#also i like the fire theme here and there

[pampushky]

ive been watching him for my entire life

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - 6.1k

TW: Scene of attempted SA, and the abuser never referred to by name. Sexism (but in the A/B/O sense). Self-harm and depressive episodes.

Themes: Exploration of what disabilities, PTSD, and chronic pain look like in the A/B/O world. If you have input about what that may look like, dm me. Slow burn. So much so you're not sure if it's even burning at times.

also yeah Loscar is canon it's my au I can do what I fucking want

Leave your feedback in the comments/feel free to dm me about that shit if you don't feel comfy dropping an anon or comment.

next part | masterlist | series masterlist

Mid January. 2024 Paris.

The hallway outside the trial room in the FIA headquarters is deceptively calm. Silent, save for the voices in the room behind you. You’d given your statement. Explained everything that had happened during your past two years at Williams, first with Nicholas Latifi, and then with Logan. Trying to do something with a car that was, in the kindest words, a tractor. Logan sits beside you, with a similar thousand-yard stare, just disassociating into space. Trying to trace the pattern of the carpet. 

“I should have been more— more perceptive,” Logan croaks, and you squeeze his hand, and shake your head. “Jesus. I— I tried to tell them everything. Everything I remembered from before–-”

“Thank you,” your voice is faint. Weak. Unlike you.

“Of course,” Logan squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back. “Always.”

You still remember the pit wall. Having to brush against his elbows occasionally. Knowing he did it on purpose some days, trying to provoke you. Going so far as to send you things coated in his scent when you were in heat, to try and provoke a bond sickness. Saved only by your brothers, curled close to you, letting you sleep in their arms as your fever raged. You were lucky your heats weren’t— weren’t consistently like that. More so just like a terrible fever and migraine, thanks to your medication. 

One pill to keep you from entering a real heat, morning. Two pills to help ease the brain fog from your head injury, morning and night. Another single pill to be taken whenever the pain gets too bad for you to function, any time of day. Anxiety medication, morning. Hormonal amplifiers to make up for the scent glands damaged by the fire all those years ago, morning and night. Scent blockers to mask your scent, morning. In total eight pills a day at your worst, perhaps nine.  

You croon nervously, despite knowing you’re safe here. That just inside the room behind you, past the heavy oak doors, are your grandfather and your uncles brothers. They’d never let anything happen to you. Not again. 

His elbow brushing against yours during the last lap of the race, encouraging Alex, despite his pace and his spot on the grid. Logan thanking you for being his engineer and friend during everything. You sit along the pit wall, silently, as celebrations rock the grid, and he appears in front of you, trying to make small talk, before following as you try to escape it, not wanting to talk to him, even as he looms behind you. His grip on the back of your neck, smothering the only bond you had, to Niki, to your pack. 

The near-toxic scent smothers you because of how close he is. Pushing you behind a stack of tires as you try to fight back, baring your teeth and thrashing while he manages to shove a need into your upper thigh, right through your pants. You yelp, and kick, trying to get any attention towards you, while most of the garage is empty. You feel him tearing at the collar of your shirt, ripping at it, pushing you into the tires. You bring your head into his nose, feeling the gush of blood against your face as he squeals and falls backward a few steps. 

You can’t smell anything besides his blood on your face, the metallic scent making you gag. When he turns to look at you, his face stained red, you growl, your lips drawn back over your teeth, trying to edge along the wall to get away from him. 

With a snarl, he leaps at you, pinning you to the wall, both hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your airway. You thrash, and just as you think you’re going to pass out, the weight of his hands disappears from your neck. You stay where you are, leaning against the wall. Watching as Logan snarls furiously, pinning the other Alpha to the ground with ease, his long canines bared and coming close to the man’s neck, threatening to tear and rip and end whatever pathetic life he lived—

“I should have done more,” Logan leans down, his head in his hands. 

“You almost killed him,” you whisper, and that seems to startle the driver even more. “You almost killed him. I think that’s enough.”

The two of you sit in silence until Logan’s lawyer and his manager leave the room, closing the door softly behind them. For the brief moment that the doors are open, you hear him screaming his voice hoarse as the judgment comes ever closer. 

“The FIA won’t be pressing any charges,” The lawyer says softly while Logan continues to keep his head down. “Neither will—”

“Don’t say his name,” Logan looks up, interrupting the lawyer before he can even say something. There’s a fire in his words, a rare fury. “Don’t. I don’t— she doesn’t—”

“I apologize, I forgot about that.” The lawyer says, glancing over to look at you. You look presentable now. Nothing like the blurry images the paparazzi had gotten of you without any of your makeup to hide all the burns. Your skin looks more even, the uneven bumps and indents from the mottled scarring across your jaw partially hidden by concealer and foundation. The scars get more severe as they cross your upper cheek and the top of your nose. That’s the only part that’s harder to hide, even when you’ve covered it fully in makeup. 

“It’s time to go, Logan,” 

He looks at you with uncharacteristic panic. He’s the opposite of most alpha stereotypes. You’re glad Oscar’s found his way back to him, and that you’ve gotten to witness the sweet courtship start. He pulls you into a tight hug, and that’s when you finally crumble. “You’re gonna be okay without me,” You whisper, voice shaking. “You’re gonna be fucking fantastic, Lo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Is all he can murmur, practically folding over you and holding you closer. “Maybe if I—”

“It’s okay. I’ll still be on the grid.”

“But it won’t be the same,”

“No. It won’t,” You choke out, as Logan pulls away. Both of you newly aged by the experience. You won’t be there to defend Logan from James. Logan won’t be there to understand the odd homesickness for a country you only partially remember, stuck between European and American. 

You feel small as Logan is led away by his manager and lawyer. His scent fading as the seconds turn to minutes, and then suddenly an hour has passed. Leaving you alone in the hallway until your brothers can get there. By the time they do arrive (two hours later), you’ve been chewing on your fingers and palms enough to make them bleed. Mathias and Lukas know you well enough to have already brought bandages and towels to help clean and treat the new wounds. Before this, you’d not been chewing or clawing at yourself for nearly a year and a half. Your therapist had looked devastated when you’d turned in the little chip she’d given you for not self-harming. 

There’s screaming from inside the room, before Niki bursts out, snarling a remark over his shoulder before he catches your eye, and softens. Your father, despite his age, despite the fact that he has been told by his doctor many times that he needs to calm down, to be kinder to his aging body and new kidney, despite everything that should be holding him back, bends to knock his forehead against yours. One of his hands comes to the nape of your neck, softly rubbing the paternal bond he’d left there, claiming you as his child rather than a descendant. 

“Maus,” The feel of his scarred hands is familiar, comforting. His scent is even more so. Like spruce trees and slightly burnt sugar. Looking at you with red-rimmed irises that show his designation, his secondary sex, while he looms over you protectively. He sees the new bandages around your hands and the new bulkiness of your sleeves. 

“Oh, Maus…” Niki leans down, and croons 

If he wasn’t in active recovery from the kidney transplant, he’d likely be curling around you in his wolf form, just as he had done when you were little and first placed in his care after—

“You’re safe here. You’re safe.” 

It’s moments like this that you’re glad that your sense of smell was so destroyed after the fire. You’re grateful that you could only catch the faint scent of those within a small area around you. Because all you can smell is your father, who would burn the world down for you if it meant making you smile. That Mathias and Lukas— your brothers, not uncles, never uncles, too close to be considered just uncles to you— mark a silent guard beside you, Lukas in canine form, letting you hide your face in his dusty blond-brown fur. Mathias stands silently beside you, but with his hand held tightly in yours.

Memories of your first moments with them. The terror. Sleeping in the pillow forts and nests you’d built up until this very point in time. Always your guardians. Always by your side. In the hospital and beyond. 

You’re chewing on your thumbnail, claw extended, and Niki looks at you with a worried gaze, before softly reaching over and squeezing your shoulder.

The door opens again, and you hear shouting in a voice that haunted your dreams from within the room and then more of it, very quickly coming in your direction. Not the exit that you’d been told he would be made to use when the judgment was finally placed. 

You can just barely catch a whiff of the scent— overpowering and choking you as you tried to work, tried to examine all of the strategies that could help Logan succeed in last year’s car while the scent makes it hard to think, to breathe— before it’s nearly upon you entirely, with the Alpha who had made your past two years with Williams utter hell staring down at you, enraged, trying to push past your brothers to get to you, snarling and snapping at you as Niki shoves you forcefully behind him. 

“Tell them— tell them you accepted my courtship! You wanted this—”

Two officials start to drag him away. But you can still remember his scent. How weak he’d made you feel when you were trying to work on the car. Hating how he had purred and crooned with your every movement. Making sure you were always choking on his scent. Lukas rumbles in anger beside you, rising to stare down the man, hiding you from further view with his giant body. But of course he continues. 

“You accepted my gifts! You wanted this—”

No. You hadn’t wanted any of this. You’d just wanted to work on the cars. To help your friend grow and achieve. 

“As if anyone else would have you—”

Mathias snarls, and you can only pray that your grip on his hand is enough to stop him from lunging at the offending man.

“— you useless, crippled omega—”

Niki lunges this time, snarling, the old man’s frankly colossal canine form pining him to the ground with ease. Your father’s teeth just millimeters from tearing his throat out, stopped only by your panicked whine. Such a rare noise from you. You won’t have those you care about kill this man, this weak excuse for an Alpha. You don’t want to think of the heavy scent of his blood when you’re near them, seeking comfort from your family.

“Get him out of my sight,” Niki groans, when just a second later, court officers charge from the room. His canine form melts away, and he huffs, sitting down in one of the stiff chairs with a wince that you are hyper-aware of. Mathias looks at you with deep worry in his eyes. But you’re numb. Watching him get dragged away. Your thigh twinges from where he’d stabbed you with the needle. Part of it had broken off inside of you, removed at the hospital while the FIA officials tried to smooth things over. 

It twinges again when the verdict is read as you’re gently shuffled back into the room. He’s not allowed back in. It’s been shown he can’t control himself. 

“—Guilty on all counts, and shall be henceforth blacklisted from employment by all motorsports under the jurisdiction of the FIA. Omega Lauda shall be awarded a sum off—”

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as you hold your arms tightly. Claws slowly sinking into the fresh bandages and redoing all the damage your brothers had worked so hard to fix.

Early February 2024. Woking. 

Lando knows he’s a big deal. He’s one of the most popular drivers, with a rabid fanbase that was willing to go to bat for him for just about anything, even when he was the one at fault. Edits were made when he so much as breathed. All that he doesn’t have is that elusive first win, but he has a feeling this season will be different. Be it how refreshed he feels after spending some time back in his childhood home with his parents and siblings, just to spend time as a pack for the first time in several years, all six of them together. 

His family is perfect. An alpha and omega set of parents, with two alphas and two omegas for pups, all rather successful. His brother, a former world champion in kart racing, now with a loving mate and the cutest pup in the world. His sister, a showjumper quickly rising through the ranks. All successful and perfect and beautiful. Lando can’t help but puff his chest out a bit, because that’s his pack. 

There’s an odd buzz in the air when he arrives, and through the giant glass windows, he can see how many people are gathered in the building, all wearing bright orange. As he comes closer, the overflowed parking has been filled. He parks his car in his specific spot, right next to Oscar, who’s already there, just not by his car. He’s just about ready to head to the on-site cafe when Andrea pops out of nowhere to drag him by his arm somewhere, cursing slightly.

“Mate— what’s got you in such a mood—” Lando whines, already feeling like the team principal is doing way too much this early in the morning. 

“Did you not read any of your emails or texts?” Andrea hisses, the Beta turning on his heels to grab Lando by both his shoulders, looking straight into the young driver’s eyes with a fury only seen when he’d been messing around in the garage and nearly broke the experimental back wing during testing in the summer. “Lando Norris, I could gut you right now—”

“What did I do?” Lando whines again, high-pitched and childish, and Andrea runs his hands down his face, cursing fluently in Italian, while also asking the Virgin Mary for patience, based on how many times he hears a hail mary tumble past the team principal’s lips. 

“You’re late. An hour late. Oscar, Zak, and I have been calling you for nearly that entire time and you’ve been silent.”

“...Late for what?” Lando utters. His phone had been dead, constantly forgotten to get plugged into the charger. Today had been no different. 

“O Maria, dammi la pazienza e la forza— your new race engineer is being introduced? Today?”

“What?! But I don’t even know who he is—”

“It’s a she, first of all, and maybe you’d know if you checked your emails—”

The conversation must be attracting attention, because soon, Oscar is also by his side, looking mildly disappointed in the older man. The omega’s scent has just the hint of rotting oranges, but other than that, it’s normal, like seasoned salt, charcoal, and oranges. 

“Wonderful first impression, really. She’s already thrilled to not have gotten to talk to you yet,” Oscar chimes in, and Lando groans, sending a withering glare in his direction that just bounces off of the Australian. “Now you just get to improvise your way through a panel about how excited you are to be working with her.”

“I don’t even know who she is!” Lando finally barks, his scent turning a bit panicked. It’s like a thunderstorm and a hot, dry heat, smelling how burnt food tastes.

“Mate, you’re fucking kidding me—,” Oscar starts, only to be interrupted by a polite cough behind Lando. 

“She is right behind you, Mr. Norris,” The voice is monotone. Icy. Damn near robotic. And he knows it immediately because you’re the current star of most engineering circles around the grid and the damn talk of every single person they’d interviewed to replace Will when it became clear Lando needed a change. You’d managed to pull decency and consistent points into Williams of all teams. It baffles him, honestly. How you’d managed that, he has no idea, but he assumes it’s through pure spite and fury.

You’re styled elegantly, with a tailored set of pleated, pale gray slacks and a cozy-looking, chunky knit black sweater, tucked into the top of your pants. Black dress shoes. Somehow, the slacks don’t even look bulky, cinching high on your waist, and it’s flattering how slimming the entire outfit is, despite all the known laws of fashion saying that this shouldn’t be such a flattering look. The neck of the sweater is in a mock style, clearly giving the statement of a private individual, hiding any possible claiming bonds. Your hair is in a perfectly messy but neat braid down your back, with two long pieces pulled from the top to slightly frame your face. 

So plain. But elegant.

Everything about you sets Lando off a bit. And he doesn’t know why. But you just tilt your head at him. As if he’s some puzzle for you to fix. It doesn’t help that he can’t get even a trace of your scent. Only the sterile odor that came with cleaning supplies and medicine. Almost like you’re on heavy medications or that you sleep in a hospital. It unnerves him. Lando’s heard a few rumors that you’re an alpha, and that you simply want to smell that way so as to not be assigned a certain stereotype or intimidate anyone.

After all, word on the grid was you left Williams because of how they’d handled the situation between the other race engineer and the anonymous omega colleague who’d been assaulted. 

So you at least had morals. 

“Oscar had mentioned you were…. A bit lax.” You murmur, icy eyes flicking up and down his form, your tone impassive and your stance closed off. “I hadn’t imagined you would be this bad, though.” 

“I’m actually quite good, normally.” 

“About checking your email and phone? Or should I put a tracker on you?” 

“Hilarious.” 

“I’m aware I am.” You say so dryly, so bluntly, that Lando feels one of his eyes twitch as a stylist manages to help pull him together to look somewhat presentable using the wardrobes saved. You just talk softly with Oscar the entire time, a fond look in your eyes as you talk to the Omega driver. 

Right. Logan. Oscar. You’d been Logan’s engineer before. You’d probably gotten to know Oscar through that. When Lando’s finally presentable enough, the stylist makes a final adjustment to your outfit by quickly weaving an orange ribbon around the end of your braid. 

“...I will not be wearing this when I am working,” you examine the ribbon, frowning. “You’re lucky to have me in this now.”

“What, don’t like papaya?”

“No. Red is better.” You just murmur, still frowning at the ribbon, before letting it go. “Vati won in red. All three times.”

“Well, change is inevitable,” Lando fakes a sigh, and this makes you scowl. “I like the orange better, anyway.”

“You’ve yet to win, anyway,” You dismiss his comment with a simple wave of your hand, and go to follow Zak out onto the stage, leaving Lando a bit baffled. Oscar just snickers, patting him on the back and leaving the Brit scrambling to follow the both of you. 

The press conference goes immaculately. You’re the darling of the media, who seem to love how dry you are with every single answer. Just like Niki had been, even when you border on insulting most of the journalists asking the question. You look about ready to choke yourself with the wire of the microphone in front of you when someone asks you your opinion on Rush. 

“She thinks McLaren looked better in red,” Lando grins, looking at you with a mischievous grin. 

“McLaren had more wins in red.” You say bluntly, causing laughter to erupt. Lando’s ears turn pink. “We shall see if that is to change.”

He’s quiet for the rest of the press conference, until…

“Any statement on why you left Williams?”

You go rigid. Just for a second. And from where you sit beside him, Lando catches just the tiniest scent of anxiety on you, under all the sterile, medicinal odor that permeates the air around you. 

“....I thought that was obvious,” You mumble into the mic, before clearing your throat. “I, ah, don’t take kindly to anyone— especially someone who was considered my partner— trying to take advantage of someone. So.” 

There’s a tremor to your voice, barely detectable. And under the table, you’re squeezing your knee. Your hand shakes as the question repeats in your mind. Any statement on why you left Williams? The crowd is suddenly not safe. As he looks at you from every face, every set of eyes now staring at you, even when you know he’s not there. There’d been heightened security, Andrea and Zak had promised that. Oscar was here, already with a nest in his private suite at the factory, prepared for you to crash in when the press conference was over. You try to speak, to play the part of the stoic Alpha the grid has assigned to you, but your tongue is dry in your mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement in the back of the crowd. Your hindbrain croons, and you feel yourself fighting off the urge to turn canine, to simply burst from the stage and run towards where you know is safe. He’s not there, Zak promised. He will never be anywhere near you again. 

You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe—

“What a stupid fucking question,” Lando blurts out, a snarl in his voice. “It’s obvious why she left. She has morals and doesn’t tolerate that kind of shit. Ask a proper question or fuck off,” 

Zak calls an end to the press conference quickly after, and you make your way off stage quickly, retching into a trashcan the moment you’re hidden from the cameras and watching eyes. Oscar is beside you, stroking your back, trying to comfort you, as he had that first night, curled beside you in your own nest while Logan sits on guard at the entrance to the room. Making sure that he won’t be there to find you. Even when he is being held by the FIA and local authorities for investigation, and Niki is already on a private jet to make sure you’re okay. You’re not in the hotel room in the UAE, you’re in Woking. 

“Fucking stupid twats,” Lando spits, as he walks off stage, and nearly misses the fact that you’re puking. It’s almost comical how he does a double take, and scrambles over to you. “Shit, are you good?”

“No,” you say dryly, head still in the trash can. “But— thank you, for your defense.” 

“Yeah— I— I’m assuming you knew, the omega. The one affected, I mean.” Lando babbles, and it dawns on you briefly that Lando doesn’t know. 

The only people who do know are just Zak and Andrea— it’d been a big part of the negotiations around you being hired— and of course, Oscar, who you’d called the first night after presenting. You’re partially thankful for that, because then it means that even fewer know your designation. He really hadn’t checked any of his emails. 

“You could say that.” You mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Oscar’s partially frozen, until he just continues to comfort you, wordlessly understanding that you don’t want to tell Lando. “We— we were close.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Please pass the message on that what they experienced— fuck, man, it’s fucking inexcusable—” Lando runs a hand through his curls, clearly stressed by the entire incident that had just happened at the press conference. So you keep your mouth shut, and clap him on the shoulder. Trying to act like the Beta or Alpha he thinks you are. 

“Enough about that. They’re— they got rewarded enough money to retire. They’re doing fine. Good therapist. Good house. Service dog to keep them safe.”

Your voice sounds so empty, but it’s not a lie. You’d been given enough money to quit nearly three times over. And you’d used it to start the search for a service dog that could help you with deep pressure therapy and watch your back in the garage. You’d needed a new one anyway, after your old dog had to be retired around a year ago. You’d needed one, doctor’s orders, to help you with you nearly-destroyed sense of smell, and the fact that you’re now deaf in one ear. 

“That’s—that’s good, at least,” Lando mumbles, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

An awkward silence stretches between you and the driver for what feels like hours, but is likely only seconds. He’s unconvinced. You know it. Oscar knows it. But frankly, Lando seemed to understand that questioning you right now is the least of his concerns. 

“What about a tour of the factory?” Oscar buts in, killing the silence just when you feel like you have to say something. Always the peacekeeper. Always the savior. “It could— could give you time to get to know each other.”

“No time for that, unfortunately,” Zak interrupts softly, uncharacteristic of his normal behavior. He refrains from touching you at all. Which you can’t help but be thankful for— already so different from Williams, and the disconnected behavior of the board. 

Had he heard the conversation? Did he understand what you were trying to pass off to Lando, at least for the time being? A glance in his direction as you brush yourself off reveals nothing. 

“Time for… a quick meeting. Just to get to know everyone better.” 

“I want to be there,” Oscar looks at the CEO, just as Andrea rejoins the group, looking a bit exhausted, after dealing with what would likely be a bit of a PR issue. 

“You were going to anyway.” Andrea sighs, rubbing his temple. “Shall we?”

McLaren is…. Interesting. Leagues different from Williams, as you’ve come to realize. It seems that every step further into the orange-hued team. It’s mostly discussions of the next month’s schedule, as it heads into the new year of testing. You look at the calendar, making notes varying from calling Lando to be sure he’s awake at least two hours before anything starts, to avoid any issue like today happening, to then buying a mini fridge for your office to keep your food. 

“And about this morning,” Lando says bashfully, smiling at you in a way that shows you he’s used to getting away with things like that, “Won’t happen again. My phone was dead, and—”

“Correct, it won’t happen again.” You say bluntly, and look at him over your laptop, before closing it. Inadvertently, your claws come out, and you start to pick at the edge of the table. “It was unacceptable, and shows a severe lack of discipline on your part.” 

The table goes silent. Oscar is clearly trying not to laugh. Andrea and Zak look surprised by your tone. 

“I mean, I suppose,” Lando says, frowning a bit at how blunt you are. 

“There is no ‘I suppose’ there is the truth.” You lean forward over the table to look at him. “Do you want to be a world champion, Lando Norris?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then start acting like it. You’re not the youngest on the grid anymore.” Your claw scratches against the edge of the table again, leaving a faint mark. “I’ll talk to your trainer after this. You’re going to do extra conditioning for every tardy arrival to a meeting, practice, whatever, starting with this morning.”

“That seems a bit much,” Andrea starts, but Zak lets out a low whistle. 

“You’re treating him like a football coach would.”

“I’m treating him as he should be. He is an athlete. He represents a team. Such actions can reflect poorly.”

“It was one time!” Lando protests.

“Was it?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. Lando has to stop himself from growling, reminding himself he must be civil. “Was it just a one-time occurrence last season, Andrea?”

Lando bites his lower lip. You’re much stricter than Will had ever been. Andrea just holds up his hands, looking back at him with an apologetic gaze while you prompt him to answer. 

“I admit… things have been a bit relaxed as of late,” The team principal scratches the back of his head, and you make a little tutting noise, before turning to look at Lando again. 

“Then we’re fixing it.” 

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, and icy eyes that challenge even the famous death stare of your father. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say what you were going to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissyfit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icily calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or speaking to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you speak. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With that classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth. 

“Fine then.”

You push yourself up easily, and stand, looking down at him. 

“Firstly, you are incredibly arrogant. You take risks without properly considering the chances of failure. Whenever you do inevitably end up in a lower place than your high-and-mighty ass thinks you deserve, you then take it out on everyone but yourself, when it’s solely your own decisions getting you there.”

You take a deep breath in, and he can hear the rattle of it in your throat as you start to walk around the table towards him as if you’re stalking your prey. Glaring all the while. Eyes glowing in the light. Andrea has his head in his hands behind you.

“Furthermore, you’ve yet to win a single race. Just one. You are not a world champion because you’re a fan favorite and show extreme promise. Everyone is here because they showed promise at one point or another. You’re a brat of a driver with an ego boosted by all of the people who want to get into your pants and the fact that these fuckers,” You snarl when you whip your hand out to point to Zak and Andrea, who at least have the decency to look a bit ashamed, “…don’t discipline you enough.”

And then you stop, and pull him up by the collar so fast that he gets whiplash, looking you right in your eyes, and can see the angry, mottled skin of severe scarring just hidden under the concealer on your face. Zak still seems to be reeling from the comment you made about how soft they are on Lando, and the way that you’re bristling for a fight.

“Thirdly. You’re a fucking jackass who’s mad someone got called over here to stop your ass from having another hissyfit while being interviewed. I hope the food from the races this year gives you explosive diarrhea from all the spices.”

With that, you let go of his collar and storm out of the room, screaming in German the entire way out, while slamming the door behind you.

Andrea only groans, looking at Lando from between his fingers, while Zak has his head against the table. Oscar has his hands tightly threaded in his hair. But then you come storming back in, with something in your hand. Lando just barely manages to swat it out of the way, and listens to it hit the ground, sounding like an empty can.

And you throw your hands in the air. “Oh, so you can react when a Red Bull is suddenly coming at you! Now do it with the fucking car, dipshit!”

Lando feels his eye twitch once. Twice. And then he’s throwing the crinkled can right back at you, the two of you screaming at each other in two separate languages while Andrea pushes himself between you two, with Zak trying his best to mediate the situation. Oscar looks like he would rather be anywhere else than between the two of you, eyes straight to the center of the table when you’re both finally separated. His scent is sour and awkward. Lando’s smells of burnt rubber. Your teeth are still bared, scent hidden. And that somehow makes Lando angrier.

“Never insult my voice again,” You hiss at Lando, eyes burning as the Brit sits in the chair while you stay standing. Oscar is holding tightly to his shoulder, the omega’s fingers digging into his skin. “I’ll gut you like a fucking fish if you do.” 

The faintest trace of an American accent makes Lando’s head spin, as he watches you leave, stalking out of the room. And Zak looks at Lando, jaw hanging loose. “Uh. I think… I think we need a five-minute break.” Zak mumbles, looking a bit disturbed, before leaving to go talk to you. Lando just stands there, feeling his anger fade as Oscar slowly approaches him. Andrea has gone after Zak.

"Mate," The omega's voice trembles, with shock or rage, he isn't entirely sure which one, "What the fuck?"

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3

[justhereformilgram]

love bullet x MILGRAM?? prisoners do cupid community service for their love crimes??

I could see each specializing in a different weapon / kind of love.. or just completely bungling their jobs

Haruka - childhood crushes/unrequited love/obsessive love - he gets one target real good but often misses the other one leading to a lot of strife lmao

Yuno - desire/passion/one night stands sort of deal - often shoots at random / sort of like chiyo, more blasé and carefree about the job

Fuuta - demolitions!! explosive, destructive love? - the kind that gets outta hand quickly

Muu - she just stabs people. love that hurts probably

Mahiru - she probably LOVES this job, and is the most enthusiastic by far. The image of her with a HUGE Gatling gun raining down love bullets with a huge smile on her face. cracks me up

(not pictured but I did think about them)

Shidou - something something devotion something something grief. his matchups always go very well, but inevitably when one loses the other things go bad bad

Kazui - hidden desires, repression, or fake love… ): if Hinako is still alive I could see that being his mission trying to find her perfect match

Amane - bonks people over the head with a staff—-jkjk. I’m a little unsure of how to connect the themes with her but little Amane with a little hat and vest going off to play Cupid is such a cute visual

Mikoto - likes to pair people up based on appearances, similar interests, or “vibes”. However, cannot shoot a gun to save his life. how is he not fired. (John, however, does it quite well)

Kotoko - here to BRAWL. But she watches over protective love / tough love, probably.

As for Es, I guess they’re either also a Cupid or there to supervise them all LMAO, like a general or something. tries to judge the best pairs but trying to corral this group is probably like herding cats

[persephoneflouwers]

[gaylactic-fire]

I keep getting vaguely bummed out about TOTK which is so annoying bc I don't even dislike the game?? I'm genuinely having a blast with it. But also all the overarching but cohesive themes and meta storytelling about the reincarnation cycle and its consequences and the tragically beautiful world in BOTW?? Like what happened to all that?? That was what made me so mentally ill (/aff) in the first place!!

[imminent-danger-came]

I'll never get over the fact that MK trades his friends for power to save his friends. What's wrong with him

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Rei is late for the first time since he's started working at Poirot.

Neither terrorism attacks nor hostage crises have affected his being on time. Not even a runaway horse managed to keep him.

But he spends one night with Akai Shuichi, and his perfect record is ruined. Asshole.

Despite his calling ahead, Azusa gives him a worried look. He stops briefly to give her a mock-embarrassed apology, turning up the charm. Promises he won't be late again. Then he's off to the storage room.

He needs to fetch his ingredients and get to baking.

Rei's going to find Akai and strangle him, just as soon as his shift is over.

.

Roughly 12 hours earlier.

There's a gun aimed right between his eyes.

That in itself is nothing unusual. The situation could be worse, really.

After all, his own gun is pointed right back at Akai Shuuichi's annoyingly smug face. At this distance, he'll be able to read his movement, react in time. He'd rather talk, but if the sniper fires, Rei will drag him into hell too.

Blood for blood. Mutually assured destruction.

(His excitement is slightly dampened by the fact he's rather certain Akai won't kill him.)

"Caught you." Rei can't help the satisfaction slipping into his voice.

Finally. After three years, their game of cat and mouse is over. He'll have his answers.

The most pressing of which-

"Where's Scotch?"

The words cut into the silence, sharpened by fear. His best friend might still be dead, after all. (If he isn't, why hasn't he contacted Rei?)

It's not like he has much to go on to suspect he's alive, besides the fact that Akai himself came back from the dead. Rei can only hope he brought Hiro along.

Before Akai answers, there's a click. The world becomes dizzyingly bright, expanding past the muzzles of their guns.

Rei blinks the disorientation away. Spots silhouettes from the corner of his eyes. He hasn't met them before, but he's familiar, of course, with the owners of this house. How long have the Kudos been watching them?

While he's busy processing that revelation, Akai holsters his gun. Part of Rei hates how nonchalant Akai is about all of this, exposing himself so easily. Like Rei isn't a threat, won't put a bullet in his head because of a couple of witnesses. (Hates that he's probably right.)

"I propose a trade. For old time's sake."

(The words leave a bitter taste with Rei. They haven't exchanged anything, not goods, not words, not warmth, in years.)

Akai snaps open a cheap flip phone - likely a burner. His thumb hovers over the call button. The fingers of his other hand, long and dextrous, wrap around the barrel of Rei's P7M8, tugging gently, but insistently.

Rei considers his options. He holds no illusions - without his gun, he won't be able to dispatch Akai. But he's more than capable of holding his own for long enough to escape, if need be.

(He could just fire, right now. It wouldn't have to be lethal. Could take the phone by force. But chances are, whatever information Akai has, he'll be much less willing to share it with a bullet wound.)

Rei looks up at Akai, meets his green, green eyes. The part of him that shows genuine emotions, some days. (Not that Rei is one to talk.)

Finds Akai looking...tired. He wears a small smile, but it's worn around the edges. There's no open mockery, no quiet amusement. It's just the two of them, and an offer.

Rei lets go of the gun. He hopes he won't be needing it, tonight.

.

Akai helps him up, his hand warm and steady. As soon as he's upright, Rei lets go - he can walk perfectly fine by himself, thank you very much.

The FBI agent shows him to the living room, tells Rei to make himself a home. After all, the Kudos have promised to give him some privacy, for his chat.

For a moment, the sniper lingers, gaze caught by the phone. Then Akai casts his eyes down, and leaves Rei alone.

Silence, if not for the crackle of the damned fireplace, fills the room. Rei hesitates for a moment. Then he presses 'call' for the only number in the directory.

The phone crackles with static, beeps as it establishes connection, then-

"Hi, Zero."

The world stops moving. Relief floods his system, sapping the tension from his muscles. He leans against the soft backrest, breathing freely for the first time in a good long while.

.

Their talk is short. Rei asks some questions to establish it's truly Hiro, not an imposter (though that would make a very poor basis for the negotiation the Kudos have planned).

Hiro tersely explains some things, although he isn't allowed to give away much. He's in the FBI's witness protection program. That they're talking at all is a massive bending of the rules, authorized only because of Akai's insistence. He claimed it was of critical importance to their mission.

It certainly is, to Rei.

.

The next hours are a blur.

The sofa dips when Akai sits down at his side, the Kudos already having taken their seats on the other side of the small coffee table. (He wishes Akai would sit farther away. That he be less reasonable in his assumptions and demeanour.)

It's somewhat surreal to think that celebrity actress Kudo Yukiko of all people gives him a steaming cup of chamomile lavender honey tea. Good thing working with Vermouth has knocked most of the starstruck behaviour out of him; his younger self would have made a fool of himself.

He can't afford that. After all, they are seeking him out in an official capacity, requesting PSB senior agent Furuya Rei's cooperation.

It certainly is strange for them to reach out through him, considering his known enmity of Akai. But he's a professional - he might be reluctant to work with the man, but it's not his decision to make. He'll relay the offer, unless it's utter garbage.

So he pays attention while they share what they can of their plan to take down the organisation. Listens to their pledge for equal contribution, and their promise of crediting the PSB with a successful operation; an obvious play intended to soothe the wounded pride of the Japanese, after years of illegal activity. But it's the least they can do.

If one were to ask Rei, the offer is certainly worth considering. The PSB has been working the case for five years now, and while they have gathered intel, and managed to place Bourbon as a vital asset, they're barely closer to shutting the organization down than when they started. It's sprawling, interconnected with various businesses, and, worst of all, active internationally. If they don't cut off all its heads at the same time, odds are the members will simply flee to a different branch. Maybe lie low for a bit, and then go about their business with renewed vigour.

It seems like an international cooperation might just be necessary to achieve this task. So he'll be their messenger; it's above his pay grade to decide whether to take them up on the offer or not.

Though privately, he hopes his superiors agree; every day they lose ground to the organization. By this point, Rei doesn't really care anymore whose plan it is that finally does the organization in, as long as it gets done. (And as long as he and the PSB are finally treated with the appropriate amount of respect.)

Still, he can't help thinking they wouldn't be having this conversation now, if these foreign agencies had respected the official channels ahead of time. Maybe Hiro could be hiding in Nagano then, with his brother, instead of being confined to the other half of the globe. In the US, of all the terrible places to be. He shivers.

.

By the time they're done it's very late. Rei is already half-dozing off, despite his best efforts to stay awake. It would be highly irresponsible to drive in this state, so he's asked their hosts for a coffee (he's sure a place housing Akai will have more than enough of it to go around). He'll just rest his eyes for a moment, until they're back.

.

Something light is being dropped on him, almost stirs him to consciousness. But it's warm, soft, and smells of huddling together in an abandoned apartment.

(Of long-forgotten small comforts.)

Not a threat.

Thus satisfied, his body collects its due, and he's dragged back under, into deep, dreamless sleep.

.

Which brings Rei to the reason he's late.

Someone, and he has a very good idea of who it was, put his phone in airplane mode, drew all the curtains shut, and kept the rest of the house quiet.

(Let him sleep for as long as he needed to.)

So Rei wakes up with a start, in a barely familiar place, the digital clock on the wall indicating it's way past opening time for Poirot. Shit.

He grabs his belongings, pistol, clothes and keys and all, and dashes out the door. He swears he can see Okiya - no, Akai, he was right, damn it - look down on him from that favourite window of his. Asshole. Contrary to him Rei has a job, a cover to maintain. He'll get back at him, yet.

.

It should probably worry him that he can perform the drive to Poirot on autopilot. Too many late-night stakeouts turning into impromptu naps, requiring him to drive straight to work after. So much trouble, over nothing. If Akai had just cooperated sooner-

Then, what? Rei hadn't managed to track him down before his supposed death, and the less interaction there is between Okiya Subaru and Amuro Tooru, the better for both of them. He grinds his teeth, barely manages to brake in time for a redlight.

(Hates that he understands the caution, to a degree.)

.

The universe really is conspiring against him, today.

After the lunchtime rush, a certain pocket-sized detective is ushered in through the door, followed by his guardian and her best friend. The kid gives him odd looks all throughout ordering lunch, too sharp in a way that makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand in up. Rei gives him his sunniest smile, and an extra packet of sugar. He's played games with Gin and Vermouth in worse conditions; he won't yield to a particularly precocious six-year-old.

Despite getting more sleep than the last three nights combined, he's not feeling too well. A single good night's rest can't undo weeks of insomnia. If anything, it only makes apparent what he's lacking.

He finds his mind wandering, glad the preparation of food comes automatically, by now. Whisk and mix and pour. Fry, remove from the pan...

"...uro? You seem unwell."

Too-familiar green eyes stare back at him, bags under the eyes and all. Rei barely manages not to flinch.

Of all the people to catch him spacing out, it just has to be Akai's little sister. The gods must truly hate him.

"Ah, miss Sera. I apologize, I was just pondering some new options for our menu." He winks, gives her his most dazzling smile. "The chamomile lavender honey tea cake has me under its spell."

In response, she just wrinkles her nose, unimpressed. Squints at him with those jade eyes that always see through him too easily.

"Are you sure you're not running a fever? It seems a little warm in here already, yet you're working in a sweater."

Rei blinks at that. The temperature seems fine to him. Azusa hasn't said anything about it either.

"I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Now, what can I get you?"

One slice of red velvet cake (of course - why did they even keep that on the menu?) and a macchiato later he's rid of her.

For now, at least - she's joined her friends at the window seats, and judging by the way she keeps sneaking glances at him when she thinks he isn't looking, he hasn't seen the last of her yet.

Still, her questions are odd. Surely he doesn't look that terrible?

(Vermouth has taught him some of her secrets; he's been concealing the shadows under his eyes for a while now. Nobody's ever found him out. Why is it now that people notice?)

.

He continues to work mindlessly, unfocused. This damn shift just doesn't seem to want to end.

He just about manages to avoid knocking Ran out for leaning over the counter, into his space. She remains blissfully unaware of the danger she just escaped, smiling brightly, kindly.

"Excuse me, I have a question."

Rei closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts to four. Smiles at the girl. "Go ahead", he says, continuing to whisk some cake batter.

Ran leans in closer, conspiratorially.

"Masumi is too shy to ask" - that's a bold-faced lie, if he's ever heard one, and he's something of an expert on the matter - "but she'd love to know where you got that sweater."

Now, Ran's a lovely young lady, always eager to help. It's a pity she's being manipulated for Sera's gain. Because there has to be more to the question, even if Rei can't see it yet.

Of course, he can't tell the girls the truth - Kazami bought it for Bourbon's cover. But the best lies are closest to the truth, so-

"I apologize, but I do not know where it was bought. A friend gave it to me." His best calculated-apologetic smile smoothes the blow, hopefully.

"Oh. I see." Ran visibly deflates. Still, her good manners prevail. "Thank you, though!" And with that, she's heading back to her table.

Strange. What could Sera possibly want with his sweater? If she wanted to track him down, surely there's more efficient ways, and it's not like he doesn't have a dozen similar cream sweaters-

Wait. Cream?

Rei's pretty sure he dressed in black to infiltrate the Kudo manor. He's not been home and he hasn't changed for work.

He manages to supress a groan, but he's sure there's some unpleasant emotion visible on his face.

...he must have grabbed the sweater along with the rest of his belongings in the morning rush.

Now that he's looking at it, it's clearly a little too large for him. It's also warm, fuzzy, soft, and utterly unoffensive. That's probably why it didn't register, before.

The sweater does smell decidedly of Akai - cigarettes and a hint of his obnoxious aftershave. The warm scent of curry is new - though unsurprising, given his foray into cooking. Great. That's why they've been staring at him. Sera likely recognizes the sweater and Conan spends enough time with Akai to know the scent.

His gut instinct is to go change, right now, get rid of the damning piece of connection to the man he has too many conflicting emotions about. But a long-sleeved black turtleneck is hardly appropriate work attire for Poirot. Besides, if he changes now, the pair of detectives watching him will just have their suspicions confirmed.

So he grits his teeth, takes in a deep breath that smells too much like Akai, and gets back to work.

.

Rei does change out of the sweater as soon as he's done with his shift.

(It doesn't help. The scent lingers.)

.

He's tempted to just toss the sweater, but can't help feeling like it would be a waste. It's quality craftsmanship, well-worn but taken care of - this kind of sweater would pill, otherwise.

It really shouldn't be faulted for its owner's flaws.

So he puts the sweater in a bag, intending to have it dry-cleaned and give it back later.

He should really hunt down Akai, too, but if he's honest, he's just too tired. He probably shouldn't even drive, in his condition, but he needs to get to a safe place, to think about the developments of the night.

.

He reports to Kuroda, showers thoroughly, and falls into bed.

.

Rei can't have slept long. The sunset colours the world in blood red hues by the time he wakes up, out of breath, heartbeat too fast.

Visions of smoke and ash cling to him. Explosions, destroying him one by one, until nothing remains but death alone.

Hagiwara and Matsuda, taken by violent flame.

Hiro's remains, crushed and burnt beyond recognition.

Akai's smile, grimly defiant, as he's shot by Kir. He too finds his end in a blaze, lacking glory.

They're gone.

Consumed by the inferno that seems to follow Rei around. Which burns everything he cares about, leaves him freezing in its wake.

(He can't even cry, his tears evaporating in the heat.)

Rei shivers, draws the blankets closer. Hopes for a little bit of cover, a little bit of warmth.

Please. If he could just shake off the nausea. If he could stop his spiralling thoughts. Logically, he knows that's not all true, even if his heart burns. Akai and Hiro aren't dead.

It's a lie, they're alive, it's a lie, they're alive, it's a lie a lie a lie a lie-

A set of sharp barks rips him out of his thoughts, back into the present.

Oh. He's woken Haro.

The little guy stands in front of his bed, ears tucked back and hackles raised. A defiant ball of fluff that cares so much, trying to growl the nightmares away.

(It might just work.)

Slowly, shaking and somewhat off-balance, he reaches down to scoop up his dog. Wiggles the blanket off his shoulders so he may cradle the whining bundle of fur to his chest. It's soothing, to feel the warmth of another living being by his side. They sit, the silence permeated by Haro's huffed breaths. His body heat seeps into Rei's chest, nestles in his heart.

"I apologize for worrying you. I'll be fine, soon."

He's not alone.

Haro nudges his hand, demands to be pet. Rei obliges, of course he does.

He's not alone.

.

Still, the headache is a pain. He won't be able to go back to sleep like this, will need to grab a painkiller.

He makes his way to the kitchen counter, keeping to the walls because he's still somewhat unsteady, carrying his bundle of warmth along.

The dog throws a fit as they pass the bag with Akai's sweater, growling and yapping at it. Despite the circumstances, Rei can't help but smile.

"I'm glad to see we feel the same way about him."

Wait.

Inspiration strikes in the form of a very stupid idea.

Because that sweater, with its stupid mixed scents, reeking of Akai, is proof he didn't just imagine last night's events. Tangible and olfactory and physical proof. If he were to wake from a nightmare, with it by his side...the anger at Akai would surely keep the pain at bay.

It's worth a try.

.

As he goes back to bed, Haro lies down beside him. Rei keeps petting him, one-handedly. With the other, he holds on to a cream sweater that isn't his.

When he breathes, it smells of too-long stakeouts in windy apartments.

Of Rye's extra blankets, the ones he started to bring when he noticed Bourbon always freezing; irritating to no end, how he was always better prepared for cold weather than Rei.

(It smells of Bourbon's cooking, given in exchange for soft blankets.)

Scents of a tentative alliance, as thread-bare as the fabric between them.

Grounded between the warmth of Haro, and the scent of Akai, Rei falls asleep, waiting for the dog days to finally be over.

[moe-broey]

I def wanna color these when I have the energy BUT..... back on a Pokemon kick.... ever so slightly......... also second sketch is so rough SORRY (I DO WANNA CLEAN IT UP!!! But I was mostly focused on conceptualizing the outfits!!!!)

I have soooo many other sketches too but I wanna save em for later.... but let it be known, this is just an elaborate excuse to play dress-up. Esp for Moe I'm gonna be so real, it has SUCH A SILLY OUTFIT and it is SO. SOOOOOO jackass rival coded. Guy who is gonna pick fights and cause problems for NO reason. Or for gay reasons. Most likely gay reasons tbh

[loveologystudies]

thinking about isat flight rising au.......

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 25 / 31 * THE HONEYMOONERS 」

[Date Unknown] 1985A Timeline

Five…six…seven…

Thunder booms, rattling Heaven and Earth with its might. Count the seconds between the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder and it'll tell you how far away the storm is.

Two miles, maybe.

It feels like it's right on top of them.

The ground shakes beneath them, rattling her bones so hard she can feel it in her teeth, and rather than run for cover, she turns to George sitting on the grass beside her, pressed up against a rock, and nestles closer.

“It feels like every time we try and do something, there’s a terrible storm.” Lorraine smiles, but it never reaches her eyes. “Our first dance, our honeymoon—don’t you remember?”

Sighing, Lorraine closes her eyes, losing herself to the grainy film reel of memory rolling behind her eyes. Even soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging awkwardly to him, George was a vision—a dream—and his almost pathetic wet puppy-dog expression made her heart soar. “By the time we got to the hotel, we were soaked. You nearly walked into the door; you couldn’t see anything with your hair in your eyes like that! I had to keep brushing your bangs out of your eyes while you carried our bags.”

George smiles, indulging the trip down memory lane with a gentle squeeze to her hand. He’s cold again, Lorraine thinks distantly—he’s been terribly cold lately, as if the sun has refused to touch him, angry with him for some perceived slight against it—but that doesn’t bother her.

She’ll keep warm enough for both of them. Light that fire in her chest and her stomach and stoke it until he leaches every ounce of warmth through her fingers for himself and his cheeks glow with it.

It’s all for him, anyway.

“That was one of the happiest nights of my life. I can’t believe you thought you ruined it just because of a storm. ‘We must be cursed, Lorraine,’ you told me, and I thought that was one of the most ridiculous things I'd ever heard. Even more ridiculous than when you told me about Darth Vader.”

“But that—”

“Really happened, I know. I believed you.”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually.” Lorraine chokes on the laugh she tries to force out. The first drops of rain pelt her cheeks and she uses her free hand to furiously wipe them away, ignoring the stinging sensation on her skin.

“We should go inside—the storm’s coming. You’ll get soaked.”

Lorraine shakes her head furiously, squeezing George’s hand so tight her nails bite deep into her palms, drawing blood. The wind sighs as it whips her messy hair around her head, knowing there is no changing her mind.

“I don’t care about the rain. I like sitting out here with you. It’ll be just like all the other times, won’t it, George?”

Just like all the other times.

Just like last time.

A second wave of burning rain bites at her cheeks and George lets go of her hand to gently drag his thumb across her cheek. Lorraine chokes back another sob, her shoulders trembling with the effort it takes to keep herself composed.

Her cheeks are still burning. The earth smells like petrichor.

The next crack of thunder shatters her composure, leaving her ears ringing. Lorraine’s shaky fingers fumble at her pocket as she curls her fingers around the crystal clear flame protected within, sloshing around in its container.

George never did get wet when it rained.

[starrysharks]

zeno's ultimate pokemiku tierlist ⁉️(it's all his opinion and he loves them all regardless⁉️)

[hella1975]

assigning a character the highest honour like *adds go home by julien baker to their playlist*

[waywardsalt]

ok i need to get this off my chest abt totk's dungeon soundtracks this isnt necessarily a criticism but just a... idk man its confusing hang on

ok. totk's dungeon themes. theyre good im not going to lie they arent my favorite of the series but totk did deliver some good dungeon themes. what i'm confused about is the choice to use the champion's and divine beast's leitmotifs in the dungeons, like using daruks theme and bits of rudania's theme for the fire temple. that's the first that comes to mind cuz thats the one i like best but i think it was especially noticeable to me for the wind temple, the water temple's theme has some similar instrumentation and some very similar sounding phrases and when i see comments or people talking abt the dungeon themes it is very common to see people talk about the champion and divine beast leitmotifs being used.

and like. fine it sounds nice there is an emotional connection there if you have played botw but like. why are their fucking leitmotifs in totk's dungeon themes???

if you give a character or something a leitmotif, then that little string of notes represents that character or location or concept. usage of that leitmotif is therefore intrinsically tied to that character or whatever. this worked out with zelda's theme throughout the series, esp in totk when it's given the instrumentation of the dragon's themes, so that musical phrase at that moment basically says 'zelda, but a dragon' and like. yknow. leitmotif that literally represents something.

i believe the wind temple's theme incorporates some of rito villages theme, and in turn rito village having the same melody as dragon roost island makes sense, that's effectively a motif meant to represent the rito, like the reoccurring zora's domain and goron city motifs throughout the series, or hyrule castle. when characters have themes in past zelda games that play at different times, it means something about the character being referenced. midna's lament using midna's theme to show that this scene is about midna, she is in danger. fi's different themes playing when she is the center of attention or her leitmotif referenced in botw/totk when she literally makes subtle cameos. linebeck's theme only every plays in scenes where he has some sort of big moment or in the final boss theme because it's only fair that the final boss theme include the motif that represents him because he is the final boss. groose's theme shows up various times in his little scenes (and i believe there might be hints of it in later imprisoned themes?? i'd have to check but it would make sense since he's helping)

so... if you reuse a leitmotif that is tied to something, then reasonably that means that the context in which it's being reused is somehow related to or concerning what that leitmotif represents.

but... daruk's theme and some bits reminiscent of rudania's theme play in the fire temple's theme. reasonably, i would hear this and be like, ah, so this has something to do with daruk, or the divine beast? the usage of his character leitmotif suggests that he is related to this somehow. thats... usually the point of using a character leitmotif like was done in the fire temple's theme!

and yet the champions and divine beasts are not so much as referenced in totk's stories, and you can't even try to the point of their themes being used due to the new sages being relatives, because tulin is not related to revali- he doesn't even get the great eagle bow until after the dungeon, and still no reference to revali is made when he gets it.

so then... why are we referencing botw's champions if they do not matter? why not use the sage's leitmotifs in the dungeon themes instead? the dungeons are much more related to the new sages, and it would allow players to become more familiar to that leitmotif, and would further tie the experience to that dungeon with its related sage, instead of tying it to dead characters that mean jack shit to the story of totk.

it's just really weird that they use motifs from the champions and divine beasts, since that won't click for people who didn't play botw, and it just calls back to stuff not important to totk anyways. the divine beasts have literally no relation to the dungeons, the champions are barely even relevant to the world in totk. i get that the leitmotifs were used as like... maybe some sort of extra pre-existing racial connection motifs, but... use the sage's themes? don't use leitmotifs that have absolutely nothing to do with this game or it's story? sure it sounds nice but the meaning behind those leitmotifs make no actual sense in this new context, unless you're trying to suggest that they actually have a different meaning than being the motifs of the characters and locations that were originally what they were used for.

[luaminesce]

I know the series isn't perfect; but I much prefer Fire Emblem's portrayal of authority as inherently flawed (whether that be political, religious, or otherwise) than Legend of Zelda's "the Kingdom of Hyrule is just and righteous and everything it does is pure and good".

[tearlessrain]

I have two different ocs named Patch and one is the three-tailed fox familiar of several of my d&d characters who canonically has one braincell and sets things on fire if he stares at them for too long (and also has been my tumblr/discord avatar for many years), and the other is my RDO cowboy who is just Trying His Best and keeps getting dragged into eldritch bullshit (aka game glitches/godmodder incidents we've canonized). this is not confusing at all.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Smiler’s Otherland -- Domains!

Hi everyone, I’m back on my Smiler’s Otherland bullshit! :D After making my initial “here’s my first ideas on the concept” post back in May 2023, I’ve been trying to get my thoughts organized regarding what Smiler’s Otherland should look like, more details about their weapons, how many outfits they need, etc. And now I’m going to share some of those thoughts with all of you! Because it’s my tumblr and you’re my captive audience. :p

So -- let’s start with the domains! Because you can’t have an Otherland without actual, you know, lands in it. So far, I’ve come up with four domains for Smiler:

Smile Street: The “hub” domain, or at least the domain any visitors would be likely to land in first, much like Alice’s Vale of Tears or Victor’s Living Dead Forest. This domain is arguably the "coziest," and allows Smiler to put their best smiling face forward. :D

-->As indicated by the name, it’s a long winding street lined with brightly-painted houses in all colors of the rainbow -- in fact, here, the shot of Towers Street from this The Smiler ad gives you a good idea of what I’m picturing:

Only, instead of just those spiraling yellow clouds in the sky, there's also a big yellow sun featuring a Smiler-logo face on it, as per this screenshot from this video on The Smiler mobile game: (WARNING -- the linked video does have flashing lights/strobe-like images starting about midway through!)

...maybe a little less overtly creepy, as this is supposed to be the friendliest domain, but you get what I mean.

-->And who lives in those cheery little houses? Why, the Advocates, of course! Who are based on these guys from The Smiler mobile game (screenshot from the same video linked above):

You know, just a little higher resolution. XD They're naturally very friendly, greeting visitors enthusiastically, and spend most of their time wandering around, trimming trees and hedges into spirals, having little get-togethers in each other's yards where they tell jokes and laugh a lot, playing various games with each other, painting big grinning faces on portable easels -- that sort of thing.

-->At the end of the street is -- well, the town SPIRAL rather than square, as the road just spirals in on itself until it stops at a big fountain full of glowy yellow liquid at the center. Around the outer curve of the spiral is a little cafe (which serves a variety of drinks and treats, though many of the drinks glow at least slightly, and the treats tend to have spiral decorations), a playground (with all the equipment painted with yellow and black stripes with occasional touches of purple and white), a general shop selling a variety of goods (which, yes, would basically be the shop from the Smiler Shop TV video, manned by Matt and Carol -- Smiler can put their parents into their Otherland, as a treat), and a train station consisting of a bright yellow covered platform with spiraling columns holding the roof up, a Smiler coaster car (like that seen above) for the "train," and tracks that start out flat but quickly spiral off into wild loops and twists (because, of course, the coaster itself has to serve as transport to the other two "nice" domains). Just a nice place to hang out, chat, and watch the spiral clouds swirl overhead. XD

X-Sector: Named after the section of Alton Towers that The Smiler coaster is actually in, this is the domain dedicated to Smiler’s interest in technology and chemistry (with the actual look of the tech ranging from more steampunky to more cyberpunky depending on the time period of the AU it features in).

-->The domain consists mostly of a big old lab, surrounded by a yard featuring grass made out of green wire, flowers made out of twisty bits of metal with stained glass leaves and petals, and simple conical trees (like the kind you might see in an old Playstation or XBox game before graphics really started taking off -- that Smiler Game screenshot above is roughly the right aesthetic). The sky here would be filled with swirling, spiraling yellow and black clouds, lit with the occasional flash of lightning. It's all very dramatic.

-->The lab itself is divided into two wings, separated by a main hall with lots of optical illusions a la the actual The Smiler station (with various changing patterns on the walls -- be warned, that linked video has a fair amount of flashing lights in it!). The left wing would be devoted to engineering and be filled with things like whirring little hypno-wheel gadgets, boxes with flashing lights, various skittering tiny robots, and other things of that nature. The right wing would be devoted to chemistry and have various workstations covered with bubbling flasks of liquid and hissing tanks filled with volatile gases -- though I'm really tempted to throw in a little bit of Willy Wonka flavor and have a big old waterfall of Joy Serum somewhere in here too. XD I mean, it feels like something Smiler would have -- maybe it flows into a giant pipe to provide the liquid for the fountain in Smile Street? Or perhaps it just serves as the "drinking water" for everyone there...

-->As for residents -- well, I suppose in addition to Advocates in lab coats tending all the various experiments, it would make sense to have Dr. Gladwell from the Smiler Takeover "Fear Test" show at the very least. After all, he is the Ministry's Chief Neurological Cortex Reprogrammer! :p The only thing complicating that is that I wanted to name Smiler's outfit for this area after him...but I suppose I could name it after his role in the Ministry instead... Anyway, the most notable resident here would naturally be the Marmaliser itself -- a big robot wandering around on its five limbs, looking for unhappy people to make happy and coming by the lab to have its Inoculator syringes and Giggler gas tanks refilled and its Tickler brushes, Flasher bulbs, and Hypnotiser wheels looked at and realigned as necessary.

Musical Mayhem: Hey, Victor wasn’t using the name :p This domain is all about Smiler's love of music and festivals and things of that nature, and -- as you might expect -- is strongly based around that whole The Smiler Takeover that Alton Towers did for the ride's 10th anniversary.

-->The domain itself is a giant fairground set in a field of glittery green grass under more of those yellow spiraling clouds, with a couple of black-and-white-cobbled looping paths winding through it. There are various carnival games scattered about (like the "Beat the Buzzer" game where you have to get a wire loop around a metal simplified Smiler logo without touching it, otherwise it'll buzz and you'll have to start again; hook-a-smiling-duck; bag tosses with grinning Smiler-logoed bags; one of those water gun games where you shoot Joy Serum at a target to make something rise up; etc), along with food stalls, comfy sitting areas, and carts where people can get balloons and little sparklers and trumpets to blow. As you might imagine, it's chaotic, but in a good way!

-->The dominant feature of the fairground, though, is a huge stage at the far end -- a bigger version of the Takeover's Celebration Stage, with all the smiley-face decorations but yellow curtains instead of red. There's a few rows of seats in front of the stage for people who want to sit down and watch, and designated "dancing spots" for those who want to dance and sing along. The dancing spots are generally more populated than the seats, as you might expect. XD

-->Again, the domain is mostly populated by Advocates from Smile Street, just enjoying the carnival -- but you can't have a Celebration Stage without Felix E. Lated as the star performer! :D (Again, Smiler can have their uncle in their Otherland, as a treat.) When he's not up on stage singing, he's wandering the fairground, encouraging everyone to let loose and have fun. Possibly Grin-Grin the clown (from the above-linked "Fear Test") also makes an appearance from time to time, creating balloon animals and telling ridiculous stories -- oh, and we probably should also have the contortionist and the magician from the "Meet The Ministry" stage show up too! All the performers for the Advocates to enjoy!

Sanctuary: Unfortunately for Smiler, as stated in the original post, we can’t neglect the spookier, scarier parts of the coaster’s theming -- and that means having a domain where everything is creepy and horrible, to represent their fears about going too far and actually harming people. And thus we have Sanctuary, inspired by all the Kelman-related materials, such as the Smile Always series and the Sanctuary scare mazes (a few clips of which can be seen in this informative video -- again, watch out for some flashing lights)! Hooray! :D

-->The area is a large, underground asylum, accessed by a pair of rusty metal swinging doors spray-painted with "THE TRUTH" in bright yellow (taken from one of the AR spots you could access with The Smiler Mobile Game back in the day -- there's a set hidden away in each of the other three domains) -- once inside, you're confronted with an absolute maze of concrete corridors, all painted a faded white. The place is not in good repair, with plenty of patches of exposed rebar and wiring on the walls and cracks in both the ceiling and the floor. The whole place is poorly lit, with buzzing yellow lights dangling from the ceiling and occasionally sparking or going out entirely. The only concession to color is in the various posters that have been hung up -- images of spirals with DO NOT RESIST written under them, photos of decaying animal corpses captioned with LIFE IS BAD, and various images of people with their mouths distorted into extremely creepy smiles. It's just a very unpleasant place to be!

-->There are two groups of people that live in this horrible location -- the first being the Corrected. These are the asylum's patients, dressed in tattered and dirty white t-shirts, pants, and dresses, who roam the halls and live in the various cells dotting the hallways. Most of them either have Glasgow smiles or various bits of machinery forcing their mouths into grins, and many also have at least a partially-shaved head and nasty scars on their scalps indicating brain surgery. However, the Corrected are all completely non-violent, either just wandering around doing their thing (vaguely giggling to themselves, drawing on the walls with whatever they can find, standing in small groups and laughing together) or hiding away from anyone they think is a threat.

-->No, the actual enemies of this area are the Staff -- the nurses and orderlies who run the place. The nurses are dressed in stained white uniform dresses, sporting dark circles around their eyes, vicious grins accented by dark lipstick, and long claw-like nails ready to take a swipe out of misbehaving patients; and the orderlies are dressed in similarly-stained yellowed scrubs, with the same dark circles around their eyes and vicious grins. The nurses carry syringes to stab unsuspecting victims, subjecting them to a variety of bizarre hallucinations; the orderlies carry shock batons guaranteed to bring patients to their knees. Their favorite activities are to stalk unwitting Corrected, then take them down while laughing hysterically. Not nice people at all!

-->And the person in charge of the whole shebang? Why, that would be Dr. Minister, a Kelman-like old man with a neat white suit sporting the Sanctuary logo, glinting glasses, and a smile that -- well, it's obvious the man's HEARD of smiling, but you're not sure he's ever seen it in action. He's insistent that everything he does for the Corrected is for their own good, and his ultimate goal is to turn Smiler into his apprentice/successor -- and Victor and Alice into Corrected. Smiler, as you might imagine, loathes this guy, and is absolutely terrified of ending up like him. :(

And that's everything I've got for now! It does make me slightly annoyed that I only have four domains for Smiler when Victor has five and Alice -- well, as per A:MR, the minimum is eight (presuming you don't count the Vale of Doom as separate from the Vale of Tears). But I do think that these four cover pretty much everything important when it comes to the coaster, it's themes, and all the events and attractions related to it. Next up, we have the weapons -- which, believe me, was a much easier post to make...