#I just wanna be used and not care what happens to me

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[bunnwich]

This is altogether random, but I feel you might appreciate the idea: since Leona is doing his internship with a mining company in Sunset Savanna, I like to think if he were to propose to his partner, any ring would have a stone he found himself (then or years later) that made him think of them, because they’re worth the effort.

No, I love this so much and this actually inspired to think of some HC for Leona and Yuu's engagement!! So pardon me as I use this as an excuse to yap/draw.

🧡Leona x Yuu Proposal

🧡Engagement:

I picture Leona and Yuu would be together a while time before he worrys about marriage. Leona as we know is not traditional by any means. And the two are so used to just…being there for each other, lives intertwined like a braid. 

At this time after NRC I see Leona having his hands in a few things, but mostly just there as support for Yuu and even Ruggie as they navigate graduating. After his internship he currently sits as a member of the Board of Environmental Utilization.

I think they would already live together in a somewhat isolated place near the edge of the Outlands and Sunrise City. Leona originally helped get it for Yuu to have a forever home but now he finds himself there more and more. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, reminding Yuu of the Ramshackle.

I imagine their house has a revolving door policy and often has uninvited guests, Ruggie comes to visit a lot and uses it as a place to crash when he's in town to see his Granny. And then there's Cheka (who is now a teen rebelling against his parents.)

Often the two take late-night drives in Leona’s jeep to get away from the craziness of all. Leona struggles trying to adapt to a more humble living situation and lifestyle. (he still can't work the microwave for a damn), but he tries enjoying the quiet life he has with Yuu. Yuu is still figuring out how they will fit in in their new homeland as a Sunset Savanna citizen.

I feel Leona’s family would be hassling them about marriage for years but neither are too keen on the idea of it liking their private life. However, Leona knows it’s the easiest way to protect Yuu and make sure they always have a home and inherit the house they fixed up together. (Should anything ever happen to him.) Plus, it would give them full citizenship in his homeland. 

So one day, he decides that it's time to make it legal. Of course, he already knew a long time ago that they belonged to one another, this is so cemented in his mind and he’s not even that nervous about it. At this point, they’ve been through so much together they live together, they are one. So, he does it in his Leona way.

On one of their sunset drives together he pulls out a special ring his sister-in-law helped him design with Yuu's three favorite stones that he’d sent them in their time apart. He had two requests when he had it made: it had to have a moon for Yuu and a stone for both of them.

Leona during his internship would often collect stones he would find in the mines, finding some to send to Yuu. He knew that they liked that sorta stuff even if he didn't care for it. And he didn’t mind writing down little geological facts for them. 

“So…ya wanna be married to me?”

Yuu would honestly not expect it. And he said it so casually too! Smug bastard. But as usual, he was…right, their lives were so connected they couldn't imagine not seeing his cocky face every day or hearing his soft words of encouragement then loud ass snores every night.

“Okay.” They say with a shrug, and Yuu would be crying for both them. He was right, it just made sense. Besides, what would the lion do without them?

After putting the ring on their finger he'd wrap his arms around them, intending to never let go after that. He can’t help but get teary too. He never thought that he’d have someone like his brother did, to be by his side always.

“Well, now, yer stuck with me.”

“That’s okay.”

🧡Wedding:

As for a wedding, I KNOW Falena and Sis-in-law would press for a big, fat traditional Sunset Savanna wedding. There is a bit of controversy among some old-fashioned council members that Leona is marrying an outsider and a few murmuring that Yuu is a human too. But Leona’s favorability in the kingdom has always been so divided that some take an apathetic view, expecting this behavior from the second prince anyway.

Being a “spare heir” works in Leona’s favor this time, as there is not as much pressure for an arranged marriage for him as his brother had. Though there’s still some pushback. They were fine viewing Yuuta as a fling but it’s tradition for royal family members to have political marriages.

It’s a bit of strain on their relationship during this time with the stress of the capital’s spotlight on them. Since Leona told no one about it until after he proposed to Yuu. But, because a few on the council are fond of Yuu already, (as well as the queen regent), it all works out eventually! (Leona threatens to take Yuu and run away so many times.)

It is an…adjustment getting this much attention for Yuu. But, because the house they chose is already out of the prying eyes, the two compromise by agreeing to a true royal wedding…

This doesn’t last long. The two get fed up and…elope a few months later in the middle of the night. Cheka/Ruggie sneak out to be witnesses. Falena and the queen are pissed and make them promise to get married again in a few years publicly.

🧡Traditions:

Rings are a bit more of a modern marriage tradition in the Sunset Savanna as other countries' cultures melded with theirs over the years. Leona has never been one for traditions anyway and he liked the idea of matching rings, made out of the same ore and gems.

An old tradition of Sunset Savanna marriages is that of permanent bracelets, braided by hand by the officiating party. They are meant to stay on til death. Often colored beads are added to represent each personality. The braided hemp itself represents an eternity together in this life and the next. Through the circle of life, they are connected from then on out. 

[jenniferjareauwife]

Who Am I?

pairing: rio vidal x fem reader

category: steamy

warnings: mention of wanda x reader, mentions of agatha x rio, steamy make out

word count: 710

summary: you get to know rio on the witches road

a/n: lowkey might make this into a series/more oneshots within this plot line

"You're not as bad as I thought you'd be." I murmured to Rio while the other witches talked. I watched her eyes roll from her side, carefully watching her expression.

"You'd be surprised at how little people say that." She sounded tired, a bit done with me before locking eyes with me.

"I'm just saying. Sorry." I shrugged. She let out a small scoff and poked her cheek with her tongue, practically begging me to stare at her lips.

"You don't have to apologize." Her voice was a bit softer now. "That was sweet of you." I couldn't help but blush. I tried to hide it by looking around at the others, noticing Jen and Agatha bickering.

"You still love her?" I asked softly.

"You're smarter than I thought."

"Is that a yes or no?" I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. She took a while to respond, staring at Agatha from across the clearing, I could see the memories running through her head.

"Not the way I used to."

"I get that." My voice was low, I didn't mean for it to be but I knew she would pick up on it, she always had for the four days I had known her.

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who's your Agatha?" She sounded bored now, inspecting rocks.

"Wanda." I whispered. I wanted to ask her, was she alive? Rio would know. It's not like it would matter anyway.

"I've heard of her." She threw a rock at the other witches, causing them to give her dirty looks. "A bit controversial."

"And Agatha isn't?"

"I never said she was." She replied sternly, causing me to gulp. A few seconds later she turned her head towards me, a darker look in her eyes. She liked this. "Never said I wasn't either." She smirked slightly, holding out her palm to me, a golden colored flower growing from it. I gulped. "I know." She whispered. "I know who you are."

"Do you now?" She nodded, her lips twisting into a wicked smile. I was enjoying this too, I wasn't about to lie about that.

"Now who am I?" I looked into her eyes, trying to read her. But I couldn't. There were only two people I wasn't able to read, who were powerful enough to have their mind guarded by me. Wanda Maximoff and her son Billy, who just so happened to be sitting 25 feet from me. I cocked my head. "I'll give you a hint, I'm not you."

"I'm not stupid. I would recognize you if you were." She laughed in response. "The Green Witch, right?" She nodded, smiling as I thought through it. "Death." I whispered as it clicked.

"Record timing." She laughed. "Good job sweetheart, I knew you had it in you." She held eye contact almost uncomfortably long, causing heat to rise from my stomach to my cheeks.

"Wanna um...wanna go on a walk?"

"Of course." Her smile widened if possible, following after me as I took quick steps away from the group.

"Wanted to be alone with me?" She whispered once I was close enough for a tree for her to be able to pin me against one. Her lips ghosted over mine, two hands on either side of my neck. I just gulped, my eyes flickering down to her lips. "You're so obvious...it's cute."

"Rio." I murmured, my lips brushing against hers as I spoke. "Please."

"Please what?" She had a faint smile on her lips as she tilted her head, her tongue poking out to trace my lips.

"Kiss me." I whispered. She laughed softly before locking eyes with me, smashing my lips together. I could feel her eyelashes tickle my face as she closed her eyes, fully melting into the kiss.

It felt like it lasted for hours, both of us only pulling away when we needed breath. I licked my lips, tasting something metallic. She had drawn blood, cute. "More Rio. I need more."

"Yeah?" She let out a breathless laugh. "They're right over there though." Her lips turned down to a fake pout. "They could hear you."

"I don't care Rio, please-"

"Maybe next time." She planted one last kiss on my lips before walking away, swaying her hips seductively. Damn woman.

[successfulgoddess333]

IDK WHAT TO TITLE THIS??? Just read

I think by creating countless amounts of posts to help people reach the state of shifting or enter the void state is low key pointless

Because why do I have to continue to tell you

A bunch of people I’ll never actually talk to

Irl

How to do something we were all created and born TO DO??

You’re just read this and then proceed to not do it anyway

The reason you’re on here is actually why you “can’t do it”

It’s not that you can’t

You won’t

Because you’re procrastinating but not only are you procrastinating you’re also

Trying to figure out how to do something

You’ve always known what to do

I read somewhere some ppl can’t enter the void

Because it was scientifically proven that we all have different parts of brains that’ll allow it or something I don’t remember but google it

I think that’s weird

Because the void state is literally conscious

Every single human being has consciousness

And we can all access it through meditation hypnosis etc

Why some ppl enter it more easily

Is because they don’t overthink it most ppl look at it as a “oooh I wanna try it”

When you’re excited to try something you don’t over complicate it or assume it’s not gonna work

Even if you do you’re still too excited to try it to care

it’s important that if you’ve already discovered the loa void state and shifting

You should continue to believe in it

But the actions matter just as much as the intentions

Your actions shouldn’t be wavering like

Is it real?

But then saying you believe it is

Figure it out

Do you believe in it or not?

Stop confusing your subconscious mind

Now back to what I was saying earlier

You keep treating it like a chore or a job

When you finally lay down to meditate you think

“What’s takin so long?”

Babe

Your impatience is the reason you’re not getting it

The whole point is for relaxation but since you’ve all put it on a pedestal

With the manifesting

You act as if

It’s a wish granter

It’s not

You are the reason you get your desire

You could get in the void rn but you’d only get your desires if YOU say your affirmations

Stop

Waiting to enter the void

If you have this mindset it’s not gone happen

Think of it as a

You’re setting the intention and just vibing

That’s why my method with the music works so well

Because I don’t overthink with music on

Music keeps me awake mentally and certain songs keep me relaxed physically

Plus it’s a good energy then just depending on a subliminal or something

It’s not doing it for you

My method plus ppl on here literally getting in the void

With no background noise is proof that subliminals are just guiding you to a destination you were already going to reach on your own

So what to take from this post

1. Stop depending on subliminals it’s fine to use them but thinking it’s gonna get your results is putting power into something that isn’t as powerful as you

2. Procrastination is going to be the cost of a life you could be living The more you linger on this looking for the answers you already know the longer you’ll be living in a world you are desperately trying to escape from congrats you’ve got a Dr you can daydream and escape this reality mentally but what’s the fun in that? That life you keep fantasizing is real and the universe knows how bad you want it so why fantasize? Go there

3. Why are you wondering how ppl get in the void easily? Simply just stop thinking about it so much literally just meditate think affirm whatever don’t even think of the void but still have that intention in your mind you wanna move your body? Why? You hate this reality you wanna block out all the physicality it actually feels so good to just be in a moment of peace I’m telling y’all the key to entering the void shifting etc other OOB experiences is literally just stop paying attention

You know so many ppl with adhd

Or other neurodivergent disorders think it’s so difficult to focus

But I remember years ago I accidentally entered the void without knowing what it was

I was so sleepy I laid down

Got distracted by a thought

And literally it went black for like five seconds and I felt nothing

So literally just stop paying attention

Affirm

If you want

Set the intention count whatever

Or you could just set the intention and just think

Of literally anything

That doesn’t cause physical reactions like a funny thought you’d laugh at

But just pretend you’re dreaming like how you normally would

Which brings me to my method

THE DREAM METHOD:

You could pretend to be dreaming

Like if you can’t visualize it still use your sense

Image your dreaming

And in that dream you’re living your dream life or you could “dream” that you’re in the void

However you want your void to look

By not moving you’re tricking your body into thinking you’re asleep

And by pretending to be dreaming

You’re tricking your mind into thinking

You’re both sleeping and dreaming

This will make you either dream Forreal

Or you could use this to get in the void

When or if you feel symptoms

By the way

Those floaty etc symptoms are actually signs that you’re astral projecting because shifting your awareness is a mind thing

NOT an outer body experience

So if you feel floaty dizzy spinning etc

You are astral projecting

BUT

You can use astral projection to shift and to enter the void

You’re Welcome

Also P.S but have you ever zoned out and stared at something til your vision got all blurry and background noises get fuzzy and whatever you’re focused on is the only think you can subconsciously focus on?

Yeahhh it’s a trance

Try doing this while meditating with your eyes open then close them and keep doing it

What ever you were focus on

Close your eyes

Set the intention

Affirm for a bit

Breathe then

Imagine something

Anything you’d want

And pretend to dream

By just visualizing or thinking or using your senses

You could put on an instrumental and imagine your doing a music video

If you feel symptoms just remember

Nothings physically happening to you

So why focus on it?

If someone saw you you’d still be in bed

Not moving

Itchy feelings mean your body is feeling as if you’re awake

There’s no actual physical symptoms of entering the void

Because it’s not really an out of body experience it’s you shifting your awareness has nothing to do with your body

Since you’re shifting to the 4D

The 4D is not physical

I may have mentioned symptoms in my previous posts I don’t remember I’m not a hypocrite I just learn and get more educated

But no matter

Take this how you want

And even if I could help

I could never get you into the void state

It’s literally me trying to tell YOUR subconscious mind to do something you already know how to do

Like cmon

Also

You don’t need the void to shift

Trust me there’s a gagillion methods

Another also

You don’t even need a method just lay down don’t move

Trust me weird shit will happen

[antimony-medusa]

Someone asked me for notes on writing technoblade so:

this is how I do characterization, just in random order.

deadpan or "dry" but not monotone— he's often quite expressive just in a deadpan way.

FUNNY. Humour is hard though so you can skate by on just being sarcastic and deadpan.

Sarcastic.

doesn't often say that someone is important to him in words, not in a literal fashion— the reason why things like "for you the world" or "my best friend" or "bro" or "good friend and disciple" gets celebrated is because he wouldn't say that sort of thing often. He is not out here calling people sunshine. Techno's out here saying "oh I'm not endeared" and "there's a RACCOON in my basement" and "that's what I'd expect from you, old man", but at the same time in actions he's very clearly showing that he cares— fight alongside someone, give them gifts, invite them to stay. Complaining about being woken up and how he needs his beauty sleep and how he's gonna wither to ashes while he makes you supper and won't let you apologize and sets up the guest room for you. And then says of course he's doing it he values this friendship. and then tells you how you could make anything you want for breakfast don't wake him before ten or he'll crumble to dust

especially with phil, very rarely MEAN/cutting, even while bantering and complaining— he'll call him an old man who's fallen off but he won't make fun of how he talks or call him stupid or a burden or tell him to shut up. He will tell tommy to stop talking but that would be because tommy was yelling his opinions at people like a grackle

anxiety— he wins fights because he overprepares. the beginning of every stream is so much brewing and armour and grinding. The world is dangerous and the only way to face it is to Git Gud. HE WILL BE GRINDING.

loves animals.

general-purpose nerd. people boil this down to english-major a lot, but things I have heard technoblade go on tangents about include math, psychology, greek mythology, metaphor, and How To Balance The Game

canonically into golf? I don't use that but yeah.

it's fair if I can grind the game sufficiently to make it work. will use exploits and edge cases and also expects them to be used against him cause that's just the game we're playing, right?

dark humour. this is a guy who made jokes about his execution and then his cancer. If he is in peril or something terrible is happening he will be joking about it. Most of the time however that is very carefully dark humour that is about, in the metaphor, him on the gallows, not being part of the crowd at a public execution.

Neurodivergent. This Man Has ADHD. in-game he had the zoomies a lot, he jumped conversational topics, he got distracted and missed stuff.

socially uncomfortable but has social skills— you see the discomfort especially on places like SMPearth or when he's not in a highly scripted lore call. He'll be falling back on silence or falling out of the conversation unless he's comfortable with people, and then you see WAY more of the fast joking, on a sliding scale of how comfortable he was with people. You can absolutely tell if he's comfortable with people and it correlates to how much company manners he's putting on. Like he'll make the effort socially, but you can tell he's plotting his escape from this conversation most of the time on SMPearth unless with his allies.

you can get an incredibly long way with dropping your gs, "bruh", and deadpan sarcasm.

kinda guy to use "wanna" and "soporific" in the same sentence. Big vocabulary, informal mode of speaking unless he's giving a prepared speech.

On SMPearth jokes about world conquest and domination, on DSMP jokes about being the bad guy/withers/terrorism, on origins jokes about cancer.

Will talk himself up as the best and powerful while also in a way that implies he doesn't really believe that or think it's important. First Try, Chat, he'll say, while very clearly and obviously going for the sixth try. Didn't even sweat, while a moment ago he was audibly panicking down the mic. Kinda guy to talk about his enormous clout and then turn the conversation around to how Ranboo has higher viewership and he personally has fallen off and is dying and being flattened— not in a complaining way, but in a "you're doing so awesome you beat me so good great game" way.

does not swear while on stream. We know he swore off-stream but those clips are few and far between. You will get people twitch if you have techno swearing though.

I've run out of thoughts, does anyone else have more ideas for Techno characterization?

[jeonscatalyst]

Fuck Hybe and Fuck Min Heejin. I hate how they keep using their artists as meat shields.

Hybe made this whole thing public to try to use MHJ as a scapegoat to all of their wrongdoings, and used their artists for sympathy to get the public on their side.

Then Min Heejin manipulated NewJeans into ruining their careers for her and put this horrible mentality in their mind that they're nothing without her.

Then we find out Hybe has been mistreating Taehyung, letting the people who leaked Jimin's personal documents go without taking any legal action, committing fraudulent album sales, and prioritizing gaining money over their artists protection and wellbeing.

And now, Min Heejin is trying to use Taehyung for sympathy points by bringing up something that happened last year, and pretending she's his friend. He's already dealing with the hardships of military service and now she drags him into her mess. If she was really his friend she wouldn't use him like this, especially at such a delicate time for him.

I hope all the artists are well. I can't imagine how hard it's been for them to deal with all the consequences of the company's mistakes. I just wanna give them all a huge hug 😢💜

Let's protect ourselves as well, as infuriating as it is, we can't let this mess take over our lives and ruin our days. The best we can do is support the artists and remind them about how loved they are. Taking sides and sending hatred is only helping the perpetrators fight each other.

I hope you're doing well!

Borahae 💜

Hey @moo-mood

I understand what you are saying but I think some of the points your brought up are pure conjecture as there is not a single shred of proof from the documents that shows that any of the BTS members are being mistreated. I think that fans are so sensitive of their idols they don’t understand the difference between a label having an opinion on an artist and an artist actually being mistreated.

I have seen people read and misunderstand those documents and I don’t even know where to start from in correcting some of those things. I have seen Tae’s fans promise to bring down the company because apparently the company has been sabotaging Taehyung but there is actually nothing in those documents that support this claim. They had an opinion on Tae’s album and suddenly that was sabotage to Tae stans. The same way they mentioned that Tae’s dating rumors might have helped other members live more peacefully in their private lives and Tae fans took that to mean that Hybe orchestrated the rumours so other members could live freely. The lack of reading comprehension or even understanding what those documents were about in the first place is truly astounding.

Don’t get me wrong though. I don’t for one moment think that company is innocent. As a matter of fact I think they are just as dirty as any other entertainment company and everyone with a brain knows that for these companies to get so big, they have to dip their feet in dirty waters and Hybe definitely is no different. They all have to play the dirty game to keep up with the competition and taekookers are acting like they were right all along and are trying to link every mention of Jk , Tae and Jimin in those documents to a nonexistent romance between Tae and Kook. I don’t think of Bang PD as a saint but I think he actually cares about BTS members and this isn’t because of anything he does or says but because of what the members do and say and how I have seen them around him for years. Watching them, you could easily tell that he didn’t treat them like a boss would but actually like his little friends or younger brothers. You see how he allowed the boys to be able to give him their honest opinions of how he ran things starting from Rookie king when he made it possible for the boys to climb that platform and yell out any grievances they had towards him or anyone else and how Jimin wasn’t afraid to tell him that his previous melody for DNA sucked and he listened and changed it . That is not a dictator. That is not something someone who doesn’t care about the boys or their opinions would do. You also see how freely they tease him, how happy they seem around him, they even have this funny drawing of him that they always laugh about, the even go as far as teasing him about his weight and he just laughs it off.

They have spoken endlessly about how well he treats them and about how good he has been to them. He is usually in the habit of treating the boys to one on one meals and even invited Jin over and cooked for him. We even see how closely Jungkook worked with him in the solo era and I’m sure working with him wasn’t the only option he had.

One thing that I have always found funny is that Tae stans swear that Tae detests bang PD but watch these videos

And this one

Is this how people behave with someone who maltreats them? Pay attention to the part where bang pd calls them after they win first place, Tae is the one excitedly holding the phone and calling him “shiyuk hyung” instead of referring to him with more professional appellations. Also recently, bang pd did a show or something of the sort with JYP and Taehyung screenshotted it and posted it on his instagram story and captioned it something like “does this mean he “JYP” is now my uncle?” Why on earth would he do this if he hated bang pd? Why would he do this if he was sabotaged and mistreated so much by the company?

I think Bang PD is a piece of work and is just like any other money hungry and egotistical boss is but I think he always cared about BTS, I mean that was his first group and they came up together from nothing to something. This isn’t to say that they probably haven’t had misunderstandings but generally I think they have a good relationship with the company regardless of what some fans think.

As for Min Hee Jin, I am somewhat indifferent about her because I don’t know enough about her to form a strong opinion and I Know that in her fight with Hybe, both parties are definitely guilty of things but I think her move to mention how Tae contacts her amidst all of this was low, even for her. Dragging the members into their fights to gain sympathy is low and she knew exactly what she was doing because now she has supporters from within the fandom who are Tae stans and that is because they think she cares about him and Tae likes her. She claims she cares about NJs but look at the nasty things she said about them.

Anyways, hun, let’s just trust in the members and know that they are old enough to take care of themselves and know what is good for them and what isn’t. If at all they are being mistreated, I trust that they would know how to deal with it.

Thanks💜

[soupbowl18]

Ordinary Hangout Sesh with Hanta Sero 

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Stoner!Sero X Stoner!Reader

A/N: MY OWN HC. I DON’T CARE, I DON’T CARE. THIS IS FROM MY OWN EXPERIENCES. I DON’T CONDONE DRUGS AT ALLLL. PLEASE BE RESPONSIBLE AND DO RESEARCH. Basically things I found attractive when I hanged out with people during certain seshes.

COMMENT YOUR FAV SESH MEMORY ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Warnings: Smoking, Marijuana, flirting :/, 21+, bad language, MDNI.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Hanta & Weed:

✪ I like to think that he only smokes on weekends with no plans

✪ I know for sure he doesn’t use before training nor class. He trying to become a hero so he needs to concentrate.

✪ I like to imagine he doesn’t smoke after training nor classes either because he needs to study or hangout with his classmates.

✪ The only time he does smoke is on the weekends when everyone is busy and he has the day to himself

✪ I also like to think hanging with the Baku-squad can be overwhelming, with Katsuki yelling first of all (he doesn’t smoke because he thinks smoking will effect him from being the number one hero), no one likes negative energy, Denki probably freaking out because the edible was a lot for him, trying not to be a handful for Eijiro either (also doesn’t smoke because it might effect him as a hero), and Mina just giggles her ass off. “Guys, ummmm, can yall shut the fuck up, yall are fucking up my high”

✪ They’ve never seen him this upset.

✪ So he rather hang out by himself, vibe on his own. Where no one is bothering him or freaking him out. Just lays on his bed and listens to music.

✪ ONE DAYYY, Hanta found you a bit far off trail on UA grounds, smoking a joint. “No way!? You smoke too!?”

✪ Scared the fuck out of you of course, wanted to join and brought his own joint. “So what’s your vibe? (・・?) (asking because of his friends) What strain you smoking? Can I hit it real quick? Do you want some of mine?

✪ Was happy to know that you’re chill（＾∇＾）

✪ Hung out a bit and y’all went to Hanta’s room and sat in total silence.

✪ Solo hangouts turned into silent company.

════ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ════

Before Sesh:

✪ When he ask you to hang out, he texts you around sunset. (Because he does chores to get it out of his way) “Yooo wyd? Just finished cleaning my room if you wanna come over? Can I hit your vape tho? (If you own one)

✪ He likes you so much that he rolls joints for you. Afraid of you finding out, he only does it sometimes. “I had extra weed and so I rolled an extra one for you or whatever” ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

✪ He’ll sometimes come over to your dorm and take out this materials

‧₊˚✧ Materials he for sure owns ✧˚₊‧

A grinder

Definitely a hand me down tray（−＿−；）

Wrappers but for you pattered (SAFE; NON TOXIC) wrappers like Hello Kitty type shit

A also hand me down bowl, he cleaned it good as new

A lighter that barely works (~_~;)

════ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ════

During Sesh:

✪ Y’all definitely have a playlist (that y’all made sober and he definitely did not add tracks that drops hints that he likes you) “I think you would like Thinking Bout You by Frank Ocean”

✪ Y’all go on “walks” because you don’t wanna stink up each others room.

✪ He actually sparks up the joint for you while you have it in between your lips (because you let him and you want him too) “Wait I got you, pretty” (HELLO!?)

✪ He’s a light weight because man is SKINNYYY, so by himself, he smokes half of the joint. (Up to you if you wanna decide to imagine you finished the joint or smoked half the joint together because you’re also a lightweight BUT EVERYONE WORKS DIFFERENTLY)

✪ (YALL KNOW WHEN YALL DONE SMOKING AND THEN LATER YOU FEEL THE RUSH OF HIGH) That happened to Sero, (idk if it happens to you, you can join ig lol) he had to stop walking for a moment to let the rush go through. “Woah, hold on, it’s hitting me at this moment”

════ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ════

After Sesh:

✪ Y’all know you guys are BIG on snacks so you guys head to the convenience store and get snacks and the munchies start to hit almost before you got to the dorms. Ya’ll held hands because y’all kinda stumble the whole way.

✪ Ya’ll like make a weird but somehow delicious parings when munchies hit. “Okay okay okay, PB sandwich, but add banana and Twix” (GUYS I RECOMMEND PLZZZZ, MADE THAT AND THAT SHIT WAS INSANELY GOOD)

✪ After the muchie fiasco, to whoever’s room ya’ll go, Hanta will be cuddly, but he wouldn’t say anything because he has no thought behind those eyes.

✪ This man would send you TikToks and/or IG reels even tho he’s next to you. Because man went non-verbal

✪ When you check verbally, Hanta will make a yes or no sound. When Hanta checks in, he’ll squeeze your hand, and you’ll squeeze back.

✪ As he’s coming down from being high, he’ll say a couple things here and there.

✪ Definitely says I love you here and there but he barely remembers saying it though. He just thinks out loud and for sure says a lot of things when he’s looking at you. “Pretty” *looks at your lips* “I love you” *checks you out every 5 minutes* “mmm” “so pretty”

✪ And of course, He falls asleep. On your bed or his, he’ll fall asleep while cuddling because he in love with you thinks you’re so comfy. So you’re stuck in place, until you have to pee.

[uceyliyahh]

SOMETHING BOUT’ US

Summary: "I want you more than anything in my life." After being in a difficult relationship with Carmelo Yasmine decided to move on from him and become the next big thing while getting drafted on the smackdown roster she always thought she would never find love again due to her commitment issues until she met him.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 4150

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso x Yasmine

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@hunnidmilly @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @lov3rla03 @simpin4pixels

3.

OMNISCIENT For some weeks now, Yasmine has been receiving calls and texts from Carmelo under strange numbers, and she has simply blocked him each time. Especially when Trick attempted to contact and text her, she would disregard all of his messages because she no longer trusted him. He believed Carmelo over her, of all people.

Yasmine was at the gym working out, trying to forget what had happened to her; she hadn't spoken about it since Montez and Jonathan arrived to pick her up after she moved out.

She didn't even want to think about it; it would just cause her anxiety to creep up on her and make her feel even more worthless than she already is.

Yasmine would be drowning in her thoughts late at night, wondering if she'd ever find a good man that she could trust, but was that even possible?

She wore headphones and listened to music while she did her bicep roll reps with the dumbbells before she went to the arena today to sign the contract on Smackdown.

Meanwhile, she felt her phone buzzing inside her training shorts as she paused to place the dumbbells on the bench and took her phone out of her pocket.

She noticed Montez had texted her, probably to check up on her.

Big Bro Tez💪🏽 sent 2+ messages IMESSAGE 💬 Big Bro Tez💪🏽: hey sis I was just checking in on you to see how you were doing. Big Bro Tez💪🏽: text me back whenever you can I'll see you at work I love you sis ♥️

It always made her happy knowing that her big brother cares about her and her well-being will always be there for her.

IMESSAGE 💬 Minnie🧃: I'm fine Montez Big Bro Tez💪🏽: are you sure? you don't have to come in to work today Minnie🧃: I have too so I can sign the contract then I'll probably just stay and watch your match out back Big Bro Tez💪🏽: A'ight little sis if you say so I won't pressure you Minnie🧃: thank you now lemme' get back to my workout since you rudely interrupted me 😭🙄 Big Bro Tez💪🏽: whatever nigga

Yasmine chuckled at his message before getting back to her workout and moving her headphones back in place.

biancabelairwwe, jonathanfatu, tiffanywwe, and others liked your post.

minnieminks: back at it again 🖤💭 biancabelairwwe: them abs tho better than mines girl im jealous asf 🙄🙄😭 minnieminks: @ biancabelairwwe girl your abs are more sharper than mines please 😭 jonathanfatu: why do you always gotta stick yo' ass out like do a different pose or sum minnieminks: @ jonathanfatu I smell a hater in the room rn 😀 tiffanywwe: we need to workout together honestly. carmelohayes: why aren't you answering my calls?

Read all Comments.

Yasmine took a shower before heading to the arena for Smackdown tonight. She was only there to support her big brother and Angelo, of course.

She was curious when she'd make her debut on Smackdown, which is probably soon. For right now, it'll just probably be segments of her getting interviewed by Byron Saxton about her upcoming debut.

She got out of the shower, wrapped her body in a towel, and dried her hair, making sure that every part of it was dry.

Sitting down inside the shower with her legs crossed, she scrolled through her Instagram, noticing that Carmelo had commented on her post that she made.

Her face turned up at his comment, questioning her about not answering his phone calls.

'This nigga won't understand the elephant in the room will he?'

After drying her body off, she lavender herself with some lotion and put on a comfortable outfit for tonight's smackdown. She walked out of the bathroom, grabbing her keys and purse while making sure she had everything before heading to her car.

As she headed out towards her car, she saw someone walking up to her. She couldn't recognize the face until he came a little bit closer, and that's when she knew that it was him. So Yasmine immediately went inside her car, locking the door in the process while he came banging on her window.

"Baby! Open the door." Carmelo said.

Yasmine shook her head as she turned the button on in the ignition, as he tried to open the door by the handle but not realizing that it was locked.

"C'mon, baby, don't be this way. I only did what I did so you can act right." Yasmine scoffed at his reasoning as she gave him the middle finger, pulling out from the parking lot and driving off in the process.

✧˚° Yasmine made it to the arena, parking in the garage. As she grabbed her purse while getting out of the car again, she realized she was only here to sign the contract and support her brother. Nothing more would happen, right?

She walked inside the building, seeing all the fans coming in to get their tickets or buy wrestlers' merchandise. That's when she ran into a fan who recognized her and started squealing.

"OH, MY GOODNESS, ARE YOU YASMINE THEE YASMINE FROM NXT?" The fan asked while Yasmine smiled at them.

"Yes of course hon what can I do for you?" She asked.

"May I please get an autograph and a picture?" Yasmine nodded her head while grabbing the marker from them, signing their T-shirt with her signature. The fan pulled out their phone, setting it up on camera mode for them to take a picture with her.

They did a pose as they snapped the picture together while hugging Yasmine she gladly responded to the hug.

"Omg thank you sooo much!" The fan said.

"No problem hon." Yasmine gave them one last hug before continuing her way towards Paul's office.

It felt nice to her to know that she had some fans who liked her and enjoyed her wrestling. She felt her phone buzz, making her stop in her tracks. Pulling it out, she saw that Bianca texted her.

Breezy🫶🏽 sent 2+ messages IMESSAGE 💬 Breezy🫶🏽: Montez told me you would be here tonight wya? Breezy🫶🏽: Actually, I see your location. I'm coming towards you; you should see me waving my hand.

Yasmine looked around, seeing someone waving their hand back and forth. She stood on her tippy toes, seeing Bianca waving her hand, and smiling, ran up towards her.

They both hugged each other while everyone was around them as they pulled away from each other.

"Oh, my goodness girl you look good." Bianca said.

"Thank you, girl you look good as well too." She spoke.

"C'mon, let's go to your brother's locker." We started strolling towards Montez's dressing room. It was nice to be around Bianca and them again; maybe she won't run into Carmelo's ass. But she doesn't get her hopes up very much, so there's no guarantee that he'll come seeking for her merely to make her feel useless.

We eventually arrived to his locker room, where she spotted Trinity, Jonathan, and an unfamiliar figure. They all gazed at her, then Trinity and Jon approached her and hugged me. 

"Oh, my goodness, girl, I'm so happy that you're away from that nigga man." Trinity spoke. "Well, as long as Montez and Jon are with me, I'll be alright, since he's definitely here today. Just like everyone else that was drafted. Have you seen Tiffany? Yasmine replied.

"Yeah, she was in here a couple of minutes ago." She stated this while nodding her head. Yasmine sat next to Trinity, watching Montez's tag team match against the New Day. She absolutely loved seeing my brother beat up his opponents, which is why she wanted to be in this profession. 

But now she regrets it simply because she is dealing with Carmelo's ass, but someone grabbed her eye: a man spreading on his phone while wearing a Yeet shirt, black sweatpants, and a fresh haircut with piercings.

'Damn he looked so fine would it be rude to be admiring him like this?'

She felt Bianca prodding me, drawing my attention as she glanced at her with a sneer on her face. "Girl, who were you looking at?"

"I-I wasn't looking at nobody B not too much, okay?" Yasmine said, rolling her eyes at her. 

She chuckled at me as she fixed her focus on the TV screen, watching her fiancé whoop some asses. Meanwhile, Yasmine got up from the couch and informed them that she was going to the restroom right now. As she walked towards the restroom, she heard a familiar voice talking to someone about something. She looked up to saw the person who damaged her, Carmelo, who appeared to be on the phone with someone.

Yasmine sighed deeply as she walked by him on her way to the facilities, until she felt him grip her arm, almost causing her to stumble. "Hey pretty girl, I didn't know you were here." Carmelo said.

She rolled her eyes at him and yanked herself away from him, "Look, don't you ever touch me or even come near me after what you did to me." He chuckled darkly at her while approaching up to her, causing her to back up. 

"I recall you calling me daddy the last time I fucked this wonderful pussy of mine, dear." "That's because you made me call you that nigga I didn't want to call you that." She remarked as she pushed him hard.

He didn't like that and grabbed her by the throat, pressing her to the wall like he had done previously, making her feel terrified and uncomfortable. That was something he like seeing from her, all afraid beneath him. 

"Do you see how you submit to me?" It should be this way all of the time". Yasmine fought to free herself, but he tightened his grasp on her throat. She felt like she couldn't breathe while fighting him off and screamed at the top of her lungs. All she wanted to do was use the restroom and not run into his ass.

She used all of her might to hit him in the face, causing him to tumble as Yasmine escaped. 

Yasmine fled as fast as she could without turning back, tears welling up in her eyes as she heard Carmelo cry her name. She spotted the same foreign face standing at the door with his legs crossed, looking at his phone and running up to him.

✧˚° JEY

I was standing by the door on my phone, looking for Montez's sister Yasmine. As I was doing so, I heard what sounded like someone rushing. When I looked up, I saw a female sprinting towards me, clearly in danger. She approached behind me, and I noticed Carmelo approaching this direction as if he was hunting for her, and when she grabbed me aggressively, it attracted my attention.

Almost appeared afraid in a way? Her eyes begged for assistance from me, so I did what any guy would do and defended her. 

As he approached, he noticed me with her and attempted to walk up on us, grabbing her arm as I pushed him. "Aye, you might wanna back up dawg." I stated this while clutching the female behind me.

"Man you might wanna back up and give her ass to me nigga ion know who you think yo' ass is c'mon Yasmine." He stated that's when I turned around to view her face, and she looked so damn good. 

I felt her grip my hand strongly as I interlaced mine with hers, and he took note, attempting to separate us so he could grab her up. But I managed to deliver a left hook, causing him to fall backward while clutching his bloodied lip.

"You know what? Don't worry about it, Yasmine. I got something for you later." When he went away, she sank to her knees, hands in her face, weeping, and the door opened to reveal Trinity. 

"Josh, what happened?" She asked.

"She came up running towards me away from the ol' boy. He just left." I said.

"Shit, well, my match is coming up. Can you take care of her, please?" As Trinity departed to get dressed, I nodded yes and kneeled down to play with Yasmine's curly hair. She looked up at me with puffy eyes, which made me sad. What was her history with Ol' Boy? I extended my hand, expecting her to grasp it, as we walked her inside the room and closed the door behind us.

Nobody else was in there except us, and she sat down with her head low while I poured her something to drink in a cup and walked up to her. 

I patted her on the shoulder, prompting her to flinch: "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you, Shawty." I offered her the cup while sitting on the same couch she was on. I saw she was still shivering a little, so I slid over to her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to me. She hesitated at first but then lay her head on my chest.

I looked down at her, watching her drink her water from the cup I had given her. I felt her body relax with my touch, and her eyes locked on mine as we both established eye contact. 

'Fuck, she's so pretty.'

'Damn, he looks good in person.'

She looked away from me as I chuckled at her facial expressions, knowing that I made her nervous, which made me boldly grab her face to make her look at me again just so I could see that gorgeous face.

"Not goin lie you look gorgeous as hell." I said bluntly.

"T-thank you...I never got your name..." she said softly.

"My name is Joshua. I'm Jonathan's brother, but people call me Jey or Josh for short. Whatever you want, mama." Her facial expression seemed a bit perplexed, not having heard something like that before.

'Did he just call me mama? Hmm, I like it very much better than what the fuck Melo used to call me. It's something different.'

We heard the door opening as we moved away from each other, acting like nothing had happened as we saw Montez coming towards us.

"You good little sis? I heard what happened." Montez asked as she nodded her head.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Josh was there in a nick of time before anything else could happen, " she said.

Montez walked towards my way as he dapped me up, thanking me for protecting his sister from her ex-boyfriend. That dude is her ex-boyfriend? No wonder I gotta find out more about that.

I saw Bianca coming into the room as I walked towards her way, pulling her to the side real quick.

"What's up, Joshua?" Bianca questioned me.

"I know it ain't my business or nothing, but I wanna know more about yo' bestie right there. What's her history with Ol' boy?" I said, folding my arms over my chest.

"Look, when the time is right, she'll tell you because it's not my business to tell, but all I can say is that he's dangerous and did something horrible to her." I nodded my head, not wanting to press on the conversation about it, fixing my gaze at her, who was still talking to her brother while her gaze fixed towards my way, smiling at me before looking at Montez.

'She has such a pretty smile, damn just made my heart flutter a little bit.'

'Imma' get to know her more, and when the time is right, she'll be with me.'

After having my match for the main event for tonight I went towards bathroom to take a shower before I could I see Yasmine standing there look like she waiting on someone.

I walked towards her way shirtless as she looked towards my way eye fucking me, which made me have a smug expression on my face.

"Do I look good, mama, or what?" I asked in a deep tone.

She rolled her eyes at me, folding her arms at me, "Yeah, whatever, boy, what'chu doing anyways?" She's so sassy I like that shit; leaning against the wall.

"I was finna head in the shower before going home; how about you? What'chu doing here standing fo'?"

"I was waiting on Montez and Bianca to take us home, but they are taking forever." She pouted. Damn, she's adorable at that, listening to her vent.

"Lemme' take a shower real quick, and I'll take you home. I'll make sure Montez knows before he goes ballistic." Yasmine nodded her head while going inside Montez's locker room, shutting the door while I walked towards the bathroom to take a shower before I took this little girl home.

I don't know why, but she makes my heart flutter and racing like crazy it's like I'm almost in love with her or something, but it seems like she has a scarred heart.

✧˚°

I texted Montez that I'd be taking his younger sister home because she appeared exhausted. I was correct: she fell asleep on the way to her cot. I continued stealing looks at her, watching her slumber like a small child. I drove with one hand on her thigh, stroking my palm across my beard and concentrated on the road as well as Yasmine.

I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her beauty; it was almost as if I was entranced without even realizing it. I eventually pulled up to Montez and Bianca's crib, turning into the driveway without noticing their car. I shook Yasmine lightly, not wishing to startle her. 

Her eyes flutter open, wiping the crust from her eyes, looking around the area and noticing that she was home.

"Hey, pretty mama, you're home." I said as she smiled at me.

"Thank you, Josh, for taking me home when you didn't have to." She said.

"Well, I didn't want you to wait on your big-headed ass brother, so I offered." She chuckled at my comment about her brother as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car while I did the same, grabbing her bags in the backseat.

We walked up to the door, and she opened it with the key she had on her keychain, opening it while holding it for me. We walked inside the home together, locking the door behind us as I placed her luggage on the wooden floor. I could tell she was fatigued based on her energy and movement. "you sleepy?" She glanced at me, nodded, and rubbed her eyes. I, being the gentlemen that I am, grabbed her by the thighs and carried her upstairs to her bedroom.

I carried her like this, which surprised her because she hadn't been carried like this by a MAN before. 

I made it to her bedroom and opened the door before laying her down, but for some reason, she didn't withdraw her arms from around my neck, leading us to remain close. Noticing her movements, she withdrew her arms away from my neck and walked away from me. I scratched the back of my head, observing her every step.

I saw her taking some clothing from her drawer and thought that was my cue to go home because I had already done my part, right? 

Before I could head out, I heard her say something, but she was stumbling on her words, "C-could you stay just for a little bit? I don't like being by myself." I didn't think it was a good idea since Montez and em' were on the way home, and he'd kill me if he saw me staying the night with his little sister.

"Mama ion think that's a good idea I don't want yo' brother to kill me." I said, hearing her sigh deeply.

"It's fine...I understand...but thanks again, though I appreciate it.." she said softly.

I could tell that she wanted me to stay, so I texted Montez to see.

IMESSAGE 💬 HomieJosh💪🏽: Yo' Montez Fatheadtez😭: what's up? is my sister home? HomieJosh💪🏽: yeah, I made it to yall crib but she just asked me to stay I told her that wouldn't be a good idea I didn't want yo' ass to kill me 😭😭 Fatheadtez😭: look I trust you around my little sister she's been through a lot and she's very anxious maybe you're someone she can go to whenever she's having a panic attack when I'm not there or when the girls aren't or Jon. HomieJosh💪🏽: you sure? Fatheadtez😭: yes dawg I'm sure maybe that's what she needs someone to be there for her and comfort her she really does need that the most after what happened to her. HomieJosh💪🏽: wym? what happened? 🤨 Fatheadtez😭: look don't tell her that I told you this but that dude that was chasing after her that was her ex-boyfriend Carmelo he's from the NXT roster but got drafted on the blue brand with us but that's not the point...the point is...he did something bad to her in her locker room it's...sensitive dawg something that I can't get into but whenever she's ready she'll tell you. HomieJosh💪🏽: A'ight then dawg I'll take yo' word for it. Fatheadtez😭: A'ight I'll pop in to check in just to make sure HomieJosh💪🏽: A'ight 😭😭

After messaging Montez, I noticed Yasmine exiting the shower with a towel wrapped around her body, grabbing her bottle of lotion and deodorant from the dresser. I was observing her lavendering her body with her scented lotion, which smelled lovely, as she returned it to the dresser. That's when she untied her towel and let it drop to the ground as I turned around, not wanting to be a pervert or anything.

"you can turn around now." Yasmine said.

When I turned back, I saw her in booty shorts and a long T-shirt that caressed her body as she strolled towards her bed to get comfy. She left some space for me in case I stayed, which I did, as I removed my shirt and sweatpants and joined her in bed. She had her back to me, nestled up in her pillow, curled up like a ball as I wrapped my arm around her waist, bringing her closer to me.

She felt comfortable underneath me, nuzzling my neck on her shoulder and moving her head toward me, our faces close together. 

"Did my brother say you could?" She asked.

"Yeah, I was texting him about it while you were in the shower Ma." I said as I gazed down at her lips while she did the same with me.

"O-oh okay..." her voice trailed off while turning her head.

Which without hesitation I turned grabbed her by the chin making her look at me once more I didn't want to scare her with my bold actions brushing my thumb against her lips.

"Why do you do that? Hm?"

"D-do what?" Yasmine asked nervously.

"You always look away from me. Do I make you nervous?" She maintained eye contact with me, nodding her head in the process, earning me a chuckle.

I caressed her face, pulled her head closer to my chest, and felt her hand on there as well. She was tracing my Samoan tattoos.

"Did these hurt like all of em'?" She asked while I nodded my head.

"Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I took it like a G, you feel me?" I said, hearing her soft chuckle.

"Probably cried." I sat upright, feeling offended by her statement.

"Excuse me, little girl?"

She laughed at me, covering her lips as I picked her up, placed her on my lap, and held her in place. That's when she stopped all the awful laughing. It's the small things I do that make her feel frightened and silent, like maintaining eye contact while her hands are on my chest and mine are on her hips.

"W-we should go to sleep before Montez walks in on us like this." She said. 

"You scared of him or something?" She punched me on the chest, rolling her eyes because she wanted to be playful, and shit I gave her ass a tiny smack, causing her to yelp. She whacked me upside the head as I winced in agony, laughing at me. A'ight bet I sat up straight, seizing her legs and holding her down on the bed while going between them.

And fuck, she just looked so good underneath me like this seeing all of her natural features. "You know, you look beautiful mama?" She did what she always did but took the compliment instead of giving me an attitude.

"T-thank you." I let her go as she cuddled up on my chest, my hand in the back of my head, and the other holding onto her.

I watched her drift to sleep, hearing my heartbeat going up and down as I rubbed her back gently, making her feel at ease with my touch.

I yawned a few times before closing my eyes and drifting to sleep as well. Hopefully, in the morning, she'll feel better.

SomeThing Bout' Us.

A/n: welll Yasmine and Jey are getting a little touchy feely right now lol but I think Yasmine is honestly really scared due to her commitment issues because of Carmelo and her past relationships.

But she feels safe around Jey and being in his arms and presence will probably change her mind we'll see.

Hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

Stay Ucey.

[mitsua]

Birds of a feather

Warnings: minor SPOILERS from BNHA's ending, mentions of blood loss, major characters death

Genre: Angst Series: Boku No Hero Academia

Words' count: 1.27k Pairing: Takami Keigo × GN! Y/N

"I said I love you, don't act so surprised now!" you spat again, a blushing mess but keeping your head high watching the pro-hero Hawks go silent.

"Woah you broke him" Mirko—your soul friend—joked as she entered Hawks' office right when you confessed, staying for the chaos to ensue.

"You thought that all those times I said it it was a joke? Well, they weren't, so... do whatever you want with that now."

As you were about to leave for good, Keigo grabbed delicately your wrist, keeping you in your place—without further delay, with his other hand he cupped your cheek and kissed you on the lips.

It was hesitant and soft—so unlikely of him. Nonetheless, your stomach churned and your breathing stopped against your will, realizing his feelings for you.

Then a snap of a photograph was heard and you broke the kiss to look at Mirko. "Oh my god, this is going to be yall's wallpaper now."

"You're so full of shit, how'd you think I liked Endevour?!" you laughed in Keigo's face, the latter suddenly feeling even more embarrassed after all the events that have unfolded after he kissed you.

"I just thought it ok? You were always searching for a mission to go on with us and spoke mostly with him that I didn't think about it at all... just, felt sad about it," he pouted, carressing his cheek with his scarred hand awkwardly.

"Pfff well well, it's always been you, alright? It's just that I always got nervous around you..."

"How is it that you always manage to make me feel the most beautiful person in the world when you compliment me?" A genuine question you've come to ask yourself everyday when watching yourself in the mirror and remembering Takami's sweet words.

"Darling, what can I say, I'm such a charmer ain't I?" he teased—side hugging you and giving you a kiss on the cheek—making you blush for the uptenth time in the day.

His phone ringed.

He picked it up and his smile vanished, letting you know it was some work matter.

"Aww I wanted you to stay..." you whined, "I know chirp, I also wanted to but they say it's an urgent meeting with the boss".

"It's okay, be careful Kei".

"Kei! Keigo! Please wake up..." you begged carelessly at his hospital bed posterior to receiving a call from work yourself that let you know that Hawks had almost not made it out alive from his recent fight.

"Keigo, I love you, please... I don't wanna say goodbye, what happened to you? Ugh, I'm-I'm sorry, I.... really want you to wake up," you blabbered as tears poured out your eyes.

"Hey chirp," he barely managed to speak with a raspy voice, slowly dragging a hand to sit it at the top of your head.

"Keigo! Hey, how are you feeling?" he smiled weakly, "I've been better, thanks."

"Oh Keigo, I'm so sorry," "why are you apologizing? I'll get better, I promise".

"....I love you 'til the day that I die." You finished your vows with that.

Takami wore an appealing black suit and a smitten smile on the day of your wedding—being the happiest man on earth for getting to be your partner for the rest of your lives.

"We'll stay together...." he started his vows with—the rest will forever remain in the records that were taken of your special day.

"I'd like to raise a toast for my now pretty husband," "you're saying I wasn't pretty before?!" he feigned shock. "Yeah, that," you smirked playfully.

"Well this is to Takami Keigo—the man I've come to know for a good couple of years now and somehow stole my heart—I-I don't know what I'm crying for but-I don't think I could love you more, I'll love you 'til the light leaves my eyes." You stated glancing intently, with watery eyes towards Keigo, who stood wide-eyed but recovered with a lovely smile while everyone cheered in the background.

"Pro-hero Hawks, we've got an emergency regarding your partner's health." Were the first words he was greeted with when he picked up the phone after reading out 'Heroes Public Safety Commission' as the one calling.

He dropped the pan he was holding along the food he was cooking for when you arrived home. "What is it?!" He blurted out, picking right away his rushed and preoccupied tone to do not let his worriness be that obvious, as well as his jacket to sprint out of your shared home.

"They're currently in an encounter with the female villain named Himiko Toga—and as we're monitouring their vitals—we just saw things have escalated pretty far as they're about to die from the lack of blood." He took a moment to process everything. Himiko Toga? The one who seemed to get along with Bubaigawara? 'No, that can't be possible.'

"Get them out of the field now!" Keigo ordered or more like begged, terrible scenarios coming to his mind where he got his karma back.

But the Comission wouldn't be calling if they got everything under control... 'no, no no, this can't be happening.'

"We've tried our best to get more colleagues with them to no avail—there's more than ten villains in there right now." The monotone voice explained.

"Send me their location, now." He demanded, unbearable sensations traveling all the way from his wings to his heart and mind.

'Oh Kei, if only you could see how you look to me... you wouldn't have believed the compliments I threw your way when we were just colleagues.'

Your mind kept thinking that, as memories with your husband Takami replayed from the very start as you laid on the ground with a stab on your side and many deep cuts all around your body.

Until you felt your body taking in your last breath.

'How funny is it to not mind your breathing ever in your life until you know you're on your lasts?'

"To the microphone i'mmy suit—whoever's hearing'rig'now—tell Kei I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone." You spoke finally, slurred words giving away your condition after finishing with them.

Keigo had arrived late.

'How is it that I got to wake up but not you?!' was his first thought when getting to the bloody mess everything was left as after the fight.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry I couldn't be here with you." He grieved.

"I guess this means you don't love me anymore..." With that—the all-pink chapter ended and began a dark all-well-known, lonely era for the hero Hawks once more.

Years later, with Hawks retirement from the hero life and beginning of his work as the new Heroes Public Safety Commission's director, he noticed he's gotten slightly more time free as he so wished to for all heroes as his essencial mission as a hero himself.

He went to visit your grave—once a week he'd bring a new bouquet of your favorite flowers and once a month he'd clean it thoroughly.

And after so long, he saw a pair of eyes he never expected to ever again.

They were a replica of you—same hair, same eyes, hell he could swear you smelled the same—but he knew you weren't here anymore, because he knows that if you were—you'd be by his side.

'I knew you in another life'

'You had the same look in your eyes'

So with a heavy heart, he went back to your shared house and recited to himself your first official love confession;

'I love you, don't act so surprised'

All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the pictures and tagged anime character.) ⌇ my navigation!

[velvet4510]

Wolverine, Cyclops, and Learning to Respect Your Rival in Love

I have thoughts on Logan and Scott’s relationship in the Fox films. (I’ve never read the comics; this is strictly a commentary on the movie-verse.)

I always say ship and let ship. If you wanna look at these two through shipper’s goggles, fine. I won’t stop you.

But when I look at these two, I don’t really see something shippy. I see something actually quite remarkable, something that is very rarely depicted between rivals in an onscreen love triangle, and something that speaks to Logan’s incredible character development.

We are used to love triangles where the rivals despise each other to the point of competing, name-calling, fistfighting, and even duels to the death. Two people who have the same love interest are stereotyped time and again in fiction as bitter enemies who don’t care about the other’s wellbeing at all.

But Logan and Scott are different. Logan’s feelings toward Scott have a total 180 arc throughout the series, and it’s a phenomenal piece of character growth to witness.

X1 and X2

It’s no secret that they start off very jealous of each other and there is a mutual dislike as a result. They both want Jean. Logan is upset that Scott already has Jean, and Scott is upset that Logan is trying to steal her away. And let’s be honest, Logan is pretty disrespectful to both Jean and Scott’s feelings in the first two films. He shows no shame in flirting with Scott’s girlfriend in front of him and trying to get her to cheat on Scott when Scott has been kidnapped. When Jean insists she loves Scott, Logan just asks “do you?” as though she doesn’t mean it, and then kisses her despite her saying no. His desperation for love and attention makes him disregard and try to ruin Jean and Scott’s committed relationship. It’s not good behavior, and it’s probably Logan’s greatest character flaw in X1 and X2. Scott has every right to hate Logan for this.

But then something changes.

Then Jean disappears and is presumed dead.

Suddenly Logan and Scott have something in common. Suddenly they both are thrown into unimaginable grief and agony. Suddenly they are sharing something.

And then Logan comes clean with Scott. “She did make a choice. She chose you.” Finally, he understands Scott and says something respectful to him.

The Last Stand

And then a few years later, Jean reappears, not herself, and it is Scott who vanishes. Suddenly Jean is not only alive, but kissing Logan just as he has always desired. He becomes lost in the passion for a moment, because omg this is it, she changed her mind, she wants me, miracles do happen … The Logan of X1 and X2 would’ve gone all the way with Jean/Phoenix with zero hesitation.

But then Logan does something incredibly admirable and mature.

He stops.

He lets himself think, and he realizes: This isn’t Jean. The Jean he knew committed herself to Scott. The Jean he knew loved Scott, not him. This is wrong. She’s suddenly making a move on him, with no mention of Scott? This can’t be right.

So he asks what happened to Scott.

Scott, a man who Logan once dreamed of getting out of his way, is now a man whose life actually matters to Logan.

Then the rest of The Last Stand happens, and everything falls apart.

Days of Future Past

And then comes the greatest test that Logan has ever faced when it comes to this messy love triangle.

He travels back in time to change history. Back to a time before Jean and Scott ever met, before he ever met them. He finds himself sitting before a young Charles, the man who introduced Jean and Scott in the first place, wbo introduced him to his beloved Jean and to Scott in the first place. A young Charles who has read his mind and seen his memories of his love for Jean.

And here, right in front of him, is an opportunity to get what he would’ve done anything to get in X1 and X2. A chance to perhaps prevent Charles from ever introducing Jean and Scott, so he can be with Jean in the new future. To not tell Charles about Scott, to only tell him the names of Jean and his other friends like Storm to ensure they are still with the X-Men in the future.

But instead? He says this:

“Promise me you’ll find us. Storm. Scott. Jean. Remember those names.”

He mentions Scott! He mentions the man who he once envied, who held Jean’s heart and held onto it even as Logan gave his own heart to her. A man whose life and future he has now learned to appreciate and grow protective of.

He lets go of his jealousy, of his resentment, of his own desires. He honors Jean and Scott’s feelings, not his own.

He makes sure that Jean and Scott will still meet in the new timeline, that Charles will still bring them together, that their love will still grow this time around.

Then he goes back to the future and finds that it worked beyond his expectations. The Last Stand never happened. Jean and Scott are alive, well, and together.

In the end, Logan finally understands that Jean and Scott truly belong to each other, and that he was wrong to get in the middle, and so he sets off the domino effect that ultimately creates true happiness for Jean and Scott.

Logan changes from prioritizing his own feelings to prioritizing Jean and Scott’s feelings. He goes from trying to break up Jean and Scott, to personally ensuring that Jean and Scott still find each other even when history itself has changed.

Rather than destroy his rival in love, Logan instead ensures his rival’s salvation.

If that isn’t character development, I don’t know what is.

[stanleypinesgf]

Falling for Mystery - Chapter Eighteen*

Falling for Mystery Masterlist Warnings: nsfw 18+ only pls!! p in v, unprotected sex, tipsy/drunk sex, possessive/protective stan, gambling mentioned (not in a negative way though), gross guy in a casino, some fluff! i also wanna thank @danni3l SO MUCH for the inspiration, his help on the direction of the fic and for the support so far!! Please note: this is a slow burn fic with eventual smut and mature themes, 18+ only and please check warnings at the start of chapters! TYSM for all the support so far!! w/c: 4,069 As we entered the restaurant, Stan held the door, his gaze lingering a beat longer than usual as I stepped inside. We made our way to the table, the warm, dim lighting casting a glow across the room. When I looked up, I caught him watching me, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

After we were seated, a friendly waiter approached to take our drink orders. Stan ordered a whiskey neat, his usual choice, while I opted for a glass of white wine. As the waiter walked away, I noticed Stan watching me, his smile growing as if he was savouring this moment.

“You look… incredible tonight,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost like he hadn’t intended for it to sound quite so earnest. He reached for my hand across the table, lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of my fingers. “I mean, you always do, but tonight… well, you’ve outdone yourself.”

For a second, I was too caught off guard to say anything, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. He looked at me with that rare, unguarded expression, the kind that made me feel like we were the only two people in the world.

I felt my own smile tug at my lips. “Look who’s talking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so… polished,” I teased, letting my gaze drift over his dark button-up, the top few buttons left undone just enough to reveal the familiar glint of his chain I’d come to love. “You’ve really stepped it up tonight. What happened to Stan ‘no frills’ Pines?”

He chuckled, a little bashful but amused, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Figured I’d better step up my game, considerin' I’m in such good company.”

With a grin, I raised my glass in a toast, and he clinked his whiskey against it, his eyes holding mine with that easy, familiar charm that seemed to shrink the whole world down to just us. In that moment, the lively hum of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the warmth of our shared smiles and the spark of something more between us.

We lingered over our drinks, the first course arriving in elegant, carefully plated portions that made Stan shake his head with a wry grin.

“Can you believe they charge for food you need a magnifying glass to see?” he quipped, holding his fork with exaggerated care as if the tiny dish were some kind of delicate artefact.

I stifled a laugh, nudging his foot under the table. “That’s how you know it’s fancy, Stan. It’s all about savouring each bite.”

He gave me a mock-serious nod. “Ah, so this is savouring.” He took a slow, deliberate bite, then broke into a grin. “I gotta admit, it’s not half bad.”

Our plates changed with each course, bringing new flavours and textures that spurred little comments, jokes, and even a few exaggerated “critic” impressions from Stan that had me laughing more than eating. Between bites, we kept the conversation rolling, exchanging old stories and bits of nostalgia. He told me about his favourite old haunts in Vegas—ones that had long since closed or changed beyond recognition—and, in turn, I shared stories from my travels, comparing notes on our experiences with the wild and weird.

At one point, he leaned in closer, his expression softening as the laughter faded. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can keep up with me quite like you do,” he said, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant just for me.

I felt my heart skip, and a slow smile crept onto my face. “Well, maybe you finally met your match,” I replied, tapping my glass against his.

Stan’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer, something unspoken in his eyes. “Maybe I did,” he murmured, and I could feel the words settle in the space between us, warm and unexpected.

The final course arrived at our table, a shared dessert. We dug in, enjoying each bite while playfully competing for the last spoonful. As the meal wrapped up, I realised just how natural, how easy, it all felt. It wasn’t often I got to see this side of him, and I found myself wanting to hold onto it for as long as I could.

As the waiter collected our empty dessert plate, we lingered at the table for a moment longer, letting the warmth of the evening settle between us. Stan’s eyes held a trace of something I couldn’t quite place, something that made my pulse quicken as we stood up to leave.

Inside the casino, the energy was electric, a pulsing mix of lights, sounds, and anticipation that made me feel alive in a way only Vegas could. Stan ordered us both drinks, handing me a glass of something sharp and sparkling as he raised his own in a casual toast. 

“To good luck and bad decisions,” he said with a grin, lighting a cigar and watching the smoke swirl above us. 

The air around us hummed with excitement, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill as I watched him take it all in. His rough edges seemed softened by the glow of the lights and the whiskey in his hand.

We wove our way through rows of slot machines, and Stan insisted on trying his luck with a few spins, dropping coins with exaggerated seriousness and cheering each small win like it was the jackpot. When he finally pulled me toward the blackjack table, he took on a look of mock solemnity.

“Blackjack,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder as if imparting secret wisdom. “A game of pure strategy, skill, and… lettin' them think you’re terrible at it.”

“Oh, is that the trick?” I teased, folding my arms as I leaned in to watch him play.

“Yep.” He placed a small stack of chips on the table and winked. “They never see it comin'.”

We shared an easy laugh, trading jabs about his “foolproof” strategies as he made the game look easy with his relaxed confidence. Each win sent a new spark through the air between us, a thrill shared as we watched his stack of chips grow.

We were so wrapped up in each other’s banter that I almost missed the moment when a man from across the casino strolled over, positioning himself a little too close to me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Stan noticed immediately, his posture shifting as he angled himself protectively between us, his gaze turning sharp as he locked eyes with the newcomer, his hand still lingering near his drink in silent warning.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the stranger said, ignoring Stan entirely. “How about you join me over at the roulette table? I could show you a good time.”

I felt a mix of amusement and annoyance bubbling up, but before I could say anything, I felt Stan’s arm tighten protectively around my waist, his gaze sharp as he sized up the guy.

“Why don’t you move along, pal?” Stan’s voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it that made the guy’s smirk falter.

The man scoffed, clearly underestimating the man in front of him. “What’s it to you, tough guy?”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his grip loosening on me as he took a step forward, his voice dropping. “She’s with me. So, why don’t you take a walk?”

The guy chuckled, glancing between the two of us, but instead of leaving, he took a step closer. “Looks like you don’t know how to share.”

And that was it. Without a moment’s hesitation, Stan swung. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw, and before I could process what was happening, the man stumbled back, crashing into a nearby table. Gasps and shocked whispers filled the casino as the scene unfolded, but Stan barely seemed to notice, his expression one of grim satisfaction.

The security guards were on us in an instant, ushering us toward the exit as Stan threw an arm around my shoulders, laughing as we stumbled out into the cool night air.

“Well, that’s one way to get thrown out of a casino,” I said, giggling, breathless from the chaos.

Stan’s gaze softened as he held me close, but I could still feel the protective fire simmering beneath the surface, his grip firm as if to reassure himself I was there, safe and close. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing my cheek. “No one’s getting near you while I’m around,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. “You’re mine, and I don’t let go that easy.”

He leaned down, capturing my lips with a fierce tenderness, pouring into that kiss all the emotion he rarely let slip. His hands held me firmly, possessively, like he was daring anyone to try and pull me away. The alley fell into silence, save for our quiet breaths and the faint sounds of the city beyond.

I looked up at him, my heart racing as I felt the warmth of his protective gaze and the lingering electricity from our kiss. I took a steadying breath, trying to summon the courage to say what I wanted. “Stan,” I murmured, my fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, lingering there a moment longer than usual. My cheeks flushed as I met his eyes, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “How about we… head back to our room?”

The words came out softer than I intended, and I looked away, feeling a bit bashful. I could sense his gaze on me, and when I looked back, he was watching me with a raised brow, the slightest spark of surprise in his eyes.

His grin turned slow and warm as he tilted his head, looking at me like he’d just discovered something he hadn’t expected. “Couldn’t have asked for a better idea,” he said, his voice a soft rumble as he took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. The intensity in his expression softened to something almost tender as he led me back toward the hotel, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes meeting mine as though he was just as affected as I was.

As we made our way through the lobby, I could feel the anticipation building between us. Stan’s hand wrapped firmly around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The bright lights and laughter of the casino faded away, replaced by the soft hum of the elevator as it carried us up to our floor.

When the doors slid open, I felt a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness. Stan led the way down the corridor, pausing outside our room. He turned to me, his expression serious for a moment as he searched my eyes. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and laced with concern.

I nodded, feeling the anticipation thick between us. “Are you?” I glanced up at him, searching his expression.

His gaze was steady, a hint of possessiveness flickering in his eyes. “I’m fine. No one gets to talk to you like that,” he replied, his voice low and firm, sending a thrill through me. “You’re mine, and I’m not lettin' anyone forget it.”

With a satisfied smirk, he pushed the door open and ushered me inside. The room was dimly lit, and I took a moment to absorb the scene. The city lights flickered through the window, casting a warm glow across the space.

Stan stepped in behind me, closing the door with a soft click. The moment it shut, the atmosphere shifted, thick with unspoken anticipation. I turned to face him, my heart racing as he took a step closer, closing the distance between us.

“Now, where were we?” he murmured, his eyes darkening with intent as he slid his hand up my arm to gently cup my jaw. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill through me, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

I felt the weight of his gaze, dark and smouldering. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly, each word laced with fierce protectiveness. There was no room for doubt; he wanted everyone to know it.

The city lights outside flickered in harmony with the pulse of my heart. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, intoxicating and impossible to resist. “Stan…” I breathed, the name slipping from my lips like a plea.

He stepped closer, the distance vanished, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. “I don’t want anyone else lookin’ at you,” he said, his voice thick with urgency. “Not like that. Not ever.” His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, tilting my head back so our eyes locked.

I could see the determination in his gaze, and it sent a thrill through me. “You’re not going to let anyone forget, are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Never,” he growled, and with that, his lips crashed onto mine, hungry and demanding. The kiss was messy, fueled by the warmth of the drinks we had shared earlier, igniting something deep within me. I surrendered to it, my hands finding their way to his shirt, pulling him closer.

Stan broke the kiss, his breath heavy against my lips. “We’ll show ‘em who makes you feel good,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief and desire.

With a swift motion, he turned and pulled me toward the large window, the city sprawled out beneath us. The view was breathtaking, but I was lost in the intensity of his presence. He framed my face with his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his voice thick with need. “Knowin’ that you’re mine?”

I nodded, my heart racing, feeling a rush of exhilaration mixed with a hint of danger. His possessiveness fueled something wild inside me, and I craved more.

“Atta girl,” he breathed, leaning in for another kiss, his lips claiming mine with fierce urgency. The world outside faded away as I melted into him, captivated by the man who wouldn’t let me go.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against mine with a fervour that made my head spin. I felt a rush of heat as his hands roamed down my sides, exploring as if he were claiming territory. Clumsily, I reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly but driven by an urgent need. I undid them one by one, revealing the strong lines of his chest, running my hands over the hair that covered his broad torso. His breath caught, and his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and admiration.

“Doll, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice rough with hunger. He took my waist in his hands, fingers digging in just enough as if to remind me of his protective nature.

Before I could respond, he pushed my dress down, the fabric pooling at my feet. I shivered at the cool air against my skin, but the warmth of his gaze enveloped me.

With a swift motion, he turned me, pressing my back against the window. The cool glass sent a thrill through me as I felt his body heat radiating behind me.

“Let ‘em see,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re mine, and I want everyone to know it.”

The thrill of his possessiveness sent a rush of excitement through me, and I leaned back against him, surrendering completely. The city lights flickered in the background, but all I could focus on was him; his hands, his warmth, and the way he held me against the glass like I was the most precious thing in the world.

As he leaned in, his lips found the sensitive skin of my collarbone, trailing kisses that made my breath hitch. He paused, his teeth grazing my skin, and then began to leave love bites, claiming me as his. Each gentle nip sent a jolt of pleasure through me, igniting a fire in my core.

“Stan…” I gasped, pressing my body closer to his as I felt the cool glass of the window against my back. He took the opportunity to push me gently against it, his hands gripping my waist firmly.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he slurred, his voice a mix of authority and sweetness. He continued his trail of bites down my shoulder, savouring each moment, each reaction from me.

The city lights flickered outside, but inside, the air was thick with our shared energy. I was lost in the sensation, completely surrendering to him, craving more of his touch, more of his possessive nature.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to take in the sight of me, flushed and breathless. “And I’m not lettin’ anyone else have you.”

With that, he sucked a particularly tender hickey below my ear, causing my hands to fly to his hair, tugging it slightly. “Stanley!” I moaned, my head swimming with a mixture of lust and intoxication.

His reaction was immediate and electric. The corners of his mouth twisted into a wild grin, but there was a fierce intensity in his gaze. “Fuck, say that again,” he urged, fumbling with his belt, his hands shaking slightly with a mix of urgency and desire.

“Stanley,” I repeated, this time with more conviction, watching as his breath caught in his throat. The way he reacted sent a thrill through me, igniting something primal within him. He closed the distance, his lips crashing against mine in a fervent kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the heat radiating between us. I could feel his hands exploring, mapping every curve, every inch of my body as if he were claiming me.

“God, don’t ever stop saying my name, doll,” he murmured against my skin, trailing kisses down my neck. “It drives me wild.” He sucked at a sensitive spot just above my collarbone, leaving a mark that would remind me of this moment.

“Fuck, Stan, please,” I whined, arching my back, desperate for his touch.

I could feel his belt finally give way, the sound of metal clinking echoing in the otherwise quiet room. “I can’t wait, baby, want you now,” he said, his breath hot against my ear, his possessive tone sending waves of excitement through me.

“Then take me,” I urged, my voice thick with need. The urgency in his eyes matched my own as he positioned me against the window, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat building between us.

With a fierce look, he entered me, filling me completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and I couldn't help but moan his name. “Stanley!” I cried out, the sound mixing with the thrum of the city below.

He groaned in response, his grip tightening around my waist as he moved with a desperate rhythm. Each thrust was filled with raw intensity, a powerful claim that made me feel cherished and desired all at once.

“Don’t ever forget it,” he said breathlessly, his forehead pressed against mine. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.”

The urgency of the moment surged between us, each movement drawing us closer to an edge we both needed to reach. The city lights twinkled below us like stars scattered across the night. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through me, mixing with the thrill of being so exposed, so utterly his. It was so different like this, the gentle buzz of the alcohol in our systems only adding to the new sensations.

“Oh god, Stanley, just like that!” I gasped, the name spilling from my lips like a prayer. The way it ignited something primal in him only fuelled my desire. He groaned, his hands gripping my hips tighter, anchoring us both in this moment.

“God, you’re incredible,” he breathed, his voice thick with need. “Just like this, right here.” His words were a delicious mix of admiration and urgency, making my heart race even faster.

As he thrust deeper, his breath came in ragged bursts against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “I want everyone to see how beautiful you are,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck. “I want you to feel every bit of this.”

“You feel so good, please don’t stop,” I practically begged. He watched me, his expression a mix of hunger and admiration. I could see the way he appreciated every inch of me, and it only made me feel more alive. “I love you so much, Stan,” I breathed, and that was all it took. He surged forward, capturing my lips with his in a frantic kiss, our bodies moving in a rhythm that felt both urgent and electric.

He whispered my name so tenderly, it took my breath away. “I love you too,” he murmured against my lips, his eyes filled with adoration.

The world outside faded away again, and all that mattered was this moment—his hands on my skin, the heat of his body against mine, and the way we fit together so perfectly.

“Touch yourself for me, baby. I want to feel you squeezing me,” he urged, his eyes watching with hunger as I slipped my hand between our bodies to rub my clit.

As he thrust into me again, I felt the pressure building, the urgency of the moment driving us both closer to the edge. “Together,” I whispered, feeling the world around us blur into nothingness.

“Always together,” he promised, his voice deep and filled with conviction. The city lights flickered outside, but in that moment, it was just us, lost in our own world of desire and connection.

My legs shook as I felt the familiar coil in my belly snap, Stan's strong thrusts faltering as he buried himself deep in me with his release.

As the intensity of our connection began to wane, I felt Stan’s grip soften, his hands now gently caressing my waist. The world outside the window blurred into insignificance, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. I could hear the soft rhythm of our breaths mingling in the aftermath of our passion.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “You okay?”

I nodded, a lazy smile spreading across my lips. “More than okay. That was… incredible.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re incredible.” He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, and I felt my heart swell at the intimacy of the moment.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested, still holding me close. I felt a comforting heaviness in his voice, the kind that promised safety and care.

With a playful tug, he led me away from the window, our bodies still buzzing from the heat of the night. We stumbled slightly, laughter bubbling up from both of us as we made our way to the bathroom. The room was dimly lit, but the glow felt warm and inviting.

After a quick rinse, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close again. “You know, I could get used to this,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Me too,” I replied, leaning into him, feeling relaxed and content.

Once we were done, we made our way to the bedroom, still chuckling at our drunken antics. Stan flopped down onto the bed, pulling me down beside him. The sheets felt cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body next to mine.

“C'mere,” he said, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close. I nestled against him, resting my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Stanley,” I murmured, a sleepy smile on my lips.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice thick with affection.

“Thanks for looking out for me. I love you.”

His fingers traced gentle patterns on my back, and I could feel him smile. “I love you too, sweetheart. Always.”

As we lay there, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us in each other’s arms. I felt safe and cherished, drifting into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in his warmth. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[yelldeadcellvrremix]

While I can agree with some of what's being said here, my issue isn't about whether Kat's treated all niceys in the story itself. To summarize another, tangentially related tumblr post "Female characters being given respect by other characters does not equate to the writers giving them respect."

I'll start by tackling this line specifically:

"If you're going to say "she never has a gun, she never fights, she never stands up for anyone, she's helpless" then let me ask you: Why does lethality, aggressiveness and being "cool" the only thing that would matter about a female character and for her to be taken seriously?"

Yeah, I agree. A physically strong female character isn't automatically a narratively strong female character. But I don't care about whether Kat can hold her own in a physical (or spiritual, idk) fight. The question I wanna know is this: "Is she her own character? Am I able to point to ways that she's believable and compelling?"

And the answer, in my opinion is, frankly... not really. She doesn't have much dialogue beyond what is strictly necessary for exposition purposes. I can't tell you her personality other than "she's the sensitive but smart one", which seems like something, but there's no further depth to that. I know nothing about her that isn't tied to what she serves in Dante and Vergil's story, which I'll admit she does serve pretty well in, but she doesn't seem to go through any character arc beyond which nephilim she ends up joining at the end. If the comic is considered to be canon, I'd argue that Kat matters more to Vergil than Dante, but the writers of the game specifically sure as hell didn't feel like giving us a chance to explore the weight of the closest friend (and ex-lover) she had betraying her and his own morality.

If we're just talking about her, then need I remind you the final chapter has Dante literally defending her

See, that's the thing. Why couldn't SHE be the one defending HERSELF? You bring up her role in the game's narrative about freedom, so then why couldn't she have been the one to speak up? Not much writing needs to be done to change this, but it makes her feel all the more impactful.

But having clunky writing isn't the worst thing in the world compared to why Kat even exists.

I distinctly remember Ninja Theory stating that they wanted Kat to avoid the sexualization of DMC's other female characters, but here's the thing with that: The best faith interpretation of what they meant by that was "we want to make a well-written female character and we don't want to reduce her to eye candy, like what happens when DMC makes their female characters."

The worst faith interpretation, the one that's passed around as what Ninja Theory actually stated, which I am really fucking hoping is the result of a long game of telephone from angry fans is: "Kat's not like those other DMC women! She actually dresses modestly! She's not a WHORE and a PROSTITUTE like them!!!"

But I don't think what exact words they said matters because what they showed in the final game is significantly more telling. You've said that Lilith exists for discomfort, but what about that discomfort actually matters in the overall narrative or themes of the game? You'd think that DmC: Devil May Cry tackling the ills of society (albeit terribly) would've used Lilith to make a point about how bad the oversexualization of women is, but that isn't a point they cover at all. In fact, the game seems to go backwards on this in a "promiscuous women don't deserve respect" kind of way? Everybody's already talked about how cringe that "The world is your bitch, as am I" line, but I think it really shows what kind of character Lilith is in the meta sense. Lilith, through simply being a scantily clad woman, is given significantly more scorn and hatred than the other villains.

And do I have to bring up the sniper rifle abortion scene? You can argue that it's serving to show Reboot Vergil discarding his own morality, but 1. That isn't the focus at all; The focus is on Lilith's suffering causing Mundus to come out of the woodworks to face the trio directly, and 2. They could've shown this in literally any other way besides a sniper rifle abortion. Like I just feel like Vergil could've done anything else except do the sniper rifle abortion. I'm unfortunately obsessed with Reboot Vergil but this is the one thing that I wish didn't happen.

It's 4 AM when I started writing this and 5 AM as I complete typing; If I said anything out of pocket or whatnot, it's the result of that. Any frustration in my writing is meant to be towards Ninja Theoy and Capcom and not you, tumblr user 4dmc.

The mainline Devil May Cry games being misogynist in a "We respect women enough to create well-written female characters, but we don't respect them enough to use them again for anything beyond eye candy" way

Vs

DmC: Devil May Cry 2013 being misogynist in a "We don't respect women. At all. We're blatant as hell about this, so we aren't even gonna try to make them well-written" way

I enjoy both series by the way, and pretending to give respect is still as bad as giving no respect; I am simply making an observation here and I think we should be able to recognize the flaws in our media, no matter its objective quality

[sensitivegoblin]

One night offer:

Message me prompts for sexy pictures and I'll send them

Or if you need to get your rocks off in a roleplay

No limits on my end I don't care what you do to me

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[sennenpharaoh]

"I'll hold you to that. And thanks again for taking care of my good friend. It means a lot to know that even now he can still find someone to make him smile. He deserves that." He pulled up to the curb right in front of Atem's apartment and put the car in park, shutting it off. Scribbling something on a piece of paper he handed it over to Roy. "Here. You need something, a ride, a bailout, anything, there's my number. You want something fixed, you call that number too, but I charge in conversation since you're Atem's new partner."

As he turned to give the paper to Roy, he noticed Atem still had his head lowered.

His uninjured hand was shaky, but gripping his lover's hand, and his shoulders were trembling a little. He could hear the former Pharaoh trying to hold back something, as his breath hitched every now and then.

"Hey. Atem. Head up." Tristan's voice was much calmer. Still stern, but calmer. "You know he wouldn't wanna see ya like this." He put a hand to Atem's shoulder, causing Atem to move his head away, his classic habit of hiding his eyes behind his bangs. But Tristan knew better.

"Come on, you know I've already seen them before. Look at me."

Atem's breath hitched once again, but he did as he was told, lifting his head up to meet Tristan's eyes...

with his own eyes filled with tears. Ones that could fall at any moment.

Tristan didn't even flinch. He's seen the Pharaoh's tears before.

"Listen. You understand now how badly you fucked up by going it alone. Yea, you scared the shit out of us with what happened, and you now know why. That's a good thing. Look, you've fucked up before and you'll probably fuck up again in the future. We all do. But it's over now. Whatever shit happened is in the past, okay? We can let it go and move on to the next day. Got it?"

Atem gave a slight nod, looking at Roy as he remembered Roy telling him the same thing kind of... when Atem tricked Roy into snapping a while back. That was the same lesson Roy tried to teach him. To let go.

"Now... what I want you to do is go heal up. Your arm and leg look like shit."

That quip caused a laugh to escape Atem, though as he closed his eyes in laughter the tears he was holding back finally fell.

"Aw, fuck. Come on, man." Tristan rubbed his head. "Yugi will kick my ass if he found out I made ya cry."

Another laugh. "I'm not. I'm... not." He wiped his eyes with the unburned hand as it pulled away from Roy's.

"Yea. That's bullshit, and you know it. Look, just because they're not my thing doesn't mean you gotta cater to me, alright? Just... it's okay to be selfish sometimes. You know you have my number, Yugi's number, Anzu will literally drop everything and leave New York for you. You know this. Okay? Say it with me, Pharaoh. We're going to call the others before we rush into danger."

"I..." Atem felt something caught in his throat. He could feel fresh tears forming as he tried to repeat what Tristan had spoken to him, wanting him to say something he knows he has the biggest issue with. But... for Tristan... he'd do it.

"I... I will c-call you... before I rush into d... danger..."

"I'll hold you to it. Now, let's get you into your apartment and you two can go make out or... whatever it is people in love do these days." Tristan opened the door and headed to the door where Roy was at.

"What's the plan? You carry him, I carry his stuff?"

Roy was sitting there, when Atem introduced him to him. "Nice to meet you, Tristan, right?" He smiles softly hearing the way they were talking about him.

He listened to them as Tristan asked about what had happened. He watched as Tristan explained how he should have asked for help. He was right and Roy had been worried this entire time up until they were able to leave.

He could tell Tristan really cared about his friends well being and he respected the honesty and the fact that he would bring up about what if Roy hadn't made it in time. He stayed in his spot, feeling the tightness in his own stomach when he hears the words;

"Or did you want to join your former lover that badly?!"

That had to have knocked some sense into Atem when he said that to him because Roy felt his hand tighten around his own. Especially when he heard his boyfriend gasp at the revelation. Roy makes sure to squeeze his hand in return as he stayed quiet while observing them both and listening.

He can see the tears in Atem's eyes as Roy gazes over at him sadly. Roy wasn't able to bring up Joey or anything when they last talked he could only bring up about how he felt so the fact Tristan was able to bring him up helped Atem see just what it was he did.

Roy definitely had respect for Tristan in these moments because he was able to set the record straight and tell Atem what exactly Atem needed to hear, even if it was a tough pill to swallow.

Now Tristan's and Roy's eyes locked in the mirror, he hears his words and apology about hearing and see something that had nothing to do with Roy.

"You don't need to apologize on my account. Thank you, for saying what I could not because it was not my place to mention his past lover and friend and your friend." He assures him, his free hand up as he says that.

"I am just glad that Atem is safe and that's all I could ever ask for." He looked over at Atem and smiled at him softly before glancing over back in the mirror at Tristan.

"I think a drink would be fine sometime when I am not occupied with taking care of Atem. I can give you my number, as well and if we need your help I will definitely give you a call." He would make sure to ask for help should they need it because that's what Tristan would want them to ask for.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Hi! I just need to ask after seeing your recent Bad Kids Class Swap piece - do you have an online store/do you think you might ever consider printing the piece as a poster? I’m in love with it and I know I’d absolutely buy it right away XD

huh you know what let's get a poll goin! lemme know if folks want to like buy prints from this blog and such. there are literally Two (2) pieces eligible for prints here anyway lol

more information: I'll probs use inprnt if I put up a storefront and I'll only put up standalone illustrations for prints. fully leaving the future open for this one I'm truly not pressed either way abt this