#though he is a full grown man old enough to be my dad

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[normansnt]

Could I request a third part of the prince? I love it!

YES OMG YOU ARE MY FIRST REQUEST HIIII THANK YOU SM IM HAPPY YOU LIKE IT🧡🧡

Yeah I might have forgot to mention I do in fact take requests😎

Actually ya'll have been loving the prince series and I was wondering if you want me to making it into like a full blown story like following the series events and what not, or like just a little series of cute scenarios?

Let me know.

Warnings:

The prince (part 3)

(Alastor x male reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Currently you were arguing with your father. Since the moment he found out you are dating Alastor he was not happy, to say the least.

"Why the sudden urge to leave? Is it not good here anymore because I can clean up the rubber ducks-"

"No dad thats not the point I just think I'm old enough to move out and Charlie has her hotel with a lot of rooms, and I mean I guess her dream is not that impossible-"

"Yeah right, like I'm going to believe that you just want to move in with that bambi of yours" he scoffed

"Dont call him- thats not- ok fine yeah, I want to move in with Alastor why is that such a problem I am a grown ass adult I can do as I please." And with that you left the room to pack.

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

"I swear, he still thinks I am a kid." You were pacing in Alastor's room while he was sitting on a couch and calmly drinking tea.

"He let Charlie go?? Why not me why cant I do what I want with my life" you continued your angry ranting while unpacking you clothes.

At this point you were basically moved in with Alastor. You had all your stuff there you just needed to unpack, which he solved with a flick of his wrist. You could have done that too, but your father raised both you and your sister to not be careless with the amount of power you have, also you were busy rambling.

"*sigh*...thank you honey." You said quietly as you took a seat next to him slumping into the couch.

Alastor looked at you. Till now he was just half listening to you ramble and he thought you would feel better once you let it out and you two could cuddle but right now you looked even more sad, defeated even.

This did not sit right with him. If there was anything he hated most was seeing you sad or hurt.

He took a hold of your hand and put his other one on your cheek to guide your head to look at him.

"My dear, this issue will be resolved just as any other, you will make up with your father." He reassured you with a smile.

"I know but than it will start again, and I'm starting to feel like he will never accept you even though you are so important to me and... it's just too much right now, I'm sorry I need to be alone." And with that you left.

There it was again. That stinging feeling in his chest. Alastor had to take matters into his own hands.

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

You walked down the stairs and took a seat by the bar.

"Damn kid, rough day?" Asked Husk as you put your head into your hands and groaned.

"Thats one way to put it, can you please get me a whisky on the rocks" you said in your ever so kind voice.

Husk liked you. On contrary to your father and older sister you were calm, quiet and well spoken. All this while still having the heart of gold they have as well.

He never understood how a charming young man such as yourself would find himself in a relationship with a demon like Alastor.

During your numerous visits to the Hotel you have talked to Husk a lot and you two became really good friends. The same went for Angel who usually joined you guys. You three usually sat by the bar chatting for hours.

"Hi (Y/N)," you heard Angels voice approaching as you sipped on your whisky. He took a seat next to you and shared a quick kiss with Husk. You chuckled to yourself quietly, you have been rooting for the two from the very beginning and when they finally got together you were so happy you shedded a few tears.

"Hi Angel" you gave him a small smile but he saw through it.

"Aww, toots hard times?" He asked as Husk handed him his drink.

"It's a long story" you answered.

"We got time" said Husk encouragingly.

You smiled a little than started telling the story.

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

Alastor was on his way to find Charlie. He needed to solve the situation or he had to gauge his own eyes out so he doesn't have to see you sad.

He figured if he got your father to come to the hotel you can talk things out. As well as, he is going to try and make an effort not to be a complete ass with him but Lucifer has to try and be nice as well, for your sake.

He needed Charlie for this because if Alastor asked Lucifer to come he would not. However if Charlie asked, he'd be there in a second.

"Oh Charlie?" He wondered into the princess's room.

"Yes? OH Alastor HI how is my brother doing?" She asked with excitement. She was more than thrilled that her little brother is going to move into her hotel.

"Not so well I'm afraid I acquire your assistance to make him feel better"

"What? Whats the problem is he ok? Did you hurt him? Alastor I do not care how helpful you are around here if you hurt my little brother-" Her eyes started glowing red as her hair was swept into the air and her horns started to show.

Before this could go any further Alastor cut her off.

"My dear, rest assured I would kill hell's entire population and my self before causing any harm to your darling brother." He said calmly.

"Oh, then whats the problem?" Asked Charlie now calm.

And so Alastor explained everything to Charlie.

When Alastor and Charlie knocked on her father's door there was no answer. They looked at one another and Charlie checked if it was open. It was, so they could go in without problems.

"Hello? Dad?" Yelled Charlie as her voice echoed in the huge mansion.

"YOU, It's your fault you took them away from me" they heard as they looked to their right.

In seconds Alastor was tackled to the floor with a very angry Lucifer on top.

When Charlie registered what she was seeing she started to pull her father off of the Radio demon to almost no avail. The devil wouldn't budge.

"YOU TOOK BOTH OF MY CHILDREN AWAY FROM ME ARE YOU HAPPY NOW IS THAT ENOUGH?"

Lucifer was not happy. He was yelling in his demon form wings out and fire spewing from his mouth.

"DAD"

Everyone stopped. You were standing in the door looking at the scene before you, baffled.

You rarely raised your voice, so to hear it this loud and clear shocked most people in the room.

You cleared your throat. And said in your normal calm voice again.

"Can we talk in private."

Lucifer calmed down and followed you into the room you left to.

When he entered the room to his surprise, you hugged him.

"Listen dad, I understand that both of your kids growing up is hard for you, and I'm sorry for leaving you alone but I need my space I'm starting to live my life and its with Alastor because I love him."

You said in a very gentle tone.

Your dad looked at you for some time then hugged you again.

"You really love him, kiddo?" He looked at you with understanding eyes as he let go.

"I do, dad I really do." You answered.

Your dad sighed. He took a hold of your hands.

"All that matters to me is that you are happy. I'm sorry I have been such a jerk about it but...it's so hard to let you kids go, you will always be my babies" He sniffed lightly.

You chuckled at that and squeezed his hands.

"Can you please make an effort to not hate Alastor?" You tried.

He groaned.

"Yeah, yeah I'll see what I can do but he needs to be cooperative"

You walked out of the room.

Charlie stood up with tears in her eyes and hugged you both.

"Oh...the walls are thin here aren't they?" You asked as you looked at your dad.

"Yeaaah, forgot to mention that."

"You guys, I'm so happy you made up are we ok now?" She asked between sniffles.

"Yeah, we are ok" you smiled at your dad.

After your sister let you go from her crushing embrace Alastor walked up to you.

"I- listen no pressure about saying-" he cut you off by swapping you off your feet into a breathtaking kiss.

"I...I love you too, darling" he said quietly, without the radio statics, he said it in his real voice, as he put his forehead on yours.

"OK, see, I promised to be nice but there is no need to rub it in my face" your father said as he dragged you away.

Alastor straightened up and, with the static back in his voice and an eye twitching, he held his hand out to your father.

"I promise to make an effort to not murder you" he smiled eerily at your dad.

Lucifer had a brooding expression on his face but shook the radio demons hand none the less.

"Thank you." You said at last as you hugged both of them. They hugged you back. While glaring at each other behind your back.

Sure they are gonna make an effort. When you're looking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TADA

I really hope you like it again thank you for the request.

Also please let me know if y'all want any of what I mentioned in the beginning.

When Alastor's staff broke and he started talking w/o the statics I was ON MY KNEES.

I WANNA THANK EVERY SINGLE ON OF YOU WHO LIKE MY STORIES THEY HAVE RECEIVED A LOT OF LOVE AND IM THANKFUL BEYOND IMAGINATION THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU💗💗

OK LOVE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY/NIGHT/MORNING WHATEVER MWUAH💋

[reallyromealone]

Title: slice of life

Fandom: apothecary diaries

Pairing Jinshi x maomao + baby reader

Warnings: child reader, baby reader, fluff, cute, platonic (obviously), slice of life

Notes: none

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(name) gave a big stretch as he was held by his mom, maomao having the babe in her lap as she went over papers, the once commoner now wife of the Emperor's brother was pleased that she could continue doing what she loved though she did have to stop ingesting poisons for her beloved son who loved being helpful in his own way, the Apothecary often gave him little toy versions of her tools so he could learn even if he was only eight months.

"Let's go see your papa, yes?" Maomao said to her son, a warmness she didn't extend to many people-- hell her own husband didn't even get that level of warmness unless it was on special occasion.

It was strange for people to see her dressed as someone of such high class, her old friends bowing at her with a smile as she went to look for her husband. Everyone looked at (name) fondly, recently the boy had learned to wave and decided that everyone needed to be waved at no matter what class, maomao smiling softly at the boys antics "you are just like your father" her words fond as the boy patted her face, he had his smile that was for sure.

Jinshi was absolutely thrilled to see the two "you came to see me~" he teased and maomao kept a passive Expression "no, we were just passing by" a total lie but it was enough to make the other pout in annoyance before gently taking (name) and holding him close, letting the boy hold his finger in his tiny hand and doted on the babe who babbled, maomao would rather die than admit she found the scene absolutely heartwarming. (Name) loved his parents, the two always gave their full attention to him and included him in many things.

"I was thinking of having him visit my father..." Maomao said absentmindedly as the babe tried grabbing his dad's hair "you wanna see your grandpa, little one?" (Name) perked up at the mention of 'grandpa' and began bouncing slightly "eeea!" He squealed and that was their answer "I'll make the necessary preparations, maybe we can visit him on our way to our holiday, yes?"

Jinshi kept his face hidden, the babe confused but didn't cry or anything when seeing his father look strange "dad! We're here" the older man looked up from his grinding stone to see his grandson smack his little hands together and reach from maomao to him "my, you grown" he mused and took the boy "you look just like my maomao" he whispered to the boy as the two parents watched, Jinshi had taken it upon himself to get maomaos adoptive father a better living situation, upgrade some stuff for the apothecary.

"He's been figuring out walking, soon he will be all over the place" jinshi said fondly and the older man chuckled "Maomao was a speedy baby, she would want to see everything"

They stayed for half hour, having tea the Jinshi brought for his father in law as (name) munched on a small tiny portion of a treat, resting on his mother's chest content.

"He's so peaceful when he's eating" jinshi teased his son who barely paid attention, focused on his tiny bit of honey as his mom fixed his hair "he will surely cause chaos when he's older, like his father"

"Hey!"

(Name) paid the adults no mind as he glanced around, the home always warmer when they were always together, the boy sliding down from his mom's hold when he spotted his toys, crawling towards them happily "he's growing fast" the two parents felt their hearts warm at their little one who played so sweetly "he's going to be quite a good man when he's older" (name) turned his little butt around to see his parents before surprising everyone, standing shakily in his two little chunky legs and attempting to walk to maomao with his little "I want food" whine "my, were going to have to lock things away it seems" maomao teased as (name) smacked her chest lightly with a huff "I think this is our queue to leave" jinshi said as maomao hugged her dad, taking little (name) out of the home, a much nicer one as a "thank you for letting me marry your daughter" gift.

"Mama!" (Name) said angrily as they got in the carriage "yesyes, you little brat" she teased as jinshi watched.

He was definitely his father's son.

[piratefishmama]

Fake It Till You Make It | Part 8

"Oh Steven..."

The view of Eddie was obstructed pretty quickly when Steve manoeuvred him behind him, turning fully to face his dad using his broader body to shield Eddie from view. “He’s—”

“Panicking. He’s panicking. I have eyes Steven. Lynda get this poor boy a glass of water would you?” A chair creaking from inside the room told them all his mother had gotten up to do as she was asked, and while that might have caused most to relax, Steve still stood his ground. A human blockade. “It’s okay son, you’re going to have to move eventually it might as well be now, he’s safe.”

“Is he?” Eddie rested his forehead against the centre of Steve’s shoulders, right at the base of his neck, just… rested there, Steve wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, it’d be okay.

“Well I’m not about to invite my son to send me to hospital, am I?” A wise choice, it seemed like Steve was fully prepared to do just that if necessary. “This house is safe for you both, and it always will be.” John stepped to the side a little, just enough to be able to see around Steve’s shoulder, although Steve was tempted to move into his way again, he’d put himself in the way of a train if it meant protecting someone else, Eddie was certain of it at that point “Eddie… was it?”

He’d overheard while Steve was talking to him. He knew his name. Eddie looked up, basically peeking over Steve’s shoulder. It was awkward, given they were almost the same height, but… he still felt safer there.

“Oh heavens, John step aside, you’re frightening the poor thing to death” And there was Lynda, nudging John aside with a tall glass of water in hand “Eddie, come on out from behind there,” as if ‘there’ wasn’t her damn close to six foot son “it’s okay” he was a grown man, yet he felt like he was seven all over again, hiding behind a couch away from the police who’d come to get his dad.

He’d only hidden because his dad used to tell him that if he was naughty the police would take him away, and he may have… coincidentally… drawn on his bedroom wall, he’d hidden it pretty well but… there were suddenly police bashing down the door!

Just so happened they were there for his father, who’d been doing much naughtier things.

Steve didn’t move, so that left the choice up to him. A choice he had to make, no matter how scary it was. He was there, there was no getting out of the plan now. They’d seen him, he couldn’t make a run for it… or he could but he’d never able to look Steve or Dustin in the face ever again, which left only one real option.

He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Steve’s bicep, and stepped out from behind him. Steve’s hand was very quick to find his, holding him, grounding him, a tether to keep him stable and god it felt nice to have it there, warm, and secure, fingers perfectly slotted between his own. He could only imagine what a pair they looked though.

The King and the Court Jester.

The Jock and the Freak.

Perfect and Completely Imperfect.

He knew what he looked like, how people looked at him, even in clean clothes, even having brushed his hair, he still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed sometimes, and Steve… god… There weren’t words for how perfect Steve looked.

It seemed effortless but Eddie knew Steve must have put in genuine effort. It was attractive how much effort he must have been putting in.

They all looked that perfect though. He truly looked so very out of place. Lynda in her pristine white shirtdress, a belt around her waist giving it shape and John in his expensive pale blue polo and pressed chinos.

There he was, in a hand-me-down red and black flannel, the only pair of jeans he owned that weren’t ripped at the knee (although they were getting there), hands full of silver rings, an old handed down Casio watch, scuffed Reeboks, and the one band Tee he had that wasn’t dirty.

The pickings had been slim he really should have done some laundry. He should have accepted Steve’s offer to help him clean up. They’d have been still doing it!

“Hi… I’m—I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson.” They didn’t know the family name, and it didn’t surprise him either, Wayne wasn’t raised in Hawkins, he’d just settled there after he learned Eddie would be handed to him. Traded his truck for a trailer in a random pick of a town and swapped his long haul journeys for night shifts at the plant and that was that.

They couldn’t have known his family name.

“Oh my…” it wasn’t a disgusted oh my, although her eyes did widen, he felt… seen as she looked him up and down, seemingly sizing him up, and then… she turned to Steve and all his worries seemed to vanish when she, with genuine mischief in her voice, said “he’s a bit out of your league isn’t he, Steven? I know we encourage you to be ambitious but—”

“W-what?!” And that was Steve, flustered in his response “No, I’m—he’s—”

“Sweetheart” oh she sounded so cheeky “he has tattoos” Eddie quickly glanced down at his bare forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, bats on display, his tattoos usually a source of judgement, she wasn’t judging him though. “You’re afraid of needles.”

“I am NOT!”

“That’s not what I remember from your last round of shots.”

“I was five.” At least he was the last time they’d gone with him to get his shots done. "I've had plenty of shots since then."

“These fears don’t just vanish, Steven, how do you expect to hold onto this handsome young man if you can’t even handle a little pri—”

“Lynda please.” John interrupted what would have been a stellar takedown with a comical amount of exasperation, the man pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off an incoming headache. Eddie, against all odds, was smiling, fighting back genuine giggles, the free hand not wrapped within Steve’s lifted to cover his mouth as if to hold them in.

“What? It’s not like it didn’t work.” She handed John the glass she’d been holding, since Eddie no longer seemed to need the water, then took a step closer to Eddie “Eddie, dear… how about you and Steven come into the living room, and we can get to know you a little, how does that sound?” There was no anger in her tone, no disgust hidden in the layers of it, she just… she smiled at him.

Where were these ‘rich assholes’ people kept claiming the Harringtons to be? Because he didn’t see them. He could understand the hesitation to trust, he was still nervous, the fear still licked at his very soul that maybe, just maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike when he couldn’t get out, but… was there any reason to be distrustful?

Had the Harringtons ever been outspoken against his people? Ever? Save for maybe one or two occasions where Steve had called someone queer as an insult back in high school, before he’d obviously grown.

People just assumed.

Those at the bottom just assumed the worst of all of those at the top. Same as most assumed the worst of him, that he was mean, that he was scary. They were just at opposite ends of the social ladder. There had to be some good among the rich, why not the Harringtons?

Why couldn’t they be good? Why not at least give them the opportunity to be good?

“Y-yeah… yeah, that’d uh—that’d be okay I think.” Steve squeezed his hand so gently, another attempt to ground him, to keep him tethered. To keep him calm, and it worked. It helped. Steve was there, Steve would keep him safe. No matter who came at them, Steve would keep him safe, not a King at all.

A loyal Knight, a Paladin, a Defender. He’d probably be safe walking through the fiery pits of hell itself, as long as Steve was there beside him. “You sure you’re okay, Eddie? We can go back to yours, we can just… try another day.” And Steve checked in with him too as his parents returned to the Living room, Lynda pausing at the door to wait for them while her husband continued on.

Steve’s hand warm around his, looking at him with a level of concern nobody had bothered to bestow upon him before.

Not even Wayne, but Wayne was kinda gruff, he showed his love in other ways. Steve barely knew him… he was just, that kind of person apparently.

“Nah, we’re here now and with you here? My very own big, strong knight in shining armour? I’m pretty sure I could brave anything.”

And that bashful little smile of Steve’s whenever someone praised him?

Beautiful.

Beautiful enough to chase any bad feelings away with their tails between their legs. Beautiful enough to give him the boost he needed to pull Steve along by his hand and into that living room with Lynda, beautiful enough to give him the strength to take on the goddamn world.

Or at least the scariest thing he could think of in it at the time, that being… being himself in front of two complete strangers who could ruin his life with zero repercussions aside from their son being angry at them.

So it was a pretty big deal, that smile of his.

The first thing Eddie registered as he entered the main living room though, was that off to the right, there was a magnificent mahogany table, complete with three chairs on either side and one at each end.

Last time he’d seen it, it’d been covered in pizza boxes and alcohol options, its majesty concealed beneath a layer of filth. “Stevie can I—” couldn’t help himself

“Later” Steve was quicker than him though, Dustin had already brought up the table before, it wasn’t hard to guess where Eddie’s mind would go.

Of course he’d shot Dustin down, but Eddie? Maybe… just maybe he’d let Eddie use it. Only once his parents left again though, something told him they’d draw a line at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, one of the main highlights of the ongoing Satanic Panic, being held in their dining room, whether they used it or not.

“So!" John began as he found his seat once more, waiting only for Steve and Eddie to sit down on the sofa close by, side by side, hand in hand, looking like the least likeliest pair in existence, to begin. "Eddie, tell us a little about yourself, how’d you both meet?”

Straight into the deep end then. "Well..."

Part 10

[pinkandgoldensoul]

Heyo!

Since I'm definitely a fan of your writings and this tinkling feeling of requesting you something has been irking me, can I request something like an arranged marriage with Pierre?

Angsty and maybe a happy ending. That's upto you.

Love your works. Hoping for more great pieces.❤️

Happy New Year 🎊

(At the end of the fic I'll leave a note about this request ❤️)

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pairing: pierre gasly x female!reader (feat. esteban ocon x female!reader and charles leclerc as reader's bestfriend) genre: arranged marriage, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, mention of s*x (not graphic), cheating, violence word count: 18.6k plot: you loved him, he loved you, and neither knew. Will an arranged marriage, an old love triangle and a special friend be enough to finally make you confess your true feelings?

Walking down the aisle, a bouquet clumsily held by trembling fingers, your whole chest was filled with quick butterflies batting wings, desperate to spread free. He was perfect. An astonishingly crafted smirk plastered on his face, ready for the flashes of the cameras to be captured, the suit slid on his athletic body without creases. You reckoned yourself inadequate in that white, plain dress: feeling pins pulling your hair left and right after hours of work by the hairdresser, the steady arm of your dad was the only anchor to the present moment. He never strayed his stare away from you, removing your veil in a slow, tantalizing motion. There were no vows to be exchanged and get mistaken in anxiety, no rings to be put through the wrong finger: you were and had always been his since forever, without he even had to ask. You peeked behind Pierre’s shoulder and saw Charles showing you an encouraging smile, which you tried to reciprocate despite sweating cold. You remembered his huge grin when Pierre had handed him the invitation: dimples on full display, Charles had flicked his eyes between the two of you and had been stoked ever since he was told he’d be best man. He’d been happier than Pierre himself had been about the news of the engagement with you and, consequently, about the wedding.

>>♥<<

«Okay, cool.» That had been his answer to you two fathers’ decision. They had grown best friends over the years, and they both didn’t like Pierre’s womanizer lifestyle, which was quite detrimental to his reputation. So your dad had decided to offer his own daughter to the Gasly’s like a sacrificial victim, knowing you had always had sympathy for the youngster and sure he would simply love you back with time. Of course, you were painfully aware of Pierre’s usual behavior around girls and, even though befriending him in teenage had made you helplessly fall in love with him, getting married felt like the cruelest assault to your dignity. For sure you would love him. And for sure he would not. Sitting on a couch right in front of each other, your parents discussing a couple of meters away, he simply bore his eyes into yours while drinking a glass of juice, legs spread out. «We’re going to have fun the first night together or…?» Your eyes threw a dagger to him, hit in your pride for the insensitive comment; Pierre wasn’t known for being delicate and considerate, when you used to hang out in group with him. After all, his humor was one of the things that had you capitulate before his feet. «Okay, I see. No jokes.» You squeezed your fingers into fists, uptight, dissatisfaction cursing through your blood. «Not on such things, Pierre.» «Like what? Sex?» he raised a brow. «My wedding.» you sighed. «Our wedding, you mean.» «Doesn’t seem as pivoting to you. Nothing will really change for you.» «We’re both going to wear a ring, y/n. Never seen a marriage without the groom or the bride.» He downed the last sip of the juice and placed the glass on the coffee table. You knew from the start it wouldn’t be a fairytale.

>>♥<<

«Don’t think a bride should stand on her own and look so sad.» Charles’ words whispered in your ear made you roll eyes and brought an immediate smile to your face. «Don’t think a best man should bother the bride with stupid remarks.» «Do you think it’s stupid?» he asked, raising his brow to insinuate doubt. «Pierre is having a blast and you… well, you’re here listening to the stupid remarks of the best man.» The small stem glass of champagne you still held had dried out of bubbles, but seemed interesting enough to draw your eyes down; Charles, genuinely sorry to witness your let down expression, wetted his lips and briefly glanced back at Pierre, laughing and dancing with the other guests. «Let’s go dance.» Caught by surprise, you tilted your head back up, wide eyes. «C’mon, don’t pretend you didn’t hear!» Charles chuckled, holding both your hands. «We’re going to make fools of ourselves…» «But that’s what we do the best when we’re together!» You let yourself be dragged in the middle of the dance floor set up under an outdoor gazebo: Charles’ ridiculous moves made a visceral laugh emerge from the depths of your fears, as he tried to involve you in his bubbly fun, despite the dress not helping the flow of your groove. «Geez, I feel so awkward!» you let out, head leaning backwards, invested by a childish happiness. «Just dance it out, we’re doing amazing!»

The sun setting down at the horizon threw an orange gold ray cut through the air, hitting Charles’ profile, getting both enlightened and obscured in two poetic halves which danced relentless and made you twirl around without a single thought. Out of notice, the guests had gathered around the two of you, enjoying the show you had put up; and when the music faded out to a slower tune, catching your breath in Charles’ arms, hands resting on his heaving chest, your sight found Pierre’s blue eyes, filled with an unreadable expression. As slower notes filled the air, he walked over to you, confident in each firm step, putting Charles’ luminous smile in defeat: when Pierre was around, there was no chance for you to look at any other person. He simply took your hands, implicitly warning Charles to move away and make room for him, tenderly joining the swinging fabric of your dress. Too affected by his presence and by racing thoughts about the future you would share with him from that moment on, you placed your burning cheek upon his chest, right above his heart. «Why didn’t you ask me to dance?» His question breached your overthinking silence. «You were too busy entertaining the guests.» You didn’t mean for your words to sound as veiled of sadness and resigned as they did, but you felt somehow content in letting Pierre know how you felt about the whole situation. He had you wrapped around his finger; his ring one. You were engraved in the inner circle of gold touching his skin, kissing it tenderly, vowing love to him any second. «I thought I’d make you uncomfortable giving you all my attention. You dropped a glass during lunch because of it, and I don’t want you to get hurt.» His smirk disseminated deep, red shame on your cheeks; why did you put blush on earlier that morning if Pierre was managing to do all the work by himself?

An unerasable pang of hurt chained your feet to the ground, unable to sink deeper into Pierre’s gentle hands holding you throughout the dance: you told yourself it wouldn’t shatter you completely if you thought he didn’t mean any of the things he did, he said. Holding you closer, cheek resting on his white, unbuttoned shirt, he left an unexpected and unseen peck on the top of your head, as you both still lulled to the beat. He then leaned on a side, dropping whispered words into your ear. «Want to see a smile on my wife’s face. It’s our wedding, after all, not our funeral.» As much as you wanted to feel hatred, you let Pierre’s jokingly voice sink, unconsciously obliging to his request right away. You felt young, drunk, foolish. You’d enjoy every bit of attention he’d spare you. Every single scramble.

>>♥<<

Pierre had insisted on picking you up before entering your newly bought apartment, to stick to the tradition; between giggles and laughs, you had admired you two’s mothers astonishing work of petals and candles signaling the way over to the bedroom. The dim lights enchanted your sight, as you stood speechless before the bed. Pierre’s hands caressing your forearms and slowly making their way up to your shoulders awoke you and froze you at once. The tip of his nose brushing your neck, you didn’t dare move nor speak as Pierre pressed soft kisses all over. Were you ready? Pierre encircled your waist with his arm, both relieving and accentuating the knot forming in your stomach. Would you ever be ready? You hadn’t talked about that moment, you hadn’t considered there’d be the need to. You thought he wouldn’t even touch you, once everybody’s eyes would be out of sight. So why was he taking all his time carefully unbuttoning the back of your dress, leaving open mouthed kisses on the bare skin he had available? «Pierre…» You soon realized your moan had been an incentive to Pierre when an airy chérie was whispered upon your shivering skin. «Pierre, I don’t know if we should…» «It’s our first night married, y/n. This is exactly what we should do.» His voice was warm, slightly raspy, perfectly calm and collected, concealing a burning desire underneath. Pierre tucked a lock of your neat hair behind your ear, leaving your neck shivering at the touch. «I know this probably isn’t how you hoped your wedding to be… But now I’m your husband, and I’m willing to do everything I’m supposed to. I’m not backing down.» «Will you ever love me?» you asked, suspended. Pierre tucked another strand of hair in the same spot. «I can’t promise that.» Of course, how would he? «But I’m always going to respect you, no matter what. I swore it and I’ll stand by it.» You slowly turned around to face him, picking up the gown of your dress and pressing a hand to your chest so that it wouldn’t slip off due to the strings being loosened. «Please, don’t… Please, promise you won’t hurt me, Pierre.» The pleading tone of your voice unexpectedly pulled a string inside Pierre’s chest. «Do you really think I’d do that on purpose? Y/n, we’ve been… we’ve known each other for so many years.» «That’s what scares me.» You diverted your gaze, staring at your own reflection on the window: you were now gripping at Pierre’s shirt, the bodice dangerously threatening to slip down, eyes brimming with tears. How could you be more miserable than asking your husband not to hurt you? «Y/n, I’m not a teen anymore. And I’m kind of offended that you think I’m what other people say and what the media want to make everybody believe.» «I wouldn’t have agreed to the wedding, if I believed all the things they said about you.» you whispered. «Then trust the words I said at the altar.» Pierre delicately cupped your cheek, leaving a slow, tender kiss on the opposite temple. «For better and for worse…» he said, boring his eyes into yours. «For richer and for poorer…» he carried on, swiftly freeing your arms from the dress’ sleeves. «In sickness and in health…» Pierre breathed upon your lips, grabbing the dress fallen down to your hips. «Until death do us part.» Gripping tight Pierre’s arms, you let him take your breath away with his sloppy kiss, shivering, despite your face feeling warm and flushed in heat. «I will love you, y/n.» Pierre tucked yet another strand of hair behind your ear. «Maybe not like a charming prince, but I will love you as much as I can.»

His fingers pressed on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit on the edge of the bed, to which you obliged without even thinking twice. The air was thick in pleasant tension: Pierre had let his jacket shuffling its way to the floor, staring at you as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt; on your side, you had joined his intentions fidgeting with the buttons crossing his chest and abs, fully focusing on the slow, tantalizing task, instead of searching the force to bear his magnetic eyes. The golden shade casted over your cheeks, blending with the natural reddish shade of feelings spreading over your skin, left Pierre with an unexplainable tug inside the chest, pushing him to bend down and trap you on the mattress with yet another kiss, suddenly impatient. His shirt long forgotten on the floor upon the jacket and his tie, Pierre’s roaming hands dragged your dress down, making sure you’d slip completely out of it, so that you’d be bare for him to avidly see, touch and savor. Senses overwhelmed by his presence, helplessly amazed at how he could enchant your limbs and make them so reactive and sensitive to his touch, your fingers searched for relief on his body, between his brownish locks of hair, on his muscled neck and upper arms. Anything, to release the growing yearning he was masterfully building and lighting up inside of you. Pierre stopped all of the sudden, one elbow keeping him up, eyes lost in focus, as the fingers of his free hand traced an imaginary line from your sternum, down your chest. Before you could swallow hard at the gesture, he placed a lewd kiss right where his pointer finger had stopped. Again, uncontrolled, a soft moan escaped your already opened lips, tugging at his hair as to both pull him away and push him deeper into your soul. He raised his eyes to look at you hungrily, lips still stained with your skin. «I will honor you all the days of my life, y/n.» Pierre read the soft stare you gave him and the lovingly caress of your hand on his head as an invitation to drag his mouth upon your tender breast, finally free from the white cloth he had wished to tear apart since he had seen you walking down the aisle, swearing to himself he’d not be satisfied until he’d heard you scream his name from the top of your lungs, with his own hands, eyes and heart full of you.

The wedding being held in Italy at the beginning of September, right after Monza’s race weekend, you both had spent only a couple of days in the new house in Milan, in the attempt of building the sense of affectionate routine you would inevitably lose after taking the flight for Azerbaijan, following Pierre in the double-header awaiting him. The media had called it “racing-moon”. It was no ordinary honeymoon, travelling across the globe to support your husband, watching him with a pair of headphones and staring at him from a screen inside Alpine’s box, shying away from paparazzi’s cameras ready to capture glimpses of intimacy you didn’t even know how to spark yourself. A night of love wasn’t enough to erase the helpless feeling of distance and separation around Pierre: you were friends, sure, but your heavy crush on him had always prevented the relationship from growing further as it had happened with Charles. Daydreaming about him laying down your bed, earphones plugged, you had known every single detail about the things he liked while being in your early teens; now, looking at him packing his suitcase, standing at the doorframe you realized you either had never known him before or you had forgotten anything at the altar once he had kissed you alive.

«Do you need help?» you asked, closing and releasing your fingers from a fist, feeling useless. «Oh, didn’t notice you were there.» he quickly peeked at you. «No, thanks! I don’t know how, but it took half the time.» You raised a brow, leaning against the frame with arms crossed. «Maybe… it was the perfectly organized wardrobe I spent two days filling up with all your clothes?» «Mmh, I’m not really sure… Maybe I’ve just got quick with packing, since I’ve been doing it every other week for years now.» His smirk triggered an eye roll in you, so noticeable that Pierre turned to you, taking the suitcase off the bed and letting it roll on the floor. Not kind of expecting him to get that close to you after only stopping by the room, suddenly aware of how his stare could get your whole body drawn to him, succumbed to him, enchanted and gravitating around his brightness, you let yourself be courted by Pierre’s teasing fingers running up your arms. «I’m done now, so…» he said. «So?» «The bed is clear.» Throwing him an amused glance, about to laugh at how lewd his voice had sounded while hinting at the endless list of things you could do there, you pretended not to get his point. «Well, good job! We have somewhere to sleep tonight then.» «There’s no way, right?» Pierre squinted his eyes, hands still warming your skin caressed by the hot Italian wind blowing from the window. «Way to do what?» you asked, faking innocence once again. «I think you perfectly know.»

September’s heat had paired up with the warmth creeping up your ears while Pierre encircled your waist and inched over, causing butterflies inside your chest to awake your heart, moving past your thoughts to put them to sleep, as an overwhelming flow of love made you crave that heavenly attention and touch every second more. Pierre seemed to stop in his relentless chase of a kiss: he stood still, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, with your arms enclosed around his neck. There was no rush. The house was hollow and silent; only your breaths could be heard, mixed with the distant chatter coming from the street. Maybe that was the happiest and most peaceful corner of life he would ever know. Maybe holding your waist knowing that you were his wife, that he had settled his forever home, maybe spending his life with you was happiness. He struggled forming deep rooted love feelings towards you, yet could picture the two of you having kids so easily, travelling together, filling that empty house with memories. Maybe it was the fondest look in your eyes making every fantasy so incredibly near and easy. There was something, though, that Pierre didn’t find hard to spark at all. «Changed your mind?» you whispered, teasingly but soft. Attraction. Pierre was so desperately enamored with your body; to be fair, he had always quite been. Untouched by innocence, back at the time you would hang out in group, he would see you utterly oblivious to how other guys glanced at you and wonder if you had ever had sex before. The night of your first time together – the wedding’s – he had both been unfazed and surprised about noticing you weren’t a virgin: it totally made sense for someone as beautiful as you to have been with a guy, but at the same time he had no clue of who you had appointed as the one, and it was weird, because you used to hang out with the same people. He had always thought you had been in his universe, like a satellite, and had always taken your presence for granted, without ever considering he could be the planet on the margin of a totally different galaxy you shined in. Pierre was so intimately envious of a past you didn’t allow him in, and his only way to cope was making sure he could be your only future. «Not at all.» The fastest flicker of his eyes down to your lips was the warning, which you took in with delight: and Pierre was all over you, dragging you into his lighthearted desires and plans, igniting a shy flattering shade beneath your cheeks.

Pierre had insisted on entering the paddock hand in hand; in return, you had insisted on giving your right hand, standing on his left side. He had frowned just enough for you to capture it, not able to understand your request. «As you wish.» But you knew why: and your thumb gently stroking his wedding ring knew as well. Unexplainable excitement was the first feeling which had insinuated in you as you put foot past the turnstiles: Pierre had reminded you quite a few cameras would be following you in a bee line right around you. You were too happy to care, in your first outing as a married woman. As a married couple.

«Oh, hello to the royal couple!» You couldn’t stop yourself from eye-rolling at Charles’ comment, drinking Pierre’s laugh like a shot of bliss. «What, are you jealous?» They laughed and joked around, giving friendly pats to each other, while you watched them with a grin plastered on your face, enjoying the luck of spending time with people you loved. So many things had changed, but it still felt like you were still sixteen, walking without destination in group, young and careless, emptying your pockets full of dreams and using them as currency of exchange between each other. «Catch up with you later, I’ve got a meeting now!» «See you later!» you waved at Charles, as Pierre greeted him.

Entering Alpine’s hospitality you squeezed Pierre’s hand in fright: out of the blue, a deafening clapping concert made your heart fly across the room, as mechanics, engineers and other people from the staff celebrated you two. Pierre looked down at you, curious to see your reaction, still infected by the serene and uplifted atmosphere, swimming in delight as soon as your eyes clicked with his and saw you flattered. There was a bit of pride in showing you off like a trophy, proving everybody wrong with the assumption he’d never settle down and never find the one. Well, he didn’t really choose you out of love. But nobody was meant to know that.

«Congratulations, mate.» The voice reaching from behind your back made you turn, despite it being directed at Pierre. Your eyes flew high to Esteban’s face, enlarging in surprise: he wasn’t looking down at you, caught in the weirdly friendly interaction with your husband. But as soon as Pierre was dragged into pats and hugs by team members, you were left with a whole bag of memories and discarded feelings coming back to the surface, standing still next to someone you once knew. «It’s like the old times, isn’t it?» he casually said, as you both stared at the packed room, side by side. «No, Esteban. Everything changed.» Bittersweetly shoving your left hand before his face to make a definite statement, he carefully grabbed it and brushed your ring with the thumb, taking a close look. «I don’t believe so.» he let go of your hand, smiling politely. «What are you talking about?» you asked, kind of annoyed. «You still think you have Pierre all to yourself when we know nobody does.» «Don’t… don’t you dare talk crap about him in my presence. You know nothing.» Staring into the void, you tried to stay calm and collected, swallowing the phantoms of the past. «I respect that. But I just wanted to remind you of when you were the one talking crap about him in my presence.» «That was years ag-» «And I was there to listen to you.» You dropped the accusatory finger you had brought dangerously near his chest, mind invaded by guilt and yellowed pages of life. «I’ll still be here for you when Pierre messes up again.» «He won’t, Este.» «We’ll see.» he shrugged, glancing back at the room. «But I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have, and I know he is no easy character.» «I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re trying to do.» you raised a brow, skeptical. «I simply wanted to wish you good luck.» Esteban’s impassive tone left you with the urge of replying: as much as you were filled with doubts and fears, you somehow trusted Pierre and his promises and wouldn’t bear anyone implying stuff. Especially Esteban. Because, to a degree, he knew the situation better than any other. His eyes, that despicable spark of mischief, anger and regret inside of them told you things you didn’t want to hear. «The staff would like to get to know my wife if only my teammate would let her be.» Pierre’s amused interruption startled you, almost feeling caught red-handed with the most terrible crime: talking to a guy he trusted and had grown to hate over time. «Sorry, Pierre! My fault. I was… keeping up with the Gasly’s.» The awkwardness and the tension of the moment didn’t go unnoticed to any of you, and you mentally thanked Pierre’s hand resting on your waist, slowly guiding you away from Esteban, who still stared at you with a small courtesy smile. «We’ll have to bear his presence, I know. Trust me, if I could, I’d rather have him on the other side of the planet.» Pierre sighed defeated while whispering those apologies laced with hatred in your ear and a pang of nostalgia, guilt, sorrow pushed you a little closer to him. «He’s not a problem, Pierre. We know how to be civil.» He looked at you, faking amazement at your reply, nodding his head with raised brows. «You’re more mature than I thought.» «More mature than you are? For sure.» You expected him to laugh; instead, he grinned in silence, a strange sparkle wobbling in his irises. A part of you clung onto it, wishing it was a veil of tenderness, affection, or anything like it towards you. For a moment, you held the hope in your hands, and you carefully caressed it, cherished it, making room in your heart to plant it and nurture it there, as if that single twinkle could ever be the seed of love.

>>♥<<

Baku’s street didn’t seem as bumpy to Pierre, now that he was walking on it with a small group of engineers; the main straight heading to the finishing line seemed unnecessarily long, especially since he had just travelled the entire track and had the pitlane as destination. Left with nothing else to discuss with his team, he enjoyed the sun setting and painting the city gold, taking it easy and slow. «Pierre!» The Frenchman turned around and immediately grinned wide, waving to Charles jogging to him. «Track walk? Thought I’d see you speeding riding a bike.» Charles chuckled, adjusting his jingling bracelets. «I wanted to enjoy the atmosphere better.» «Yeah, me too.» They strolled pensive, no rush to be drowned by the buzzing life of the paddock. «I can’t believe it.» Pierre looked at his friend, who had a pleased grin painted and hung by his dimples. «What?» «This is your first race weekend married. And I was your best man. Isn’t it crazy?» «Time flies, Charles.» Pierre scoffed with a smile. «I saw you celebrated in the hospitality, earlier.»

As Pierre narrated the small party the team had organized to Charles’ ecstatic eyes, his thoughts lingered on you, on the myriads of unexpected congratulations he had received for choosing such a kind and fine woman and making her his. Though, there were moments he felt like he was just above an acquaintance to you. Pierre sighed. «What was that?» Charles asked. «Sometimes I think I don’t really know y/n. Not as much as I should, I mean.» «You do know her, though. You’ve been hanging out together since high school.» «Charles, I don’t even know who her first boyfriend was.» Pierre’s pinch of helplessness caught Charles by surprise, reciprocating his sudden stare with bewilderment. «Did- I didn’t even know she’s had a boyfriend.» the Monegasque stuttered. Pierre looked down at the asphalt. «Hoped you did. But you see? We don’t really know her.» «Well… You’re married now. You have all your life to get to know her.» Charles put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging look. «Yep. That’s my best man right there!» Pierre reciprocated the grab and smiled as the two of them walked down into the pitlane, serving friendly smiles and beautiful shots to the photographers buzzing around the garages.

>>♥<<

«Hello?» «Uhm, am I disturbing you?» «Yes, absolutely. But I’m going to be the nicest just for you.» «Thanks for the usual teasing, Charles.» «What’s up?» «I… I’m deeply embarrassed, but I think I’m lost. I can’t find the way to the track.» «Never heard of Google Maps?» «I’ve tried, but I ended up exactly back at the hotel.» «Ooof. There’s actually someone out there who’s worse than me then.» «Ah, I wouldn’t have called you if Pierre wasn’t busy.» «Can’t I be busy as well?» «Cha’…» «I’m just joking. Are you at the hotel?» «Yep.» «’M on my way.»

The bubbly air of that Saturday morning brushed your bare arms, anticipating the warmth falling onto the grey asphalt, as you walked quickly alongside Charles, trying not to get stopped by fans too many times. «Why didn’t you come to the track with him?» «I think he tried to wake me up, but I… uhm… fell asleep.» «It’s incurable, right?» You both chuckled, still marching towards the paddock. «How is it going?» «Uh?» «With Pierre.» A horn startled you, while Charles waved towards the Tifosi on the other side of the street and smiled under his Rayban’s. «Good! I mean, way better than I thought.» Charles studied your expression, letting your own statement sink in. «You know, I talked with him yesterday. He asked me if I knew who your first boyfriend was.» «Did you tell him?!» you gasped. «Of course not, I’m not that mad.» he looked straight ahead. «But he seemed somehow disappointed. He really wants to know you on a deeper level.» «And tell him about my hookups as he did with us? No, thanks.» «Not necessarily about past relationships. There are so many things you could rediscover now as a couple, and he’d like to. He… he cares. Pierre isn’t the asshole you believe him to be.» «You know my reasons, Charles.» «I do, y/n. But I also know Pierre, and I’ve never seen him as determined and serious in any other relationship before.» A doubtful glance at him turned into an amused snort, as you saw Charles’ dimples already exposed for you to admire. «I should give him a chance, uh?» you joked, kicking a pebble. «Yeah, you definitely should.» «I hate you.» «What’s that for?» Charles chuckled. «You’re too convincing.» «Maybe you only wanted to hear someone else’s confirmation.» You took a moment to reflect, still looking at his green eyes, letting the sentence resonate inside of you. Perhaps you had only been waiting for a sensible reasoning to justify the senseless, self-destructive and visceral need of trying to build a stronger relationship with Pierre.

>>♥<<

Crossing the room, hands intertwined with yours, Pierre felt alert, almost knowing something about bringing you along to that small reception organized for commercial reasons only was intrinsically wrong. Until he spotted a pair of brown eyes lingering way too long on the fine straps grazing your shoulders’ skin. Esteban’s. Despite the years, despite trying, despite the countless shots he had given to their relationship, Pierre couldn’t let go of hatred: the memories of the three of you in the same couple of meters, in the same suffocating room were still a fresh wound which had reopened once more. Unaware of anything, you reciprocated with a reassuring smile Pierre’s tighter hold on your hand, an enquiring look on your face. He expected you to stiffen at Ocon’s mere sight; instead, you stood like a fragile yet flexible flower against the blowing wind, only caring about being… as marvellous as you were. Pierre had been learning it to his disadvantage each day a tiny bit more, trying not to read too much into your rosy cheeks and your fond, unmistakable stares. The delicacy and the grace you would use with others any time you got the chance to talk with people from the team, the paddock, the entire world, really, hit him in an unknown spot of the soul. Probably as hard as Ocon approaching the two of you with a champagne glass in hand did on his nerves. «Didn’t expect to see you here.» Esteban said, only addressing you. Chewing a lump of awkwardness, you threw the quickest glance over to Pierre to check his reaction after being deliberately ignored by his teammate. «Here I am.» you whispered, pressing your lips together with an embarrassed smile. «Wasn’t I clear enough when I told you to stay away from her?» A lightning struck the room. The bitterness in Pierre’s tone triggered a light-hearted laugh from Esteban, theatrically opening the arm and letting the small wave of champagne wash the resentments of the past away. «Come on, Pierre! How many years passed? We aren’t teenagers anymore.» His fingers grabbed your hand tighter, restraining himself from spitting words of fire against his former teammate once again: the bottled-up anger, though, had resurfaced much to Pierre’s surprise, and to yours as well, pressing the button “play” on the reruns of the day their entire relationship crumbled.

No matter what you could’ve done to avoid it, Pierre and Esteban were born to disagree. Nobody could stop that tickling bomb hiding in both their chests as soon as they would spend enough time together to let it explode. Even without you, they would’ve nurtured antipathy for each other; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it. Nestling against Pierre’s loving arms draping you all, you stared at an indefinite point of the packed, but still empty, room. «Do you think it’s my fault?» Pierre placed his chin on your shoulder to listen to your whispered rumbling, joining you in the contemplation of the void. «No, I don’t. He was a douchebag even before treating you the way he did.» It didn’t seem like he was lying, to be fair. You knew very little about the stormy past between the two, since you had met Esteban way later than you had befriended Pierre; he had never told you a thing about a terrible kid who grew up with like a brother and then discarded him due to insane competitiveness. Esteban was dead to him. A Mr. Nobody existing without any string to his life but hate and resentment’s. Unspoken truth, they both liked you and cared for you in very different ways, so it was only natural for them to notice each other’s evident preference for you and clash because of it; that was how it was supposed to be, and they both knew it, deep deep down. «Can we please forget about him?» The careful urge of the sentence was paired with a swift brush of his hands taking yours, silently asking you to dance to the music now blasting through some speakers in the room. Maybe lightness was all you both needed to be happy.

Singapore’s humidity clung onto your lungs like a suffocating net, twirled around your trachea, squeezing it tight. With an invisible layer of sweat all over your skin, heat as well as worries and doubts made you melt before the evidence, before reality. Two weeks and you had already become a ghost. Imprisoned in the highest tower of the lies’ castle, your honeymoon had turned into a tour around the globe inside a golden cage: everybody saw you as the “trophy-wife”, a peculiar and exotic animal stupid enough to bear Pierre’s company, showed left and right, avidly and superficially looked at, never considered as a real person.

Any time Pierre would come home from unbelievably long training sessions and meetings of all sorts, you didn’t even have the strength to start an argument and cry your loneliness out. He’d absent-mindedly kiss your cheek, go take a shower and leave you to your unfinished essay draft sitting in the dust of your laptop’s memory. Eating some take-out he’d leave you choosing in religious silence, punctuated with brief chat, you’d often watch a movie on the couch: staring blankly at the screen, you’d focus on how foreign the touch of his arm around your shoulder would feel. An afterthought, quick enough to disturb the turbulence of your headspace. I simply wanted to wish you good luck. Luck. It would’ve never been out of love, but out of pure chance. As if Pierre could never learn to love anyone. Still, admitting to yourself Esteban was right would’ve been an unnecessary added humiliation. «We’re too slow in the middle sector, I’m understeering everywhere…» It was a secret you wanted to keep buried in your chest. «But you gain in the last sector, you see? Our top speed is good.» Not being reciprocated. An ineffable hurt. You miserably looked at your husband debriefing intensely with his performance engineer, standing at the back of the garage so that you wouldn’t be in the way of the many mechanics working around the car. Envious, you fixed your gaze upon the fan Pierre held in his hand, still busy talking and pointing at data on the screen. The air felt too thick to be breathed in, too dense to slide down your lungs and swoop your dark thoughts away. You had agreed to be his wife, due to the endless love you had. But what if he let that love slowly wither and die? What if you could grow out of love? What if finally having him was enough for you to become indifferent? What if neither of you could remain loyal to the promises you vowed?

Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes shooing the sudden dizziness away; and at the very same time, you felt a gentle weight lingering on your right shoulder, asking quietly for permission. You opened your eyes, obliged to wide them as soon as you saw it was Esteban. «Here, drink this.» A water bottle was handed to you, still struck by the soft eyes and the attention being addressed to you. «It’s electrolytes. With this weather I always make sure to keep hydrated, since it’s easy to lose liquids and mineral salts as well.» A thousand questions ran through your mind, to the point Esteban could almost see them being scattered from one pupil to the other. He invited you to drink once again, poking pride sitting in his chest as he had noticed you being in discomfort first. First than… him. The quick glance Pierre gave the two of you was enough to stir up even stronger satisfaction, a lovely victory in the endless mind-war they fought. «Thank you.» It came out stifled, high-pitched, a bit squeaky, but somehow filled with unexpected sadness. Pierre crossed the garage in a couple of strides, wearing a mask of concern you couldn’t read the authenticity of, shielding you with his body from the unwanted attention Esteban had provided you with. «Are you okay? You could’ve told me you were thirsty.» «Pierre, I’m fine.» you told him off, almost whispering. He darted a glance at his teammate once again as soon as his hand reached yours to grab the water bottle back, willing to take off the hideous smile he wore on his face. Lots of eyes inside the garage had observed the scene in silence, still glancing over you, as Pierre’s attentions and barely noticeable physical touch felt all too much to bear at once. You would’ve died for it, only a couple of months earlier. If only the wedding weren’t a well-thought plan, a pact between family friends, a tie nobody but you craved intimately and deeply because of the loving, totally disregarding the real practical reasons behind it. Ocon’s silhouette being drowned in his side of the garage made your mind slip back into the past, unboxing a metallic box of memories you had buried six feet underground.

Disappointed. The disapproval you had read in Pierre’s face right as you showed up to the club next to the “new friend” you wanted to be joining your historical trio had your heart shattering like a glass of wine from a polished tablecloth, painting the floor in red diamonds. Pierre had dragged you in the middle of the dancing crowd, leaving Esteban hanging at the entrance before a confused Charles. «Why did you bring him here?!» «He’s… I wanted to introduce him to you and Cha’!» you yelled, in order to be heard amidst the chaos. «I know him already, and he’s an asshole. Now tell him to leave! I don’t want him anywhere near me!» «You can’t force anyone to leave a public place! And… And I want to spend time with all of you.» He bored his eyes into yours, letting the blasting music take over your thoughts. «I’m not hanging out with you if you buzz around him.» It was definitive. «Call me when you’re done wasting time with that piece of shit.» Giving you his back, you saw him dive into the sea of people, to find and rapidly grab the waist of the brunette who had accompanied him to the party; he didn’t even bother to be far enough so that you wouldn’t see him shove his tongue down her throat, a tangle of hands messily roaming, touching, squeezing yearning skin. Este’s hand softly intertwining yours guided you towards a quiet table, to which Charles sat waiting, with drinks for the three of you; and as much as you would’ve liked to be grateful for Charles’ delighted stare, for Esteban’s soothing words, your heart still drowned in bubbles at the bottom of your cocktail. He’s my boyfriend. Those were the words you were about to say at the door of the club, to Pierre. You had already anticipated the sweetness of the moment, the satisfaction in proving you weren’t his little puppy, a slave rebelled to the master showing him the jingling keys which had freed him. The mere need to prove him anything was the undeniable sign of slavery. You’d never be free.

>>☆<<

«Are you sure?» «Yeah…» «Here? Don’t you want to go-» You shut Esteban up pressing your lips on his, carrying on the messy make out session you had started in the club’s bathroom. «Y/n, are you really sure?» The kiss was interrupted once again, leaving you with an unbearable, unsatisfied yearn making your heart swell and explode in ashes of frustration. «Don’t you love me, Este?» you whined, your fingertip dragging his bottom lip down in the drunken attempt to seduce him even further. Of course he loved you. He had agreed to take your virginity away as you leaned your back onto a bathroom’s door, during the most boring and miserable of nights out, accepting to be humiliated by Pierre in front of you, his own girlfriend, and dancing awkwardly in the crowd before you dragged him there to pour out the unexplainable need of getting your brain fucked out. Esteban loved you purely, too purely, to be fair: he felt like a noob and inexpert, an amateur he was not, while listening to your heavenly choir of whimpers and profanities, with his fingers gripping tight your hips, as not to lose you. Deep down he knew he should’ve been satisfied and content, he should’ve enjoyed that piece of pleasure and love – but was it love to you? Esteban wasn’t quite sure – because he had managed to snatch you away from Pierre’s clutch, he had laid his hand onto someone he hadn’t had already: he had won where Pierre had lost. Still, thrusting into you as waves of pleasure rocked your body and transfigured your expression, Esteban only felt like he had lost you, indeed, like he had never truly had you, not even physically. And when your warm hand caressed his cheek, he got the confirmation: you pitied him, because no matter how bold the “boyfriend” tag could be, your heart could only crave, think of and wish Pierre.

The break-up was, nonetheless, harmful. After damning yourself, considering how nice and kind Esteban was to you, how sweet some of the moments you had spent together had been, you had come to the conclusion that no other feeling in the world could replace or overshadow the consuming love you felt for Pierre. You didn’t need it to be easy and satisfying; as hurtful as it could be, you only needed him. And to his own dismay, Esteban knew it.

«Can you drop me off at that bar over there?» you pointed at the end of the street. «Why?» «I simply need to hand this to Pie-» «Oh, no, just save it. I should’ve known.» You frowned, looking at his tensed arms. «Is there something wrong?» He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel ‘til his knuckles turned white. «Absolutely not! My girlfriend only runs after another guy who also happens to be a moron and doesn’t give a shit about her while I’m being the third wheeler to my own relationship!» Esteban harshly braked in front of the bar. «Y/n, we’re done.» «What?» you gaped, still stunned by the whole conversation. «I don’t want to be with you anymore. Now get out of the car.» Beyond bewildered, you searched for sincerity and honesty in the brown chocolate eyes you had often lost yourself into, stung by hurt as you found them. «Are you seriously breaking up with me for this? I just need to return this hoodie to him!» Esteban’s eyes bore yours outraged, almost incredulous to your words. «Can’t you see the problem? Can’t you notice how you’re chasing after him and are not willing to treat me nearly the same as you treat him? You share clothes with him and you’ve never even asked once for my hoodies!» «Did you want me to?» «That’s not the point, y/n! The fact is it seems like I never cross your mind, whereas Pierre is always in your thoughts. Sorry, but I can’t bear to see you love him more than you love me. I can’t do this anymore.» Gasping for air and for words, you found none: you witnessed helpless as Esteban got out of his seat and reached to your side to open the car door and invite you once again to get out. «Y/n, don’t force me to be drastic. Come on.» «You’re being nonsense! Este, please, you can’t do this!»

Watching your first relationship crumble under the weight of painful lies, you desperately held onto the car door, despite Esteban’s hand trapping your wrist, firm. «Y/n, I told you to get out.» As you pleaded him, whispering “sorry”s like prayers, few tears pricked your eyes, which seemed to sort the opposite effect of what you had hoped for. Esteban, blinded by hurt and rejection, pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to drag you out the car, and as an unconditional reflex you cried out to him, a tear cutting through your cheek. «Este, please… Please, don’t do this to me!» «You didn’t care about hurting me, why should I care about hurting you?» As he spitted out these words, scornful, he managed to pull you out the car with a jerk, eliciting a chain of heavy tears to reach the ground, which blurred your vision. Esteban was still talking to you, wrist aching to be freed underneath his hold of steel, but your mind refused to make sense of any of the insults directed at you, as much as your eyes couldn’t clearly distinguish his angry face. You had stopped fighting him, though, surrendered to the sad truth he had unveiled despite you trying to cover it up. A truth made of lies. Exposed to your own blade, humiliated and full of regret, you stood still, frozen, incapable to react. And it was then that you saw Esteban’s body being crashed violently onto the chassis of his car with a loud thud. Your wrist was suddenly snatched from the grab, and you swiped some tears to witness clearly the scene unfolding before you. Pierre holding Esteban by the collar. Pierre was shouting onto his face, unleashing his fury, barking his disgust and hatred; and though you and him both expected some sort of reaction from Esteban, you both watched him stay silent at the accusations. «Don’t ever touch her again! Don’t you even try to show up again, understood? Go fuck yourself and stay away from us!» Pierre shouted, putting a protective arm around your neck and bringing you close. But he couldn’t protect you from those brown eyes, which swallowed down the secrets you weren’t ready to share with Pierre. Esteban judged you in the harshest way possible: leaving you to your own conscience. «It’s okay, now. You don’t have to cry anymore.» Pierre wiped your face off, pulling your head to him for his chin to rest upon, rubbing your back with his hand, as you watched Esteban get back in the car and disappear in a cloud of smoke. «He won’t bother us anymore, I promise. You’re safe, with me.» What a paradox: safe in your captor’s arms.

You let yourself be cradled by Pierre’s honey-laced reassurances, trying to digest the shock of the whole situation bit by bit, failing not to feel sorry for having deceived Esteban and yourself. You had believed you loved him; which wasn’t and could never be true. And the awareness weighed on your chest even heavier while being held in Pierre’s arms.

HOT NEWS: Alpine’s driver Pierre Gasly is told to had been seen very intimately close to another woman during a formal gathering with top sponsors of the team. Has the recent marriage with y/n cracked already?

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛.

>> 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 “𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕”. 𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕... N𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖’𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜… 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍: 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙶𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚢? 𝙸𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎’𝚜.

Paralyzed on the spot, you let the phone gently thud against the kitchen counter. It was nothing you didn’t expect to happen to you; you had lived through it even before whispering with soft eyes “I do” at the altar, when you used to scroll his Instagram picture-perfect shots with his girlfriends, but the timing he had chosen was way off your forecast. The thunderstorm had darkened your sky too early. You hadn’t seen it coming, you hadn’t heard a single roar of the wind in the distance. Nothing. Pierre had given you nothing either to hate or to love. Somehow, a small part of you felt sickly relief in knowing you could finally turn your eternal suspicion into hatred: you wished you could mold it in shape, form sentences to dagger him with, cries to let out your throat with violence. Nothing came. Nothing.

You stood by the counter as you let the bloody red liquid boil into the pan; staring at it, you absentmindedly kept stirring the sauce, not able to do anything else. Your ringtone blasted through the empty kitchen and it pierced your ears unexpected, instilling in your nerves a hit of anxiety which caused your hand to hit the pan; it dropped inevitably off the stove, collapsed to the ground, poured its vermilion content on the luminous tiles. Dodging quickly enough not to have the pan falling on your feet, still hearing your phone ringing, your chest benched inward with a deep, exasperated sob, sharply taking in air to fill your shaky body with. Waves of tears ran down your eyes, arms still half-hanging in the void, as if you waited for someone to pick you up and nail you to a cross, to cease your unsubduable sense of betrayal. It all crushed down on you, eyes closed, stilling liquid sadness, which ricocheted between the walls of the emptiest and loneliest flat in the world. The phone stopped ringing. It seemed to calm you down at first; the silence left you with curiosity to see if the nightmare was over, opening your eyes back to the disastrous sauce on the floor, which was supposed to be ready for dinner. With caution, your trembling fingers grabbed the phone from the marble counter, and you jumped on your feet as it started buzzing and ringing against your skin once again. A name appeared, impressed on your retina. You couldn’t help but suffocate a sob: the grab on the phone tightened together with the clench wrenching your heart, making it as small as a crumble.

>>♥<<

«Charles…» He didn’t hesitate to take in your wandering hands, flinging towards him and holding onto his shirt. Right as he had read the news, he had reached out to you: for he had witnessed you breaking down because of Pierre too many times not to know you would, eventually, need a leaning shoulder. He wore the friend’s armor with the usual embarrassment of being both friend to you and to Pierre; he was used to balancing between two sides, trying not to pick one, working as a bridge to keep you walking in the same direction. Charles always felt helpless before your broken heart: he knew Pierre and how he would’ve never done anything to hurt you, but still, he had, undoubtedly, and there was no defense Charles himself could put up. Especially if he had you weeping and sobbing in his arms, so painfully close to his heart. «I can’t do this anymore, Charles.» «I know, y/n. I know.» He swallowed hard, caressing your hair, searching for comforting words even though he was damn aware there were none. «W-why? Where did I go wrong?» Charles’s heart panged at your words: he immediately took your face in his hands, wiped tears off it with both thumbs and silently hoped to find an answer. The truth is he hadn’t a single one of them. Glancing at you, Charles wished he hadn’t been excited and bubbly about the marriage as he had been; he had nurtured so much joy, watching the relationship timidly sail the month before the wedding. He had pictured you and Pierre being the couple everyone would envy, perhaps even building a family together. He had got enamored with the way your wedding dress fitted you, how the golden ring adorning your hand had lit up your smile and your complexion even more, how every piece seemed to be finally falling into place.

In a few weeks’ time, he had witnessed the cast away of hopes. Charles wanted to tell you Pierre would’ve never done anything like it, he would’ve sworn it, if only facts didn’t force him to question everything he presumed to be sure of. «I know you’ll hate me for it, but…» he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear, «…we should know exactly what happened before judging him so harshly.» «Charles! Do you think I really want to know the details?» your chin twitched. «I don’t need to know where… how… and since when they started fucking.» Shaking your head while picturing the atrocious scenes in your head, you put a hand on your forehead, face dropping down, incapable of tolerating Charles’ eyes boring into yours with an awful mixture of pity and sorrow. «It disgusts me.» you said, even feeling your stomach upset. Charles watched you spit out hatred as he rubbed a hand on your upper arm, slightly squeezing it in reassurance. He was friend with both of you and wasn’t keen on the idea of losing either, nor choosing where to stand. Somehow, he couldn’t pick a side. «Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve to be loved?» Charles looked at you sternly, almost scolding you for such a question. «No doubts you do.» he said, definitive. «But Pierre knows that too. Before being his wife, you’re his friend.» He placed his firm hands on both your arms, searching for eye contact as he kept addressing you with a gentle tone. «He’s always loved you and respected you, even if it might have been hard to notice.» «He’s never going to love me… He never will.»

You both stood in the hall of Charles’ suite: the silence wrapping the luxury furniture was punctuated by your quiet sobs, your shaking breath, the strenuous beating of your heart. The air was warm; it flushed your cheeks and Charles’ as well. After a more attentive look, his green eyes seemed dull and tired. The night was already projecting its dark shadow onto the sky, and it was the sign which put your soul into a state of guilt: right after Charles had called you, you had run to him without a single worry of disturbing him. You had left a mess in the kitchen. You hadn’t prepared the dinner Pierre had asked you for, like the perfect lovely wife you had been up until that moment would request you to. As much as you could try to hate him, a solid and unbreakable part of you held onto the hopeless love of him, never ending source of suffering, yet inevitable. At the thought of your condemnation, you sobbed and cried a little louder, pulling Charles’s shirt near you, defeated, exhausted, distraught.

>>♥<<

The quiet sound of clinking metal timidly reached you and awoke you; you stirred, onto the couch, feeling a bit sore from sleeping all night in the same position, cranked. The sun filtered through the curtains, lighting your cheek right as you got seated. The room seemed to wheel ‘round you, on and on: thoughts started racing the new circuit of your mind, lap after lap, causing you to shut your eyes and block the incessant flow which was making you dizzy. Putting memories in order, you recalled the events. You had spent the night at Charles’ place: he had offered you to sleep in his bed, but you had decided not to profit of his generosity. In the quiet darkness of the suite, you had thrown your phone on the carpet, nestling against the squared pillow, shying away any thought concerning Pierre. But you had failed and wondered, haunted, if he might have been searched for you. After all, you weren’t home, when he clearly expected you to be there. He might have noticed. Or maybe not. Perhaps he had been taken care of by that daddy’s girl; maybe he had left you a text saying he wasn’t coming home either, leaving you wasted and rotten together with your nicely cooked dinner. If only there was a dinner to see rotting ; the red liquid crusting on the kitchen tiles printed on your mind like a crime scene you wanted to forget. The idea of your house being empty crashed your insides and twisted them in helpless disappointment. Still sitting, you eyed the phone, lying backwards on the floor, turned off since last night. What was the point of switching it back only to be flooded with more rumors you would never be ready to face?

You then finally stood up in the middle of the living area, looking around you like a stranger, and followed the noise coming from the small kitchen. There you found Charles, jogging around the counters, attempting to cook. You checked the time on the clock hung up on the wall: Monday, 1:12 p.m. «Oh, finally! Good morning!» Charles chirped, interrupting the trance status you had swamped into. «Good morning. Are you cooking lunch?» you asked, getting closer to the stove. «Yep! Some pasta with pesto for lunch!» You gulped at the mention of food. «I just woke up, Charles… I don’t know if I want to eat so much for breakfast.» «I’m sure you’re going to be hungry as soon as you see my delicious plate.» he chuckled, right before quickly removing the lid to the pan which was about to overflow in white bubbles. Done with stirring up the water, he turned towards you, who were already seated at the table, and leaned his palms onto the marble behind him. «How do you feel?» he asked. You rubbed your temple. «Tired.» Charles sighed. «You should’ve slept in my bed and let me take the couch as I-» «I’m not tired physically, Cha’. I slept quite good.» He nodded to himself in silence, looking down. «I see.» You drowned in the white noise of the pan boiling and the kitchen fan filling the otherwise dead silence, mentally visualizing the blurry picture you had been shocked by. The dizziness grew stronger and a large, deep pit in your stomach opened like a black hole swallowing your feelings. «I’ll talk to him about it as soon as I see him.» You heard Charles’ voice, but didn’t listen, as the cooking water roaring against the steel was the sound you had tuned into, and it grew louder and louder, almost unbearable to your focused hearing. With a quick glance, you saw the white foam resurfacing behind Charle’s silhouette. «Charles, the pan!» you urged. «Oh, fuck!»

>>♥<<

You stared at the plate, keeping it at a distance ahead of you with your fingertips, listening to Charles’ chewing, which never seemed that loud. The chewing stopped, together with his fork clinking against the ceramic, and you felt his eyes fixed upon you. «You need to eat something, y/n.» «Sorry, Charles, I have a messed-up stomach… After all the things I read…» «I know, but please, just have a few bites.» Charles gently pushed the plate back near you. «I can’t see you like this.» It was meant to be an unheard thought, just above a whisper, but the kitchen was so silent you could listen to his breathing. The shining fork on the tablecloth, a small piece of penne pierced; half a bite. Eyes closed, and Pierre was still there. Maybe he hadn’t even texted you: he hadn’t wondered about you at all, but left without warning, completely indifferent to your absence. The invisible wall built brick after brick in the last two weeks suddenly turned gray and heavy, painfully present. Pierre would never love you. The fork crashed against the plate, hand covering your mouth; Charles raised his eyes and stopped his every movement to observe you once again. He saw you hesitantly get up from the chair, quite unsure about what was going on, until the air punched your stomach and caused it to fling upwards, together with all its content. With no time to reach the bathroom, panic building in your chest, you abruptly turned towards the sink behind you, fingers unable to stop the wave climbing up your throat.

Charles got up, as you intended hearing his chair screeching. Not quite sure about what was happening, he first let his arms raise up a bit only to be lowered back down, helpless, indecisive, confused; then he got near you, pulling your hair out of the way, trying not to feel grossed out by the scene. «’m sorry…» you mumbled, breathing through your nausea, hoping the worst had passed. «Are you okay?» he rushed. You shook your head in denial. «Y/n, what’s up?» Your marriage was in shambles after a couple of weeks only and an insufferable urge of hiding from the entire world pulsed like a drill in your head. «I don’t know, but I’ve kind of been feeling sick the last couple of days.» «Are you ill?» Charles sighed, sorry. To think he was lying in somebody’s arms, cuddling in someone else’s warm touch, careless enough to forget about your existence and your feelings, your ego so easily, paired up with the sudden shock and horror of throwing up in front of Charles, put you in the worst state of anxiety and despair. Then, the realization. A sly thought, slithering tantalizingly amidst your scattered mind. What if…? You gripped the counter so hard your knuckles turned pale, washed out, eyes wide opened and bewildered, in fright and disbelief. Your heart ran wild, as your thoughts did, while a sigh of hysteria and awareness triggered your cry.

Charles, who had opened the tap in the meantime and had handed you a piece of paper towel to clean yourself up, slowly put down his hand and frowned, disturbed by how exasperated you sounded. «Please, please, it cannot be… It can’t be true.» you chanted low and quick, but slow and high enough in tone for Charles to understand your words. «What can’t be?» Charles asked, searching for your attention and your eyes through your erratic movements: you rinsed your mouth with water, closed the tap and swiftly dried your face with the piece of paper he was still holding. You stared at him intensely, as much as he did: he immediately read the fear overwhelming you, but still failed to see the reason, which you hoped to be able to communicate without giving it form with words. A couple of seconds were shared in that exchange of terrified glances; and before he was able to say anything else, Charles looked at you pacing quickly to the couch, raising all the pillows in search of something. «Where’s my purse?» you asked, frenzy. «I- I don’t know!» «Did you see my wallet at least?!» You picked up your phone from the ground and pressed in hurry the switching on button, cursing as it took an insufferable amount of time to turn on. Charles stepped right behind you, glancing left and right, pondering your request quickly. «What do you need money for?» Charles shouted, set in panic by your erratic behaviour. With a swift turn, you stared at him once more, eaten alive by anxiety. «A pregnancy test.» You could hear his soundless breath of surprise as he left his mouth ajar, as well as his brain’s gears in motion, getting a grip of the situation. «You… You two…» You gave Charles a regretful and desperate stare, pleading him with your eyes not to judge you harshly for falling into Pierre’s trap, chin twitching, tears pricking your eyes. «It was our wedding night. I just… I just wanted to be happy.»

You broke down in tears before you could end the sentence, covering the face and the shame it displayed with your hands. Charles froze, trying to clear his mind and think of the next step he should take; your cries, though, only distracted him from doing so. «Y/n, hey, come here.» He carefully engulfed you in a hug, shushing you, in an attempt to calm you down. «I’m going to buy a test now, okay? Stay here, sit on the couch and relax. I’ll come back in a second.» The lightweight kiss he pressed onto your head as you plopped down onto the sofa, spent, felt distant and muffled, as much as the door closing shut behind his hurried figure. You stared into the void, replaying the night of the forbidden love over and over again, in search of any possible mistake you two made, to no avail: you had been so enchanted by Pierre and buzzed in bliss that the rerun became fader and fader, the memory even more distant, as if it were a mere fruit of imagination, as if you and Pierre had never been happy together. Before you could realize it, Charles was already flinging the door back open, pouring the content of the whitish plastic bag onto the table, unwrapping the test and placing it in your hand, closing your fingers shut around it.

«Okay, so… It says to hold the stick downwards, so maybe it’s better if we use a cup or something.» Charles opened a cabinet of the bathroom and took out a plastic cup, which he handed to you. «"If testing early, use first urine of the day"… Well, that’s perfect, because you’ve just woken up! “Don’t drink lots of liquid”, done as well… I think we’re good to go.» Sniffing, you stared at Charles, in wait. «W-why are you looking at me like that?» he nervously chuckled. «I need to pee.» «Right!» He immediately rushed out of the bathroom, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.

He leaned against the door, impatiently waiting for you to signal to him to enter back again, which you didn’t. After a couple of minutes, Charles knocked, not able to bear any more silence. «Y/n? Can I come in now?» No answer. Charles put his ear against the varnished wood, trying to capture any sound, knocking once again. He got startled by a sudden yelp echoing from inside the bathroom. «Y/n?» Charles was about to put his hand on the knob, when he heard the lock being sealed under his helplessly slow fingers, which vainly tested the knob in a rush, too late. «Y/n? Please, open the door!» As if it weren’t enough, his phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket: moving a couple of steps away from the door with a loud sigh, he was struck by the caller. «Pierre?» His name pierced your ears like the tick of a bomb: the pregnancy test in your trembling fingers, you bore your stare into the bright lines signalling the positivity of it. A child. Pierre had just cheated on you and, of all the moments, the pregnancy news had sprung at the most inconvenient time. «Have you heard from y/n? Do you know where she is? I’ve been trying to reach out to her, but she doesn’t answer.» «Yes, she is…» Charles swallowed hard and glanced at the wooden door, still perfectly closed and sealed. «She’s here with me, at my place.» «Oh, thank God. How is she?» «What?» Charles almost choked at Pierre’s enquiry. The thought of your benching figure throwing up in his sink was still vivid and his shirt was somehow slightly damp and stretched. Pierre sighed. «She trusted the news, I suppose…» Charles’ end fell silent for seconds, in which he stared at the door opening and showing your silhouette marked with tears, emotionless, holding the pregnancy test upwards so that he saw the result right as you stepped close to him. «I’m coming over. Don’t let her go, okay? See you soon.» Pierre concluded, impatient. «Bye.» You both stood in silence, thoughts taking over the room. «How can I raise a baby without a father?» The sudden question melted Charles’ heart. «Y/n, it’s going to have a father: Pierre would never leave you alone, even if you two weren’t married and the child weren’t his.» «But I don’t need him as an uncle, I need him as a father and a husband who’s present and loves us both!» To that, Charles couldn’t answer anything: he couldn’t swear Pierre’s love for you, it wasn’t in his power, though he would’ve liked to reassure you in any way possible. He hugged you for the umpteenth time, cradling your never-ending weeping self, mentally uncovering the weight of tragedy: not only you might be hurt by Pierre refusing your affection, but preferring someone else’s physical, carnal company. Discarded, thrown away like a valueless thing, having to face one of the biggest challenges of a woman’s life without the certainty of support from the man you loved.

Charles noticed a swelling point near his heart, tormented by the whole situation, which soon turned into utter panic as you twisted abruptly into his arms, startled by a loud knocking on the door. «Who’s that?» you asked, holding the pregnancy test to your chest and looking around, trembling and confused. Some other knocks thundering through the suite. «Charles! Open the door!» You daggered your eyes to the Monegasque, torn between utter terror and betrayal: why had he made him come over when he was supposed to keep you safe from the whole world, especially from Pierre’s cruelty? Charles stared at you, motionless, waiting for you to make the first move and implicitly give him the consent to unlock the door. «He cannot know.» you stated, attempting to sound firm, and failing to conceal panic. «But-» «You owe me this, for allowing him to come here in the first place. Don’t you dare to say a word about it.» Charles shook his head, eyes full of disapproval yet showing pity; then, without adding any other word, he watched you fiddle with the pregnancy test to hide it beneath your shirt and approached the door to let Pierre in. «Where is she?» Pierre urged, hurried. Your sitting silhouette towered on the couch right in front of him: your profile contrasted the long curtains of the living room and the pale, greyish tones of the weather outside casted on your skin a livid, gloomy shadow. He knelt down before you, trying to get your eyes to look at his, but he was met with the deadliest still stare he had ever seen: your glossy irises worked as a push for his hand to reach and stroke your cheek, but you shied away his touch. «Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Charles?» The Monegasque mumbled a “Sure” under his breath, drained by the whole situation.

Pierre never stopped observing you with attention, which cost you a lot of effort into not locking gaze with him; and when you finally did, a clench of rage shut your jaw, annoyed by his behaviour. «Aren’t you tired?» «Tired of what?» you spitted out. «Of consuming yourself after a false accusation.» You reluctantly strayed away your eyes from him once again, unluckily charmed by his proximity. «But you’re not consumed, right? You expected it from me, you were waiting for me to make a mistake, weren’t you?» he sarcastically added. «You swore you would love me and trust me until the end of your life, but you didn’t hesitate to buy into whatever lie someone spread to ruin my reputation once again!» «Your reputation! Always your fucking reputation first! And what about mine? Don’t you care about how people will think of me from now on?» «I’m not saying I don’t care, I want to point out the fact that some bastard sold the news on purpose to damage me!» «I don’t give a shit about who did that, you cheated on me!» «I DID NOT! For fuck’s sake, this is what I’m trying to tell you! Someone took an out-of-context picture at a dinner where photographers weren’t allowed to try to ruin me and our relationship as well! Are you so stupid to fall for it too?»

At this point, you were crying without containing anymore; after the heated altercation, you stopped and felt your chest sting with hurt pride and feelings. «I’m stupid for having fallen in love with you since the day I met you.» Your words seemed to stun Pierre: his lips had parted in surprise at your confession, as much as his eyelids had uncovered completely the majestic blue eyes now bored into yours. The silence which followed your unwanted declaration made you curl into a ball, sobbing loudly to yourself. As soon as you felt a pair of arms embracing you, you fought back to avoid them with little whines and cries, only to be defeated by its comforting warmth: you let Pierre seal your bubble of despair, like a shield. «I’ll prove to you I did nothing, y/n, I promise. Nobody should’ve dared to write about us the way they did.» What Pierre reckoned to be soothing words weren’t reassuring to your ears at all: the missed reaction to your hopeless love for him fuelled your fears concerning the buried, but growing life in your womb. How could a child live without love? How could you? A sudden wave of nausea made you break the embrace Pierre had engulfed you in, bringing a hand over your mouth yet another time, eyes shut. «Don’t you feel good? What’s wrong?» he unconsciously put his hand on your thigh, affectionately squeezing it, as he asked. «I cooked some pasta and it tasted awful. My fault.» You quickly glanced at Charles, who had rejoined the room, getting near the couch. His stare on you was stern and tender at the same time, communicating both his blame and his will to help you cover up the pregnancy, for the moment, at least. «You’ll never learn how to cook, right?» Pierre snorted. «Probably not.» Charles huffed a smile, happy to have brightened the mood of the room a tiny bit. «I’m a bit hungry, though. Got anything in the pantries?» Pierre asked. «I’ll go check!»

While Charles walked away and left you alone once more, you sniffed and dried your cheeks, gazing down, looking away from Pierre’s burning and suddenly careful stare. «I called you a thousand times yesterday.» he spoke low, as not to be heard. You shook your head, smally. «I think you know why my phone was switched off.» «I came back home and I saw the mess in the kitchen.» he ignored your words. «What? Were you disappointed about not having dinner served?» Pierre pressed his lips together, holding back the quick answer rolling off his tongue. And then he decided to let it out. «I was worried about you.» No, he wasn’t, you told yourself. He’s trying to fool me. Still, the heartfelt tone he used to deliver the sentence rose a commotion deep in your soul: the gentle chords of golden love vibrating for him only were put in restless motion at the sound of the confession. It was just so small, but your entire feelings could feast with it for months, for years, after bearing starvation for as long. «I’ve already talked with my lawyer to sue the journalists and the source of the rumour for defamation.» he caressed your cheek, slowly, as not to startle you with the touch. «I won’t let anyone come between us. Soon it’ll be again just you and me, only us.»

As much as you would’ve liked to trust his whispered words, soft as you had never heard him talk ever before, your choked lie laid untold and yet high like a wall in the room. Pierre leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, fingers still lingering over your face. Flushing your eyelids down, you recalled the same tenderness being offered to you on other occasions, too short to your liking, too faintly impressed in the memory’s film, too brutally in contrast with the bittersweet tumult raging inside of you. «I need you by my side.» Maybe you had imagined it, as it left Pierre’s lips lighter than a whisper; or, maybe, it was the first time you had witnessed some kind of fragility and sweetness in him, just so that you could fall for him even deeper and harder.

The following days, the tension you anticipated to lay between you and Pierre was replaced by a layer of anguish and plainness, wrapping you like a wet, cold cover: the pregnancy test you had hidden carefully haunted your thoughts throughout the day, making you insensitive to Pierre’s attempts at building back again a sense of familiarity, and kept you awake at night, gripping the sheets tight, shaking away the loneliness of the present and of the future.

You knew you didn’t have much time before being forced to tell Pierre: but you had never been as scared to lose him as you were, walking side by side into the paddock, sitting on a stool in the garage, avoiding your husband’s stare while he kissed your cheek, gentle. The weight of your mind drew your gaze down, to the floor. «It’s so cold in here, isn’t it?» You peeked upward at Esteban entering the garage, rubbing his arms as to shake them up from coldness; to be fair, Texas’ air was far from cold, and you struggled interpreting his sardonic smile. Pierre turned around to throw an annoyed look at him, as he gathered the upper part of the suit higher to zip it up. Having gained both of your attention, Esteban fixed his eyes on you, in mischief. «It’s so sad to see a couple being so distant and cold to each other…» You frowned, surprised by the unusual tone of his voice and the sparkle of malice shimmering on his features. Esteban tilted his head, still looking at you, his expression now turning to an unbearable shade of pity, masked by a sinister grin. «Poor y/n… I had told you Pierre would mess up.» «It’s none of your business, you don’t know a fuck!» Pierre shouted, crossing the garage to face him directly. «And stop addressing her like you’ve known her forever.» he added in a lower tone, threatening. Esteban glanced at you back again, letting out an amused scoff. «Didn’t you ever tell him?» «Stop talking to her! Take it out on me and leave her out of this!» The increasing tone of Pierre’s voice, as well as Esteban’s cornering words, made you stand up from the seat and left your mouth dry like the desert, no chance to reply. «Pierre, she can decide on her own if she wants to talk with me or not, you don’t control her. Is he always acting like that with people getting close to you?» Pierre, of course, anticipated your reactionless self. «No, only with dickheads like you! Fuck yourself and don’t get near to her!» «Isn’t it a bit pretentious for someone who cheated on his wife?» The sentence sorted the effect Esteban clearly was expecting: Pierre’s fingers gripped his suit tight, pushing him a few steps backwards due to the threatening force he used. «IT WAS YOU! You made the picture, you were there!» «Pierre, please…» your voice, shaky and feeble, made Esteban laugh. «Stop fucking laughing! Who gave you the right to ruin both our lives?!» «Oh, trust me, Pierre, if I wanted to ruin her, I had a far more interesting story… Which I think you should hear.» With one, fierce shrug, he got rid of Pierre’s tight grab, pointing his eyes back at you. «I was her boyfriend, back in high school, when you used to hang all out together with Charles.» You stood lifeless, dreading the moment Pierre would turn to give you a disappointed or maybe even mad look; but he didn’t. Esteban kept going. «You’ve always had her on your tail, but you never noticed she was in love with you… I’ve never seen anyone more pathetic.» he let out a snort. «She had so little self-respect to let me take her virginity away in a club’s bathroom… She used me like a fuck-toy and then discarded me. This is the girl you married.»

The whole garage fell silent, since nobody dared to interrupt the helpless flow of words. An involuntary yell escaped your lips as Pierre ferociously crashed Esteban’s back onto the back wall, finally getting a reaction from the mechanics and engineers, trying to get in between the two to separate them. Pierre was screaming in French, at the top of his lungs, defending you – unbeknownst to you; Esteban simply stood without reacting much, as he had done years earlier at the same physical attack he had experienced, but this time his revenge was consumed. He knew he had won after hearing Pierre shouting it was over; seeing him approaching you with big strides and hugging you, leaving the box without uttering any other word. Reading your expression on the verge of crying, a sick pleasure overtook him. He had won the war.

«Cheers, les gars!» «Cheers!» Amongst the choir of glasses jingling, toasting in delight, you raised yours without being able to reach everyone’s cup, then obliged to set your eyes on the non-alcoholic beverage you had ordered. You had received numerous side-eyed glances and mocking exclamations for even daring to ask for a banal juice on the celebration night of Pierre’s new contract with Aston Martin, which came after the unexpected departure of Lance. «Someone will have to drive us home tonight, and I don’t think Pierre is going to spare himself…» you half-joked, as an excuse. Everyone bought it with a loud chuckle, except for Charles, who didn’t miss any of your movements, bearing the incommensurable weight of truth on his chest.

He had been texting you quite a lot in the last few days: you had informed him of the explosive moments lived inside Alpine’s garage, ultimately leading to Pierre signing with Aston for next year; he had asked you, in turn, how things were now going with Pierre, if you trusted his version of the story. A few nights earlier, while reading Charles’ texts, you had looked down at Pierre, who was peacefully heaving against your chest. You couldn’t tell whether he had fallen asleep to the soothing head scratches you had been giving him since you had snuggled on the bed, as silence and quietness lingered in the air. “Did you tell him?” Pierre’s arm encircled your waist, radiating warmth all throughout your core: it served as another subtle reminder of the news yet to be shared. Though, you had never felt more terrified: it was the first time in years that you perceived Pierre’s affection being that close. Announcing the pregnancy might have taken away the precious blossom of his love, which you now couldn’t live without. Charles knew your fear, he could read it well between the lines, and he hoped you would soon rely on Pierre to get the support you’d need.

Drinking plain juice didn’t prevent you from joining friends on the dance floor, gripping handfuls of hair and shaking it to the thick, hot air of the club. Standing still at the edge of the crowd, sipping on a cocktail with eyes fixed on the group – on you, mainly – Charles and Pierre talked, undisturbed. «What are you looking at?» the Monegasque asked with a smirk. Pierre didn’t answer, he didn’t stray his irises from your dancing silhouette, drowning and resurfacing in the crowd. «She’s beautiful.» «As if you haven’t been telling me this for the past ten years, Pierre.» Charles chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. «It’s different, now.» «How so?» Pierre hesitated before answering, gathering the right words to express his muted feelings. «Last Monday, when I came back home and I couldn’t find her, I freaked out as I’ve never done before. I called her twenty-five times, left a fucking voicemail – who does that anymore? I just didn’t know what to do, I was panicking. I slept on the couch thinking she’d wake me up after coming back at night.» «I should’ve warned you she was with me, sorry.» Pierre lightly shook his head. «No, I think I deserved that, for all the times I treated her bad.» After a small pause, Charles, frowning, prompted another question. «So what’s changed?» «I… I’m falling in love with her.» he breathed out in realization, enchanted by your vision, watching you move like a fairy amongst the large group of his friends enjoying the blasting music. Charles couldn’t stop himself from snorting and laughing. «What?» «That’s a lie.» Pierre looked at him puzzled; Charles took another sip, smiling in delight and amusement. «You’ve always loved her; but you didn’t know what love was yet.» «Said the philosopher!» Their laughter was so bright and loud that you turned your head towards the two of them patting each other friendly. Pierre’s features were painted in deep, rich warm tones, under the dim lights of the club; the sudden need to refuge in his arms and rest your lips on his draw your eyes to him like an undefeatable magnet, whose force he seemed to feel as well. «I think I know now.» Pierre said, gaze turned back again on you.

>>♥<<

Exiting the bathroom, you saw Charles waiting right near the door frame, arms crossed, distressed expression, wetting his dry lips as soon as you got near him. «Is it all good?» he asked. «Jeez, Charles! Can’t I just go to the bathroom now?» «You ran away at the speed of light! Pierre was confused and I had to stop him from following you.» Sighing, you quickly rubbed your temples. «Listen… I don’t like lying to Pierre. You need to tell him, y/n, he has to know.» His pleading voice twisted your stomach in a pang of regret and fear. «I want to see a doctor first… And I need to come back home for that.» «Why don’t you try with a clinic here?» You darted your eyes at Charles, half in disbelief, half surprised at the idea. «I can help you find one, I’ve got some contacts. Plus, I think you should check as soon as possible if everything’s okay with…» «With me, yes.» you breathed out, feeling Pierre’s heavy stare on you both. Before you knew it, he was making his way amidst the crowd with a frown, seeing you and Charles confabulate away from indiscreet ears. «He’s coming.» you whispered. Charles, visibly frustrated and failing to hide it, huffed and waited for the storm to run over both of you. And it came. Pierre’s body was burning a few centimeters away from you, igniting shame and terror, knowing you were putting the newfound trust on the line, like a fool. But it isn’t your fault, a part of you said. «Why did you stop? I want to hear about the State affair too.» Not willing to test Charles’ trust for the umpteenth time, you jumped in before he could add anything to his deadly stare directed towards Pierre. «I was telling him I’m tired and I’d like to go home, but he thinks we should stay here a bit more since we’re celebrating you.» A soft caress of his palm was enough to melt the hurried tension entangling your muscles, sure he had bought into the lie after seeing a veil of fondness cover his blue eyes. «Oh, don’t worry, I was thinking of calling it a day too. We can always party more than once, after all.»

>>♥<<

The shirts had slipped away swiftly in a matter of seconds, as your shivering skin warned your senses. You kissed in passion, somehow already accustomed to each other’s pace, yet so new and undiscovered beneath the physical layer of quickened breaths, intense heartbeats and roaming hands. Pierre dragged your head up with his long lasting, tantalizing kiss, trapping both your wrists with a smirk which spread further blush on your cheeks. «So that piece of douchebag was your first time?» He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, as he leaned down to your neck, tasting your skin open-mouthed. You simply moaned, incapable of uttering a word. It was the first time he enquired you about the awful talk you had had in the garage with Esteban and, noticing the unexpected silence on the topic for days, you had simply guessed he would never tackle it again. Still, getting drunk had probably loosen him up more than he would ever admit. «Pierre…» «What? I’m just curious.» «I don’t want to be reminded of that day.» you whined, already out of breath. Mischief gleamed in Pierre’s blue irises, pupils enlarged to take in as much of you as they could. You were able to interpret his intentions a few seconds after his stare: he buried his face behind your earlobe, teasing your skin with his teeth, just enough to gather a shot of blood cursing pleasure and electricity with its flow right where he was leaving kisses. «Is it because you don’t feel… proud of yourself?» he murmured against your neck. Guilt tangled in the middle of your chest, words and acts painfully reminding you of the infamous night. Only after years, you could realize how despicable and poor your choice had been; though, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame it. After all, it had led you to embracing Pierre as close as you would’ve never even imagined in your wildest fantasies. «Is it because you think you acted selfishly?» A sweet yet poisonous bite was left just above your collarbone, another soft breath escaping your control. «Because you hurt people around you?» Now Pierre looked hungrily at you, halting just a few centimeters from your parted lips, letting your focus drift towards his quick hands unbuttoning your jeans, as if they didn’t know any better. The stormy meaning hidden behind those words seemed senseless to you, impossible: and still his irises showed turmoil… Hurt. You were almost about to mouth a question, something along the lines of “What do you mean?”, maybe you even did; but you couldn’t tell, because Pierre thrusted his body upon yours all of a sudden, diluting your thoughts in a stain of useless reasoning, moans and whimpers the only incoherent reactions. «Is it because… you wished you were with someone else?» The floodgate of your heart crushed open: it rocked your body in such an intense wave that you had to hold onto Pierre, gripping his shoulders tight, while he kissed down on your neck once again, lavishly, anywhere he could print his love on you.

Overwhelm of senses almost ended up in a gracious state of numbness, in which Pierre seemed to be the only actor: he handled you with ease and carefulness, though intoxicated by the physical contact, and before you had realized, the night was consumed, the abatjour casting a gentle warm shade on your bare, entangled bodies. Drunk in love, you chuckled in silence, warmed by Pierre’s touch. «What’s that?» he asked. «I… When I’m with you, I feel both anxious and so happy I could die.» «Why is it funny?» «Because it’s childish. I’m still crushing on you like a kid, I only know extremes.» He hummed, pausing for a few seconds. «Why do I make you nervous?» he then enquired, again. «Because I’m scared to lose you.» It sounded so fragile that Pierre involuntarily tightened his arms around you, drawing you nearer. And deep in thought, he stared at the void. «I think I know how you feel.» «What?» you turned your head around to look at him, as if you hadn’t paid attention to his words. «I’ve felt this way too, since… forever.»

>>♥<<

The faint sound of fingers typing filled the kitchen, otherwise silent. You had woken up early, after rolling in the sheets for hours, not sleeping much; you had had a little bit of breakfast – as much as your upset stomach would allow you to – while you scrolled the online page of one of the clinics Charles had suggested you, searching for a cell phone number. You stopped, engraving the digits in your mind. If you had dialed, a spiral of appointments’ calls, check-ups and exams would follow, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it from tumbling and assaulting you. Pierre would know soon. The mere thought scared you to death. As you saw Pierre's ruffled hair and creased eyes peeked out inside the kitchen area only to direct the slow and unsteady steps towards the bathroom, you bolted as fast as a lighting. «No, the bathroom is mine!» You stomped the door in front of his face, preventing him from stealing the precious space and time to clean yourself.

Pierre quickly eyed the laptop on the marble counter, figuring out you must've been up for quite a while; a stained mug and tiny crumbles were other signals of your silent presence, lingering around his numbed senses through the waking. He had missed the warmth of your body, the securing hold of his arms around your waist, the sweet scent cursing through him while resting his head close to yours, near enough to perceive the undeniable pull drawing him like a magnet. «You're lucky I love you!» he yelled, in order for you to drink in his amused tone. You wished you didn't. That only sentence made your guts twist and horribly enhanced the dizziness, obliging you to grip the sink tight. You had waited so many years for those words to have a meaning and now you might have it. Still, you found yourself to dread them. You were about to ruin everything.

He had not intended to; he had tried, vainly, to stop himself from looking at the screen of your laptop, but the gaze dropped involuntarily, fast, the quickest glance, while placing the mug on the counter. And the first words he read only invited him to linger on the page further. A clinic. A phone number written in bold cyphers. «Y/n?» Resurfacing from the trance status you had fallen into while lazily brushing your teeth, you answered with a whine. «Can you come here for a sec?» You deeply inhaled in annoyance, sure it was either to pull a prank on you or to get some help with the absurdly expensive coffee machine Pierre had asked for in the suite - and didn't quite know how to use yet. The puzzled look on his face told you right away all you needed, as much as his fingers brushing the laptop’s pointer pad. «Why were you searching-» «Why are you going through my stuff!?» You flung yourself onto the pc, pulling it away from his touch and his sight, hoping that could be enough to erase the content from his thoughts. As you imagined, it didn't. «What's that for? You left it spread open, how was I supposed not to see it?» Pierre followed your gushing figure placing the laptop back in the bedroom, closing the door after you two. «Can you please stop a second and explain to me what's going on?» Your body seemed to slip under Pierre's touch, then ultimately gave in, anxiety paralyzing all movements but trembling. Immediately noticing your distress, he stroked your hair in reassurance, trying to calm himself down as well through the action. «Y/n, I'm not asking again. What's the clinic for?» You avoided his stare as much as answering. «Did something happen? I need to know, y/n.» he wetted his lips, visibly frustrated. «It isn't just you, now. It's both of us. We're in this together.» After minutes spent crafting the most realistic lie, painfully witnessing Pierre being tender and caring only to be fooled by you, you were finally ready to utter a word. «I had booked a routine appointment with a gynecologist before I knew about the trip, but we aren't getting home soon, and I didn't want to miss it.» Pierre's forehead distended like a folded sheet laid spread and fresh onto the mattress, irises still concealing a hint of doubt. «Why didn't you tell me?» «I thought it'd be embarrassing… for both.» «It isn't to me.» he said, softly. «And you can talk to me about anything, you know that.» You rested your cheek upon his palm, enjoying the caress with eyes closed, quietly accepting the lie still holding up the invisible wall of miscommunication you purposely built. «Especially when the topic is dear to me.» Pierre's smug tone lifted a stone from your shoulders, as well as dropping it in your chest, heart swimming in a lake of mixed emotions. You would’ve liked to cast a spell and stop the flow of time, because bittersweet guilt and happiness were the telltale signs a fairytale was possible, after all, almost within reach. And you had ruined it.

>>♥<<

A thought had been flying around his mind all day: jogging lightly before free practice, revising the track with his performance engineer, laughing and joking around with other drivers ahead of media duties. It hadn't bothered him, it hadn't shown; not even when he came back to the hotel and didn't find you there as he expected. It slipped from his consciousness even while drifting into sleep, your scent dazzling and lulling him. It harboured beneath the surface, though, and its stealth presence made itself evident - yet misunderstood - on Saturday morning. «Where's my shirt?» Pierre asked abruptly, entering the bedroom in a hurry. Despite him trying to get you to get up multiple times as he got ready, you were still lying in bed, sick to the core, unwilling to admit it, exhausted already by the day. «Y/n, c'mon, we need to go!» Pierre huffed, poorly concealing the annoyance. You whined, weakly raising the duvet in order to get seated. Before Pierre could snort again and feel even more dissatisfied with the sudden lack of energy you showed, he hesitated on your dark eyebags, on the slow movement you dragged your limbs with, on the aura of fatigue encircling you. He stepped closer, taking your arms and lifting you up, guiding you to the kitchen steadily, but still rather quickly. As you took a seat, he placed before you an amount of food – for breakfast – which you would've always considered sufficient and that now seemed exaggerated. «If you're not hungry, drink at least. You need to keep hydrated.» Pierre's demanding voice partially saved you from the impasse of refusing food, so you obligingly sipped the cup of coffee he had pushed towards you without adding a word.

From that moment onwards, Pierre eyed you with a carefulness unknown before. He only realized now how sluggish and overall low-key you had been behaving: though, the restless rhythm of flights, hotel check-ins, suits packing and racing sessions were draining enough to present themselves as valid reasons for your lack of verve. Taking your purse underarm in a hurry, you crossed eyes with Pierre’s. «I’m ready, let’s go.» Dumbfounded by his sudden aplomb, you stood in silence, hair barely brushed, shirt carelessly half untucked in your jeans; you didn’t stray your stare from Pierre’s while he slowly took your hands in his, a strange thoughtfulness guiding the movement. The silence said more than you two were capable of. It seemed to be thrown back in time to those longing, perusing stares you studied each other with, always analyzing expressions and reactions, never sure of getting it right yet desperately needy of the other. You both swam comfortably in that tacit conversation, exchanging fears, doubts, loving care; but Pierre knew it was time to go – it had been for a while, already – and couldn’t restrain himself from clearing his throat. «Yep, I told you. Let’s go.» you whispered.

>>♥<<

It had been Charles' idea, to have a brunch all together inside the paddock: he had found a small sort of restaurant, right in front of Pirelli's backdoor, unfrequented by VIPs and paparazzi. If you didn't know Charles well enough, you would've guessed he simply wanted to check on you; but him craving some good old company and wanting to shy away from the crowd of the track was the most likely scenario. Hanging out together, the three of you, felt like a fever dream, every single time: the memories would merge, the jokes and the laughs would crack on their own with such a flow and an ease unexplainable to anybody else. Sitting next to the most important people of your life was a luck you would never take for granted. «…should buy one. What do you think?» «I think that’s awesome, really.» You became self-conscious of the wedding ring pressing Pierre’s name onto your skin as an endless kiss, recalling the ebbing moments of the day you became one. «Y/n?» Again. The wave knocking at the pit of your stomach, the sudden harmony of smells emanated by your dishes was quick to stir your quiescent sickness. «Y/n? Did you hear the question?» Charles’ voice obliged you to answer. «Uh? Yeah, yes, I did.» you composed yourself as quickly as you could. «I think it’s a beautiful opportunity for you.» «We’ll help you, if we can do anything for it. Like, if you need taste testers, we’re more than happy!» Pierre chuckled. You forced a smile too, in order not to contrast your husband’s bright expression. However, it all spiraled when a pile of used tires – the F3 free practice had finished less than a half an hour earlier, you reasoned – was dragged in a small interstice near Pirelli's building, leaving an unbearable smell of burned rubber. You felt yet again nauseous, making it blatantly obvious clasping your mouth and nose, focusing on your breathing, eyes closed. Pierre and Charles' stares laid on you in a single motion, both catching on what was happening (with different awareness, clearly). Pierre couldn't let the memory of your missed breakfast fade into nothing, and his racing mind quickly figured you must be ill; he trapped your free hand in a grab which you immediately complied, he got up and kneeled next to you, seeing you didn't give any signs of the clench in your stomach loosening.

In the meantime, Charles quietly and politely asked you if you needed a glass of water, if you'd want to go to the restroom, to which your silence only fueled his helplessness and sly embarrassment. «I'm okay, guys.» you breathed out, finally removing your fingers from your lips, but still too scared to open your eyelids and be attacked by their sharp stares. «No, you're not, y/n. You've been sick for at least a week.» Pierre's statement worked as a tymbal clang to both you and Charles, so that you looked at each other briefly but intensely, wondering whether the ticking bomb laying untold amongst you three had just exploded without you noticing. “Tell him” was painted in capital letters, bold, inside Charles' green irises.

Internalizing the truth impossible to fool, you let Pierre's fingertips gently move your chin towards him, since you had enchanted in reflection on Charles. Suddenly confronting your husband's – yes, because he was your husband – unexplainable beauty like it was the first time you really saw him, the news seemed to brim out your lips, overflowing with contrasting emotions you weren't able to conciliate. Gathering all your courage despite the trembling of your chin, you reciprocated the hold of Pierre's hands: it was building up, from your chest up to the throat, bypassing the rationality check. «I need to tell you something.» It was nothing but a whisper; Charles, unknowing to either you or Pierre, slowly got up from his chair, standing near you and placing his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. Pierre waited in silence for your words, pupils scattered all around your features trying to get the smallest hint of which nature the news was. The tears pricked your eyes as soon as the thought hit your synapsis. «I'm pregnant, Pierre.» Releasing the pent-up distress, finally relieved by the burden of secrecy, you cried freely, ready to face the consequences of the news.

A part of you expected an endless chain of angry sentences and despair, complaints, immaturity. And the part of you who didn't expect such a reaction, or at least hoped for a better outcome without much conviction, still managed to astonish before the taken aback but sweet curve of Pierre's eyebrows, unbelievably moved by your words. «Really? Are you sure?» His mistrust annoyed you slightly and made you scoff through tears. But before you could answer with a snappy remark, he was all over you, hugging your sadness away, melting in an embrace that swiped bad omens, that dissolved the clouds of doubt in a sparkling, bubbly dust of relief. Pierre left a long peck on your forehead, which only freed tears from running ceaselessly. «I can't believe it…» he whispered out of an uncontainable smile. Your body and soul, both in shock from experiencing the most releasing happiness, trembled like leaves under the wind of Pierre's affection. He glanced at Charles, looking for confirmation, which he found expressed through the dimples of his best friend; then focused back again on you, whose reaction Pierre couldn't quite make out. «You're happy, right?» he asked, almost fearful of the answer. Sobbing a laugh, you leaned against his hand cupping your cheek and enveloped it with yours, fond. «Of course I am.» He paused, taking a full look at you in excitement and amazement, letting the thought settle in his heart. «When did you find out?» he asked, cupping your cheek as a fragile corolla of petals. Your mouth dried out, your throat was still knotted; thankfully Charles beat you on time in answering. «Almost two weeks ago.» You waited for it, you anticipated the hatred and the – righteous – disappointment in getting to know that his best friend had witnessed and received the news first. Fear invested you once again, through sobs and hiccups. «Y/n… Look at me.» It all seemed to down on you at once: sat in your weakness, you had disclosed all your cards and were now the most vulnerable you’d ever been with him. Not even when you had promised in front of your families to love him for the rest of your life, not even lying in his embrace and cuddling with him after breathing out affection and pleasure on top of each other’s skin; no rejection could hurt you more than now, while carrying two lives inside of one body, two souls, doubling the sorrow. His serious demeanour only spiked up your anxiety, as you realized you weren’t ready at all, neither emotionally nor mentally, to face him yet.

He shut his eyes closed, he prepared himself to talk; you braced yourself for the impact of the cruel reality. It had been fun, until it had lasted. This is no fairytale, you chanted to yourself, lulling your crying soul. «I love you.» You looked at him dumbfounded, waiting for the answer to be completed with a "like a friend", or something of the sort which would've stabbed your heart with pain as he would always do; but a peaceful silence followed his words, and the longer you stared at each other, the deeper the realization would set in your heart. The promise you had been waiting for since the day you had met Pierre, which you expected to hear at the altar, was now vowed to you, him still kneeled down. «When…?» you involuntarily voiced your reasoning, not able to make sense of it, caught by total surprise. «Since forever. It just took me a while to realize…», he then glanced at Charles. «… and the help of a friend.» Spontaneously, you flung your arms around him, heart aching in joy and bliss. You watered and creased Pierre’s shirt, feeling life flourish just by listening to his words; to seal them, he plastered a kiss on your reddish, smooth lips, and heaven reached earth. «A baby, uh?» Pierre said almost to himself, placing his spread hands on your belly. You couldn’t help but have eyes brimming with emotion, gently brushing with your fingers his: was there anything which could make you happier and more strongly bonded together? «Charles… I think we’ll need plenty of your ice-cream in the near future.» «Hey!» you patted Pierre’s shoulder, amusingly offended. «Oh, for sure. I’ll make you a discount, since you’ll buy it in large quantity.» «Guys!» you laughed, trying to stop their endless flow of jokes. With your left hand still pressed onto Pierre’s, you gazed down at your wedding ring, shining and glimmering under the sunlight. Maybe, no matter how unhoped and unplanned, yours was truly a fairytale.

to @gaslysainz: Thanks again for the request! I really hope you’ll like it…I’m not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I couldn’t work on it any further 😂 I’d be glad to know what you think 🥹❤️

AND TO ALL OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND FOR BEING PATIENT! I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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[starman-jpg]

You Gotta Let It Out Soon

slight tw: verbal abuse and attempted assault. Overall, it's just Steve's dad being a terrible father.

Please be kind to yourself if you choose to read this.

Title from "Daddy Issues" by the Neighborhood (Seemed fitting)

Steve was late.

Dustin is going to give him so much shit.

He didn’t mean to take a nap, honest.

He had to lay down because he felt a headache coming on, and he really didn’t want to deal with it.

Were his eyes closed? Yes.

Did he feel himself nodding off? Well… yeah.

But that’s not the point! He didn’t mean to.

He rushes down the stairs, his keys in his mouth as he awkwardly hops on one foot getting on one shoe before doing the same with the other one. It wasn’t until he looked up that he found he was being watched.

He stands up straight, taking his keys and shoving them in his pocket, keeping a tight grip on them.

“Dad…”

“Steven.”

“W-what are — When did-”

“For God’s sake Steven, stop being an idiot and finish your sentence.” His dad was already done with him.

“What are you doing here?” That’s a safe question.

“It’s my house, Steven. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Steve shrugs, “You haven’t been here for months. Haven’t seen you since February, it's November now. ”

His dad scoffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m a very-”

“Very busy man, yeah.” Steve finishes that same lame excuse his dad gives him every time, “You mentioned that once or twice.”

“Don’t talk back to me Steven.” His voice went stern, “You have the nerve to act out when the house isn’t even cleaned and the fridge is empty. How are you living Steve, like a goddamn barn animal?” His dad may have a point, the house could use some cleaning, and he definitely needed to go to the store, but honestly, he wasn’t expecting him to be home.

“My bad, I’ve been busy.”

“Do not make excuses Steven-”

“I’m not making excuses!” He talks over his dad, “I work 10-hour shifts and when I’m not working, I’m helping some of the kids I look after.”

“Like a babysitter?” The tone of his dad’s voice is condescending.

“Yeah, like a babysitter, sure.”

“You’re a grown man, Steven. You can’t even take care of yourself.”

“Well, I did though, didn’t I?” Steve crosses his arms, shrugging, “You and Mom weren’t around. Took good care of myself then.”

“Your Mother and I were around enough.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, “Seriously? You’re serious right now?”

“Stop laughing Steven! We are your parents. We raised you to be better.”

Now that caught his attention. “You raised me? Seriously?”

“Of course we did. We gave you a roof over your head and kept you fed-” His dad kept listing things, but Steve just heard white noise.

“You didn’t raise me.” Steve mutters, keeping his eyes down. His father stopped, clearly hearing him.

“Say that again?” He was clearly taunting Steve, and Steve fell for it.

“You didn’t raise me.”

“Steven Richard Harrington, do not talk to your father like that.” Steve cringes at his full name. Especially his middle name. A reminder he’ll always be connected to his father, even without his last name.

“I did though you left when-”

“I did not ‘leave’ Steven. I had work to do, and it was important.” “More important than your son?”

“You were old enough to take care of yourself.”

“I was NINE!” He screams, a tear falling down his cheek as he points his finger at his father, “You left me to fend for myself when I was nine!”  

“Oh boo-hoo, grow up Steven-”

“I have!” He screams again, finally letting out all his pent-up anger, “And you would have noticed if you were around. But you weren’t.”

He gets into his father’s face, “While you were off screwing every woman you laid eyes on and mom was drowning her sorrows at the hotel bar about her pathetic excuse of a husband, I was here. Growing up. I taught myself how to use the stove and how to buy groceries. I taught myself how to fix things around the house. I even taught myself how to drive. You did none of that.”

“I have paid for this life you are living. This house! That car! Those tutors, even though they were useless.” His dad runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It physically makes Steve ill. “God, I raised an insolent, unappreciative son.”

“You didn’t fucking raise me!” He yells, his throat already getting raw from the explosion of emotions.

His father stopped, staring daggers at Steve.

He senses it before it happens. He sees the anger on his father’s face and just knows. As his father’s hand flies up to slap him, he catches it. His nails digging into his father’s wrist, his knuckles turning white. The shock on his father’s face makes him smile.

He leans in close, taunting him, “You can’t fucking hurt me, I have fought worse things than you, and I have always won.”

Steve knows he has to look crazy, he can see it in his dad’s eyes. He’s scared of Steve. Good.

He shoves his father’s arm down to his side and walks by, heading up the stairs. He’s done and he means it. He grabs his duffle bag and shoves a bunch of his clothes and toiletries into it. He grabs his unused backpack and takes down all the pictures everyone hung up, carefully putting them in his bag. He grabs some other miscellaneous items that mean the world to him: like the rock Eddie gave him because it was pretty, the walkie Dustin gave him so he would always know everyone was safe, the little notes Robin would write on post-it notes and slap onto his wall. He took all of it.

With his backpack on and his duffle thrown over his shoulder he grabs his keys from his pocket and goes back downstairs. He sees that his father moved to the living room, so he tries to sneak out quietly.

Of course the Gods didn’t think he deserved a break.

“Where do you think you are going, Steven.”

Steve’s shoulders drop, and he turns to his dad.

“I’m leaving.”

“If you leave this house, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He challenges. “No, seriously. What will you do?”

His dad looks him straight in the eyes, “I’ll sell this house, and you’ll be on the street. Your mother and I will never come back to Hawkins.”

“Good fucking riddance.”

Steve opens the door and walks out, he knows his dad is yelling at him. Probably calling him all sorts of names, but he was done.

He throws his bags into the passenger seat, gets in his Beemer and drives off. His shoulders relax as he watches the Harrington house get small in his rearview mirror.

---

Steve didn’t have a plan when he left. Just knew he had to leave.

He continued to drive aimlessly around Hawkins before pulling into a familiar trailer park. He parks next to the van and gets out, jumping the stairs and knocking, rather impatiently, at the door.

He hears Eddie mumbling to himself, most likely annoyed he had to get out of bed, before the door swings open.

“Stevie!” Eddie’s once annoyed face instantly lit up, but slowly it fell, “What happened?”

“Huh?” Steve can feel the lump in his throat, and he feels the tears on his cheeks. Shit, how long had he been crying. “Shit.” He furiously wipes away his tears.

Eddie ushers him inside and moves him to the couch. He envelops Steve in his arms, letting him rest his head on his chest, hearing the rhythmic beating of his heart.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Eddie coos.

Steve cries again as he explains what went down with his dad. Eddie comforts him the whole time, letting Steve take his time. When he was done, Eddie was furious.

“He kicked you out!” He softly yells.

“Technically no, I left.”

“But he just allowed you! And he almost hit you!”

“But he didn’t. I just was… overreacting or something.” He shrugs it off, but he knows Eddie won’t.

“Stevie, look at me.” Steve does what he is told and was a little shocked as Eddie gently took his face in his hands. “No parent should ever, ever hit you or even attempt to hit you.”

Steve slowly nods, “Yeah, but-”

“No buts. Steve, you can’t keep sticking up for your dad. He’s an asshole. You know it. I know it. Most of fucking Hawkins knows it. Why do you still protect him?”

“He’s my dad, Eds.” He says like that's an explanation. And it is, in some ways, but not the way Eddie is looking for. “We had good times, before the bad. Before he left. And I know he’s capable of that good. He has to be.” He feels himself choking up again, “He was a good dad.”

Eddie pulls him into his chest, letting Steve cry it out.

Steve sometimes forgets that there was good within his dad. That he actually had good memories with him. But that was before the Harrington business picked up.

His dad would take him to play catch in the yard. And shoot hoops with him. As a family they would go on drives and on picnics. They’d watch movies and listen to music and dance around. When Steve had a nightmare his dad would come in and read him stories as he fell asleep. They would get up early and make breakfast for his mom in bed on Mother’s Day, softly laughing as they brought up waffles and coffee for her. There was a time his dad would go to his little league games and cheer him on as loud as possible.

But then his business picked up, and it was like all those good times disappeared.

“Stevie, I’m sorry. I know he’s your dad-”

“You’re right though,” He croaks, “He’s a terrible father now. He’s a completely different man now than he was then. It’s- it’s just… hard to let go.”

Eddie nods, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

They stay on the couch, Eddie comforting him until Wayne gets home. Eddie briefly explains what happened with Steve’s dad.

“You stay here as long as you need to, boy. You got that? This is your home now. And you're safe here.”

Steve nods, another round of tears falling down his face as Wayne hugs him tightly.

Steve slowly puts his stuff around the trailer, not too much though. Just hangs his clothes with Eddie’s and puts his toothbrush in the holder.

He finally feels like he’s in a home.

And when he and Eddie drive past the Harrington house and see a “For Sale” sign in front, it feels like weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

[verilly]

Hiiiiii, so I read a fic where Aqua went to his old home and his daughter is all grown up. He had a wife in his previous life and I want your take on it please. But I read your rules that you won’t do requests that involved kids and marriage so I’m not sure if this counts. If it does, then I’m just happy that I get to share this concept I saw and see what you think about it :)

No cuz I actually really like this idea… so, I’ll let it slide

Logically: Reader will be older than Aqua because… yeah. It works like that so…~~ I’m also having a hard time like placing what age they’d be because like I don’t know how easy it’s be for reader to believe him that like “yeah bro I’m your dead dad that got reincarnated” so I just…???? But I don’t want to make them too old either because Mr doctor man was like ~~32? So like.

Also the doctor is a loser man with my gf bcs he’s an idol otaku so like that would just be very unbelievable if he had like a whole thing but I’ll stop

I don’t think I have the time or emotional capacity to write a full fic for it right now, but I’ll write bullet points…

Aqua/The Doctor (Goro) with Past-Daughter!Reader

SPOILERS AHEAD.

For the sake of my brain’s health, I’ll say that you were 7 when Goro went ‘missing’.

Which would mean that he was 25 when you were conceived. And the perfect age where you could have some sort of recollection of him in your life.

When Aqua goes back to his hometown, originally it was intention to find his old body’s corpse, however, the old nurse he used to work with that had his child slipped his mind.

“Goro Amamiya, has their been any information on him after he went missing?” Aqua asked, the person at the front desk of the hospital shook her head, “Ah, I see…” Aqua turned his head to look back at Akane who was sitting on a lounge chair, fiddling with her phone, “What about Nurse Nozaki?”

The Nurse does not actually have a canon name I could find, so I just came up with something! (The “Nurse” character im talking about it the woman who was commenting on Goro’s obsession with Ai and love for Sarina.)

Another addition for this story is that the Nurse is about a year older than Goro, meaning she was 26 when she gave birth to the reader. And in current time, she would be about ~50 years old.

“Oh! Nurse Nozaki left to take a well needed vacation with her husband two days ago, you just missed her!” The worker paused for a second and put a finger on their chin, “What is it that you needed to talk to her about?”

“It’s a… family matter I wanted to talk to her about.” Aqua lied through his teeth, though he wasn’t directly lying. After all, that was his past daughter he was trying to find.

“Well then, Nurse Nozaki has her kid live close by, their somewhere in town here.” The worker rummaged through the computer, “Ah, here. Important information for Nurse Nozaki. I’ll give you her line number and…”

Aqua hates the way the worker didn’t double check on his true intentions, but he was still grateful on how he could still see his daughter thanks to that. He did the math in his head, if his “daughter” was 7 when he went missing, then now you’d be a fully fleshed adult.

He considered just letting his past life go and leave you be, but he still wanted to be able to see what you’re up to. Who you grew up to be, fuck, even if you even remembered your father.

Aqua ordered Akane to stay back, but to his dismay, she came along with him anyway. He quickly snuck the address into his phone, and followed the route until he saw you standing outside making a phone call.

He couldn’t be sure that it was you at first, but he could take his chances, after all, he wasn’t planning on staying here for too long. Though, the person standing before him did look like you. Same hair color, same eyes, same marks on the body. What made it more evident was your personality, it wasn’t easy examining it from a distance, but the phone call seemed to be enough for him.

It was you.

Now, how should he approach you?

“Akane,” Aqua tilted his head to look at her, “How would you approach someone you used to be really close to but… grew apart as life went on?”

“Oh! Hmm, let’s see… it really depends on their personality—“

I’m gonna cut off Akane there because, hah, I don’t think I can fit the perfect personality for everyone so yeah.

But Aqua would lie to get to know you, pretend that he was a childhood friend of yours that you just so happened to have forgotten.

“My name is Aqua, your mom gave me your address. We played together when we were younger.” Aqua lied.

“Oh! Aqua! Yeah, that rings a bell.” You lie right back, he didn’t know if that’s just how you always acted or if you were just trying to be kind, “What brings you here?”

“I just thought that we could catch up with each other, that’s all.” He sat on the curb in front of you, which you follow quickly after, “Like… how is your love life going?”

You went on to explain things going on with your life, even though you weren’t quite sure if he was an actual stranger or someone you once knew, you still felt somewhat of a bond.

Then Aqua went on to investigate you on his old self, more importantly, how you felt about him.

“Oh, well, my father has been missing for 17 years now. He’s probably dead, but… I always thought he’d come back home.” You get teary eyed, “He never did though so… I guess I lost hope. Either that or he did just run away, but I doubt he’d do that.”

“… He sounds like a good man.” Aqua’s eyes darken, he couldn’t dare to look you in the eyes, “And you sound like a good girl. I’m sure we would’ve come back to you.”

“Thanks, friend.”

A few hours later, Akane and Ruby would find Goro’s body.

Guess who was their to comfort you?

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

Akane is best girl btw…

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[the-daily-slasher]

The Butcher's Daughter [pt.1]

This is a multi-part slow burn with Thomas Hewitt cause I needed something to write on my off day. There will be spice at some point, and of course: general trigger warnings. Don’t like 18+ scenes/horror/blood/ etc.? That’s ok, just don’t read this one, friend. It will be rather upsetting to you.

Time-Line and Continuity: Sticks mainly to the reboot duology: Texas Chainsaw (2003) and Texas Chainsaw: The Beginning (2006). This story takes place pre-1969. The story will have elements of Texas Chainsaw: The Beginning (2006) and Texas Chainsaw (2003 Remake). The story takes place in the abandoned town seen in those movies, but is an hour drive outside of Harlow, Texas (as seen in Texas Chainsaw 3D) for purposes of plot.

Summary: After your mother's death, your father, driven down a bottle with grief, loses his butcher shop to creditors. Wanting to escape his debts, he chooses to move back to his hometown. Not wanting to lose your last family member and being hopeful of a new start, you go with him. It's a ghost town, but he appreciates the solitude and it allows for enough space to start a small cattle farm. He's happy his old drinking buddy Charlie Hewitt is still in town. His mother, Luda Mae is very happy to have 'neighbors' down the road and feels motherly towards the girl, hoping to take her under her wing. She also can't help but think of the potential for her boy to finally have the chance at a friend.

Note: Reader age is unspecified but reader is of age. I keep hair/skin/body descriptions vague [without sacrificing quality of writing] so everyone can see themselves in the story.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"This place is really out there." You say. Your father is taking his turn driving the old pick-up out to his hometown.

"Use to be farmers out here. Lots of space, no one in your business that you don't want there. You'll like it." He says, hoping you weren't regretting joining him. Though you had lost your job when the family business went under, you didn't have to come with him. "Besides, after a couple weeks I should be able to get a farm hand or two. You could move to Harlow or go finish that degree you were working on."

You smile. "A farm hand out here?" You look out over the dry fields of what used to be sunflowers.

"Sure." You dad says, a playful grin on his face, "I'm sure there's an armadillo or two that could use a steady job." The two of you laugh a little to ignore the weighted reality -- your father needed your help to make this work and there was no way you would be able to avoid the creditors if you moved anywhere else. You told him many times this was your choice, that you wanted to help, but you knew you really had no other option. At least not at the moment.

Your father was not a good man and was not often plagued by guilt for his actions, but he cared for you. The two of you spend the rest of the ride talking about the old house your father had inherited from his parents when they passed away. It's a classic farmhouse layout, a full upstairs you'll get all to yourself. A wraparound porch would be the perfect place to sit outside and watch the sunset. You knew he was painting a picture that was too good to be true, but he seemed happy.

It's mid-afternoon by the time you're pulling into the dusty drive of the house. It's far from the road and the yard surrounding is green and overgrown. The fence around the house has fallen down in several places and remnants of a vegetable and herb garden have grown unchecked and un-weeded in the back of the house.

You help your dad take boxes into the house, taking your things upstairs and your father's things into the bedroom on the ground floor. The house was big but needed cleaning. Everything was covered in a thin layer of sand-like dust and it was obvious no one had been in the house for years.

In the process of getting everything out of the truck, you notice the garden in the back had several, late-season vegetables. Once the boxes are all inside, you go about picking what you can while your dad works on the house's generator. It'd be nice to have something other than bologna sandwiches for dinner.

You found some old baskets in the kitchen pantry, you've already been able to fill two baskets with mustard greens and sweet potatoes and small green pumpkins by the time the sun starts to go down. As you pick up the last basket you watch the lights of the house flicker on and an excited shout from your father as you hear a generator come to life. A smile plays on your features. Perhaps this would be alright.

You go inside the house, setting the basket on the counter next to three others. You start washing the dirt off your hands in the old sink when you hear a car pull into the driveway. A door opens and you hear a gruff voice call your dad's name. "Charlie! You old son of a bitch- you're still here?" You hear your father reply to the man and you peek outside the front room window. An older man with deep features gets out of a beat-up pickup and your dad walks towards him.

"Who the fuck you callin' old, you old cocksucker?" The old man laughs heartily and your father embraces "Charlie".

The two men talk for a few minutes. Your father comes back in, the old man "Charlie" getting back in his truck and leaving.

"Hey, you feel like going out for dinner?" He asks.

"Out?" You ask, confused. You're getting dirt off a basket of sweet potatoes when he comes in.

"That was an old friend of mine, Charlie Hewitt. He and his folks still live around here. Their house is a half mile down the road and his mama is doing a roast tonight." He goes to the sink to wash his hands, dark oil staining the fresh bar of soap by the sink.

You hesitate, but smile, "Sure, dad. Sounds great."

Your old man splashes water on his face and runs his hands through his hair before drying his hands. "Go clean up and we'll head over on that way. Gonna change m'self."

"Like Sunday dinner kind of clean up or just 'no dirt on my hands' clean up?" You set the basket aside and dust your hands off on your jeans.

"Nothin' fancy. His mama's just old fashion- likes dinner to be a little more proper. 'Specially if it's guests." He starts to walk away. "Let's leave in a few, alright?"

You wash your hands, fix your hair, and find an old, corn-yellow dress. It's modest, the hem going down to your shins and the collar buttoning up to the base of your neck. Linen and tailored at the waist, it ruffles in the light breeze as you stand on the porch of the Hewitt household in dusty, white canvas shoes. The air has cooled but you still feel heat coming off the wood of the porch when Luda Mae answers the door.

"Bill! It's good to see you, hun." Luda Mae smiles and opens the door wide and her eyes go to you. "My god she looks just like Beth." You're surprised to hear your mother's name out of the mouth of a stranger but smile politely. Luda Mae smiles, "Luda Mae Hewitt, sweetheart. You must be y/n. I knew both of your parents long before you were born. It's nice to meet you." She welcomes you into the house with a hug. "Come on in Bill. Charlie's having a beer on the back porch with Monty, why don't you join them? I need a little time to finish getting supper ready." She looks at you, "Would you mind? I need a little help getting the table set." She smiles kindly as she leads the two further into the house. It's modest, a little dirty, but everything around this town seemed to be a little grimy.

Your father nods and follows her, making sure you were trailing behind. "The house looks great, Luda. Your boy still helping you around the house?"

"Tommy mostly works at the slaughterhouse nowadays but he still does the heavy lifting around the house and the store when I need him to." She lets him out onto the back porch where he's greeted with friendly, though swear-filled jeers from Charlie and Monty.

"Um how-how can I help?" You ask.

"There're some blue and white plates up on the top shelf of that cabinet. Get them down and set the table for six, dear."

"Yes, ma'am." Luda Mae smiles at your manners. You do as she asks as she gets a roast out of the stove. You carry plates to the dining room and set them out. You hear the side door open and heavy footsteps in the kitchen when you walk back in.

"Excuse me, Miss Luda Mae? I set the plates out. Where do you keep the silverware?" You look up to see a very tall man in a leather, half-mask and slaughterhouse apron. He's splattered with blood and his hair is matted. You shrink back a little when he turns his head and see you. His eyes were intense.

"Y/n this is Thomas. Tommy, this is Y/n, Bill and Beth's daughter. Y/n and Bill moved in down the road. They're staying for dinner so go get cleaned up." She tells her son.

"Nice to meet you." You smile politely and he stiffens slightly before nodding to you and heading up the stairs quickly.

"Don't mind him, dear. Terribly shy." She laughs a little bit and hands Y/n silverware and napkins.

You get the table set and Luda Mae brings in the roast, mashed potatoes, rolls, and a few other things. You help with the last few preparations and Luda Mae calls the men into the dining room. Monty, Charlie, and your father were all different levels of drunk but Luda Mae scares them into acting pretty sober. Thomas comes down in clean clothes and his hair brushed and sits at the table. Luda Mae makes sure he sits next to you. He doesn't say anything the during dinner but Luda Mae is charming and talks to Y/n.

Your father, Charlie, and Monty ignore you for the most part, happy to jeer at each other, cuss, and make off-color jokes just tame enough not to get hit with Luda Mae’s wooden spoon. That’s not to say the two friends of your father don’t recognize your existence. Both men’s eyes wander every part of you, lingering for a little too long. But that’s as far as they go. Bill was a son of a bitch, that’s why they liked him, but he cared fiercely for you. Charlie and Monty knew a single stray comment towards you was a guaranteed ass beating.

“You work at the slaughterhouse?” You ask Thomas, not really expecting an answer. You were alright with a one-sided conversation, but you needed something to tune out the drunk laughter on the other end of the table. “That must be interesting. I’ve never been in a slaughterhouse. Dad and I used to do something similar, though it was just a small butcher’s shop we ran.” You smile charmingly, doing your best to be the kind guest. “Working in a slaughterhouse sounds more interesting, honestly. ‘Specially since you wouldn’t have to deal with some of the customers dad and I would have regularly.”

Thomas tilts his head towards you to listen better as you talk. He offers a confirming “huff” when asked if he works at the slaughterhouse. His eyes stay on you. You were small compared to him, and utterly adorable. You really were interested in his work? More than that, you’d worked in a butcher’s shop? You weren’t a weak build, you had some muscle on you from the work you did. But still, he couldn’t imagine the girl in front of him enjoying what he enjoyed.

Everyone finishes dinner and Luda Mae asks you to help clear the table so you do. All the windows in the bottom floor of the house were open to let the cool, evening breeze through. Your dress ruffles when a stronger breeze blows through and Thomas catches a whiff of your light perfume. He watches as you help his mother, not realizing he was staring until his Uncle Monty points it out, laughing drunkenly.

“Well shit, Bill. Better keep track of your daughter.” He laughs.

“ ‘Fuck you talking about?” Your dad laughs a bit, finishing another beer.

“Ol’ Tommy here can’t keep his damn eyes off her. Got a crush there big boy?” He slurs out and is met with raucous laughter from Charlie.

Bill takes a second and looks Thomas up and down. “Good luck.” He says, “She’d kick your ass.” He says through building laughter.

Luda Mae comes back in the dining room with a cake and you trail behind her with plates. You see the three men laughing and Thomas sitting silently. Charlie and Monty make a couple more cutting remarks towards Thomas and you realize they’re all laughing at his expense. You see your dad open his mouth to join in the jeering.

“Dad.” You say, voice low but firm. It catches his attention immediately and he looks at you. “Don’t.” Thomas looks at you again. Having anyone besides his mother be on his side… it was unusual, but it was nice.

“Sorry kiddo. We ‘ere just havin’ a bit of fun.” He slurs a bit, but he does looks genuinely sorry. Charlie and Monty start to jab at your father when Luda Mae puts them in their place.

Everyone enjoys dessert and you help Luda Mae and Thomas clean up the dishes.

“Dinner was great, Luda Mae.” You say, putting away the last of the dishes. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, dear. It was nice to have company over. I enjoyed myself.” She sets the dish towel down that was in her hand. “Do you need help getting Bill back home?”

“I can just drive him home, it’s not a big deal.” It’s then you realize that during the course of doing the dishes, the dining room had gone quiet. You peek back in and see all three men slumped at the table, passed out.

Luda Mae chuckles. “Maybe so but you might want some help loadin’ him up in the truck and dragging him into the house.” She looks at Thomas. “Tommy, get Charlie and Monty upstairs then help Y/n get Bill home.”

Thomas nods and goes and picks up Charlie and his uncle, one under each arm and hauls them upstairs. A few minutes later he’s putting your father in the back seat of the truck and sitting in the passenger side as you drive down the road towards your new home. You can feel his eyes on you, even in the dark of the cabin.

“…I’m sorry if my dad said anything awful.” You say finally to break the silence. “He’s not always like that.”

Thomas huffs quietly in acknowledgement.

“And thank you for helping me get him back to the house. It’d’ve been quite a sight if I’d tried to drag him into the truck myself.” You laugh a little bit at the thought, trying to make light of it all. Thomas feels the smallest twinge of a smile on his face when seeing you laugh.

Once at the house he carries your dad over his shoulder and into his bedroom setting him on the bed. He walks back out into the foyer where you stand, “Here, I’ll give you a ride back home.”

This surprises Thomas a bit but he nods. You really were one of the kindest people he’d met. He walks out to the truck with you but gets to the driver side first. He reaches and opens the door and waits, watching you. After a moment you realize what he’s doing.

“Ah. Thank you, Thomas.” You smile and get into the truck and he closes the door behind you before getting into the truck himself. Your smile causes his heart to tighten. Every smile he could get, he wanted.

You drive him back to his home, making a little more pleasant small talk, and Thomas listened contently. He liked your voice.

Once back, he waits for you to put the truck in park and gets out.

“Goodnight, Thomas.” You give a small wave and drive away. He watches you drive away, raising his hand in a small wave, a barely audible grumble coming from his throat.

“…y/…..n….”

[sonicasura]

1/2

Kafka was like 12 at the oldest when his mom died. Of course it was a nightmare. We don't really know what age Kafka and Mina was when the first kaiju attacked their homes in canon, at least from what I remember. And given that the second in my au happened months after the first one he was nowhere near a teenager or adult when he lost his mom.

Though regadless of which verson I'd use, Kafka statys in touch with his dad for years. And visits when he can after his old man move to his grandparents place.

His dad always found it a bit akward that Kafka ended up working as a monster sweeper, given his family history. Know or not. But in this verson it actually helps his son greatly as Kafka needs a lot more food to fully function as a adult since his kaiju side is awake instead of dorment. Had it stayed dormant, Kafka would have not needed to eat kaiju meat he stole from his workplace at night every few weeks.

It was the same for his mom and Proto. While Proto found he loved human food, with some junk foods being his favorite. The old kaiju had to hunt other kaiju to properly get the needed nutrition and not bankrupt themself.

Akari was no different, even if she needed to eat less of the amount her dad needed being only 50/50. Kafka need even less, which helps greatly when he has to go and get said kaiju meat.

And yeah after the main events happened, a lot of stuff got filled in for Mina. She did give Kafka a good smack in the head for waiting this long to tell her the truth, but she understood his fears.

Awkward dose not even fit properly with how Soshiro feels about this all. He was infact the one who found out that No 8 was that welp in the old file after he did some digging with Okonogi. As both feld like they had seen the kaiju somewhere.

You can imagien when the two of them reported that No 8 had been spotted before main events as a little welp caused a bit of a mess. There was enough familities from the old pictures they had of Kafka's early form that there where little doubt that it was true.

Some of the seniors where happy to know that that meant no mama kaiju to protect him, since he's an adult now and they know his mom is dead. And feel dread when they realized said full grown welp is now the strongest kaiju know to mankind.

I'm not surprised at all that the entire kaiju side of his family had larger appetites. Only a Pokemon Trainer is equipped to deal with something on such a magnitude. Kafka munching on kaiju corpses when his coworkers are gone or aren't paying attention. It isn't uncommon for something to eat at the bodies so no one would suspect a thing.

Mina honestly would smack Kafka cause her friend really can't do things like this alone. She's just glad he managed to not get into trouble much earlier. Kafka is a Grade A disaster after all.

Soshiro and Okonogi have a lot of material to build their case on. Especially since the Third Division in general likes Kafka. (He's practically their heart similar to Mina.) Although his family line is definitely being monitored, even moreso if Kafka has kids down the line. Tiny had greatly amplified his kaiju blood thus the potency might be way more than 1/4 now.

Kafka feeling awkward in Riot mode honestly sounds funny. Bigger scarier No.8 acting more like s panicked kid cause Tiny just supersized his Kaiju form and the poor man is trying to calm the thing down while fighting Isao. "It's an idiotic old man, not a kaiju so fucking chill!"

Kafka swears he has an extra feral kid in his head than a mysterious body mate.

[uglypastels]

Diary of Potential College Dropouts // Steddie au

modern!college!au - Neither of them expects to make it through a full semester, though for different reasons. Is that perhaps why they were given a dorm to share?

author's note: this is just a little something-something as I'm struggling with the rest of pirate!eddie. I'm not sure you can really say this has a plot but if you like it, please support by reblogging and commenting or leaving an ask with your thoughts

big thanks to @eddies-house for giving me the idea for this. and @pollenallergie for coming through with amazing suggestions for this imaginary school

word count: 6k

warnings: no plot, just vibes. swearing, alcohol. drugs. quarter-life crises. dark humour. mention of unhappy family lives. anxiety. mention of throwing up.

My advice to you... is to start drinking. Heavily - Animal House (1979)

Steve had not wanted his parents to come with him on Moving Day. 

They said their goodbyes on the curb of his childhood home. His old car was packed to the brim with cardboard boxes; Dad had his arm around Mom and extended an arm for a sturdy handshake. To Steve’s surprise, his mother bit into her cheek, pushing a sour smile from underneath her tear-stinging eyes. Perhaps she would actually miss him. But he wouldn’t be surprised to return for Christmas break and see his bedroom go through its fourth renovation in the four months of his absence. 

Before getting in the car, Steve told them he’d text when he got there. It wasn’t a lie, per se, as he did not not want to. But even as he said the words, he knew he would forget by the time he drove up to campus, and something told him that his parents wouldn’t care. 

He drove off with a last wave of the hand and a tight-lipped smile, leaving Hawkins behind for good. 

If his parents had known that, they might have put more effort into the goodbyes. Maybe Steve would have, too. The release he felt as he drove past that green sign was immediate, and he knew what he was leaving behind was only holding him back, but it was also like saying goodbye to a trusted blanket. Suddenly, the comfort of years having grown up there was gone in mere seconds. 

So long King Steve. 

Hello Steve Harrington, finance freshman… kill me now.

Of course, he never wanted to do anything related to business, finance, or anything his father approved with a nod behind his Sunday newspaper, but it was either do as the old man tells ya or no college at all. And without college, what was he to do? Join his dad’s company? Get stuck in the vicious family cycle forever? It felt like a new kind of hell that made college seem like a field of daisies. But even those prospects didn’t stop Steve from fillings the first three hours of his two-day trip with angry thoughts about his upcoming classes and how to get out of them. 

While the thoughts did dissipate over time, they never went away. The idea of just taking a wrong turn and never getting off the road was strong as the first signs for Dashwood University appeared. He could, after all, go anywhere. Nothing was stopping him.

That spirit stayed within him as he took a turn into town. Hawkins never felt further away. As the city changed in scenery to what clearly were lecture halls and dormitories, his heart skipped a beat in fear. It was really happening. And if the old redbrick building weren’t a hint enough of his location, then maybe it was the dozens of cars halted at the side of the roads, overflowing the parking lots. Mothers held their kids tightly while the dads pulled heavy boxes from the trunks. As he drove past a boy being nearly strangled to death in an embrace, Steve was happy to have gone through all that days ago. 

With the number of people roaming around, it nearly took him more time to find a parking spot than the entirety of his drive there. There were also several harsh steps on the break as frisbees flew by, their owners running blindly behind them like dogs in a park. Then there were the other freshmen, looking like lost puppies, followed by the eager campus volunteers who welcomed everybody in and sniffed out the weak to indoctrinate them into whatever cults they were a part of. Steve tried not to get too annoyed too quickly, taking deep breaths and instead focusing on finding location markings. Dunent Hall. All the emails he had been getting on the topic of the introduction week mentioned “Dunent Hall,” in which “room 306 would be his new home for the upcoming year.” Exciting stuff, truly riveting. The excitement was practically trickling out of him. 

Finally, he saw the signs announcing the student housing building. Conveniently located on the far north end of campus, it needed to have the regular commotion that the centre held. The parking lot in front was still dotted with parting families and students hauling boxes, but Steve managed to find a spot for his car almost right next to the entrance. 

The aged red brick looked vibrant in the sun. Flower beds had been planted around the entrance, and Steve was sure they would look wonderful in the springtime, but as the days were only getting shorter, the bush looked a bit neglected and depressed. Putting on his sunglasses against the afternoon glow, he looked around again. The other dorms were spread out in a pentagonal shape. All identical in shape and size, decorated with the school's light blue and yellow colours. The only real difference between the buildings was the once-golden letters above the main doors, stating the name of the dorm halls. Dunent was behind Steve as he looked at the Runter and Vanhov buildings, with Bering on his left and Prudham on his right. He was sure that these names must mean something to someone interested in anything, but to him, it was just gibberish. 

Now, Steve had heard jokes, but when he turned around to head inside, nothing prepared him for the speed at which someone approached him and shoved a pamphlet. 

‘Hi!’ the girl said, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets like she must have been coming off a 10 coffee cup worth of energy high. 

‘Hi,’ Steve replied, slightly taken aback by the girl’s eagerness and large smile. 

‘I’m Constance; welcome to Dashwood!’ She didn’t even allow Steve to respond before asking: ‘Which dorm are you in?’ 

‘Why? Do you plan on murdering me already?’ He chuckled lightly.

‘Ha ha ha’. Her laugh was an exact exaggeration of the syllables, making Steve take yet another step back. ‘No, silly, so I can show you the way.’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he tried to stay polite while not seeing the point of being shown around a pentagon where each building had a sign you could read from across the street.

‘Oh, ok, just remember orientation starts tomorrow at 10. You should have received an itinerary in an email with all the details about the fun activities your faculty have planned. And don’t worry about getting lost or late; the pamphlet includes a map of the whole campus and the bus schedule… as well as some handy-dandy discounts and meal deals.’ 

‘Good to know,’ Steve nodded and put the pamphlet in his back pocket.

‘Alrighty then,’ she looked him once over, then looked at the hoard of boxes in his car, ‘well, if you need any help, just let me know. I’ll be here all day.’ 

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ He couldn’t tell if her offering of help was because she did not think he was strong enough to carry all these boxes up to the third floor, or if she wanted to hang around him longer for something. Either way, he wasn’t interested in any of that.

It took another second of awkward eye contact before Constance cleared her throat, mumbled a goodbye and walked away, leaving Steve with his boxes and the pamphlet.  He waited for her to have approached another poor unprepared soul to take a deep breath in and head for the door of Dunent. 

As it was the unofficial first day of term and people were coming in and out of the building, the doors that usually stayed locked with a keycard were now wide open. Steve let a shirtless guy carrying in, what seemed to be, a mini fridge pass him before walking inside himself. The first thing he saw was an endless beige corridor, with blue doors situated every few feet, some already covered in posters, stickers and whatnot. The air was stuffy, like being hit in the face by a very soft pillow, despite the humming of an AC system could be heard. 

The first door in the hallway was open; someone had stuck a piece of paper with tape, “RECEPTION”, written in black marker. It was a small office, if you could call it that, and barely held enough space for the desk and chair at which the guy was sitting, making Steve very anxious about his dorm room. He knocked on the door frame, and the boy looked up quickly. His glasses slid right off his nose, and he jerked around as if he had just been caught red-handed. And maybe he had, but Steve just didn’t know what exactly.

‘Is this where I can pick up my keys?’ Steve asked. 

‘Uhhh, yes. Yes!’ The boy, now looking younger and younger by the second, but not in a complimentary way, came alive in a jumble of nerves. He shuffled around the desk, searching for the list of names. ‘Name?’

‘Harrington.’ 

‘Ah, yes… it should be… right here. Room 306—I see your roommate has already signed in,’ he commented while handing Steve the sheet of paper, where indeed, a name was scribbled in the same black ink as the “RECEPTION” sign on the door. 

‘Cool,’ Steve mumbled as he noted down his name. ‘What’s he like?’ He handed everything back in exchange for a large white envelope. 

‘Oh, I think he arrived yesterday, and I wasn’t working–’ the kid looked genuinely apologetic as if he had done something wrong, so Steve cut him short.

‘It’s fine, no worries.’ He smiled. He would meet the guy in a few minutes anyway.

The receptionist boy smiled back, without any of the reassurance that Steve tried to bring into the conversation, then looked down at the envelope he had just handed him. ‘In there is your key, by the way. Also, a list of regulations and… stuff.’

‘Cool,’ was there much else to say besides that? ‘Guess I’ll see you around….’ 

‘Arc.’ Arc said. 

‘Arc?’ 

‘Yeah, like the boat.’ Arc shrugged and pushed his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose. 

‘Ok, cool,’ it was his first genuine “cool” ‘I’ll see you around, Arc.’

This was the first genuine smile Arc made. Then he remembered the one thing he was told to say. ‘Welcome in Dunent Hall!’ he yelled as Steve walked through the corridor. 

The stairs to the rest of the building were at the end of the hallway, and as suspected, there was no elevator. 

Not a functional one, at least. 

You’d think they’d fix something like that for the first week of term, where everyone was hauling boxes around the corridors, but no. Instead, it was a tight fit; people were jogging down as others struggled with their heavy things. It took Steve around double the time to climb the stairs as he kept bumping into people ready to fall down the whole flight as their property attempted to tip them off-balance. 

‘Woah, you good?’ Steve asked a pretty blonde as she nearly missed a step she did not see because her eyesight was obstructed by a giant snake plant. 

‘Yeah, thanks.’ She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear– which might not have been a good idea as she could not hold the plant with only one hand. 

‘Do you need me to carry it for you?’ Steve suggested.

‘Really? That would be great. My arms are killing me.’ She handed over the pot, and Steve put his Dunent envelope between his teeth. Unable to speak, he signed for the girl to lead the way. As luck would have it, she had also been heading to the third floor. They stopped at room 302. She opened the door and showed Steve where to place the plant. Her roommate had not appeared yet, so the room was half empty. The other half was now eaten alive by plants and books; the drabby walls were barely visible underneath the greenery.

‘Thank you so much.’ The girl said as Steve put down the pot next to her bed. ‘I’m Nicky.’ 

‘Steve.’ They shook hands, both now covered in a thin layer of plant soil. ‘Guess we’re almost neighbours. I’m in 306.’

‘Oh, fun!’ Nicky beamed, ‘And hey, if you need any help carrying things up, that was my last trip up and down, so– I mean, it would only be fair, right.’

‘Well, then I’ll leave the heaviest boxes for you.’ He fought the urge to wink, but kept his charming smile up until Nicky said goodbye and closed her door. Maybe college wouldn’t be so hard. 

But he couldn’t hook up with someone living in the same building, let alone 2 doors down. That might just be the stupidest thing he could do, and he had already done some dumb things. So no, Nicky seemed like a great girl, but he would have to control himself. 

So not that easy after all.

The third-floor corridor was smaller than the lower levels, with only 7 doors. 6 dorms and a community hall at the end. From what he could hear, some people were already socialising there, with their laughter and music giving everything a lively atmosphere. Room 306 was next to it, and people waved to Steve as they noticed him through the doorway. He waved back awkwardly as he got his key out of the envelope. 

‘I think Ed’s inside,’ a guy said from the couch in the community room, indicating that Steve could just knock. And, yes, he could, but this was his room. He had the key. Why would he hit?

The roommate situation was not a surprise. Along with his dorm hall and room number, all the emails also talked about how Steve had been paired with some kid named Edward Munson for the roommate scheme. Unfortunately, that was all that was told to him. A name and nothing else, so Steve could only hope the guy wasn’t a dickswab.

Finally, roaming through the millions of papers in the envelope, Steve fished out the key. It slipped into the lock, and Steve suddenly realised that the music had not been coming from the community room but from his dorm. 

Compared to the “RECEPTION”, this room felt gargantuan. The two single beds were set perpendicularly to their respective walls next to a set of desks. The door Steve just walked through was between two large closets, but there was enough shelving space for everything Steve brought with him. 

From how Nicky had decorated her room, he expected a stark contrast between his and Ed’s half, but it seemed his roommate had some trouble with boundaries. The room had fallen victim to a geekplosion. Something resembling an old bed sheet was draped on the wall over his bed; the paint read “Corroded Coffin”,  whatever that was. Around it were other small posters and pictures of bands and movies. Steve recognised most and noticed how there was barely anything around from after the year 1986. An auspicious start…

The shelves were already packed with books and action figures, and more packed boxes littered the ground and clothes (primarily black). Steve hadn’t even realised a person was sitting among the hoard of shirts and jeans lying on the bed, but Edward Munson sat casually back among this mess, strumming on his red guitar. He jumped up at the sight of Steve crossing the threshold. 

‘Finally!’ he tried to cross the room but stumbled over a box, cursing as he nearly fell. But you wouldn’t be able to tell any of that happened by how he composed himself once finally face-to-face with his new roomie. ‘You must be Steven–’ 

‘Steve,’ he corrected. 

‘Right, right. I’m Eddie.’ Eddie extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’ Steve shook Eddie’s ring-clad hand. It was a solid shake, which he appreciated. 

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Eddie apologised while they parted. ‘I couldn’t find my—stuff and you know how shit is. You get distracted, and it goes from bad to worse, but I’ll clean it up before you bring your stuff in.’ 

Steve didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Eddie turned around to put his guitar in its case, and Steve looked at his new roommate. From his years on the basketball and swimming team, Steve immediately thought Eddie must be a runner. He was lean, maybe a bit taller than himself. But the tattoos he was showing off in his black tank top made Steve doubt any kind of track career because there were many. From the quality of the sketches, they seemed homemade, too; some clearly even stick-n-poke. He had his long hair in a ponytail, but half of it was already sticking out messily, the old scrunchie hanging on by a thread. His jeans had chains attached to all possible places, and his belt buckle looked too much like real handcuffs.

Compared to Steve, wearing a clean green shirt and some light jeans, they made quite the pair.

‘I just came to drop this of real quick,’ he dropped the envelope on his bed, ‘i’m gonna go get the rest of my stuff.’

‘Need help with that?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ He had Nicky already, and Steve didn’t feel like soliciting half the campus to haul his shit up the stairs, even if that made his day a bit easier. Besides, he would find greater help in Eddie cleaning up while he was gone. 

Not that there was that much to bring up anyway. Everyone was probably projecting their luggage when offering to help, but Steve had packed everything into two suitcases and four boxes, which weren’t even that heavy. He just didn’t own that much. So after three trips up and down, and something that felt like a minor asthma attack, Steve sat on his bed and noticed Eddie’s look. His brows twisted in thought. 

‘What?’ 

‘This is all your stuff?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Clothes, a computer, some books and sports gear, what else would he need?

Eddie looked him up and down again quickly. Then asked, ‘What’s your major?’ 

‘Finance,’ Steve sighed, already growing tired of that being his answer. ‘Yours?’

‘Not sure.’ Eddie was sitting in his desk chair and spun around. 

‘What do you mean, not sure?’ He must have signed up for something to get here. 

‘Technically, English, but who knows what it will be next month. Fuck, they might kick me out by then.’

‘Not great with following the rules?’ Steve had to stay as far away as possible if this guy was planning on getting expelled. 

‘Not great at anything, really.’ Eddie exhaled deeply, ‘but you know, college is college. It’s already a whole thing to be able to go.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Steve let his head hit his pillow while Eddie kept spinning in his chair. Maybe if he could turn fast enough, he could catch up to his brain, which seemed to wheeze a million miles per second. It was still weird to him to actually sit in a college dorm.

24 HOURS AGO, he still couldn’t believe it; he was driving onto campus to be a student. He had always expected the only way he’d step a foot inside was to piss off some frat bros, Tpeeing their house or something. Now he would actually be in classes with these guys.

‘Boy, you better stop jumping or this car won’t last much longer,’ his uncle muttered. 

‘Sorry,’ Eddie stopped his leg from shaking, but it just moved all the energy in his body to his hands, and he started tapping his fingers on the dashboard, head rocking back and forth as their van approached the campus site. 

‘You sure you’re good, Eds?’ Wayne glanced over at his nephew. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ Eddie blinked, shaking his head. They were now only a few streets away from Dunent Hall. ‘Just a bit nervous, I guess.’ He had that same stomach-gnawing feeling as he had in kindergarten on his first day of school. And then, on the first day of elementary school and in fourth grade, when his family moved, he had to change schools again in seventh grade. The first day of high school, freshmen year, and a year later when he moved in with Wayne across the country and started all over again. Then the feeling crept back when he had to repeat senior year… twice. After all these times, he thought he would get used to it, that the anxiety would come easier, but it hit him as hard as ever. 

‘Try not to throw up in the car, son,’ his uncle said, and Eddie tried to laugh the sour taste in his mouth off. He would have replied but was scared that more than words would come out, and so they drove on in silence. Only once they parked in front of the Dument building did Eddie dare to open his mouth. 

‘Looks worse than I expected.’ To that comment, Wayne smacked him on the back of the head. 

‘Just because you’re right don’t mean you should say it.’ Wayne pointed a stern finger, but a smile was creeping up under his bushy moustache.

‘Sorry!’ Eddie chuckled. ‘I’ll go and–’ Right as he was about to head inside, a girl appeared, practically out of nowhere, startling both uncle and nephew. 

‘Gooood morning!’ she sang. ‘I’m Constance, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to Dashwood University, the home of the Gorgons!’ She cheered haphazardly, most likely because all her energy was stuck in her face. 

‘Gorgons, eh?’ Eddie said, unimpressed. He never cared much for school spirit, so the whole sports team thing wasn’t very appealing, but he knew some people got all hot and bothered by it. 

‘Be sure to get tickets for the first game of the season; it will be a blast,’ Constance beamed, and Eddie would have asked what sport this was supposed to be about if he gave an inch of a fuck. So, he just smiled and nodded like the polite hated-by-Christians boy he was. 

Constance looked at Eddie, and with a face like hers, it was evidently hard to keep her thoughts to her inner self. The judgement was practically being screamed through a megaphone (which she was carrying on a shoulder strap). When she looked back up at him, noticing that he had not stopped looking at her, she squeezed out a smile. 

‘Here is a campus map,’ she held out a pamphlet, ‘with all the important locations and travel information if you need to get around. You can pick up your keys inside, first door to your left.’

‘Thanks.’ Eddie ignored Constance's last glare, not understanding how some people were still so close-minded in the year of our foe and Satan… was it the hair? The tattoos? It couldn’t be the weed; he had showered for an absurdly long time, knowing he would have to spend a whole day in the car with his uncle.  

Speaking of Wayne, he had opened the back of the van, suddenly finding himself very busy with some box, only poking his head out to wave goodbye to this welcome committee. 

It was a cloudy, sleepy Sunday. The air around them felt ready to rain or daze in its aftermath. But the grass smelled of it, and the flower bushes…… were there too. 

‘I’ll go get the keys.’ Eddie said and went in ahead. 

Just like Constance had said, the first door on the left was open and revealed a broom closet for an office. Inside was an older man who looked up before Eddie could say anything. He had a white button-up shirt and pits stained in sweat, and understandably so because Eddie already felt like he was burning after standing there for two seconds.

‘Welcome to Dunent Hall. Name, please.’

‘Munson, Eddie- Edward.’ God, he hated saying his full name. He watched the man pick up a clipboard and review the list of names until he reached the Ms. 

‘Yes, right. Sign here.’ He handed him the clipboard to sign, and while Eddie was doing so, the man reached for a basket of large envelopes and searched through those for “Munson” as well. ‘In this you will find your key, dorm regulations, college regulations, lists of clubs and associations and this month’s cafeteria menu—which you can find on the map that I’m sure constance has given you.’

All Eddie could do was whistle in fascination. ‘You guys sure are organised,’ he tried to joke, but the man just looked at him with a cold and unimpressed stare. ‘Well, thanks, anyway.’ Eddie held up the envelope and walked back out of the building where Wayne was waiting, a box in his hands. 

‘Got 'em?’ he asked, and Eddie showed him the envelope. It took him another five years to sift through all the paper waste to find the key—a small silver key attached to a red label reading “306”. 

Eddie grabbed his guitar case, whipped it around his shoulder, and took another two boxes to follow Wayne into the building. The only people around were just like them, families unpacking, so he doubted it was necessary to lock the van… not that he had anything worth stealing anyway. 

The elevator had a large “out of order” sign stamped on it, so they took the stairs. While Wayne said he was fine, Eddie insisted he takes it slow and not make any more up-and-down trips. They compromised by Wayne giving him a warning look and bringing up two more boxes before resting up in the room as Eddie got the rest of his stuff. Together, it took five trips up the flight of stairs, but all the boxes and bags covered most of the floor space. Wayne took the desk chair while Eddie sat on the bed, choosing the left side of the room.

Running back and forth to the car had occupied him for the time being, but now, sitting there in silence, all the thoughts from the drive were returning. The look Constance gave him… would that be everyone he met around these parts? Would it be like every other school he had been to? What about this roommate of his? Steven? What were the chances that he’d be into all the stuff Eddie was? Would he have to share a room with someone that was either scared of him or thought Eddie was a freak? 

‘Pay them no mind, boy,’ Wayne said out of nowhere, almost as if he could read his nephew’s mind. 

‘For once, I don’t want them to think I don’t belong here.’ Eddie sighed. 

‘Listen here,’ Wayne pushed the chair closer to the bed, ‘you worked as hard, if not harder, as anybody here. You’re here because you deserve it, you understand me, son?’ 

Eddie nodded, but his uncle needed more. ‘Yes sir.’ And then, like when he was a little boy, he jumped into his uncle’s arms for a tight embrace, possibly knocking the air out of the man’s lungs.

‘I’m proud of you boy.’ Wayne wrapped his arms around him. ‘Always have, always will be.’ 

‘Even when I accidentally set the theater room on fire?’ 

‘Boy–’ Wayne warned. 

‘Right, sorry.’ He pulled back into the hug. His uncle smelled of driftwood and wind. No matter how long of a drive or shift at the plant they had behind them, the smell of home never left. And now Eddie had to say goodbye to it. To his home, to his uncle. He would be entirely on his own again. 

‘Alright, that’s enough of the good stuff, Eds,’ Wayne tapped him on the back, and the two got up. His uncle’s arm remained on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. ‘Really proud of you.’

‘Thanks.’ Eddie smiled, pushing back any emotions. He didn’t want his last moments with his uncle to be filled with tears. 

‘And you know, your ma would be too.’ 

‘What about good ol’ pops?’ Eddie snickered. 

‘Damn him to Hell.’ Wayne spit and Eddie gasped half-jokingly. He had expected precisely that kind of reaction, but he had never heard his uncle use the big H word. 

‘Maybe it’s good I’m leaving, man, clearly I’m not a good influence on you.’ Eddie pulled him back into one last hug, but after that, it was time for Wayne to go. It was hard to say goodbye, though, so Eddie ended up walking back to the car, and didn’t head inside until the car disappeared around the corner. It felt silly, and he had never imagined himself getting so emotional over farewells, and yet, as he sludged his step up the stairs, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

The room looked tiny and giant at the same time. Compared to his old room, it must have been three times the size, but looking at all his stuff in boxes, Wayne’s writing on all of them, categorising his belongings, it felt dizzying. This is where everything starts. The great adventure.

The sour taste in his mouth came back. 

‘Fuck.’ He needed to relax. Like, right now. And luckily, Eddie knew precisely how. 

If only he remembered where he had packed it. Somewhere at the bottom of one of the boxes, he still could retell. At the bottom, if his uncle opened it up, the weed wouldn’t be front and centre. Also, to cover up the smell a bit. 

He went through three boxes before finding the incense, which he had thought was a good sign, but alas. Apparently, he had stashed the stash in one of his duffel bags. He opened the window, lit the incense stick and was about to light a blunt when a voice came out from the doorway. 

‘Ooh, wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ 

‘Hmm?’ with the joint between his lips, Eddie looked towards the door, where a guy with a buzzcut was standing, leaning into his room with his hands on the doorframe.

‘Smoking is a big no-no inside these buildings. It’s like rule one on all the regulations. Highlighted in italics and bold font.’ He had a slight accent, but from his voice, he sounded just as annoyed about the rule as Eddie felt when he heard it. 

‘Well, there goes my afternoon.’ He put the blunt back in its little tin box. ‘But thanks for the heads up, man.’

‘Yeah, sure thing.’ the guy glanced around him, ‘guess we’re across neighbours then.’ 

‘Oh, nice.’ Eddie wanted to slide his chair out towards the door, but it was undoable with all hix boxes lying around. So finally, defeated by the cardboard, he got up. 

‘I’m Eddie.’ 

‘Ved, but call me Vader.’ Ved introduced himself.

‘That might just be the stupidest self-proclaimed nickname I’ve ever heard.’ Eddie laughed. ‘I love it.’ So maybe college wouldn’t be that hard after all. 

Vader looked into the room, ‘making yourself at home already, I see?’ You would definitely think so by the state of the dorm. Throughout his search for the weed, Eddie had thrown everything in the boxes around. The ground was covered in his clothes. ‘No roommate?’ 

‘I’ll clean it up before he gets here.’ Eddie shrugged it off. The cleaning before the roommate arrived consisted of scooping everything from the ground into his arms and dropping it on the bed. The plan after that was to start putting things away into the closet, but shit, what was he to do when Vader invited him and the rest of the third-floor early arrivals to a small party at his place. That way, in 24 hours, Eddie managed to ransack not one but two rooms. The beer was provided for (Vader knew how to make friends quickly), and Eddie provided the music with his speakers. The worst of beats their childhood had gifted them boomed through the entire night.

Around 2 am, Eddie was in deep need of a smoke. He excused himself and found his way up the stairs onto the roof. A previous like-minded person had left a set of beach chairs out there, bleached from the sun and slightly rusted from the rain but perfect for their purpose. No smoking in the buildings. No one said anything about on top of the buildings. He lit the joint and sucked in deeply, dropping into the chair. The bitterness filled his throat delightfully. 

Back home, millions of stars looked back down at him when he looked up at the sky. Here, among the street lights and the dozens of small windows lit up in a rainbow of LED, he saw around 3 bright spots above him. The moon was merely a sliver. 

Eddie could have quickly fallen asleep right then, and maybe he even had, but Vader burst through the door and hauled him back in. 

‘You know it’s like freezing out there, right?’ he said, pointing out Eddie was only wearing a thin tank top and ripped jeans. 

‘I’ve had worse.’ That was all that Eddie said, giggling. They walked downstairs and said goodnight at their doors. 

When he woke up the following day, his entire body hurt in what could only be dehydration. But the first thing Eddie did instead, was turn on some music. He couldn’t do the silence anymore. It was deafening. 

The clothes were still everywhere too, and he kept telling himself to get it cleaned up, but somehow found himself putting away everything but that. And then, of course, he got tired and needed a break from all the unpacking. The music faded into the background, so Eddie pulled out his guitar to strum along. It was the next best thing to weed.

And that’s when Steve Harrington walked in. 

He was precisely what Eddie imagined a “Steve Harrington” to look like. Neatly styled hair, perfectly fitted clothes, the shock on his face at the sight of Eddie. And then there he was, in his clothes from last night, in a mess of a room. He probably still smelled of booze and weed as he had had no breakfast or a shower. Great first impression. 

The guy came in with half the stuff Eddie had brought, and he couldn’t tell if that meant Steve was even poorer or filthy rich. 

After that short conversation, where they learned nothing about each other, things seemed to hit a dead end. They both kept to their own halves of the room, like prison cellmates, except without the murderous tendencies (yet). And for the first hour, Eddie thought that might be it. After that, they would never speak to each other again except when one had something to complain about the other. 

Then after that hour, he searched for some kind of reason to talk to him, but each attempt felt dumb, and so Eddie fell into silence again. Would it have helped if he knew Steve was in the same boat? Looking for something to start a conversation again, but too awkward to actually speak. Because what do you say to a guy you just met and already living with?

Their saving grace was the sound of knuckles against the door.

‘It’s open!’ they both shouted out at the same time. Vader poked his head in. 

‘Hey, I was just wondering if you guys would want to get some food?’ He directed the suggestion more towards Eddie but then looked over at Steve. ‘I’m Vader, 305.’ 

‘Steve.’

‘Pleasure,’ Vader turned back to Eddie. ‘So what do you say? I’m calling in on everybody. A bit of a team-building, you know?’ 

‘Uhh, yeah, sure why not? Steve?’ 

‘Sure.’ He wasn’t sure if he was being invited, and a group activity concerning the entire floor felt a bit ridiculous, but what else would he do around here? 

‘Ok, cool.’ Vader smiled and closed the door behind him. They could hear his footsteps approaching door 304 and knocking like he had just done for them. 

There was a beat of silence in room 306 before Steve asked: ‘What kind of a name is Vader?’ 

‘Beats me, man. The guy’s crazy.’ But, they both had felt it as soon as they stepped into the building, “crazy” seemed to be a requirement for the inhabitants of Dunent Hall.

the end.

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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[shy-urban-hobbit]

8 with Lambert & Vesemir please if you want to 💕

8 - "I'm really disappointed in you."

I had two ideas for this one and I really wanted to write both so we have a modern au humour drabble with a little bit of role reversal which Lambert is way too happy about and/or fluffy/angst child Lambert under the cut where Vesemir learns Lambert doesn't use words to apologise (CW on that one for implied abuse/corporal punishment).

"I'm really disappointed in you." Lambert didn't even try to hide his smile as Vesemir was led out from the cells to the front of the station. Of all the days Geralt and Eskel had to be busy...

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Lambert crowed, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in a parody of the pose Vesemir adopted every time he'd asked that of his youngest.

"Wrong place, wrong time." He answered as he walked out onto the wet, dark street. It really was - Vesemir had just been minding his own business at a nearby bar when all hell broke loose between a couple of guys and their respective friends. Vesemir wouldn't have gotten involved at all if someone hadn't thrown a right hook at him as he tried to leave and well...old habits and all that. It was just his luck Lambert was the only person available to come and post bail.

He might have realised too late what exactly he'd said, but Lambert certainly didn't. His smile morphed into a full on, shit eating grin as one of his own classic excuses fell from his father's mouth, "I've heard that before!" He yelled out, raising a finger and wagging it in exaggerated sternness, "When are you going to start thinking before you act? I swear, I never have this much trouble with Eskel and Geralt!"

"Are you done?" Vesemir deadpanned from where he was trying to walk ahead of the younger man.

"Not even close." Lambert laughed, jogging slightly to catch up so they were now walking side by side, "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this opportunity? I'm not stopping until I've gone through your entire repertoire of Disappointed Dad phrases old man!"

Vesemir did an about face, "That's it. I'm seeing if they'll let me spend the night in the drunk tank."

"Ok, ok." Lambert said holding his hands up in a placating gesture, still grinning, "But you have to admit, the irony is pretty fucking funny."

Vesemir gave out a "hmm". He supposed he'd be able to laugh about it in the morning - he wasn't telling Lambert that though.

"C'mon. I'll buy you a drink, we should celebrate this. Vesemir's first run in with the law!"

"What makes you think that was my first?" Vesemir asked, ducking through the door of the first bar they came across and smirking at Lambert's spluttering.

"Wait, what...Vesemir??!"

It was nearing the end of Lambert's first month at Kaer Morhen when it happened. He was confident that he could handle whatever punishment he was about to receive and then Vesemir had gone and said those five words before dismissing him.

"I'm really disappointed in you."

That one phrase had cracked through the walls he'd built up during his short life and had settled unpleasantly in his chest. He'd grown used to people being angry at him thanks to his shit-stain of a father, his mother was the only one who'd ever felt fear for him and there had been absolutely none of that since he arrived here and got shoved into a bare dorm room with six other boys. He didn't think he'd ever had anyone express disappointment in him before - at least, not directly. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, which in turn was making him feel angry.

It wasn't his fault! Voltehre had dared him to try and steal something from one of the alchemy labs. If he hadn't done that, Lambert wouldn't have dropped that stupid ceramic bowl. He'd hidden the pieces as best he could, it had only been one of the smaller ones so it had been pretty easy really. Apparently that hadn't been good enough though as he found himself being summoned to Vesemir's office; where he'd resolutely denied all knowledge despite the evidence staring him right in the face from Vesemir's desk.

"What's up with you?" He looked up from where he'd been sat curled in on himself at the top of the stairs to the boys dorms, definitely not sulking. One of the younger, freshly turned Witchers he recognised as Eskel was leaning against the wall, looking down at him.

"Nothin'. Piss off, asshole." Lambert snarled into his knees.

Eskel only laughed, "Big words from such a small mouth. C'mon, either talk or piss off yourself. You're stinking up the hallway with that sad stench."

"M'not sad." Lambert said petulantly.

"Uh huh."

"Stupid Vesemir."

"What'd you do to get a beating from him?"

"Didn't beat me."

Eskel was silent for a minute before dropping down next to Lambert, "Let me guess. He did the 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' thing. Fucking hate that."

Lambert's head shot up in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was for the other to agree with him.

"So. What'd you do?" Eskel prompted again.

For some reason, Lambert found himself telling the whole story. How Vesemir had summoned him to his office to ask him about the broken bowl. How Lambert didn't understand why Vesemir was disappointed when he should be angry, right? That was usually what happened when people who weren't his father broke things (that would still be the fault of Lambert or his mother).

"You do know he'd be able to smell that you'd been in there, right?" Eskel asked from where he was leaning back on his elbows.

Lambert froze. He did now!

"He's not disappointed that you broke it, you know how many of those things we have in storage? He's disappointed that you lied about it. He'd have been able to smell that on you too, just so you know."

They sat in silence as Lambert digested this. That still didn't make sense. He still should have gotten a beating for the lying, shouldn't he?

He didn't realise he'd said that last part out loud until Eskel answered, "Honestly, if it had been any of the other Masters, you probably would have. Vesemir's harsh, but he's not the worst one here. Do you understand why you feel guilty now, though?"

Lambert nodded, "So, how do I make it go away?"

Eskel shrugged as he stood up to leave, "Figure that out yourself. I'm not your damn mother."

Lambert flipped him off in response, tapping his feet as Eskel's words called up thoughts of his mother. How she'd sit trying to salvage whatever his father had destroyed the previous night, how she'd smile that sad smile at him when he'd try to help. Hmm, maybe that was an idea? He picked himself up and hurried down the stairs shouting for Eskel. Maybe he'd know where to find what he needed.

Vesemir turned the bowl over in his hand. Calling the repair work amateur would be being generous. Thick lines of glue making the cracks appear large and obvious and giving the rim a slightly uneven quality, the surface was also uneven in some parts where the adhesive had dried in globs and smears, a couple of spots on his desk suggesting it hadn't fully dried when it had been left. Obviously the work of a child, confirmed by the now familiar scent it was covered in. He thought on the dark rings around Lambert's eyes that morning, his shuffling steps and wandering concentration during training. The lad must have been up all night working on this.

Vesemir gave a small chuckle as he placed it on a high shelf. No good for potion work now, but he'd find some use for it.

[scribefindegil]

An Ounce Of Beaten Gall

Fandom: Pentiment Words: 3,837 Summary: Ulrike's still trying to understand the newest member of her family. He's strange, and sad, and even her best silly faces aren't enough to make him laugh. But he used to be an artist, her Dad said, so when the family runs out of ink and needs to make more, she knows just who to enlist for assistance! (In which Ulrike is stubborn, Paul is tired, and Andreas Maler is re-introduced to the magic of art supplies)

Mama said that Ulrike wasn’t allowed to call him Sad Andreas. It wasn’t kindly or Christian, she said. She’d suggested “Big Andreas” instead, but that was silly. He wasn’t big like Big Jorg; he was just a grown-up, and his arms were all skinny. Besides, some day her brother Andreas was going to be a grown-up too and then everyone would get confused. Grandma Grett was already saying “Look how big you are!” every time she saw them.

So he was “Old Andreas” instead, even though Dad kept saying he wasn’t that old. Ulrike didn’t believe that. He looked ancient. He was bent and wrinkly like Ill Peter and his hair was all full of gray and sometimes his hands shook.

Mama and Dad and Grandma Else mostly called him “Master Maler.” Andreas–her Andreas–didn’t have to call him anything special.

Ulrike still did call him “Sad Andreas” sometimes, secretly, in her head. She couldn’t help it. It was the first thing you noticed about him.

[Read the rest on AO3]

Creator reveals have been posted for the lovely Pentiment Spring 2023 Fanwork Exchange, so I’m delighted to be able to post the fic I wrote for it! My prompt was for something post-canon with Andreas and the Müller family, so I'm returning to my fanfic roots with a story about a little girl comforting a depressed old man with the power of arts & crafts.

[much-obliged-timothy]

Winter Whumperland #6

Devil May Cry - #6 - Too Late

*

Nero had been out hunting when the call came in, so Kyrie took it. As soon as he got back, she gave him the news, a massive smile on her face.

Dante had called. They’d made it back, just a few months after leaving Nero to take care of things in the human world.

His heart full, Nero had jumped back into the van with Nico and directed her where Dante told Kyrie he’d be waiting. He was trying to hide his excitement and relief, but obviously failing at it.

“You’re like a puppy,” Nico said. 

“Ah, shut up,” Nero said, but he was grinning a little. “I thought for sure those assholes would die down there. Now Vergil has to deal with me knowing I beat him. No running away this time.”

Nico rolled her eyes. “Yea, ‘cept now you’ll have a dad around to tell you what to do. Had one once, don’t recommend it.”

“Uh, did you forget the part where I beat him? He can’t tell me what to do. I can kick that old man’s ass,” Nero said.

Still, he couldn’t deny he was glad Vergil was finally back. It had been such a whirlwind back then that it had taken the months away from the twins to process the truth of his father and come to terms with his father’s bloody history.

He wanted to give Vergil a chance. His humanity, weak as it had been, had been a friend to Nero. V still existed inside Vergil. Nero only hoped that part of Vergil had grown stronger.

He would actually have a family again. A father and an uncle. Kyrie was already planning a welcome home dinner for them, eager to meet Vergil and let Vergil meet the children they cared for. She wanted him to be a part of Nero’s life just as much as Nero hoped he would be. 

Nico pulled over next to the bar Dante had given the address to. It was quiet at this time of day, though Nero wasn’t surprised. Vergil didn’t seem the type to enjoy crowded places.

Not that Nero knew much about Vergil. But he would. He was determined to. He would not let his father push him away now.

Nico punched his shoulder. “Good luck in there. Lemme know if I need to come shoot that power-hungry bastard for ya.”

Nero sighed. “Yea, yea, I can handle myself. I’ll get you a drink.”

She brightened. “Better.”

He got out of the van and took a deep breath before heading into the bar. Sure enough, there was hardly anyone in it.

But he spotted Dante’s red coat in the corner. His uncle was nursing a drink, staring blankly up at a muted TV playing over the bar. He looked exhausted, but that was to be expected with everything he’d been through the past few months.

Nero went over to the table and dropped down across from him. He couldn’t help but grin, because as tired as Dante looked, at least he was back and alive.

“So, where’s Vergil? In the bathroom, practicing how to look me in the eyes after I beat his ass?” Nero said.

Dante met his eyes. The grin dropped right off Nero’s face, his stomach plummeting along with it.

“I’m sorry, Nero,” Dante said quietly.

“I- what?” Nero said numbly. “Dante, where’s Vergil?”

Dante took a generous swig of his drink and looked down into the nearly-empty glass. “We saw a chance to escape, but there were so many demons blocking the way. The plan was for him to cause a distraction while I carved us a path to the exit before it closed. When I got there, I realized how overwhelmed he was.”

“Then…then he just didn’t make it out. We can still find a way to save him. I’ve been researching, trying to find a way to open a portal between the worlds,” Nero said. “We can-”

Dante held up his hand to stop Nero. Then he rested it over his chest.

“I was waiting in front of the exit. I was going to ditch it to go back for him. He knew that,” Dante said. “So the bastard…” He gave a hollow smile. “Flung the Yamato at me. It knocked me through the portal. His last words before it closed were ‘Give it to my son’.”

Nero reached across. Dante let him take the drink and finish it.

“They fell on him just as the portal closed.” Dante closed his eyes. “I was too late. Again.”

“He could be alive,” Nero said, aware he sounded desperate.

Dante shrugged, his exhaustion growing. “He could be. But we’d been fighting for months. We were worn out. He was without a weapon when they swarmed him. It won’t be the first time I’ve mourned him, but…shit, Nero, it’ll be the hardest.”

No. No, Nero had just gotten his family back. How could half of it be gone already?

Dante clapped a hand to his shoulder and gave an empty smile. “Just us now, kid. Just like before.”

Dante had lost his brother so many times. He was so used to being a prisoner to this kind of agony. He hated that Nero had been thrown in the cell with him this time.

Dante motioned for two drinks. The bartender brought them over and Dante pushed one into Nero’s hands.

They looked at each other in silence, the truth of it slowly sinking in. Vergil could be alive. But more likely than not, he’d died alone down there, a victim to his own mistakes once more.

Dante and Nero drank like they’d find Vergil at the bottom of their glasses, letting the liquor drown their swelling sorrow.

[cagcd]

"y'know what, i think i need to change up my order this time. i'm getting predictable, blanche can recite my peanut butter sundae by heart." cassie peruses the menu, though nothing much on there has ever changed. that's the thing about visiting the same ice cream place for years on end: the staff know you, you know them, and you could pick your order off their menu blindfolded. it's tradition, though. always has been. this is their place, their dinky little ice cream store full of memories. it's been years now since the first time dad brought her here - she's all grown up and still every bit as happy to join him here on a day off. cassie is fiercely protective of the time she spends here with her dad. particularly since he most often seems to suggest a visit here when cassie's feeling down. whatever wacky father senses he's got going are pretty accurate, because he always seems to know. cassie turns to the man himself. "what about you? adventurous ice cream choice today, or nah?"

     He needn't any powers when it came to her,   fatherly instincts were a quality that grew with time he hadn't believed to ever be a thing up until he had her in his life,   it wasn't as though his own was worthy of the title to be used as an example to draw from,   his father's incompetence and carelessness had been one of the main causes that terrified Johnny with the prospect of fatherhood,   always worrying and wondering if he can fill in such a significant role in cassie's life and be that anchor she can lean on at times of need.   Times were tough,   they weren't what most would call an ordinary family,   growing up while having to shift between the extravagance that was Hollywood and the strictness of military training and a rank to uphold.   But they had managed,   somehow,   just enough to sooth Johnny's worries every time he'd see his little girl smile,   her happiness the only comfort and motivation that forces all those doubts to disappear,   &.   have the weight of his father's failure feel a little lighter,   unaware that it had been a curse he had long since broken free from.   A part of him didn't wish to take full hold of that safety,   lest he forgets himself once more and loses track of all that he has built.

  They weren't normal in any sense of the word,   yet,   what they had was perhaps the closest thing he had known to family and had done his hardest to maintain even throughout his separation with her mother.   Their differences at the time were their own,   neither had wished for Cassie to get dragged into It,   It was a mutual effort between both parties to ensure she never felt that gaping hole of loneliness,   to have two homes instead of one,   a father and a mother that could not for the longest time look straight into one another                 She hadn't said much about the topic,   but Johnny could note every shift in her expression,   the way she would grow silent and slump on the couch like an old toy.   The child that she was had been enticed to a smile every time he would suggest a distraction and a treat with ice cream,   little to know that this simple attempt of cheer up would become an important tradition of theirs.   It hadn't been so different this time,   he watched her come home with that same gloomy expression,   try as she might,   a parent's love gave insight to such things,   he could read her like the back of his hand regardless of how well she would hide it.   He would never push her to talk however,   he learned just enough how useless that was during his rebellious teens,   so he would wait,   offer a shoulder and a listening ear when she's encouraged to talk,   patience is a virtue after all,   a saying he took to heart ever since he heard it from Sonya and still smiles to this day at the thought.

       ❛❛   atta girl,   gotta keep'em on their toes.   ❜❜        Johnny chuckled at the thought of that three member staff,   [   most often two as they always seemed short-staffed   ],   scrambling behind the counter to change up her order.   The clutter of kitchenware prevailing over the same 80's songs playing on repeat,   he could recite the whole playlist by heart.   It wasn't the most fanciest of places in true cage style,   but that's what made it more important,   something realistic to be seen as a safe haven for the two of them at times of need,   he would often bring her along if he's the one that needed cheer up.   It seemed to work,   just enough to erase that frown he had seen her first walk through the door with,   a tender smile tugged on his lips as hazel hues glance her way,   she's no longer little and teary eyed but he can't help but recall that memory with certain fondness.        ❛❛   I think I'll go for one of their ice cream cakes,   never tried those  before.   ❜❜        he answers after a few minutes meditation,   not really looking at the menu as he thought his choice through,   for he too had memorized it to the extent of being able to list it all from the top of his head,   but that was the good part,   their little tradition they kept alive.

@starspurn // my fav dad dottir duo !!!!

[flincher]

I'm gonna preface this by saying that I liked S1 and 2 of Picard. They were flawed seasons, yes, but I enjoyed them; I thought its titular character's arcs were interesting, if contrived, and I liked the new characters well enough to really feel their absence in the third season. They were good pieces of Trek, and I appreciate (most of) what they did and tried to do.

I find the third season to be in a similar boat. It isn’t hard to feel sad about losing almost all of the supporting cast of the first two seasons (though over time I’ve grown more forgiving of it). Similarly, it’s also hard not to feel apprehensive about a full-blown TNG reunion (They’re old! What story could you possibly tell?).

Now, though, having seen it… I think S3 is a pretty impressive feat.

I know. Big surprise coming from someone whose icon as of time of posting is Jack. But I like it and I stand by that.

It’s not perfect. There are plot points I don't agree with. I think it stretches out the Jack mystery a couple episodes too long for its own good. I lament how the changelings practically vanish in these last two episodes despite doing all the legwork to make the Borg plot possible. I squint at the way it's so noncommittal towards providing any definitive status about Picard and Beverly and Laris. And I think it goes headlong into luxurious fanservice a bit too much at times, main culprit being the museum scene.

But I like this season and I think it works primarily because on a thematic level, it understands itself really well.

Nowhere is this more evident than in their choice of villain. We have the changelings causing paranoia, and we have the Borg with their parasitic, twisted means of connection, both of them reminders of the sins of the past. And ultimately they're thwarted because the characters choose to open up to each other. Beverly and Picard, Troi and Riker, Ro and Picard, Geordi and Data, Data and Lore, Raffi and Worf, Picard and Jack—over the course of the season all of these permutations of characters open up and meaningfully connect with and learn to trust each other. On a plot level, these heart-to-hearts accomplish one of a myriad of functions (e.g. verifying that the other person isn’t a changeling, reclaiming a positronic matrix, convincing the other to return from an assimilation), but on an emotional one, that’s the way they move on from their pasts.

I'd even argue that it's great follow-through on where S2 leaves Jean-Luc! He sees this brash, roguish son of his, this man who outwardly echoes the young Picard we see in Tapestry and, with the added characterization of Picard S2, carries a similarly fatherless pain, along with the trauma of the Borg inherited by one generation from the last. “I know now I would never have been my father,” Jean-Luc says in the third episode, and he spends the rest of the season trying to prove this right. He chases after Jack. He reaches out, works on becoming a good dad. Patiently, he stays by Jack’s side at the end of it all, and in doing so, they save each other. It borrows a page from a certain other franchise, but I’ll let it slide.

Because I think this season argues that yes, you don’t choose who you’re born into, but loving them is a different matter entirely. All family is chosen family.

Maybe that’s a little too simple for Trek. But I think here, presented cohesively and as a culmination of Jean-Luc’s emotional arc through three seasons, it works. Season 3 of Picard isn’t the perfect conclusion to this show—far from it, what with how vastly different it is from the rest of it—but it’s a tremendous ending for the TNG cast and specifically Picard the character. I’m glad it exists.

[butchpeabody]

ok i finally feel coherent enough to post my spiderverse thoughts. theyll be under the cut and ill tag this post "atsv spoilers!" (as well as anything else i rb.) if you havent seen the movie id advise against checking the notes as well jic someone replies

so like. first of all what the fuck. i was fucking slackjawed from the last 30 minutes of the movie starting to getting home and sitting down. absolutely MASTERFUL movie in every way imaginable. i dont have the words in my head rn but its just. GOD. fuck. i will be buying the artbook when it comes out

individual points:

-i really really do love the curtains are blue style gwen trans allegory good fucking god. WHAT THE FUCK shes so good. by no means the main character (i was actually kind of worried when thebmovie started like i do love her im glad she got some shit but ibwas like...is this gonna be from her pov the whole time when miles is here...it wasnt!) but i adored her in this shes so ficking full of issues

-HOBIE. HOBIE MY FRIEND HOBIE. i really enjoy his presence in the movie- when hes mentioned once or twice before appearing i thought hed have a rivalry with miles but that was absolutely not the case. in retrospect its really funny that miguel grabbed him for his fucked up spiderverse shit giving that his entire MO is anarchism but if he were not there miles would absolutely be hurt or worse. im INCREDIBLY excited to see what they do with him in the next movie- especially because i can kind of see him as a parallel to aaron in a way? such free spirits ...artistic .... also i dont have as much to say about him but god pativr is so good i love him. i LOVE HIM

-peni was my favorite character in the first movie when i was younger but i had since grown like...worried about her showing up in future movies because of her stereotypical portrayal. its probably too early to give a clear for now nor is it my place to comment on the actual content of that BUT for what its worth she seemed much more faithful to the comics' tone in this movie- it seems that the implication was that peni experienced her comic run in between movies? her mech and outfit are far different. she was fucking HAGGARD when she first showed up. ham and noir coming back in the next movie will be nice but i do hope that they replace hams voice actor.

-miguel is so fucjing fascinating. people either seem to desire him carnally or hope he dies and im definitrly not in the former and im like.....nnnot entirely in the latter. intetesting character excited to see where he goes! what the FUCK was his problem though. you are a GROWN MAN trying to tear a 15 year old asunder because hes like hey i dojt want to stand idly by and watch my dad perish dude. he sucks and is horrible and i want to study him. jessica also really but she seems less fucked up and more like...willing ti take care of her responsibilites despite the emotional toll. excited to see if they clash more in part 2

-i dont even have the words to describe the animation but everyrhing is so beautiful. a few characters have sketch guidelines on them despite being 3d! the first fight scene of the movie contains a chararacter from a fucking da vinky world and hes in sepiatone and its fucking GORGOEUS.

-miles. ohhhhhh milesmilesmilesmiles saving the best for last. what do i even say man the progression of his arc, the way the smallest action of his from the first movie set off a massive chain of events, the turmoil he goes through and comes out stronger. his PARENTS. HIS RELATIONSHIP TO THEM HIS WORRY FOR THEM. i nearly screamed when he went in the wrong universe and aaron was there, AND HIS DAD WAS DEAD, THE THING HE WAS TRYING TO PREVENT. AND THEN ALTERNATE MILES BEING THE PROWLER. IS THE IMPLCIATION THAT EARTH 42 MILES WOULDVE BEEN THAT UNIVERSES SPIDERMAN BUT BECAISE THE SPIDER LEFT HE BECAME THE FUCKING PROWLER???? FUCK MAN!!!!! i need to see him thriving i hope he gets home okay. amazing movie amaaasizinngngnnn