#Liam whispers into the void

[fromaliminalspace]

potential symbolism of Eddie's tattoos and other details that may or may not be Kas!Eddie foreshadowing

[thebeatles-world]

Lights will guide you home

A Liam Payne tribute imagine 🫶🕊️❤️‍🩹

Y/N reacts to Liam Payne’s death on October 16, 2024:

It didn’t seem real. The headline flashing on your phone didn’t make sense, not now, not ever. Liam Payne dies at 31. You read it over and over, your hands shaking, trying to comprehend what was happening. You felt your chest tighten, like all the air in the room had suddenly been sucked out, leaving you gasping for breath.

“No… no, no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered to yourself, tears already welling in your eyes. Your mind raced with memories—those nights spent listening to his music, watching interviews where his laugh lit up the screen, scrolling through his social media just to catch a glimpse of his life. He’d been such a constant presence, someone who always felt within reach, yet so far away.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching your phone to your chest as sobs overtook you. You didn’t know Liam personally, but in so many ways, he had been there for you. During your hardest moments, his songs had been your escape, his voice your comfort. Now, he was gone, and the world felt a little darker, a little quieter.

The messages started pouring in—friends who knew how much you loved him, how much he meant to you. But no amount of words could fill the void his loss left in your heart.

As the hours passed, you found yourself scrolling through old photos and videos, watching his smile, hearing his voice, as if holding onto those moments could bring him back. But all it did was remind you of what the world had lost, what you had lost—a source of light, of joy, now dimmed forever.

“I miss you already,” you whispered through your tears, staring at a photo of him smiling brightly. “I wish you knew how much you meant to all of us.”

The night seemed endless, and you knew that the pain of losing him would take time to heal. But somehow, in the quiet of your room, with his music softly playing in the background, you felt a sliver of peace. He might be gone, but the memories, the music, and the love—those would never fade.

[fromaliminalspace]

[dee-writes-smut]

DROWNING

FEATURING Liam Mairi x reader

SUMMARY seeing the ghost of you hurts almost as bad as watching you go.

CONTENT WARNINGS major character loss, depression, depictions of grief

AUTHORS NOTE I don't know what it is right now, but I am just living for writing about grief. Sorry, not sorry! <3

"Look at me," Liam croaks from where he's splayed out on the ground by Deigh. Violet is sobbing loudly in Xaden's arms on the other side of him, but you can't hear them. Not when your ears feel like they've been filled with cotton when the love of your life is lying weakly on the ground beside you dying.

He's dying.

Oh gods.

As the realization sinks in, a heavy weight presses against your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic rises like a tide within you, threatening to overwhelm your senses. You reach out to Liam, your hands trembling as they hover over him, unsure of what to do, of how to help him.

"Stay with me, Liam," you plead, your voice barely a whisper, yet it reverberates with desperation. "Please, don't leave me."

But Liam's eyes are distant, glassy orbs that seem to stare into a void beyond your reach. His breathing is shallow, each exhale a painful reminder of his fragile state. You feel a tear escape your eye, tracing a path down your cheek as you struggle to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

Around you, the world seems to blur into an indistinct haze. The sounds of chaos and anguish fade into a distant hum, overshadowed by the deafening silence that fills your ears. All that exists in this moment is Liam, lying motionless before you, his life slipping away with each passing second.

Memories flood your mind like a torrential downpour, each one a bittersweet reminder of the moments you've shared together. The laughter, the tears, the whispered promises exchanged in the dead of night—they all swirl together in a kaleidoscope of emotions, too painful to bear yet too precious to let go.

You clench your fists, feeling the sting of helplessness gnawing at your insides. You would give anything—anything at all—to turn back time, to undo whatever led you to this moment, to save Liam from this cruel fate.

But time is a relentless force, indifferent to your pleas and regrets. And as you watch the light slowly fade from Liam's eyes, you realize with a sinking heart that there is nothing you can do to stop it.

"Please, Liam," you whisper, your voice cracking with grief. "I love you."

Liam's gaze meets yours, a flicker of recognition dances in his fading eyes. His lips part, words trembling on the precipice of his breath. With a herculean effort, he manages to muster the strength to speak, his voice barely a whisper, but each syllable heavy with emotion.

"Please…," he rasps, his voice barely audible above the din of chaos surrounding you. "You have to… keep living. For me."

His words strike you like a dagger to the heart, the pain of his plea tearing through the fragile facade of composure you've struggled to maintain. Tears stream down your cheeks unabated, hot and salty against your skin as you shake your head in disbelief.

"No, Liam," you choke out, your voice raw with anguish. "I can't… I can't do this without you."

But Liam's hand finds yours, his touch feeble yet filled with a quiet strength that belies his frailty. His fingers intertwine with yours, holding on with a determination born of love and desperation.

"You have to," he insists, his voice growing weaker with each passing moment. "You're stronger than you think… You can't let this… destroy you."

His words hang in the air like a solemn vow, a testament to the depth of his love and the sacrifice he's willing to make for you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the truth mirrored within them—the agonizing realization that this is goodbye.

A sob escapes your lips, a gut-wrenching cry that echoes through the desolate landscape of your heart. You bury your face in Liam's chest, clinging to him with a desperation born of fear and despair.

"I can't do this without you," you whisper brokenly, your voice a mere shadow of its former strength. "Please, don't leave me."

But Liam's grip weakens, his breaths growing shallower with each passing second. His eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, there's nothing but the deafening silence of impending loss.

Then, with a final exhale, he slips away, leaving behind nothing but the hollow ache of his absence. And as you cradle his lifeless form in your arms, the weight of his words settles over you like a shroud, a solemn reminder of the unbearable burden of grief that now lies ahead.

For in that moment, you realize that you've lost more than just the love of your life—you've lost a part of yourself, a piece of your soul that can never be replaced. And as you mourn the emptiness that now fills your heart, you know that nothing will ever be the same again.

There is no respite from the suffocating weight of grief that hangs heavy around your neck, dragging you down into the depths of despair.

You move through the world like a shadow of your former self, hollow and numb, the spark of life extinguished from your eyes. Friends and loved ones reach out to offer comfort, but their words fall on deaf ears, their gestures meaningless in the face of the gaping chasm that now consumes your soul.

Nights are the cruelest, long and lonely stretches of darkness that stretch on into eternity. You lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind consumed by thoughts of Liam—of all the things you wish you had said, all the moments you wish you could relive, all the ways you failed to save him.

The pain is relentless, a constant companion that gnaws at your insides, leaving you hollow and empty. You try to drown it out with alcohol, with drugs, with anything that will numb the ache in your heart, but nothing can fill the void left by Liam's absence.

And so, you continue to exist, day after day, trapped in a never-ending cycle of sorrow and regret. You wonder if it would have been easier if you had died with him, if you could have spared yourself this endless torment.

But deep down, you know that even death would offer no escape from the torment of your memories, no relief from the agony of your loss. And so you carry on, a shell of the person you once were, forever haunted by the ghost of the love you lost.

Days melted into weeks, and weeks into months, but the ache in my heart remained unyielding, a constant reminder of the void that Liam's absence had left behind. I found myself adrift in a sea of memories, unable to escape the relentless tide of grief that threatened to consume me.

Each morning brought with it a new battle, a struggle to find the strength to face another day without him by my side. I would drag myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with exhaustion, my mind clouded with sorrow, and force myself to move forward, one agonizing step at a time.

But no matter how hard I tried to bury my pain beneath layers of routine and responsibility, it always found a way to claw its way back to the surface, a gaping wound that refused to heal. I would catch myself staring blankly at the wall, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, my mind a swirling maelstrom of regret and longing.

It was in those moments of quiet desperation that I would feel him—Liam's presence hovering just beyond the edge of my consciousness, a whisper in the wind, a flicker of light in the darkness. I would close my eyes and reach out to him, my fingers grasping at the empty air, longing for the warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice, the comfort of his embrace.

But he was always just out of reach, a ghostly apparition that danced on the fringes of my perception, taunting me with the promise of solace that I knew would never come. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to let go—not when the mere thought of him was the only thing keeping me tethered to the world of the living.

I tried to lose myself in my work, throwing myself into my studies with a fervor bordering on obsession. But no matter how many hours I spent buried in books, no matter how many experiments I conducted in the sterile confines of the lab, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul.

My friends and family tried to help, offering their support and encouragement in the hopes of lifting my spirits. They would invite me out for dinner, take me for long walks in the park, even organize weekend getaways to try and distract me from my pain.

But I couldn't escape the suffocating weight of grief that hung over me like a shroud, a darkness that followed me wherever I went, tainting even the most mundane moments with its oppressive presence. I would smile and nod and pretend to be okay, but inside, I was crumbling, piece by agonizing piece.

It wasn't until one particularly dark night, when the weight of my sorrow threatened to crush me beneath its relentless onslaught, that I finally reached my breaking point. I found myself standing on the edge of a precipice, staring out into the yawning abyss that stretched out before me, the urge to let go—to surrender to the sweet release of oblivion—almost overwhelming.

But then, in the depths of my despair, I felt a hand on my shoulder, a gentle pressure that pulled me back from the brink. I turned, expecting to see nothing but the empty darkness of my own mind, but instead, I found myself face to face with Liam—or rather, a ghostly apparition that bore his likeness.

I blinked, unable to believe my eyes. "Liam?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath in the stillness of the night.

He smiled—a sad, wistful smile that tugged at my heartstrings. "It's me," he said, his voice a mere whisper in the silence that surrounded us.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I reached out to touch him, my fingers trembling with disbelief. "But how?" I asked, my voice choked with emotion. "How is this possible?"

Liam's smile faded, replaced by a look of profound sadness. "I'm not really here," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm just a figment of your imagination—a manifestation of your grief."

I shook my head, unwilling to accept the truth. "No," I protested, my voice rising in desperation. "You're real. You're here with me. I can feel you."

But Liam's expression remained unchanged, his eyes filled with a quiet resignation. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely audible above the sound of my own heartbeat. "I wish I could stay, but I can't. You have to let me go."

I felt a surge of panic rise within me, a primal instinct that screamed out in protest. "No," I cried, my voice echoing in the emptiness that surrounded us. "I won't. I can't. I need you."

But Liam shook his head, his features fading into the darkness like smoke on the wind. "You don't need me," he said, his voice a distant echo in the recesses of my mind. "You're stronger than you think. You have to find the strength to carry on, even without me."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the darkness, the emptiness of his absence a physical ache that echoed in the depths of my soul. I sank to my knees, tears streaming down my face, my heart shattering into a million jagged pieces.

But even as I wept, a small seed of hope took root within me—a tiny flicker of light amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me. I realized that Liam was right—that I couldn't continue to cling to him, to the memory of what we once had.

I had to find a way to let go—to honor his memory by living my life to the fullest, by embracing the future with open arms, even in the face of uncertainty and pain. It wouldn't be easy, I knew, but I was determined to try—for Liam, and for myself.

And so, with a heavy heart and a newfound sense of purpose, I picked myself up off the ground and began to walk—away from the edge of the abyss, away from the darkness that had threatened to consume me, toward a future filled with possibility and hope.

It wouldn't happen overnight, I knew. The road ahead would be long and difficult, fraught with challenges and setbacks that would test my resolve at every turn. But I was ready—ready to face whatever the future held, armed with nothing but my love for Liam and the knowledge that he would always be with me, guiding me every step of the way.

And as I walked, the darkness began to recede, slowly but surely, replaced by the warm glow of dawn breaking on the horizon. I smiled, tears still streaming down my face, but now they were tears of hope, of gratitude, of a newfound sense of purpose.

For even though Liam was gone, his love remained—a beacon of light that would guide me through the darkest nights and lead me toward a future filled with possibility and promise.

And with that thought in my heart, I took my first steps into the unknown, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead, secure in the knowledge that I would never truly be alone. Liam would always be with me, a whisper in the wind, a flicker of light in the darkness, a love that would never fade away.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 38

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Betrayal and anger is all I can feel from Violet as she takes in what’s just happened. Her eyes scan over us all as the Gryphon fliers leave. I can see how nervous she is as she takes us all in, her gaze hardening as it lands on Liam and I. Xaden and Garrick approach her as if she’s a startled animal, worried she could dart off if they make the slightest wrong move. So similar to who I’d approached Garrick last night.

”Were we ever really friends?” She whispers, turning to Liam and I. Her voice void of any emotion.

”We are friends, Violet, but I owe him everything.” Liam answers solemnly as he looks at her. “We all do. And once you give him a chance to explain-”

Another wave of anger barrels into me, causing me to stumble back into Bodhi who reaches out and steadies me. Bloody hell. She was angry.

”You watched me train with him!” She yells, shoving Liam’s chest, causing him to stumble back towards me which brings her attention back to me. “You both stood by and watched me fall for him! You told me I made the right choice!”

”Oh shit.” Bodhi whispers behind me.

”Violence, let me explain.” Xaden says as he steps towards her.

We all take a collective step back as power ripples through the air around Violet as she turns towards Xaden. “If you even think about touching me, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.” As if to cement her point lighting cracks across the sky.

”I think she means it.” Liam mutters as he stares up at the clouds.

”I know she does. Everybody, go back to the shore. Now.” Xaden commands, his focus fully on Violet.

We all hesitantly leave them. I know Xaden can handle himself, but Violet’s signet could be dangerous when she’s angry. Already proven by the lightning she’s managed to summon without even trying to.

And we do. I turn my back on my brother and Violet. And for the first time in my life, I’m actually scared to leave him alone with her as another lighting strike careens across the sky above me. Malek help us all.

”Well that went well.” Bodhi mutters sarcastically as we all make it back to the dragons.

”Well? You think that went well? She nearly fried us all.” Liam states as he looks at Bodhi as if he’s sprouted a second head.

”But she didn’t.” He states, just as another lighting strike happens. “Well not yet anyway.”

”She wont.” I tell them as I sit down against a boulder, leaning my head back against it as I shut my eyes. “She might be pissed, but she still loves him.”

”If it wasn’t for your damn signet I’d be questioning you a lot right now. She’s about ready to kill him.” Imogen states as she joins us.

Garrick chuckles, “So was Ophelia when she figured it out.”

”I was always curious, how did you find out about this? I knew Xaden planned to tell you, but he never said how you figured it out before he got a chance to.” Imogen asks, the gravel shifting next to me as she sits next to me.

I open my eyes and point over at Garrick. “This idiot over here got me one of my favourite foods that you can only get from Gryphon fliers.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation we’re in and what has just happened Imogen and Liam burst into laugher, Garrick glaring at the two of them as Bodhi stifles his laughter.

”And you’re meant to be the observant one.” Imogen jokes as she smirks at Garrick, causing him to glare at her more.

”Get ready to go. As soon as those two are done we’re leaving.” Garrick growls before walking off towards Chradh, leaving us all behind to fall into a fit of laughter.

Something is wrong. Something is very very wrong. This outpost is empty. Too empty for an active outpost.

”What the hell?” Garrick striding past us to observe the courtyard in the centre of the structure.

Our footsteps echo off the walls way more than they should. This outpost should have hundreds of infantry and riders stationed here. But as I reach out with my signet to feel for anyone else, I come up short. We’re the only ones here.

”Stop. There’s no one here. Divide and search.” Xaden commands us before turning to Violet and I. “You stay with Garrick, and you don’t leave my side. I don’t think this is a War Game.”

I nod and pivot on my heel to follow Garrick who waits in one of the archways with Imogen. Imogen leads the way as Garrick falls into step next to me, one hand grasped around a sword, the other ghosting my lower back. We search every room we come across. All of them abandoned and empty. Not a single thing left behind or out of place. This was planned and thought out. These people based here had time to pack up and leave. Finally we make it to the third floor where a lot of the leadership we’re based at outposts. Their offices lining the corridor. The three of us split up, knowing we need to hurry up. Just like the other rooms every thing is empty. Till the last one. Sitting on the desk in the centre of the room is an envelope. And envelope addressed to my brother.

War Games for Xaden Riorson, Wingleader of Fourth Wing.

I immediately recognise the hand writing. I’d seen it many times before while being under Melgren’s care. Colonel Aetos. That was his hand writing. Countless time’s I had been tasked with passing documents and letters between the pair. There was no denying that was his hand writing. I grasp the letter in my hand, rushing out the door and nearly crashing into Garrick who had clearly come to find me. He goes to ask me something, but as I hold the letter out to him he snaps his mouth shut. His eyes focusing on the letter in my hand. He takes it from me before grabbing my hand and leading me down the corridor to the stairs that will take us up to the tower.

”Imogen, we found something.” He calls out before rushing up the stairs.

I hear Imogen rushing to catch up to us as we bound up the stairs. I have to let go of Garrick’s hand due to him being able to skip multiple steps at a time due to this longer stride.

”I have something!” Garrick calls out, clearly being able to see Xaden from the tower.

As I make it to the top, I see Garrick vault over the edge to cross over to Xaden via the thick rampart connecting us to where the others are. Imogen and I quickly follow after him to join the others. I can already tell as we get closer Xaden has pieced together part of why we are here. The worry on his face is crystal clear as he looks down at Violet. Shit.

”It’s addressed to you.” Garrick says to Xaden as he hands him the envelope.

Violet glances at the letter, her eyes skimming the hand writing on the front. And I can tell she knows who it’s from as well. “That’s from Colonel Aetos.”

”What does it say?” Garrick asks, folding his arms over his chest as he waits for Xaden to tell him what it says. “What’s our assignment?”

”Guys, I see something just past the trading post,” Liam says to us as he looks over the village below us. “Oh shit.”

At the same time I feel the panic set in from both Liam and Xaden. I quickly rush over to Xaden and take the letter from him. My eyes quickly skimming over the contents. Oh shit. Instantly Garrick is at my side, my face clearly betraying my emotions as I stare up at Xaden in panic. We have been sent here to die.

”It says our mission is to survive if we can.” Xaden says glumly.

Garrick shakes his head at us, lacing his fingers behind his head. “That’s not….”

”Guys, this is bad.” Liam shouts as Imogen rushes to his side.

Xaden looks back at Violet who is very much blaming her self right now for what’s happening based off the guilt I can feel flowing off of her. “This isn’t your fault.” But I can tell she doesn’t believe his words as he turns to look at us all. His eyes settling on me. Our conversation from earlier becoming reality with the words that leave his mouth. “We’ve been sent here to die.”

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 12: Beholden

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Tav (female reader)

Warnings: 18+. (light) Sub!Astarion. Symptoms of resulting trauma described, mention of past SA and abuse.

A/N: KT now updates every Sunday :)

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Killing Time Masterlist

Link to AO3

When you fly out into the cool night air, the blackness of the night consumes you. Every flap of your wings, every chatter coming from behind you as Astarion flies at your heels, you feel that void of darkness. It makes you wince, and you’re back on your feet shortly after you’ve breached the palace walls. Being closer to the city lights helps ease that strange fear. When you land, you stumble forward, the pads of your bare feet slapping on stone.

You find yourself in the middle of the street, taking in the eerie emptiness of your surroundings. Astarion’s arm is around you before you can react further, pulling you behind a building as you both sense the thumping of a heart. But the curious thing here is that the city is quiet, far more than it should be.

“Star?” You whisper, but Astarion merely hushes you in reply. He holds you closely in the darkness, and you try to drown out the drum of Astarion’s own heart to focus on another: the mortal, a guard, walks rather close to the two of you, briefly inspecting the area. A quick look into his mind reveals the guard is thinking of his latest fuck and mug of ale, believing himself lucky he wasn’t put on the front lines. Those men on the front never see the women or the booze.

“The front lines?” Your words come out, blurted, reminding your doting husband that being sneaky was never your specialty.

“Hey!” The man shouts in your direction, running toward the sound of your voice. Breaking away from Astarion, you step out from the corner. The street is brightly lit, and you can see both the fear and amusement in the man’s eyes: he thinks you are a pretty thing, in your little panties, and he can see your nipples through your shirt. But your scars tell a dark story, one that frightens him: not to mention you jumped from around a bend, which would startle any mortal, especially in the dead of night.

The guard starts to scramble away, but you outstretch your hand to him, beckoning him to you.

“Be still, gentleman.” Your words of charm pierce through whatever layer of protection his weak mind ever had. He was yours, now. His heart thumps wildly in his chest, nearly stopping when Astarion turns the corner. But under your control, he continues to walk toward you.

Astarion’s taking off his own shirt, tying it around your waist to hide your pretty panties from this stranger.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice harsh and snippy. You’re clearly testing his patience, but he can’t hide the curiosity: he’s letting you act out, you know.

“Listening,” You speak slowly. “Come here to me, Liam.”

The guard, Liam, eagerly approaches you. Seeing you close up, he’s even more frightened of you, thinking your gaze harsh and cold. He’s noticed your lack of breath, your lack of natural movement. Liam nearly loses control of his bowels as he comes to understand you are a creature of the night. But the pig of a man is still thinking about your nipples, despite this. You push those thoughts away, digging through his mind until you find the information you seek.

You’re thinking about asking Astarion if you could eat the man, or maybe you would do so without asking, just to see how he’d react – but Astarion grabs you by the arm before you can decide. “That’s enough, Tav. We’re going.”

In one quick motion, Astarion scoops you up in his arms, teleporting the two of you back into the foyer of the palace. After adjusting the both of you back in bed, Astarion’s questions begin.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Astarion’s voice hides nothing of his frustration.

“Yes,” You reply, trying to keep your voice even.”Was there a draft of mortal soldiers or something? Is the political situation in Faerun really so fragile?”

“It’s been that way for many years,” Astarion explains. “And has now come to a boiling point. But I don’t want you to worry about that.” Astarion’s habit -or staunch faith- of telling you only selective information based on the level of stress it may cause you hasn’t changed.

Seeing the concern on your face, Astarion softens, his irritation with you visibly waning by the second. “Please trust me on this, love.”

You nod involuntarily, because you are used to trusting Astarion’s judgment on what you should and shouldn’t worry about; you are still injured, after all. But you feel hesitant with your agreement, and Astarion must sense it too, because his face twists, the look so foreign to you it causes your gut to turn. He looks like he’s in pain.

He’s at a loss for words, and you are too. You feel yourself already wrapped up in Astarion’s tumultuous emotions, ones you can’t know anymore. Ones that you have to guess based on his body language, his words: and right now, you know there is something on the tip of his tongue that he cannot bring himself to say aloud.

You sit up in bed, crossing your legs as you peer down at him. You bring your hand to cup his cheek, softly run a fingertip down the length of his elegant ear, trailing little circles on his jaw and neck.

Astarion shudders, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. Your touch immediately soothes him, and when your fingers tickle against his chest, he holds your palm there, bringing it flat: resting it atop his ever-beating heart.

You don’t study his face for much long before deciding that you need to be closer to one another.

“Come here. Let me hold you,” You offer as you nudge him towards you. Astarion doesn’t hesitate: having widened your legs so that his larger form would fit comfortably, your arms snake around his body, your lips resting at the crown of his head. You can’t help but take a deep breath. “You smell so good...”

He chuckles in reply, nuzzling himself closer to you.

Your husband was taller than the average elven male, his shoulders broad and well shaped. It was only a little awkward to be holding him in this way, but Astarion is practically purring. You place kisses on the tip of his ear, causing an audible sigh of relief to escape his handsome lips.

His whimpers cause a stir between your legs. The way your cunt is clenching, little spasms of arousal overtaking your core, is impossible to ignore, and you can’t help but sweep your eyes over his perfect body, every part you could see. You want to worship it the way it deserves: the way Astarion wants you to.

You both are desperate for release in each other.

Suddenly, Astarion turns his head, shifting to your shoulder as he gazes up at you. You have to use your strength to hold him, but this feels good to you, for some reason. Cradling his warm body, feeling his muscles and his weight in your arms; he feels so good.

“I never meant to scare you so badly. I just wanted to touch you,” His expression and his words are almost boyish, bringing a youth to him that you haven’t seen in a very long time. He is so pretty; his ruby eyes are so soft, wet with gentle tears, lashes long and inviting. “I want you, my treasure. I need you…”

The two of you continuously search in each other's eyes, as if you’re expecting your minds to become one.

“Darling,” Astarion says, dragging your hand down his abdomen, resting it on the waistband of his underclothes. He doesn’t know how else to ask.

The moment your fingers slip beneath his underclothes, Astarion devolves into a fit of desperation: he moans, his hand grabbing your cheek to pull you into a passionate, fervent kiss. His tongue slips between your lips, the soft warmth of his muscle dancing along your own. He tastes so good, and he’s so warm. His kisses are needy, desperate; you feel the wetness of his cheeks as your lips transcend his, because you can’t hold yourself back anymore. You kiss him wherever you can, and Astarion can only soak it in.

Think of Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. He’s your husband, and you’re safe with him! So why are you thinking of that soulless drow and his evil master?

“Touch me,” Astarion says as he guides your hand to his cock, which you take in your palm, wrapping your fingers around his length. Astarion shudders as you begin to stroke him. You’re gentle, almost tentative, because you were hardly in control over Astarion’s body like this. But there is a look in his eyes: he wants this.

Two of your fingers and your thumb rubs at Astarion’s sensitive tip. It’s so pink, so swollen, pre-come already leaking from him. You pull back his foreskin, tenderly working the sensitive skin, making him writhe in your arms. Astarion can’t help but thrust into you, encouraging your motions.

Teasing him, you try to pull away, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He’s crying your name, desperate for your touch. In one swift movement, you take your finger, gathering his clear liquid seeping from the tip of his swollen cock. Astarion looks surprised when you bring your finger to his pretty lips, which he takes in his mouth. Tasting your skin and his own fluids, his gaze never leaves yours and eyes only grow hungrier.

You only take your finger from his mouth when you’re ready, kitten licking his tongue as you gently press down on it with a thumb, making him give you access to his mouth. Astarion’s entirely lost in his pleasure, his eyes hazy. The only words your poor husband can utter are pleadings, declarations of love, and your name.

“My love,” Astarion’s words come out rugged, rough, his voice cutting through his lust. “Please – I need you…”

Astarion grabs your wrist, guiding your hand back down to his throbbing cock. He wraps his hand around yours, guiding your hand so your strokes are quicker, faster, as his tongue plunges into your mouth, his fang catching your lip as he devours you.

The moment your crimson hits Astarion’s tongue, he goes mad. He really can’t get enough of you, and he nips at your lip again before bringing his mouth to your neck. He’s planted his hand behind you now, turned towards your body so you have better access to his cock, and he has better access to your neck. You know he’s about to bite through your sensitive flesh.

A snippet of a memory flashes before your eyes: red out of the corner of your eye. your limbs are numb. you push, but the red object does not relent, only further molesting you. his fangs feel like knives in your skin, flesh ripping. that searing pain– you’re able to push these thoughts away, shoving them into the recesses of your mind.

Before Astarion can bite down, your hand flies to his chin, pulling his attention back to your gaze. The way he looks at you is curious; you’ve caught him off guard, his face pulled into a gentle bewilderment, his pupils dilated in deep sexual desire.

“No,” You breathe, your lips almost brushing against his.

“No?” Astarion’s voice comes out quiet, breathless. His eyes are wide, desperate. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, and you know your deviation is greatly exciting him.

“No.” You confirm.“I bite you,” You say, your words sultry and smooth, causing your husband to let out a little moan. “Because you are mine.”

Your words come with an involuntary growl; the scent of Astarion’s arousal was thick in the air, the tension between you two becoming hotter by the second.

“I-“ He searches his words and your eyes, as if he would find them in you. “I’m yours?”

You release his jaw, moving to tease his sensitive tip with your fingers, spreading his slick down his shaft. “Yes. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

You feel Astarion go slack in your arms; you’re holding his full upper body weight in your arm now, the other still stroking and toying with his cock.

“Y-yes, I’m yours, I’m yours…” He moans, your lips crashing into his. His cock is even more plump than before, the skin so tight and throbbing beneath your touch; your bodies are wet with sweat and pre-cum, which has pooled at his tip, spilling over the edge as it trails down his shaft.

“P-please, don’t stop,” He struggles to get his words out, his head filled only with pleasure and devotion.

You ease Astarion on his back, hovering above him as you continue your ministrations, every stroke causing him to tremble beneath you. His sticky, clear fluids coat your hand and his cock, only making your touch more slick.

“My pretty girl…“ Astarion begs, but before he can continue his whimpers and desperate pleadings, you straddle him, turning his head with your other hand before sinking your fangs into his flesh.

The sensation of his blood, the scent of his arousal in the air, the feeling of his cock in your hand: gods above. You pull yourself away from his neck in just enough time to watch Astarion squirm beneath you, his hands tangling in the ends of your hair. He’s holding onto you as if his life depends on it, his silver curls pushed back, lazily falling behind him on the silken covered pillow. He’s so beautiful, practically drooling beneath you, fangs peeking beneath his parted lips.

After just a few moments of gazing into your eyes, his sight trails down to your blood stained lips, then to your partially covered breasts. Then, you feel the twitch of his member in your hand as his sex convulses, spasms of pleasure erupting through his body.

Astarion’s shooting thick spurts of come, trailing down your hand as you keep stroking him, riding out his orgasm as you take his moans in your mouth, enveloping his tongue with yours, tasting the mix of his blood and saliva, languidly enjoying the taste of your husband. The smell of his seed is delicious to you, and you fight the urge to lap at his juices with an eager tongue.

You don’t stop your ministrations until he’s breathless, almost begging you to stop, but you continue to work your hand around the tip of his cock, squeezing out every last drop of his come. You don’t let him come up for air, because he doesn’t need it: he only needs you.

“I’m here now,” You whisper to him between languid kisses.

“Don’t make me beg for you anymore, I can’t take it,” Astarion’s words are filled with desperation. His soft moans continue throughout the night, the two of you unable to part until dawn.

****

Lae’zel closely studies the head of Geldon Moth. It was rather large, she thinks, larger than a regular dragonborn’s head. Other than its remarkable size, the sight is rather gruesome, more so than awesome.

“I expected nothing less from our Sarth,” Chae says from behind Lae’zel, where she stands with the other soldiers. “She was fearsome the day of the hunt.”

“I had expected you to say insane, but fearsome works.” Ziir’o adds, causing Chae and the others to giggle.

“Not just the day of the hunt. She’s ruthless even in training,” Joss says uneasily. “I don’t know how many times she’s knocked me out during a spar. Or encouraged someone else to knock me out.”

Lae’zel nearly laughs, but nothing could thwart her serious mood, deeply in thought as she ponders your kill. She thought it was a fitting trophy for the training quarters of the primary Ancunín estate, but again – the sight is more terrible than anything else.

“She literally smashed his fucking head in,” Ziir’o comments with a pride filled smirk. “Where's the rest of him?”

“Mere ash and bone, left in the dirt with his slaves.” Lae’zel’s voice is snippy, but it doesn’t deter the young gith.

“How many did she kill again before Astarion came and dashingly took his bride back to the safety of their gorgeous palace?” Marg’o asks, practically cooing over the thought of Astarion’s pure love for his wife. It was admirable to many, and the number of those who believed love makes the Ancuníns weak is rapidly declining, so maybe there was something to this romantic idea of Astarion, Lae’zel thinks.

Tsk, surely not. Still just a blood sucker. No different than a mosquito. But Lae’zel thinks you’re a rather pretty mosquito. Sometimes she wonders what you would think of her blood, of her taste. She remembers how your tongue felt gliding over her flesh, that soft velvet heat between her legs, and she wondered if you would be gentle with her as you slide fangs beneath her skin. She likes to think you would, just for her…

“A thousand,” Quinel states in a serious tone, but their sarcasm isn’t lost. The younger gith laugh as they way away, continuing on with their day, leaving Lae’zel to brood alone.

“Hmm.” Lae’zel wasn’t sure if this was the right decision. The night of your rescue, after Astarion sent her and the others through the portal, Lae’zel had found the man’s head in the woods; this would only be one of the many other things Lae’zel would come to find quite interesting on this day.

The museum was certainly not safe for anyone to go in, but that hadn’t stopped Lae’zel, who carefully slid through the rubble. She needed to see everything again. Finding so many well preserved old relics dumbfounded her, and she had quickly made her way back to Astarion’s office with whatever she could recover.

She sat at Astarion’s desk shortly after retreating from the broken estate. She had done this many times before your victory, having set up in the Ancunín palace more often than not since she arrived.

Lae’zel can’t look at the dragonborn’s head anymore; she’d rather bury herself in her work, which happened to be on Astarion’s desk.

Now, as Lae’zel eases her way into the luxurious, comfortable chair, she finds that hidden compartment locked away in Astarion’s desk. The same one she found the day of the estate scouting. Her discovery hadn’t really surprised her: it was merely a stack of old letters, ones from Halsin, Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart…many from names she didn’t recognize, all addressed to you. Some of them were so old the pages were yellow, nearly crumbling in Lae’zel’s hands; it was clear they had once been sheltered, at least for a time, before hidden in the depths of Astarion’s desk.

Every single one is unopened.

****

You know you’re dreaming before you even take in the whole scene: your body is floaty, weightless and numb. You can feel the aura of light surrounding you, uplifting your body as you open your eyes and look up, meeting Angel’s gaze.

You’re on your back, grass tickling your exposed skin. Angel is propped on his elbow, peering down at you. One of his wings is wrapped around the two of you, shielding you from the sun.

“It was, like, way too difficult for me to share your dream with you,” Angel’s voice is softer than usual. “I think I deserve a bit of compensation for my efforts~”

Angel’s looking at your lips, his handsome smile cutting into you only a bit. “You’re so pretty, Mrs. Ancunín.” There’s a dreamy look in his eyes as he meets your gaze.

“What do you want?” You demand, ignoring his flirting.

“I could ask you the same thing. You ultimately did let me in here, after all. And trust me, I’ve tried every time you’ve gone to sleep!” Angel explains. “Which has been a lot, so I imagine you want to ask me about that silver. I wondered when you would.”

“I think you were offering.”

“I was. And I still am!” Angel says, rolling over on his back before he swings himself to a seat, crossing his legs as his fingers pull at the grass. You follow suit, sitting up to face him. Looking around, you notice you are close to a sandy beach, one just ways off from the grass.

“I smelled it on you. The grass and the ocean.”

“Yeah, duh. I wanted you to so you’d like me.” Angel looks down. He almost looks uncertain. “There are things I want from you. But…”

Angel pauses. His gold and ruby eyes meet yours.

“The red doesn’t suit you, you know.” You cross your arms. You have a sense of strong dejavu coming over you, thinking of your ex-githyanki lover, who wholly disapproved not only of your newfound warlockracy but of your red eyes. Red eye, now. Just one. But Lae’zel probably doesn’t like the gold, either.

Angel laughs, bringing his muscled arms above him in a stretch before placing his palms to the ground behind him. His abs tighten, and you see his cock growing, thick and pulsating between his thighs.

Why the hells does he always have to be naked!?

“Stare all you want, girl. Say the word and it’s yours,” Angel purrs with lust filled eyes, hooded and wanting.

You roll your eyes. “Just tell me what you want.”

Angel sighs. “I have to think about it. For now, I can create a sealant,” He explains. “It will help with the pain and fatigue, at the very least. I can feel it in your body, you know.”

You shake your head, ignoring that last part. You can also sense his wellness, but you don’t want him to know that, because you know he’ll be weird about it. “They’ve already tried that.”

“None of them are me, Mrs. Ancunín! And I’ll do it for free…if you kiss me and accept your boon~”

You give him a deadly stare. You are trying to decide: you fought with the silver on, so it’s certainly possible to get this vague ‘task’ done with it, but Angel said you needed the boon for the task. Of course, he won’t say what the boon is or precisely why you need it; but the silver is rather bothersome. It was a constant ache, a chronic pain and reminder of the suffering you experienced. You want the damn thing off.

You’re surprised when Angel’s face drops, his smile devolving to a smirk. You stare at each other like this for some time. Angel is the one to break the silence, his eyes still locked into yours.“You’re like…a yellow watermelon, you know. Ever had one of those?”

You shake your head. “I only really like to -”

“Drink blood, yeah, I got it,” Angel looks away for a moment, that smirk briefly leaving his face. “Yellow watermelons are sweeter, lighter on the tongue. Something about your nature…you're a vampire, the very definition of temptation and desire. But you walk in the sun, you have a reflection. Your soul isn’t as tainted as you would think.”

Angel pauses as if in deep thought. “It’s almost as if you didn’t sacrifice seven thousand souls to Mephistopheles.”

You don’t know what to say. The seven thousand hardly mattered to you now, and you aren’t sure they ever did. Probably not, you think, because you were here and not six-feet under. You would have died long ago had it not been for Astarion’s gift of eternal life, and you would have left him to walk this earth alone: just the thought makes you feel nauseous.

“Anyways, your sexual energy is amazing. The lust and love you feel for Astarion is absolutely delicious, so refined,” Angel’s face is, suddenly, suspiciously close to yours, and you wonder how he got so close. “I could taste your desperation for him when we kissed. I want to kiss you more, now.”

Angel's face moves even closer to yours, but you bring your fingers to his lips, stopping him. Angel grabs your wrist, pressing your hand to his lips more firmly, kissing your fingertips.

“Mmm,” Angel moans into you before you bring your hand away. His smile is back. “Your skin is so soft…but that doesn’t really count, you know. I want your lips to touch mine, you cute little daywalker!”

Angel’s lips are plump, so soft looking and pink. It would be easy to kiss him again: he’s a beautiful man. But Astarion’s earlier words echo in your mind: “Please don’t, Tav.”

You take a deep breath. Closing your eyes, blocking out all other thoughts, you tell Angel to do it.

“Finally! C’mere, girl.” Angel grabs you, your body already trembling as you’re in the hands of this large, foreign man. Angel’s wings surround you, and he grabs your chin, lifting your head to his. You feel manhandled, despite Angel’s gentle touch. He wasn’t forceful or aggressive, but firm: but it’s like your brain doesn’t know the difference.

“Open your eyes, beautiful. I wanna gaze into them, make you want me,” Angel is amused and aroused; his voice is laced with a lust filled huskiness, one he intends for you to know.

Your teeth chatter, your body deciding to freeze rather than run or fight. You’re sucking air into your undead lungs. “I don’t want to…just do it, alright?” Truthfully, you don’t think you can stop shaking even if you tried.

There is a long pause. Angel’s hold on you relaxes, but he makes no motion to let you go. “Why are you afraid?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t really know what to say, but you feel a level of relief once Angel’s put you back on your feet, freeing you from his wings and his grasp. His hand is still gently resting on your chin. For just a moment, you feel the brush of his warm, soft lips on your cheek.

“Until next time, girl~”

Angel’s world fades to black, and you slip back into your unconscious mind before waking with a jolt. You immediately notice your lack of pain, the burning sensation having subsided entirely. You feel strong, glorious, powerful; when Astarion jumps beside you, in motion at the first sign of your consciousness, and you wonder if he ever went to sleep at all.

You bring yourself to a straddle above him, a smile spread across your face. You see wisps of pink around Astarion; they dance around his face, his chest, becoming a deeper hue at the center of his chest. His eyes practically gleam, even making their crimson appear lighter. Love.

“Ha! Oh shit. I love you too, my sweet husband.”

tag list: @viowolf

[jessicaloons]

Chapter 15:

You can see it with the lights out: You are in love…

Masterlist - Previous - Next

Note: I changed the racing calendar, I switched Miami with Imola

As I walked down the stairs the door opened and Mum and Dad, together with Sissy and Liam walked through the door, apparently coming straight from the airport, they looked at me confused. Sissy grabbed Liam by the hand and they disappeared in the living room, with Liam asking confused what’s going on. But Sissy just shushed him and they were gone.

"When did you arrive?" Mum asked.

"Where were you?" Dad asked.

"Yesterday. And where was I supposed to be?" I answered and Mum and Dad exchanged some glances.

"Where were you supposed to be? Maybe still in Australia like you said? Or maybe in the plane with us? Or no wai…" Dad begun but I shrugged my shoulders, walking past them into the kitchen "Lizzie?"

"I had to leave earlier…" I said and opened up the fridge.

"Oh? Is that it? You had to leave earlier?" Dad sounded mad.

"Yup." I wanted to squeeze past him but he didn’t let me through.

"What happened? Why did Charles look like he went through the worst night ever, telling us that you left with the first plane in the morning because you had to go to the factory, doing some simulator work?" Dad asked, knowing that he caught us lying.

"Umm I… I mixed up the dates, I’m supposed to be there tomorrow, but Pete already texted me that it’s not necessary before Friday…" I lied and Dad scoffed.

"You said you would stay with Charles in Australia for some days?" Mum asked and I shrugged my shoulders again.

"I know, but Debbie’s nursery school dance is this week and I promised her to come" I lied again and made a mental note to call Andrea right away when I got back to my room.

"Oh, that’s sweet." Mum said although she looked still a little unconvinced.

"Yep, it’s on Thursday. So yeah, I should better check in with Andrea what to wear!" and with that I grabbed my orange juice from the fridge and went back to my room. I could hear how they discussed whether or not I’m telling the truth, but Dad was convinced I was lying.

As I checked my phone I saw 13 more missed calls, 21 iMessages, 15 WhatsApp messages and 9 Instagram DMs from Charles. My stomach clenched and I unlocked my phone right as Pierre called, but I ignored it. He was probably still with Charles. But I needed space. What happened was clearly the alcohol taking over. And with the next race coming up being a new track where no real simulator data or whatsoever existed, I had to focus on Miami. Not on the mistake Charles and I made. Both drunk. Both not knowing what we were doing. End of the story. But whenever I closed my eyes I saw Charles face. Charles how he smiled at me on the podium. Charles how he hugged me after the race. Charles how he swallowed hard when I showed him my outfit for our celebration in some Melbourne club. Charles how he danced with me. Charles body grinding against mine. Charles intense gaze. Charles pulling me with him in a dark corner. Charles pushing me against the wall. Charles smile after our first kiss. Charles face when I pushed him off of me. Charles heartbroken face when I left him at the airport standing. Charles. Only Charles. Always in my mind. I let myself fall into my pillows, face first and screamed.

Charles POV:

"Charles? Hey? Charles, are you o…?" Pierre began but when he looked at my face he immediately fell silent.

"She’s really gone, Pierre. I begged her to stay… but she left anyway…" I whispered and walked past him. Sitting down on the bed.

"Give her some time… she’s scared, like you said…" Pierre sat down next to me.

"No. It feels different. It feels like I’m losing her…" I whispered and I felt a peng in my chest, my breathing ragged. Tears prickling my eyes. It was over. I lost her. There’s no coming back from this.

"Don’t say that! You and Lizzie belo-…" Pierre began as I interrupted him.

"There’s no Lizzie and I. Not anymore. I destroyed it." my voice sounded void just as how I felt "You can go back to your room now. It’s okay. I’m okay…" I got up and walked towards the bathroom "Thanks Pierre, for being here for me…" with that I disappeared and locked the door. After a couple of moments I heard the room door closing and I sat on the floor, pulled my knees up to my chest. I destroyed everything. Our friendship. Our families. Everything. I tried to call her again, I just needed to tell her that I’m sorry, but the call got straight to her voicemail. I leaned my head back into the called tiles and let the anxiety and pain of the last hours fully consume me.

I packed my suitcase, threw everything in that Lizzie forgot to pack and left the hotel room. Lied to her parents. Hugged them goodbye. Tried to call her again and again, texted her. Nothing. I flew back to Maranello earlier than planned, speaking to no one. Joris and Andrea exchanged worried glances but I ignored them.

I focused on Miami. Racing was the only thing I had left now.

"Charles? Can we talk?" Joris asked as he sat down on the sofa and I looked up from my notebook.

"Yeah? What’s up?" I said and closed the book, laying it down next to me.

"I wanted to ask you the same… what happened in Australia?" he looked worried.

"Have you talked to Pierre?" I asked and he looked at me confused.

"No? Why?"

"It’s nothing. I’m okay. Don’t worry!" I replied and took my book back from the sofa.

"But we are worried? You have said maybe 5 sentences in total in the last 3 days, you look horrible, what’s going on?" he asked.

"I’m fine, okay? I need to focus on racing. That’s it." I sighed and opened my notebook again, signalling that the conversation was over for me. He looked at me for a minute before he got up and left. I took my phone out, looked at her contact info, thumb hovering over the screen. Should I call her again? Maybe try it again? Maybe there was still some hope left? I swallowed hard. No.

My flat felt cold and empty as I walked past the pictures on the wall. Flashbacks of how Lizzie said that if I wanted to hang up some pictures I should make them all the same size, the same clean frame, photographs in black and white to keep it quiet and not busy on the eye. I stood in front of the picture Joris took of us, at the lookout, one of my favourite spots in Monaco. Lizzie’s as well. I didn’t know how long I stood there, staring at the picture. But as my phone rang I was startled. I accepted the call, but my throat was tight and I almost couldn’t speak.

"Yeah?" I croaked out.

"Charles? Are you okay?" Lorenzo. I swallowed hard.

"Umm… yeah, fine." I said and walked into my living room, sitting down on the sofa.

"Can I come over? There are some things we need to decide for All Time." he asked and I leaned back.

"Sure." I closed my eyes "I’m here."

"Alright, I’ll be there in 20 minutes?" he said.

"Yup."

"Woah! Are you sure you’re okay?" Lorenzos first words when I opened the door.

"Wow… thanks, good to see you too." I mumbled and walked back into kitchen, grabbing some water and glasses.

"Sorry, but you look horrible? Are you getting sick?" he asked as he sat down on the sofa, looking intently at me.

"Don’t think so, no." I said and poured us our water "So, what needs to be done?"

He looked at me for another moment before he shook his head slightly and dived right into talking business. I didn’t listen, not really. My mind occupied by Lizzie. How beautiful she looked in her dress. Her pink cheeks when we were dancing. Her surprised look when I pulled her with me into this dark corner. That little sigh I took right off of her lips. Her lips. Soft and sweet. Her body melting into mine. Her smell. Always the same for years. Something tropical, like coconut, mango and pineapple, mixed with the smell of fresh laundry and a tinge of lime, that little spritz of excitement. I never felt this good in my entire life. Winning the championship wouldn’t even compare to it. My heart rate going through the wall because for one moment I thought I was on top of the world, having everything I ever wanted. But the look in her eyes as she pushed me off of her. That fear. It sent shivers done my spine. Because that was the moment I probably lost her forever.

"Charles? Hey?" Lorenzo snapped his fingers in front of my face and I blinked in confusion "Okay what’s going on? What happened in Australia? Don’t give me that look. Speak up!"

"Nothing happened!" I insisted, going for my glass of water but spilling it in the process "Fuck!" I jumped up to get a towel but I tripped, ending up knocking over the little trophy I got from Liam for my birthday last year. Best uncle in the world. How proud Liam was as he handed it to me, telling me it took him almost 2 days to make it, even tho Lizzie helped him a little, just to reveal later that Lizzie did the most work and it actually only took almost 2 days because the clay had to dry over night. I watched as the trophy tumbled down the little side table and ended up on the floor. Shattering into pieces. I choked.

"No. No. No. No." I whispered as I knelt down looking at the pieces "No. God. Please. No. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

I didn’t felt the tears that were streaming down my face or Lorenzo kneeling down next to me. I just looked at the broken pieces that resembled what I’ve done to Lizzie and our families and felt crestfallen.

"Come here…" Lorenzo whispered, pulling me into a hug and I let out a heartfelt sob. I let it all out. I cried the tears that I tried to hold in for dear life over the past few days. Sobbing and whimpering. Lorenzo only held me close, gently rubbing my back, telling me that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t going to be okay. I made sure of that.

I opened my eyes and looked around, I was curled up on the floor, head on a pillow, blanket covering me, Lorenzo sitting next to me, rubbing my back every now and then. He scrolled through his phone as I slowly sat up, he looked up from his screen. Silently he handed me a glass of water and I downed it in one big gulp. My throat was sore, my head pounding. He poured me another glass which I also gulped down in one go. I rubbed my eyes and groaned when I saw how late it was. I slept for almost 2 hours. I looked around frantically, the pieces of the trophy. Where were they.

"I put everything I could find in a bowl, on the table." Lorenzo said and I looked for said bowl.

"Thanks." I whispered, voice hoarse and I cleared my throat.

"Can we talk about what happened? And I’m not talking about the broken trophy. No, I mean in general? Why was Sissy asking me if you’re alright? She didn’t hear from you since Australia and Lizzie is acting strange as well? Joris said you were awfully quiet these past days in Maranello? Your sim work has seen better results? And now I come here and you look like you haven’t slept in days, your not focused and you break down over a broken trophy? I know Liam made it for you. I know it’s sad, but you cried for almost 30 minutes straight before you fell asleep on the floor… what happened in Australia between you and Lizzie?" Lorenzo looked at me insistently. I leaned back against the sofa, ruffling my hair before I took a deep breath.

"I messed up, Enzo. Big time. I don’t know if she will ever forgive me…" I whispered and he chuckled a little.

"I think you underestimate how much Lizzie loves you… so, what did you do?" he asked and I sighed and then I told him everything. The club, the kiss, the devastation, the showdown at the airport, the alone time back in our hotel room, the family the next morning, the hundreds of unanswered calls and texts. Everything.

"And what are you going to do now?" Lorenzo asked and I shrugged my shoulders.

"Ask her for forgiveness? Ask her to forget what happened? Try to mo…" I began but he slapped the back of my head "Ouch! What the fuck?"

"Wrong answer! You’re not that stupid, come on! Try again!" his voice was firm.

"I don’t know, okay? What am I supposed to do? Maybe I misjudged everything and she never reciprocated my feelings and she’s…" I began again. SMACK. "Seriously if you slap me one more time I’m going to…"

"You’re going to what? Fight me? Good! At least then I know that there is still some fighter mentality left in you! Charles, she loves you! You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. She was scared! You know what it will mean if you guys officially start dating? The media will come for her! Not you! Her! Of course she’s freaking out a little! But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you! You are one of the smartest people I know, for gods sake, she’s one of the smartest people I know… and still you guys are so unbelievably stupid! And blind! Get your shit together! Fight for her!" Lorenzo said and I looked at him for a while, thinking about his words.

"But what if loving her isn’t enough? What if I can’t give her what she deserves? What she needs? What if I can’t protect her from all the shit that will happen?" I almost whispered and he grabbed my arm, making me look at him.

"Isn’t she worth the fight?" he held my gaze.

"She’s worth everything." I choked out.

"Did she ever gave up on you before?" Lorenzo asked and I swallowed hard.

"No. Never…" I whispered, blinking tears away.

"Then you shouldn’t give up on her now." he said and got up "You have a girl and a race to win this weekend."

He was right. I had to fight.

"So you’re telling me that you and Charles kissed. Finally, after what? 10 years of crushing hard on him? And your reaction was to flee the freaking country?" Shima���s look was almost comical, Andrea just shook her head.

"I know you since you’re 5 Lizzie and I remember how you told me the first time about Charles when you were like 7? 8? And even back then I thought that you had a huge crush on him! Why did you run away?" Andrea asked and handed Debbie another apple slice.

"Because if he’s not feeling the same, our friendship is over when he knows that I’m in love with him!" I say and they both groan.

"How can you be so, Debbie cover your ears sweetie, thanks. How can you be so fucking blind? Charles is as much in love with you as you’re with him! He always was in love with you! Since I know him! God even during his stupid relationship with the devils spawn he was so madly in love with you! Why do you think Camille hated you so much?" Shima whisper shouted and Andrea nodded in agreement.

"Are you telling me that you never felt the chemistry between you? The sparks flying like crazy? Do you really think it’s normal for best friends being this close? This touchy? Almost intimate? Haven’t you seen how Charles always looked at you?" Andrea said and I swallowed hard "God, sometimes I’m even jealous of you guys! Simon and I work out perfectly, we’re in sync and happily in love. But next to you guys? Your chemistry? Pffff. We’re not anywhere close to that level of intimacy!"

"Let’s say he feels the same? What if it’s not working out between us? What if we both feel after a month or two that we’re not working out together? Our friendship would be ruined!" I whispered and Andrea sighed.

"Lizzie, you and Charles basically were kinda dating since forever! You just didn’t realise it. You spent most of your free time with him, he was always the first one you called whenever something was happening in your life, he was always the first one you thought about in the morning, the last one you thought about at night, if you’re being honest with yourself! And for him it was most definitely the same!" Andrea said and I looked conflicted.

"I don’t know, okay? I can’t think about this right now! There are other things that come first! The race! Dads birthday! The media and practically half of Social Media still hating on me even after I finished 2 out of 3 races on the podium! As a rookie!" I said and Shima just shook her head, but said nothing. Why won’t they understand why I was scared?

Miami was different, to say the least. It was hot, humid. A lot was going on off track. I arrived on Tuesday with Dad, Sissy and Liam. I had to attend some events from sponsors, do another Audi Challenge with Valtteri and then of course the press conference on Thursday, where I was unfortunately in the same group as Charles. I had successfully managed to avoid him over the past 2 days, we only saw each other at breakfast where I pretended that everything was fine, so that no one got suspicious, but all streaks of luck must end and as I walked into the conference room he looked at me and gestured to the empty seat next to him. I pretended I hadn’t seen it and sat down between Lewis and Seb. In the corner of my eye I could see Charles looking defeated.

"Trouble in paradise?" Seb whispered and I looked at him confused. "Usually you two are like thick as thieves? And today you walk in, separately, not even looking at him and then sitting next to me instead of him?"

"It’s nothing, Seb, really! It’s just that the media is a bit annoying, constantly painting us as the new F1 It-couple. Questioning if he used his connections to get his 'girlfriend' into F1. I just want to race. So yeah we’ll lay low now for a bit." I answered but Seb didn’t look convinced but said nothing. Lewis next to me just chuckled.

"But you’re cute together and his Insta post? Come on! Let the media talk and be happy! Because let’s be honest? Neither of you looks happy right now…" he said and I looked at Charles who sat in his chair, slumped, staring at his hands with blank eyes. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, while checking discreetly Charles‘ Instagram. I recognised the picture immediately, the memories of it playing in the back of my mind. Never let you go. I had to blink away the tears and took a deep breath while putting my phone back in my pocket. Why can’t this press conference be over just now. I had to go. Be alone. Calm down. Think.

"Lizzie! Lizzie! DAMN IT, LIZZIE!" Charles yelled and I flinched "Would you please stop running away from me?"

I slowly turned around and the look on his face nearly broke my heart, pain, inflicted by me.

"Charles, please not here. Not now. I’m already late…" I began but he only shook his head.

"I tried to call you like a thousand times! Texts, What’sApp, I even wrote you in fucking Instagram! But you just ignored it all, so we will talk, now!" he said and his voice was more pleading then demanding.

"There is nothing to talk about, we were both drunk, it happened! It meant nothing. End of the story! And now I go…" I began but Charles just scoffed.

"It happened? Just like that? Ok, let’s blame the alcohol after the race in the club. Fine. But if it really meant nothing, why did you flee the country? In the middle of the night? So headless you forgot almost half of your stuff at the hotel? Including your fucking passport that I had to bring you? And instead of talking to me you boarded a plane, leaving me standing at the airport! With no explanation?" although he had every right to be mad, his words weren’t said in spite, he sounded genuinely hurt.

"You’re right, okay? It was a dick move! I was just… I was confused, scared, because I didn’t wanted it to be awkward between us, you know? I wanted it to be like nothing ever happened. You and I. Our friendship. Back to normal. Back to us." I answered and he only shook his head.

"Back to normal? What normal? To the normal of all the almost kisses over the last years? When one of us pulled away in the last second? Back to all those moments, basically our entire life, when we could feel that this connection between us is so much more than just a normal friendship, that it’s simply lo…" he began as Julie shouted my name from across the paddock.

"I have to go." I whispered and turned to leave as Charles grabbed my wrist.

"If you would only allow yourself to feel it too and not be scared for once…" he said, then he let go of my hand and walked away.

With a pounding heart I walked towards Julie, because we would do our second Audi Challenge, this time "Finish the Lyrics".

I sat with Valtteri in our hospitality, Julie explaining us the rules, Walt set up the camera. I wasn’t really listening but I knew I had to smile through the video and tried my best to not think about what Charles had said, I had to play my part and be the bubbly and energetic Lizzie that they knew, otherwise I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Ok, I’ll play a song and at a random part I will stop and the first of you who hit their buzzer has to finish the lyrics, if you’re correct you’ll get a point, if you’re wrong your opponent gets the point… understood?”Julie explained and I nodded, Valtteri gave a thumbs up. Julie started the first song.

Union's been on strike, he's down on his luck

It's tough, so tough

Gina works the diner all day

Working for her man, she brings home her pay for love. Mmm, for love

She says…

I hit the buzzer just a millisecond before Valtteri.

"We've gotta hold on to what we've got. It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not. We got each other, and that's a lot for love. We'll give it a shot" I looked at Julie and she nods.

"Correct, that’s one point for Lizzie! Just one sentence is enough, you don’t have to sing the half song!" Julie laughed and I looked at her shocked.

"It’s Bon Jovi! YOU HAVE TO SING THE ENTIRE SONG!" I exclaimed and Valtteri laughed and nodded agreeing.

"One sentence is enough! Next song…” Julie said and I sighed.

My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim

I had to stop for the night

There she stood in the doorway

I heard the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself…

I was thinking hard for the the lyrics but before I could react, Valtteri already hit his buzzer.

"This could be Heaven or this could be Hell" he finished the lyrics and Julie clapped her hand.

"And that’s a point for Valtteri!" she said and I laughed.

"I was just thinking of if when you hit the buzzer!"

We played for 6 more rounds and in the end I won with 5:3.

"So guys, that’s it from us! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed it crushing the Finisher!" I said into the camera and Valtteri only laughed and bumped me with his shoulder. Walt stopped the recording and Julie was happy.

"Yup that was good! Thanks you two, you’re done for today!" she said as we both got up and walked out.

"See you tomorrow, Lizzie!" Valtteri said and I nodded and smiled as he walked away. I took out my phone, opened Uber and wanted to order a car, as someone pinched my side and I flinched and turned around to see who it was.

"Fuck! Seb! You can’t do that! I almost had a heart attack!" I said in German and he laughed.

"Sorry! You ok?" Seb asked and I laughed "All good between you and Charles? I saw you after the press conference…"

"It’s nothing, really. We’re having a different opinion on something but nothing serious!" I lied and Seb nodded slowly.

"You want my opinion? What you and Charles have, that’s unique, that’s something not many people find in their life’s… don’t throw it away because of a disagreement!" he said and I looked up at him "Anyways, how do you like Miami so far?"

"Hot? Humid? Too many people? Too many events?" I answered honestly and he nodded.

"So true! But the track itself looks like a lot of fun!" he replied "Come on, I’ll drive you to your hotel." I nodded thankfully and together we left.

"What’s wrong with you and Charles?" Dad asked as I prepared for qualifying "We’re here since Tuesday, you’re having separate rooms and use them both, I only saw him at breakfast! And I haven’t seen you two talk at all?"

"Dad, I think you forget that we’re not teammates anymore? I can’t hang out with him all the time?" I said and rolled my eyes.

"Yeah sure! Try that again. What’s wrong with you and Charles? Did you guys had have a fight?" he asked again and I just groaned.

Right on cue Pete appeared to talk something through with me and I looked at Dad apologetic.

"So, what’s wrong with our two lovebirds?" Sissy asked Dad, but he only shook his head.

"She said nothing, but we both know that’s a lie…" he answered and they watched me as I got in the car.

P9. What a shit result. I just couldn’t get a lap done. I climbed out of the car and Mick stood next to me.

"Tough track…" he said and I only shook my head.

"Not much grip and the downforce? Didn’t expect that." I answered and we walked together to our weighing. I could see Charles getting out of his car and how Carlos and Max congratulated him. I took my receipt from the weighing and followed Mick to Charles. I hugged Max first, nudged Carlos shoulder and then I stood in front of Charles. He looked at me with a smile but I knew it wasn’t a real one, his eyes stayed cold and I saw the hurt in them, but most importantly, he didn’t look me in the eyes, something behind me was his focal point.

"Congrats Charles." I said and hugged him, he only patted my back twice and then let go of me, it felt cold.

"Thanks Lizzie" he said and turned away to get his towel, I left with Mick.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked and I sighed.

"We had a little disagreement, but nothing serious." I replied and Mick nodded.

After the team briefing I gathered my belongings and left the paddock as fast as possible.

I walked straight into Pierre who looked annoyed.

"Lizzie." he said tight lipped, turning to walk away and I scoffed.

"What?" I asked and Pierre only shook his head "Oh come on! You shouldn’t pick a side here!"

"I’m not picking a side Lizzie, but would I do it, it would be his side for sure and you know why! I don’t care what happened before, but you left him at the airport, after he basically saved your ass! You have no idea how he was when he came back to the hotel. You left him! HIM! You did the one thing he’s the most afraid of, being left alone… and then you ignored him! Grow the fuck up, Lizzie and admit what we all already know!" he just said and then walked away.

"That’s unfair!" I almost yelled but he just shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

I almost sprinted to my car and drove back to the hotel.

Back in my room I took a shower and sat down on the bed. We kissed, in the club, both drunk. But what did it mean? It felt good, it felt right. It felt like our bodies just belonged together. It felt like home. But what about our friendship? Could we risk losing it for what exactly? The thought alone, losing him, his family, even his friends, was scaring me enough to tell myself we shouldn’t be doing it. But if it’s so wrong, then why did it felt so right? I laid down, my head spinning. I had to think of Pierre’s words, he was right. I did the one thing Charles was most afraid of. I left him. After I promised him in the past again and again that I would never leave him. And then I left him standing at the airport. Him out of all people. How could I do that? What was wrong with me! I felt tears prickling in my eyes and closed them. Taking a deep breath. Do I love Charles? Yes. Am I in love with Charles? Yes. Do I want him as my boyfriend? Yes. Do I picture a future with him by my side? Yes. Do I want to grow old with him? Have children? A house? A dog? Basically everything just with him? YES. Am I afraid about the consequences if this is nothing more than just a stupid crush? Yes. Is it more than just a stupid crush? Yes. But would the media bash me for dating a fellow driver? Yes. Would they call me all kinds of names? A paddock bunny? Yes. Would they keep up the narrative of me being only here because of Charles? Yes. Would everything I ever fought for be diminished? Yes. Not for the first time in the last weeks I screamed into my pillow. After a while I had exhausted myself and fell asleep.

I woke up. Cold sweat on my face. Breathing shallow. Body all tensed up. Paralysed. It happened again. The first time in months. I tried to calm myself down. But the thoughts all returned and I felt the tears streaming down the sides of my face. Why must it happen before a race? On an unknown track? When my mind was already in shambles over the situation with Charles. How I hurt him and how he must hate me now? Why now? Panic began to rise.

"Lizzie? You’re still in bed? Get up! You overslept!" Dad woke me up, Liam jumping on my bed.

I stirred and sat up slowly, my muscles aching, head pounding. Whole body tense. I felt exhausted and like throwing up as Dad opened the curtains.

"Come on! You need to get ready!" Dad said and I scrambled out of bed. Then I hugged him and kissed his cheek.

"Happy Birthday, Pops! Give me 15 minutes." I said and grabbed an Audi hoodie, some jeans and went straight for the bathroom. I took a deep breath and jumped under the shower, got out and gave my best to look at least decent. I felt like a tank rolled over me. Twice. But I couldn’t show it. Just smile and get it over with.

"Alright, let’s go!" I said, storming out of the bathroom, grabbing my phone, access pass and sunglasses.

"Where’s your Audi kit?" Dad asked and scoffed as he saw my jeans "And why do you young people need to wear jeans that cost a fortune but are destroyed? Make it make sense? It’s less fabric so it should cost less!"

"Dad! I’m not having a discussion about style whatsoever with you now! Not on your birthday where I have to be nice to you! And at the hospitality I will change into a proper team shirt! But for now, let’s go!" and we left my hotel room. As we stepped into the elevator it drove up two floors and as it opened Charles, Joris and Andrea stood in front of us.

"Charlie!" Liam screeched and bolted straight into his arms.

"Hey Bubba! Excited for today?" Charles asked him and Liam nodded and they got into the elevator.

"Happy Birthday, Pops!" Charles said and patted his shoulder and Dad just smiled. I hugged Joris and Andrea who then preceded to congratulate Dad as well. I pressed a smile at Charles, who gave me an awkward side hug and I was more than happy that he had Liam in his arms.

"I see, you’re Lizzie’s supporter number 1 today!" Charles laughed and pointed at my team merch Liam was wearing, cap, shirt and shoes.

"But look, I’m wearing your Ferrari bracelet!" Liam showed Charles the bracelet and Charles’ smile got bigger.

"How lucky we are, to have you as our supporter!" he laughed and the rest laughed with him, all but me. I focused on the floor, feeling dizzy and slightly overwhelmed.

"Alright, let’s cut to the point… what is going on here?" Dad asked bluntly and looked between me and Charles. I sighed and Charles just shook his head.

"What do you mean?" he asked and Andrea just groaned while Joris sighed.

"You two? Since Australia you don’t speak, no Lizzie don’t look at me like that, when you’re on the phone together literally half Ludwigsburg can hear you… since we arrived we only saw you at breakfast… so? What’s going on here?" Dad said and I only shook my head.

"We had a little disagreement. We both are stubborn. End of the story." I said and as the elevator door opened I was the first one to exit, almost sprinting away.

"Little disagreement my ass!" I could hear Dad saying but I stormed through the door.

"You’re late!" JK greeted me as I stepped out the hotel, I looked up at him and he hugged me "Where’s the rest?"

"They’re coming, where’s the car?" I asked as a bright green Audi RS8 parked in front of us "I hate him! I said I don‘t want that car! Everyone will stare at us!" Felix thought it was hilarious to always send me a car in the brightest colours, just to annoy me.

"Ooouuhhh! Nice ride!" Joris said behind me and I groaned.

"You wanna drive it?" I joked and shook my head. "Come on, JK. We gotta go. Dad, your car is coming in… oh there it is."

"I wanna go with Charlie!" Liam whined as Charles sat him down.

"That’s not possible, Liam! Charles will only have space for one person!" Sissy explained as Liam pouted.

"That’s unfair! We haven’t seen Charlie for so long!" he mumbled and my heart broke. Charles took the key from the attendant and threw it to Andrea.

"You guys take the F40, I’ll drive with Liam and Co." he said and Liams eyes began to sparkle "Come on, Bubba!" he took his hand and he got into the van, followed by Sissy and Dad.

"Damn, I understand why everyone always says he’s made out of boyfriend material… he’s the jackpot when it comes to boyfriends… just saying." JK chuckled and got into the car. I watched how the van drove off and Liam waved, I waved back, locking eyes with Charles for a moment, he only smiled sadly and then focused on something Liam said.

"I hate Miami!" I grumbled and got into the car. Headache getting worse by the second, the tension in my body growing. f1 has posted a new story

During the whole drivers parade, the build-up, starting procedure, everything I could feel Charles eyes on me and as I made my way to the back where my car was he walked up to me.

"Lizzie! Lizzie! Listen! What happened happened and we need to talk about it, please stay, I just… Fuck Lizzie! We said we never race when we’re mad at each other! So come on! Please!" he pleaded and walked next to me. I slowly turned and looked at him, his pleading eyes making my knees go wobbly. I nodded slowly.

"Drive safe. Drive fast. Drive to win!" we both said, our mantra for years, we usually said it somewhere more private, but still. We said it before every race in the past.

"Thank you!" he whispered as he pulled me into a tight hug "I’m sorry, ma belle!" he looked at me for a second but my throat felt tight. He just nodded, a tinge of sadness in his eyes, then he walked back to the front of the grid, to his car, waiting on pole for him.

"I’m sorry, too…" I whispered and turned around, preparing myself.

"Radio check." Pete said but I didn’t listen, I thought about what Charles said, what happened happened and we needed to talk about it. Do we? And why do I feel so hot out of the blue?

"Lizzie? Radio check?" Pete again, no reaction from me, but what if we talk about it but both want a different solution or outcome? What outcome do I want? Starting to date Charles would be the end of my career. No one would take me serious anymore? I would be a paddock bunny. I would confirm all their theories, that I only got into F1 because I slept with someone important. But shouldn’t that be someone from F1 then? And why does my headache got even worse although I took a painkiller.

"Lizzie!" Matt waved his hands in front of my visor and I looked up "Something wrong with the radio?" I blinked, feeling sweaty and dizzy.

"I don’t know." I pressed the radio button "Radio check."

"Loud and clear. Thanks." Pete answered.

"Copy." I took a deep breath, feeling slightly nauseous. Focus, Lizzie! Damn it! Come on!

Formation Lap. Okay. It’s manageable.

One last deep breath. Light’s out. I accelerated, overtaking Norris and Russell right at the start, who touched wheels, creating a gap for me. I felt a little bump as I excited turn 3 and pushed the throttle as much as possible.

"Damage?" I asked.

"Negative. P7. Good start."

The next 3 laps I battled almost in every corner with Seb, I felt the exhaustion seeping through my bones, making it harder to pass him. Then he finally left enough space for me to slip through, but in the next corner he almost caught me again but I hit the apex perfectly and could manage to put a bigger gap between us.

"Hamilton in front. 1.4 seconds ahead."

"Who’s faster?"

"Currently you, but only slightly."

5 more laps and I closed the gap to Hamilton, but at this point I straight up felt like I would faint any moment. I tried my best to focus and somehow managed to pass Hamilton. But the tension in my muscles made it harder and harder to grip the steering wheel and to held my head up through the g-forces.

"Perez ahead. You have DRS. Go."

Pete. Somethings wrong. I said, but nothing happened. Pete! I think I have to stop. No words were leaving my mouth.

Perez didn’t leave much space and as I wanted to brake and leave him the space he wasn’t leaving me, I was unfocused for a second. Right at the entrance of the corner our front tires touched and I spun out. I didn’t even tried to brake or save the car by counter steering. I just closed my eyes and waited for the impact. Right at this moment I felt remorse, not having talked with Charles about us. Now it was too late anyways.

I stirred around, opening my eyes.

"Charles? What are you doing here? Dad’s outside…" I began but Charles only shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, still in his racing suit.

"I can’t do this anymore, Lizzie. I’m tired of it… tired of pretending that we’re just friends when I’ve loved you all my life!" his voice falters for a moment "God, I’m so in love with you, Lizzie! It’s like from the moment I’ve met you, you nestled yourself inside of my brain, attached yourself to my heart, my soul… and I can never ever let go of you and I don’t want to! Because my whole being, my thoughts, my everything, is consumed by you!" he scoots closer, cradling my face between his hands, his voice sounds almost broken as he continued "And I can’t sleep, I can’t breath, I can’t eat… I can’t function properly anymore because all I can think about is you! Lizzie, I love you!" he’s so close now that I can feel his hot breath on the tip of my nose, I could see the tiny freckles on his nose, the little speckles of gold in his eyes "And after today, after I almost lost you. Again. Please! Mon amour, please say yes…"

"Say yes to what?" I whispered and he came even closer, our lips almost touching.

"To me. To us." he whispered back, his gaze wandered down to my lips "To our life together. Say yes and I’ll be yours, even though I always was." I felt my insides flutter, the butterflies going crazy, the heat rising to my cheeks.

"But what if…" I began but he pressed his lips onto mine and I melted. Every resolve I had crumbled. The kiss was tender, sweet, promising. I felt like a weight lifted off of my shoulders. My whole body was tingling, heating up. My heart was beating out of my chest. It felt like this was where I belonged. Where Charles belonged. This was home. After what felt like an eternity I opened my eyes again, Charles still as close as before, smiling his most beautiful smile, dimples dimpling.

"I love you, cara mia!" he said it with so much love and conviction that I blushed even harder.

I took a deep breath. All my emotions boiling over, but it was now or never.

"I love you too, Charles, like really… but I’m so scared!" I said with a shaky voice and closed my eyes. He only pressed his forehead against mine and paused for a minute.

"Don’t be, nothing will change!" he answered and I just nodded slowly "What’s going on inside of your pretty head?”

"Can we keep this, for now, between us?" I asked quietly and looked down at my hands in my lap.

"Hey, look at me, Lizzie." he whispered and gently grabbed my chin, lifting my face up to look at him "We do this the way you want it to! It’s just you and me! Well and Pops…" he says softly and I looked at him confused.

"Dad?" I asked nervously.

"How do you think I got in here? As soon as the podium ceremony was done, I left and got here. He spoke with the nurse and then he told me to finally make my move…" Charles said and I laughed.

"A move you made." I smiled as he leaned in and kissed me again, then he hugged me and inhaled deeply.

"This is what I always wanted… just you and me…" he whispered.

"Against the world." I continued and Charles chuckled and sat up, then he took my hands in his.

"Forever and always!" he said and I smiled.

The door opened quietly and Dad looked inside.

"The Doctors want to see you, Lizzie." he said and I nodded, Charles stood up but I grabbed his hand.

"I’m not leaving. I’m just making space." he chuckled and sat down in the chair next to my bed as the doctors walked in.

"How are you, Lizzie?" the brunette one said.

"I’m okay, just a bit tired." I answered honestly.

"Any pain?" he asked.

"A little headache and my body in general feels a bit tense." I answered and he nodded.

"You have a slight whiplash, nothing to bad. And your body will feel tense for a couple of days and then it should be fine, as well as the whiplash. No work-outs, lots of water and rest and you should be good to go in a couple of days." he said and I looked at him with wide eyes "Oh! No you can leave tomorrow I meant in a week you’re good to go back to racing."

"Thanks, Doc." I said relieved and he nods.

"I’ll prescribe you some pain killers and something that helps you sleeping. Pain killers whenever the pain get’s too much but three are the maximum a day. Sleeping pill around 30 min before you go to bed, if needed." he explained and I nodded "I’ll leave you to rest. Mr. Leclerc, visiting hours ended 30 minutes ago. Only family members are allowed to stay."

"I’m not leaving her side." Charles said immediately and Dad chuckled.

"It’s alright Doc, he stays and I’m leaving." he said and the doctors nodded.

"Alright. If you need anything, push the call button." a nurse replied and with that they left.

"Andrea will be here any minute, bringing you new clothes. Get some rest. Both of you!" Dad said and kissed my forehead and squeezed Charles shoulder as it knocked on the door and Andrea walked in with Charles’ backpack.

"Oh Lizzie! My pretty girl, how are you?" he asked in Italian and handed Charles his backpack.

"I’m okay, thanks Andrea!" I answered in Italian as well and Andrea kissed both my cheeks, then he hugged Charles and whispered something to him, Charles only nodded.

"Rest up. Both of you!" he said and with that he left the room together with Dad.

"You can take a shower in there, if you want." I said and nodded my head in the direction of the attached bathroom, Charles looked hesitant for a moment "I’ll still be here when you come back!” I reassured him and he nodded and left with the backpack.

I scrolled through my phone as I came upon a post from Sky about the post race press conference, which Charles wasn’t attending, he left almost straight after the podium procedure. Apparently the FIA was considering to fine him. Why didn’t he just wait for after the press conference before he came in here? I didn’t want him in any kind of trouble because of me. Reading the comments was, as always, not a good idea. Where most people agreed that it was sweet from Charles to immediately leave and check on me, some people called him a love sick puppy and he should be fined for leaving. Others asking how I made it even into F1, spinning out like that. If I would be honest, the people would think differently. But I won’t tell anyone besides JK and Dr. Lindner what happened today. And how we can prevent it from happening again.

"About what are you thinking that hard?" Charles soft voice made me flinch. He stood in the doorframe, wearing grey sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"The FIA thinks about fining you… you should’ve stayed for the press conference, Charles! I don’t want you to have any trouble because of me!" I said quietly but he only shook his head, switched the light in the bathroom off and walked over to me.

"If it was for me, I would’ve left straight after I got out of my car. I wasn’t even celebrating. I just wanted to see you. That was my priority!" he whispered and took my hand in his and kissed it. He then pulled the armchair close to the bed and I looked at him curiously.

"And what are you doing?" I asked and he looked up.

"I’m making myself a little comfortable." he answered and grabbed the stool but I chuckled.

"Oh no, you’re not sleeping in an armchair and a stool! You have two options! You’re sleeping on that sofa, or you’re sleeping with me in the bed, there’s enough space. So, what will it be Leclerc?" I said and Charles looked over at the sofa that was at the other side of the room, then he looked at the bed and I scooted over to make him space.

"Okay, but you’re telling me when it gets uncomfortable!" he said and climbed in next to me. Then he laid on his side and I leaned into him a little, his arm under my head, legs intertwined. "I could get used to this!" he kissed my temple and I giggled.

"It’s not the first time that we’re sharing a bed!" I said and Charles nodded.

"But it’s the first time after we both… umm… confessed our feelings!" he answered and I yawned a little "And now sleep! You need rest!" He kissed my temple again and switched the light off.

"Yeah I need to be fit for DisneyWorld. We’re meeting Mum, Marcus, Lisa and Benji there tomorrow. For dads birthday, but also for the kids… you want to come with us? I know it’s a bit last minute but…" I began but Charles laughed only.

"Liam invited me already, I’m coming with you!" he said and I smiled.

"He did? Sneaky little lad!" I laughed "Oh and before I forget it, Daniel and Isaac are also tagging along."

"Daniel and Isaac? As in Daniel Ricciardo and his nephew Isaac?" he asked and I nodded "How did that happen?"

"They bumped into Sissy and Liam on Friday, started talking and Liam invited them earlier today as well… and Daniel was more than happy to agree…" I chuckled.

"What am I missing?" he asked.

"Oh… you’ll see…" I yawned and cuddled closer into him.

————————————————————————

Little Note:

Aaaand chapter 15 is out - Lizzie and Charles made it! THEY FINALLY MADE IT… from now on it will be fluffier than fluffy, right?! 👀👀👀

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

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All the images I’m using are from Google, Pinterest and Instagram (or self made).

[outcastpack]

Seven sentance Sunday.

Tagged by @transdunbar

I was working on big bang a lil (and trying not to hate everything I wrote) but that's a secret, so here's yet another something new coz my mind hates me

The only sound's that filled the training ground was the metallic clash of metal on metal and grunts. Theo barley managed to parry Byleth's strike as the mercenary turned professor refused to give him any ground to work with.

It was exactly what he had asked for when he had approached the raven haired girl to spar.

One minute, he was upright, slashing the blade at Byleth's exposed side and the next he was on the ground with the steel blade trained on his throat.

"Submit." The professors monotone voice whispered into the night, void of any emotion like it normally was.

Theo could only grit his teeth, dropping his own blade next to him and letting - no forcing the fight leave his body.

"You're improving considerably well." The professor said, helping Theo up off the ground. "That's enough for one night. We can resume tomorrow night."

"Still haven't been able to beat you." Theo muttered, returning the training swords to the rack on the wall. Byleth said nothing, only holding the training ground's gate open for Theo to slip through.

It was to make sure Theo actually left to sleep and didn't try staying later to train on a dummy instead.

It was all he was good for now. He was a blade to be pointed at an enemy and had nothing else to do but hone his skills again and again.

"There are still some-" A giggle coming from an alleyway silenced whatever Byleth was about to say.

Theo's fists clenched as a familiar voice was then heard too. Even the raven haired girl next to him sighed at the voice.

"Come on baby, I-" His legs moved before he even realised whirling aroujd the corner into the alley way

Just as expected, Liam stood barricading yet another nameless girl against the wall of the alley - a completely different one to the girl, Hayden and Theo had caught him with two days ago.

"Are you incapable of doing anything but get your dick wet." Theo growled into the open air, startling the two bodies apart, his nails dug into his skin as Liam didn't even look embarrassed to have been caught.

Liam's uniform shirt was zipped open, and his chest visible, belt buckle undone, and marks littered his exposed skin.

He didn't even wait to hear what excuse or bullshit left Liam’s mouth this time, whirling around and storming in the direction of his dorm.

It was only reinforcing what he already knew. The Liam Dunbar that he had grown up with was dead.

No pressure tags - @chasing-chimeras @wolfboy88 @equallyloyalandlethal @de-constructmybones

[rosesrflo]

hiya I wanna request some william comfort fic bc I had a bad day today but where I can find your rules? I'm currently using tumblr app, so I cannot find it

Feat; William James Moriarty x gn!reader (MTP). Genre; fluff, comfort

Prompt; ❛❛I’ll hold you tight.❞ Warnings; bad days, ugly crying/lh

Desc; IN WHICH William is always the first to pick you up on your worst days, not only is he a great crime consultant - he’s also an excellent comforter.

A/N; heyy lovely! Sorry i’m a bit late with this request, but i do hope you’re feeling better now - the reason you couldn’t find my rules is bc I haven’t made them yet. Mostly bc I’m using mobile + this blog is quite new - but I’m working on it atm ❤️ thank you and enjoy!

We all have bad days.

And in all his genius, William certainly isn’t a stranger to them.

In fact, most of his days used to be plagued with storm clouds, with no sunshine or light until you stumbled into his life.

You were a gift, your very presence lifted him from the darkest depths, you were undeserved.

Back then, he had realised how angelic you were - Liam just knew that you were too good for him so he tried to scare you off by showing you his intentions, his thoughts, he trusted you with the worst of his plans.

Yet, you didn’t bat an eye. Only acknowledging each and every part of him, you saw him for who he was and began mending his heart because you love him.

It’s a WIP

William can still feel your warmth encasing him in a hug - that December night, the first time you ever saw him cry. You held him close, stroking his hair and kissed his head like a mother would. You filled that empty void in his chest.

That’s why he wants to do the same for you, Will believes he is forever in your debt.

And when you cry, are upset, have a bad day, he’ll hold you tight; just as you did him.

Also because you are literally the last person in the world that should go through any type of pain.

The corners of your lips downturned as you sat in the living room, cross legged with a cup of cold tea, your hands trembled, biting frost bite seeped into your bones and reached the depths of your soul. You felt heavy in sadness. No thoughts except crystal teardrops cascading down your frowning face.

There was no particular reason for the gloomy mood.

Today just so happened to be an off day, one where no matter what you did to escape it, you couldn’t. Your tea was near frozen over as cold, December nights bled into the estate. You were alone, shivering and crying with no one to confide in.

They’d all gone out to celebrate the closing in Christmas, maybe you should’ve joined them but it was far too late now.

What would they say if they saw you like this?

In your moment of pondering, you didn’t notice a familiar criminal mastermind standing behind you, his arms crossed and a thinking expression plastered on his face. William was confused as to why you hadn’t gone out with the rest of the organization. “(y/n)? I thought you were celebrating with the others.”

You froze in the spot, why was he here? In order to not reveal your distraught state to him, you stayed still without turning around to face him, “So did I.” Nonchalantly reaching for the cup of tea, you shivered upon the sudden coldness against your hand.

“I suppose we’re both in the same boat,” He smiled passively, realizing you were both alone together, “but I’d rather you tell me why you’re upset first.” Liam tapped two fingers on his other arm in anticipation.

A weak laugh echoed across the room, you being the source of it; even though he called your unsaid bluffs, you hadn’t flinched once, you didn’t take William an oblivious man, he was smart and easily figured you out, “I don’t know.”

After your empty chucking fit, you whispered a hoarse reply, nothing but honesty in your disappointed tone. He simply observed your manic attitude, not moving an inch, “I see.”

Staring down at your upturned hands, you felt dissatisfied, unhappy for showing yourself in this depressing light, the one part Will hadn’t seen yet. He was never supposed to see you like this, you were an utter mess today and what’s worse is that he saw it.

You felt the feeling before the sting of your hand as you slapped yourself lightly, “(y/n)-“ William jumped to action immediately, he rushed in front of you in case you dealt anymore harm to yourself. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, I shouldn’t be crying over…something so simple.”

“Cry all you need to, although I despise seeing you distressed - it’s quite normal and let me tell you a secret-..” He lent to your face, cupping his hand near your ear to whisper something, “..-Sometimes, even I cry.” You giggled slightly at his jest, not noticing that this was his way of cheering you up.

William let a sly grin slide on his lips, “Now that’s the smile I love.” He linked your hands together, landing an intimate peck on your lips, his eyes softened at your delighted face; you were as beautiful as ever, especially when you were happy. He felt some sort of proudness at achieving this.

No one knew you like William.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Thirty One}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

"Y/n....Y/n....Wake up, my child."

Whoever was speaking, sounded as if there were multiple people speaking at once. However, instead of it being overwhelming or annoying, it was soft and soothing. I slowly open my eyes, only to wince at the brightness around me.

I open them fully after they adjusted for a moment, and all I saw was nothing but white. An endless white void. 

"Where...am I?" I ask, barely above a whisper. 

"Purgatory, my child." 

I whip around to see who talking, but there was no one there. Anywhere I looked, was nothing but the void. What was this place? Why am I...here...Oh. That's right...

I died.

I guess, this is where you end up when you die again. Purgatory, was it? 

"Who's there?" I call out. And just like that, it appeared.

"We meet again, Y/n." 

God. Before me, looking down with a kind smile, was God. 

Suddenly, I felt so small. God's eyes, multiple eyes, looked into my own as God spoke. 

"I assume you have questions for me?"

I furrow my brows slightly. "I do." God hums. "I have answers." It tells me. I'd hope so. Finally, after all this time spent wondering. I would finally have my answer. 

"Why did you cast me out? What had I done to deserve that?" I asked. "I thought I was good, that I had earned my place in heaven. I...I have memories of heaven, it's faint, but I remember being there. So why?"

God's smile weakened. "I will tell you. Though, I am uncertain you will like or accept the answer." 

"Please. Just tell me..." I beg.

God paused for a moment before answering. "You killed a human."

"I...What?" I mumble. "I killed a human? You mean...while I was alive? There's no way! I never did that!" God shook it's head. "You killed a human, after you were welcomed into heaven." God began to explain. 

"You see, every human has a guardian angel. Those angels are granted access to Earth, to watch over and guide the humans to the path of good. Not every angel is successful, however. They will try their hardest to guide their humans, but it can not be helped when the human chooses to do evil deeds. What makes this particularly difficult for some of our angels, is that no guardian angel is to touch or speak to their chosen human directly." God continues. 

"Guardian angels can protect them from a distance, saving them from small or even life threatening accidents. But they can only do what is within their own power. If a human is to die, and an angel can not save them, try as they might, then it is simply their time. And judgement will await them." God smiles upon me. 

"I had chosen you to be one of those angels, Y/n." It's smile disappeared with what it said next. "But you had broken the most important rule, you made direct contact with your human...and killed him."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was a guardian angel at one point? And I killed someone when I was suppose to be protecting them?

"But...But why would I do that?" I ask desperately. "I feel it would be best, if I showed you." God said, lowering it's hand down to me. It placed the tip of it's finger gently on my head, after a few seconds a small light grew from the spot it touched me.

And just like that...it all came back to me.

It pained me to see it happening to someone else. The hatred, the unhealthy love, and the abuse acted on one's partner. Though, that love was not right, it never was. 

This...was not love.

The rough palm against a bruised face, pained cries, the yelling back and forth, and the false remorse...

It all felt so fresh in my mind. And to see it happening over and over, no matter how hard I tried to prevent it...to make this man see the results of his disgusting actions...it would never stop.

It never will. He never will stop. The cycle won't ever end. 

And it all felt so terribly familiar. He never stopped. The pain never stopped. 

So I'll make it stop...

There was a point where all I could see was red, and Liam's face...and for a while, it felt as if he were really there...

Finally, finally at my mercy for once.

It all went away as I heard her screams. The horror on her face at the sight of her husband's corpse impaled by my spear, and his blood on my face. 

But I felt nothing. No remorse, no regret, no disgust for my actions. No satisfaction. Just emptiness.

And God knew it too, how I felt. How I did not regret what I had done. And then in a flash, everything I knew, was gone.

When the void returned, I was left in shock. Unable to speak, or even form a single thought. I was just...speechless. God broke my trance after a while. 

"Do you see now, why I had to do what I did?" It asks. I blinked before nodding my head. "I do..."

"Y/n." God began. "Now that you remember, do you still feel no remorse for what you've done? If you do, I will grant you entrance into Heaven once more. Your time in Hell, it was slowly corrupting you, I see that now." God says while looking at my wings, that were now missing more than a few feathers.

I took the time to think about it. If given the chance, to be placed back in that same situation, would I have done it again? 

"God, I don't know if you keep up with the ones who are sent to Hell. So, I can't say if you know what I've been up to while I was down there but...I can't leave behind the life I made. I wasn't there long, but in that time, I've made friends I care about very much. I even found love down there, real love, believe it or not. And...It'd kill me to leave him behind. I would never be truly happy without him or my friends. Do you understand what I'm getting at?" I smile, not faltering with my words.

I meant all of it. I would not leave it all behind for an eternity without a single one of them. Especially Alastor...

God looked at me silently before letting out a short hum. "I do."  God snapped it's fingers, and just like that I was plunged into darkness. 

"I wish you luck, Y/n..."

I inhaled deeply and exhaled a few times, while the world around me started to form normally once more. My breathing started to stabilize as my vision adjusted. I was on the floor by a set of stairs. I turn onto my side with a groan before sitting up. To my surprise, my back felt lighter than before. I turn my head as far as I could to look behind me.

My wings were gone...

I guess I wasn't entirely surprised by that. I just refused to return to Heaven after all. So I didn't need angel wings anymore.

 I turn my attention to across the room, eyes widening at what I saw.

Alastor, his body still as it laid on the ground. I never moved faster in my life, I picked myself up and ran to his side. "Alastor! Alastor, wake up!" I shake him slightly. "Alastor!" I cried when he did not respond. The only relief I felt was from the faint breath he still drew. I wasted no time, picking him up and bringing him up the stairs. 

It rough, as I was not use to carrying another person, but I made it to our bedroom eventually. I laid him down and stripped away his coat and shirt. The wounds he once bared were slowly beginning to heal, another sigh of relief left me. 

I ran to the bathroom and wet some rags before hurrying back and applying pressure to the worst of the open wounds. It was only then, did I notice something that should have stuck out like a sore thumb at first.

My hands...I move my right close to my face to examine it. It wasn't just my hands, but arms, my legs, my entire body, was a scarlet red. There were claws at the tips of my fingers. I would have like to know what I looked like in full, but there were more important things at hand right now. 

I stay by Alastor's side for the next few hours, waiting for him to wake up. And I would not leave him until I know he's alright.

Tags-

@krak-jj

@martinys-world

@cherry-cola-100

@wonderlandangelsposts

[fromaliminalspace]

Lewis Carroll "Through the Looking Glass"

I have a disorder that makes me want to headcanon every nonhuman character with the ability to purr regardless if it makes sense for their kind or not. It's called being right. With enough research i could justify a tree purring if i wanted to

[acteur-dramatique]

Morning Armor

I wake to the dull ache,

head heavy from last night's haze,

the weight of beer still think in my veins,

and sleep that barely brushed my eyes.

The alarm is a cruel echo,

a reminder that today demands my presence,

though my body and mind protest,

each movement slow, reluctant,

a silent rebellion against the morning.

I step into the shower,

the water too cold, then too hot,

a jolt that fails to wake me,

fails to rinse away the heaviness that clings

like a shadow I cannot shake.

I scrub my skin, brush my teeth,

each task a ritual I perform without thought,

a mask I pull on,

layer by layer,

until I am ready to face the world.

On the highway, I press the gas,

speeding through miles of asphalt,

the world blurring past,

but all I want is to escape the day,

to reach its end before it has even begun.

I grip the wheel tighter,

my fingers cold, my knuckles white,

as if holding on could somehow

make it all go faster.

The clinic looms ahead,

its walls as familiar as my own heartbeat,

a place where I am expected to be more

than I feel capable of being.

I sit down at my desk,

staring at the screen with empty eyes,

unmotivated, unready,

dreading the parades of faces

the questions, the small talk,

the constant demand for cheer

I do not possess.

And before I step into the team room,

I pause, take a breath,

and force the corners of my mouth up,

a plastered smile that feels foreign on my face,

a shield against the world's gaze,

hoping they do not see the cracks,

the fault lines running beneath the surface,

the pain I carry from exam room to exam room.

Because of Kyle,

whose kindness stings in its unreachability,

because of Samuel,

whose silence pressed down like a weight,

because of Troy,

whose charm was a mask for betrayal,

because of Liam,

whose laughter still echoes, mocking my trust.

I carry them all inside me,

an army of ghosts I cannot exorcise,

each one a would that refuses to heal,

each one a whisper that haunts my mind

in moments of quiet, in moments of weakness.

But today, like every day,

I step into the light of the team room,

smile in place, voice steady,

and I become the version of myself they expect --

pleasant, approachable, whole.

They cannot see the hollow,

the void I am holding together with will alone,

and as long as they do not look too close,

perhaps I can make it through

another day, another mask,

another piece of armor forged

from the fragments of my own broken heart.

[deadly-whispers]

Welcome to the blog!

First, we'll lay some ground rules.

- There will be no nsfw here. Any asks sent to us with that type of content will be swiftly deleted.

- No proshipping, racism, homophobia, or anything of the sort. That behavior will earn you a spot on our blocked pages list very quickly.

- Please, specify who you are speaking to.

- Feel free to drop an ask with an oc!! We'd love to interact with your blorbos!

- (Note) If we're out of character answering you or commenting on something, there will be something to let you know that, and who it is. Similarly, if more than one character is speaking in response to your ask, we'll color code to the best of our ability to make it clear who's who.

Got it? Great! Now to the basics of our au.

- Deadly Whispers (DW) is a FNAF SB roleplay AU. This blog will let you all interact with our characters and get a fun look at what's been going on with them!

- Pairings: In DW we have paired Bonnie and Monty (gatorbun), and Roxanne and Chica (roxica).

- There are oc character here that are important! Check them out down under the cut for more information.

- The animatronics very much have a family dynamic going on. Noticeably, or at least what we've put a name to, are these: Freddy acts like an uncle to Monty, and Foxy was like a father to Roxy.

-There are two gods in this known universe. The Watchers, Narrator and Observer, cower before them. Not much is known about them aside from their designations… Player 1, and Player 2.

- Here's who's playing which character, and also who you'll be speaking to when you're talking to a character!

@voids-call :

• Chica, Montgomery, Foxy, Sun, Finley, Melody, William, Micheal, Crown, Liam, Vanessa, Vanny, James, Harper & Gregory

@crikkit-kitterton :

• Freddy, Bonnie, Roxanne, Moon, Ringo, Cameron, Mark, Nikita, Marco & Jeff

Human Cast

Animatronic Cast

[fromaliminalspace]

oh, a train can absolutely be an eldritch horror if the train in question is from 'The Bifrost Incident' by The Mechanisms. Norse mythology and space lesbians are also there and make everything even better

thinking abt how fucked up steam engine boiler explosions can look. theyre just pipes under there

gives me the idea of a ghost/monster engine that looks normal, albeit a bit battered, only to swing their smokebox door open and a myriad of pipes come bursting out like fucked up tentacles

[fromaliminalspace]

[lizzybeth1986]

Legacies

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 3

Pairing: None - mostly Liam and Hakim bonding, mentions of Hakim and Constantine's friendship

Rating: G

Word Count: 4, 813 words

Summary: In the aftermath of his father's death, Liam struggles with the lionizing of Constantine's rule, and wonders at the legacy he wants to leave behind. Answers emerge from an unlikely source.

Tagging @kingliamappreciationweek and @sazanes for KLAW Day 2: Historian theme, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW, and @aprilchallenge for the prompt "Garden".

Music: "Father to Son" by Queen.

Chapter 1: The Statues

(Faceclaims:

King Liam - Daniel Henney

Hakim Thorne: M’Barek Bouhchichi)

There is a gaping emptiness in Liam's chest, from the minute his father died right before his eyes. No overwhelming grief, no soul-ripping pain, not even anger. Just a void where a beating heart should be.

Father is lying in state now at the Queen Kendra Hall - not too far from Bossina Cathedral - where he will remain for the next twelve days. Liam almost hates himself for having far clearer memories of his father's cleaned, lavishly-decorated (in every medal he'd recieved since the age of 18) corpse, than of the moment he died - before reminding himself that at least with Father he remembers something. With Mum he doesn't even have that.

Liam keeps his eyes down, his head bent and his face studiously blank as the current crowd of mourners disperse, making way for more. The Vigil of the Princes is only twenty minutes...but in that time he can see, from the corner of his eye, a wide range of people come and go - most of them from the military and the coastal communities. As Liam had suspected, the people who benefited most from Father's rule were the most invested in soaking in that one last glimpse of him.

Leo is at the other end of Father's casket, also dressed in military garb, the torchlight from the walls making both his and Liam's medals sparkle. Liam cannot see his elder brother now but he knows, instinctively, that the struggle on his face to hold himself together must show. In the past this struggle had baffled him. There had been times when he pitied Leo his inability to uphold the family propensity towards being stoic. Over the years there have been times he was grateful Leo didn't have to worry about the consequences of his emotions showing on his face anymore.

But not today. Today, Liam envies his brother for the luxury of feeling.

Five minutes before Bastien - from his vantage point on one of the smaller balconies - taps his staff five times to signal the end of their vigil. A brief flash of Father in his last seconds blazes behind Liam's closed eyes, before disintegrating into an image of his gnarled, faintly-discoloured hands this morning. Clutching a book in his right hand, his left barely touching a blue flower placed on his chest.

Every member of the royal family is buried with at least 3 items that were either close to their hearts, or that acted as symbols for their reign. Father was one of the... dubiously fortunate few in recent times, who could draw up a will that included this (and other) details: a fresh blue Aster - their national blossom - plucked the day they prepared his casket, a small decanter of the calvados that had been made almost 62 years ago in celebration of his birth, and a copy of An Insighte Into The Great Apple War of 1244 by Artemisia Fierro and Sofonisba Vescovi, two scholars of the Renaissance who had once held connections to Cordonian nobility.

Liam takes in a deep breath as memories of his father's love for that book flood him. It had been only the second tome ever written on one of the last and most successful war campaigns in Cordonia, he'd whispered almost conspirationally to Liam once, and was considered the better-researched text of the two.

Father had always had a fascination with studying past wars. Almost as if to gear himself up for some sort of battle.

Was any of that ever worth it? Liam wants to ask his father one last time. The fear, the paranoia, the frowns that deepened almost to permanence on his skin in his final years, the forever impulse to look over his shoulder for the knife in his back...did any of it do any of them any good in the end??

As if in answer to his questions, Bastien's staff hits the floor five times. Without even looking around, Liam's footsteps move on instinct alone towards the area where Esther stands patiently with the Queen Mother, waiting. Her eyes are sheilded by the half-veil from her black box-hat, and the rest of her face is the very portrait of serenity. But as she places a hand over the crook of his elbow, he notices how they tremble.

They both nod in Mother's direction, their hearts turning over at the sight of her pale, pinched face, and move away.

This week cannot possibly have been easy for Esther. All week she has had to give interviews - as the last person outside of the King Father's family to speak to him before he died. All week the press has been badgering her to wear the medallion he had bequeathed to her, if only in his honour. She has been listening to every kind word, every eulogy, every speech with studied calm - only the rise-and-fall movement in her throat giving her away.

Brilliant strategist. Ruthless towards his enemies and devoted to his people. A truth pioneer of his times. The lifeblood of this land, a lion among men. A man who devoted his life in pursuit of ensuring the safety of all under his reign.

Liam's eyes were trained towards the dias when that speech was being given. On his arm, the light sting of Esther's manicured nails digging into his flesh grew sharper. He pressed his lips together and bore the pain, shaking his head and smiling weakly as she fretted over the half-moons left behind on his hand an hour later. It's nothing.

And that isn't a lie.

The truth of her feelings towards the father he had once loved and hero-worshipped...the father he still catches himself admiring sometimes...settles on Liam's chest like an unbearable weight. It is one he is prepared to carry - their whole lives if need be. Because as much as it hurts him to see the woman he loves lose all respect for his childhood hero, it is nothing compared to the hours and hours she has spent sitting through a thousand emotional tributes to the man who had so coldly planned such a complete violation of her space. A space that, as a foreigner in King Constantine's land, she had trusted him to keep safe for her...at the very least.

As he turns away from Esther to watch The Vigil of The Great Houses - their observance half the time of the Princes' - Liam steals a glance towards Olivia, the ruby on her brooch the only spot of colour against her black attire and pale visage. Her countenance is solemn until the moment her eyes rest on her aunt - the sight of the woman making her lock her jaw in such defiance that he can almost hear the message she is sending.

I am the Duchess of Lythikos. I will make sure we do our duty and pay our respects to the man who was once our king. Yes, auntie, Lythikos' king. Fight me.

Standing a few feet away is Bertrand, his senses strangely attuned nowadays to the cries of babies and toddlers...the mental calculations of what his little son sounds like now writ large on his face.

The Duchesses Emmeline and Adeleide, of Portavira and Krona respectively, fold their hands in front and bow their heads solemnly. Liam supposes he can only be grateful that Countess Madeleine's mother chose the sheer dreariness of sobriety today rather than her usually unflappable high spirits; for besides a few furtive glances in her determinedly stoic daughter's direction she shows nothing but a muted (but perhaps not entirely sincere) sorrow.

But it is the Duke of Castelserraillan - standing directly in line with Liam's field of vision - that captures Liam's attention. Jaw set, eyes dark and glittering, his face such a tapestry of restrained grief and resignation that Liam is certain he juat imagined the flicker of bleak anger in the older man's eyes.

The last time he had seen Duke Hakim was at the Costume Gala. Amid the festivities, Liam spotted him with Father, their heads leaning slightly in each other's direction, as if exchanging long-repressed confidences...the Duke on occasion placing a hand on Father's arm with a familiarity that Liam had only heard of secondhand. There was even a point in the conversation where Duke Hakim looked directly at his father, eyebrows raised, a subdued delight glimmering in their dark depths.

Esther would inform him later on that the two had fought over Father's repeated snubs and Duke Hakim's fraying patience at the beginning of the ball, but patched up in seconds.

Looking at Duke Hakim's face now, he wonders which sentiment haunts the older man the most - relief over that one second chance they got, or an unhealed hurt. Unhealed hurt over the the fact that King Constantine didn't have a chance to make good on the promises he'd broken, long ago.

Promises, perhaps, that the Duke may not even be sure his best friend intended to keep.

--

For as long as Liam can remember, he has always associated the moonlight with the Capitol Square. Walks around the city were a luxury the little prince could ill-afford with his Father's packed schedule. When these little excursions did happen, they happened at night, in the light of the moon and the street lamps, the air fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. He would take Liam alone. Mum would often find reasons to demur...although in later years Liam suspected she made them up so her husband and youngest son would have their own time together to spend.

He would look up at the strong, chiseled features of his father's beloved face, admiring the way the moonlight emphasized its sharp, decisive angles. Father loved to show strength and control, even on a casual outing with his children. His was a jawline that seemed carved out of marble, softened only by full lips that dazzled when he offered the rare smile. A smile Liam saw most often when they stood at the Capitol Square.

Look at these statues, young man. Father would say, his hand gesturing vaguely towards the sword on famed Captain Guard Valentina Greaves raised left hand. At the age of 5 the statues - with their weapons and their fierce gazes - terrified him, at age 12 they intimidated him. Look at these faces, look at the resolve in them. To better their country. To fight for it. To keep it safe. Cordonia has always depended on the best of us to take her forward into the future - and these indeed represent the best of us.

He hasn't come here since his Coronation. Indeed - one could always put it down to the amount of travelling the new King had to undertake since...but Liam knows better. He has been hesitant to visit this place since the night he had confronted his father on his hospital bed in Shanghai.

Tonight is different. Tonight he needs answers. Tonight he needs to understand, for himself, if in refusing to play in the shadow of his father he is making a mistake - or circumventing another tragedy.

Both he and his future Queen have been sitting through three days straight of eulogies. Of stump speeches that have been lightly modified to suit the gravity of the moment, of stories and anecdotes that lionized and whitewashed the man King Constantine was. Not just from nobles but from businessmen, fisherfolk, soldiers and generals.

Liam has long determined that he will never follow the route his father swore by. It is not who he is as a man; it will never be who he wants to become as a king. But on nights like tonight those words of praise for his predecessor haunt him. If the ghost of his father were to ever take shape, it would do so in just one question.

You have become so stubborn in your need to be the antithesis of me. Will Cordonia end up paying price for that?

So tonight he takes that walk to the square alone. In anticipation and in dread.

Until he finds himself at the foot of the statue of Valentina Greaves, and discovers he isn't alone, after all.

"Your Majesty," the voice behind him is deep and rumbling, its sound resembling the depths of a pounding waterfall. Duke Hakim has discarded his jacket this warm night, the waistcoat and shirt registering the straightening of his shoulders. In his right hand, an ornate gold pocketwatch.

Liam smiles briefly in welcome, letting the older man know he isn't intruding in on a private moment of mourning.

"Good evening, Duke Hakim," he straightens his own shoulders. There was once a time - a time that has faded into blurred memory - that he took joy in calling this man "Uncle". When did that stop? It has been so long he cannot even recall.

The two keep silent for a time. There is, after all, far too little and far too much to say. Stripped of their titles and reduced to the basics, Liam is the son of the Duke's best friend. He is also the son of the man that had his friendship and loyalty in the palm of his hand for years, and never understood or appreciated it. So much of what Liam knows of Father's friendship with Duke Hakim, he knows in bits and pieces: in the exchange of disappointed glances between his mother and Kiara's parents, in piling-up of invitation cards to events on Father's desk that went unanswered. In the too-long pauses Queen Regina would take every time she returned from an event at Castelserraillan, where she went as the King's representative. Even in the rare moments Father remembered his university days. There isn't a single second in those memories that Duke Hakim didn't play a starring role in.

It is in silence that they move from the statue of Val Greaves to the next. The night breeze brings with it the scents of orange blossom and french lavender - gifts from Duke Hakim's great-great-grandparents to an ancestor of his. The next figure of marble glares defiantly to his right, a spear in one hand and an apple cupped in the palm of the other.

"King Aithan." Is it his own imagination or is Duke Hakim's smile truly trembling on his lips? "who won the Great Apple War of 1244 in the most decisive victory since his grandmother united the Five Kingdoms."

Queen Kenna, the aforementioned ancestor, is right behind them, her legs standing apart and an array of weapons from all over the Five Kingdoms at the base of her statue. If you took in the sight of both figures together, Father had told him once, you could almost convince yourself that she seemed to stare directly at Aithan, imparting her blessings and her wisdom. More than the words, it is the shine in Father's blue eyes that Liam remembers most.

Duke Hakim's eyes glitter oddly in the moonlight. There is a moist sheen to them now that Liam is almost afraid to ask about for fear of intruding. The next words that come from his mouth are uttered softly, so softly that it's as if he is saying them to himself, as if he has forgotten that the man next to him exists.

"I've lost count of the times we used to played tag here." Absently, he runs a tender finger along the back of the watch fob he is holding, staring at it with a gaze soaked in muted grief. "It wasn't very hard to find Kontos. He always chose King Aithan's statue to hide behind."

Liam offers a sad smile of his own. "My father was nothing if not predictable."

The two men share halting, reluctant chuckles over this shared image. An image neither of them expected the other to recognise. It unravels some tightened cord between them - one that made it impossible for them to speak as if they knew each other.

"I didn't realize you and Father knew each other so well as children," Liam whispers as they pass other statues. Queen Ilona, 1346, who staged several successful attacks on the more hostile of their neighbours. King Calix, 1420, who thwarted at least three coups in his lifetime and finally managed to keep the Nevrakis family in a stronghold that they found impossible to wriggle out of until two centuries later. Queen Flora, 1492, who held her two year old child in one hand and slashed down the traitors who had entered her bedchambers with the other. The sword on her right hand is sculpted to appear as if it's still in midair, perhaps to complement the fire and brimstone in her eyes. "All the stories Mum told me of the two of you seemed to happen in university. I always assumed you weren't close till then."

A small frown pierces the skin between the Duke's eyebrows. When he speaks, his words are suddenly clipped, as if they are strangers again. Liam bites his tongue, chiding himself on his uncharacteristic carelessness.

"We weren't close until University. Just playmates whenever my mother brought me down to the Capitol. Duchess Emmeline and Duke Barthelemy could have boasted of the same." His voice is a hoarse rasp, his nails scraping lightly over the watch. "I'm more surprised you heard those stories from Ellie's mouth, not his." As if she were the only one who cared enough to keep them alive, Liam can imagine him thinking, and on an instinct fostered by years of now-destroyed blind worship, he leaps to his father's defence.

"I did hear a few from him. Just not as many. You'd know when he was the happiest because those were the stories he'd tell."

Duke Hakim respectfully appraises his King in a speculative glance, not entirely convinced. Liam cannot find it in him to blame the elder man. For years, Queen Regina - and then himself - had been the mouthpieces Father used to deliver excuses for his rejections of Castelserraillan's overtures. Each time the Duke would briefly glance over their shoulders as if expecting someone else - each time the glow of hope would dim from his eyes when he saw no one. Over the years it has made him wary not only of his old friend, but of them too.

The distance between the men has undoubtedly created a chasm amongst the families - one Liam doesn't know yet how to break through. There is no real reason for Duke Hakim, or his wife, or his daughter (who he had befriended himself over the course of the social season, and who has been around less and less since the Gala. It's gone long enough for him to begin worrying. Should he change the subject and ask the Duke about her?)...no reason at all to believe that Liam is different, that he is a man who will not abandon his well-wishers. Or even that he is a king who shares their goals, their dreams for this country.

There may come a time when Duke Hakim will believe Liam cares about what he thinks. Today is not that day.

As if to encourage a change in the subject, Liam looks around at the many statues dotting the Square. "Every single figure here is that of a warrior."

Duke Hakim grants him a weak, resigned smile. "I hear there used to be more. It was your grandmother who had them removed."

Yiayia Cassandra. Whose intimidating, terrifying countenance made his own father appear like a lamb in comparison - a statement both mother and son would've loathed to hear. Who hated the Nevrakises but kept tomes and tomes of their ancient books on war strategy. Who scoffed at art as being a useless, ego-fuelled and far too fanciful exercise.

Father would often speak of her with the same blind worship Liam had once reserved for him. It isn't surprising then his politics turned out the way it did, that despite his disdain for Olivia and her lack of courtliness, a part of King Constantine wouldn't wholly disagree with a lot of what she could propose.

Strength and authority. Those were the qualities the Royal Family wanted above all others in their heirs; anything different would spell failure.

Already, as Liam poses the question to the man beside him, he realises with a lump in his throat that he knows what the answer will be. "Which statues were those?"

"Artists. Scribes. Inventors. Scientists. People who advanced the nation in times of peace."

Liam smiles sadly. "And who are often overlooked in favour of the drama and glamour bloodshed brings." He responds with a shiver.

He is rewarded for this admission with a sharp, shocked look from Duke Hakim. An emotion, a memory, seems to flicker in his eyes before it swiftly disappears in the neutral game-face he has been showing around Liam all this time.

"I don't have the most trustworthy memory on the ones I did manage to see; it's been too long." The watch fob disappears into his fisted hands. "One of our own was part of this esteemed gathering. Dominique Lavigne, a master sculptor of her own time, who dressed as a man to get recognition. Yusuf Hadid from Domvallier, who combined Arabic calligraphy with our own Cordonian arts in handwriting. Saengdao Adair from Krysanthe, a pioneer in herbal medicine and the reason Krysanthans excel in both traditional and allopathic medicinal fields even today."

Liam freezes. "That last name? Could you repeat that again?" It's a name he's read about, vaguely, in obscure texts...but the fact that there's a statue...

"Saengdao Adair," the Duke says, locking his companion in a quizzical gaze. "Her statue -"

" - was mentioned in my father's will. Among others." Liam whispers, almost to himself.

Hakim's eyes widen. The contents of a passing monarch's will - even one who had passed on his throne to the next in line before his death - would be jealously guarded by the Palace, only released to the public years or maybe decades later. This is clearly information the King wouldn't impart so arbitrarily to just anyone.

More than once he has tried to stop himself from wondering if the boy had more of his mother in him. It was a hope he'd always held to his chest in the early years of Constantine's withdrawal...one that died when it became clear that he wanted little - if at all - to do with the Thornes. Against all wisdom, this small exchange is beginning to allow that hope to flare up within him again. Belatedly, he loosens his grip on his old, trusted watch fob - a gift from Kontos the year they graduated.

Liam rubs the space between his brows, trying to remember. "His will mentioned the King Fabian Alcove," he whispers, "that arrangements were to be made to shift it there from the Stirling Halls."

"Stirling Halls," Duke Hakim repeats, his voice suddenly hollow. Liam knows he must be remembering it as the place that was open to no one barring the Royal Family - not even members of the Great Houses. That was where all art went to die?

"The date on the will is from two and a half weeks before the Costume Gala," Liam says softly, his eyes searching Duke Hakim's face, then the hands that have dropped to his sides. The pocket watch is still there, his thumb running distractedly over it. "They only transfer artifacts to the alcove when they -"

"...when permission is granted to reveal those works to the public."

The two men stand still, soaking in their collective memories of the man whose body now lies in wait, to be descended into the Royal Family Vaults. To be buried beside men and women he'd read about in textbooks, loved, idolized. Who embodied his favourite words: Bravery. Valour. Strength. Warriors.

But he would also be buried next to men and women who understood the value of times of peace. Who - as he had often heard in Duke Hakim and Duchess Joëlle's speeches - advocated that a country gave you its best when its environment made you feel safe enough to create. And that was a safety that went far beyond border protection and weaponry.

People that Father would regularly dismiss when he and Leo were growing up. People that Cordonia wouldn't give a second thought to, nowadays. Because the value of their advancements were seeped so deep into public consciousness that they were often taken for granted.

Here in Cordonia, the mindset of the reigning monarch and the collective mindsets of their people often fed on each other. Yesterday's history books could hail one man a hero one minute, and a weakling the next. And for at least two centuries - perhaps bored from decades and decades of peace and good diplomacy, who knows? - the popular view seemed to favour a fondness for the most dramatic and bloodthirsty of their ancestors. Father was no different in holding that view.

When had that changed?

The moonlight casts the Duke's face into a fascinating interplay of light and shadow. The lines of his jaw are softer than Father's, but signify its own unique brand of strength. The air around them is scented and heavy, almost as if this moment promises a watershed of sorts, and that very air is drawing a bated breath.

"I haven't visited that alcove in a long time," Liam admits, looking away, "I don't remember where it is."

Duke Hakim swallows, then motions his hand vaguely to their left. "It's this way."

The alcove is inside a garden - a fairly large one, made of old red brick and surrounded by an array of beautiful creepers. The two men stop short of going inside, halting their steps and drawing a gasp at the sight in front of them.

"... Saengdao Adair?" Liam whispers, drinking in the sight of this pioneer with his eyes. Her hair is long, her voluminous folds of her robe billowing almost realistically as if they were real linen, not marble. A mortar and pestle rests in one hand; her other is raised, delicately holding a sprig of stinging nettle.

There are others. So many others. A woman with a map and a compass, staring ahead into horizons not yet explored. A man with a richly-feathered quill in his hand, a book in the other. A woman holding a jewel-embellished half-mask. A simple sculpture of a man dressed in the garb of the ancient Technocrats, his eyes glowing at the sight of the nails and bolts in his hand, ready to invent something new.

A woman seated on her heels, hammer and chisel in hand, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched together as she worked at transforming stone to a work of art.

Liam lets out a small, watery laugh. "A sculpture for a sculptor."

The Duke responds with a smile, shaking his head. "Fali Kraine from the Blackspine Mountains."

Liam nods. "They say she had this precise look on her face and sat exactly this way while sculpting this piece. What I wouldn't give to witness that."

But the centerpiece of the alcove is a woman. A scribe. Hunched over - in the rough cotton garb of a scribe from the Renaissance - books and parchment. Transcribing - letter for letter and word for word - the history of her nation so that her descendants could share it with their children. His ancestor. Queen Lisabetta.

"King Fabian commissioned this," Hakim's voice is a hoarse, shaky whisper, "to remind his beloved wife of the value of the work she had once done."

Liam swallows a painful lump in his throat. Back in the palace, an hour ago - he had stayed in Esther's room, knowing she would need him more these next few nights if she were to preserve an ounce of her sanity.

"You're a good man, Liam," she had murmured against his throat.

He held her tighter, smiling slightly against her hair. "That won't always translate into becoming a great king, my love."

Against her own will, she let out a long yawn. Her fingers ran lightly over his chest before resting against his heart. "But it certainly helps."

He had held her until he was sure her body was resting softly and heavily against his, her breathing slow and deep...and then quietly slipped out of her arms to walk to the Capitol Square.

He looks at the Duke too. Both he and his children took this trip without Duchess Joëlle, who chose to go to Switzerland. He remembers every account of how attached the couple are and how much they dislike being apart - including his own mother's. Liam winces; he never recognized until now the sacrifice Duke Hakim made in coming here without her.

Yet here he is. For a country that will not always respect him. For a friend who would not always accept him. For a King he isn't entirely sure he can trust.

For an ideology that won't capture the country's imagination, the way valiant heroes on horseback do. But if these commemorations had been shifted to this alcove, with the intention of placing them around the Capitol Square...that must mean some change was underway. Within his father, and with Liam's help perhaps within the rest of the country too.

"It's getting late," Liam says, straightening up and getting ready to leave the alcove. "We'd better head back to the palace."

"In a minute, Your Majesty," Duke Hakim says, giving him a brief bow, then turning to the statue of Queen Lisabetta.

As Liam leaves the alcove, he hears a voice so soft he wonders if he had imagined it.

"Kontos," the voice said, a sigh released from deep inside a man's chest, "Kontos, you listened."

--

A/N: This mini series takes place in the Petals and Thornes universe, that revolves around a romance between Hana and Kiara. While a lot of the story beats follow canon, I do make a lot of deviations from the text, including with other characters who aren't central to the story but whose stories have a definite influence on the larger plot. I'm hoping to make Legacies one of them. At present I plan for it to be a four part series.

A/N2: In canon, Constantine's funeral and burial arrangements lasts just a week, all of which was skipped entirely to the Lythikos leg of the Unity Tour. I have increased that time to 12 days.

The Vigil of the Princes is based on the British tradition (of the same name) in royal funerals - esp that of the monarch - where the family members stay vigil for 10-15 minutes near the casket of the deceased. Family who has served in the military perform this ritual in their military uniform.

The Great Houses' Vigil is my own creation but with elements borrowed from the above tradition. My HC is that it is shorter and unlike the surviving royals, the members of the Great Houses are not required to wear military uniform.

Kontos is a playful nickname that Constantine's close ones were allowed to use for him, as long as they didn't use it in public (because apparently the meaning in Greek is "short")

Krysanthe is the modern-day Aurelia, with Hana being their current Duchess/Head of House. Saengdao is indeed Annelyse's descendant. Here is my HC on the duchy and Hana's rise to Duchess.

Characters from my playthrough of TRM in this story:

Artemisia Fierro - Hunter (f!Asian)

Sofonisba Vescovi - Kayden (f!Black)

Lisabetta Rosario - MC, who fell for Artemisia initially but married Fabian later on. Artemisia and Sofonisba keep in touch with the royal couple and are protected by the Crown.