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fangirl-dot-com · 6 months

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Chapter 28 - Always Bet on Red and Navy

As promised you hungry demons. But I love you all! My midterms were absolutely awful and have kind of put me back in a mindset that I have desperately tried to break out of. So, writing this was a bit therapeutic because there aren't any teachers grading this. It's just you all who take everything with such love.

So please enjoy this!

Your eyes glimmered with the reflective lights as you walked through the turnstile. This year, a white body suit was not on your body and your neck was void of an iconic red scarf. But, each breath you took filled your lungs with familiar air. The small crowds of people, who showed up early for qualifying, chanted your name with each step you took. Your eyes were squinted into half crescents by your smile. To your left, Vito was typing things on his iPad, a Bluetooth speaker in his ear as he talked.

His words were mumbled as the two of you kept walking to the garage. He looked heated as his voice began to raise. He walked right passed you and into your driver’s room. You guessed you wouldn’t be using it for a while.

A yawn escaped your lips as you looked around. Max hadn’t arrived yet, along with mostly everyone that you normally talked to. Your eyes flittered across the paddock. A light shone from the Mercedes garage. A smirk rose on your lips. You hadn’t been able to talk to Lewis for a while and you missed the Brit. You grabbed your blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders. This was nothing like Singapore where you wished you could escape the heat. Here in Vegas, you wanted to escape the cold.

You gingerly stepped into the lighted garage, feet barely making an echo. You knew where the back room was. A coffee sounded really good right now as you were fighting sleep. Your eyes widened at the sight of Lewis all bunched on a couch. You could tell that he was sound asleep, since his eyes were shut and his face looked so relaxed. You took a couple of steps and sat down next to him. When he didn’t move, you knew you were save. You watched as he shivered next to you, neck outstretched in a weird angle, resting on the back of the couch. His arms were wrapped around his torso

You lightly pouted at the sad sight. Thankfully, your blanket was big enough for two people. You lightly draped the cream colored fabric onto most of his body. You watched him unconsciously relax underneath the blanket. You quickly situated yourself next to him, and gently put your head on his shoulder.

Lewis stirred at the new weight on his left side. His eyes barely opened as he tried to blink the sleep away. His face was met with blond hair and the smell of your vanilla shampoo. He now noticed the cream blanket on him and you cuddled up close.

“Kid?”

“Shhhhh, sleep now, questions later.”

Lewis didn’t even have time to argue before he was being dragged back to sleep land. His arm rose up to lie behind your head, inevitably giving you more room under his arm. You scooched closer to the warmth of the 7-time world champion.

Toto sighed as he walked out of his office. Everything was falling quickly. When Lewis mentioned that he wanted to initiate the escape clause in his contract, Toto thought that he was going to be retiring at the end of the season after another failed attempt at the world championship. He just wasn’t expecting his star to leave him for another team. The Austrian’s hand rubbed over his forehead.

He didn’t want to think about that now. He could only focus on the next three races of the 2024. Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi was all he had left. Toto rounded the corner to the little kitchen station where their multiple coffee makers were. Nothing could beat Ferrari’s authentic Italian espresso, but hopefully a regular coffee pod could do.

What Toto didn’t expect was for you to be snuggled up to Lewis on the couch that resided there. A sad smile made its way to his face. The two of you looked so innocent together, faces void of the usual wear and tear from the life that you lived. He quickly sent a text over to Christian to let him know where you were. His phone showed that they still had a few hours left before qualification started. The team principal just knew that you were going to win this weekend. Max had done a good job, trying to get the jump on you. But, when one’s name tops the P1 spot for all of the practices, there’s no choice in fighting it.

You owned this track.

A homecoming of sorts.

Toto had barely payed any attention to you last year as you walked around in your sparkly outfit, following the reigning world champion. He knew of you. Just another name of a rookie trying to get into Formula 1. Looking back now, the Austrian wishes that he had done more to sign you.

His phone softly dinged, and his eyes adjusted to the brightness of his screen. A text from Christian let him know that Max was on the way to come get you. Inside, he truly wished that you could have maybe been what you were to Max, to Lewis. But he lost out on you and he now lost out of Lewis. His days of complete domination were over.

Toto lightly stepped closer to the sofa and crouched down. His arm extended and lightly pushed on Lewis’s shoulder. The Briton’s eyes fluttered awake as he looked around, trying to get his bearings in order. Lewis’s eyes stopped on you, who was still sound asleep. Your eyes flitted behind your eyelids.

“Should we wake her up?” Toto asked. “Max is coming to get her in a moment.”

Lewis shook his head.

“She’s dreaming.”

A soft smile formed on his face as he watched you puff air and inhale harshly sometimes. You murmured gibberish, which the Mercedes pair had a hard time trying not to laugh. Footsteps announced someone else’s presence. The duo’s head jerked in the direction and watched as Max rounded the corner.

Max froze at the sight of you snuggled into Lewis, your coveted blanket laying across yours and Lewis’s laps.

“I’m quite jealous Lewis. She rarely shares the blanket.”

Lewis’s eyebrow rose. “I just saw here sharing with Logan last race.”

Max laughed softly, still not wanting to wake you up.

“That was a different blanket. This is her Dior one. See the monogram? She doesn’t share that with anyone, not even me.”

There was humor in the Dutchman’s voice as he explained. Max took a couple of steps before stooping down. He gently picked you up in his arms. You didn’t move a muscle as he adjusted you in his grasp.

Lewis stood up and popped his joints. He took the blanket off his lap and layed it back over you. It draped weirdly across you and Max’s arms. It was silent as the three men watched you try to get closer to the warm that was Max Verstappen.

“Well, I will get her back to the garage. You two have a good night.”

After Max said that, you talked a bit loudly.

The Red Bull driver stopped in his tracks, wondering if Lewis and Toto heard.

Lewis snorted. “Was that Dutch?’

The blond nodded as he looked down at you. There was a proud smile on his face.

“I’ve been teaching her some words, but she always claims that it’s too hard. But here she is, sputtering out fluent sentences.”

Toto asked, “What did she say.”

“That’s the funny thing. She said something about a king. Must be a weird dream. She had a few weird ones the other night.”

Lewis smirked up at him. “Care to share?”

“No.”

The three laughed a bit before Max bid goodbye, complaining that his arm was falling asleep. Max brought you back to his driver’s room and layed you down on his extra couch. There was a lot of time before qualifying, so he thought he would follow suit and try to get a nap in. His thoughts melted away as soon as his head hit the pillow.

A few hours later, you and Max were woken up for qualifying. You scratched your head as you tried to remember some of the dreams you had last night. Max had told you that you were able to sputter out fluent Dutch, which then he got onto you for complaining about learning it when you were awake. Now he knew that you knew more than you were letting him know.

Thankfully, there were no loose drain holes to rip up the floors of the cars. You had easily put your car in the P1 spot, certifying your claim on this track.

Before the race, you were hunched together with Logan, Lando, and Oscar. Another one of your blankets was around everyone. Your cream Dior blanket would not have been big enough and you didn’t want it touching the dirty floor. On a small chair that sat in front of you, a computer played Cars 2.

It felt so much like déjà vu while watching it. The movie took you back to your first free practice as a rookie last year, cuddling up with Logan and Oscar on a shared chair. At least this time, the four of you had upgraded to a sofa that was dragged to the outside pit lane. The officials were going over the circuit one last time, just to make sure that it was safe to drive. The chilly air would have raised goosebumps, but the four of you were in the race suits already. The scratchy fabric combined with the fireproofs really kept you insulated. This year, they brought back the Elvis suits.

Max, Alex, Charles, and Carlos were standing off to the side, checking up on you four from time to time.

“Anyone else feel like a parent watching them?” Alex questioned out loud, leading to many groans from the group.

Max sighed, hands on his hips. “All the time. You know how many juice boxes I have to make sure I pack just in case? The answer is a lot.”

Carlos watched Lando snuggle more into the blanket and into Oscar, still trying to warm up. The Aussie just rolled his eyes, but let him snuggle anyway.

The Spaniard agreed. “Lando still has his little stuffed animal from a few years ago. Doesn’t leave or go anywhere without it.”

Alex nodded his head. “Oscar and Logan were both in my driver’s room the other day, looking so tired. Turns out, they weren’t sleeping because they watched a horror movie and were too scared to just go to bed. They’ve spent the last couple of nights in my room.”

Charles shrugged. “Yeah mate, I don’t know. Y/n is just Y/n. She’s always acted like this, with Arthur.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Surely she’s done something while being at Dams.”

The Monegasque thought for a moment, before his eyes widened.

“Ok, there was this one time that Arthur called me to their room. Dams gave them like no money and they often shared a hotel room if they could. And when I got there, they immediately through swim trunks at me. Apparently, they couldn’t go to the pool or water park without adult supervision. The worker there thought they were like younger than 18.”

The group laughed after the story, making the other group of four turn their heads.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Lando questioned, eyes still on the movie.

“Probably weird adult stuff. Like how one time Max showed up to Milton in his pajamas because he thought it was just a big debrief. No, it was actually a meeting with board members and sponsors.”

Logan started to laugh loudly at the story, a bit too tired to contain the giggles.

That made Alex look over again as he sighed.

“I’m glad Williams kept him on. He was so sure that he was going to be booted after what happened in Qatar.”

Max looked with sad eyes at the blond, who was currently in a you and Oscar sandwich.

“Are they going to be renewing his contract after this?”

Alex had a wicked grin on his face. “Mate, the kid gave Williams their first win since 2012. Of course they extended his contract.”

Carlos jutted his head. “What about you mate.”

The Thai shook his head as he lightly laughed. “Logan said he wouldn’t sign unless I got the same amount of years he did.”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Congrats mate.”

Logan had started to look over. “They must really be talking about adult stuff.”

You carefully turned his head back to the movie.

“Shhhhh, Lightning McQueen is on.”

This year, you were able to actually finish the movie instead of having to promise that you’d finish it later.

As you sat on the circuit, Mitch did a quick radio check.

“Ok kid. You ready to win Vegas?”

You shrugged in the car, even if she couldn’t see you. “I don’t know about win, but I will try my best. You know what Lego Batman says?”

Mitch rolled her eyes lovingly. “What does he say?”

“Always bet on black. But our colors aren’t black. So I’m changing the saying. Always bet on red and navy.”

“And they are ready to go. I’ll keep you updated when you need it.”

With that, Mitch let you be as you took off for the formation lap. You knew you had to keep the tyres warm. You watched in your mirrors as the cars behind you started to swerve right to left and then left to right.

However, you were doing a more subtle approach as you constantly braked hard and then accelerated hard as well. It was a trick you picked up when watching Kimi do the same.

Charles was a bit worried as he was swerving behind Max.

“Are her tyres even warming up? Oh, never mind. She’s doing what Kimi always did.”

It wasn’t long before all the cars were lined up, back in the starting positions. You watched out for the dust on the asphalt, knowing that it caused lots of troubles last year. The lights went off and you were drastically pulling ahead of the pack.

A bit into the race, you watched as your wheels smoked white as you went around a corner.

“Lock up in turn 3.”

“Copy.”

You hadn’t expected it to happen again, but it did.

“Damn it. How much are we loosing on the corners?” you questioned, trying to get your car back under control. In the mirrors you saw how Charles and Max were slowly creeping back up to you.

“Two tenths.”

You sighed angrily.

The two male drivers had caught up with you and now it was an all-out, three car battle for first. You were struggling to keep your position. You prayed and hoped that your tyres wouldn’t lock up again. But, they didn’t seem to work as they locked up again, letting Max and Charles fly past. You cursed under your breath. However, you had an idea.

“Mitch, box for hards please.”

“Are you sure?”

You smirked under your helmet. “Always bet on red and navy.”

You watched as the Red Bull and Ferrari kept going away as you pulled into the pits. If you’re breaks were going to lock up, then the stopping would cause more friction to go to the tyres. In the end, you hoped that the hard tyres would warm up quicker than if you just swerved or waited for them to warm by just driving.

At the first corner, your breaks locked up once again.

“How are the temperatures of the tyres?”

“Heating up quickly.”

The smirk returned to your face.

“Perfect.”

You were still behind Charles and Max by the time that they had done their one pitstop. They had also gone out on hard tyres. Your car was still locking up, but you made up the time since your tyres were much more hot.

It was the third to last lap when you finally made it to the males’ radars.

“How the hell did she make it this close?” Charles asked, looking in his mirrors as you kept gaining.

“Last we heard, she was locking up. Keep pushing.”

The Monegasque saw white puff out of your brakes, yet you seemed to shake it off quickly.

The last lap finally came.

You watched as your car was getting close to the two leaders. It was time for the all or nothing.

“Kid, play it safe. Lock up happens on the last corner.”

“Gotta play something.”

“Kid.”

You shut the radio off.

It was a “Never back down never what?” move time.

You turn on DRS and got side by side with Charles and Max. The two were paying so much attention to each other that they didn’t see you slip by.

If your brakes were to lock up, then you’d be sent into the barriers going 300+ k/m an hour. It would be deadly at this rate. Your heart started to pick up as you came closer to the corner. You had the outside racing line. You just had to get in front of Max and break as late as you could.

You held your breath as you finally braked.

Mitch watched with wide eyes at the pit wall.

“What is she thinking?” Christian questioned, watching as you finally braked.

Yet, your tyres never locked up.

Mitch finally got what you were saying.

“She had to win a bet.”

You wanted to cheer as you came out in front of Max in the final chicane. Max, in his car, couldn’t believe it as you slipped past to cross the line in P1.

You finally let out a deep exhale as the race completed. You pulled into Parc Ferme. You undid your steering wheel and got out. You raised your arms at the crowd before walking to your team. Helmet pats came from everyone as you made your rounds.

A soft punch landed on your arm. You turned around to see Max, faux anger in his eyes.

“What were you thinking? Braking that late with lock ups? You should have retired the death trap.”

You rolled your eyes as his over protectiveness.

“Would you have retired the car?”

The silence from the Dutchman was your answer.

“I had to bet on something. We are in Vegas after all.”

“Sure kid.”

The limo was squished with you in the middle of Max and Charles. However, this year, the three of you got to Maxsplain, Leclerify, and Y/n-strate on the way to the anticlimactic fountain show during the interviews.

Nico was the one conducting them this race. After Charles and Max gave their pieces it was your turn. You walked up to the spot with a bright smile, still feeling the high of yet another race win. Nico’s smile was a reflection of your own.

“So, Y/n, how many race wins does this make for you.”

“Three, I believe.”

“Wow, so you’ve already passed Lewis’s record for points during a rookie season, how does that make you feel?”

You thought for a moment. “Well, the points were definitely different back then, so I don’t know if it’s an good comparison. I know Lewis won four races his rookie year, but I’d be very happy with my three.”

Nico hummed. “Your race was magnificent. Want to tell us a bit about it? Especially that last overtake.”

“Well Nico,” you started, “my brakes weren’t being very lovely.”

You heard snorts from behind you from Max and Charles.

“Lock ups are always tough. I asked my engineer if I could pit for hards because if there was enough friction between my brakes stopping the wheels and then the circuit, I could heat the tyres faster. And then I kind of just went for it on the last corner. I really thought that I would lock up again and go straight into the barriers.”

The blond could only let out a strangled laugh at the thought you just full sending it without having any caution to your wellbeing. You made him glad that he retired in 2016 because he would not be able to keep a calm heart racing against rookies who only had a mindset to win.

Max snuck up behind you.

“I told her that it was stupid and that she should never do it again.”

You could only pout.

“Why?”

“Maybe so I don’t have to plan a funeral?”

“But Max, I put the fun in funeral.”

"nO!"

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing always bet on red and navy - y/n l/n, 2024

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, y/n_updates, and 1,382,309 others

y/n.nation THRID WIN THIRD WIN THIRD WIN

rookie&co the ride to the fountains with everything

leclerify_me ikr, now we have the big three: maxsplain, leclerify, and y/n-strate

box_box_express we need to call y/n the tyre whisperer along with Charles

red_bull_bros like who thinks to pit to hards and use the lock ups for benefit - she really is her own strategist

y/n.89 so glad I wasn't sprayed in the face, thank you Charlie

maxverstappen1 yeah...thanks Charlie 🙂 charles_leclerc yeah, I was aiming for your eyes, I want another win oscarpiastri GET IN LINE BEHIND THE ONES WHO HAVEN'T WON landonorris you good mate? oscarpiastri I'LL BE GOOD WHEN I GET MY OWN WIN y/n.89 chill shawty - it's coming 😌

formulala_delulu max and Charles >>>>>

author lestappen for ever formulala_delulu HUH?

mericanf1_fan wish Logan was on the podium for Vegas but I'll take p5 🦅

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 🪩 what happens in Vegas....

tagged: lilymehe and alexandrasaintmleux

liked by arthur_leclerc, lilymehe, carmenmmundt, and 1,462,923 others

y/n.nation we're not even going to talk about the third picture...

arthur_leclerc hot damn 😳

y/nxarthur bro is done hiding rookiesboyfriend FINALLY y/n.nation is he in vegas?? max&co HOLD UP

maxverstappen1 kid...

y/n.89 yes Max? maxverstappen1 want to pick up your phone? y/n.89 no. maxverstappen1 PICK UP YOUR PHONE lilymehe uh, y/n can't come to the phone right now, she'll get back to you in 3-19 business days lewishamilton I fear this is bahrain again max georgerussell63 I'M NOT EVEN THERE THIS TIME

box_box_nightmare the dress, the disco balls, the chapel, lily and alex - I fear that Vegas has taken our girl

charles_leclerc Alex, amore, please tell y/n to text Max back...I'm nervous that he's going to have an aneurism

alexandrasaintmleux Alex can't come to the phone right now, she'll get back to you in 3-19 business days charles_leclerc OH COME ON - ALEX YOU TRY NOW alex_albon I'm smarter than that (lily said that y/n is texting max now) y/n.89 snitch 😒

formula_gossip twitter is saying that y/n did NOT get married in Vegas but was picked up by a random couple to be a witness to the marriage

y/n_fan THAT WAS ME AND MY HUSBAND! leclercbros God has his favorites

formula_fan she's going to be MASSIVELY hung over tomorrow

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

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soldiersareyourprotectors · 4 months

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Evan adjusted his tie in the mirror, feeling the slight tremor of nerves in his fingertips.

Tonight marked one year with Daniel, a year filled with laughter, support, and a love stronger than he had ever imagined possible. He still marveled at how fate had brought them together in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Evan, a successful businessman, had moved to the city to escape a harrowing past. His ex-boyfriend, Liam, had become increasingly aggressive and abusive, culminating in a terrifying night when Liam broke into Evan's apartment, demanding they leave together. The ordeal had ended with Liam's arrest and a restraining order. Seeking a fresh start, Evan changed his name and moved, hoping to leave the fear and chaos behind.

It was a few months later when he met Daniel. Tall, with an athletic build and a smile that made Evan's heart race, Daniel was everything he had never thought he needed.

Daniel was a police officer, dedicated to his job and fiercely protective of those he loved. They had met when Daniel was off duty, at a charity event organized by Evan's company. A spilled drink, an apology, and a shared laugh had turned into a first date, and now, one year later, Evan could hardly believe how much his life had changed for the better.

The doorbell rang, pulling Evan from his thoughts. He hurried to answer, opening the door to find Daniel standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in his uniform.

Daniel's eyes lit up when he saw Evan.

"Happy anniversary, babe," Daniel said, stepping inside and pulling Evan into a warm embrace.

"Happy anniversary," Evan replied, his voice muffled against Daniel's shoulder. He felt the familiar surge of comfort and safety that Daniel always brought with him.

They had planned a quiet evening at Evan's apartment, a place that had become their shared sanctuary. Daniel had insisted on bringing dinner, and Evan could smell the delicious aroma of Italian food as Daniel set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter.

"How was work?" Evan asked, leaning against the counter and watching Daniel unpack the food.

"Busy, but nothing too crazy," Daniel replied with a grin. "Just the usual stuff. I'm all yours now."

Evan's heart swelled with affection. He knew Daniel's job was demanding and often stressful, but Daniel always made time for him, never letting work get in the way of their relationship.

They settled on the couch, plates balanced on their knees as they shared stories about their day. Evan couldn't help but feel a pang of gratitude for the peaceful normalcy they had built together. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and fear he had known before, a testament to the healing power of love and stability.

After dinner, Daniel surprised Evan with a small, wrapped box. Evan's eyes widened as he opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, engraved with their initials and the date they had first met.

"It's beautiful," Evan whispered, touched by the thoughtful gift. "Thank you, Daniel."

Daniel took Evan's hand, his expression serious. "Evan, I know this past year hasn't always been easy. You've been through so much, and yet you've opened your heart to me. I promise I'll always be here for you, to protect you and to love you. You're my everything."

Tears welled in Evan's eyes as he leaned in to kiss Daniel, pouring all his gratitude and love into that one tender moment. "I love you, Daniel. You've given me a life I never thought I'd have. Thank you for being my rock."

They spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other's arms, until Evan's eyes widened with shock as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through his abdomen. He dropped the bracelet, clutching his stomach as he doubled over, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Evan? What's wrong?" Daniel's voice was filled with concern as he rushed to Evan's side, his strong hands steadying him. But Evan couldn't respond; the pain was too intense, and his vision started to blur.

"Hang on, I'm going to get you to the bedroom," Daniel said, his voice calm but urgent. He scooped Evan into his arms with ease, heading down the hallway.

Just as they reached the bedroom door, a figure emerged from the shadows, and before Daniel could react, a heavy metal pole came crashing down on his head. The impact was swift and brutal, and Daniel crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Evan, barely holding on to consciousness, looked up through a haze of pain to see the one face he had hoped to never see again. Liam stood over them, a malicious sneer twisting his features.

"Well, well, well," Liam drawled, tossing the pole aside with a clatter. "Is this what you replaced me with, Evan? Some pathetic cop?"

Evan's mind raced, panic flooding his system despite the pain. How had Liam found him? He had taken every precaution, every measure to stay hidden. Yet here he was, the nightmare of his past come to life once more.

Liam crouched down next to Daniel's unconscious body, roughly lifting his upper torso and invading his mouth with a forceful, possessive kiss. "Look at him," Liam sneered, breaking away and letting Daniel's head drop back to the floor with a thud. "This is who you thought could protect you?"

Then, with a sickening sense of delight, Liam pushed his hand inside Daniel's pants, groping his unconscious body. "Look at you, helpless," he whispered, his breath hot and rancid against Daniel's neck. "Do you really think this man can protect you, Evan?" His words sounding like a threat.

Evan's stomach churned, and not just from the pain. Seeing Daniel violated in such a way, even unconscious, filled him with a desperate fury. He tried to move, to do something, but his body wouldn't respond.

Liam's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he began to strip Daniel of his uniform, piece by piece. His sneer faltered slightly as he revealed Daniel's naked, athletic, muscular body, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and jealousy. "Well, isn't this a surprise," Liam muttered, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Guess the cop isn't so pathetic after all."

"Please, Liam," Evan managed to gasp out. "Just let us go. We can talk about this."

Liam's voice raised painfully, his eyes flashing with anger. "Talk? You want to talk now? After everything you put me through?" He laughed bitterly. "No, Evan. I'm done talking."

Liam then proceeded to strip himself, his movements deliberate and menacing. Piece by piece, he removed his clothing, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched Evan's pained expression. When he was finally naked, he positioned himself over Daniel, who lay completely exposed and vulnerable on the floor.

Evan's vision began to darken further, the pain and fear overwhelming him. He had to stay awake, had to fight for both their lives. But as Liam's voice faded into the background, Evan's world went black, the last thing he saw being Liam sitting down onto the fully stripped Daniel.

Evan's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself strapped onto a gurney in front of their house. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and he shivered slightly. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast an eerie glow over the scene.

"Evan," a familiar voice called out, filled with a mix of relief and determination. He turned his head as much as he could and saw Daniel standing beside him, his police uniform back in place. A few scratches marred Daniel's face, a silent testament to the possible struggle that had ensued after Evan had fallen unconscious.

"Daniel," Evan croaked, his voice hoarse and weak.

Daniel's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently touch Evan's hand. "You're safe now, Evan. It's over. No maniac like Liam could ever bring us apart."

Evan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Despite the lingering fear and the pain, Daniel's presence and his words filled him with a sense of security. He squeezed Daniel's hand as tightly as he could, drawing strength from the contact.

Just then, two police officers emerged from the house, dragging a visibly dazed Liam between them. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes darted around wildly.

As they approached the police car, Liam started shouting, his voice frantic and desperate.

"No, you don't understand!" Liam cried out. "I'm Daniel! He stole my body! That maniac stole my body! I'm Daniel, not him!"

One of the officers shook his head, his expression a mix of irritation and pity. "Yeah, sure you are," he muttered. "Another crazy story from a madman."

Liam struggled against their grip, his pleas growing more incoherent and desperate.

"You have to believe me! Please, I'm telling the truth!"

The officers ignored his protests, preparing to push him into the back of the police car. As they moved closer, Daniel's lips curled into an evil smile, a stark contrast to the tender expression he had shown Evan just moments ago. His eyes locked onto Liam's, and a silent message passed between them—a promise of vengeance and torment.

Meanwhile, Liam continued to plead desperately at Evan, his voice filled with desperation and urgency. "You have to realize, Evan! It's me, Daniel! Liam somehow swapped our bodies! You have to believe me!"

But Evan's mind was clouded with confusion and exhaustion, unable to comprehend the gravity of Liam's words.

The officers continued to ignore his protests, pushing him into the back of the police car and slamming the door shut. The muffled sound of Liam's continued shouting faded as the car drove away, leaving Evan and Daniel in the relative quiet of the aftermath.

Daniel leaned closer to Evan, his expression softening even more. "It's really over now, Evan. Liam's gone, and he won't hurt us anymore."

Evan nodded, tears of relief welling in his eyes. "I was so scared, Daniel."

"I know," Daniel whispered, brushing a tear from Evan's cheek. "But we made it through. Together."

"Daniel," Evan murmured, relief flooding through him at the familiar embrace. He buried his face in Daniel's chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace.

But as Evan nestled closer, he failed to notice the subtle shift in Daniel's demeanor.

Hidden from view, Daniel's face twisted into an evil grin, a chilling contrast to the tender moment they shared. In that moment, Daniel's eyes gleamed with a sinister satisfaction, knowing that the real Daniel, now trapped in Liam's body, wouldn't be able to bother them again. With Evan safely in his arms, Liam's plan of becoming Daniel to be with Evan forever had worked. He relished in the feeling of his new, more muscular body, the uniform hugging it snugly, and having Evan all for himself.

#body swap #male body swap #male transformation #muscular men #stolen body #stolen clothes #stolen life #stolen uniform

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linnitheo · 11 days

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Under the Checkered Flag

Max’s POV

The hum of engines filled the paddock, a familiar yet electrifying sound that coursed through Max Verstappen’s veins. Race day. It was a sensation he never got used to; the adrenaline, the anticipation, the pressure. He thrived on it. He was at the top of his game, the youngest world champion, leading Red Bull with precision and grit. And yet, amid all the controlled chaos of the F1 world, there was one thing — one person — who could make him feel more alive than the thrill of racing.

You.

You were unexpected in every way. A PR consultant initially, brought on board to handle the escalating media frenzy around his rising fame. You weren’t starstruck; if anything, you seemed immune to the glitz of the F1 world. No, you were sharp, quick-witted, and completely focused on your job. But Max had a way of breaking down barriers, and it didn’t take long before you were spending time together beyond just the track. He’d find reasons to hang around the media center, just to catch a glimpse of you juggling journalists and managing Red Bull’s image with effortless grace.

The morning of the Italian Grand Prix was no different. Max was already dressed in his race suit, helmet in hand, and ready to get to work, but his eyes scanned the paddock, searching. When he saw you, phone to your ear, clipboard in hand, he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. You caught his gaze and rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Focus, Verstappen,” you mouthed, a playful challenge.

“Always,” he mouthed back, though he knew his focus was already split.

Y/N’s POV

You hung up the call, trying to maintain your professional facade as you made your way through the throng of engineers, drivers, and media. Working with Max was unlike anything you’d expected. The guy was a force of nature on track, but off it, he had a way of drawing you in with that intense stare and unguarded charm.

It had started innocently enough — late-night debriefs that turned into long conversations about everything but racing. You found yourself laughing more, lingering in his motorhome even when your job was done. Max was magnetic, and resisting him felt impossible.

The paddock was bustling, everyone operating on a tight schedule as the race loomed closer. You found yourself watching Max more than you should, captivated by the way he moved with a casual confidence, like he owned the place. And maybe he did. He’d made it clear he was the one to beat this season, and his rival, Charles Leclerc, was hot on his heels.

Your heart beat a little faster as you watched him step into his car, every movement precise and deliberate. He looked up and caught your eye one last time before the helmet went on, a silent promise in his gaze.

You wanted him to win. Not just because it was your job to ensure Red Bull maintained their stellar reputation, but because you wanted it for Max. You wanted to see that victorious smile that reached his eyes, the one that was just for you when the cameras weren’t looking.

The lights went out and the race started, cars darting off the line with a deafening roar. You were on your feet in the garage, eyes glued to the screens as Max surged ahead, taking the first corner with the precision of a master. It was a tough race — Leclerc was relentless, the Ferraris faster on the straights, but Max was tenacious, finding grip where there was none, pushing his car to the absolute limit.

A collision on lap 38 had everyone holding their breath. Max and Leclerc side by side, neither willing to back down. You bit your lip, watching as Max held his ground, the two cars nearly touching at 300 km/h. Your heart pounded, fear mixing with exhilaration.

Max’s POV

Max could feel the pressure mounting. Leclerc was right on his tail, and the Ferrari was fast, too fast. But Max wasn’t about to let this one slip away. He had the inside line, and he was going to use it. They were wheel-to-wheel through the chicane, and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed down. He could hear his engineer in his ear, but it was white noise. This was it — the moment of truth.

Leclerc made a desperate lunge, but Max held firm, squeezing him just enough to make his point but not so much that they’d both end up in the gravel. It was aggressive, it was bold, but it was clean. He was through, and as he glanced in his mirrors, he saw Leclerc had backed off, finally conceding.

Max’s heart was racing as he crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving above him. He did it. Another win. But as the adrenaline began to fade, his thoughts immediately drifted to you. He parked his car, the victory cheers filling the air, but his eyes were searching the garage, looking for you.

Y/N’s POV

The garage erupted in cheers, but you barely registered it. Max had done it. He’d held off Leclerc and crossed the line first, and you couldn’t contain the rush of emotion that surged through you. Relief, pride, something else you couldn’t quite name but felt every time you saw him.

You pushed through the throng of team members and media, making your way to where Max was climbing out of the car. He was surrounded by cameras, microphones thrust in his face as reporters fired off questions. But then his eyes found yours, and the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

He pushed past the reporters, striding toward you with purpose. Before you knew it, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. For a moment, you didn’t care who was watching. It was just you and Max, and the unspoken connection that had been building between you.

“You did it,” you whispered against his ear, feeling the tension in his body slowly release.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something there, something beyond the rush of victory. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours, the kiss hard and fast, filled with the pent-up energy of the race and something more.

It wasn’t until you pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, that you remembered where you were. The cameras were still flashing, the reporters still talking, but none of it seemed to matter. Max’s thumb brushed against your cheek, a small, intimate gesture that made your heart flutter.

“Guess the secret’s out,” he said with a chuckle, glancing at the cameras.

“Seems that way,” you replied, trying to catch your breath.

Max grinned, his hand still on your cheek, and for a moment, you saw the boyish charm that lay beneath the fierce competitor. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice something you hadn’t expected. You nodded, unable to find the right words but knowing exactly what he meant. This wasn’t just a fling, or a distraction. It was real, and for the first time, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding on to.

Max’s POV

Max didn’t care about the cameras or the questions that would come later. All he cared about was you, and the way you looked at him like he was more than just a driver, more than just the face of a team. With you, he felt seen — truly seen. And as he held you close, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning.

With you by his side, he could take on the world, both on and off the track. And as the crowd cheered and the cameras flashed, Max Verstappen, the fierce, unrelenting racer, found something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

Home.

With you.

END

#max verstappen x reader #fanfic #maxverstappenxreader #formula1 #f1 #f1xreader #fluff #maxverstappenfluff

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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“Little mouse” Copia x G/N reader

Summary: Copia calls you his little mouse, and it knocks the air out of your lungs.

Tags: Dark Copia, light horror maybe? I wrote this in one sitting after working for 13 hours so don’t look at this too closely.

A/N: By the power of the Unholy One, behold my return from the land of the damned.

He calls you “his little mouse”.

It’s endearing. You can’t help but to swoon when he smiles warmly at you, a gloved hand stretched out in your direction.

“Come here, my little mouse,” Copia says, and the warmth spreads all over your chest and stomach. The Italian accent is thick, but the air inside your lungs is even thicker.

When Copia calls you his little mouse, you feel like a teen experiencing their first love, their initial crush. Copia’s eyes are dark, but his gaze is tender and the leather of his gloves is warm, so you obey and let yourself fall into his embrace.

Between his arms, the air is knocked out of your body. There’s no oxygen in your blood, only the intoxicating love you feel for him, only the romance and lust pumping out of your heart.

“Will you join me this evening, my little mouse?” Copia asks when the sun sets, and only the golden glow of a few old lamps falls on his face. The shadows are deep, but deeper is the rumbling of your throbbing heart. “Will you come with me, stay with me forever?”

You say yes, breathless, almost speechless. Copia continues placing tender kisses on your neck, on the back of your palm. His fingers trace patterns over your clothes, hold onto you with the tenderness of a man madly in love.

Maybe you’re madly in love, too.

That’s why you follow him through the maze of corridors, deeper and deeper under the Ministry’s chapel. It’s a secret place, Copia said, a sheltered room away from everyone, from everything. You know the Ministry is full of mysteries, of hidden truths and now you wonder if Copia is going to reveal some of them to you.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. For as long as he holds onto you, as long as he kisses your lips with passion, you’ll follow him forever.

At the end of the hallway, behind a heavy wooden door, there’s a studio. It’s not a bedroom, like you had been hoping. There’s not even a bed.

No. Blinded by the darkness, your eyes struggled to recognise the shapes that lay in front of you. And when your pupils manage to focus on anything, the air freezes inside your throat.

There are mouses everywhere. Immobile, lifeless eyes stare in your direction. There must be dozens of corpses, well preserved in jars or embalmed, displayed on the walls.

“I always loved mouses,” Copia says behind your back, and the weight of his hand is oppressive on your shoulder. “When I was a teen, the Ministry’s playground was full of them. An infestation, they said. A bad one.”

In the silence of the room, the beating of your heart sounds like drums. Copia gently pushes you forward, and your feet obey without resistance.

“I used to play with them all the time. I would grab them by their tails, hold them under the water fountain and watch them wiggle and struggle.”

This time, a sigh escapes the confines of your lips. “You used to drown them?” You whisper, not daring to look back at him. From the corner of your eyes, you notice there’s a smile on his face.

“At the beginning, yes. I was inexperienced, didn’t know when to stop. Then I got wiser,” Copia states, leaning closer. “But you see, little mouses are so fragile, so ephemeral. They are incredibly cute, but they don’t last much. Sooner or later, they go away. I don’t like it when things leave me. Specially things I love.”

One step back is all you manage before your back collides with his chest. Copia’s hand is heavy, so heavy on you. His grip is unforgiving, impossible to get rid of, but it’s still weaker than the fear that clings to your ankles, slowly climbing up your legs.

“But don’t worry,” he continues, and his smile offers no comfort. “Years ago I found a solution to that. Now they are with me forever. Their beauty doesn’t fade.”

The dozen of small, lifeless black orbs burn on your skin. You swallow once, then twice, but nothing undoes the knot in your throat.

“Get comfortable,” Copia whispers into your ear, both hands pushing down on your shoulders as he guides you to an old, wooden chair. The stares grow heavier, colder. “This is going to be a long night. But I’ll be with you now and forever. You’re my favourite little mouse, after all.”

A/N: based on a guy I kind hooked up with

#papa emeritus iv #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost band fanfic #the band ghost #ghost band fanfiction #cardinal copia #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #my fics #hello tumblr

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athanwritesthings · 8 months

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No Judgement || Reader x TJD [request]

A/N: I wanted to preface with this, this is a request for a more platonic relationship with reader & TJD. I will be making more of these throughout time, either with the group as an entirety, or a specific person in the group. <33

word count: 1,104

summary: you, a WWE Creative, have spent majority of your day after work, working. Rhea, Dominik, Damian, and Finn see you've been hard at work when they get home. this initiates your group of close knit friends/platonic soulmates to take action and make sure you've taken care of you, no judgement at all.

All too often, time was never something I had been good at keeping, lost in the words on the page, or on the screen of my laptop, the faint light being the only thing illuminating my face. Sometimes, the quiet click of my keyboard was the only thing to be heard as I would sit there, building the world on paper in a way, instead of building it in my head as I'd read. On other occasions, it was theater and plays, seeing how many expressed themselves through some sort of acting. It was often that I was lost in my own world, spilling everything in my mind onto paper. When you've grown up with the comforts of these things, it sticks and never lets go. Reading, writing and theater was my thing, my outlet. That was why I found myself lucky for loving the arts, setting myself right into a seat on the Creative team.

Tonight was no different. I sat in my office at home, face almost void of expression, the faint light of my laptop illuminating my face, fingers tirelessly typing out scripts and any ideas that I had that could possible work, even in the slightest bit. Hours had to have passed, with a couple bathroom breaks possibly every couple hours or so. As much as the back of my head told me to stop, nothing had really pulled my focus. Even when I heard their footsteps, their talking and laughter. Even when I felt eyes looking at me from where I sat.

If I had been aware of my surroundings, I'd actually hear Rhea, Dom, Damian and Finn's hushed voices talking to each other, discussing on if they'd know if I had eaten, drank anything, or even relaxed. And I would not only learn that Rhea and Dom were leaving to the new Italian restaurant that it wouldn't take long for Rhea and Dom to leave to the new Italian restaurant that we had gone to a few weeks ago, and that they'd be back soon with the most mouthwatering Fettuccine Alfredo, as that had been my absolute favorite. I would also know that they planned to bring my hydro, filled with fresh ice water to make sure I drank. Or even that Damian and Finn were getting snacks from the store for us all, just for a movie night to get my mind off of work.

It all quieted again once they had dispersed, though I didn't exactly know when the talking stopped, it not threatening to cross my mind again anyways. With uncertainty in my mind, I leaned back some in my chair, my eyes looking at the screen. A small scowl slowly paints my face, reading everything over one… two… even three times. How had I gotten this far without really looking at what I wrote? Just to see if I liked it? I huffed, leaning forward and selecting everything. My finger, finding it's place on the "Backspace" button, froze, still hovering over it in just the slightest.

My gaze, finally having broken from the laptop screen, looks over to the hand on my water bottle. I… hadn't brought that in. Had I? Finally fully looking up, I see Rhea, with Dom close behind, standing beside me. The light was on now, and the sun had set. "You lost track of time again, didn't ya?" Was the first thing said to me, only responding back with a simple nod. "And I'm assuming you haven't ate?" This time, shaking my head. Dom takes a couple steps up and around Rhea, a smile forming on his face as he looked at me, showing the box to me.

Many would see little things, like this, from them as possibly concerned significant others/partners. Coupled with homemade meals that may sometimes seem like a lot for packed lunches, pictures of us and the other members of TJD on Insta (or anywhere else really,) that shared how close we were, or even how much Rhea and Dom cared, one may solidify in their own head that we were all three something… that just wasn't it.

Rhea and Dom were simply just platonic. They knew me well, knew how my brain ticked and clicked. What things kept me flowing, and what things didn't. They weren't my romantic partners. In all cases, they fit in my definition of those platonic soulmates, just a little bit above best friends. Day in, day out, they took opportunities to care, and had loved me for me. Just as platonic soulmates/friends did.

Snapping back to reality, smelling the food finally, my eyes lit up. "Is that… Is that from the new place we tried once before, with the good fettuccine alfredo?" Was all that left my lips, Dom grinning wide as he walked over, chewing his gum as usual. 'Yeah, we figured it's been a bit, might as well get it again for you…' He'd respond, handing me the box and a fork.

Rhea, pulling up a spare chair I had in my office, sits next to me, her gaze landing on the screen. "Am I allowed to read this?" She asks, looking at me first, before even thinking of reading further. I nod as I take my first bite, internally smiling. Dom, wanting to read it too, leans forward on Rhea's chair, his chin resting on the top of her head. A few moments of silence, then a surprised look for just a split second. "You were going to delete this? Y/N this is good so far…"

"It is good. But… come take a break. Damian and Finn are gonna be back with snacks and everything. We wanted to all watch a movie. Would be a great time for you to take a break." Dom's grin had returned as his chin raised from the top of Rhea's head to look at me, an excited look in his eyes.

Part of me knew that I couldn't say no either, I needed the break. I had been relentlessly working all day and I could eventually burn myself out. "You're coming to watch the movie, Y/N. You deserve the break." Rhea's voice was stern, yet kind.

What kind people they were. I acted like I was thinking about it, before actually deciding to respond. I criss cross my legs and lean forward as I begin.

"Okay, okay, fine! But on one condition," I still act as if I'm thinking when I speak, before jabbing the air, towards them with my fork. "I get to choose the movie."

"Deal." The two of them said in unison, goofy grins on their faces.

#wwe x y/n #wwe #wwe x reader #wwe judgement day #rhea ripley #dominik mysterio #finn balor #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #requests #requests open #why am i so rusty

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adore-laur · 10 months

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CLOUD NINE

— a swoonworthy sequel to pink velvet 💍

——

Lake Como is an area with timeless appeal that seizes the eyes of every wanderer roaming the enticing paradise of solitude. Rolling vineyards weave throughout the countryside, with snow-capped mountains rising above the clouds. Romanesque cathedrals and theaters overlook the grand lake, beautifully shaped by glacial movements. Opulent gardens of cascading wisteria and olive groves blossom across the region, decorating the premises of historical villas and estates.

It's bliss for the second time.

It also happens to be one of the most desired places in Italy for wedding venues, which is why you're currently driving through the captivating village of Bellagio with Harry the evening before the big day. A year has passed since you were in Salerno together for your third anniversary. A year since he proposed on the secluded beach he rented out for you, bent down on one knee with shaky hands holding a pink velvet ring box that encapsulated evermore.

Now you're back and ready to marry the man who has one hand on the steering wheel of the vintage car and the other resting on your thigh.

Bellagio, which juts into Lake Como, greets you with cobblestone streets hugged by dainty shops and restaurants. Stucco and terracotta houses painted with pastel colors sit with their wooden shutters open, plants on their balconies, and ivy climbing their walls. Everything is perfectly placed and flourishing under the European sky.

A boat launch is where both of you are headed since the sun will be setting soon, and being on the lake is where tourists say it is the most idyllic place to admire. You're going to rent a private speedboat for two hours to wind down and spend time together on the alpine waters before being the center of attention tomorrow.

The narrow backroads lead to the pier, where many boats are docked. Harry has brought a comically large backpack filled with various snacks, books, and other items to keep busy while on the lake. He's currently humming along to a solemn Italian waltz statically playing through the car's antique radio speakers. His hair whips in the wind, and golden hour light dances across his face.

"I know you're looking at me," he says, gently squeezing your thigh.

You snap out of your trance and lean over the console to kiss his dimple. "You're just really... bello? Is that how you say pretty?"

His cheeks flush an endearing shade of pink. "Bello, yeah," he murmurs with a shy smile. "Thank you, baby."

After another few peaceful minutes of driving, Harry pulls into a parking lot by the docks. The piers bob in the shallow water. The lake is even more stunning up close, with delicate ripples and a mountainous backdrop that resembles a contemporary impressionist painting.

As you gaze upon the elegant villas sitting along the coastal cliffs, the passenger door swings open, a gentlemen-like gesture Harry always makes, no matter how many times you've told him you're entirely capable. You sling your tote bag over your shoulder and pick up Harry's backpack, which is crammed in the space behind the seats. You hand it to him and then interlock your fingers with his before walking to the launch. Luxurious boats rock in the water; their exteriors are glossy and classic, and their interiors are more modern with white leather seats.

"Ciao, siamo qui per il noleggio di due ore," Harry greets the group of men standing on the pier with cigars poking from their lips.

They all smile and wave the both of you over. Harry initiates a foreign conversation with them that you can't understand, save for a few fleeting words. Eventually, one of them claps their hands together and leads you to a speed boat. As the other men remove the ropes that secure it, Harry reaches his hand out to help you step on. He then guides you to the driver's seat, sitting down and settling you on his lap as he sticks the key into the ignition.

"Ready, cipollino?" he asks, recalling the nickname he gave you last year while tipsy under a streetlight. His hand rests on the curve of your back as the engine rumbles to life.

"Yeah," you reply with an eager nod. "And stop calling me that!"

"What should I call you, then?"

"Your wife."

"Not yet, darling." He kisses your neck and then looks behind him, giving the men a thumbs-up.

They return his gesture, and he doesn't waste any more time as he pushes the throttle forward, making the boat lurch. With your legs draped over his, the village becomes farther away. Sailboats and ferries float on the water, and Italian flags are proudly attached to them.

The speed creates swells of water that refreshingly spray your skin as you lean your cheek against the top of Harry's head. He steers with one hand as the other reaches down to unzip his backpack. He sifts through the belongings, eventually taking out a container of mixed cheese cubes he bought a couple of days ago when he went shopping at a local food market.

"Close your eyes and guess," he says over the gusty breeze, hiding the container behind his back.

You close them and open your mouth so he can feed you. You hear him snap the container's top off and then feel a cheese cube on your tongue. You chew it, humming thoughtfully while you figure out the distinct flavor.

"Provolone. That's too easy," you say after swallowing. "Give me another one."

A second piece is given; this time, it's a uniquely rich flavor you've never tasted. You decide to just guess fancy names you've heard in passing. "Um, mascarpone? No, wait. Gorgonzola?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I have no bloody clue what it is." You laugh and open your eyes, but Harry quickly covers them with his large hand. "One more," he murmurs cutely.

Parting your lips again, you wait for another piece of unknown cheese. However, a pair of soft lips capture your mouth instead. You feel Harry smirk against it, causing you to tilt your head with a bright smile.

"Was that too cheesy?" he asks, playfully tickling your ribs before cutting the engine so the boat can drift. "Eh? Get it?"

You drape your arms over his broad shoulders. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

He scoffs under his breath. "What do you mean? I come up with these killer jokes on the spot."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, calling his bluff. "Tell me another one."

Harry pouts his lips and thinks. "Let's see. Give me a second; I have loads of good ones." You giggle into his neck as he struggles. "Okay, I've got it. Why does water never laugh at jokes?"

"I don't know. Why?"

He cradles your head and whispers in your ear, "It isn't a fan of dry humor."

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "That was terrible."

He pretends to throw you overboard, leaving you squealing and holding on tight to his shirt. "Sii gentile."

The following two hours are spent cruising around the lake, pointing out extravagant architecture, and reading the several translated Italian romance novels you bought from an independent bookstore. The mountains are hazy due to the clouds drifting past the jagged crests. The faraway sounds of ferry horns and coos from the wading birds provide a serene atmosphere. You don't plan to remove yourself from Harry's lap anytime soon since his calm breathing and affectionate kisses against your skin make you fall into a blissful reverie.

It doesn't feel like the wedding is tomorrow. The reality hasn't quite hit you yet; you've always felt like it's been some unreachable day that won't ever happen. But now you sense the forthcoming nerves and anticipation somewhere deep in your bones.

There's only one more sunrise until he's eternally yours.

Once the sun has plunged below the horizon and left a blended tangerine and turquoise sky in its wake, Harry lets you take control of the steering wheel to drive the boat back to the docks. You successfully maneuver it between two narrow piers. The men that previously helped get up from their chairs and come over with rope. Harry takes the key out of the ignition, puts his backpack on, and then grabs your hand and ushers you to land.

"Grazie per la vostra generosità," he tells them with a hand on his heart. "Buonanotte."

"Sei il benvenuto," replies one of the men with a kind bow. "Guidare sicuri."

The both of you smile and walk to the parking lot, getting back in the car.

"That was so relaxing," you say as you slightly recline the seat and sigh happily.

"Mm-hmm." Harry rubs his full stomach and yawns. "I'm definitely going to sleep like a baby tonight."

"Really? I think I'll be up all night with anxiety."

"Why? Getting cold feet already?"

"No, just nerves," you say. "It's a life-changing event we've been planning for so long."

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as he starts driving. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty confident I made the right choice in marrying you."

"I'm not doubting that. I just—"

"I know, love," he interrupts softly. "I'll probably be a jittery mess tomorrow if it makes you feel any better."

You give him a reassuring glance before closing your eyes while he takes the backroads that lead to the villa. The windows are rolled down, warm air envelops your face, and the smell of bread makes you hungry again. Harry will often read the random names of restaurants and shops that he passes or quietly hiccup from all the food he ate earlier.

Just as everything becomes background noise, you suddenly feel the car slow down and jerk to a stop. You open your eyes and see that you're on a flat bridge made of gray cobblestone that connects the downtown area to a dirt path lined with cottages. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you with an indecipherable expression, his mouth downturned, and his eyes dancing between yours.

"I think there's something wrong with the car," he says.

"What?"

"It just stopped." He scratches his jaw and sighs. I'm pressing on the gas, but it's not moving."

You blink in confusion. "The car is in park, Harry.

"No, I think the car just broke down. Stay here. Let me check under the hood."

"Just put it in drive. Nothing's wrong with it."

Harry ignores you and opens the door, getting out and slowly walking to the front. His hands place themselves on his hips as he bends his knees and studies the car, like he knows what he's doing. He definitely does not.

"Hey!" he calls out, pointing a finger somewhere next to you. "It's a little chilly out. Do you mind grabbing my suit jacket from under my seat?"

Suit jacket? What is he talking about? You turn your head and reach under the driver's seat to blindly grab the jacket he apparently brought along. You feel a soft material against your fingertips, and you pick it up and set it on your lap. Sure enough, it's a suit jacket that's neatly folded and the color of a robin's egg. You've never seen it before, and you don't know when he could have possibly bought it since you've been inseparable since arriving in Italy.

You hold it up, and Harry grins, shuffling over to the passenger window. You notice that the stripes on his button-up perfectly match the jacket. Interesting.

"Grazie," he says nonchalantly, taking it from you and putting it on. "Fits like a glove. Speaking of..."

You cross your arms over the window and rest your chin on them. "You're acting really suspicious right now, and I suggest you tell me what's going on before I cancel the wedding."

Harry simply laughs and heads over to the hood. You watch as he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves made of lace.

Now you're concerned.

He gazes up at you from under his eyelashes and smirks, putting on the gloves like he's about to perform surgery. "What?" he asks while straightening his collar. "I don't want to get my hands dirty."

You shake your head in disbelief. "Where did you even get those?"

He ignores you once again and pulls out his phone. He types something briefly and then holds it against his ear. "Towing company," he mouths to you, pointing at his phone with a wink.

You're speechless as you sit in the car, wondering what he mysteriously has up his sleeve. You're not stupid; there's obviously something going on because the car clearly has not broken down, and he's calling a towing company for some reason.

During the short conversation, you listen to him speak Italian in a low murmur, and before you know it, he's hanging up and strolling toward the metal railing of the bridge. He puts his hands in his pockets and paces back and forth, looking up at the peach-colored sky and then out at the sapphire-blue water.

As you're about to step out and join whatever he's doing, you hear distant music start playing. You look out the window and see a group of people walking in your direction, all holding instruments such as mandolins, horns, and accordions. Harry is also walking your way in your peripheral vision, a cheeky expression on his face.

You don't know where to look, but your ears recognize the familiar tune of "That's Amore" by Dean Martin when the group starts singing. Harry quickly rounds to the front of the car and does a clumsy spin, then leans his body and elbow on the hood, lifting one foot up as he begins mouthing along to the lyrics with a satisfied smile.

"Dance with me, amante."

You release a shocked laugh and join him. "Did you plan all this?"

He daintily sticks out his gloved hand for you to take. "I might have researched Italian wedding traditions a while ago. One of them involves serenading the bride from outside her window, but... I put my own twist on it, I guess. The car didn't actually break down."

You hum against his chest as he begins swaying you. "Yeah, I caught onto that pretty quickly."

"I'm a shit liar," he mumbles into your hair, giving you a twirl. "Anyway, the bride is supposed to lower down a basket of bread, cheese, and prosciutto to accept the marriage." His hand leaves your waist to dig into his pocket. "And my darling, I just happen to have some leftover cheese cubes. Would you be so kind as to do the honors?"

He pulls out a small bag with only three pieces of cheese left. He takes one out and holds it gently between his fingertips. You take it and dramatically clear your throat. "Harry Styles, I accept this marriage. I cannot wait until tomorrow."

Grabbing your wrist, he pops the cheese into his mouth, grinning widely as he chews. "I accept your acceptance."

You continue slow dancing on the bridge as the song crescendos, the singers happily crooning the love-filled lyrics while you're pressed close to Harry.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

——

White silk with a subtle hue of lavender feels cool against your skin, the thin fabric of your dress lightly blowing in the breeze.

Harry is right around the corner, probably fidgeting with his fingers behind his back, toeing the ground, and ensuring his outfit is wrinkle-free. You can almost feel his energy, along with the collection of yours and Harry's close family and friends who flew out for the wedding. You hear them distantly chatter as they wait for your arrival.

Deep breaths are the only kind you've been taking all day, and you're surprised the pendant of your necklace isn't shaking from how hard and fast your heart is pounding. You haven't seen Harry since you fell asleep next to him last night, knowing he planned to sneakily slip out of the villa to get ready with his groomsmen early in the morning.

It's evening, so a golden tint casts over everything. The private ceremony occurs outside the lakeside courtyard, surrounded by lush gardens and pathways shaded by trees. The white aisle is rolled out, and a tall, flowered arch can be seen from where you stand behind the trimmed hedges. Stone statues guard the premises, some with moss and chipped bodies.

As you focus on a yellow butterfly that lands on a blade of grass, you suddenly hear the ceremonial music begin playing. Someone behind you squeezes your shoulders and gently pushes you, whispering encouraging words in your ear. You're too distracted by the movement of your dress to comprehend them as you begin walking down the aisle.

Watch your step.

One foot in front of the other.

Don't trip.

Yet when you finally turn the corner, keeping your eyes on the ground is impossible. It's as if everything happens in slow motion. You hear excited gasps and violins in your ears, but your eyes are your strongest sense at the moment. They naturally gravitate upward to find Harry. He's wearing all silk, just like the both of you planned, along with the same hue of lavender threaded into the fabric. Silk trousers with a silk dress shirt tucked into them and white suspenders. A couple buttons are undone.

He's so stupidly handsome.

Once your gaze meets his, matching smiles of pure love take over both of your faces. His is a dimpled one that leaves you breathless, and yours is a gentle one that makes his tears spill over.

You see him roll his trembling lips in, looking down with a soft laugh and a sniffle. When you reach him, you accept his bouquet of flowers and stand face-to-face with him for the first time today.

"You look gorgeous," he whispers while shaking his head in awe.

"You look pretty," you whisper back.

He bites the inside of his cheek and glances down at your lips. "I want to kiss you, but I can't."

You laugh and look at the officiant when he raises his hands. "Welcome, everyone," he says. You may be seated."

Everyone sits, and you exhale a long breath. You feel Harry squeeze your hands as the officiant drones on about the joining of the couple and what lifelong commitment means. You're not listening; you're too lost in Harry's teary eyes as they roam your face and dress.

"Is the bride ready to say her vows?"

You snap your head to the side and nod, a little embarrassed that you zoned out during what were probably important and sentimental words.

You release Harry's hands and take the folded note from your bra, making the crowd laugh. Harry rolls his eyes with a smirk. As you smooth the paper's creases, you feel your throat bob with emotion, thinking about how you poured every bit of your soul into the inked words you wrote for him.

Inhaling deeply, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Harry," you say with a tender squeeze of his sweaty hand, "you are someone who I believe comes into people's lives with a purpose. You came into mine when I wasn't looking for love, but you swept me off my feet with your kindness and attentive nature. I'm so in love with you, truly. When your eyes crinkle with laughter or when you remember intricate details about me. I even love the annoying things, like how you really love peas or how you have to turn the radio down when the roads are busy so you can concentrate. Everything you do and say is beautiful. Your presence is graceful and warm. I'm so thankful I get to be around it for the rest of my life. I love you and promise to do so through every moment, whether rain or shine. Ti amo."

When you finish, your cheeks are damp with tears as the crowd claps. Harry looks past you, quickly wiping under his eyes.

"And would the groom like to say his vows?" asks the officiant.

"Yeah, one second," Harry says as he tilts his head and blinks back tears. He looks back down and takes his vows out of his sock.

"Ew," you say.

"Shush," he says with a smirk. "Okay, um... I'm going to try to get through this without completely losing it." He clears his throat. "So, I wrote this last night when you were sleeping. I wasn't procrastinating; I just wanted to write it when my emotions were high."

He unfolds the paper and straightens his posture. "I love you so much. You know it. Everyone knows it. You've had me whipped since I met you, and I swear it's only gotten worse over the years. I told you when I proposed that I was weak for you. Well, I still am. Always will be. Because I hang onto every word you speak, and my heart beats like a madman every time you look at me. The tremendous love you give me is something I don't deserve. It keeps me going, and the fact that I get to feel it for a lifetime makes me the happiest man in the world. Ti amo forever."

You let out a soft sob and dab under your eyes with your knuckle so your makeup doesn't smear. You secretly give Harry the middle finger for making you cry, and he gives one back, making your family and friends cackle.

"Now for the rings." The officiant hands both of you your designated bands and then looks at you first. "Does the bride take the groom to be her lawfully wedded husband?"

You slide the gold band onto Harry's ring finger, his hand shaking. "Lo voglio."

He seems surprised by your unexpected Italian, raising his eyebrows.

"And does the groom take the bride as his lawfully wedded wife?"

Harry slides your ring on. "Lo voglio," he repeats confidently.

"Then it is my delight and honor to now pronounce you husband and wife," concludes the officiant. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Styles!"

Everyone stands and cheers, hollering in celebration. Harry spreads his arms and pumps his fists with a wide smile.

"Can I kiss him?" you ask impatiently.

The officiant laughs and nods. "Yes, you may kiss the groom."

You immediately grab Harry's cheeks and slot your mouth over his, feeling his arms tightly wrap around your waist as he dips you toward the ground. The crowd whoops, and camera shutters click, capturing the official moment.

"Mrs. Styles," Harry murmurs against your lips, kissing them repeatedly until they ache.

You grab his hand and walk down the aisle together, waving and smiling at your families as they throw white flower petals in your path. There's a green convertible parked at the end, a getaway car of sorts, for you and Harry to take to the reception. It has a wreath hung across the trunk and bottles of alcohol and bread in a basket on the console. Harry opens the door for you as family and friends gather around, taking pictures and chatting with one another.

"Wait, we have to change into our outfits before we get there," you say abruptly as he begins slowly driving away. "We didn't think this through."

When you and Harry were planning the wedding, you agreed that you should both change into comfortable party outfits for the reception so it would be easier to move around and dance. Outfits the others hadn't seen yet were picked out and secretly packed in separate suitcases.

You took a risk with yours, to say the least.

"No," he gasps dramatically. "What are we possibly going to do? Bloody hell, we'll have to change in the woods!"

You smack his arm. "Shut up, I'm serious! I've been waiting all year to show you my outfit. We have to stop somewhere."

"Love, we can just change in the bathrooms once we get there."

"Fine. Hurry up, though. I'm excited."

He rolls his eyes and presses on the gas pedal harder.

After about ten minutes, you arrive at the outdoor reception area, which has circular tables and chairs on the lawn with a dance floor in the middle. String lights decorate the low-hanging trees, and some people are already gathered with flutes of champagne and plates of appetizers in their hands.

Harry parks the car and grabs your suitcases, sneakily going around the back of the old-fashioned estate that the venue is a part of. A security guard, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece, stands straight as a pin in front of the fancy double doors.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry says, never letting go of your hand. "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

He clears his throat and looks him up and down suspiciously. "Take the first left. The door is the fourth one on your right."

"Thank you!" you call out from behind, since Harry is already dragging you down the porcelain hallway.

Once you reach the bathrooms, Harry enters one stall while you go into the other. You're both breathing heavily and giggling as you unclasp your suitcases and pull out your outfits.

Yours is a rose gold mesh bodycon dress decorated with rhinestones that came with long, matching gloves. Your beige underwear and bra will be visible under it, but that's the intended purpose. You also bought a faux fur boa scarf to hook around your elbows. You unzip your wedding dress and slip on the other one, then walk out of the stall with your empty suitcase.

Harry walks out a minute later, and your knees weaken. He's wearing a suit jacket and trousers with no shirt underneath. What's even more incredible is that the color of the sequined material is almost the exact shade of what you're wearing.

"Shut up," Harry says with a laugh of disbelief. "No way we picked the same color."

All you can respond with is, "Your tits are out."

He looks down at them. "Yeah... I suppose they are."

"You look so hot."

"So do you." He runs his hands from your waist down to your ass. "You look dazzling, Mrs. fuckin' Styles."

"Don't start anything," you warn, gripping the lapels of his suit. "We need to say hello to everyone."

He smirks. "It's crazy that we thought of the same color. I was going to buy a white vest and matching pants, but something told me to get this instead."

"That just means you have good fashion intuition."

"No, I think it means we're soulmates."

You kiss him. "That, too. C'mon, let's go before people get bored."

The reception commences, and hugs and well wishes are all around as you and Harry wander the lawn hand in hand. The weather is perfect, and the sun isn't too sweltering because of the breeze from the nearby lake.

Hours pass, the moon is out, and string lights twinkle around the venue. The dance floor has been open for a while, and everyone is a little tipsy and sweaty as they dance with each other. You've already done the first dance with Harry, swaying to "Moonlight Serenade" by Frank Sinatra as he whispered sweet nothings with his forehead pressed against yours.

After another slow song ends and couples find other people to dance with, "Careless Whisper" starts playing. Harry screeches in your face while shaking your shoulders.

When the bridge plays, he gets down on his knees before you and belts the lyrics, his hair falling in his face as his outfit shimmers from the strobe lights. You put the fur boa around his neck and pull him closer. His hands run up the length of your legs, eventually reaching your hands as you help him.

"My pants just ripped!" he yells over the music.

"Seriously?!" you yell back with wide eyes.

He tilts his head back and laughs with his hands resting on his exposed stomach. You immediately spot the small, ripped seam on his right thigh and begin laughing along with him. It's not even that funny, but cloud nine lifts you too high to care.

The party goes on, and people slowly leave as midnight nears. Soon enough, it's just you and Harry left as the music volume lowers and the chairs start being put away. You eventually stumble with flushed cheeks and giddy smiles to the sleek black limo waiting at the front of the estate.

"Where am I taking the happy couple?" asks the driver.

"Villa Balbiano, please," Harry replies. "And turn the music up loud, yeah? Apologies in advance."

The both of you clamber into the back of the limo, immediately putting the partition up. You straddle Harry's parted thighs as he begins massaging your breasts. "Take your bra off. Let me see your tits under this dress."

You unclip your bra, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. Harry kneads your ass and tilts his head back against the headrest, the veins in his perspiring neck becoming noticeable.

"I'm so gone for you," he says, biting your thumb as if restraining himself from doing a more provocative act.

"That's sweet." You climb off his lap and sit beside him, putting your seatbelt on. "But you'll have to wait."

His jaw clenches in annoyance, and you grin. You love giving him whiplash.

The ride to the villa is short but filled with tension. Harry broodingly looks out the window when the driver pulls into the gravel driveway, his right hand gripping the edge of the seat, his thighs tense.

Once the car is parked, Harry kindly squeezes the driver's shoulder, opens the door, and gets out. In an instant, your door is opened, and you're suddenly scooped up and thrown over Harry's shoulder as he walks up the driveway toward the arched doors. He navigates through the spacious rooms and up the grand staircase in complete silence.

You know what you're in for.

Harry tosses you on the king-size bed and crawls over you, placing his forearms on either side of your body. His cross necklace dangles over you, which is ironic considering how he's looking at you right now.

"Gonna let me fuck my wife, or do I have to wait for that too?" he asks lowly, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your breasts and keeping eye contact with you.

You bite your lip and slide the straps of your dress down, quickly slipping it off. Harry then grabs your wrist and uses his teeth to take one of your gloves, biting the fabric at the top of your fingertips. They're long and tight, so he struggles, huffing and closing his eyes in disappointment.

"This is supposed to be sexy. Stop making fun of me," Harry says with a defeated laugh, taking the route of just yanking them off and throwing them on the floor.

"I didn't say anything," you say, covering your mouth so you don't let a laugh escape. "And those are really expensive, Harry!"

He just shushes you and takes your underwear off. He then buries his face into your inner thigh as you spread your legs open. You're already wet; your warm arousal is sticking to your skin. He laps some of it up and rumbles a groan.

"Will you let your husband take care of you tonight? Hmm? Tell me."

"God, Harry." You whine when his nose nudges your aching clit. "Yes. Please."

"So polite for me." He teasingly licks the inside of you with one stroke of his tongue, but it's not enough. "Such a good girl that was dressed like a filthy slut tonight."

"Says you," you reply breathlessly. "You had your tits out all night while you danced with my grandma."

Harry hums a laugh and pushes his nose forward, making you wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back on the bed. He lets out a long moan, beginning to unapologetically lick every last slick drop of arousal that seems to keep pouring out. His hands grip your thighs so tight that you're positive there will be bruises left from his rings.

His quiet moans and suckling are muffled by his face pressed right up against your pussy, his hair tickling the bottom of your stomach as his head tilts with each new angle he tries. Your mouth is parted open, and desperate whimpers leave it as your hands tug at his curls.

You know he won't use his fingers; he's always keen on making you come with just one method. You feel dizzy from the tingling sensation in your thighs and core; your orgasm is knotting with a deep ache.

"I'm going to come," you tell him, digging your heel into his back. "Harry, I'm going... I feel it. I can't hold it."

What he does next is heaven. Without moving his head or stopping his tongue, he lifts his hand and presses his large palm down on your lower stomach, massaging it in small circles to help coax the swelling pleasure out. Just as you feel as though you're about to burst, he removes his tongue and lifts his head.

"No, no, no," you say, jerking your hips up.

"Hey, look at me," Harry demands, his lips swollen and glistening. "What's wrong? Am I being mean?"

"I hate you."

"That's no way to talk to your husband, now is it?" He unbuttons his trousers and takes them off, along with his boxers. "What makes you think I'm not going to stuff you full right now with my cock? Or is that not what you want?"

You catch your breath and swallow, your throat feeling terribly dry. "No, I want it. I do."

Harry squeezes his throbbing cock and hovers over you with one hand placed next to your head, his arm bulging and sheening with sweat. It isn't going to take long for you to come undone.

"Yeah?" He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. "You like it when I'm that deep inside you?" he asks, tearing the package open.

"It's my favorite part."

He rolls the condom on and kisses your knee. "Is that what you want?" His voice is now soft as he strokes strands of hair from your face. "You want me to be nice and give you what you want?"

"I know you like it too," you whisper. "Don't even try to lie."

He smirks while running his tongue across his teeth. "And how would you know that?"

"Because you always put your hand right here"—you grab his hand and gently place it below your navel—"to feel it. Your eyes roll back every time. I love it."

His nostrils flare. "You love watching me? How did I not know this about my wife?"

"You're too fucking gone for me to notice," you say, repeating his words from earlier.

He nearly growls, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting in with no warning. You gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he rocks inside of you, his cock burning past your walls. The headboard hits the wall with each of his powerful thrusts, and you moan pitifully when he goes long and deep. One of his hands holds onto the top of the headboard, and the other holds your limp hand on the sheets.

"So tight," Harry breathes out. "How do you fit all of me, huh? You're so tight and pretty."

Your legs ache as they bend from the force he pounds into you. He sloppily kisses your lips, his teeth knocking against yours and pleading moans escaping into your mouth. His scruff rubs against your face as he continues thrusting faster and faster until the knot forms again, this time stronger than before. You can feel him in the pit of your stomach, leaving you breathless and crazed when his abs move against the slight bulge that forms there.

"There we go," he praises. "That's it, baby. Is that what you needed?"

After another couple of thrusts and encouragements from him, you arch and release while gripping his hand and looking into his eyes. Harry comes at the same time, rutting his hips into yours as he shudders with a deep, guttural moan against your neck.

He hums, pulling out and cradling your cheeks. "You good?"

You nod, watching him quickly discard the condom and flop on top of your heaving body. Everything feels hot: the sweat dripping down your hairline and Harry's skin sticking to yours.

"Thank you," you say hoarsely.

"For what, giving you an orgasm?" he asks with a laugh.

"For everything," you reply, running your fingers through his damp hair. "I always feel like I'm floating around you."

"I'm your cloud."

"That oddly makes sense. How do you say that in Italian?"

He starts giggling into your chest, dimples carving his flushed cheeks. "Nube."

You scoff. "Did you just call me a noob?"

His head whips up as he says, "No. Nube means cloud in Italian."

"Nube… that's funny." The both of you start silently laughing at each other, slowly coming down from the high.

"Shit." Harry exhales. "Someone left us some wine."

You turn your head to where he's looking and see a wine bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag on the dresser. There's also a little note attached to it.

Harry gets out of bed and walks over to it with his ass on full display, making you start giggling again. He grabs the wine and gets under the sheets, weaving his legs with yours.

You take it from him, popping the cork and raising the bottle. "Cheers to us. Ti amo forever, nube."

He grabs your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. "Ti amo, Mrs. Styles."

You take a swig, letting the crisp sweetness coat your throat before Harry has some.

You've come to realize that bliss can be tangible. Silk sheets and red wine. Heated skin and purposeful touches. Soft eyes and kisses just because. If you could, you would bottle this moment up to drink, letting the liquified love permanently stain your soul.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #cloud nine

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marimbles · 10 months

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Hope you don’t mind me asking lol, I stumbled upon your blog and I see you are in the throes of Ouran hyperfixation 😅 What are your opinions on each member of the host club?

yes im definitely in the throes thanks for noticing<3 lol. i'd be delighted to share my opinions on each member of the host club !! this will be LONG bc i have a lot to say about these binches (also this will have manga spoilers). so i'll put it under a cut

Haruhi—honestly what's not to love. she's scruffy and apathetic and grumpy and direct and 300% done with everything, including gender conformity. "these damn rich people" yes king go off. also you're so valid for being 90% motivated by food. it's such a perfect and fascinating idea to drop a person like fujioka haruhi into a group of ridiculous dramatic people like the host club and see how they fare. impressively well, actually. she cleans up nice and is surprisingly charming and intuitive underneath the apathy. but this is only what you find out in like the first episode!!! she grows so much over the course of the story, especially in the manga, and it warmed my heart so much and made me so proud of her 😭 how her relationship with the host club members changed her as a person and even enabled her to better pursue her lifelong dreams. ugh. i love how falling in love with tamaki gave haruhi such a beautiful character arc. first her resistance (which was both understandable and hilarious), because he's so STUPID and RIDICULOUS and in her mind is the last kind of person she'd want to be with, but then she realizes how much she has learned from him and how much he's opened her heart, and she's so inspired by him—to experience new things and understand people better and challenge her preconceived notions and grow to be a better, kinder person, which will make her a better lawyer too. she's actually so brave, to step out of her comfort zone, and connect with others, and to learn how to accept help, when she closed herself off as a coping mechanism when she was so young. she has so much patience to deal with the host club theatrics and a lot of patience with her dad, who is also rather theatrical lol. she had to grow up young and mature so fast and i like how through the host club she learned how to have fun and let other people support and admire her too. ugh i just love her! she has such a soft and good heart and she learns to love so deeply even though it initially went against her nature! she's soooo stray italian greyhound coded to me.

Tamaki—my favorite. one of my favorite characters of all time now actually. im just obsessed with him. i already have a weakness for blond boys with sad backstories and i blorbified him so so fast. as a longtime adrien agreste stan it was inevitable, once i learned about his existence. i saw the most pathetic drama queen loser in all of fiction and i went "yeah he's perfect." i loved him as soon as i watched an episode but i think it was this post that really sold me on him and convinced me to read the manga. i mean isn't he just the guy of all time. as a sillyguy myself i can't not adore him, because he is SO silly and SO dramatic and SO larger-than-life ridiculous, and i am just a big fan of that. but at the same time he has a surprising amount of depth, revealed little by little, that just made me fall even more in love with him as i learned more! cause the thing about tamaki is that everything about him is over-the-top and outlandish—including the size of his heart, and the way he cares about other people, and the lengths he will go to to help them. he's like incredibly narcissistic and incredibly selfless, at the same time. such a fascinating contradiction to me. he has such big feelings whether it's overwhelming grief over a stranger's sob story or unbridled excitement over a mcdonald's happy meal toy. i think all in all tamaki's character can be summed up with one word: love. he just loves everything and everyone to an incomprehensible degree, and that love is transformative. he loves his broken family to the point of wholenesss, and his lonely schoolmates the the point of chosen family, and haruhi to the point of courage—because he was just as confused and afraid as she was, and they both learned to be brave enough to love in a way they always thought was impossible for them. he just loves the whole world and it loves him back, because when you put that much love out there it's bound to be reflected back to you. i love how essentially tamaki annoyed all his friends into becoming his found family lol, because as stupid and obnoxious as he is, he cares SO much, and that's how he won each one over individually, to the point that they'd do practically anything for him. despite being pretty obtuse about himself he's very intuitive about other people and he is able to see them as they really are, in a way they couldn't even see themselves yet, and understand them to a degree that allows them to understand themself. anyway im always crying about him, cause. yeah.

Kyoya—man i love him. so calm and cool and collected and lowkey an evil genius. i love how he plays off tamaki so perfectly. they truly are a married couple lmao. but again!!! in signature ouran fashion, there is much more to him than meets the eye! they're all so much more than the "type" they are assigned! because yes kyoya is the "cool one," the genius one, the guy who always has a plan, the one who's constantly strategizing internally and weighing pros and cons and thinking 9 steps ahead, who only does things for his own benefit … but also underneath he is so passionate. he has all the emotions he tends not to show. fear and anger and grief and love. the anime did such a good job of portraying this because sometimes i think about that scene with him painting inside the golden frame and then it zooms out and he's made a giant beautiful work of art outside the frame, with every color, and i just sort of wanna cry about it. the hidden depths of kyoya ootori...i love that, like haruhi, he learned that it's important to have fun, and if your best friend is a complete idiot, it's good for you! (albeit sometimes detrimental to your health and sanity, lol.) again i loved how they handled it in the anime where in the end he shows his father how intelligent and powerful and in control he was, just to let all of that go, because he found what made him happy, and that was more important than any of it. i love a guy who forms unbreakable bonds first against his will but then puts his whole heart into them! who learns to defy expectations and forge his own path! who learns that happiness is its own end! MAN!! ok also the part in the manga where he spends his whole paris vacation searching for tamaki's mom and completely exhausts himself and falls asleep in the street because of it, just because he wanted to be able to report back to tamaki that she was alive and well. i might cry. im a tamaharu shipper but i have a very soft spot for kyotama.

Kaoru—i get emotional about him sometimes. he is sooooo 😭 ok because at first, the twins are identical both in looks and personality. but as the story progresses, their individuality becomes more obvious, and kaoru reveals himself as the more emotionally mature twin. i love the twins for being mischievous and silly and obnoxious and just a tiny bit evil sometimes, and for always making fun of tamaki (i mean SOMEONE has to), but they both have a lot a depth underneath that which makes them so dear to me 🥺 and kaoru. oh. baby boy. he's so intuitive, often seeing what hikaru is unwilling/unable to see, and so self-sacrificial, always willing to put his brother's needs over his own. the way he was developing feelings for haruhi the whole time, just like hikaru was, but he was the first to realize and admit it to himself, and he gave hikaru space to figure it out too. and then how he is honest with haruhi and confesses to her but in the same breath tells her that his relationship with hikaru is too important to jeopardize, so he bows out gracefully even as he speaks up. UGH! sometimes i just think about that part in the manga where he talks with haruhi about how he wouldn't know what to do if he and hikaru wanted the same thing and both couldn't have it, and then later they have a box of cookies and there's not enough for everyone so he saves his for hikaru, and then haruhi points out that he found the answer to his question, didn't he? about what he would do if they wanted the same thing? so then he ends up stepping back to let hikaru pursue haruhi instead of him, promising to support him, and helping him grow and mature into a better person. wahhhh...... he's a sort of tragic character to me honestly. like it makes me a little sad to think about him. but he just has a good heart, and he ends up happy because the change he was afraid would make him lose the relationships that were most important to him actually made them even stronger.

Hikaru—i think i have a slightly softer spot for kaoru, but i really really love hikaru as well, and i think his character arc is one of the best in the series. he's definitely the brasher/less mature twin in the beginning, who tends to let jealousy and anger get the better of him and he lashes out sometimes because of his frustration and confusion about his own feelings. he struggles with self-awareness and kaoru knows that, which is why he gives hikaru opportunities to self-discover and figure himself out. hikaru falling for haruhi and admitting that to himself and others, even haruhi, was so important for him as someone who always defaulted to keeping others out and viewed everyone but kaoru as an outsider. he really didn't trust anyone but kaoru with his thoughts and feelings, but being part of the club made him open up, examine himself, and consciously choose to mature. one of my favorite hikaru moments is when he dyes his hair dark to show that he's an individual who is separate from his twin and wants to be viewed as such, but at the same time he makes it clear to kaoru that being individuals doesn't mean they have to drift apart or be any less important to each other—and he's determined for them to stay just as close even as they pursue separate paths for the first time in their lives. i also love his rivalry with tamaki over haruhi and how that affects him and forces him to grow. another favorite moment is when he demands that tamaki open his eyes and encourages him to not let his trauma get the best of him. instead of letting tamaki stay ignorant of his feelings for haruhi, which would be to his advantage, he makes tamaki realize them so they could have an equal chance to pursue her. he has so many sweet moments where he feels conflicted about tamaki, wishing he was out of the picture but also feeling so much gratitude and affection for him. he just really loves tamaki, and really loves kaoru, and really loves haruhi, and that love that started out with so much hurt and jealously makes him grow into a more selfless and genuine and mature person, when he finally, like kaoru, bows out and chooses to be happy for tamaki and haruhi. ugh he's a good boy even though he acts like a turd sometimes. lol.

Honey—i don't have as strong of feelings for honey as the others i've gone over but he is still a great character! obviously he's adorable, and i just find him very sweet and enjoyable. and of course the fact that the sweets-obsessed boy lolita who carries around a stuffed bunny is actually a genius and also a martial arts master who can take down 50 guys singlehandedly...yeah it's pretty dope lmao. i love how he learned from tamaki the meaning of true inner strength—not pretending to be something your not for someone else's sake, but being unapologetically YOU and embracing what makes you happy! honey learns to comfortably live a seemingly contradictory life, because he openly loves his cake and cutesie stuff but he remains a strong and well-respected leader and master of the haninozuka martial arts. it's funny and but also very fitting to me that in the manga he ends up with the girl from the black magic club—someone who's different from him in what appears to be every way, but honey is not afraid of contradiction and appreciates people being themselves!

Mori—he's the host i least connect with, just because he doesn't get much focus and also barely speaks lol. but i still love mori! i really admire his loyalty—just the truest friend anyone could ever ask for. he and honey are such an iconic duo. his "lovely item" lol. it's really sweet how much of a natural protector he is—not just how he looks out for honey but also haruhi and the whole host club. he's a very compassionate person with strong principle. one of my favorite mori moments is when he demands a fight with honey just so he feels like he has the right to tell him what to do and remind him to brush his teeth when they're apart for college haha. also shout out to the part where tamaki desperately asks "do you ever think about kissing honey-senpai" because he's freaking out about haruhi and mori says no but later is shown worrying that he screwed tamaki up by lying, because he does actually think about kissing honey 😂

ok this concludes my Opinion Of The Hosts soapbox hour, thank you for asking and sorry i answered:) tldr i love them all lol

#ask #starlightbelle #ohshc

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coiled-dragon · 1 year

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Ok ok. Im addicted. 31 for Dracfield please? "Don't look at them. Look at me."

Hehehe ♥ This one was fun c:

"Don't Look at Them. Look At Me"+"I'm Not Going To Let Anyone Hurt You" [I stretched the latter a little]

CW: Canon-typical Violence

The church always found them eventually. It was a part of this seemingly endless cycle Renfield was beginning to piece together. His Master would grow strong and bold, leaving behind a trail of corpses - both figurative and literal - that would lead the church and their hunters right to their doorstep. So far, the vampire hunters had always failed in their attempts, but they had begun to grow less predictable in their methods.

Like now, attacking at the break of dawn rather than midday.

Renfield closed the door to his Master’s room, the count having laid down for his rest, when the sound of wood splintering followed by the shouts of men reached his ears. The thunder of feet came next, racing through their estate positioned in northern Italy, and Renfield knew it could be no one but vampire hunters. No one else would have need to attack the isolated mansion, Dracula having made himself a friend of the local nobility and bringing Renfield with him to gatherings… They were known in their half a decade of residence, but that meant the increase of life lost and the bizarre way bodies had been found would’ve reached the church all the quicker.

Cursing, Renfield ran back to the door he’d just locked, throwing it open as a pair of men made it up the stairs. One pointed and yelled in Italian, too quick for him to catch the meaning but he didn’t fancy it was anything nice. Slamming the door behind him, he ran to the coffin.

“Master- Master, hunters, we must-”

The door was kicked open and Renfield dropped, a sharp pain lodging itself between his shoulder blades. The pain was brief, followed only by the fact he couldn’t move at all. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything.

There was a knife lodged in his spine.

“Good, with Dracula’s rat out of the way this’ll be easier,” a gruff voice said, half a dozen men spilling into the room armed with garlic, crossbows, and wooden stakes. “You lot, pull down these blinds, hurry. Before he wakes up.”

Renfield’s mind was racing, able to move his head but not much else. He reached for their bond in a panic, voice caught in his throat but loud in his mind.

Hunters, Master, hunters, please get up.

A few moved towards the windows and he felt a pressure as one man, the gruff voice that had spoken in English, stepped on his back.

“The Vatican would like you back alive,” the man said, Renfield’s bright blue eye rolling up to the bearded man. “Don’t know why they’d want a man who betrayed his humanity, but they also didn’t say I had to bring you back walking.”

He laughed, Renfield struggling to find his voice and still unused to the way his whole body felt incorporeal, like he was a head attached to empty space. It frightened him. It frightened him worse that one of the tall windows was now letting in brilliant early morning light.

The coffin lid stirred, all the hunters turning their attention to the sound of stone scraping stone. A clawed hand slid between the initial crack and nearly all of them pulled up their crossbows - silver-tipped bolts, aimed at the ready.

“Idiots, pull down the blinds first!” The man's warning was ignored as hunters drew closer. Dracula’s hand raised an index finger and wagged as though chastising their eagerness, then vanished.

A billowing cloud of fog erupted from the coffin and came at the man standing over Renfield, the familiar flinching when hot blood splattered on his cheek. A moment later, the commanding hunter fell next to him, throat cut open as Dracula materialized by Renfield. He sighed in annoyance, flicking the blood from his claws and looking about the room before kneeling down.

“Mas-Master, I can’t move…” Renfield said, his voice coming out in a panicked whisper. Dracula hushed him, paying no mind to the five crossbows trained on him. He pulled Renfield’s face up, his gaze rolling to each of the men as they came a little closer in a circle. The one window that had been stripped of its light-blocking curtain was too far to hurt his Master, but the men-

“Don’t look at them, Renfield,” Dracula said, eerily calm as he ran a thumb over his familiar's cheek. “Look at me.”

Renfield obeyed, looking into the blazing eyes of his Master. Normally, seeing him so angry might be upsetting, but this… This was not anger targeted at him. He could feel a calmness in that fury, subduing his fear as Dracula reached for the blade in his back. Renfield twinged when it was pulled free, though he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t even feel the blood as it blossomed like a flower along the back of his shirt.

“I’ll heal you, but first…” Dracula laid Renfield back down, the familiar angling his head to watch as all five men flinched and raised their crossbows. His Master turned to them with the knife. “None of you get to touch what is mine, least of all the fucking Vatican.” He spat the final word with venom.

The first bolt was fired, and then a second, but Dracula easily evaded them both. He didn’t even need to turn into fog for it, avoiding them in a fluid motion before he spun at the first man. Renfield kept his eyes on him, the vampire attacking like he was leading them in a dance with death. Blood sprayed from opened arteries, the crunch of bone and screams became his music. It was ethereal and haunting, a slaughter performed like art.

It was over in seconds.

Dracula tossed the knife to the side after the last body fell, blood splattered up his arm. He made his way back to Renfield, wiping their blood on his pants with a wrinkled nose. Pure blood was his favorite, but it seemed that there was something else in the blood of a vampire hunter that put him off of it, purity be damned.

“Thank you, Master,” Renfield said, even before he’d cut open a vein to heal him. The butchering had been personal. A knife hadn’t been necessary to decimate the men, but it had been a statement to the hunters to take to their death. Dracula gave a noncommittal grunt.

“No one may hurt what belongs to me,” he said in a low voice, pretending like he hadn’t cared about it at all. Blood flowed from his wrist onto the open and bleeding wound on Renfield’s back. “No one may take what belongs to me, either.”

Renfield whined as feeling began to return to him. Pain was always the first, hot and searing like being dipped in molten iron, but at least this time it faded fast. The wound would have left him impaired for life, despite being small. It had been precisely aimed. He sighed in relief, opening and closing his hands as feeling rushed back into them.

As he stood, Dracula grabbed his face and looked him over.

“I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promised. Renfield’s brows quirked up at the statement. There was more than a sliver of care in the sentiment and it warmed him, nodding. “Now, I’m going to rest.” He let go of Renfield and made his way back to his coffin, huffing in irritation as he kicked one of the bodies. “These better be cleaned up by nightfall. And fix the damn curtain.”

Renfield smiled as Dracula slipped into his coffin and the lid began to close.

“Of course, Master.”

#my fic #drabble #drabble prompt #prompt fill #Zosalot #Anonymous #ski-raisingparanoidpotato #whump #hurt comfort #Dracfield #Renfield #Paralysis sounds terrifying im ngl #honestly this one is longer than a drabble I try to keep drabbles under 1k but whateverrrr #spoils u guys

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grief-worn · 2 months

Text

@ferinehuntress sent: "There's this Italian restaurant I managed to book a table at, if you're still keen on going on a proper date."

Now, more than ever, Shadowheart finds herself lost in her own mind. She's always preferred to swim through heads, not water. If not other people's heads, she'd drown in her own; a spirit of wanderlust at heart, maybe. Normally, she reins this in fast, but with recent developments in her own life, in her own faith, there's rarely a moment where she isn't staring off into space. Poor timing, she knows. There's no shortage of danger, and it seems the list of people wanting their heads on a spike grows longer by the hour. But can you really blame her?

She's the victim of a ruthless tug-of-war: between the volcanic upheaval of her own identity, and the sugar-sweet fantasy of young and vigorous love.

Karlach Cliffgate. An unlikely ally from the deepest recesses of Avernus, and now the object of each and every one of Shadowheart's desperate, yearning affections. Everything that isn't Karlach feels numb and lifeless, and the former Sharran treads a dangerous tightrope that teeters over total helplessness. Shadowheart is far from an obsessive lover, but she feels great tides of emotion all the same, and had she not trained ceaselessly in the art of the divine poker face, she'd of lost all her marbles after their first kiss.

Tonight is a rare treat. Quiet, almost boring. The group is resting for the day after a gruesome foray with the Steel Watch Foundry, and Shadowheart is perched casually in her little nook. Book in hand, and eyes intently focused on the printed text. She hasn't turned a single page in quite some time, though. Absolutely none of the information has reached her, and she doesn't even notice the seven feet of hulking barbarian until she's speaking out loud.

"Huh?" White locks of soft fall from her eyes as she gazes upward, her face already warm from Karlach's voice alone. "… restaurant?" Words that had initially passed right through her ears is replayed, and a dawning realization crests over her smile.

"Ah, you're serious?" Her book is quickly discarded and she's on her feet, scrambling to a stand, needing to steady herself with palms pressed to Karlach's midsection. So, so, hot, yet her skin is unharmed. The miraculous result of hard-work and an ass-load of infernal iron. "You mean — a date now? Tonight?" Oh Gods above, she'd need to get properly dressed, and fix her hair, and take several baths, and she still has that ugly bandage on her arm, and —

"You couldn't have given me more of an advanced notice? Karlach …" She's smiling, though. All bright teeth, with a silly sway to her step, she's a woman utterly entranced.

#ASKS.#FERINEHUNTRESS.#date night at olive gardennnn

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principal-of-business · 2 months

Note

Enough time has passed, despite her need to say something she doesn’t. Days go by, and she’s worked up the courage to make a move. Tara knocks gently at Schlatt’s door but is quickly gone thereafter. When he eventually goes to open it a plate of lemon italian sfogliatine sits before him. It took her days to figure out what to make, maybe she wasn’t reaching out to him but the entire time she was trying to fix things in her own way. Preparing herself to make the perfect attempt to show she cared. She researched what he liked, paid some random freshman who watched his content 20$ to confirm she was making the right choice, then spent the next few days testing and remaking batch after batch until she had finally done it. Could she have asked Ro for help? Yeah, probably. But that wasn’t the goal, SHE wanted to make this right. This was her simple gesture, not to push him but to maybe…hopefully show she cares. She was an idiot, but she cared. The note read:

I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. You didn’t deserve that, I have no excuses. I’m just incredibly sorry to have lost your trust, and friendship. I’ll give you as much time as you need… I really hope you’re okay. -T

Schlatt had spent his time mostly in his room since the events of the impromptu quad party. It was not unlike him to do that anyway, but it was even more apparent how secluded he made himself to the rest of the house. He only went in and out for classes, avoiding any contact as much as he possibly could with anyone. He had taken to drinking in his room when he finally had a stash again, day drinking on the daily by himself while he worked alone with his cats.

Of course, he didn't open the door or go to answer it when he heard the knock. He assumed it to be Rosanna honestly, trying to check in on him. Or worse, it was Finn, but he knew that he had been avoiding him too and knew better than to think he would anyway. Or even worse.... no she definitely wasn't going to try to talk to him after what he did. Honestly, he had been doing his best not to think about it all.

Why did he have to be right there when she said it? Why did she gave to say it while Finn was on the table with him?? Why did he even get so mad to the point of explosion?! It seemed like the answer was lost at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey and Schlatt was aiming to find it.

When he eventually goes to leave his room to find dinner, alcohol still hot on his breath and burning through his system, he almost misses the little pastry on the ground and was about a hair away from stepping on it. For a moment, he admittedly thought it was an attempt from Rosanna coaxing him to come out like a cat in hiding. He was ready to just walk right over it until his eyes catch the very important letter at the bottom of the note.

"T"

His brows furrow now looking down at it, fully noticing just what exactly he was looking at. A lemon ricotta pastry, one of his favorites that he didn't talk about often to anyone. He might've once mentioned it in his early streaming days, but he was surprised anyone actually knew such an intricate detail about him. It almost wigged him out staring down at it, but at his core, he was still fuming, fueled even more so with the alcohol in his system.

How dare she try to level with him in such a way.

There were so many things that ran through his head on what he could do (a very prominent one being to smash it up and leave it out for her to see it). Instead, a scoff somehow managed to escape him, a short laugh erupting while he shook his head in disbelief of it all. He finds his hands closing the door, bolting it up behind him and deciding to just order in for the night.

Why even apologize? After the spectacle he made?

Well he had to make a point.

When it all initially happened, he was surprised she even said it so closely to him it to begin with. But to assume anything about him, especially about "Rose", was what really had him riled up. She didn't even know the half of what was going on between the two of them! She didn't even know "her", or Schlatt! Or any of his business!!

He hated people making assumptions about him, that was for sure.

God the whole thing had him pissed off as he stewed over it while waiting for his food, he hadn't realized just how hard he was clutching the neck of the bottle until the mouth shattered just a bit in his hands, surprising even himself just as some of the whiskey spilled on him. He cursed loudly, lucky that his cats didn't react so harshly this time to his blow-up as he went to clean up the mess he made. There was no glass anywhere but on his hands, some blood washing down the drain as he cleaned himself up. It was then, eyes met his own in the mirror just as he went to return to the bottle, fully getting a better look at himself in the dim bathroom lighting.

A deepened scowl was worn on his face, whiskey stained at the corners of his lips with an icey glare in his tired eyes.

....Why did he even care so much?

It wasn't like she was talking about Finn...

.....And a pastry really sounded good right now while drunk...

He sighed to himself, heavy steps stumbling out of the bathroom back over to the door and slowly unlocking all the bolts to open it again. By the time his eyes adjust to the sight below him, the pit of his stomach tightened in disgust.

There on the ground, a tiny trail of ants had already taken the creamy pastry hostage, crowding around it and trailing away with bits of the breading.

He rolled his eyes at himself, palming his forehead and trying not to gag while he stared down at it.

Of fucking course.

As if right on queue, a notification buzzed on his phone that his order had arrived and was waiting out front for him. With a heavy sigh, he stashed the untouched note into his pocket and picked up the plate to take outside with him as he got his food, tossing the whole thing into the dumpster before he headed straight back into his room for the rest of the night.

Divine Judgement, he guessed.

#tara #closed #it kinda turned into this bestie and I'm sorry

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yeli-renrong · 1 year

Text

When Ken Hale sent the Jabugay tape, he'd urged me to try to find aspeaker of Barbaram, the apparently aberrant language that Lizzie Simmons had declined to speak to us. Certainly Dyirbal and Jabugay had very normal Australian grammar and vocabulary, not radically different from the Western Desert language, almost two thousand miles away. But from the few words that Norman Tindale had published of Barbaram, that language looked really different.

People at Mareeba had mentioned Albert Bennett, at Petford, and early one Sunday morning I set out to try to locate him. I followed the winding bitumen road through Mareeba to Dimbulah, a small Italian-dominated town whose main crop was tobacco, usually with a few fields of marijuana hidden away round the back. From there it became a faint sandy track with no signposts at all. ...

Albert was an oldish, square-framed man with curly grey hair. He was sitting stolidly on a bench just outside his open front door. I introduced myself, but he really wasn't very interested. He didn't remember any Barbaram language, but who'd want it anyway? What good was it?

Now Stephen Wurm had prepared me for questions of this sort. Don't talk about universities, Wurm had said, they won't know what they are. Tell them you come from the museum in Canberra. Everyone knows what museums are, and everyone thinks they are good things. Say you want to put their language in the museum because it's something important. So that it can be preserved - one day their grandchildren can come and listen to it, and see how the old people spoke.

I tried this line on Albert Bennett and he seemed to soften a little. But he still sat quietly chewing on a piece of grass, on the end of the wooden bench, just in the shade. I stood in the sun and hoped. Finally he volunteered a word.

"You know what we call 'dog'?" he asked. I waited anxiously. "We call it dog." My heart sank - he'd pronounced it just like the English word, except that the fInal g was forcefully released. I wrote it down anyway. ...

Barbaram was still a major priority. Following Albert Bennett's suggestion, I'd located Mick Burns, living with his daughter's family in a house on tall stilts at the south end of Edmonton. He was a tall, light-skinned man, very old. He hadn't thought about his language in years, and didn't think he could help me. But I persisted, mentioned a few of the words Albert had given, and he grudgingly thought a bit. Mick Burns sat on the top step, leaning against the door frame, and I squatted on the step below. He remembered twenty-seven words. ... When I did go back the next week, he declined to talk at all. He'd done a bit of thinking, he said, and could remember nothing else. I'd have to go back to Albert.

At her suggestion, I had telephoned Mrs McGrath and asked her to pass on a message to Albert about when I was planning to come, so that he wouldn't go out fishing. Albert seemed quite happy - if not pleased - to see me, and made room for me to sit on the bench with him, out of the sun.

"I don't think I can help you much more ," he said, when I told him about Mick. "I did remember three more words, but I can't think of them now. Oh, heck." ...

Four years later, when I was spending a year at Harvard and first met Ken Hale, he pointed out that the e and o had developed in Mbabaram in the same sort of way as in some languages he had worked on from further up the Cape York Peninsula. An a in the second syllable of a word had become o if the word had originally begun with g. So from guwa "west", Mbabaram had derived wo. We were sitting on a beach near Gloucester, Massachusetts one Sunday in September when Ken suddenly saw the etymology for dog "dog". It came from an original gudaga, which is still the word for dog in Yidin (Dyirbal has shortened it to guda). The initial g would have raised the a in the second syllable to o, the initial ga dropped and so did the final a (another common change in the development of Mbabaram). Ergo, gudaga became dog - a one in a million accidental similarity of form and meaning in two unrelated languages. It was because this was such an interesting coincidence, that Albert Bennett had thought of it as the first word to give me.

R. M. W. Dixon, Memoirs of a Field Worker

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harleybeaumont · 1 year

Text

Mardi Gras Mayhem : Chapter 10 - Tariq

Series: Mardi Gras Mayhem (click to read each one in order!)

Fandom: TRR

Pairings: none, this is a guy’s weekend

Summary: The TRR lads celebrate Maxwell’s 21st birthday in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Synopsis: Tariq stumbles into a whole new world and undergoes an unexpected transformation.

Word Count: 1,990

Rating: MA

Warning: language, sexual innuendo

This is part of a collaboration written for @choicesprompts March 2023 prompt.

Chapter 10 - Tariq

Although he was initially surprised to be invited to Maxwell’s 21st birthday party in New Orleans, Tariq was excited. He may not have much time for friends these days, what with secretly getting his degree in fashion designing, but he still enjoyed the company of his old friends. Although the clothing Maxwell chose left much to be desired. As much as it pained him, he reluctantly put on the bright purple mardi gras suit made of the most ghastly polyester blend he had ever encountered, and the t-shirt bearing the words ‘Thick thighs, Mardi Gras vibes’.

Tariq was certain that he didn’t have ‘thick thighs’ but he knew better than to argue with an overenthusiastic Lord Beaumont. At least he could wear his best footwear and maintain some sort of fashionable appearance despite the clown suit.

Tariq stayed toward the back of the group as they made their way down the colorful streets, his eyes wide as they took in the most over the top drunken bacchanalia he had ever witnessed. Suddenly he was bumped quite forcefully into a woman wearing a mesh crop top, causing his hand to graze her breast. He gasped in horror, “Oh, my.. I apologize, my lady!”

The woman steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, “Whoa there!” Thinking he was about to be slapped, Tariq raised his arms defensively, but the woman only laughed. “If you wanted a feel, cutie, all you had to do was ask!”

Tariq felt his face turn scarlet as he stammered, “a.. a f-feel?”

The woman and her whole group of friends laughed at him as they walked away, and Tariq turned to Neville wide eyed. “Where are we?!”

Neville turned his nose up and dusted off his jacket which was equally as hideous and colorful as the rest of the groups. “I told you coming to this ghastly city was a bad idea. We could be having tea with the Earl of Descoti right now, but no!” Neville poked his finger into Tariq’s shoulder. “You had to be sentimental over our old ‘friendships’ and go along with this tasteless frivolity.”

“Right,” Tariq sighed. It hadn’t been truly difficult to convince Neville to accept Maxwell’s invitation once he heard that the princes would be in attendance. Neville never missed an opportunity to suck up to the royal family.

Tariq winced as he stepped over a mysterious puddle, not wanting to ruin his favorite Italian leather oxford shoes. “Well, we should at least attempt to enjoy ourselves while we’re here.. Make the most of it.”

Neville scoffed, “As difficult as that will be in the presence of low-born, common-.” He sneered at a couple who was sitting on the curb counting their beads. “-scum.”

Tariq had had enough of Neville. That pretentious asshole was bound to be punched in the face by someone on this trip and Tariq didn’t want to be associated with him. It was no secret that he wasn’t fond of Neville.. Hell, he didn’t know a soul who was.

Tariq jogged ahead a bit and caught up to Maxwell who was grinning like a kid in a candy store. “So are you enjoying your birthday so far?”

Max slung an arm around Tariq, “Hell ya, baby! This is gonna be the best night ever! And I’m so glad you decided to come with us!”

Tariq felt a warmth growing inside his chest. Maxwell was actually happy to have him there? He didn’t just invite him as an obligation? “I’m.. glad I came too,” Tariq smiled.

Just then a stampede of people charged through the middle of their group! Tariq jumped back, trying and failing to avoid the bare breasts which were more or less thrust into his face. “Oh dear.. Pardon me.. Oh my..” He was pushed out of the way and by the time the herd dispersed he found himself down the street without a familiar face in sight. “Oh no.. oh no no no..” He frantically scanned the area around him but through the hundreds of faces he saw, not one belonged to his friends.

Don't panic. He took out his phone and dialed each of his friends.. No answer from Maxwell, Liam, Leo, Drake, Rashad, or Bertrand.. His finger hovered over Nevilles number, but Tariq shook his head and pocketed the phone instead. He’d rather be alone than with Neville.

He walked along for a bit, trying to find somewhere safe to sit for a while and wait. Surely after a while his party would notice he was gone and call him back. He heard loud cheering from a building ahead and smiled as he realized where he was- right across the street from The Golden Lantern! He had somehow made it to their rendezvous location! Sure, he was a few hours early, but at least he could sit and wait somewhere where he knew they’d find him.

The inside of the bar was just as colorful and festive as the streets of the parade. Tariq slipped into the only empty table across from a stage. There he settled in, preparing for a long, long wait. A waitress with a shimmering red dress and a tall updo made her way over to his table with a grin.

“What can I get you to drink, sugar?”

Tariq chuckled nervously. Everyone here was so forward and he didn’t know how to handle it. “I, uh.. I’m not sure.”

She sat down at his table and batted her long eyelashes at him. “Are you alone tonight?”

“Well.. my friends are supposed to meet me here later. So I’m just waiting for them.”

She gave him a long, intense look that caused Tariq to blush and look away. “Sorry for staring,” the waitress chuckled deeply. “Your bone structure is just.. stunning.”

Tariq met her gaze with a shy smile. “It is?”

“Of course! Have you ever thought of performing?”

“Performing?”

She looked around and called another waitress over. “Rosy! Get over here!”

Rosy flounced over in a purple sequined dress placing her hands on her hips. “What is it, Coco?”

Tariq eyed Rosy’s silver high heeled shoes in awe. He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, but are those this season’s Manolo crystal ankle slingback pumps?”

Rosy and Coco’s jaws dropped simultaneously, and the latter spoke. “I knew this boy had something special about him! Not only is he stunningly gorgeous, but he also knows fashion!?”

Tariq had never been more confused and flattered in his life. “Well.. I am actually working on a fashion degree and I have a certain affinity for designer shoes, so-”

“You treasure!” Rosy pulled Tariq up, clasping his cheeks in her gloved hands. “We have to get you backstage! He needs to meet Mystique!”

As he was escorted away from the safety of his table and led through a door labeled ‘employees only’, he found himself in a sea of sparkling dresses on hangers, feather boas, high heeled shoes, wigs, and vanities well stocked with various shades of makeup. He felt like he was backstage at a fashion show. It was beautiful.

“Ladies! Get out here!” Coco called out and several half dressed women emerged into the room.

“Oh dear! I’m so sorry!” Tariq covered his eyes and spun around, mortified. He had witnessed more nudity on this trip than he had ever seen in his life!

“What do we have here?” A deep voice asked curiously and Tariq lowered his hands. When he looked at the person in front of him he saw a six foot tall woman with broad shoulders, makeup, a wig cap, and a gold dress. To the left of them, a man was changing out of a button up shirt and into a rainbow halter top.

For the first time since he arrived, Tariq noticed how tall the waitresses on either side of him were. The more he looked around, the more he realized how tall everyone in the dressing room was.

“Oh dear,” Rosy chuckled. “I think he just now figured it out!”

Tariq looked around, feeling embarrassed by his naivety. "This is a.. a..”

“A drag show, honey!” Coco laughed.

The others chuckled and Tariq couldn’t help but join them. “Oh my.. I’m sorry I didn’t realize! You’re all just so stunning and gorgeous and-” He stopped and blushed. It wasn’t like him to give compliments and speak so freely.

“Well you are a charmer. And that accent!” A lady in a blue feather crown stepped forward.

“Mystique, we found this little cutie at a table alone. He knows his fashion and I think he would be the perfect stand in for Honey Bee tonight.”

Mystique gently took hold of Tariqs chin and tilted his head side to side before breaking into a wide sparkling grin. “I think you’re right.”

____________________________________________________________

Before Tariq even realized what was happening, he found himself seated in front of a vanity mirror. The drag queens showered him with makeup and compliments alike, and he couldn’t bring himself to protest. He had never thought about dressing in drag before, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, once he saw himself in the mirror.. He liked it.

He looked gorgeous! His eyebrows were on fleek, his lips were plump, his cheekbones were higher than the Eiffel Tower, his jawline could cut glass! When Mystique placed the long auburn wig on his head and helped him into the floral mini dress, he felt like a new person! He had never felt confidence like he did in that very moment and he couldn't help but tear up.

Mystique grabbed a tissue and quickly blotted his eyes. “Don't cry honey! You’ll ruin your makeup!”

“Sorry,” Tariq sniffled. “I just..”

“It’s ok,” she smiled. “I understand. You’re divine! Now you need a stage name..”

________________________________________________

Tariq stood just offstage with Mystique and Lulu on either side of him, preparing to go out into the spotlight. What was he even doing? Tonight felt like a dream, but he had never felt more alive. The upbeat, pop music started and the announcer spoke into the microphone. “This one is for all the ladies out there who just wanna have fun!”

Tariq tried to calm his breathing. He only had an hour prior to get made over, practice dancing in heels, and rehearse a short routine! He didn't want to get out there and make a fool of himself!

The announcer spoke again, “Put your hands together for Mystique, Little Lulu, and our newcomer, Miss Manolo!”

The three of them filed onto the stage and Tariq froze. There were dozens of patrons in the bar cheering and clapping for them. Mystique leaned in and whispered in his ear, “you got this girl! Work those Manolos!”

Tariq felt a thrill go through him and suddenly he was transformed from mild mannered Lord Tariq to the audacious Miss Manolo. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun blasted over the speakers and he completely owned that stage! Working his hips, he spun, shimmied, and even did a bit of twerking. This was the most fun he had ever had in his entire life. Maxwell was right- this had been the best night ever!

Oh no.. Maxwell and the rest of his friends! He suddenly remembered they were all supposed to meet at this location very soon. He needed to get backstage and change before they saw him!

But then again..

There was no way they’d recognize him. And the other ladies had worked so hard to get him ready for the show. And damn it all, he was having FUN for once in his life! No, he wasn’t done enjoying this. He followed Mystique and Lulu as they made their way off stage and into the crowd. Tariq was surprised to find gentlemen and ladies alike thrusting dollar bills at him. They really liked him! He continued to dance and work the crowd without a care in the world.

#mardi gras mayhem #trr fanfic #trr #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #tariq #trr tariq

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capybaraonabicycle · 2 years

Text

Lavender's blue (Mels Zucker x Reader)

I finally wrote something fluffy for Mels!

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Words: ~ 5,700

Warnings: Some illegal activity (theft and trespassing and there is a short scene in a prison cell) and some light innuendo, descriptions of knife-like objects as weapons but no one is attacked, also non-sexual sensory deprivation

Summary: It is almost the end of the last year of school. History class is covering the Roman invasion of Britain. Spirits are high. The reader loves Mels, Mels loves the reader. They go on a (slightly illegal) date.

read on ao3

Amy was walking next to you, a spring in her step, her voice brimming with busy determination.

“Rory has agreed to wear the soldier costume” she said “So we just need you to spruce up that text on roman gender roles and someone to make Mels finish - or rather start - her take on weaponry. Then there is no way Kaylee's stupid presentation will beat ours.”

“Hey, there is plenty of spruce in my text already!” you complained automatically.

“That is not a thing” Amy rolled her eyes at you. “And: No there isn't. You literally copied two lines out the textbook about how women were more likely to take care of the household, teach children and weren't allowed to vote. There is nothing spruced up about that.”

She might have had a point. If you were being honest, you weren't entirely sure what your text snippet had covered. During the lesson you had only half-heartedly been working on it - way more interested in Mels' jokes about roman orgies than your assignment. Way more interested in Mels than history lesson, period. Contrary to Amy, who for some reason had been excited by the prospect of yet another 'end-of-year-extra-credit-how-do-I-keep-my-pupils-occupied'-presentation project, this time on the roman empire, or roman life and culture in your case.

But you were nothing if not a good friend - and slightly terrified of Amy's wrath- so you graciously agreed: “Fine. I will write you a piece about how Romans already performed full body Brazilians if that's what you want, Pond.”

“See: That line is gold” Amy nodded with satisfaction. “Keep that in.”

“Why is this so important to you anyway?” you asked. You had thought you were all on the same page about history taught by Mr. Hilbert: It was necessary to be passed for your nearing A-levels, but that was about the amount of effort it was worth. Rory still studied and helped you all to get through, but neither one of Amy, Mels or you had ever been paying a lot of attention to it. And when it came to you, you were very okay to spend the time you got for the project flirting with Mels.

“It's the first topic in history class that interests me: Invasion of the Hot Italians!” Amy explained with great flourish and a wicked smile.

“Is that the title of our presentation?”

Amy beamed. “You bet it is.”

You chuckled, fully convinced now to invest yourself in the project if brought her that much joy.

“Fine, I promise to make an effort” you said, remembering something you had read the other day. “As long as you allow me to put in a bit on transgender Romans? There was this really interesting article in National Geographic.”

Amy stopped suddenly, grabbing your shoulders and staring at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N. That. Would. Be. Perfect” she said, stressing each word individually. “And if you could get Mels to hand in something?”

That was a bit more of a difficult request.

“I’m not sure I can do that” you admitted. “But I promise I will do my very best to convince her to take the 'Julius Caesar was not stabbed earlier because the Doctor wasn't there to initiate it' line out.”

Mr. Hilbert had given you a flowchart for the project and Mels only contribution had been to immediately write down something along those lines. When Amy had tried to throw the sheet away and ask for a new one, she had been denied, so for now her imaginary childhood friend was still part of the presentation.

Amy grimaced. At least she seemed more amused by Mels’ antiques now than during the lesson. “Wasn't it 'Julius Caesar died because the Doctor didn't save him'?”

“Not sure” you frowned in concentration, trying to recall the flowchart. “But I believe Mels should be in favour of the empire crumbling? She is very anti-autocrative figures.”

“Didn't she have a thing for Cleopatra though?” Amy asked but you just shrugged.

“Just another reason to wish Caesar gone.”

You had reached the crossing where you would normally split up and stopped idly, not ready to say goodbye yet.

Amy wrung her hands. “Well, it would be great if the Doctor did not make an appearance in my- uh our presentation.”

“I'll try my best” you promised again.

“I'm sure she'll listen to you” Amy nodded optimistically. “She loves you.”

You felt yourself smile. “She does, doesn't she?”

It was all new, you and Mels. Barely three weeks ago, she had suddenly taken the first step and asked you out. Three weeks that you had spent with nothing else than making googly eyes at each other as Amy liked to point out. You didn’t care that she was mocking you, you were too happy. Having been crushing on Mels for literal years the current state still felt acutely like a dream come true.

Amy snorted good-naturedly. “To a fault. Hey, I bet you two'll be voted 'endgame couple' in the yearbook.”

Saying that she elbowed you lightly as if she was letting you in on a secret. You however could only raise an eyebrow sceptically.

“We will not. We're way too unpopular in school” you argued.

Amy shrugged. “Well, Rory and I have voted for you.”

“Shouldn't you vote for yourselves?” It was out before you could hold yourself back. You bit your tongue, silently cursing your faulty impulse control and praying Amy would overhear your slip up. As much as you shared Mels conviction that your friends were meant for each other, you didn’t want to meddle. Unfortunately, Amy was not heading your voiceless plea.

“What do you mean?” she asked with a frown.

“Nothing” you hurried to say. “Forget I said anything…So I will get home I guess and work on roman gender roles, see you tomorrow?”

Okay, maybe you were just trying to get out of the conversation. But you really should be getting home, too, if only because Mels had been calling your landline every night for the last weeks and you were hoping it would be the same today.

“Alright” Amy agreed, hugging you tightly. “Take care, Y/N.”

“You too” you grinned, waving before turning to make your way home.

Having barely taken ten steps down the street, you recognised a familiar figure squatting on top of a little garden wall on your side of the road. You reckoned normal people would be a bit disturbed if their girlfriend – who had stayed behind at school and was supposed to be having a Spanish period right now – snuck past them and their friend on their way home to wait until said friend had left and greet them as a slightly threatening, ominous figure on a garden wall, playing with a fidget spinner they had transformed into a shuriken nonetheless. But then, normal people probably wouldn’t date Mels.

In any case, the feeling flooding your stomach at her sight was far from unease and a whole lot more pleasant.

“Mels!” you greeted her, beaming. “Good to see you. Amy has just given me the very strict instruction to make you work on the presentation.”

She smirked, pocketing the shuriken.

“That would not be half as exciting as what I have planned.” She jumped down from the wall and strolled towards you, reaching for your hand. “I want to take you on a date tonight.”

“But you can't tell Amy or Rory anything” she added hurriedly, intertwining your fingers and looking searchingly into your eyes. “Promise?”

You guessed her hesitation to inform your friends wouldn’t have anything to do with the presentation. Mels was usually very upfront about not caring about school, even when Amy, Rory and you did. You frowned thoughtfully.

“That sounds moderately concerning” you admitted. “How illegal are we talking?”

Mels chuckled. “It's not... more illegal than usual.”

“Why are you so insistent I don't tell them then?” you asked, reaching out with your free hand to caress Mels’ cheek. Like always, she immediately leaned into the touch.

“It's just something I am not ready to share yet” she said quietly and you got the feeling that she was uncharacteristically coy about it, shy almost. Whatever it was, Mels seemed to not be sure about it, as unbelievable as that sounded. And still she was inviting you, trusting you.

You bit your lip. “But you’re sharing it with me?”

“Yeah...” she pulled a face and lightly hit your front. “Don't you dare go all soppy on me now!”

You couldn’t help it, you had to take her face into your hands and kiss her. When you pulled back, she looked incredulous, like she couldn’t quite believe she deserved this. It was not the first time you had seen this expression on her but she kept insisting, it didn’t mean what you thought it did. Well, you had decided you would just make sure to make her feel like she did deserve you with all your might.

“Promise, you won’t get us into trouble this time?” you asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

“How dull would that be?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Promise me then you won’t push me into a sewer again?”

“A sewer?!” Mels eyes widened in mock exasperation. “Honey, I pushed you into the canal! There is a difference, thank you very much.”

“You pushed me right next to a pipe that looked suspiciously sewer-y” you pointed out. “And have you seen Leadworth’s canal? My sneakers still smell like a dog who rolled in a freshly-fertilised field.”

“Did save you from getting arrested” Mels mused, way too satisfied with herself and you felt the strong urge to kiss that smug smile from her face.

Instead, you flicked one of her braids teasingly. “So, what? You want me to thank you now?”

She considered you for a moment, definitely more for show than anything (she had to know what it did to your heart when she looked at you this intently). Then she shook her head slowly.

“No” she said with that slightly deeper voice that never failed to make your legs feel like jelly. “I want you to thank me tonight. On our date.”

She cradled your hand in hers again, then glanced up at you through her lashes. “Deal?”

It would be so easy to give in. Too easy.

“I still haven’t agreed I owe you thanks” you managed to say, even though it came out rather hoarsely.

Mels smirked at the way your breathing had acquired a ragged undertone, caressing your throat lightly with the back of her free hand. You held your breath. She chuckled. “Haven’t you?”

You burst out laughing, partly at her arrogance, partly out of nervousness, and slapped her hand away. “You are incorrigible!”

“I know” Mels agreed without a hint of shame. “It’s why you love me.”

She had said it light-heartedly, considered it a joke, probably. But your mood switched instantly.

“It is” you confirmed earnestly. “Among other things.”

Mels froze, a fearful expression flickering over her face, so quickly you almost missed it. But when she forced back a smile onto her lips and cheerful cheek into her voice, neither of those pretends were convincing anymore. “Didn’t I tell you not to get soppy?”

It puzzled you, how it seemed so hard for her to accept your love when she kept demanding it freely.

“Maybe, I am incorrigible, too” you said softly, and Mels gulped. Then a tentative hope crept into her eyes.

“Seems, like we make quite a team” she offered.

“Seems like it” you agreed, pressing her hand.

Mels cleared her throat and let go of your hand, suddenly in a hurry to put some distance between you.

“I need to go” she announced. “But I will pick you up at eight. Don’t leave me waiting!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” you promised.

“You’d better not” she grinned, “’cause I’ll be bringing sickles.”

“’Sickles’?” you repeated, confused, but Mels just blew you a kiss, waved and skipped away.

You chuckled quietly to yourself. Well, it was not the first weird weapon she had used to threaten you with, and you guessed it would not be the last. But whatever kind of date she had planned, you knew you were in for an adventurous evening.

Mels picked you up exactly at eight, punctual on the second as she always was when she wanted to be. She did not greet you with a sickle or shuriken but a silky blindfold. Your teasing remarks ignoring she made sure it was fasted securely before helping you onto her motorcycle. It was thrilling, riding through the complete darkness, the wind howling around the thick helmet and the roaring of the engine deafening you so that your grip on her leather jacket remained the only sense anchoring you to reality. When you stopped after an immeasurable time period and had taken off the helmet, your hands immediately reached up to undo the blind fold. However, Mels’ gentle touch on your wrist held you back.

“Wait a moment, darling” she whispered. “Let me surprise you.”

She helped you off the motor cycle onto mushy ground. Something tickled your ankle and you jumped.

“Where are we?” you whispered, grabbing onto Mels’ arm so as not to lose your balance. She wrapped the other one around your waist, pulling you close.

“You’ll see” she hummed close to your ear and you rolled your eyes.

“I swear, if you trying to surprise me will land me in the ER…” you murmured while you started moving on unsteady feet. There were quite a lot of things at ankle to knee height and some of them were rather prickly. You assumed you were walking through a forest. The cracking of things under your feet and quiet sounds of owls, wind rustling leaves and a faraway highway were backing up that theory.

“Oh, shut up, you are loving this” Mels huffed and you couldn’t suppress a grin.

“It is a tad more exciting than ‘Netflix and Chill’, yes” you admitted and she hummed non-committally.

“Then again, we have never done ‘Netflix and Chill’ before” she argued. “Might turn out to be loads of excitement with me.”

You sighed and almost surprised yourself by how dreamily it sounded. “I bet you could turn even ‘Netflix and Chill’ into a dangerous car chase with a questioningly legal side quest.”

“You know I take that as a challenge” Mels chuckled and you conceded:

“I would expect nothing less, dear.”

“Okay, here we are” Mels stopped you with her palm against your stomach. “Hang on a second.”

Her arms left you and you heard her rummage through her backpack. Then she pressed something heavy with a wooden base into your hand.

“Careful with that” she breathed, then went to untie the blindfold. You knew her well enough to heed that advise. So you did not dare to move your arms before you could see what you were holding.

It was a sickle; an old, rusty sickle with a serrated, curved blade that shimmered dimly in the feeble light. You gulped.

“Mels?” you choked out. “What is this?!”

“I told you I was bringing sickles” she shrugged and when you looked at her, you saw that she was holding one of her own. You couldn’t make out her features properly but assumed she was sporting an amused expression at your shock. Her voice sounded entertained at least.

“Relax!” she told you, reaching for your free hand. “We're not killing anyone... Or anything.”

“Ideally” she added as an afterthought and your slightly settled heart jumped into your throat again.

“Ideally?!” you shrieked.

“Sorry, context:” Mels coughed, pressing your hand reassuringly. “We're using the sickles to harvest.”

She used her sickle to gesture before her. You were standing next to an open field of knee-high plants, as you realised now. “And if we do it right, we won't kill the plants. That's all. No murder involved…this time.”

“Are you taking me on a foraging date?” you asked, slowly catching up.

“Nah, we're stealing from a farm” she grinned. “But same thing, I guess.”

“Aw, Mels!” Now this was just sweet. And a lot more your thing than any other possible activity involving sickles. At least so you hoped.

Mels voice suddenly turned sharp. “If you laugh, I will break up with you. I'm not even kidding.”

“I would never laugh at you” you promised. “And definitely not when you are holding a sharp sickle.”

“Good call.”

Mels lead you onto the field that turned out to consist entirely of lavender plants. She took out a white canvas, spreading it in between two rows of lavenders and gesturing for you to sit down on top. Then she carefully explained to you how to cut the stems, making sure you understood where to grab the flowers and how to hold the sickle as not to cut yourself. It looked very easy when she did it but your first tries turned out rather clumsy. Still, you immediately felt the calming effect of the activity. The feeling of the hard and delicate stems in your hand, the pervasive smell of lavender in the air, the silence of the rural night, the repetitive movements, Mels’ familiar presence at your side as she cut the stems with deadly precision.

“You are scary good at this” you remarked, a little rueful for disturbing the silence.

“Well” Mels mused, glancing at you without faltering in her swift movements. “It's not so different from decapitating goons. As you know I'm a secret superhero, so I've had practice. I would tell you more but then I'd have to kill you with this sickle. Like I did with Andrew and Sabrina yesterday.”

“I know you are joking but at least half of our class actually believes stuff like that” you said, stopping in your work to admire her skill instead. “And I'm still undecided which side I'm on.”

“My side, I hope.” Mels gathered a larger bundle of flowers, expertly fastening them together with a hair tie.

“Always” you smiled. You went to cut the next handful, but stopped again, looking back at her. “Why are you really this good at lavender harvesting, then?”

She shrugged. “I've come here before, watched the other patrons pay horrendous amounts of money to be allowed to do this. But they got shown how to cut the stems, so now I know it too. And then I stole some sickles and practiced on my own at night.”

Her voice turned teasing again. “All so I could impress you with my skills.”

Well, she had definitely excelled at the impressing part. Or maybe that was just her and you would be impressed by anything she did. Now, that was a thought too embarrassing to bring up in the middle of a field.

“I would never have guessed you were into farming” you said instead. “But it suits you. I like it.”

“I guess I've found it rewarding to do stuff with my hands” she admitted. “And calming somehow. To concentrate on a simple task. And then have something beautiful in the end. There's something to it.”

You knew exactly what she meant, but before you could say so, Mels shook her head.

“I don't know” she huffed. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It really doesn't” you asserted, tapping lightly against her side. “Hey, maybe you could do something like this after we've finished school!”

She stopped, the sickle resting on the stems. She looked at you, then back at her hands.

“I have honestly been thinking about that” she said quietly. “Don't laugh, but-“

She stopped herself again and you reached out to touch her arm. “You know I would never.”

Mels breathed out loudly. “I've thought about studying archaeology.”

You blinked. “Archaeology? I can actually picture it.”

“Yeah, you into that?” Mels chuckled and that low and flirty tone was back in her voice, chasing the precious vulnerability away.

“You as Indiana Jones?” you asked, suppressing a shiver that the mental image sent down your spine. “Definitely.”

She hummed contentedly and continued cutting the plants. “Well now I have to do it.”

You smiled, but couldn’t let the subject drop before she knew how earnest you were in supporting her.

“Seriously though Mels” you reaffirmed. “I think, it's a great idea.”

“Hm” she shrugged “Well it's not gonna happen anyway. But it's fun to dream sometimes.”

“Of course, it can happen” you insisted. “You just have to make a little effort and you will sail through the A-levels. You are incredibly smart, Mels.”

“Is that your pitch to make me work on Amy's presentation?” she laughed too brightly. “Nicely played.”

“No, I am serious” you tried again. “I really believe- ”

“Come on, you've got to look at that sky!”

Mels suddenly dropped her sickle, throwing herself at you and toppling you over. Your sickle fell out of your hands too and you were lucky neither of you got injured. Mels came to lay on your chest but she didn’t give you an opportunity to recover, her lips hungrily claiming yours. Your eyes closed of their own accord, your hands wandered into her hair and then you found yourself sighing into her mouth while you enjoyed the feeling of her weight pressing you into the soft, canvas covered grass, grounding you. After a while, she pulled back, her smile hovering a few centimetres above you.

“I thought I should be looking at the sky” you said hoarsely.

Mels chuckled, her eyes never allowing yours to stray away. “Aren't you?”

You snorted. “You are so conceited.”

“You love it.”

She pressed another soft kiss to your lips, then she rolled off you and climbed into the next row between lavender bushes. With a sigh she let herself fall onto her back, disappearing behind the plants. Something shuffled through the leaves towards you and you had almost shied away when you realised it was her hand, searching for yours. You intertwined your fingers, your gaze finally straying to the sky. It was very clear and millions of stars were twinkling down at you. Mels had been right, it was quite a sight.

Your caressed the back of her hand with your thumb and pleaded: “Explain the constellations to me again?”

“Alright” Mels agreed. Her voice was very clear, as if she was right next to you and not separated by the bushes. “You seeing Ursa Major?”

“Hang on...” you scanned the sky. “Yeah, found it.”

“Well done” Mels praised and you bit your lip. “So, if you follow the axis in the back upwards then...”

“I get to the north star” you remembered proudly. “Found that one too.”

“You seeing the Orion Belt as well?”

“Was that the one that looks like a W?” You had to admit the memories of Mels last lesson on astronomy were rather vague from this point forth.

“No, that's the Cassiopeia” Mels corrected patiently. “The Orion Belt are three bright stars in a line, Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka.”

You scanned the sky but quickly decided that you did not know which stars she meant. “I can't find them.”

“That's because at this time of night they are only visible later in autumn” she explained.

“Mels!” you complained, reaching over with your free hand to slap her arm playfully.

“I'm sorry” she said, sounding not sorry at all. “But Cassiopeia is there, can you see her?”

“Yeah” you smiled, tracing the slightly skewed ‘W’ with your eyes.

Mels continued explaining constellations to you, letting you search for them and making sure you had found the right one before moving on. You reached for one of the bouquets you had created from the lavender, smelling the little buds and picking at broken stems while you listened. Her hand in yours was warm, her voice dancing through the air, almost making you believe the stars were only shining for the two of you tonight.

“They are so beautiful” you murmured after Mels had drawn out the Swan’s flight along the milky way for you. She hummed in agreement.

“Imagine if you are travelling through space” she mused, “they will look differently all the time because you are changing your position relative to the stars. You can't even use star signs to navigate. Nor the cardinal directions, obviously.”

“I've never thought about that” you admitted, impressed.

“I have” Mels said. “Loads. Imagine if you are also traveling in time, the stars will keep rotating and exchanging places. How would you begin to know where you are? You get dizzy even thinking about it.”

Oh. Now that sounded familiar.

“Is this about the Doctor again?” you asked.

Mels didn’t even seem to have heard you. “He must have some sort of inner compass. Something that always tells him exactly where and when he is. Or at least his ship must have it. Otherwise, he'd constantly be lost.”

She chuckled but it sounded petty. “Maybe he is.”

“Mels...” you started, unsure, what to say. You still didn’t know why she was so hung up on Amy’s imaginary childhood friend. Especially since Amy herself preferred not to speak about him.

“I think I might have it as well” she continued, still ignoring you. “A feeling for it all. It feels like it's dormant, but if I could just concentrate enough, I could feel it. All that time. All that space. The gravity pulling it all into order.”

It seemed to you as if she believed in those ideas. More strongly than in possibilities of studying archaeology at least.

“Do you think there is a difference between gravity and love?” she asked and despite yourself you smiled. Because after all, why not? Why shouldn’t you call that pull you felt towards her ‘gravity’?

“Right now?” you asked. “No.”

“Me neither.”

Mels pulled at your hand and then she suddenly emerged over the lavender blossoms again. She climbed back on top of you, sitting up and looking at the sky. Her eyes were shimmering like the stars themselves were reflected in them. She looked down at you and her hands reached out for your face, as if on instinct. No, not for your face, for your temples. For some reason you got the strangest feeling, like something important would happen once she touched you. Your breath caught in your throat.

Suddenly, Mels froze, her hands hovering in the air. She jumped, covered slightly and looked around. And then you could hear it, too. Barking. A voice. A faint light flickered over the top of Mels head, only a second. A flashlight.

“The farmer” you whispered in unison.

Mels wide eyes caught yours again and both of you burst out giggling. The voice grew louder, the barking closer, you started hearing heavy steps. The flashlight flickered your way again, your heartbeat picked up.

“I knew, this was going to end this way” you snickered, while Mels pulled you up and you hurried to gather canvas, lavender bouquets and sickles in your arms while never letting go of the other’s hand. “It always does with you.”

“Oh, shut up, honey” Mels snorted, pulling you away from the dark, harsh silhouettes blustering your way. “Shut up and run.”

“Do you remember our lavender date?” River asked you one night.

You were lying together on the cot in her cell. Which meant you were mostly lying on top of your wife, as the small frame barely admitted one person. River was right, Stormcage could definitely improve its hospitality for visitors. Strange, it was almost as if they didn’t plan for overnight stays of spouses.

Your head had been resting on her belly, your hand drawing lazy patterns onto the skin where her shirt had ridden up. But now you raised to your elbow, squinting up at her.

“Of course,” you said. “It was the first time you told me you were becoming an archaeologist.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You remember that?”

“Yeah” you nodded. “It was the first time you talked about your future in a positive way. It gave me hope.”

The right corner of your mouth twitched cheekily as you added: “Also, I might have a thing for archaeologists.”

She laughed and the sound vibrated against your chest. “I'm sure you do, Love.”

“I even kept my bouquet” you said. “Dried it and hung it up. It's on the wall in my TARDIS room now, actually. I liked looking at it and imagining you – Mels, I mean - could come travel with us during those first days.”

She smiled. “I made mine into a moth pillow. Well, I had Dad make it into one. I'm not too skilled with a sewing machine.”

“Don't remind me” you groaned. “I am still mourning that top.”

“Would you like to go back?” River asked, reaching out to caress your cheek.

“To you trying to fix my clothes?” you frowned. “Darling, I mean this the nicest way but I won't ever let you near my clothes again when you are holding yarn and needles.”

She rolled her eyes, slapping your cheek lightly.

“To the lavender field” she clarified. “To the night of our date.”

“Crossing our own timestreams you mean?” you teased.

She shrugged innocently with one shoulder. “I'm not telling the husband if you aren't.”

“You're a very bad girl, River Song” you smirked.

“Only for you” she purred. You knew she was aware you had always been unable to resist that voice. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Ten minutes and one ride via vortex manipulator later you were watching your younger selves flee their scene of crime hand in hand. You distantly remembered thinking that you might get Mels to work on the presentation with you after all while disappearing into the forest. You had been very wrong.

“You know you saved me back then?” River asked, interrupting your reminiscing. “Probably saved the Doctor, too, come to think of it.”

“I didn't do anything?” you wondered, leaning into her and resting your head on her shoulder. “And I remember precisely that you saved yourself and him. And countless other people since then.”

She slung an arm around your waist and you remembered how Mels had also loved to do that back in the day.

“You loved me” River said, “when I was convinced, I could never be loved. Not by my parents, not by Kovarian, definitely not by the Doctor. Not even by myself. You showed me that there was good in this world. Even for someone like me.”

“Amy and Rory loved you too!” you insisted, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “Very much.”

“But they didn't know me” she argued. “They didn't know who I was.”

“Neither did I?”

“Yes, you did” she said. “You loved Mels. And that was all I had to be for you. Amy and Rory loved Mels but I was their daughter and I was convinced, had they known, they would have hated me.”

She sighed. “They do hate me a bit now that they know. I don't blame them. And they try not to show. But of course, they do. Hadn't I been myself, they might have had a daughter.”

“River...” you looked up, searching for words of comfort in her familiar face, but she didn’t give you time to find them.

“It's okay” she smiled sadly. “I just wanted to say: to you knowing who I was did not change anything, not really. And I knew that before. And that was so important. You were the one person whose life I wasn't destroying. The one person for who being myself - being Mels - was enough. The only person I could love fully and whose love did not taste bitter in return.”

She reached out to cup your face. “That gave me so much strength. And I think it gave me the ability to believe in what the Doctor was offering. That there was another way for me. That I wasn't a monster. That I could be loved. Because I already was. Unconditionally. With everything I was.”

Tears were glimmering in her eyes and you gulped. “I did not realise...”

“Of course, you didn't” her thumb ran over your cheek in gentle caresses. “But in a way your love was one of the things that made me decide to save him in Berlin. Which in turn saved me. And it helped me get through the time before. So, thank you.”

“Thank you” you said. “For trusting me enough to rely on me.”

She pressed a kiss to your lips and when she pulled back, her smile had turned playful.

“So...” she drawled, nodding towards the field. “How about we see if we can enrage that farmer further?”

You grinned. “You think they will recognise me?”

“I doubt it” she said, “but I sure hope so.”

“It would definitely blow their mind” you chuckled.

River shrugged. “They might believe you to be your own child... Or grandchild.”

She winked at you and you gasped in mock exasperation.

“Watch it, Song!” you warned, pinching her arm.

“Come on, Dear” she crooned, enveloping you in her arms again. “You know I like the gray on you.”

“I do” you pulled back to smile at her. “And I like that we look the same age again.”

“Same apparent age and same mental age” River agreed. “Shame those two don't match up, though.”

“How do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, we're still behaving like teenagers” she explained, offering you another wink, “snogging in a field of lavender.”

“Ah” you understood, nodding sagely, “shame for the farmer then, not for us.”

“Obviously” River grinned. “Shame for them. Us two? We are brilliant.”

“Yeah, we are” you sighed happily, stepping back but pulling her with you by her hand. “Let's go steal some lavender, then? You still carry those sickles around?”

She snorted, following you onto the fragrant field. “Of course. What kind of a woman doesn't?”

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated ❤

#mels zucker #dw fanfic #doctor who #river song #melody pond #reader insert #amy pond #stargazing #lavender #river song x reader #mels zucker x reader #doctor who fanfiction #for fairness reasons there is some amy x reader at the beginning this time instead of rory x reader #If I do write the third one of these we will go back to being rory's bestie though

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sereniv · 2 years

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Hi I saw your comment under a post about blood quantum and native and reconnecting and I just wanted to ask realistically when do you think you shouldn’t reconnect? I know blood quantum isn’t something we should go by but realistically when should you not reconnect and just learn to accept that you had native ancestry. I’m asking because I wanted to reconnect but I have really really low quantum and I’m a bit scared if it’s my place to reconnect even though I deeply want to.

How i go about it is 1. theres tribes that accept as low as 1/16th BQ, so in terms of low you could say 'that low', but that tends to still leave people out like the descendents of slaves owned by some tribes, who i believe have the right to call themselves by that tribes name and reconnect, that of which also goes for those adopted into tribes.

but 2. most importantly is your reasoning and draw towards wanting to reconnect (and a few other criteria ill mention in a minute)

A lot of people with these questions or wanting to reconnect either are people who just did a dna test, have newly/"newly" obtained info from family, or both (like me). And though the initial feeling can be a swirl of emotions to sadness to anger to feeling like the last puzzle piece to also feeling shame, the first thing to do is to sit with yourself and go through these emotions and figure out why you are feeling them.

Because like i tell everyone, new information about family and heritage and a whole culture can make you feel like the next step is to be part of that culture and claim it, especially if its its like a missing puzzle piece.

But whatever percentage you are, one should first look at the percentage theyve already known themselves to be (or the 'default' in terms of white ppl), like italian or swedish or french- and feel pride in those. explore that- but also you need to ask yourself why you want to explore and if claiming that is also necessary (more on that later)

because when it comes to whiteness it is seen as the default. Youre french so youre 'just french' or 'just norwegian'. But these identities have full cultures and history and language and foods and songs and a 'community' to explore

and if you are neglecting that or have no interest then you have to ask yourself why. But also again, if you want to pursue and claim, ask yourself why.

So you find pride in that if you dont already, because a lot of people without a culture crave one, and because any whiteness (especially americans) is seen as default, any 'Caucasian' culture can seem like not legitimate? if that makes sense

Basically, If you are mostly white, be interested and pursue the cultures that you are mostly made of (im talking french, italian, etc. ashkenazi is a whole other subject and is complicated when it comes to race etc. also different communities/ppl have different ideas on whether youre able to even connect at all). And then you can move on to asking yourself what being native means to you

and this is going off of if you had no struggle before hand, as in identity issues- theres so many situations that i cant cover all of them. Theres poc who are already involved in their main culture. theres people who are white passing and those that arent. theres those that have struggled with identity their whole life etc.

so that out of the way: claiming.

lets say youre a low BQ and youre wondering if you should claim that identity or not- well theres a third option! and that is simply acknowledgment.

instead of saying you are native, you can say you have native heritage. And it might seem like semantics, but it helps with mindset and how you actually live your life and experience it in a way

Being native (among other identities im sure) is...living native? Its not passive, but its also not a 'lifestyle'. Its an embodiment, that of which is different for everyone, that you live. Its being involved and being present, whereas acknowledgment is passive (though you can still be involved)

Claiming is a one and done deal. You either are native or you aren't. You dont just try the identity on and then say its not for you.

Its so hard to explain bc its different for everyone, but this is why you have to sit down with yourself and ask why you want (or need) to claim it. why are you native? not why do you want to be native- not going off of looks or what you do or what percentage, but what does it mean to you

Some people come to the conclusion that it is honoring ancestors, in a way that you feel in your bones. Whereas someone who simply acknowledges their native heritage, honoring their ancestors is more of a 'least you can do' kind of feeling.

Some people feel being native for them is thr connection and the community. Being involved. Which you can feel with acknowledging your heritage, but its more of an outside feeling. Not outsider, just passive.

Again its so hard to explain, but once you explore your feelings you will know. The biggest way to know is to forget about all of it. And if it hurts to ignore, if its frustrating, if it feels like youre lying to people or to yourself, if it feels like an ache to not 'be', then thats your answer

i have acknowledged some parts of me like scottish and irish, that i feel close to because of my grandma and the stories but i am not irish or scottish. Its in me, its in my ancestors and im proud of it and love it, and there is a connection, but its different from being native and italian. Irish and Scottish just somehow always felt outside of me not part of me, and native ended up being a missing puzzle piece that i had always struggled with identity wise growing up (i was always told i was hispanic/mexican but also mention of native, my dad was a mystery so it was always something i focused on)

In my opinion, and this is utmost an opinion: Is that BQ, as we know, is a colonial construct.

That even 1 drop of native blood means you can at least acknowledge your heritage and get involved and care about the community or even specific tribe if you know it. But those with not a single drop (like descendents of tribal owned slaves) are also allowed to acknowledge or claim

The best thing for someone to do is just go through how they feel, look into their history, figure out what it all means to them

And that its okay to acknowledge your heritage, to be proud of the people who got you here, to be sad for the plights. But ultimately have no draw, no feel, no actual connection to the tribe or the community beyond that

And that regardless of BQ, if you are native because its something you are just not able to deny, then you are

The focus shouldnt be claiming, and again with the emotions one can get it can almost feel like theres a time limit due to the anxiety of the information and wanting to catch up on lost time.

But you have all the time in the world, especially if this is absolutely new info and you had not previously had any idea- to explore your feelings and see whether claiming the identity is a natural order of things, or if simply acknowledging your heritage is what is natural for you

So in short: BQ is not required to claim native, but to claim native there should be no doubt at the end of exploring your emotions. (ex. "I am indigenous/native. I am Diné) Otherwise its totally okay to be involved and acknowledge your heritage (ex. "I have native heritage/Im a seminole decendent, etc)

Sorry this is so long and hopefully it makes sense and is coherent i tend to get off track. if i didnt actually answer your question pls send me another ask lol!

EDIT: Oh id say you shouldnt reconnect if your intentions are crap, if you feel like being native makes you different or cool or whatever. Or if its something you can see yourself drifting away from. If youre going to reconnect (usually this means claiming the identity) then its something that is one and done. Otherwise you could hurt those around you that take you at face value if you were to just...stop being native.

So realistically, you do some hard thinking. You look at your past and your ancestors past. And you look at your future. You have time to figure it out.

#native #ndn #indigenous #ask #anon #blood quantum #long post #oyster

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