was the worst option for Oracle to pick to help him out.

To Reconcile by CasualDanger

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?”

he ain't heavy, he's my brother by someplacewarm

Dick's been putting off meeting with Jason for a while now, but when a distress call comes through, he has no choice but to answer. Or the one where Dick and Jason talk, fight, get high and cuddle. In that order.

making gold out of it by vmkhoney

Dick talks himself back down on the bathroom floor, clinical and detached. (For someone whose primary skill is manipulating his body, it’s not very often that he feels connected to it.) - Or, five years after Blockbuster, Dick begins teetering on the ledge of processing what Catalina did to him.

a wonderful dick grayson fic, and jason is there being a good brother. mind the tags

What Hurts You by blueyeti

Dick comes to Jason's aid when he's injured in a fight, or at least he thinks he has.

jason has no scars!! and thats also sad

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. aka; How Dick Grayson finds out Jason Todd is alive. A story about healing.

a rather long one for my standards XD (very short attention span) but this made me sit down and read. very fun jason

Bruce and Jason:

Saltwater and Desperation by bacondoughnut

Jason's not sure how he even manages to get himself out of the harbor. He's just glad Bruce is there when he does. Not that he'll ever, ever admit as much out loud.

same writer, love this jason (and bruce) so much

Insomnolence by navree

It's not like he slept much as a kid anyway; this is just a return to the status quo. He's not overly tired, and even if he's been sleeping less than his already limited amount throughout April, that's still not any of her business. Bad memories are already bad enough even before they spend the next few years in the aftermath becoming nightmares.

navree being The bruce and jason writer for me all of their fics are so o(- (

Ash Into The Wind by navree

This is his dad in there, the first man he ever called Dad, at any rate, and even after everything, booze and jail and Bruce and death and then death again, there's never going to be a part of Jason that isn't gutted that he's dead. One night, a wraith in a red helmet slips onto the grounds of Blackgate Penitentiary to steal one specific thing.

another one from them

Trapped by lurkinglurkerwholurks

BatFam Week 2018, Day Two. Prompt: Trapped Yes, the prompt is "trapped" and it's a Jason fic. I'm so, so sorry. (Not really, though.) Please see tags for potential triggers.

binge read this writers fics recently they write them so nice

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies

Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance.

Jason and Batfam:

Names and Neapolitan by Muddell

“Goddamnnit Robin,” Hood is there, pulling him into his arms. Robin sees that helmet, he sees the green eyes, the dark hair, he sees open, gray, Gotham sky, and hears tires squealing, and then he sees stone. He sees the cave. Bruce is there. Alfred is there. Dick is there. And Hood is there. Robin rolls in and out of consciousness. He reaches out, snatches the smell of copper and the touch of leather, and he holds Hood’s hand and he does not let go. He’s allowed to say it now. “Jason,” he says. “Don’t leave.” Or, following Dick telling Tim about his older brother, to Tim actually knowing him.

read a couple fics from this writer all so good!!!

Six Ways to Sunday by Muddell

Jason catches Duke hiding a headache and says, is anyone going to deal with that?

same writer!! really love their jason

Settle Down and Sleep by OberonBronze

A series of vignettes about seeking comfort. Damian tries his hand at being a comfort animal; Tim shows up at Jason’s place for an impromptu sleepover; Jason bonds with his older brother after a damaging fear toxin trip; Dick and Bruce have a long-overdue conversation.

really liked jason and dick in this :)

Tuck Me In by OberonBronze

Bruce Wayne and his long-standing habit of tucking his kids into bed.

think how great it is to fall asleep (and how terrible it is to wake up) by mikkal

Jason was fifteen, barely five foot, and underweight for his age when he died. When he came back to his body, suddenly he was too tall, too scarred, too much, too different. And he just... never got used to it. (Or: 5 times a Bat noticed/discovered his body dysphoria post resurrection)

Stranger Danger by alchemistsarego, whumpinaheartbeat (alchemistsarego)

There was never one particular moment that Damian registered that he was losing consciousness. Everything simply flashed from one thing to the next, even though some part of him understood that time had been passing in between. He had been sitting upright, rolling his eyes at something someone had said, then he was on the ground being pinned by some unknowable weight. All at once the weight was gone again, replaced instead by something not only lighter, but much warmer too. A blanket? No, a jacket.

jason and others:

Past Experience by Rookblonkorules

He thinks he might be dying. Again.

clark and jason :)

Bats in the Belfry by endlessnepenthe

Hal idly wonders how long he has before he's found. Probably not very. The Bat's freaky like that. (Or, Hal goes to Gotham and discovers that Batman's brand of freaky isn't exactly one of a kind.)

jason and hal jordan??! and slade? and magic.

#jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc #jason todd fic #fic rec

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shares-a-vest · 2 months

Text

While my shoulder has been fucked up I've been watching a lot of football AND sports commentary shows, which I have found myself enjoying??? As always, I've kept the actual sports ball details vague seeing as I barely know American sports.

Eddie walks into the living room to find Steve on his feet and standing far too close to the television. He has the phone to his ear and his shoulders are tensing.

"I cannot believe this," he says to Robin, who Eddie knows is on the other end of the line and probably just as agitated.

She must say something Steve vehemently agrees with because he nods, all stern and vibrating in agreeance. But he soon scoffs, holding the phone away as the Sportsman on the television says... Something about something baseball-related.

Steve swooshes his hand through the air in disapproval.

"Rob, are you hearing this asshole?"

The oven dings and Eddie decides to take his chances and step forward. He tip-toes quietly, making sure to keep his distance as he moves into his husband's field of vision and boy, is Steve mad about... Whatever tonight's Sports Problem is.

It's a big enough to-do that it is being discussed on (Eddie knows this much) Sportscenter.

Steve's frown deepens and his mouth down-turns to a cute – albeit grumpy – pout that has only become more accentuated with age and wrinkles.

"Dinner," Eddie mouths, adding an innocent, wiggling hand wave.

Steve props a hand on his hip and nods at him before he turns his attention back to the television. He heaves in a breath and now Eddie frowns. Because yeah, sure, Hellfire still gets his heart a-fluttering every once in a while, but these days he and the boys carry out quieter, more laid-back campaigns that would make their former selves gasp in horror.

And, Sport Problems, or not, he doesn't like the idea of Steve getting so worked up that he's wheezing.

"Rob!" Steve scolds in disbelief down the line, "What? Ugh, fine... Fine!" he looks at Eddie, "My dinner is ready too... Alright! Call me back... Mhmm," he pinches his nose, "Yes, I'll do the three-way call thing with Sinclair instead... Fine! Okay, bye."

He ends the call with a forceful pressing of the Talk/End button and murmurs to himself, practically sneering as he shoots the panel of sports commentators a look.

"Okay-p," Eddie says, clasping his hands together as he decides to charge for the remote.

He points it at the TV and gleefully reduces the group riling up his husband's undead universe-induced asthma to black nothingness.

"Calm down, Stevie-bear," he says, discarding the remote on the couch so he can rub at his back, "No more Sportscenter for now."

"But, Eddie, can you believe –"

Steve cuts himself off as Eddie loops an arm around his middle and leads him to the four-seater dining table.

"I know your hip is too bad for you to play ball these days, sweetheart, but you gotta calm down," he bargains, relieved when Steve's breathing begins to even out, "Dinner time is our quiet time."

"Yes..." Steve glances around.

Eddie narrows his eyes the moment he realises his partner has located their iPad on the breakfast bar. He tilts his head, hoping to block Steve's view of it and they soon become engaged in a silent stand-off despite standing in the middle of their living space attached at the hip, arm in arm.

It only stops when Steve purses his lips, no doubt readying himself to bring out the big guns and say something with the deadliest of bitchy lilts.

"Nope," Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, "You're not rewatching that... play you are so cranky about on the iPad. I'm sure you are right about it anyway."

Steve says nothing. Hell, he probably saw straight through that ever-so-slightly condescending attempt at deflection. But Eddie can't bring himself to be all that worried about his tone as some very real panic sets in at the sound of the pot on the stove bubbling up a little too much.

He detaches himself from his partner, thinking that ruining dinner and taking Steve away from the television will start up a World War III, the likes of which he hasn't seen since the time he brought a stray cat into the apartment, who promptly hid in the closet and pooped in Steve's new Nikes.

"I am right," Steve says, all perky and chipper now as he pulls out a chair, "Can you, uh... Do the, uh..."

He trails off, looking at the phone's keypad and gesturing to the buttons.

Eddie reaches forward and plucks the phone from Steve's hand.

"I'll set up the three-way call for you later," he says, reading his mind. He presses a kiss to his forehead and sets the phone down on the table, "Promise."

"Lucas will be ready to talk at – "

"Eight o'clock," Eddie nods, "Just in time for the replay, I know."

He pats Steve on the shoulder with reassurance. When his husband finally takes a seat, Eddie heads off to the kitchen just in time to salvage their dinner.

#that post about lucas and steve bonding over basketball made me think of a little steve-robin-lucas sports obsessive trio for life dynamic #old steddie #when i mean old i mean like 50s/60s #sportsball eddie 🏈#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie

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covid-safer-hotties · 27 days

Text

With the toll of new COVID-19 infections regularly topping 1 million a day and weekly deaths creeping toward the 1,000 mark, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has launched a campaign aimed not at protecting the public from this ongoing pandemic, now in its fifth year, but at washing its hands of responsibility.

CDC Director Dr. Mandy Cohen held a press conference August 23 to review the state of the COVID-19 pandemic and encourage the public to get their winter COVID-19, RSV and flu vaccines once they are made available. While bluntly acknowledging that “COVID is with us,” she tried unconvincingly to assure reporters and viewers that “we have the tools to protect ourselves.” She then added, as a way of shifting the blame, “We just need to use them!”

Dr. Cohen was silent on who was responsible for the failure of most Americans to get booster shots or otherwise protect themselves from a disease, which can be fatal for many and cause lifelong debilitation for many more.

She could have named the Democratic administration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, which ended the COVID-19 emergency more than a year ago and treats the pandemic as a thing of the past. She could have named Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, the promoter of quack remedies like ivermectin and bleach, who recently welcomed into his campaign the anti-vaxxer and enemy of science and public health, Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

And if she had been equipped with a mirror—and a conscience—she could have pointed to herself and other top CDC officials, who have collaborated in the anti-scientific rampage to shut down both mitigation efforts and even elementary data collection on cases of illness, hospitalization and death.

Most importantly (and therefore least likely) she could have acknowledged that within the framework of the capitalist system, the profits of giant banks and corporations are far more important than the lives of human beings. That is the meaning of the incessant claims that schools, factories, public transportation and facilities must be kept open, to save “the economy,” despite the inevitable spread of the infection as a result.

Dr. Cohen, like her predecessors and colleagues at the top of the public health establishment, puts political pressures above science and medicine. The nearly hour-long briefing was simply political theater, where a panel of experts attempted to place the public health agency in the best light despite acknowledging the monumental number of daily infections that have seen hospitalizations and fatalities climb.

Meanwhile, schools across multiple states have announced closures—affecting thousands—just as the new academic year has begun, in response to mass infections among faculty and students.

So far this year, more than 26,000 Americans have died from acute COVID-19 complications, and more than 800 per week are being killed by a preventable infection, a figure 20 percent higher than last year this time. At the current rate, it is expected that between 50,000 to 60,000 Americans will die from COVID-19 in 2024, a rate two to three times higher than fatalities from flu. However, these do not take into consideration excess deaths, and given the complete dismantling of the reporting systems, these figures are known undercounts.

Such figures could only appear low in comparison to the colossal death toll of the first three years of the pandemic, when 352,000 died in 2020, 464,000 in 2021 and 260,000 in 2022. In 2023, 76,000 COVID-19 deaths were recorded. All these numbers are underestimates, as excess mortality figures are considerably higher. The cumulative death toll from COVID-19 is likely well over 1.4 million in the United States and approaching 30 million worldwide.

Neither did the panel address any concerns over the fact that millions continue to suffer from Long COVID, which has taken a significant toll on the health of Americans and the world over. It bears mentioning that a recent study noted that 410 million people across the world have had Long COVID with a $1 trillion impact on global GDP. Yet, no treatment for this condition exists. Without health insurance and means, issues of brain fog, chronic fatigue and sleep disturbances become part of one’s physiognomy.

Much about Dr. Cohen’s characterization of the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic is deeply flawed and should have been taken up by the press, who remained silent on the matter. First and foremost, her claim, in response to a direct question that COVID-19 “is endemic,” is completely misleading.

An infection is endemic when it is contained, not spreading uncontrolled and not causing significant impact on the society. COVID-19 is none of these. It remains a pandemic, with new waves of infections where millions are being infected daily by a virus whose mutation far outstrips the efforts of public health agencies and pharmaceutical companies to provide vaccines, medicines and mitigation practices. It continues to cause large-scale social disruption, economic loss and general hardship.

The opposition of both capitalist parties to any significant effort to fight the pandemic was on display last week. The Democratic National Convention, like its Republican counterpart in July, was a massive superspreader event, with thousands of delegates and media personnel congregating in an enclosed arena, where there was continuous cheering, shouting and singing. There are already anecdotal reports of widespread sickness in state delegations returning from Chicago.

As for the Republicans, Trump staged his appearance with Robert F. Kennedy Jr. on Friday afternoon, beaming as Kennedy announced he was folding up his independent presidential campaign and endorsing the ex-president and would-be dictator. Kennedy said he was working with Trump on staffing agencies like the CDC, NIH, FDA and USDA from the standpoint of ending the “chronic disease crisis.” By this he means, of course, ending efforts to fight diseases and letting children, the elderly, and the entire American population suffer the consequences.

Fundamentally, all large epidemics and pandemics are serious social issues that require broad-scale infection control in place to disrupt and prevent disease. And with respect to COVID-19 and all future pandemics, these require an international collaborative perspective.

In 2024 so far, 179 million people were infected in the United States, a total that is eventually expected to surpass 2023, when more than 248 million Americans, or three-quarters of the population, caught COVID-19. SARS-CoV-2 wastewater levels throughout the pandemic suggest that there have been more than 1.1 billion infections in the United States, between three and four for every person in the country.

This begs the question how are those most vulnerable, such as the elderly, immunocompromised, and those with chronic disabling medical conditions, which represent a significant portion of the population, to protect themselves from perpetual mass infection?

For the CDC director to present public health efforts as a matter of individual, personal choice is a gross falsification of reality. The policy of mass infection has been forced on the population.

As for having the tools to protect themselves, what is being offered are simply vaccines and more vaccines as a means to prevent COVID-19. As the WSWS recently noted, “Despite the limitations, the uptake of the vaccines is vital for the health of the population. The shots have a strong, proven safety record and do prevent severe disease and potentially reduce the risk of Long COVID, as studies have indicated. However, they do not prevent infections and the immunity they offer is short-lived given the constant mutation of the virus.”

The vaccines by Pfizer and Moderna carry a cost of $120 to $130 per shot. In some regions, these can be as high as $160 or even $200. However, the rescinding in March of $4.3 billion from the Department of Health and Human Services in COVID-19 supplemental funding means access to free vaccines for the 26 million uninsured and tens of millions more underinsured, essentially all from working class families, will only mean that the vaccination campaign will simply languish as it did last year when only 7 million Americans accepted the boosters within six weeks of their delivery to pharmacies.

As for other tools in their toolbox, Cohen refers to anti-viral treatments like Paxlovid, which are regularly being denied to patients by their physicians or when they actually are given a prescription, face the daunting price tag of $1,300 to $2,400 per course because their insurance denies them coverage. Meanwhile, repurposed medications like Metformin, a drug that treats diabetes, which has shown anti-viral properties and shown in randomized trials to reduce COVID-19 viral loads and decrease risk of Long COVID, remain unmentioned. In particular, this raises the question of why there are so few tools in the toolbox, and why some are being removed, such as the ability to wear N95 masks in public.

The arrest of an 18-year-old New York man in Nassau County on Tuesday who was wearing a black ski mask utilizing the recently passed mask-ban legislation will only embolden police departments and threaten the public who face possible detentions and arrest simply on charges of police suspicion.

At the Democratic National Convention, guidance was issued forbidding mask wearing by attendees unless “it was necessary due to a disability” and this at the discretion of security.

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #public health #still coviding #wear a respirator

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virginreprise · 29 days

Text

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base.

Utter filth. And Joel knew it.

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball.

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?”

“Not really, Susan.”

Then Pete interjecting.

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure.

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open.

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.”

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots.

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place.

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut.

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips.

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance.

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways.

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again.

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert.

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat.

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat.

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer.

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain.

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you.

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things.

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving.

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.”

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly.

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection.

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day.

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.”

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime.

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.”

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you.

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you.

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain.

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat.

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime.

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen.

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills.

She’d left him with it and he would die with it.

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again.

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating.

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that.

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next?

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again.

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle.

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home.

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost.

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along.

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open.

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out.

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago.

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy.

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp.

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal?

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse.

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots.

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not.

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel.

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare.

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance.

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have.

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely.

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there.

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour.

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better.

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.”

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked.

“You sure?”

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours.

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls.

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth.

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers.

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you.

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.”

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted.

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did.

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand.

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.”

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else.

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage.

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest.

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure.

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then.

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment.

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call.

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.”

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones.

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer.

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find.

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever.

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.”

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth.

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction.

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words.

They stung. More than you cared to admit.

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have.

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on.

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out.

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.”

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions.

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.”

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.”

“You are crossing a line, little girl.”

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet.

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-”

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered.

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away.

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.”

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?”

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand.

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment.

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire.

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.”

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you.

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.”

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him.

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim.

“You understand me, little girl?”

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare.

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.”

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality.

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you.

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean.

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.”

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you.

You and Joel.

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer.

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation.

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull.

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.”

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.”

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer.

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair.

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep.

thanks for reading !

#virginreprise™#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction

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thebestofoneshots · 5 months

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.3 K Warnings: ANGST! Prompt: Vixen tries to survive in the snow while Remus desperatly tries to find her. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 46: Comfortably Numb

Well, hold on, my darling This mess was yours Now your mess is mine

You had woken up hastily after seeing Nina, your eyes snapping open in hopes she really was there, but there was no one, just more snow, gently falling on top of the white layer already covering most of the fields. Your eyes started to close again until you felt something on your nose, you opened your eyes only to see a blue butterfly.

But here? In the snow? You wondered as you saw its wings bat desperate, tired, and cold. You could feel the crisp taping of paper-like, frozen delicate things against your cheek and lashes, urging you to open your eyes back up, to wake up and fight.

You moved your hand towards your face and the butterfly gingerly jumped to your finger, “You must be cold,” you whispered. You felt cold too, although it wasn’t as cold as before. In truth you were so tired and numb, you barely registered how cold it was until you felt her wings flapping against your cheeks.

“If I had my wand I could make us a fire,” you said, “but that was taken away from me, to help someone who helped me get here… You can stay by me if you want…” you added as you let your hand fall on your lap carefully. The small butterfly flapped their wings again, desperate to get your attention.

“Not warm enough, is it?” You asked and sighed. “I’ll try to get us there then,” you said as you pointed at the shack, you knew it would be warm. It was hard to get up, the stunning spell and how tired you were at this point had taken a toll on you. Your movements were strained and languid, it took you a full minute to stand. The butterfly kept flying around you, desperate. You extended your hand to help and she flew towards your shoulder, sitting just over the sleeve of your dress.

Oh right, you were only wearing a dress, perhaps that was the reason it was so cold. You managed to walk all the way to the door, with a slow and steady pace, but once you reached, the door wouldn’t budge. It was firmly closed, and you didn’t have your wand to pry it open, you didn’t even have the penknife you had made for Sirius. You leaned your back against the doorframe, you felt so tired.

“Looks like we’re staying out here, Blue,” you said as you looked at the butterfly, who flew rapidly towards your face in response. You sighed, “You wouldn’t make it, would you?” you asked and pushed yourself off the door, searching for another way in. That’s when you spotted one of the crossed-out windows. Perhaps if I try hard enough…

You used the walls to step down from the stairs and walked towards the window. It was covered with wood, but one of the slabs seemed at least slightly rotten, so you grabbed that one, ignoring the splinters digging into your palms and pulled.

Nothing happened. You frowned, took a deep breath and pulled again. There was a creaking sound, but the wood was still firmly glued to the side panels of the window. You nodded, hyping yourself up as you tried again. One, two, three, PULL!

The piece of wood came along with you as you stumbled back a good few steps. You looked at it and smiled, throwing the wood on the floor and leaning against the window. It was still as messy as you remembered, but the clouding against the window meant it was warm. You grabbed a fist full of the flowy fabric of your dress and punched on the window, you felt it shatter as your fist went through the crystal. When you pulled your hand back you allowed your dress and the tiny shards of glass to fall onto the snow.

You turned around and pushed your hand towards the butterfly. She placed herself in the middle of your palm and you carefully brought her inside. She seemed even more active once inside the warmer climate and you smiled. At least you could save a butterfly.

You swallowed again and tried to pull the wood slab just over the one you had managed to rip out earlier but it was useless, the wood wasn’t as putrid as the other one, and it was firmly nailed onto the window. You huffed and tried again, but the result was the same. The butterfly seemed to be flying desperately as it watched you struggle. You sighed after trying one more time and allowed yourself to fall on the floor, your eyes closed when you felt the flapping of the wings against your cheeks again.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you stared at it. “Go back inside, it’s warm, you’ll diе out here.”

The butterfly stubbornly flew around you. It couldn’t talk, but if it did, you’d imagine it would be telling you the same thing you were trying to tell it. You sighed and stood up, helping her back inside. “I’ll find safety,” you promised as you looked at her. “But you need to stay inside.”

The butterfly refused. You carefully hurled her back inside. It wasn’t easy but you were gentle enough not to hurt her. Once she was inside you dug down and grabbed some snow, attempting to close the hole you’d made with it. You dragged the snow from the sides of the sill and pressed them against the opened area, ignoring the sharp pain when a shard of glass dug into the side of your palm. Or perhaps it was more than one, your hand was too numb to feel it all.

Once you made sure the butterfly wouldn’t be able to follow, you took a deep breath and focused on the snow. You used a similar spell to the one you had used on the snow fight, but rather than a projectile, you used the same type of magic to make sure the snow wouldn’t melt for a while. The butterfly was fluttering madly inside, as if desperate to come back out.

“It’s all right,” you reassured, “I’ll find a way to safety, I promise.” You smiled faintly and then turned around. If you couldn’t get inside the shack, then the closest way to safety was through the forest. You weren’t scared, you knew the most dangerous thing that roamed it already, and he wasn’t around tonight.

You looked up at the sky, the stars were impossibly bright, and the moon was waning. The path towards the forest was dark, but illuminated enough for you to see your way. You took in a deep cold breath and decided that if you’d have to get to the castle either way, you might as well do it now.

The snow was hard and freezing, your feet hurt as you tried to raise them so you were pretty much dragging them through the thick and cold snow. With no shoes, they felt colder than ever, you could barely feel them at this point, but you kept walking.

You fell more than once, but the ghost memory of the Blue flapping her wings against your cheeks got you to stand again. To keep walking, to keep fighting. But the castle seemed so far away, and the cold snow appeared as a welcoming blanket every time you stumbled onto it again. It was tempting, awfully tempting to just allow yourself to fall on it, to let it slowly drape over you and to become numb, not only your body, but your mind as well.

When would they find you if you did? In a week when they realised you were gone? In a month when other animals dug you out of the snow desperate for something to eat? In months? After the weather grew warm and the insects had made your skin their home. You wished you could shudder at the sombre thoughts, but the snow still looked beguiling.

Perhaps she would wash away your thoughts, perhaps she’d get rid of the pain inside like she had done with the one outside. The soft, white blanket, ready to wrap itself around you until you were completely swallowed by it, until you were one with it, and nothing more.

But the memory of the butterfly got you up again, you’d have to go back to help her out, if you stayed in the snow, then she would stay in the shack, and the two of you would be nothing more than a memory.

Remus had run to the Whomping Willow the second he pocketed the mirror. He didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he was going out at night, he didn’t sneak out, he didn’t care if he got detention, he didn’t care if he got expelled. Not after what Sirius had told him. Not after hearing how you were sitting on the snow, with your eyes closing and with the same cold he felt, so heavy around him. The snow was falling so hard he couldn’t see more than a few metres ahead, and he was scared.

No, Remus was terrified, as terrified as he had been that night you’d discovered he was a Werewolf, as terrified as he was when he saw you fall from your broom back at the game, as terrified as that night you insisted on turning into Vixen alongside the rest of the Marauders to be with Moony.

He had been terrified of losing you then, and he was hysterical over feeling the exact same way now. He sprinted towards the tree, not thinking twice if he would get hit by one of its branches as he ducked and jumped to get to the hole. He slid down and ran, so fast his legs cried for him to stop, his heart drumming in his ears and his breath short. It took some time, but when he finally made it, when he found the door, he busted it open and walked inside. He didn’t waste time, walking towards the entrance and using his wand to open the door.

“Sirius said you’d be there,” he whispered as he looked at the empty fence. The snow had already covered your tracks, but he could smell the same urgent, scared and terrified scent of you he was already familiar with. He looked around and spotted the wood slab you had ripped from the window. He could smell bIood on it and he cringed, taking it in his hands only to spot small droplets of it over the sides. He winced at the thought of you hurting yourself and then dropped the wood and looked around again. The snow, being so thick, had easily erased your steps, but even if he couldn’t see, he could smell.

His senses weren’t as keen as they were close to the moon, he wasn’t as good at tracking as Moony was, but if there was a time to take advantage of his abilities, it was now. He closed his eyes and focused on you. It was hard at first, the snow was thick and cold and his nose was freezing, but he managed to spot you, a trace of you. When he opened his eyes again, they were way more golden than normal, and he sprinted towards the source of the smell. He ran, ignoring the snow that had slipped inside his Converse, ignoring the complaints of his bones. The moon had been only days ago and he was still rather sore, but he ran.

By the time he spotted a faint dark dot in the distance, he was already panting, but he pushed through and sprinted all the way to you. By the time he reached you, you were kneeling on the floor, slow breaths and looking up, attempting to stand again. He kneeled in front of you and took you a minute to really see him, thinking for a moment it was just another game your mind was playing on you.

“Rem?” you asked, voice cracked and barely a whisper.

“Merlin, you’re all right,” he said as he dragged you towards him. You weren’t all right. You felt as cold as the place surrounding you. Remus panicked as he held you close to him. And he took off the coat he was wearing to wrap it around you.

“No, it’s cold, you use it,” you slurred as you shivered. Remus gave you a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to carry you, I think I can apparate you back in the Shack,” he explained.

“It’s closed, can’t open it…” you said as you shook your head, not quite thinking. “Must get to the castle, it’s safe,” you said, you had told yourself that over and over again as you walked, you were merely repeating it now. Not even thinking Remus could probably crank the door open if he wanted to.

“You don’t have your wand?” he said as he pulled you up from the floor and slung one of your arms around his shoulder. You shook your head in response. “I’m going to pick you up now,” he added as he passed his arm under your legs and pulled you up with ease. “I have my wand,” he added reassuringly, handing it over to you, he knew it would make you feel better.

And then he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and concentrating on the Shack. The shape of the walls, the window covered by wooden slabs, the run-down chimney and the scuffed floors, once the image was neat enough, he followed Dumbledore’s instructions, the world dissolved around him only for him to appear in the shack. The first thing he did was let you down on the floor carefully and make sure he hadn’t accidentally splinched you.

“You alright? Anything hurts?” He asked as he placed his hands on your face to check on you. They were warm and kind, incredibly reassuring to your still-fuzzy mind. You couldn’t have been dreaming that, could you?

You focused your gaze on his, still rather dazed and shook your head. He placed his hand over yours and took hold of the wand, closing the door with a short wave of it and then turning the fire to help the room heat up slowly.

He took a look at you, your skin was dull with the cold, the colour fading and stale. Remus carried you again and dragged you towards the room, the torn sheets from a few nights back were still on the bed and he sat you there slowly. He asked you a few questions, and you responded automatically, too numb to think properly.

“Luv, you’re not even listening to me,” he complained as he pulled your face into your hands. You blinked and tried to focus on him again.

“Sorry,” you mustered.

He sighed. “Listen, I’m going to give you my jumper, and then I’ll check your hands up. We need to warm you up slowly, okay?”

“It is cold,” you responded as your teeth clung together.

Remus took off his jumper and helped you put it on top of your dress. The dress was cold, but he used a spell to have it warm up slowly as he laid you on the bed. “Is it better?”

You nodded, jaw still quivering from the cold. Remus took a short breath and pulled your hands towards his. Some of the splinters of wood were still stuck in your hand and he was careful as he started to remove them. Your hands were cold and he could see small –now melting– crystals of bIood attached to certain sections of your palm. When he was done, he used a spell to aid the healing process, your hands had just started to get their warmth back when he heard a heavy breath coming from you.

You had fallen asleep. Peaceful, but still shivering. He frowned and pulled the mirror from his pocket. Sirius, taking the wand from the bed and using it to send to shine a light, Sirius instantly peaked his head on the other side.

“How is she? Is she okay?” Sirius mouthed desperately.

Remus smiled and nodded, showing him your sleeping figure. “She’s cold,” he explained. “I’m trying to warm her up.”

“Hug her!” Sirius said instantly. “Cuddle her! You’re always warm!” Remus gave him a questioning look. “You always cuddle her, it’s no different.”

It was very different. Remus had never cuddled you without Sirius in the bed too. James beside Sirius nodded supportingly. He didn’t see the issue, he’d cuddle you if it was necessary. Of course, James saw you as a friend and nothing more.

Remus nodded and left the mirror on the table, promising the boys he’ll talk to them later, with the radio to explain it all better. Then he leaned onto the edge of the bed. “Little Witch,” he called softly.

You didn’t react, eyes still closed and breathing slow. He placed a hand on your face, it was warmer, but still colder than it should be. He played with a bit of your hair and placed it behind your ear, allowing his fingers to brush over your face, “Little Witch,” he called again.

You were beautiful, even in the cold, even with the shivers, Remus thought you looked stunning. He wondered how you must have looked when you stepped into that party, with your hair perfectly arranged and your makeup freshly done, definitely a sight to behold. And then he sighed, here he was ogling at you while his best friend –your boyfriend– was at home, worried for his girlfriend. Asking him to cuddle you, and yet he felt doing so would be akin to betrayal, just because of how much he liked you.

“Little Witch,” he said again, this time you hummed, your eyes opening slightly, unfocused. “I think I should cuddle you to warm you up faster, is that okay?”

“It is always okay for you to cuddle me,” you responded, not quite thinking, and closing your eyes again before you noticed the blush on Remus’ cheeks. You couldn’t have meant that, or perhaps you did, in which case you really thought of him as your closest friend, which in turn, made him feel even worse.

Remus carefully climbed onto the bed and under the covers. He was on the side, and hesitated a little before leaning in to cuddle you. Most of the time, it was you and Sirius that leaned into him, not the other way around. He never wanted to seem invasive, and he really only moved you around when you were Vixen. It was easier to think of the two of you as different entities instead of the same.

But you leaned back to him almost instantly, allowing your head to rest on one of his arms and pulling the other one around you. You seemed a lot more comfortable, the shivering reducing significantly. It took a minute for Remus to untense, but eventually, he relaxed on to you, even daring to bring you closer as he rubbed his hand over your clothed arm to try and warm you up faster with the friction. Eventually, he too fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, you weren’t there. He stood up in an instant, terrified you had been a dream, that he hadn’t found you in the snow and that for some twisted reason, you were still out there freezing. But then he spotted the silhouette of a shadow, and he looked ahead. Crouched, looking impossibly small, you sat next to the fire, using a poker to liven up the flames, arm wrapped around your legs and using both his jumper and his coat to warm yourself up. He couldn’t see your face, but the way you were breathing… it looked like you had been crying.

He pulled the covers off of him and dragged them alongside himself as he sat next to you. He didn’t make a sound as he placed the covers around the two of you, and he hesitated before placing his hand on your forehead, then allowing it to slide down your cheek, and letting his thumb brush under your chin. You were a lot warmer now.

You didn’t react, you allowed him to touch you as you continued to stare at the fire. The dancing flames reflecting onto your glassy eyes.

Your temperature had risen, the cold was no longer clouding your mind, and you had struggled to hold back the tears for at least half an hour before you decided to step out of bed, hoping not to wake Remus up with your sobs. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, not after what you’d done, after what you’d caused. You didn’t deserve to cry.

“Little Witch?” Remus asked, tilting his head to the side when you attempted to blink back some tears.

You swallowed thickly, did you even deserve such an endearing nickname?

“Hey,” he leaned a little closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, you avoided his gaze, how interesting did the dancing flames seem, with their hues of yellow, red and bright white, with the sparkling bits floating off until they disappeared, with the ash of the wood piling at the bottom. It clearly hadn’t been cleared in a while.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Love, whatever happened, I won’t judge you, you know that, right?”

It was as if he had guessed your thoughts, Remus had always been incredibly perceptive, you sometimes underestimated just how much. But Remus understood, he understood exactly what you were feeling because he had played the scenario where he accidentally hurt those he loved over and over again in his brain for years.

And while he didn’t know much, Sirius did tell him about the fire and about your mother’s passing.

He was looking at you with such a kind-hearted look, trusting and kind. Like he would give you the world if you asked –he would– and you couldn’t help but break. You disliked being vulnerable, you hated having to show said vulnerability, but with Remus looking at you like that, with the night you’d had, perhaps allowing yourself to cry in front of your best friend wouldn’t be so bad. You knew Remus wouldn’t judge you, at least not for crying.

“Love?” he asked, you sobbed. Your face slowly scrunching up as you sniffed. It was hard to breathe as you opened your mouth to take in some air and then you sobbed again.

“I kiIled them,” you said, barely managing to open your eyes to look at Remus straight in the face. You wanted to see his reaction, half expecting him to pull back, to look at you in disgust, to recoil from you and to leave you crying alone in the room. A part of you wanted that, the part that wanted to cry and break everything, the one that needed to be alone.

But Remus didn’t do any of those things, instead, he opened his arms and wrapped them around you, bringing you closer to him, “I don’t care,” he said honestly.

You sobbed, and pulled back to look at him, “I kiIIed them, Remus!” you repeated, louder now. “My mum and Nina, they’re both dеad because of me!”

You felt Remus’ breath slow down as he tightened his arms around you and dragged you back into the hug. He didn’t know about Nina. “Did you want to kiIl them?” he asked simply. He wouldn’t have pushed you away even if you had.

“No,” you said in a whisper.

“Then it was an accident.”

You sniffed, trying to push him off, but he tightened his grip around you, not allowing you to snap out of his embrace. “But I still caused their dеaths! I’m a murderer!”

“I don’t care,” he repeated as he pushed you even closer to him. “I wouldn’t even care if you had done it on purpose, that would just mean they gave you a reason.” You sobbed, allowing the tears to slide down your cheeks, wetting the soft cotton shirt he wore. You didn’t realise it then, but it was the Sex Pistols shirt you had sent him as a gift.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, you don’t need to tell me anything at all,” he said softly as he brushed his hand on your back and pulled you even closer, so close you ended up sitting on his lap as you leaned into him and cried. “But I’m here, darling. I’m here and you can cry with me all you need.”

You had no idea how comforting it could be to cry with someone, you had always done it alone. But Remus was soft and reassuring, whispering calming words into your ears as he continued to brush his hands on you. Over your back, on your head, almost like he did when you were Vixen, but with more purpose now, it wasn’t about making Vixen get the smell of the pack, it wasn’t about making her warm, it was about making you warm.

He was hugging you consciously, brushing his hands over your body in an attempt to make you feel solace, and while his touch didn’t have the amnesiac ability the Lethe offered –and that you might have gladly drunk that night– he did offer a comfort like you hadn’t experienced in your life. Crying into Remus’ arms was like crying in a bed of soft, feathery clouds. Like the angels had come down to earth to commiserate you and absolve you of your wrongdoings.

It was also comforting to know that no matter what, you had someone on your side. You had lost your father that night, you had kiIled your mother and your friend had diеd trying to protect you, even though Barty and Evan helped you escape, you had never felt so immeasurably lonely as you had while you tried to help that small butterfly, or when you had walked towards the castle, your feet on the cold snow feeling number as the minutes passed by.

And then you ended up with Remus, hugging you and whispering how things would be all right, how Sirius and James had been worried and how happy they had been when he showed them you were all right. That no matter what you did, he wouldn’t leave, that Sirius wouldn’t leave and that your friends would be there for you. That you were part of them, and not even dеath herself could change that.

You cried in your best friend’s arms until you ran out of tears. You told him in between sobs what had happened, and he had patiently listened to your rambling as he continued to hold you. He would tighten his grip when your breath ran short and your tears grew thick. Only to let it loose and look at your face when you relaxed into him again. He was warm, the cold you had felt initially almost completely forgotten in his embrace.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, after telling him everything that had happened and after realising that, even then, he wouldn’t leave.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, my love,” he said and dragged you closer to him. If anything, it should be him the one thanking you, for letting yourself be vulnerable in front of him, for trusting him enough to let him hold you and to cry into his arms. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, because holding you so tight shouldn’t make him feel as satisfied as he did, not when the reason he held you was how desperate and sad you were.

And he felt your anguish, and he felt your pain, but that didn’t stop that small, touch-starved part of him from loving the fact that it was him the one that got to comfort you. That you clung to him for dear life, not to Sirius, not to anyone else.

It was when your breath finally steadiеd that he realised you had fallen asleep again. He smiled and brought you back onto the bed. Cleaning the remaining salty water from your cheeks as he brushed your hair and accommodated you again. Your eyes were slightly swollen, you certainly looked like you had been crying, but he was sure Sirius would still be worried.

He called him through the mirror again, he wrote a short note, telling him about you waking up and about being very upset, that you had been the one to cause the Fiendfyre and that you were very tired. That you were finally warmer and that he’d see if it was possible to call him later when you both went back to the castle.

Sirius was a lot more relaxed now, especially when he saw Remus lying next to you in the bed. You had cuddled against the boy in the same way you cuddled to Sirius sometimes. He thought it was endearing, even if you were hugging someone else. It made him a lot more relaxed to think you weren’t alone, he had been alone many times. And you were with Remus, big strong and calm Remus, everything would be all right.

By the time you woke up again, there was light filtering through the slab-covered windows. Beams of bright yellow reflected onto the worn-out floors, you looked at it for a minute, enjoying the warmth and almost pushing yourself back against the firm figure behind you. It was comfortable, peaceful, and reassuring, you realised there was an arm around you as well, keeping you close to them and to their warmth.

You looked at the spores floating in the light beams, dusty, you thought as you stared, it took you a moment to really gather where you were, who you were with and how you’d ended up there. You had slept, you had slept a lot and yet you felt tired. The toll of the previous night, the weight of your now dried tears, still heavy in your mind.

Did you want to cry again? Did you even deserve to?

What else could you do if not that?

“You’re awake?” Remus’ groggy voice asked from behind as he brushed a piece of hair off your face, immeasurably soft and tender.

“I was trying to convince myself it all had been a nightmare,” you replied with a sad, breathy laugh.

Remus shook his head, “You’re in a better mood, I see.”

“At least I’m not out there freezing anymore…” There was a bit of silence, and then your brain started working again.

Wait a minute… how did he find you?

You turned around hastily, Remus almost pulled back from how close your face was to his now, but he stayed where he was, he didn’t want to push you away by making any harsh movements.

“How did you… How did you know I needed help?”

“Sirius,” Remus admitted. You frowned, it still made no sense. Remus looked at you and then down at your neck, he could see the map charm hanging inside the necklace Sirius had given you. He picked it up and carefully rubbed his thumb over the original charm, “I think it has to do with this.”

You looked at his hands with a frown, the charm looked much smaller in his hands than it did in yours, “The necklace from El Maleficio?”

“I suppose Sirius never got around to telling you?” You gave him a confused look in response. “He’s got a burn on his hand, the moment he touched it, something happened, the man in the store said it was connected to him now, he assumed it was some sort of bIood magic or something.” You listened to him attentively as he continued, “he had an awful nightmare, he was seeing everything from your point of view.”

You swallowed, “So… he knows everything…” you said, there was a horrified expression on your face, as if Sirius knowing would be the end of your relationship.

“He asked me to get you after he saw Barty use the stunning spell,” Remus added. “He was worried.”

“Worried? Not angry not–”

Remus shook his head, knowing exactly what you meant. “You couldn’t get rid of us even if you went all Grindelwald, Little Witch.”

“Merlin, I’d hope you would get rid of me if I went all Grindelwald,” you replied almost instantly. Still, the sentiment was nice, to know that you’d have them on your side, both Remus and Sirius, no matter what. You were lucky to have a boyfriend and a best friend like that.

“Maybe lock you up in a cage until you reassessed your choices,” Remus joked as he turned to look at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to just stare into your eyes like he had been doing much longer without leaning in to kiss you. Oh, how he craved your lips sometimes. You shoved him lightly on the side and he made a rather exaggerated sound of pain.

“Drama queen,” you said as you shoved him again. He shook his head and laughed, now you too turned to look at the ceiling. It was as worn as the floor, some of the paint peeling, some of it scratched and broken. You assumed that it had been Moony.

There was a comfortable silence surrounding the two of you. You were warm as you lay close to him, but more than that, you felt safe. As if, now that you were with Remus, there was no danger, nothing could touch you in the small bubble inside the Shrieking Shack. You weren’t sure you wanted to step out, to face the real world.

Would there be consequences? Would you be criminally charged? Could they even criminally charge you with all the things you had seen them do?

“Sirius will probably want to speak to you,” Remus said. “I got him a radio for Christmas, there’s another one in our room, and we also use the mirror to see each other.”

“You made holoprojectors? Like in Star Wars?” you asked curiously, turning your face to look at Remus’.

“Kind of,” he replied. “It’s not exactly the same, we don’t have holographic projections of each other but–”

“–I bet you could do it!” you interrupted, “there’s bound to be a way in which you can use magic to make holoprojectors happen… at least until science catches up.”

Remus knew what you were doing, you were completely avoiding the topic of last night, leaving it in the back of your mind, trying to ignore it. If you didn’t pay attention to it then, it couldn’t have been real.

He wasn’t sure if he should let you, you had cried so much earlier, and while he loved to be the one to hold you, that didn’t stop the pressure in his chest as he saw you struggle. He didn’t want you to cry because it pained him to see you like that.

“I assume we could,” he conceded. Perhaps he could let you ignore it for a little longer, for as long as you needed. You probably still had to process all of it. And there was a lot to process. You had told him everything, from the start of the night to the end of it, albeit in between sobs and sniffles, he had a pretty strong picture of all of it, perhaps stronger than Sirius’ who had lived part of it alongside you.

After all, he had heard your feelings, not just seen what had happened. He knew what Evan and Barty had done for you, which had been perhaps the most surprising thing of the night, the fact that either of them had some sense of debt and that Evan felt he owed you something for not telling the truth to his father, which had just been basic human decency.

“Do you want to go back to the castle?” he asked.

“No,” you said honestly and pulled the raggedy covers over your head, they still kind of smelled like Padfoot, Vixen and Moony, that too was comforting.

“You want some chocolate?” he asked.

You peeked your head from the covers to look at him, your nose still covered but your eyes wide open and looking straight at him as you nodded.

“You’re hungry, then?”

You sighed and nodded. You weren’t sure you were in the mood to eat, but the rumbling in your stomach said otherwise. The toll of magic used the previous night was finally hitting you, and as your body worked to fill you with magic again, the used-up energy showed in the form of hunger, and meat craving.

That craving had been gone for a while, the longer time you spent with Rem the more it seemed to go away, but today it had come back and it had come back strong. You wondered if it had to do with how much of your magic you had used up, or perhaps it was the moon, or Remus also wanted meat and he was projecting that onto you.

If he had been the one to scratch you, did it make sense? There was not enough information on werewolves.

“Then we must go to the castle.”

You pulled the covers over your face again and dramatically buried your head in his chest. “No, Remus,” you said, voice muffled by his shirt. “Just give me the chocolate.”

“I have no chocolate.” You dug your hand in his pocket. There was an empty wrapper. “Oi!” he complained as he squirmed to the side.

Did he really have no chocolate? That was impossible. You didn’t really care much for his complaint and leaned a little closer, resting your elbow on top of him to check the other pocket. There was a folded piece of paper and nothing else. You placed the paper back in the spot and pulled the covers to look at him, still leaning half of your body on his.

He had that very smug expression on his face that clearly said ‘I told you so’.

“Are you done manhandling me?” he asked calmly.

“No,” you said as you tried to lift him up to check his back pocket, but he didn’t budge.

“There is no chocolate,” he repeated. “I have some in the castle, though.”

“Why do you insist on taking me there?” you asked with a pout, now letting your arms and head lay close to his sternum.

“Because Pomfrey is there,” he said honestly. “You should get checked.”

Your face turned cold, emotionless even. The little bubble you had allowed yourself to rest in completely bursting at the thought of going to the infirmary. Of getting checked, because last night had been real, because last night you had almost diеd frozen in the snow and then earlier attacked by Lucius or perhaps tortured by Bellatrix.

“It’s okay,” Remus said kindly, resisting the urge to place his hand on your head and play with your hair reassuringly, “She won’t ask questions, she’ll just make sure you’re okay.”

You took a slow controlled breath, your eyes watering as you avoided Remus’s gaze for a second, turning back to look at him as you wet your lips, they were dry and chapped from how much you’d cried. Going out seemed like an immense effort, like stepping back into reality and into the war. You’d have to talk to Dumbledore, or at least to Nightshade, you had to tell them about the dinner and about all the people you’d seen there. You couldn’t be sure if they were all dеatheaters, but they had definitely been accessories to the crimes committed.

Should you let the papers know? Would they even care?

There were about a million things swinging inside your head and you were aware that you couldn’t just stay cooped up in Remus’ arms and ignore everything completely, but that didn’t make it any less tempting. Perhaps Remus was a lot more like the Lethe than you originally thought, not because he made you forget everything that’s happened, but because his company offered a solace enough to cloud those thoughts out of your mind.

Ironically, there was nothing more calming than your friend the werewolf. Perhaps he was so calm and collected because he was a werewolf, spending all of his life with the goal of keeping his temper down and maintaining it in check. Like Bruce Banner, who was the calmest of superheroes (when he wasn’t the Hulk).

“Can we eat first and go to Pomfrey later?”

“No,” Remus said simply. You pouted in response. “Not even with that pretty pout of yours, sweetheart, it is non-negotiable.”

“But Remus I–”

“You can have a chocolate first,” he said as he lifted his hips slightly and handed over a small bar of chocolate.

You gasped as he passed it over to you, “You said there was no chocolate.”

Remus shrugged in response and broke off a piece of the chocolate in your hands, bringing it to his mouth and plopping it in. You laid your head on his chest again and bit off a piece yourself. You still didn’t want to go, you wanted to stay in the bubble, but bubbles were beautiful because they were ephemeral.

They were meant to burst and sparkle leaving traces of soapy water on the floor. And that’s exactly what you had to do now. You closed your eyes before standing up. You didn’t feel as sore as you thought you would, but when you stepped down on the floor you couldn’t stop the hiss that erupted from your mouth. Remus threw you a worried glance as he sat up on the bed “What is it?”

You pulled your feet up to your knee, there were blisters, and peeling skin, like you had been burned. Of course, you had been walking with no shoes. You had gotten badly ice burned. Your knees weren’t much better either. You hadn’t noticed since your dress covered most of them, and the emotional pain had been much worse than the physical one last night but they were also scuffed, a section already getting a scab while the other was just badly bruised.

Remus leaned over your shoulder to take a better look, “And you wanted to eat first.”

“I’m still hungry,” you said, trying to distract yourself with Remus’ calming smell instead of thinking about how you’d gotten those. Probably when Bella stunned you and–

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” you responded as you stood up. Did it hurt? Hell-a-fucking-lot. Could you manage? Well, you’d have to.

“Sure?”

“Very,” you responded, avoiding gritting your teeth against one another completely.

You wished you had your wand, perhaps you could use some pain reliever spell or something. Remus stood up and put on his boots. You handed him his jumper and coat, he returned the latter one to you “Keep it, it’s cold outside.”

In reality, Remus was the last person to want to burst the bubble you’d created. If it was on him, he’d have stayed with you in the Shack ‘til the end of time. He loved how much closer you had veered to him, while during the night it had been for warmth, once awake he knew it was you, purposely laying your head on his chest and digging through his pockets.

He was also happy to see you. Or at least glimpses of you, not that broken, and terrified version of you he’d met the last night. He loved both the same, but there was nothing more heart-wrenching than your sobs and nothing more warming than your laughs, even if they were still slightly strained.

You put the coat on and the two of you walked towards the door and entered into the hallway. The sprinkle of soapy water falling as you both stepped into the dark. The beautiful, and warm environment instantly switched for the colder and unforgiving passageway you’d have to walk through to get to castle grounds.

Bring me to your house and tell me "Sorry for the mess", hey, I don't mind You're talking in your sleep, out of time Well, you still make sense to me, your mess is mine

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: I feel like I've had you guys at the edge of your seats for two weeks and now you can finally breath. Gosh, Remus is insanly sweet~ How can I manifest a person like this in my life?