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svnaaaaaa · 8 months

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Monte Carlo : Charles Leclerc AU (Part Five)

pairing : charles leclerc x fem reader

summary : the damage has done and y/n felt crushed.

warning(s) : google-translated french, angry charles, angst

previous : part four

next : part six

masterlist

author's note : i felt unmotivated so i decided to post this early. enjoy!

tagging : (if you want to be tagged in, let me know)

recap :

"thank you." was all y/n said and left out the car, leaving charles speechless. didn't wait any longer charles drove away back to his apartment in confuse.

as y/n entered the hotel suite that she shared with grace, grace saw her friend and her eyes got sadden up. she opened up her arms and in quick time, y/n wrapped her arms around grace and with that, she was bawling out her tears. grace rubbed y/n's back, sighing that she knew that eventually, this thing will come out sooner or later but she couldn't dare to say about it.

"you want to talk about it?" grace asked in hushed voice. y/n shooked her head no and grace understood of it by nodding her head, continued on rubbing her back. "you know y/n, you already know this but, now you're heartbroken about it aren't you?" grace asked once again and slowly, y/n nodded her head yes. "he thought i am amélie but he enjoyed hanging out with me." y/n told grace, where she just nodded her head while continued on rubbing y/n's back.

the next day came by and y/n decided not to go to the race day where she doesn't want to burden charles with her explanation. instead, she decided to make a phone call with amélie which she knew that her sister is with their brother at the moment. "wait what?" y/n asked as she couldn't believe what amélie just told her. "i told you, we met granddad, or so he said so himself that." amélie replied as she was standing outside of joseph's town house, watching people passing by. "anyways, are you going to the race today?" amélie asked as she was wandering around the neighbourhood. "no, i'm not." y/n sighed, slumped onto her bed back. "what, whyy?!" amélie asked as she looked around and found that people were staring weirdly at her. "it's complicated but, i don't think i can go on with this anymore ames. i don't want to be someone i am not." y/n told her. y/n heard amélie sighed through the phone. "you like him, don't you?" amélie asked as y/n leaned her head back into her pillow, nodding her head yes. "you know i couldn't see you but i assuming you're nodding your head yes." amélie said annoyingly, making y/n chuckled. amélie joined in. "you know, this is the first time i've known you to know that you like a guy." amélie told her.

in all their life living together until the age of 19, this is the first time amélie realized her twin sister liking a guy. while amélie, has been liking guys after guys ever since she realizes that she can like guys after her father and brother. her first boyfriend was a guy from a summer camp in 6th grade, charlie edwards. it was just a short term because each other was missing their families. right after the summer camp ended, the relationship ended too. ended up charlie went up crying to his mother back home.

then, amélie's phone had an incoming call, from an unknown number. "hey y/n, i call you later cause i have an incoming call." amélie told her. weird enough, amélie never gave her personal number to her clients because the phone that have amélie's business number's phone is left in her monte carlo office, where she left it for y/n. both of them said their good bye before amélie ended the call and answered the incoming call. "bonjour, c'est amélie thomas qui parle. (hello, this is amélie thomas speaking.)" amélie answered. "bonjour, c'est charles leclerc. (hello, this is charles leclerc.)" charles informed as amélie was confused, was she ever encountered with charles leclerc before? if yes, which company was he that amélie felt brave enough to leave her personal number to him? amélie have no recollection memories of him at all. "qui? (who?)" amélie asked which makes charles confused as how she was acting when she was with him the night before, and since when she was so fluent in speaking french?

"it's charles, from ferrari?" charles said feeling unsure with amélie's façade, was it something he did? "oh!" charles heard amélie said. "you see here charles, there has been a mistake." amélie told him, making charles even confuse. "i, i don't understand amélie. what do you mean by that?" charles asked her back, making amélie sighed silently, thinking 'this is why i hate french guys'. "meaning this is you're calling right now is the real amélie, the one you met before you make this call was my twin sister, y/n." amélie started, making charles stumbled, wanting a chair to sit down before he could faint, not because of passing out but because of a shock.

"what?" was all charles could say.

'this for you sis.' amélie thought to herself as she exhaled.

the office phone rang and y/n picked it up. "bonjour, c'est y/n thomas qui parle. (hello, this is y/n thomas speaking.)" y/n answered as she looked through the reports that needed to attend to. "y/n, this is mother." marie informed and y/n sighed. "what is it?" y/n asked lazily as it shooked marie. usually ever since y/n was a little girl, she always corrected by saying marie's name and not calling her as her mother.

"y/n, go to your mother." beau directed little girl y/n. y/n glared at beau. "marie." she told him. "fine, go to marie." beau sighed.

"i was wondering if the necklace i gave before has arrived to you yet?" marie asked. y/n's eyes couldn't get any larger than a normal human can, as she opened her table drawers left to right, top to bottom. "let me ask grace first, i'll let you know later." y/n informed marie as she ended the call without letting marie said anything. she stood up and walked out of her office room as she went to grace's office room and knock on it. "come in!" y/n entered the room and closed it on her way. "'sup." grace greeted as she saw y/n sat on chair in front of her. "where's the necklace gave by marie?" y/n asked and this time, grace's eyes widen up.

slamming her hands onto the office table, grace looked at y/n. "help me." grace whispered. "what?! don't tell me you lost it?" y/n asked as she stood up and walked over grace's table, opening every drawer of the table. "where did you put it grace?" y/n asked again.

then there was a knock on grace's office door. "miss thomas, there is someone here to meet you but he doesn't made any reservation." the assistant of monte carlo's branch, francesca, informed. y/n looked at grace weirdly as grace also have a weird face on, who is this guy? "uh yea sure, send him in." y/n told francesca as she nodded her head yes and went out of grace's office room. "you keep on looking for the necklace." y/n told grace next and went out of grace's room and entered her office room, which she faced the back of a brown haired guy.

"charles?" the brown haired guy turned around and yes, it happen to be charles leclerc, in her office, with a neutral face on. "w-what are you doing here?" y/n asked as she neared him but charles didn't flinched even a bit. "don't you have another story to tell amélie?" charles asked with a monotone, which confused y/n even more. "what do you mean? i don't understand." y/n told him as she heard charles scoffed at her statement. "let me rephrase that, don't you have another story to tell, y/n?" charles asked once again but this time, it fills with hatred. y/n's eyes got widen up once again and as she tried to recompose herself, her office door was opened wide with grace entering. "y/n, i found the necklace!" grace yelled and as soon she saw charles in the room, she stood silent. "oh." was all grace said.

charles looked at y/n with disappointment on his facial expression, making y/n looked at the floor. "i can explain this, please give me time." y/n begged, charles shooked his head no. "i've got no time with you, this situation is giving enough of explanation, besides the real amélie has given me enough explanation." charles informed as y/n looked at charles with shock face. "amélie? w-what do you mean by that?" y/n asked, charles walked towards the door. "i don't know who you are but if you're here to play with my feelings, you're wrong. to think that i started to feel comfortable around you, i knew something was wrong." charles told y/n and then he left the office room, making y/n slumped onto her knees. grace ran towards y/n, grabbing by her shoulders. "shh, you're okay y/n." grace whispered as she pulled y/n into a hug while y/n started to cry her eyes out.

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aloysiavirgata · 5 months

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Have you ever written a historical AU? Would love to see what you would do with that!

“Le professeur n'est pas à la maison!” she calls to whomever is banging at the door.

“S’il te plait je suis perdu,” a man’s voice replies in an accent she can’t place. Not French, certainly.

Dana rises, annoyed, from a table stacked high with books. She’d been lost in Bayes’ recent essay on probability, which her father had bought her.

She makes her way to the door, assumes Marie-Amélie is behind the house with Victor’s hand up her dress again.

Through the window she sees the man claiming to be lost. He’s about her own age, tall, wearing a suit of clothes in the English style. His hair is dark brown, tied at the nape of his neck with a green ribbon.

He looks unhappy and his boots are quite muddy.

Dana grabs the fire poker she keeps next to the door for this purpose. She keeps it tucked in the folds of her dress.

“Good day,” she says in English.

The man startles. “You speak English?”

She grips the poker tighter. “Pray, how can I help you? The professor is not home right now.”

He frowns. “Professor? I’m sorry, I’m not here for any professor. It’s only that I came out to see the country and I’ve…well. I’ve lost my way.”

Dana decides that if she needs to run him through she’d rather it be on her home turf. His clothes, while plain by French standards, are of fine stuff and newly made. His boots are well soled, his breeches have silver buckles.

“Come in,” she says, and lets him pass her. She returns the poker to the wall, then closes the door.

“You’re not English,” he observes, peering around.

“God forbid,” she says, crossing her arms. “Irish.”

He grins at that. “Well, we’ve something in common then. I’m a Massachusetts man. Oh, forgive me. Name’s Fox Mulder.” He pulls a much-abused envelope from his pocket. “Letter of introduction, if you care to peruse.”

She takes the letter but doesn’t open it.

Victor emerges from the kitchen. He has the audacity to look scandalized that she is alone with a strange man even though there is hay dust on his breeches.

“Mademoiselle Dana!” he says.

She shoos Victor back to the kitchen for refreshments. “We’re very informal here, Monsieur Mulder.”

“Just Mulder,” he says.

“Mmm. Where did you say you were staying?”

“I didn’t, but in Florac.”

Dana frowns. “Monsieur, you traveled all the way from Massachusetts to stay in…Florac? And pray, sit.” She gestures at a sofa, sits in the chair opposite.

Mulder, looking grateful, complies.

Marie-Amélie arrives with a tray of cake and wine, curtsies, and scampers back to the kitchen.

Dana scowls after her.

“I’m in Florac only as a base of operations, you could say. I’m here to do some…investigating.” He sips his wine.

She is intrigued despite herself. Bayes can wait a bit longer. “Investigating?”

He tips his chin up a bit, as though preparing for a reaction from her. “The Beast of Gévaudan,” he says.

She stares, then lets out a bark of laughter. “La Bête?” she says. “It’s a wolf!”

“They say it has a breast as wide as a horse, a body as long as a leopard's, and fur that was red with a black stripe. What wolf is that, Mademoiselle?”

She rolls her eyes. “When I was a lass I thought the barn owls were the bean-sídhe keening.”

Mulder delicately pokes at a walnut on his slice of cake. “Wolf or no, people are dying.”

“Aye, now that’s a thing people are good at around here.” She sets her wineglass down. “When you’re finished I’ll have Philippe drive you back to the village.”

“That’s very kind,” he says. He sets his plate down. “I’m ready now.”

“I need to return to my studies,” she tells him, waving over the maid. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Dana leaves her guest with Marie-Amélie. She hears the door open and close, and soon the strange man from Massachusetts is forgotten amid the doctrine of chance.

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #my fic #prompt #historical au #beast of gevaudan

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bittersweetresilience · 6 months

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more soulmate au meta for i always have a soulmate au brain

watership down

the reason i wanted to do a nonlinear narrative was threefold. first, it reflects the tangle of amélie's psychology and the memories that have shaped her over the years. second, it allows for more parallels and foreshadowing, and for tension to rise and fall across scenes without being constrained by the timeline. third, it rules.

from the first chapter, i headcanon félix as left handed, so when he uses his right hand to enact violence on himself, it's really his father's.

amélie and félix are both victims. of abuse, of lack of knowledge, of lack of agency. but i'm just getting started with the relationships in this complicated family tree.

i named the fic after watership down, the book about rabbits, because this is a story about rabbits, and running, and family. amélie reads this book in chapter two. she's on chapter six, where dandelion tells a story.

All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.

félix will remember this story.

onto the family reunion! félix calls émilie tante because she married into france. adrien calls amélie tante because it doesn't occur to him that he should speak english. all four of them were raised multilingual, so it doesn't matter anyway.

émilie prefers nicknames like love and darling while amélie goes for sweetie because émilie focuses on what the target of her affections means to her and amélie focuses on what they are like.

the books amélie references in chapter three are wuthering heights, don quixote, and to the lighthouse. unlike félix and adrien, she and émilie are used to speaking aloud.

No secrets between soulmates, right? That’s what Maman always said.

adrien says this in dead air.

We’re soulmates. No secrets between us.

and émilie says it here. of course, we know how that turns out for both pairs of twins. except félix and adrien's communication fails because they are kids in bad situations, and for amélie and émilie, well. they're different people, and the mistakes add up over the years.

now for the heavy-handed foreshadowing! we can see the seeds of the future from the beginning, with émilie's interest in dolls and archaeology. and amélie being an aromantic queen. amélie is willing to go with émilie, even if she doesn't know where they're going. and émilie is more concerned with her desire for freedom than with the consequences for other people, well practiced in getting away.

but of course the discussion of birds and eggs has everything to do with what we know is going to happen. émilie loves her sister, and ultimately she is a person who does messy, reckless things in the name of love. even if the bird will die, she gives the egg to amélie as a gift because it's pretty.

You’re a gift, Félix.

from orbital departure. speaks for itself, i think.

in the last chapter, amélie mentioned émilie's smile used to comfort her. here we see it happening. did i mention i love nonlinear narratives? for now they are just kids, and amélie is enough to keep émilie from her choices.

She turns back toward Amélie, and the featherlike shadows on her face recede.

but the future will come, and the worst of its consequences we've already seen.

finally, the entire waterside scene was a reference to félix's story in garden of dreams. perhaps amélie told him about this day, and let it become part of his weave.

#🌃#sentitwin soulmate au #miraculous ladybug #amelie graham de vanily #emilie agreste #ml fanfic #ml meta

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raaorqtpbpdy · 1 year

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Haunted

For the Phic Phight prompt: During a fight, Danny finds out he can survive in space. This leads to him [accidentally] terrorising the astronauts on the ISS à la every space thriller ever. (from @the-archer-goddess)

AO3 Link

[Warnings for outer space, and horror elements]

("Italicized dialogue" = Spoken in Russian)

Danny had chased ghosts a lot of places. At a certain point, after flying through buildings and mountains and the core of the Earth, he stopped paying attention to where he was. This particular ghost, an irritating little bugger known as Youngblood, who fancied himself an astronaut today, led Danny all the way into the stratosphere without the halfa even batting an eye.

By the time he captured Youngblood in the Fenton Thermos and took a moment to absorb his surroundings, he realized he was all the way in outer space. And wouldn't you know it, it turned out that ghosts, even half-ghosts, could survive in a total vacuum. There wasn't a chance in the Realms of Danny not taking advantage this new information, and, well, he'd always wanted to visit the International Space Station.

—

Kazimir Novikov, a Russian mathematician and programmer aboard the ISS, heard a tapping on the window. For a moment, he didn't think anything of it, until he heard the tapping again. The sound was coming from the other side of the thick glass. It was coming from outside the ship. He groaned.

"Ryuji!" he called out to the nearest engineer. Ryuji Mochizuki didn't speak Russian as well as he probably should've been able to, so they spoke to each other in English, though Kazimir's English wasn't quite perfect. "Sound like something shaken loose outside!"

"Shaken loose?" questioned Ryuji. "Broken?"

"Maybe," Kazimir answered. "Don't know. Something tap on my window outside like tap tap taptap tap," he verbally mimicked the strange rhythm.

"Wait wait!" Denise Song, a Chinese-American biochemist interrupted. "What did the tapping sound like?" as if on cue, the tapping came again, this time on a different window, nearer the others. Tap tap taptap tap. Denise pushed herself to the window and looked through, but saw nothing out there that shouldn't be. Tap tap taptap tap. Cautiously, she tapped twice on the inside of the window.

In a flash, a boy appeared, grinning. He had white hair and luminous green eyes and disappeared in an instant. He hadn't been wearing a space suit. Denise gasped and if there had been gravity, she would've fallen on her ass.

"There's something out there!" she said. She repeated herself in Russian, then Japanese, just to make absolutely sure the message got through to her crew mates.

"What is?" Ryuji asked asked. "Loose coupling? Bent panel? Space debris?"

Denise shook her head. "I don't know what. Looked like a kid, but it vanished."

"Vanished?" Kazimir asked. That word wasn't in his English vocabulary.

"Исчез," she translated. "Disappeared. Gone."

"How could a child be outside?" Kazimir asked in Russian, scoffing. "I think you must be getting space-sick or something. You watch too many scary movies on your laptop."

"I swear I saw someone, Kaz!" she insisted. She turned to Ryuji and said, "You shouldn't go out there."

"If something is broken, I need to go fix it," Ryuji responded. "I have to at least check."

"It's not—" Denise cut herself off. Maybe they were right. She did watch a lot of horror movies; maybe she was imagining things. It could've been a trick of the light. Her eyes could've picked up on glare from the lights and her own reflection in the glass, and for a moment, it had just looked like there was someone outside. "Just... be careful."

"Of course," Ryuji promised.

He changed into his space suit, attached the safety line, and stepped off the edge of the ISS. He went for a little spacewalk along the side where they'd heard tapping, keeping an eye out for something loose, or bent out of shape, maybe a wrench or screwdriver that had accidentally been left hooked to the outside of the station. He and Amélie Chevalier, the other engineer on board, a robotics specialist from France, had done maintenance just two days before. One of them may have mistakenly left a tool behind, but there shouldn't have been any actual mechanical issues to deal with.

Ryuji checked the panels on the outside of the station, the hatches, the mechanical arms, examined each of the windows. Everything seemed to be in perfect working order. But... all three of them had heard that tapping noise. Something had to have made it.

He felt a tug on his safety cable and looked behind him to see what he'd snagged it on. Nothing appeared to be there, and the cable floated freely in the vacuum of space. He tugged back, just in case, and for the barest of seconds, he could swore he saw a boy without a space suit holding onto the cable about ten feet down. Then Ryuji blinked, and the boy was gone, leaving him to wonder if he'd really seen him in the first place.

An uneasy feeling churned in the engineer's stomach. He'd done what he came out to do, even if he hadn't found anything. He was ready to go back in now. Whatever that was, his imagination or not, he really didn't want to meet it again. Once he was back inside, he told no one what he'd seen, only that nothing was loose or damaged, and he couldn't find the source of the tapping.

A few minutes later, Amélie screamed.

When an astronaut screamed like that on the International Space Station, everyone had to know why. Anything worth screaming about in space could mean fatalities for the crew.

"What is it, Amélie?" Miroslav Zima, the pilot, asked in Russian.

"I saw someone outside!" Amélie answered, on the verge of hysterics. "It was a boy, and he wasn't wearing a suit. He... he waved at me!"

"That's impossible Amélie," said Étouale Bois, the Latin-Quebecois botanist on board. "How much sleep have you gotten recently?"

"I'm not sleep deprived!" Amélie insisted. "I know what I saw!"

"I saw him too," Denise said. "He tapped on the window. He smiled at me when I tapped back." She turned and translated for Ryuji, who's Russian wasn't as good as the others.

"I—" Ryuji started to say in English, then swallowed hard and shook his head. "I thought I saw a boy, too," he told them in a whisper. "I thought he tugged on my safety cable."

"White hair?" Denise asked, switching to English as well. "Glowing green eyes? Black jumpsuit, but no helmet?" Ryuji nodded. Amélie nodded too. "How could we all have seen the same thing if it wasn't really there?" she asked the other three.

"You could be messing with us," Miroslav pointed out. Then the lights flickered. Then the air grew cold. "Are you... messing with us?" Denise shook her head solemnly.

"Whatever it is... I think... I think it may have gotten inside somehow," Denise said as a shiver crawled up her spine. "I think it's close."

The six astronauts stilled, glancing around the chamber as if some sort of ghoul or alien might jump out at them somehow. Just when Étouale scoffed, about to make a snide remark about how all their crew mates were paranoid, an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind them.

"This place is the coolest thing ever!" claimed the voice of a young boy. This time, Amélie wasn't the only one who screamed. They all saw him. White hair and eyes like the light on an anglerfish, drawing them in, threatening to consume them whole.

"What the fuck is that!?" Étouale screeched. "How the fuck did a kid get up here!?"

The boy looked momentarily startled before vanishing again. The astronauts whipped their heads around, waiting for him to appear again. Slowly, without having to say anything, they all turned so they were back-to-back-to-back, ready on all sides for the boy, whoever or whatever he was, to appear again.

It was so cold now that their breath misted in the air. In the climate controlled space station, it had been months since any of them felt this kind of cold, this bone-deep chill, like the icy grips of death in their very lungs. The lights flickered again, and the astronauts collectively held their breath.

"Sorry about the cold, it's just, I'm really excited to be here!"

The boy popped up again, in front of Miroslav, who took a swing at him on instinct. His fist passed right through the boy's head like he wasn't there at all. Again, the boy vanished, but this time a hollow, echoing giggle took his place. The laugh sounded like a child in a home video that they were watching after the child's funeral. Happy, but at the same time brimming with heartache.

"What kinds of experiments are you working on?" The leaves on Étouale's radishes rustled as if something brushed up against them, and frost formed. "Oops. Don't worry, I'll fix it!" Just like that, the frost evaporated. The boy turned visible again for an instant, then was gone from their sight.

"Who are you?" Kazimir demanded. "What are you?"

"Oh, sorry," the boy's voice chuckled nervously. He appeared again, standing on wall, upright to them all, as if gravity was somehow holding him there. "I'm Danny!" he said, smiling brightly as if he wasn't the most horrifying thing six astronauts who faced the vast, deadly vacuum of space every day had seen in their entire lives. "And I know you guys! Denise Song, Ryuji Mochizuki, Kazimir Novikov, Miroslav Zima, Amélie Chevalier, and Étouale Bois! Am I pronouncing that right? Étouale?"

Étouale nodded mutely. None of them could muster up a word to say to the mysterious teenage boy standing in front of them, who somehow knew all their names.

"I keep up on everything that goes on in space!" the boy said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the astronauts were all fairly petrified with fear. "I follow NASA on all my social media so I can see what's going on up here. I never thought I'd be able to actually see it see it, not for years, at least."

"H-how did you get here?" Denise asked, trying to sound authoritative and failing miserably as her voice escaped her a timid squeak.

"I flew!" came the response. "Turns out ghosts can survive in space! Who knew? Not me! Isn't it awesome?"

"Ghost?" was all Denise managed to get out before he fainted, her unconscious form floating in the chamber. For all that she loved supernatural horror movies, she was not prepared to live one.

"Denise!" Ryuji called out to her, tapping the side of her face and trying to get her to wake up. He felt for a pulse, making sure the ghost boy hadn't somehow killed her. "She's okay. I think she fainted."

"Can you blame her?" Étouale asked. "I think I'll probably join her in a minute. I would not have signed up for this shit if I knew the ISS was fucking haunted."

"Haunted?" the boy cocked his head in confusion and looked around. "But I didn't sense any ghosts up here?"

"She's talking about you, kid," Miroslav told him, using the bars above to reposition himself in front of his crew mates. Kazimir slipped thought the passage on the opposite side to take the unconscious Denise out of there.

"Me? But I'm... oh... yeah..." A light green tinge rose to the boy's cheeks, and he looked down as if he was embarrassed. "Sorry, I guess I didn't think about—I was just really excited, you know. I didn't realize I was scaring you."

"Didn't realize?" Ryuji repeated, aghast. "Kid, you scared the absolute shit out of us!"

He looked even more chastised as he hunched his shoulders, shrinking into himself. "Sorry."

"You're... not going to hurt us?" Amélie asked cautiously.

"No!" The boy's eyes widened. "Definitely not! I just wanted to see the space station. You guys are, like, my heroes. I've always wanted to be an astronaut, you know."

"Is that so?" hesitantly, Amélie maneuvered past Miroslav, closer to the ghost boy. "What did you say your name was?"

"Danny Phantom," the boy said.

"Well, Danny, would you like to see the Astrobee robots?" she offered with a smile.

The boy lit up, his faintly glowing aura literally brightening at her offer to see the little fan propelled robotic assistants on the space station. "Would I ever!"

#phic phight #phic phight 2023 #danny fenton #danny phantom #original characters #outer space #horror #cute ending #fic #things i wrote #dp

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dogbleed · 6 days

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AMARA CAMUS CALLSIGN: CICADA.

basics.

given name. amara camus. callsign. cicada, loud only in the summer. nickname. none, if you value your life. label. the bonesaw. age. thirty-one ( december 28, 2008 ). place of birth. portland, maine. gender identity. cis woman ( she + her ). orientation. bisexual ( woman lean ). occupation. cia operations officer for the government. former sniper class special operative for ██████ ███. moral alignment. neutral evil. character inspiration. carmilla of styria ( castlevania ), widowmaker / amélie lacroix ( overwatch ), samara morgan ( the ring ), helga sinclair ( atlantis: the lost empire ), delilah ( the bible ), amma crellin ( sharp objects ), lalo salamanca ( better call saul ), logan roy ( succession ), susie bannion ( suspiria ).

background.

your story begins at the bottom of a stairway. long before she watches your first breath, under a whining streetlamp where she chases fireflies into softer shadows. there, in the delicate poise of an un-taught child’s back. how she warms her bone marrow with the sweat in her palms, rather than the blood soaking her muscles. putty in her own hands. glimpses of you, curtained by the smoothed brick of your mother’s first home. the orphanage: where your choices encumber someone else before they round back to you. a french woman adopts your mother, and another gaunt daughter. they grow into calling each other sister. in these new habits, their mother’s friends take to squeezing your mother’s cheek. that’s the pretty one, they would say. her sister grows into being called clever. your mother dies before you reach a year old, the bare bones of a human, and you will never learn to ask for a dead woman’s picture.

the clever one, then, inherits a pretty one. all the hushed baby-lips, without the stretch marks. mine, she dotes, my child. her belly is still ripe from childbearing; its kicks are still unimportant. a clever daughter, growing there, to match this pretty one. somewhere in you, there is a memory that’s not quite a memory. buttered fingers knead into your doughy neck. your lovely, lovely aunt who coos as you cry and cry. tears glass those eyes, even now, when she whispers to you with her hands bracketing your nape. for every plum-dressed sunday, thick-lashed and clean, you will remember the outskirts of your cousins’ posse. how any other in the room would treasure your fresh face, shying away from a pinch on your cherry blossom cheeks. for this face is your mother’s, and such pain wore her to an early grave. the wrinkling shadows, still, settle into your siblings’ grins. you watch them. that is all you can do.

in your isolation, you listen for your aunt’s silent cues. how she won’t respond to mother, no matter how hard her children tug at heart-strings that don’t connect. she ties those loosened cords to a chair, maybe, and returns to nurse a cold cup of tea. your cousins try to teeth on mama –– a screeching baby, instead of a mewling one –– to melt a name down their throats, and into their fat hearts. a name that only they may speak. your name is so dear, they want to say, that i would not sully you by saying it. to your aunt, an adulation. to her children, a birthright. you are the one to see beyond this. to forget that she could be called mother. her ears prickle, only, when you say her name. helena. quiet like gnats suspended in the wrong light. but mother, they insist, mother. the delicacy of her smile is relentless. it curves into her lowered chin. they will think that gaze is for them; this time, that name will be yours to speak. and then, she begins the quote with a clicked tongue. almost breathless when she says, i wish you wouldn’t call me that. your cousins have none of the will to reach for her hand. regardless of their mother’s wants. your aunt-mother holds your hand in the crook of her elbow. they watch you. that is all they can do.

hedged by the dark, her dry hand would cup your cheek. she is pale, silver from a moon’s kiss, and the shadows drip crimson from her open mouth. you know your lips curls in the same way. a daughter, and her mother’s mouth. this one wasn’t yours to inherit. and yet, it is yours all the same. the maw possesses no end nor beginning. only blood, that you do not share. silken promises between a child gorged on love, and a mother looking a new fate in its brown eyes. a pretty face unmade into a clever thing. there are enemies everywhere mon ange, she will spew, we are all that matters. you were made to exclude. to inhale ease, and exhale dread. this is how one grows into a soldier. secluded to a daughter’s curse: your mother’s life-long blood-thirst. the child of a fraught house doesn’t realise its loss, even after one calls it a bug’s name. cicada. your rhythm is for you alone. heard only under sunlight; your hum prickles the rays like flickering stars. the old hymn in your heart. i see, i want, i eat.

it is an odd lament, then, to coalesce with ‘ them ’ as your mother’s daughter. you are part of them. there is no more you, for there is no more i. they share your mud-gouged gaze. pull at the hardened roots of your pedestal. their nails will find your weak ribs, and the chewy sinews of your neck. you already found theirs. held and holding. what else could you want? this story still has one ending. with your mother’s fist at your scruff. at the base of a cave, far deeper than six feet under. cold like a broken skin. the reedy bones of a squashed bug. one of them betrays you, and you don’t want your mother. not at the end of your earth’s time. you don’t come back wrong; you were always wrong. a fluttering atrocity: regal in your lack of mercy. half-god like a roach, living long after humanity. a glutton for their own entrails. people are easier when they thrum quietly. amara camus knows this. she sips life’s nectar, and grows a new set of ribs. the sun will clutch its eclipse; she will be quiet.

#lawlessintro #tw / death #tw / injury #tw / bug mention #tw / body horror #tw / child neglect #im not sure how to tag this #her aunt only loves her basically #pits the kids against each otha #pretend this was good pls

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alexandria-alexis · 7 months

Text

I still think about you, more than I should.

Say yes to me

Hot summer nights, mid-July

Late is better than never

Lestappen Girl Dad Trilogy!

Max and Charles have a daughter, but are yet to confess their love for eachother.

With Charles and Amélie on vacation and the fear of being alone once Amélie begins school hanging over his head, Lando persuades a lost Max to talk to Charles about how he is feeling once he is home. Not everything comes out in the wash, but everybody has to start somewhere.

Charles invites Max back to his house for dinner. Feelings ensue.

Thank you all for your love and praise during this series. Here are all three parts <3

P.s. I do not speak French, I apologise for any wrong translations 💓

#lestappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #lestappen fanfic #I still think about you more than I should

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

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Could you write one for Charles where one of the kids is struggling with something at school but they're having a hard time admitting that so he just finds out one day, and talks it out and tries to help?

Charles noticed Amélie seemed a bit more anxious lately, always closing herself in her bedroom to do her homework and study for hours on end, not allowing anyone to go inside her room until she was done.

"Amélie, can I speak with you, chérie?", Charles said as he watched your daughter walk into her bedroom.

"Sure - is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?", she mused she sat at her desk.

"You tell me - I've noticed you have been worried, tired, you're always studying and you don't seem all to well", he tried, "I just want to help with anything you're feeling but you need to tell me first", Charles spoke softly.

"It's just... school has been harder lately", she admitted, "I don't know what it is, because I'm still working like I usually did, but my mind keeps flying somewhere else - and then I've seen these videos of where people learn they have ADHD because of how many fingers they put down and it's all so exhausting and confusing", she admitted as tears of frustration pooled on her eyes.

"Chérie, you could've told me sooner, or mama too", your husband offered, "we could've helped".

"It's silly sometimes, because there's so much information, but then the teacher keeps saying that we should all work harder, but I'm hitting the top mark every single quizz we do", Amélie argued.

"Your math teacher? That woman is a fossil at that school, she was there when me and mama were students there and everyone thought she was ready for retirement then already", Charles chuckled, "but if you're worried, we can also talk to a professional, there's no shame in that".

"I know there isn't - it's just that I never felt like this", she swivelled on the chair, "maybe it isn't a bad idea, just to make sure".

"We'll do it then, no worries", Charles smiled, "in the mean time, you should also rest your brain a little, okay? And if you need any help, you ask for it".

"Well, since you're offering, there's this bit on my homework that I haven't been able to complete", Amélie added as she opened her notebook, "the dinosaur teacher said we should be able to do this with our eyes closed by now even though she failed to teach us how to!", she stated.

"Amélie Leclerc!", Charles warned even though he wanted to laugh at her words.

"What?! You called her a fossil, how's mine worse than that?", she argued.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#charles leclerc blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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nyctophiliq · 1 year

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— ✮ ( 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 )

content warning; fem reader. sfw ! — lowercase writing intended, suggestive themes, fluffy fluff, widow might be a little ooc, mention of bullets, injuries, brief mention of previous relationship, blackwatch

moss' notes; this is for @overwatchfics and only them, be grateful moss lets you read it- also this has been a long-time fake scenario of moss' so enjoy !!! <3

⠀⠀( pairings . . . ) — amélie 'widowmaker' lacroix + f! reader

you proceeded to let a sigh out, dreading that you had to get up from bed and begin making coffee for yourself. but just as you were about to pull the covers off of yourself the cold touch of your lover froze your motions.

"chérie, are we trying to escape the spider's den?" the assassin asked with a hushed tone, nuzzling her face into the crook of your chest and wrapping her arms around your waist. the cold of her purple skin once again stiffened you up, your spine fusing to arch into her body as the tingling sensation ran across your body. a small smile pulled on your face as you felt her lips curve into somewhat of a smile, but more of a smirk if you had to guess.

amélie was the one who took a hold of you, cradling you like you were hopeless and in need of her aid, to be taken care of and be protected. widowmaker wanted to continue, to speak all her witty lines out on you, to have one more passionate encounter with you before amélie tucked her way into the back burner.

you truly were surprised by her presence, usually, she is either already up or has left a note stuck to something about leaving- 'duty calls' or whatever. "no... i just thought you were gone already. was on my way to make coffee but I'll change it to tea." there was no point in lying, widowmaker could make out any of it by just touching your hot spots, looking for arteries, for the dummy's lie detector.

the tall woman let out a low chuckle, pulling herself away from you but not before pressing a chaste kiss on your chest, right above your cleavage before sitting up.

the silky sheets fell from her body like waves of water, revealing the spider tattoo on her spine and the muscles she gained all those years ago when she was a ballet dancer. you were tempted to reach out and caress them, to feel them up a little and trace the legs of the inked spider. but you corrected your posture that was already leaning towards her, instead sitting up yourself while pulling the covers along.

she turned back around with a tray in her hand, two smaller tea cups with their plates, a small ramekin with sugar, and a few slices of lemon sitting on a separate plate with a small jug of milk. "mise en place, chérie- however you like it."

the two of you have spent countless nights and days together, yet she didn't know your way of taking tea. but you knew how she liked her tea- no sweetener, no lemon, no sugar, steeped in hot water for nine minutes before pulling the bag filled with the tea leafs out and offering it to her in her favorite cup with its tea plate under it.

you gave her a warm smile before taking the small tray from her, the rattling of the glazed porcelain cups and silver spoon oddly sharp in your ear. placing it down in your lap you took the spoon and put in whatever you liked, stirring the steaming cup.

"i could have done it myself." you murmured, eyes stuck in the cup on the whirlpool you created then they flickered up to look out on the tall window set in front of the bed. you sipped the tea, tracing the outlines of the eiffel tower.

"not with that odious wound, mon coeur." the chilly arms of amélie's sneaked their way around your body once again, her chin resting on your shoulder. one of your hands unwrapped itself from around the cup and reached to push between her interviewed hands on your lap.

a laugh escaped through amélie's nose, her head falling against yours. "it's nothing, that bullet barely grazed me." you noted, taking a glance at her from the corner of your eye and then at the wound on your shoulder, that she stitched up last night before putting a giant bandaid on it.

"please, you were crying like a baby!" she bursts out laughing, her face burning in the crook of your neck as you lean forward to put the cup down. "don't laugh like that! i tried my best there, it is hard to be the eyes on the ground." you huffed, pulling your hand away from hers and crossing your arms on your chest.

"don't worry, next time you can give the widow a kiss." she whispered against your ears after successfully trapping you to herself, your head resting on her chest just low enough for her to comfortably lean down and give you a kiss that left the lingering taste of chamomile on your tongue.

the rest of the morning went down quietly, the two of you just starting out on the window that faced the center of paris, watching as the snow fell gracefully on the white tiles of the balcony. amélie's fingertips run up and down on your skin, ghosting over it and leaving goosebumps trailing behind.

you remembered the first time you had met amélie at the london headquarters, she and you shared a cup of coffee and chatted about work. you laughed when she asked if you had ever been to france, disappointing her when mentioning that a young agent like yourself was lucky to be even bouncy between a few offices as a protective detail. she promised that she will take you there when the murky water with her husband's task force clears, get you front row seat to her ballet performance then take you out to her favorite dinner spot.

she kept her promise, no matter how long it took the lingering fantasy of the city of lovers now a reality.

#📼 › moss tapes #overwatch x reader #overwatch #overwatch widowmaker x reader #widowmaker x reader

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thebluemoonjune · 1 month

Text

The Elegance of Resilience Chapter 6: Daddy Issues

Chapter 6: Daddy Issues

Summary:

Father continues to berate Michonne then Rick argues with her Father.Rick and Michonne's disagreement about her father not talking about pregnancy. Rick needs air meet Daryl. Michonne and her parents argue (with dad mostly) about Rick, pregnancy, wedding, Mike, the children, her independence. Rick and Michonne have honest conversations. Michonne Rick and Sasha hosts a get-together.

Notes:

This kind of serves as a trigger warning for people who have experienced emotional abuse.

Michonne didn’t answer Reynard as fast as he would have liked. She withdrew from Rick's touch and swallowed hard, looking down, locked in a cycle of self-doubt.

“Michonne-”

“Amélie. Go on…”

Reynard cut Rick off, keeping his cold, dead gaze on his daughter. His voice was stern but soft. Her jaw trembled, making it hard to speak. She was wringing her hands under the table, trying to regain her composure.

“To be better-”

“I can’t hear you, Amélie.”

“To be better… I have to be better. Don’t make foolish mistakes, and give people room to talk. If I can’t honour you, do not shame you.”

“Reynard, please.” Marie pleaded to her husband.

“You disappoint me, dearest.” He placed his arm on the table and rubbed the crown of his head, as if to tell her he was fed up with her nonsense. He went on, however.

“Did I not give everything that others less fortunate than yourself would kill for? You went to the best schools, wore the best clothes, ate the best food... But most importantly, I taught you values. I taught you to work hard, to strive for greatness, to respect yourself... You are a woman and you are black, I made sure you never forgot that… I made sure you were the best, that you were number one in all your endeavours... Let me ask you this, Dearest. When was the last time you practised, hmm?”

“I take cases here and there!” Her voice rose hysterically.

“Watch your tone with me, girl.” His icy stare bore into her. “You have not practised in three months, and three months prior to that... Can’t find the time to take a case, but all the time to get pregnant... You can’t pay your bills by taking a case every three months… Living off your trust fund, no doubt.”

“What? Do you want to cut me off?" She let out a lengthy sigh, stretching her right hand out on the dining table, not looking at her father's emotionless face.

“No, nor would it be my place. If I had my way, you wouldn’t have had it in the first place, but alas, your mother will always have her way, even if it means to undermine me and spoil you... I have been the best father I could be. While your mother wanted to be your friend, I worked tirelessly and thanklessly to ensure you were the best version of yourself… I remember the first time you became valedictorian. You were four, and you came running, yelling, ‘Daddy! Daddy, look!'. You were so proud of yourself, and I was proud of you.” He had the slightest smile as he reminisced.

“It was that day I knew you were destined to be even better than me... Yet here you are. It hurts me to see you settle into this ball of mediocrity. How very disappointing.”

Her self-esteem began to collapse like a brittle sandcastle, damaged by the never-ending waves of negative thoughts crashing on the shores of her mind. Michonne let out a hollow laugh, and the tears she'd managed to hold back threatened to flow once more. She refused to cry in front of him for a second time, and she shot up from the table without saying anything, heading upstairs to her bedroom.

“Sweetheart, wait!” Marie rushed to meet her daughter.

Rick knew he should have gone after Michonne, but he had some choice words for the man before him. His muscles flicked angrily in the jaw, and his eyes gleamed with ruthless fire. Reynard challenged his gaze, smiling maliciously.

“Say what you want to say, boy.” Reynard popped another bottle of wine open and poured himself a glass.

“Do you get off on hurting your daughter?”

“What? Of course not.” His brows shot up at the insinuation. “If anything, she gets off on going against me. You aren’t the first; she did it with Mike as well, but she understood eventually. With a bit of tough love to push her, she’ll come around; my Amélie always does.”

His voice was much calmer with Rick, as if he wasn’t worth any extra energy. He tossed his wine around in the glass before taking a sip.

“But I have to say, Richard, Michael was a doctor; he had no children nor any long-winded drama or anger issues; however, I knew he wasn’t good enough—not for my daughter. He was weak, complacent, and selfish. Even when she accepted his proposal, I knew that she knew, it would never work. She was only twenty-two; she was driven, intelligent, and kind, with a deep love for life. My Amélie was destined for greatness, and she still is. Which confuses me as to why she chose you of all people. It’s been more than four years. It worries me that she might actually be serious about this long term.”

Rick blinked quickly, trying to grasp the incredible scene in front of him, his mind attempting to reconcile reality with the shock.

“You’re not serious, are you? It ain’t crossed your mind that we might actually love each other. I love her, she loves me. We're gonna get married. We got two children together. Thank you for delivering the news about the third, by the way.”

“You're very welcome, Richard. I think it’s a testament to your relationship that my daughter didn't tell you. Everything isn’t all dandy, as you say.”

“You're saying that she doesn’t love me?”

“No! No! My daughter doesn’t have a callous bone in her body. I’m sure her feelings for you are genuine, no matter how fleeting they are. What I am saying is that there must be a reason she hasn’t told you; she’s three months along, as I understand it to be. You didn’t even realise. You say you love my daughter, but I don’t believe that. I don’t think she believes it either.”

Reynard relished the simple excitement of living, savouring each sip of wine. It was as though his senses were heightened by his enjoyment. He couldn't stop smiling; his smile was dangerous but genuine, as if happiness had taken up residence on his face. Rick's face flushed bright red. He smashed his hand against the table, the piercing crackling echoing throughout the room, scattering pieces of broken glass and the remnants of his rage.

“I love Michonne; I’m in love with her whether you like it or not! She knows that!”

“If you loved her, you would have waited until you had your divorce instead of making her a glorified mistress. You wouldn’t have gotten her pregnant out of wedlock. How much has my Amélie sacrificed for you?”

Rick paced towards Reynard, the force of his footsteps a testament to the restless anger coursing through his veins. His finger pointed directly into Reynard's face as he cornered him. The older man smirked as he poured more wine into his glass and slanted back into his seat.

“What the hell do you know? You don't want her happy! You're gonna make it seem like you want what’s best for her; it’s all bullshit! You just want to control her. You’re gonna sit here and act like you care, but the truth is, you don’t like that you're losing control. It ain’t sitting right with you that someone else got influence over her!”

Reynard nodded enthusiastically, and his eyes grew wide with excitement as Rick invaded his space. He turned to meet his angry gaze.

“You said all of that just to ignore my question... Richard, I think that part of you knows...”

“What?”

“That part of you knows that you’re not good enough for my little girl. Part of you doubts the sanctity of your relationship. Part of you is afraid that one day she’s going to realise that you're not worth it.”

Rick stumbled back, briefly losing his footing, his body recoiling as if struck by an invisible force by the unexpected allegation levelled at him. As a prolonged moment of silence took hold, his breath stopped, caught in his throat. He looked at the man, trying to find the right words, before turning on his heel and walking up the stairs to his and Michonne's bedroom. Outside the door, he could hear two women talking in French. He didn’t bother to knock before he entered.

“Ah, tu es là, Richard! I’ll go clean up downstairs.” She kissed his cheek. “Amélie, prends ton temps. D'accord? Je t'aime.” She gave her child one last look.

And with that, Marie left, giving the couple their space. Rick walked to Michonne, whose eyes were red and puffy. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She rubbed the backs of her crossed arms gently.

“We need to talk, Michonne.”

“Do we have to do this right now?”

“The baby thing? Yes! Yes, we do.” His voice had dropped an octave and was gritty.

“What do you want me to say, Rick?”

“How about you start with how long you’ve known, Chonne?”

“A little over a month...”

“A little over a month. And you didn’t think that I should know we’re gonna have another baby? I should’ve known! I should’ve been the first one to know!”

“I had my reasons, Rick! You know I did…”

“And yet it’s those reasons that concerns me! You made an active choice to hide your pregnancy from me for reasons I can’t even begin to comprehend… Your mother knows, and your father knows enough that he can throw it in our fucking faces! Let me guess: Sasha knows as well, which would make me the last to know. Ain’t that just fucking something?”

“I didn’t tell you because of everything going on. Lori, Judith, and the stress of everything else! You had so much on your plate. I was waiting for the right time.”

“And when was the right time, hmm?”

“Rick…”

She couldn’t answer, nor did he want her to. She reached out to grab his arm, but he pulled away from her, and her shoulders slumped. The room felt suffocating; the air was heavy with an oppressive sadness that clung to every corner.

“The truth is, you don’t trust me to be man enough and deal with my shit. Like I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. I see it in how you treat me when I deal with other people. I know I got my issues, but you got no right like I’m some broken toy. Part of you agrees with your father-”

“That’s not true!”

“We both know it’s true! You’ve never defended me in front of your father. Not once.”

He rubbed his hand over his face after watching a tear fall from Michonne's eyes. She held his hand.

“Rick, baby, I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t wanna fight either. I don’t wanna say something I can’t take back, so I’m gonna go.”

“Where? Baby, it’s late!”

“Daryl’s”

“That’s an hour's drive-”

“I know. I’m a grown man… Look, I ain't gonna go on some rave, okay? This thing, with your father and the baby, I just need time to get my thoughts straight.”

He took his phone, his baseball cap, and his jacket and left. Michonne sat on her bed and hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth, seeking solace in the rhythm of her own desolation as she thought of all that happened tonight.

…

“Hey, man. You didn’t call.”

“You got someone coming over or something.”

“No. What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?”

“My father-in-law’s in town. Let's just say we had an oh-so-colourful dinner…”

Rick threw himself on the couch, putting his arm over his face to cover his eyes from the light. Daryl went to the kitchen to grab two beers to join him.

“Michonne’s pregnant. Found out tonight.”

“What? You ain’t want it?”

“That ain’t the problem. Her father is the one who let the cat out the bag. She hid it.”

“She ain’t want it?”

“It’s not that... I know she thinks I can’t handle another kid. And not just another kid; she doesn’t think me reliable at all. She’s gonna start showing soon. How long was she gonna hide it for?”

“She said that?”

“No, but I know it.”

“Rick-”

“If we didn’t have the boys, I got no doubt she would have left me a long time ago. I know it.”

“Rick, that girl loves you.”

“Yeah. Well, love ain’t everything; you, of all people, should know that.”

“Leah and Michonne ain’t the same. Come on, Rick. You ain’t exactly been the best partner, Rick. This ain’t the 1950s; if she wanted to leave, trust me, she would, especially if her daddy been begging her for years. Them kids ain’t gonna stop shit. Stay the night; clear your head, but you're gonna go home in the morning.”

“Hey, Michonne wanted to have a small get-together on Friday; you coming? It’s for the weekend.”

“Alright, just text me the time... And Rick, some parents, they don’t got to beat you to damage you.”

Daryl stood up and went to his room, leaving behind his best friend. Rick took out his wallet to retrieve a photograph from within. It was of him and Michonne with the boys at their christening. This is a special occasion for both of their families. He and Michonne weren't religious, but it was a custom shared by both of their families, which was unusual for the two. Both of their parents were in the back, bathing in the joyous atmosphere of the blessing and celebration of their children. He traced his fingers along the old photograph, a bittersweet caress that brought memories to life. His fingers lingered on its surface, as if, by touching it, he could somehow find solace within it.

…

“Bonjour Amélie. Comment vas-tu? I see Richard hasn’t returned… Do you want to talk about it?”

“Morning, mummy…” Her lips pulled together into a half-formed smile.

“Darest, I spoke to your father last night... Don’t take it to heart; he’s a stubborn old fool. He only wants what's best for you.”

“Best for me? Is insulting me and the father of my children, is what's best for me?”

“Amélie, Your father has his flaws, but he’s sincere. I like Richard, but let’s not act as if he had done right by you.”

“Why are you entertaining the girl’s foolishness? What life has she lived to be able to question me?” Reynard said, entering the kitchen.

He was wearing a maroon Ralph Lauren sweater with a grey shirt underneath and long khaki pants. He wore his glasses today, and he carried his laptop and iPad with him.

He seems to be occupied for the day. That means he’ll be out of my hair for a while. Should I bring the boys back?

“Good morning, my sweet. You look handsome; you were in rare form last night.”

“Is breakfast finished?”

“Oui, hungry?”

He didn’t come last night; he slept out. I get he’s angry, but to take that shit out on me! And he wonders why I acted the way I did. Shameless man!

“Amélie?”

I wonder what time he’s coming back. We still need to talk, but that temper! Still, I’m not completely in the right either, and he honestly held it together pretty well. Then again, he never really lost his shit with me, even last night.

“Amélie!”

“What is it?”

“Did you not hear your mother calling you, girl?”

“I’m not doing this shit today.” Michonne began to walk away

“What was that girl?”

“Look, I don’t have the time. Rick didn’t come back last night, and I can’t with you right now. I'm tired of this.”

“Let’s not do this, you two!”

“You seem to forget yourself, Amélie.” Reynard ignored Marie.

“The father of your grandchildren left late last night because of your antics; he isn’t back yet... Dad, it's not fair what you're doing to my family!”

“Your family? Am I not your family? It seems being away from us for so long has rotted your brain. Even talking back to me, have you lost your mind?”

“No, I haven’t!” Her words shattered into the room like shards of glass. “Do you know why the twins aren't here? I left them with Sasha because I didn't want them here with you! I have somethings to get off my chest, and you will listen.”

Michonne could see her father fuming, but he remained silent, his arms crossed hard across his chest. It was as though he was waiting to see how far she'd go with her 'performance'. Sweat rivulets formed across her body, and time seemed to slow as the weight of the situation pressed on her. Under his piercing gaze, she could sense her courage wavering. She was adamant, however, knowing that if she didn't express what she wanted now, she might not get another chance. After Rick left, she thought long and hard about everything, especially Rick’s words. She hardly slept last night, knowing that he was out and angry at that.

“I am an adult, capable of making my own decisions. And though they aren’t always the best, they are my decisions to make.” She took a deep breath. “I moved to Atlanta to be my own person. I didn’t want to be attached to your name anymore; in everything I did, I had to be careful not to tarnish you because, no matter what, I was only seen as Reynard Hawthorne's daughter. ‘If I can’t honour you, do not shame you.’ Those were the words that kept ringing in my head every single day! Every part of my life you controlled. What clothes I wore, what languages I spoke, what instruments I played, and my likes and dislikes—you even controlled who I was dating!”

“I already know you chose Michael just to go against me. You did it then, and you’re doing it now. But I do not hold it against you; all children challenge their parents, and all children rebel. You carried on that charade with that buffoon for almost two years just to spite me, but in the end, you left him at the altar. I raised you, I taught you, and I made you who you were. In this world, I know you better than you know yourself. I do not hold your little outburst to heart, so quit while you are ahead, lest it stop being cute.”

“I did stay with Mike to spite you, and I don’t regret it.”

“You don’t regret it?” Reynard asked rhetorically, “Dearest, I told Richard that you didn’t have a callous bone in your body; I lied. I knew that I lied because you are mine; you are my daughter, and so you are just like me... But if you must defy me, at least go all the way. In the end, you chickened out because you didn’t have the gall. You picked a battle you couldn't win, and I knew you couldn’t do it. You see, Amélie, you are your mother’s as much as you are mine. You have her unyielding heart.”

He walked up to her and took her hands in his. He had a smile on his face, which caught Michonne off guard. His ability to change emotions at the drop of a hat always left her speechless.

“Dearest, you are not experienced enough to navigate the world on your own. I have no doubt that you love Richard; however, just like with Mike, I know this will not work. You think you do as well, since there are feelings involved, but I know better. Have I ever been wrong in the past? You tried it before, but in the end, you walked away like I said you should. Dearest, you are stubborn; you got that from me. What I do is to ensure that your bullheaded nature does not lead you astray.”

He softly tapped her palms, as if to offer her comfort. When she looked at her father, she was met with that expression. He was smiling, but he had that expression on his face. That very look had haunted her throughout her life. That empty, piercing look probed her soul; what it was searching for, she didn't know. She was looking around his face, as if the shell in front of her was hiding a monster. A firm lump bound her neck, making breathing difficult.

She grew extremely cold and jerked her outstretched hands back, afraid to let him touch them.

“I’m glad you know I love him. This isn’t some short-term thing. He’s the one I want. I knew that the first day I laid my eyes on him. I didn’t care about the consequences then, and I don’t care now. I don’t care what anyone has to say! Am I a bad person? Yeah! Maybe! I met a married man with two children. I wanted him, I got him, and I don’t regret any of it! I love him! I love him! I love him! And I’m going to marry him! And we’re going to have another baby! And I don’t care what you or her have to say about it!”

Her heart was racing, and her breath was ragged in her throat. It was the first time she denounced her parents. She spoke so quickly that it almost became hard to tell what was said. The face that had held a smile now showed nothing. Not anger or disgust; it was now just expressionless. He walked even closer, barely giving her any room to breathe. Marie, who stood silently the entire time, felt a presence other than theirs. She looked towards the entrance of the kitchen.

“Michonne…”

“Rick, you’re back…”

He walked to her and took her hand to leave, not paying any mind to the people in the kitchen.

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here…We're gonna have to talk, right?”

“Yeah…”

…

The couple sat on the park bench, taking in the breeze. A radiant smile swept across their faces, and their eyes glowed with electrifying excitement.

It feels good to be away from everything. It feels freeing.

After last night and this morning, this was a welcomed change of pace for Michonne, and she suspected the same for Rick as well. She turned to look at him, only to find him staring at her with eyes much calmer than they were last night.

“Rick I—”

“I'm sorry, I—”

They laughed a bit, understanding what the other was going to say. Michonne blocked her giggle and said,

“You go first.”

“Okay… Chonne I’m sorry about how I left last night. I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing…I understand why you didn’t say anything; I do. I know I ain’t exactly in the best place mentally, and I know your father; he doesn’t exactly make it any easier.” He smiled sadly.

“What you said last night, about me not defending you... You were right. I just—things with my dad are so complicated; I don’t even know how to explain it!”

Rick clasped their hands together, pulling her to him.

“Sometimes parents don’t got to hit their kids to damage ‘em; Daryl told me that… He may have raised you and cared about you, but that man isn’t a good father; it’s time you stop acting like he is.” He pulled her hand to his lips. “I thought about our family all last night, and I want us all to work. I need us all to work, but if he can’t be better, I’m sorry, baby; I don’t need him around my kids or us... I overheard what you told him; in fact, I was eavesdropping a while before I entered the room. Does that make you mad?”

“Kind of, but I'll get over it.” He chuckled at her.

“Darling, you are enough. I need you to know that.”

Her lips trembled as she tried to stop the overwhelming emotion. She managed to form a slight smile that gave way to what she was trying to overcome, although one couldn’t tell by looking at her face that both her hands, even the one he held, were shaking.

“What I said—didn’t it change what you thought about me? How you see me?”

“No, sweetheart, it doesn't. If anything, I’m relieved; you were too perfect, and you still are to me. You have the right to be selfish; ain’t nothing wrong with that. Everyone makes mistakes. I’ve done made a whole lot; it’s a wonder you're still with me. I’ve said it before: what happened with Mike wasn’t great, but you saved him and yourself from what was gonna be a terrible marriage... You’re not a bad person for wanting to live for yourself—as yourself.”

“I think most people would disagree with everything I’ve done to this point.”

“You don’t need to care about everyone else. We just have to care about each other and be the best that we can be for our children…Chonnie, you're not some homewrecker either; we both made a choice, and my marriage had no saving to be had... I was happy with what you said to your old man. Not just because you stood up to him, but hear that you truly want to be with me despite how messed up I am or everything with Lori or that we got kids; that you want me.”

“You are messed up, but so am I. The truth is, you're getting better. You were a good man before me and Lori, and you’re a good man after, but I’m—what I’ve got, there’s no fixing that.”

He wiped her tears from her cheeks, tracing his fingertips along her bottom lashes. As she buried her face in the flesh of his neck, he wrapped her in his warm embrace and tenderly kissed the top of her head. She had managed to deceive him for so long while suffering so much.

Four years, and I didn't know. You deserve better.

“Next week, I want you to join me in my sessions with Dr. Job. Okay? I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna be just fine, darling. I know it, and if we’re not, we’ll make it work. Not just for us, but for our family. It ain’t gonna be easy; we'll do it though, and we’ll be strong for each other. From now on, we live how we choose.”

“I love you...”

“I love you more. ”

The pair was in a better emotional state after having a fully open discussion. They picked up the boys and decided to spend the remainder of the day having fun as a family. When they got back home, they fully expected an argument between the two sides; however, they kept their words limited. Rick suspected it had to do with the twins being present. The same happened the next day as well.

…

Friday evening came quickly. Michonne, Rick and Sasha had rented out a guest house for the weekend, where Maggie, Daryl and a few others were present. They were going to bring the kids, but Marie had offered to babysit them. It was a peace offering, no matter how temporary it was Rick and Michonne agreed. Maggie rode with them.

When they got there, Sasha, Daryl and Michonne's friend, Rosita, were already there, along with Rick’s friends Carol and Morgan, who would arrive the following day. Michonne and Maggie hopped out of the car, leaving Rick to bring the bags in. Daryl, who was smoking outside, went to help his friend. Sasha and Rosita, hearing the car, came out to see.

“Heyyyy bitchessss!” Sasha yelled at the top of her lungs.

Michonne and Maggie hugged everybody around them, their passionate actions a tribute to the overwhelming happiness that flowed from their spirit. Their laughter resonated like bells in the air, a melody of pure delight that raised everybody's mood.

“Where’s Abe?”

“He’s staying with Noah till his sister comes to take over tomorrow. Until then, I’m free whores!” She laughed, pushing out her tongue. She already had a shot in her hand.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“She had six shots!” Rosita made it known before Sasha could lie.

“We’re here for a break from life; what the hell did you expect? Come drink with me!”

“I can’t.” Maggie shut her down

“Chonne can’t either.”

“What?”

Everybody other than Michonne and Daryl watched Rick as he took the last bag to head inside, confused as to why he was speaking for her. Maggie looked at Michonne while the rest fluctuated between the duo, putting two and two together.”

“Noooo…” Rosita covered her mouth.

“You guys got knocked up again! Whatever bug you two have, you better keep it to yourselves! I’m not playing!”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Shhh, Mags; he may not be here, but he might hear you. He’s been begging for a girl!”

The air ignited with an electric charge, such that everyone in attendance swirled with eagerness for what was to come, infusing the occasion with an irresistible energy.

“Guys, come inside!” Rick called out to the girls.

#richonne #rick x michonne #rick grimes #michonne grimes #richonne fandom #richonne fanfiction #richonne fic #michonne #alternate universe

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 11 months

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Is there evidence or do we know if it was considered common knowledge during his lifetime that Danton was a “womanizer” or frequently cheated on his wife? I’m just wondering how much that was a modern or even Thermidorian invention. Thanks!

I personally only know of two instances of Danton cheating (or perhaps attempting to cheat would be a more fitting description, since he was rejected in both cases) on his wife. One took place in 1793 and was reported in the memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas.

One day, among others, [Madame Panis] took me to Sèvres, to a country house inhabited by Danton. I had never seen him; but great God! How ugly he was! We found him with a lot of people, walking in a very beautiful garden. He came to us and asked Mme Panis who I was; she replied that I was one of Robespierre’s host’s daughters. He told her I appeared to be suffering, that I needed a good friend, that this would return me to health. He had the sort of repulsive features that frighten one. He came up to me, wanted to take my waist and kiss me (m’embrasser). I repulsed him forcefully, though I was still quite weak. I was very young; but his face scared me so much that I pleaded insistently with Mme Panis not to bring me back to that house; I told her that this man had said horrible things to me, such as I had never heard. He had no respect for women, and still less for young people. Madame Panis seemed to regret having taken me to that house and told me that she did not know that man under that report; she assured me that we would not return to his house and then told me that he was Danton; she urged me not to speak to my mother of what had happened, because it could cause her pain, and she would no longer want to let me come to see her. I admit that this recommendation was not pleasing to me, for our good mother had raised us in the habit of never hiding anything from her.

The second report comes from Lucile Desmoulins, who in a diary entry from December 12 1792 writes that Danton at some point in the fall had started making some kind of moves on her, but that she eventually got him to stop:

After eight days D(anton) went to stay at the Chabcellerie, madame R(obert) and I went there in our turn. I really liked it there, but only one thing bothered me, it was Fréron. Every day I saw new progress and didn't know what to do about it. I consulted Maman, she approved of my plan to banter and joke about it, and that was the wisest thing to do. Because what to do? Forbid him to come? He and C(amille) dealt with each other every day, we would meet. To tell him to be more circumspect was to confess that I knew everything and that I did not disapprove of him; an explanation would have been needed. I therefore thought myself very prudent to receive him with friendship and reserve as usual, and I see now that I have done well. Soon he left to go on a mission. I was very happy with it, I thought it would change him. But many other cares to be taken… I realized that D(anton)… Oh, of that one, I was suspicious! I had to fear the eyes of his wife with whom I did not want to become an enemy. I did so well that the former did not realize that I had noticed it, and the latter that it might be happening.

Other than that, I’ve found the following four pieces, which, while not involving any cheating, does paint Danton as a kind of womanizer. The first is an anecdote from the memoirs of the Sainte-Amaranthe family:

”They are graver in there than we are,” observed M. de Morand , pointing to the room where the Dantonist party was. We left our room to go to the Français. Pamela was acted. Some moments after our entrance a box opposite to us was opened. ”There is Danton,” cried M. de Pressac. ”He pursues us,” added Madame de Sainte-Amaranthe. Between the acts the fancy took her to look at him closer. ”Will you come with me, dear?” she said to me. ”The box next to his is vacant. Let us go there. Will you come, Amélie?” ”Oh! I shall remain here,” replied M. de Sartines; ”when I want to see wild beasts , I can go to the Jardin du Roi.” M. de Pressac came with us; he assured us, laughing, that Danton would be flattered if he knew the reason of our moving. ”Yes,” replied my companion , he will think he has rallied all parties round him when he sees a royalist and a Girondin hovering about him.” Having stayed half through an act in Danton's neighbourhood, she said to me: ”I have had enough; have you?” ”I have had too much,” I answered. Turning to our companion, she said aloud: ”Our first box was decidedly better; let us go back to it.” These words were intended to remove any idea of our appearance near Danton being intentional, for he and his friends had naturally looked at two well-dressed women. This, I swear, is the only connexion which ever existed between the family of Sainte-Amaranthe and Danton; they dined on the same day at Rose's restaurant, in totally separate rooms.

In the notes the jury member Topino-Lebrun left of the dantonist trial, we also find the following passage:

Danton, in the chamber of the accused — Me a conspirator? I b(aise) (kiss, fuck, caress etc) my wife every day. My name is attached to all the revolutionary institutions: the levy, the revolutionary army, the revolutionary committee, and I am a moderate!

Then there’s the following notes written by Robespierre in 1794:

When I showed to Danton the system of calumny of Roland and of the Brissotins, promoted in all the public writings, Danton answered me: “What do I care! Public opinion is a whore, posterity is a folly!”

The word virtue made Danton laugh; he didn’t have a more solid virtue, he said jokingly, than the one which he practised every night with his wife. How could a man, to whom every idea of morality was foreign, be the defender of liberty?

And finally, on January 22 1792, Lucile similarily writes in her diary: ”[Danton’s] jokes are as boorish (rustres) as he is. Despite this, he is a good devil.”

Given these statements, it would appear Danton was at least known for cracking sexual jokes to contemporaries. If he was a notorious cheater is however a claim I had less luck finding sources for, as had Hillaire Beloc who in his Danton (1899) wrote that there exists absolutely no evidence for the idea:

As to his private life, affection dominated him. Upon the faith of some who did not know him he acquired the character of a debauchee. For the support of this view there is not a tittle of direct evidence. He certainly loved those pleasures of the senses which Robespierre refused, and which Roland was unable to enjoy; but that his good dinners were orgies or of any illegitimate loves (once he had married the woman to whom he was so devotedly attached) there is no shadow of proof.

I think the question certainly deserves to be investigated, given the fact that the idea is actually quite a common one. On Gabrielle Danton’s wikipedia there even is to read that her husband begged her corpse for forgiveness for his many love affairs after digging it up… Would be interesting to learn how much of all this is fiction and how much is fact.

#danton #georges danton #ask

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