#the world may never know how he made it past the interview

[maretinelli]

A NON-SEPARATION²

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When Lewis and the girls return from their trip, and things with Y/n start to improve. And then, he confesses something that was on his mind during the days they were apart.

Words: 5.8K+

Warnings: Mentions of the past fight, Lewis being a loving husband, Pietra being very funny, Marie's cuteness and a happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile, in questions. By the way, I loved writing for these four, if you want, I can make a parallel world and write more stories about this family!!!!! (Comment if you want, so I know)

Part 1

MASTERLIST

The weekend passed more quickly than Y/n expected. With Anne in town, she had a chance to take her mind off things, even though the silence in the house still bothered her. They went out to lunch, watched movies, and talked about everything but Lewis—at least until the last day, when Y/n finally admitted that she missed him. Anne wasn’t surprised, but she didn’t press her either.

Meanwhile, Lewis and the girls had an emotional weekend. The race was intense, and the girls cheered in the Ferrari garage alongside grandma Carmen, cheering for their father.

Pietra, always spontaneous, made a point of shouting "Go, daddy!" right in the middle of the post-race interview, making the journalists laugh. Marie, more reserved, just covered her face with her hands, pretending she didn't know her sister.

Now it was Tuesday, and Y/n had already returned to her routine—or at least she tried to. She was on vacation from the office, Anne had already left, and the big house was silent again. Too silent.

She had never spent so much time away from her daughters, and every corner of the house felt empty without them. Roscoe was her only company, but not even the dog could fill the void left by Marie and Pietra. And, of course, by Lewis.

Y/n sighed, sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone without really paying attention. But suddenly, a loud horn echoed through the condominium, and she practically jumped off the couch, running to the door. Roscoe ran after her, knowing exactly who had arrived.

Opening the door, Y/n saw the two girls getting out of the car, their faces lit up with huge smiles.

Marie wore the denim jacket she had asked her mother to pack, paired with her black pants and white sneakers. Always stylish and authentic. Pietra, on the other hand, well, she looked different. Very different.

The sparkly dress was expected. But braids in her hair?

Yes. The same braids Lewis wore.

Y/n's eyes widened, holding back a laugh as Pietra and Marie ran to hug her. She bent down, wrapping her arms around her daughters, feeling their familiar scent.

"I missed you guys so much" She murmured, closing her eyes.

"We miss you too, Mommy!" Marie replied, squeezing her tighter.

In the middle of the hug, Y/n looked up and found Lewis. He was leaning against the car, watching the scene with a smile. And God, how handsome he was. How handsome he IS.

His eyes lit up when he saw his wife looking at him like that, and he smiled even wider when she whispered a brief "Hi."

Lewis returned the greeting with a loving look, but then Y/n looked at Pietra's braids again. She arched an eyebrow and pointed at her youngest daughter's hair, exchanging an amused look with Lewis.

He just laughed and gestured with his hand, signaling that he would explain later.

Marie pulled out of the hug and looked at her sister. "Grandma took Pietra to the salon and she wanted to do the same as daddy."

"Exactly the same!" Pietra said excitedly, bending down to pet Roscoe.

Y/n smiled, running her fingers through Marie's straight hair. "And you, my love? You look beautiful in that jacket." Marie smiled shyly and pulled her mother into another hug.

Y/n melted. Since the girls were born, it was like this: Marie was her shadow, and Pietra was her father's copy. Even though physically the two had inherited more of Lewis's features, their personalities balanced everything out.

Suddenly, Pietra looked up at her mother, excited. "Daddy bought you flowers, Mommy!"

Lewis rolled his eyes near the car, while Yin looked at her daughter and then at him, holding back a laugh.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! And they're red flowers and they have a pretty bow and..."

"PIETRA!" Marie and Lewis said together. The girl's tone was one of authority, her father's was one of amusement.

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "That little girl needs to learn how to keep secrets."

Y/n laughed, standing up, but still keeping one hand in Marie's hair. Pietra, oblivious to the small chaos she caused, ran with Roscoe into the house.

Marie looked up at her mother. "I'll go in too."

Y/n kissed the top of her head. "It's okay, love."

As Marie entered, Y/n looked at her eldest daughter and then, Lewis finally approached. He was holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Y/n's favorites.

He handed it to her, his gaze soft. "I know a bouquet can't fix everything...but I want you to remember that I still love you very much."

Y/n's heart sank. She held the flowers tenderly, inhaling their scent and blinking back a few tears. "Thank you, Lew. They're beautiful." There was a brief silence between the two, just the soft wind blowing through the garden. "Do you want to come in and talk about it?"

He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing the right words. His gaze softened, and the way he held his car keys indicated he was more nervous than he wanted to show.

"I don't want to talk about this here, with the girls around," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I want to do this right, without rushing, without distractions. I want to take you out to dinner, like before. So we can have some time alone."

There was something vulnerable in his expression, a mixture of guilt and a sincere desire to make amends for whatever harm he had caused. As much as they had both said hurtful words, he clearly carried the weight of it in a deeper way.

Y/n felt her chest warm, gripping the bouquet tighter. Lewis had never been good with words when it came to deep feelings, but she knew that when he tried like that, it was because it really meant something.

He didn't just want to settle the fight. He wanted to reaffirm that, despite everything, the love between them was still unshakable.

Y/n took a deep breath and nodded, her voice as soft as his. "I'd also rather we not talk about this in front of the girls."

Lewis nodded silently, and Y/n stepped aside, making room in the doorway for him to enter.

But he smiled and shook his head. "Actually, I just came to drop off the girls and the bags. My dad is in town with Linda, we planned to meet up."

Y/n smiled slightly, knowing that Lewis didn't see his father that often and that those moments were important.

However, he sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking uneasy. "But I promised that nothing would be more important than you. That I would pay more attention to you and the girls." He began to stumble over his words nervously. "If you want, I'll cancel. It's no problem, really. I-"

Y/n's eyes widened, smiling at his sudden rambling. She gently reached up and touched Lewis's face, calming him down. "Lew, it's okay," She said, looking deep into his eyes. "Your father and Linda are your family too. They deserve priority sometimes."

Lewis blinked, absorbing her words, before letting out a small sigh of relief. A grateful smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you, love."

The nickname came out so natural and full of affection that Y/n felt her heart beat faster.

It was as if he were truly giving himself over, breaking the distance that had formed between them over the past few days. The way he called her, with the softness and vulnerability that touched her so much, made her feel reconnected to him, as if everything that had happened up until that moment was something temporary, a storm that would soon pass.

Before they could say anything else, Pietra shouted something inside, making them both laugh.

Y/n laughed and shook her head, calling out, "Marie, help your sister with whatever she's asking for, please!"

Lewis smiled and went to the car to get the girls' bags, placing them in the entrance hall. When he returned, he approached his wife and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“You’re free tomorrow night” He said, a twinkle in his eye. “I already have some restaurant ideas for us.”

Y/n smiled. "I'll stay."

Lewis gave one last smile before leaving, and Y/n closed the door, now surrounded by the sound of her daughters' cute laughter echoing through the house. But even so, she felt like something was still missing. And she knew exactly what it was.

Holding the bouquet, she walked to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. The girls followed her, excited.

She smiled at the two of them, leaning slightly over the counter. "Now, girls... tell us all the cool things you did on your trip!"

••••••••••••••••••••••••

The day dawned softly, with the first rays of sunlight crossing the bedroom curtains. The house, previously silent, was filled with lively laughter and small, hurried footsteps down the hallway.

Marie and Pietra, full of energy, ran to their mother's room and, without hesitation, jumped on the bed. Roscoe, excited by the excitement, climbed right behind, wagging his tail and settling down next to Y/n.

The daughters' laughter mixed with the dog's low, happy barks, while Y/n, still sleepy, received the girls' excited hugs. She felt the warmth and love in the contact, enjoying that moment of purity before finally promising to get up.

At the mention of breakfast, the girls rushed down the hallway, eagerly leaving the room in an instant. As Y/n turned to get out of bed, her gaze fell on the empty side of the mattress. Still empty.

She knew what she wanted. And no matter what conversation they would have later, one thing was certain: she wanted Lewis back there. With her. With her daughters.

And before she could get out of bed, her cell phone beeped and a message from her husband appeared.

'Linda and my dad are excited to see the girls. They want to hang out with them tonight, and that's a good thing because we have plans later too. I'll pick you up at 7pm. Love you, babe!'

Night fell quickly and the house was silent, except for the distant sound of water running in the girls' bathroom. In the bedroom, Y/n looked at the clothing options spread out on the armchair: an elegant long dress and a more casual combination consisting of a black satin shirt, jeans and heels.

She ran her fingers through the fabric of his shirt, a soft smile playing on her lips. She felt as if she were preparing for a first date. Her heart was pounding with anticipation, something she hadn’t felt in a while. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the first time she had gone out with Lewis, all those years ago. She remembered the way he had looked at her that night, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Before she could react, a voice came from behind her. “Satin shirt and heels, Mommy.”

Y/n turned around and found Marie standing in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy robe, with a towel too big for her head. The sight made Y/n laugh softly. Marie looked so small in the midst of so much fabric.

The girl shrugged, a shy smile on her lips. "You look beautiful in both, but I like it better when you wear a shirt. It makes you look... powerful."

Y/n let out a laugh and walked over to Marie, placing a loving hand on her shoulder. Her chest hurt a little from seeing her first baby girl grow up so fast.

"Thank you for the compliment, little one. Then I'll choose that one." She led her daughter out of the room and toward the girls' room. "Now it's your turn, Marie. Choose something just as powerful." Marie laughed and nodded, following her mother.

In the girls' room, Pietra was already wearing her going out clothes and Y/n just needed to help her put on her shoes, since she had her braids done.

As she tied her shoelaces, Y/n couldn't help but smile. The braids were still flawless, and she made a mental note to ask Lewis whose idea it had been in the first place.

She always made sure to respect her daughters’ personalities, helping them get ready with care and patience. As she adjusted Pietra’s clothes and fixed Marie’s hair, she felt grateful for those simple but loving moments.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed outside. Marie and Pietra looked at each other and then looked at their mother.

"Daddy can't come yet!" Pietra exclaimed, starting to leave the room. "Mommy hasn't gotten ready yet!"

Y/n and Marie exchanged an amused look before laughing together. "It's Grandpa and Grandma Linda," Y/n said loudly, so that Pietra could hear her.

Marie smiled and left the room with her mother, she went downstairs excitedly too, happy to see Grandpa and Grandma Linda. When Y/n got to the door, Pietra was already anxious, jumping up and down.

"Open up, Mommy! Open up, Mommy!"

On the other side of the door, she heard the familiar laughter, they probably heard P's excited screams. As soon as she opened it, Pietra let out an excited little scream and threw herself into her grandfather and grandmother's arms.

Linda and Anthony laughed, hugging the little girl.

"You were really excited to see us, huh?" Linda joked.

Y/n laughs. "When Lew said you guys were coming to get them she wouldn't stop talking about you guys!"

Anthony and Linda give Y/n a warm smile as they hug their youngest granddaughter.

Marie soon joined in the group hug. "Miss you, Grandpa and Grandma Linda!"

"I miss you too, little one." Linda hugs her eldest and Anthony strokes his eldest granddaughter's straight hair.

Y/n smiled as she saw the scene.

Linda stepped back a little, studying Pietra and smiling. "I love the braids."

The little girl smiled proudly. "Right? Just like daddy's!" Everyone laughed.

Anthony then bent down and asked, "So, are you guys excited to go out?" The girls smiled and nodded excitedly.

Y/n bent down to their level, fixing Marie's hair and caressing Pietra's cheek, while giving some instructions to her daughters. "Behave yourselves and have fun, okay?"

Linda smiled. "They always behave, don't they, girls?"

They both nodded with shy smiles.

Anthony smiled and they walked towards the car, while Y/n watched the scene with a sweet smile on her face. Linda helps Marie and Pietra put on their seatbelts. Lewis's father waves to Y/n as he starts the car.

Y/n smiles friendly and when they leave the condominium, she closes the door behind her and runs to the stairs, climbing quickly, as now it was her turn to get ready.

When he arrived at his room, he stopped for a moment, looking at the clothes he had laid out earlier. The long dress was still there, but her eyes returned to the black satin shirt and jeans, already deciding what to wear. Marie was right—there was something powerful about that combination, something that made her feel confident and beautiful.

Calmly, Y/n took off the comfortable clothes she was wearing and put on the shirt, feeling the soft fabric slide over her skin. She continued to change her clothes and think about what awaited her tonight.

Y/n went to the large vanity she had and began to put on some light makeup, but something that matched the night and the outfit she was wearing.

As she finished applying mascara to her eyes, her cell phone beeped next to the products on the table, when she picked up the device and smiled when she saw Lewis's name on the screen, along with a message.

'Honey, coming in 10 minutes. Can't wait to see you.'

Her heart warmed, and the smile on her lips became even bigger, feeling a good shiver at the thought that, in a few minutes, she would be with her husband.

And exactly ten minutes later, when she finished arranging her hair in loose waves, a horn echoed outside her house. Y/n smiles and stands up, grabbing her bag and walking down the stairs excitedly, because Lewis had arrived.

When she opened it, she found Lewis standing a few feet from the door and a smile from someone who knew exactly the effect he was having on her. He wore an elegant formal outfit, but what caught her attention most were his loose braids, giving him a charming and relaxed look.

Y/n raised an eyebrow and smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Look at you... You look handsome, huh? Are you going out with someone special today?" She closed the door behind her and approached her husband.

Lewis chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Only with the love of my life and mother of our children." The touch was brief, but full of affection. "You look beautiful in that outfit!" He grabbed his wife's hand and twirled around. Making Y/n laugh and her heels make a satisfying click as she twirled around.

"Your eldest daughter chose the outfit" He said, shaking the shirt slightly, with an amused look.

Lewis smiled even wider, his eyes shining. "Marie has good taste." He leaned close to her ear. "But honestly? You'd look beautiful in anything. Even without."

Y/n laughed, feeling completely melted and hit by Lewis's teasing comment. He noticed and smiled. Satisfied that he had that effect on her for so many years.

Arriving near the car, Lewis opens the passenger door for Y/n and she gets in, smiling in gratitude and resting her bag on her lap, as she watches her husband walk around the Ferrari they had and get in on the driver's side.

Automatically placing one hand on Y/n's thigh, while with the other he put on his seatbelt and started the car.

The night was calm and illuminated by the silver lights of the streetlights and the luxurious facades of the buildings. The city glowed with a sophisticated charm, reflecting in the city's lakes.

Y/n, leaning comfortably on the bench, looked away at her husband and smiled. "Okay, now tell me... Whose idea was it for P's braids?"

Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the scene in the paddock. "Oh, that's a good story! I don't know if the girls told you," he began, still laughing. "While I was in the pit, Charles came out of nowhere saying that I had a "mini-me" walking around the paddock with my mother. I didn't understand until I looked to the side and saw Pietra with a Ferrari cap, sunglasses and her hair tied back, with defined curls." Y/n laughed out loud, already imagining the scene. "And it doesn't stop there! Pietra looked at me and said: "Daddy, I need to have braids like yours! So everyone knows that I'm your real daughter!"

Y/n covered her mouth, trying to contain her laughter. "Oh my God, Pietra!"

"And of course my mother was thrilled and the next day took her to get her braids done. You should have seen her happiness when she came back to the paddock showing off her hair."

"And what was Marie's reaction?" Y/n asked, amused. As she looked at her husband, with the tattoos of the girls' names tattooed on his neck, made on the day they were born.

"Ah, Marie rolled her eyes and said, "You don't need to have braids to look like Daddy, everyone already knows you look just like him!" Lewis imitated his eldest daughter's intonation, drawing more laughter from Y/n.

"Our daughter has an old soul, Lew!"

He chuckled, nodding. "I know, she talks like she's had 40 years of life experience." Lewis looks at his wife with amusement.

As the laughter faded, Y/n leaned over to fiddle with the car's dashboard, putting on some low music that matched the lightness of the moment.

Her eyes wandered around the brightly lit city, and suddenly she recognized the road. Her lips parted in surprise, and she turned her gaze to Lewis, who was driving with a smirk on the corner of her eye, clearly expecting this reaction.

"Lew..." Y/n began, suspicious. He just kept driving, keeping the suspense.

When they finally approached the restaurant, Y/n's eyes widened and she turned completely to him. "The restaurant where we first met!"

Lewis parked and looked at her with a warm glow in his eyes. "If you're going to work things out, let's go back a little bit." The comforting answer made Y/n's heart warm.

Lewis gently cupped her face and placed a kiss on her cheek before getting out of the car and walking around to open the door for his wife.

"Always the gentleman, Sir Hamilton." Y/n joked as she left.

"For you? Always."

He handed the keys to the valet and took Y/n's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The feeling of home, of belonging, of everything returning to its rightful place, took over Y/n.

As soon as they entered, Lewis approached the front desk. "I have a reservation for tonight. In the name of Lewis Hamilton and Y/n Hamilton."

The receptionist checked the list and smiled, nodding. "Of course, Mr. Hamilton. This way, please."

They followed the man through the restaurant, which had a welcoming yet elegant ambiance. The space combined warm wood tones with modern touches of glass and soft lighting. The tables were arranged to provide couples with some privacy, without losing the vibrant atmosphere of the place.

The receptionist led them to an outdoor area, a secluded balcony, where a few tables were set up. The lighting was perfect: fairy lights entwined in the trees around the large lake, which reflected the soft glow of the city. The setting was magical and captivating.

"I hope you enjoy the atmosphere. The waiter will be here to serve you soon." The receptionist said politely before walking away.

Lewis pulled out a chair for Y/n, who sat across from him. Seconds later, the waiter arrived with menus and a bottle of wine, serving them both before leaving.

"Thank you!" Lewis smiles gently.

When they were alone, a comfortable silence hung in the air, until, at the same time, they both opened their mouths to speak.

"I'm sorry!" They stopped and looked at each other, surprised that they had spoken at the same time, and then laughed.

"I guess that means we feel the same way." Y/n smiled, holding the wine glass.

"I guess so." Lewis agreed, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at her fondly.

Y/n lightly swirled the wine glass between her fingers, watching the red liquid move. She took a deep breath before looking up at Lewis.

"I'm... I'm so sorry it got to this point. Spending days apart and putting the girls through it too." Her voice was soft, but full of sincerity. "I hate fighting with you, I hate when things get like this between us." Lewis didn't answer right away, just watched her, allowing her to continue. "I didn't mean to turn our conversation into an argument. I just... I was just tired and frustrated, work was taking its toll on me and I ended up taking it out on you. It wasn't fair."

Lewis sighed, running his hand over his face before finally answering.

"I'm sorry too, love." Her voice sounded full of regret. "When you asked me to leave home... that was a shock. But thinking back now, I understand." Y/n he fell silent, allowing him to continue. “You were right.” He let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I was spending too much time in Maranello. I was so focused on work, on the team, on training… that I didn’t even realize what I was leaving behind.”

He looked away for a moment, staring at the reflection of the light on the wine glasses on the table.

"Three weeks away from you made me realize how much I was wrong. How much I was missing. I only really realized this when Pietra called me crying because I wasn't home to tell her the story before bed."

Y/n felt her chest tighten. She remembered that night. Pietra had clung to her, sobbing softly and asking if Daddy still liked them.

"Lewis..."

He shook his head, his eyes shining with restrained emotion.

"It destroyed me. Knowing that my daughter thought I didn't like her because I wasn't there. And it wasn't just her... Marie too. I realized how distant I was, how much I was letting you carry everything on your own."

Y/n took a deep breath, squeezing the glass a little between her fingers. "But you were also right..." She admitted, her voice lower. "I also buried myself in work. I was frustrated because I felt like you were distant, but the truth is, sometimes I was too."

Lewis reached across the table, waiting for her to take it. "I don't want this anymore, Y/n. I don't want to fight with you anymore, or put our daughters through this. I want to be a present father, I want to be a better husband."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, holding his hand tightly. "I want to be a better mother and wife too."

Lewis squeezed her fingers between his, as if afraid that if he let go, everything would fall apart again. "Shall we fix this together?"

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding. "Sure. Of course." She smiled.

Lewis smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her fingers.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, Lewis"

In that moment, they knew they were on the right path to finding each other again, to rebuilding what they had almost lost. Because, at the end of the day, they were still a team. They always had been.

"Now, let's enjoy our evening." Lewis smiled and looked at the menu. "So, do you want the same order as the first time?"

Y/n laughs at the memory and shakes her head. "No! You know, I didn't know you were allergic to shrimp and you had to spend two days with me in the hospital. And we were only on our first date, how embarrassing." She puts her hand over her face.

Lewis laughs out loud. "But that was a reminder, wasn't it? That no matter what, I'd be by your side."

Y/n smiles lovingly. "It was, and I love it."

Dinner was lighthearted, the weight of the argument that had kept them apart for weeks seemed to have been lifted, giving way to smiles and natural conversations. They talked about past moments, laughed at old stories and shared knowing glances, as if they had rediscovered the comfort of each other's company.

Between a glass of wine and another, they also discussed ways to better balance their routine so that the family could spend more time together. It was a sincere dialogue, without demands, just with the mutual desire to do better.

As they left the restaurant, Lewis linked his fingers with Y/n's, walking with her to where the car was parked. The valet handed over the keys, and Lewis nodded in thanks before opening the car door for his wife.

"I had an idea on how we can spend more time together, especially with the girls." He says as he walks in too.

Y/n turned her face to him, curious. "Oh yeah? What did you think?"

"Well... I realized that I need to organize my schedule better so that I don't spend so much time away from home. So, I want to reduce the number of days in Maranello and make up for that time by being here more. Also, I thought about taking Pietra and Marie to see the Ferrari factory. They always ask what it's like there, and I think it would be an incredible experience for them."

"They'll love it. They'll want to touch everything and ask every detail about the cars." Y/n smiled at the idea. "Marie especially, she loves taking part in the races"

Lewis laughed.

"Yes, I'm already preparing to answer a thousand questions about engines and front wings. He starts driving around the city.

Y/n leaned her head back against the bench, thoughtful. "I can also adjust my office routine better so I can spend more time at home. We can arrange a few days to do something just the four of us."

Lewis nodded, satisfied. "That sounds perfect."

They talked a little more about the details of the plan, and when the topic came to an end, Lewis asked, "Do you want to go anywhere else before we go home?"

Y/n smiled and shook her head. "No, we're too old to stay out all night."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "Speak for yourself. I could hold out for a few more hours."

"Oh, sure, Lew. As if. Another half hour and you'd be asleep in the middle of the conversation."

He laughed and, without arguing, turned around and headed home.

The journey was peaceful and surrounded by a pleasant atmosphere, the feeling between them was light, filled with genuine joy, as if the storm of the last few weeks had finally dissipated.

When they arrived home, Lewis parked the car in the garage and got out, accompanying Y/n to the door. Even on the short journey, he kept one of his hands on her waist, a natural and instinctive gesture.

"Anne brought some great wine back from France when she traveled. I saved it for us to open together. Would you like to try it?"

"Sure" Lewis replied, following his wife into the kitchen.

Before they could do anything, Roscoe came running up to Lewis, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey, buddy" Lewis smiled, bending down to pet the dog, who soon settled down next to him.

"He missed you too, you know? You're the oldest son in the house, Roscoe."

"Good to know at least he wasn't mad at me." Lewis laughed.

As Y/n opened the wine, Lewis approached from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. She smiled, enjoying that affection, and handed him a glass before turning around, facing her husband.

It was then that she realized he was deep in thought. His expression changed subtly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What it was?"

"There's something I've been thinking about since our fight..." Y/n waited, curious, until he finally revealed: "I want to retire from racing."

Y/n's world seemed to stop for a second. "WHAT?!" She exclaimed, looking at him in surprise. And almost dropping the glass she was holding.

Lewis remained calm and repeated: "I want to retire."

Y/n blinked, processing that, and stepped back a little, starting to pace around the kitchen. "Lewis, you can't do this!" Her voice came out fast, almost nervous. "You're only in your second season with Ferrari! You can still win so many titles! And, my God, I never wanted you to give up on your dream because of a silly fight we had. We've worked this out! You can't give up on your dreams!"

Her words came out in a rush, her mind wandering, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Lewis smiled and walked closer to her, cupping her face gently. "Y/n, I'm not letting go of a dream," he said softly. "Because everything I've ever dreamed of is right here, right in front of me."

Her eyes filled even more, and a tear fell silently.

"But..." She whispered, not knowing exactly what to say. Without the strength to argue any further, she let herself be wrapped in Lewis's arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You've always dreamed of this..." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

Lewis stroked her hair and smiled against the side of her head. "My dream has always been to have a family. To have you guys. Racing has been a big part of my life, but it's not my whole life. I want to be here for every moment of the girls, for every phase of our life together. That...that's what really matters to me."

Y/n closed her eyes, absorbing those words, feeling herself overcome by an intense wave of emotion.

"Do you really want this?"

"I do. With all my heart." She pulled back a little, looking into his eyes, and Lewis smiled, touching her face tenderly. "I love you" he said softly.

Y/n smiled, still with tears in her eyes, and shook her head. "I love you too, Lewis."

Lewis slid his fingers down Y/n's face before finally sealing his lips on hers. The kiss was slow, full of feelings, as if it sealed everything they had just said. Their lips moved in perfect sync, and a small smile formed in the middle of the kiss, as if they were celebrating that moment. It was a kiss of love, of understanding, of silent promises.

Suddenly, a horn honked loudly from outside, breaking the moment. Y/n smiled against Lewis's lips and pulled away, chuckling softly.

"The girls are here" she said, giving him one last peck before walking away completely. "I'll go get them."

Lewis smiled, watching her rush towards the door. As soon as she opened it, the girls practically threw themselves into her arms, laughing and hugging their mother tightly.

"Mommy!" Pietra exclaimed excitedly, while Marie held tightly onto Y/n's waist.

Y/n laughed and bent down, planting kisses on them before saying in a mysterious voice, "I think there's something waiting for you in the kitchen."

Pietra's eyes widened, always the most excited, and suddenly screamed: "OH MY GOD, IS THERE STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM?"

She ran into the house with her sister, running towards the kitchen without even confirming if what she said was true. Linda, Anthony and Y/n burst out laughing, infected by the girl's naive excitement.

"Thank you for keeping them" Y/n said, smiling at them.

"Imagine, dear" Linda replied. "We are the ones who appreciate you spending time with our granddaughters."

Y/n smiles. "We can arrange dinner here tomorrow. Are you up for it?"

"Sure!" Linda says smiling.

"We'd love it!"

"Great then" Y/n smiles. With that, they say their goodbyes, exchanging hugs before Linda and Anthony leave.

Y/n closed the door and began walking to the kitchen, hearing the mix of her daughters' and Lewis' voices echoing through the room. The sound filled her chest with a cozy warmth, and an involuntary smile appeared on her face.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw a scene that made his heart warm even more: Marie was on Lewis' lap, along with Pietra, while the two laughed and chatted excitedly.

Suddenly, Marie turned to Y/n with a bright smile and asked, "Did Daddy come home?"

Y/n looked at Lewis, who was already watching her with a tender smile. Her heart clenched with love.

"Yes, my dear. Daddy's back!" She said softly.

The girls squealed excitedly and wrapped their father in a tight hug, making Lewis laugh. He then looked at Y/n and extended one of his arms to her.

"Come here, love"

Y/n smiled and walked over to them, joining the family's embrace. Between laughter, kisses and hugs, she knew, in that moment, that they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

Author: So, my initial idea was to have the ending with Y/n saying she was pregnant with her third child, but I didn't know if you guys would like it, so I changed it to the idea of Lewis retiring. I don't know, which one would you like more? (By the way, whoever read the introduction above, could you answer the question I left? About continuing with a parallel universe of this family?)

[thelionheartedo3]

me and my coworker watching our newish hire wander around and both trying to piece together if he's just stupid or doesn't care about the job

[elitehanitje]

Cody Rhodes Supports Body Shaming

"This is a vanity business. This weird online contingent doesn't realize how important that (physique) is. We're wrestling with our shirts off, folks, it's ok to go the gym...and you hear fans be like "You can't body-shame wrestlers" - what are you talking about? We're standing there half naked and you're paying hundreds of dollars to see us. Body shame me all you want. Currently, I know it might seem toxic and stuff, but amongst the boys and girls, everyone [is saying] who does your diet? Who’s training? There’s a whole ‘nother health-conscious' now in WWE, and I love that. We’re trying to look our best."

This is normally the part where everyone might rant about how wrong Cody is on certain points, but the fact that he admits his answer “might seem toxic and stuff” pretty much does the work.

The world of professional wrestling today is quite different from the past. Gone are the days of wrestlers who were just overly muscular; now, more fit and diverse athletes are the norm.

Someone like Adam Cole, who has been receiving a lot of body shaming lately, might not agree with what Cody Rhodes had to say. Nevertheless, Rhodes has made his stance on body shaming clear and has no regrets about what he said.

Especially when AEW haters body-shame wrestlers such as Orange Cassidy, Adam Cole, Nyla Rose, Eddie Kingston, Deonna Purazzo, Samoa Joe, Marko Stunt, Jack Perry, Zack Sabre Jr, JD Drake, Beef, Willow Nightingale, Joshi Wrestlers, NJPW Wrestlers, CMLL/Luchador wrestlers, The Young Bucks, and many more, many fans are trying to figure out whether Rhodes wants fans to attack AEW/non-WWE wrestlers or just insult wrestlers in general.

Hana Kimura committed suicide following a series of troubling tweets addressing online bullying and body shaming directed at her from "fans", she was found dead in her apartment in Tokyo on May 23, 2020. She was only 22.

Deonna Purazzo was harassed and body-shamed by many "fans" and she had to make a statement about it. Cody Rhodes' green light about allowing body-shaming wrestlers is a dangerous path toward harassment and bullying. Even a champion such as Zack Sabre Jr was being called a skinny jobber by WWE fans for winning the G1 Climax, not even knowing what his face looked like because they'd never seen him wrestle.

Marko Stunt was body-shamed during his tenure as a wrestler especially when podcaster Jim Cornette fueled his hatred toward him by telling his fans to harass the wrestler. Luchasaurus was fired from WWE when he filed a complaint against many people who bullied and body-shamed trainees and wrestlers.

Wrestler Sheamus was body-shamed a lot during his tenure especially because of his weight gain. Fans also quickly pointed out that Cody Rhodes' father, the late Dusty Rhodes was well-known to have a large body type, which is ironic that Cody allows this behavior. His half-brother, Dustin Rhodes is also an AEW wrestler who doesn't react to Cody, but tweets words of encouragement to his fans.

Some critics say Cody Rhodes is saying these things because he is playing a character, so he's becoming toxic. But this is actually a genuine interview from him, not when he was playing a character. He wants to appeal to those WWE toxic fans who like to insult AEW, Japanese wrestlers, and Luchas wrestlers.

Critics immediately have something to say about his toxic beliefs:

[oobbbear]

This rant has 1 target audience and it’s me sorry I like to talk about my unfinished/abandoned stories like they’re successful tv shows and I’m the director getting interviewed about the little details of said show

I love afterland postal so so so much you don’t know how hard it was for me to cut it, but it got to the point that it’s effecting my mental health so I had to stop it. His story in the afterlife is a healing journey, so for that healing journey to be effective I have to make the downfall in his past life hurt, like, HURT hurt, and I went a bit too far that and focused on it a bit too much that I was not working on the healing part anymore. Everyday I regret the making of water angel cause it ended being my fav instead of the protagonists and it being the physical manifestation of death made me focus on the downfall of the story too much, until it literally just crumbled to the ground. If I pick back up Dolus’s story one day I will cut out water angel entirely and maybe most part of his past life, focusing mainly on the afterlife part and how he recovers/deal with his past traumas and rid of bad habits. I want to draw this gremlin again so so bad.

Afterland Postal is a story about learning to love life through death. I like to draw Dolus with CT moon and Callisto sitting together because all three of their stories are about “learning to love life again through the death”. In Dolus’s case is his literal death. For CT moon is him fantasizing death. And for Callisto is through the death of her old life.

After the “death” all three of learned to love themselves again by traveling. They see the world in different perspectives, goes out of their bubbles and get a taste of the wild possibilities of what life has to offer.

For Dolus, I specifically placed him in this post office that delivers mails to the living plane so he can run around experiencing the world but doesn’t have to deal with life? One of his big thing is that he enjoys simply existing, he likes observing the world, feel his surroundings, I had an entire chapter that’s describing how he sees the world through his 5 senses. The feelings are the only thing he enjoyed about life, now he’s a ghost life doesn’t have effect on him anymore, he can really slow down sit down and look at the world he didn’t have the time to look at before, see what he missed and what he may have never be able to see.

For CT moon is basically all described in that If my world goes Bang comic.

Callisto is a different case cause she doesn’t die, strongest fucking character in my stories she survived and very passionate about living. In the original plan after her finding Hester and having Hester’s soul freed, she’s gonna go and travel the world. She has been living in this little house in the middle of nowhere for good half of her life, having her burned down her past and moving on to a new one is good for her. I had a lot a lot of sketches that is just her traveling, I used this as a chance to expand on this weird magical world she lives in, so many cool places and concept. (Also she started dating people again wohoo) I really wish I didn’t burn myself out after that animatic this story would have been so fun to work on.

SPEAKING OF TRAVELING AS A HEALING MECHANISM☝️I m gonna go on a mad Orange Knife spoiler rant since I don’t think there’s a single soul still reading this thing. In Moondust & Natto plot, Moondust really really wanted to see the world with Natto, she loved the world she loved life, in her eyes the outside world is a struggle but one she would fight for because the sunset is beautiful and the grass is soft and for that the hardship is worth it, she loved the world so so much and she wanted to have Natto experience it too. Freedom was a large part of her soul and being add to OK’s collection permanently took that away. She never got to see it again not even the part of her that got added to worm made it out, her soul is killed long ago and body died with the fire that led to Worm and the remaining crew’s freedom, which honestly I think she would be happy knowing that her death freed Natto in the end. She would be mad knowing the person who killed her is freed too but she would understand if she knows Worm’s situation better. After Natto is free I’d like to think he carries a piece of Moondust with him so in his heart he completed their dream, and they can finally experience the world together.

It’s 2am and nothing is making sense sent post to tumblr.com go

[coco-loco-nut]

We Can’t Be Friends

Pairing: George Russel x Reader

Summary: George’s girlfriend, a former child actor, is not well liked by the public

TW: mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, implied child exploitation

A/n: going off of the more popular interpretation of the song (ari vs the public)

requests open!🫶 masterlist

———————

You just finished filming a short interview in a docuseries with some of your former colleagues, those who fell into the same trap and downfall as you did. You prefer not to air everything out, but you knew your statement would support the others.

The industry basically forced you into a drug and alcohol addiction, one that you thankfully beat, but you went from someone who was once loved to someone hated, just from how the media spun your name.

You met George at a hospital event -you now work as a biochemist and bioengineer- and he immediately recognized his childhood crush. You dated for a year before feeling strong enough to go public, but ever since he posted a very cute picture of you, the hate has started again.

“I’ll make a statement asking them to leave you alone,” George offers but you shake your head no. He hates seeing you upset, but both of you didn’t expect the backlash on you.

“They won’t understand, they could never even try. They will never know what it was like to grow up like that, even the docuseries won’t help,” you start to dismiss the thought.

“We can’t do nothing,” he tries to reason, wanting to protect you.

“I don’t want to tiptoe around the public, but I don’t want to hide, either way I’m feeding this fire,” you groan, running your hand through your hair as you pace the room. You had to call off of work today, the entrance to your townhome being blocked by paparazzi.

“The story is gonna die, and we’ll be alright,” George stands up and pulls you into a hug. In your mind you picture the public liking you again, waiting for their love again.

A few days later, George drags you out of the house for lunch, you had only been leaving for work. The two of you step out, a reporter immediately coming up to you. You ignore the first few, sitting in your silence.

“It’s just me and you, Baby girl,” George whispers to you, supporting you however you choose to respond.

“Y/n, is it true that you have been in and out of rehab for the past year? You are in and out of hospitals,” one reporter, who always hounds you, asks causing you to whirl around. You don’t want to argue, but you don’t want to bite, so you choose a confusing answer.

“You’ve got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good,” you smirk, watching their face scrunch in confusion, gripping their paper and pen, before continuing your walk.

The next day a clip of one of your short interviews drops, taken while you were in college, as a trailer for the docuseries release the following week.

~-~-~-

I don’t like how this industry painted me, but I’m still here hanging, just not what they made me. It’s almost like a daydream sometimes, finally leaving that world. I feel so seen, I am everything that I defined myself as, not all that the industry made me be. My truth and I may always sit in silence, but one day I hope I am brave enough to say it out loud. For now, it’s only me on the road after recovery, but maybe that’s all I need.

~-~-~-

buzzfeed.com/uk

A list of every child actor we need to apologize to after watching “Drugged: The Truth Behind the Lives of Child Actors”

1. Y/n Y/l/n

~-~-~-

“Are you sure you want to go out there?” George asks, looking at the crowds of journalists. You nod, tired of being silent and waiting for things to be better, not caring about feeding the fire anymore.

“Let’s go,” you release a shaky breath, stepping out behind your boyfriend as he walks you to work.

“Y/n! Anything to comment regarding the documentary that’s been released and the allegations made by your former colleagues?” A journalist asks, the rest hoarding, pens at the ready.

“Actually, I do. You owe us an apology. Villainizing children who needed someone like you to expose how awful our working conditions were, that’s sick and cruel. You wrote lies about us, and instead of apologizing, you want to ask us for statements and exploit our names more? You’re sick. We can’t be friends,” you chem them out before continuing on your way to work. A part of you will always wait for their love, but you are tired of waiting for them to like you.

“You’re a badass. I hope they will see you are the biochemist and bioengineer, not the child actor. You’ve come so far and I’m so proud,” George says once your breathing steadies from the adrenaline.

“Thank you, Georgie,” a small part of you wants to flip them off behind you, just like you would’ve done ten years ago, but you don’t, finally moving forward.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Heyyyyyyy. I love your imagines. I was wondering in honor of Kylian joining Real Madrid today, Can you make an fluff imagine where you go with him to his Real Madrid presentation with his family and friends to support him and it’s cute behind the scenes moments leading up to his presentation ? An already established relationship .

Thank Youuu ❤️

I'm so excited about Kylian joining Real Madrid. So proud of him. I wish him success in his future, and may he accomplish all his goals💛

Sorry if this one is a little wonky, wrote it on my lunch break.

Presentation Day

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You support Kylian on his presentation day.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, supportive reader, Kylian is playing for Madrid y'all!!!

Today is the day.

The day that Kylian had been waiting for his whole life. The day that would mark a significant milestone in his career. The day that he would be presented as a Real Madrid player.

You're so proud of him. You can't even put it into words. You've seen him work so hard for this. How much he's sacrificed to get here. It's a day that he deserves to celebrate and you can't wait to do just that. By his side.

You still can't believe that you're here for this. You can't believe that he picked you to be here with him for this special day. You can't believe that you've been able to be a part of his life these past three years.

You remember the day you met him. You had just started working at a popular news company and your first assignment was to attend a Paris-Saint Germain game that he was playing at. You were doing some interviews with some of his new teammates and he walked by and you couldn't help but stare at him. He had this air about him, this confidence, this spark in his eyes that made you just want to know him.

When he walked into the room where you were doing the interviews, you almost dropped the microphone in your hands. He was so handsome up close, so charming. You introduced yourself to him and you couldn't help but stare at him. You were nervous as hell but he made you feel at ease. He made you feel so comfortable in his presence and you found yourself laughing and joking with him.

After the interview, Kylian offered to show you around the stadium. You couldn't believe it. Here you were, walking beside one of the most talented footballers in the world, chatting like old friends. He was easy to talk to and genuinely interested in your work. Though the conversation was very surface level you were surprised at how down-to-earth he was.

By the end of the tour, he asked for your number. To your delight, you exchanged numbers, not entirely sure if he would actually reach out. But he did, later that evening, and from that day on, you started texting each other regularly.

It wasn't long after that he asked you to be his girlfriend. You said yes and you two became inseparable. The chemistry was undeniable between you two. You couldn't get enough of each other.

You went to his games, you were there for him when he needed you and you were his rock. He was your everything.

You never could have imagined that three years later, you would be standing in the bathroom of your new home, getting ready for his presentation at the Santiago Bernabéu.

You're wearing a black jumpsuit with a gold belt that accentuates your waist. You've curled your hair and did your makeup. You're even wearing the gold necklace that he bought for you last week. You want to make sure that you look good for him. You want to make sure that he knows that he deserves this day. That he deserves everything that he's worked for.

You're slipping your shoes on when you feel a tap on your ass. Without even looking up you know who it is. You roll your eyes at his antics but can't help the smile that creeps onto your face.

Even after all these years together, you still get butterflies in your stomach when he touches you.

"Kylian," you scold, but the playfulness in your tone tells him you're not really mad, "do you have to do that every time?"

He grins, his touch lingering a moment longer before he steps back, hands in his pockets. "Sorry, couldn't resist," he replies, his tone light but his eyes betraying a hint of nerves. You know he's trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm for what lies ahead.

"Tu es magnifique," he says, his voice softening as he steps closer, his hands finding your waist. His French accent is as sexy as ever. Sending child down your spine as his hands continue to hold you close. His eyes raking your figure in the mirror.

You look perfect.

You blush, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he whispers, his gaze sincere, his grip on your waist tightening. "You look so beautiful." He meets your eyes in the mirror again. "I'm so lucky to have you." He pulls you flush against his chest. "Tu es la femme de mes rêve." His lips brush against your ear. "I couldn't imagine being here without you." He finishes his words with a gentle kiss to your neck.

Your heart melts. Your heart beats faster. You've heard him say these words before. You've heard them more than once but each time still gives you butterflies. Each time makes you love him even more.

You lean back into him, wrapping your arms around his around your waist, savoring this intimate moment with him before you have to share him with the world.

"You ready?" he asks softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

You turn to face him, his hands still holding you close, your arms finding their way around his neck. You bury your face in his chest. You take a deep breath and breathe him in. You smell the cologne he's wearing.

"I should be asking you that" you whisper, your hands resting lightly on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palms, steady but perhaps a beat faster than usual.

"I'm a little nervous," he admits with a small frown, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your waist.

You know how much he's worked for this. You know how much pressure he's under. You know how much he wants this. But you also know that he's going to do great. You know that he's ready for this.

You reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands, your eyes soft and encouraging. "It's okay to be nervous," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "But you're going to do amazing. You're Kylian Mbappé You're going to rock this. I know you will. You've worked so hard for this." You tell him, your hands finding their way to his neck, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the skin there.

He's silent for a moment before he pulls you into a tight hug, his head burying in your neck. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, letting him take comfort in you. You let him hold you like this for a few seconds, feeling him breathe you in.

"I love you, thank you for doing this with me. For being here." he mumbles into your skin, his voice so soft and so sweet.

You smile. Your heart racing at his words.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "Seriously bébé," he says, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you for being with me every step of the way. You've sacrificed so much to move here with me. I will never be able to thank you enough for all the things you do for me. I promise to always be there for you, to support you, to make you happy. To be the best boyfriend I can be. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." His hand rests gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your jaw.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you look at him. You're so in love with him. You can't believe that this man is all yours, that he wants to be with you, that he loves you just as much as you love him. You can't believe that you found each other.

You want to say so much, want to reply to his little speech but you can't find the words to express how much you love him. So you kiss him instead.

A soft kiss, one full of love, one full of affection. One full of hope. Your lips linger on his for a few seconds before he pulls back. You're both smiling at each other.

"We should head downstairs," he whispers softly, breaking the silence again. "We don't want to be late"

You nod and you step back. He lets go of you, letting you walk out of the bathroom first.

When you walk into the living room downstairs, his family is there waiting for you two, chatting animatedly. They look up as you both enter, smiles lighting up their faces. His little niece and nephew are sitting on the couch with their mom when they see you come in. Without waiting a moment they stand up from their spot on the couch and run up to Kylian.

"Uncle Kylian! Y/N!" They squeal in unison.

He bends down and picks them up. One on each arm. He swings them around and they giggle in glee. You watch as his face lights up with a bright smile. His eyes meet yours over his niece and nephew's heads and he grins at you.

"I missed you guys so much," he whispers in their ears.

They're still laughing when they land back on their feet. He sets them down and gives each of them a kiss on the head before they turn to you. "Y/N!" They greet you with equal enthusiasm.

"My babies," you coo, bending down to pick them up. "I missed you two so much too!" You give each of them a hug. You give them each a kiss on the head before you set them back down. The second you set them back down they're on Kylian again, completely enamoured with their uncle.

"Be good for your mom and dad today," he tells them softly. "I want to see you after the presentation." His eyes light up with excitement.

"We will," they reply in unison, giggling.

He pulls away from them, giving each one another kiss on the head before he turns towards everyone else. Kylian's mother approaches you with open arms, pulling you both into a hug. You were in the shower earlier when they arrived so she hadn't seen you yet.

"Mes bébés," she said, tears shining in her eyes. “I'm so proud of you, Kylian. And you, my darling,” she adds, embracing you in turn, ”thank you for being here with us today." she coos, kissing both your cheeks.

Kylian's father pulls him into a tight hug next. He pats him on the back. "Fier de toi, mon garçon," he says, his eyes shining with pride. "

The other family members join you, each expressing their admiration and support for Kylian. His father squeezes your shoulder affectionately, his siblings exchange jokes with him to lighten the mood.

Silently without anyone noticing you sneak a picture of Kylian and his family gathered together in the living room. It's candid, raw, real. Capturing the support and love surrounding him on this monumental day. Kylian's smile is wide in the picture, the kind that radiates insumontable joy. You feel tears prick your eyes as you look down at it, happy to have frozen this moment for him.

As the final hugs are exchanged, Kylian’s agent steps forward, checking the time on his watch. "It's almost time," he announces, his voice calm but firm. "We should get going."

You all head outside, where a convoy of sleek black cars waits.

You would be riding with Kylian. Because today was also the day you would come out to the world as his girlfriend.

Even though everyone knew by now that Mbappé was off the market it was still a hush on who he was dating. At first, you guys had done it for the sake of your job. But now that you would be staying in Madrid with him, the both of you decided not to keep your identity a secret anymore. So this was technically your first appearance together. All the more reason to be nervous.

The plan was to arrive together at the stadium, walk in with him, then get separated to go to where his family would be sitting while he gave his speech.

You two slip into the car together. He pulls you into his side, his hands holding yours. You both sit there quietly for a second, the only sound being the driver's voice talking through the intercom.

He's fidgety, his eyes darting out the window to the passing buildings. You squeeze his hand gently, reminding him of your presence. He looks at you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the car started moving.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You ask him softly, his hand squeezing yours in reassurance.

"I'm good, trésor," he assures you. "Just excited and a little nervous."

You nod, your hand rubbing circles into his wrist. "I'm so proud of you," you tell him sincerely, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly at your touch, breathing in deeply before turning to face you fully. His lips meet yours for a brief kiss. He smiles against your lips, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

You're pulled out of your comfortable bubble when the car stops.

The stadium.

You're here.

You both sit in stunned silence for a moment, your eyes wide as you take in the sight. The stadium is already packed with thousands of screaming fans, each holding a white Real Madrid jersey with his name on the back.

Kylian is silent beside you, his eyes wide, his hands resting on his thighs. He takes a deep breath. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours.

"Ready?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, a smile on your face.

You two slip out of the car together, Kylian holding your hand tightly in his. They don't notice you at first since you're hidden behind him, out of sight, but he pulls you beside him and wraps an arm around your waist. The cheers from the crowd grow louder as the realization of who you are girlfriend sinks in.

You smile shyly, trying to hide your face in his shoulder.

He laughs, pulling you closer to him.

You both walk towards the entrance of the stadium, the screams of the fans reaching an all-time high. Kylian smiles brightly at the cameras flashing in your faces, his free hand waving at the crowd.

You both stop walking for a second, posing for pictures together. You're conscious of the cameras flashing around you, of the fans screaming his name. The whole situation is a little overwhelming but nothing you can't handle with him beside you, holding your hand.

You both pose for a few pictures, then you walk inside, the crowd quieting as you leave them behind.

You're led to a room backstage, where you'll wait with Kylian until it's time for him to go on stage. The room is buzzing with activity – staff members are rushing around, checking last-minute details, and ensuring everything is perfect.

You find a quieter corner of the room where he can take a moment to collect himself. He sits down on a plush leather chair, his eyes scanning the room but his grip on your hand never loosening. You can tell the nerves are killing him.

“Do you want some water?” you ask softly, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin.

He nods, and you quickly fetch a bottle from a nearby table. When you hand it to him, he takes a long sip, then leans back, exhaling slowly. “Merci,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sit beside him, placing your hand on his knee. “Remember, they’re all here for you. They believe in you, just like I do.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes softening. “I know. It’s just… a lot.”

You nod, understanding completely. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. Just take it one step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, drawing strength from your calm presence. The door opens, and one of the staff members steps in, clipboard in hand. “It's time miss Y/N,” he announces, waiting for you at the door.

That's your cue.

You stand up, offering Kylian your hand. He takes it, rising from the chair, his grip firm and warm. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that speaks volumes about the emotions coursing through him.

“I’ll be right there in the audience,” you whisper against his ear gently stroking his back “I’ll be cheering the loudest.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Je t'aime fort,” The tone of which he says it is the most endearing you've ever heard from him. It makes your heart swell. You wish you could go with him.

“I love you too,” you reply, placing one last peck on his lips.

With a final squeeze of your hand, he releases you and you follow the man to the section reserved for his family.

As you enter the stadium, the roar of the crowd is deafening. The energy is electric, every person present filled with anticipation. You find your seat next to Kylian’s mother, who greets you with a warm smile and a comforting squeeze of your hand.

The lights dim, and the stadium falls silent. The anticipation is palpable. The lights dim slightly, and the murmurs in the stadium grow louder. The large screens display a montage of Kylian’s best moments, a tribute to his journey and accomplishments.

Then, the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, introducing Kylian. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise almost overwhelming.

You're crying as you watch him walk to the stage, grateful that you get to witness this moment with him, a moment he's been waiting for a long time.

Kylian steps onto the stage, his presence commanding yet humble. He looks out at the sea of faces, his gaze searching until it finds yours. You smile at him through your tears, giving him a small nod of encouragement. He smiles back, gesturing at your crying.

The jumbotron pans to your face as you laugh at his antics and everyone in the stadium realizes who you are immediately. They start cheering even louder.

The warmth of the moment envelops you as you watch Kylian take center stage. His speech is emotional thanking his fans, his teammates, and the club for believing in him. He speaks with passion and sincerity, his words resonating with everyone in the stadium. When he finishes with his "Hala Madrid", the applause is thunderous, echoing through the massive arena.

You and Fayza hold on to each other as you cry your eyes out, Kylian's words of thanks to you echoing in your ears. You both hug each other tight, both of you overwhelmed with emotion.

It's such a powerful moment one that sends shivers down your spine. The beginning of a new era. The start of your new life together with him.

-Bianca🌻

[rileyslibrary]

Aggressive mimicry

Synopsis: A power blackout hits your base, plunging you into darkness. As fear grips you, Ghost tries to calm you down. Little did he know you had other things in mind.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,085

Notes:

Aggressive mimicry: a tactic in which a predator acts harmless to lure its prey.

Fluff. A little suggestive, but SFW.

No, there’s no part 2.

Want more?

———————————————————————

Looks like you’ll both be working until late this evening. New recruits are constantly arriving, and the base is rapidly filling up.

The two of you take comfort in the silence of your office, a small space with two desks next to each other and a bookshelf full of records lining the opposite wall. It’s a little tight, especially with the new chairs you brought for the interviews. However, you cannot conduct them anywhere else since they’re confidential and private. Your job is to assess the recruits’ mental health, look into any past traumas that may have affected them, and determine their trustworthiness with firearms. Ghost, on the other hand, interviews them about their battlefield abilities and skills.

Under normal circumstances, he does not wear his mask when in the room with you. But these aren’t normal circumstances; People are constantly coming in and out of the office, and he feels uneasy without it.

“He was good, that last one,” he says, his attention still fixed on the paperwork. “Don’t mark him.”

“He suffered three concussions in his last deployment and reeks of alcohol,” you explain, baffled. “How can you trust him?”

“These are the best,” he shrugs, “they’ve got nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, stunned, as you look at him. You two come from different worlds.

“Have you considered therapy, Lt. Riley?” you ask sarcastically.

“Have you considered minding your own business, Dr Y/N?” he snaps back. You knew what he was going to say even before you asked. But you enjoyed teasing him every now and then.

“It’s ‘Professor Y/N,’ please.”

Instead of responding, he mockingly repeats your statement, imitating you and pushing invisible glasses up his nose bridge.

You chuckle, and he turns to look at you, slightly proud that he made you laugh. Your opposing personalities complement each other well, with your order and his chaos balancing each other out. It was like mixing black and white to get some form of grey. And that’s the state you’ve been in for years—in a grey area. You two have never been romantic. Still, the flirting was definitely there, even if it came in the form of playful jabs and teasing.

Ghost shuffles through his papers before turning to face you. “Where are the next ones’ files?” he wonders.

You look over your desk and move your gaze to the bookshelf. “I must have left them on the shelf,” you say as you stand up. “Let me go get them.”

But as you approach the bookshelf, everything goes dark—pitch black.

“What just happened?” you yell in a high-pitched voice.

“The lights went off,” he says calmly. “The base has too many people to handle all that power cons-”

“Shut the fuck up, Lieutenant!”

“You just asked me-”

“I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING!”

You freeze in place, with your back against the bookshelf like a trapped animal. You try to see through the impenetrable darkness, but nothing is visible. Fear grips you and paralyses you.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Ghost says through the darkness, and you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Despite his words, the panic rises. As your fight-or-flight instincts kick in, you get ready to defend yourself. You lash out, grabbing the first thing you can get your hands on and swing right at the source of the touch.

“What the hell, woman!” Ghost curses in pain.

“G-Ghost?” you stammer, “is that you, Lieutenant?”

“How could it be anyone else?” He says and rubs his forehead. “Christ, professor, no wonder you know so much about concussions.”

“Did I get you good?” you ask, worried, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve had worse,” he assures you, taking your hand and placing it on his chest while muttering soothing words.

As you touch the coarse texture of his uniform, you apply a bit of pressure to get a better feel of him. And just like that, the fear fades gradually, giving way to a more... playful mood. You slide your hand up to his shoulder, then back to his chest. You can feel his heart rate increasing as it desperately pumps the blood it requires for him to stay sane. But he doesn’t need sanity right now; he must lose it completely. So you do it again. He lets out a sigh.

“These are dangerous games you’re playing, Professor,” he warns, trying to sound like his usual self and failing miserably.

“I like taking risks, Lieutenant,” you smirk, tracing circles on his chest with your finger.

He takes your hand off him and steps closer, bridging your gap. Seems like the blood is pumping elsewhere now.

“Fuck, professor,” he murmurs, “I need to go check if they need my help.”

“No,” you command, “what you need to do is stay right here.”

“Like this?” he asks huskily, his breath warm on your forehead.

“Yes, exactly like this.”

But, as he tilts your head towards him and begins to remove his balaclava, the door bursts open, and a blinding light shines in, threatening to expose you.

Your reflexes kick back again. You instinctively push him away and begin screaming, grabbing files from the bookshelf and hurling them at the light source.

“Damn it, Professor!” Ghost yells at you, “You’re hitting the engineers with box files!”

You pause midair and focus on your target; two figures squatted on the ground, their hands protecting their heads.

“Motherf—can’t you knock first?” You yell at them while holding the box file in front of your face. “Should we include basic etiquette in the manual, too?”

They all look at you, puzzled. Unable to comprehend your absurd request, they turn to Ghost.

“Sir, we need help with the generator.” One of them explains, and Ghost nods.

They hand him a flashlight and return to the power junction box, leaving you alone again.

He turns to look at you one last time.

“I’m curious,” he says, leaning in close, “did you plan this all along?”

You raise an eyebrow, acting innocent. “What, the power outage?”

“Are you acting all daft now?” he asks, his eyes forming two thin lines. “The whole screaming and acting vulnerable thing so I could come to your rescue and fall into your trap.”

“Oh, come on, Lieutenant,” you playfully roll your eyes, “don’t pretend like you didn’t want it.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “So you’re okay with staying alone then?”

“Of course I am,” you say seductively, “as long as you come back and let me finish what I started.”

———————————————————————

[vixenihy]

Late Night Guilt

Summary: A few months after the Cuban Missile Crisis, Jack is still facing the stressful aftermath and his survivors guilt from the war certainly isn’t helping either. Just when he feels he’s out of luck, someone he loves dearly is there to help.

Tags/Notes + Pairing: jfk x jackie kennedy, hurt/comfort?, swearing, mentions of past infidelity, antiquated beliefs about emotions, stress, anxiety.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: this is my first fic! i’m not super experienced with writing jackie, i fear. but i noticed that there aren’t any jfk x jackie fics so i wanted to change that. i love these two, lol. the indents may be a bit off bc i wrote this on my phone and used the spacebar as substitutes for indents… sorry lol. the banner was made by me, and the border below belongs to @/menschenopfer !

God Damnit…

Jack lets out a quiet groan of frustration, biting his cheek and hoping that the interviewer didn’t hear him. He’d forgotten to take the medication for managing his nerves. Not like he can remember what it’s called, though. There's too many names to even begin to remember what the Hell it’s called.

The past few months have been nothing but stress; Paper after paper and interview after interview. It’s a total mess, and it’s his fault. The Cuban Missile Crisis was the closest the world came to ending; but who started this beginning to the end? Well, Jack blames no one but himself. He can barely resist the urge to tap his teeth with his fingers in front of the camera focusing on his face.

“Mr. President, after the close call with the Soviet Union and Cuba, a handful of Americans are curious about your story that led to you earning your Purple Heart. We know there is a movie coming out later this year, but would you care to give a little of your own personal perspective?” The interviewer asks. Jack clenches his jaw and tightly interlocks his fingers as a heavy pang hits his heart. The last thing Jack wants to be reminded of is the people who he failed to protect, the two people who died because of him. He can feel the guilt eating away at him as he speaks, his voice just as calm as his face.

“Oh, there isn’t much to say. They sank my boat, and we were stranded for a while. Then with the help of some of the natives, the Navy came and saved me and my crew.” Jack explains calmly, ignoring the burning hot fire, hours of pulling men to the boat, screaming the names of the men he’d lost till daybreak. The swimming, vomiting, starvation, the close calls with death, and the terrible guilt he faces to this day. He left out all of it. No one will know how he felt that day, because Kennedys don’t show how they feel. A real Kennedy never cracks.

Jack snaps back to reality just as the interviewer finishes scribbling his notes.

“Thank you Mr. President.”

—————

“Bunny, it’s okay if you want to talk…You know I'm here for you, don’t you?” Jackie presses as she helps to massage her husband's back. Usually, she wouldn’t press too much into his day and his issues as she believed it wasn’t right to bring up the stress of the day right after it had ended, but Jackie noticed how stressed he looked and how upset he seemed to be when she saw a glimpse of him when he was alone. It worries her. And though he had hurt her in the past with his philandering behavior, she knows why he acts the way he does and how he’s doing his best to change. So, she decides to focus on the future rather than the past.

“I know, Jackie…But I'm fine. It’s just that work is stressful. That’s all.” Jack sighs, laying his head in his arms and closing his eyes as Jackie helps to work the stress out of his body. He wishes that he could tell Jackie all about his day and vent his frustrations, but he finds himself biting his tongue. Men don’t talk about their feelings, especially not a Kennedy man. He can hear his parents chastising him in the back of his mind for even having such a thought. So, he just decides to let it go and switch the conversation.

“Thank you for helping me with my back, Kid…It’s been killing me for the past month. I think picking up Caroline at Christmas really aggravated it.” He continues, turning his head back ever so slightly to look at her. Jackie looks so beautiful with the dim lamp shining behind her, illuminating her figure like an angel. He doesn’t deserve her, how did he get so lucky?

“It’s alright, Jack. You certainly made her day.” She whispers with a chuckle, glancing into his faded green eyes and watching them spark with life, the Jack Kennedy she knows and loves seems to finally come to life.

——

The crackle of fire and the smell of oil taints the air as Jack slowly opens his eyes, groaning in agony as his back spasms. He goes to grab the nightstand, but only finds a cold metal surface beneath his hand. He stumbles as he pulls himself into a standing position, opening his eyes at last. His heart drops as he realizes where he is. He’s over a thousand miles from home, he’s in the same place he fought like Hell to escape from, he’s back.

The South Pacific.

Following the same routine he’s done a hundred times before, Jack leaps off the side of the creaking bow and swims out towards the voices of his crew. They scream and cry out for their skipper and their mothers, a haunting sound he’s listened to too many times before. Just as he’s about to reach one man, he sees a head disappear below the waves. Gasping with fear, Jack dives below the waves and claws his way downwards, the darkness of the sea making it impossible for Jack to see the face of the man he’s trying to save. But just as he reaches out, he slips out of his reach. And he helplessly watches the figure disappear into the dark abyss.

Jack awakes with a start, jolting to find himself back in the luxurious bedroom he’s lived in for the past few years. He sits up gently, bringing himself back to the present with a deep sigh. Attempting to alleviate his back pain, Jack brings his knees to his chest and lies his head on his arms. A tightness settles in his heart as guilt festers in his mind. He forces back a few tears as he remembers one of the hardest experiences of his life. Just before any tears begin to break through, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Jack?” Jackie asks groggily, confused to see her husband awake so late. “What’s the matter, Bunny?” Wiping his eyes with his hand, Jack lies down onto his back.

“It’s nothing, Jackie. Just a bad dream is all…” He sighs, turning over onto his side.

“Go back to sleep, Kid. It’s alright..” Jack mutters. But before he can allow himself to drift off, he feels Jackie's arms wrap around him and hold him close to her body. At first, he seems uncomfortable by the touch his wife is giving him. It feels so foreign and uncomfortable. But as the seconds pass, he finds himself warming up to it…

“Maybe we can get away to Hyannis Port on Saturday. No press, no people, no work…Just us. It’ll be cold, but I think you need a break.” Jackie suggests, placing a kiss on her husband's neck and rubbing her thumb over his hand.

“I love you, Bunny.” She sighs, cuddling closer to Jack.

“I love you too, Jackie.” Jack smiles, shutting his eyes and slowly drifting off to sleep.

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: the first time you meet coriolanus snow, you're unsure how to gauge him. but a conversation opens a new door for you politically. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: consumption of alcohol ⊹ word count: 3331 ⊹ author’s note: I'm so excited to finally post this hehe. I know everyone has been so hype about this series and I'm proud to introduce to you the first chapter. any feedback is welcome. ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

It’s a peculiarly warm day in New England despite traces of snow still blanketing the dead grass in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts. A blizzard had blown through the night you arrived, and the remains of the storm are now melting away with each passing moment. A veil of mist hangs in the air by the ocean, the mixture of freezing sea water and balmy air still trickling in from the middle Atlantic lingers. You’re watching the thin fog swirl around in the cool breeze as you stand in front of the formal living room window. The Kennedy Compound is just far enough from the beach that you can see it clearly from the front of the main house where you currently reside. And though a part of you longs to be outside after being cooped up for days due to that nasty winter storm, you’d rather not be bombarded with the still fairly bitter and salty air. Thin, long sleeves cover your arms as they cross over your chest despite the warmth of the fire in the den nearby. The house is still and silent. Everyone seems to be off doing their own thing after dinner wrapped up not long ago.

At 18 years old and beginning your secondary education journey, you never would have believed that you’d be where you are a decade later. You’re now 28, working toward your dual-title doctorate in political science and history at Harvard University. You’re so close to finally graduating, and it’s almost bittersweet. You wish your parents were around to see it. You’re the first in your entire family to go to university, not to mention the first to go to Harvard. Going to such a pristine school is unheard of in your neighborhood. What’s more unheard of, is your privilege to closely study and research your chosen dissertation topic. You decided you would research the life and ongoing legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. 

Except for the amount of data and information you need, you have to interview and research extensively. Which means having to eventually meet the man himself. 18-year-old you also would never believe that you would meet the President and shake his hand. Or even get to know him past the facade he puts on for the world. But it doesn’t stop there. Due to the difficulty of getting ahold of John F. Kennedy after his passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1963 and the Interracial Marriage Act, a decision was ultimately made. The chaos of Capitol Hill and the citizens of the United States pushed John F. Kennedy to leave for the holidays much sooner than usual. After getting to know you well enough over a few months, the decision was made that John F. Kennedy would invite you to stay with him and his family in Hyannis Port. Just for a few weeks, through Christmas and New Year. It isn’t like you had anything else to do or anyone to spend it with. Besides, this will be your chance to get exclusive information about the man and his family for your dissertation. 

So here you are in the Kennedy family home. In the last week you’ve been here, you’ve gotten to know Jack and his family quite well. You had insisted on remaining professional and calling Jack by his real name, but he refused that. “All my friends call me Jack.”

You’ve gotten the inside scoop on Jack’s childhood and his chronic illness that has carried into adulthood. The military history in the family has also been spilled to you, and not a single detail has fallen on deaf ears. You’ve filled two notebooks already. When you aren’t scribbling down everything, you’re nose-deep in a book Jack has written. Currently, you’re reading Profiles in Courage and have found it quite interesting. You decide you’ve done enough staring out the window and that you’d join Bobby and Ted outside at the bonfire. Once you’re outside, they’re heading back indoors. But they offer to leave the fire going for you. Graciously, you accept their offer and take a seat by the warm flames, opening up Profiles in Courage.

You’re blissfully unaware of how much time has passed, your eyes eagerly scanning each word in each line as if they’d disappear any moment. You almost don’t notice the sound of snow crunching underneath someone’s approaching feet.

“Sorry to bother you, but Jack is asking for you inside.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of a man’s voice that you don’t recognize. You peer over your book at him and gauge that he must be safe, even if you don’t know who he is, considering the house is crawling with security.

“Alright, then,” you nod, putting your book down before standing up, stretching, and brushing yourself off. 

You look closer at the man before you as the orange flicker of the fire basks him in an angelic glow. His hair is a mess of stark blonde curls, and he’s in a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up his forearms.

“And who might you be, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly in confusion.

“Excuse my lack of introduction. My name is Coriolanus Snow. Jack’s best friend.”

You quirk an eyebrow, exhaling a laugh, “But Lem is Jack’s best friend.”

The blonde man chuckles, taking a step closer to you, “Well, maybe there’s a lot about Jack you don’t know about just yet.”

You narrow your eyes at this Coriolanus Snow, not caring that your shoulder collides with him as you swerve around his tall figure. You walk briskly back to the main house, wondering how this mystery man has yet to be brought up. When you enter the front door, Jackie is holding John Jr. in the foyer. 

“I was just looking for you, dear,” she says, “Jack is asking for you.” 

“So I’ve heard,” you raise your eyebrows at Jackie, and John Jr. reaches for you. You poke the boy on the tip of his nose.

Jackie gives you a confused look, but you’re quick to explain, “Some man outside said that Jack was. He isn’t Secret Service.”

Realization crosses her soft features, “Ah, Coriolanus, I’m guessing?”

“You’d be correct.”

“He’s a long-time friend of Jack’s from Harvard. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. His father was a New York senator for years.”

“Can’t say I’m too familiar with the Snows,” you purse your lips together, “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see what Jack needs me for.”

Jackie lifts John Jr.’s hand to wave goodbye to you, and you give him a big smile, waving back. You walk through the den to the staircase, trodding up the stairs until you reach the landing. The office is immediately to your right, and when you approach the door, you knock. When you do, the slightly ajar door opens wide enough to see Jack laughing and conversing with someone in the room. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt-“ you begin as you step inside the office, but you still yourself quickly.

Your eyes meet Coriolanus Snow’s steely blue ones as he leans against Jack’s desk, his forearms bearing his weight. His head is turned to you, his face appearing as if he were shocked by your arrival. 

You clear your throat, fixing your gaze back onto your original point of interest, “But I was told you were requesting my presence?”

“Yes, I was,” Jack smiles at you from his spot in his desk chair, “I’d like you to meet Coriolanus Snow, a great friend and colleague of mine. We attended Harvard way back when.”

Coriolanus stands up, straightening himself out. You notice he has an air about him that oozes confidence and prestige. His presence and towering height would seem intimidating to some upon the first meeting. Not to you, however. With your life focus being on politics, you’re quite desensitized from men and their faux personas.

“Nice to meet you,” you bite back a remark about already meeting Jack’s friend and stick out a hand, face blank and expressionless, “I currently attend Harvard myself.”

“Coriolanus, this is the bright Ph.D. student I was telling you about. She will be here until the New Year,” Jack says, a prideful grin on his face as he motions to you, “Be nice to her, she’s known to hold her ground.”

“I can tell,” Coriolanus gives Jack a close-lipped smile, his eyes averting to you.

You stand by Jack almost protectively, unsure of how to feel about the blonde man before you. The fact he managed to beat you inside and upstairs when you left him outside first made you wonder. Coriolanus’s physique in itself is alluring and piques your interest. He also seems quick-witted and the type to be a few steps ahead of everyone. It’s not hard to gauge this just from a few exchanged words. You’ve been studying and shadowing long enough to know who you’re interacting with. You study political science, for crying out loud. You know a born and bred power-hungry man when you see one. But at the end of the day, they’re just flesh and blood like those outside of the game. That’s the historian part of you trying not to judge Coriolanus so hard. You don’t know all the facts yet. If Jack is friends with him, he may not be so bad, despite the dark vibe he gives off. But you want to figure out why he appears so stiff.

“Coriolanus will be staying with us until New Year,” Jack turns to you, patting your back as he notices your shift in mood, “You don’t mind some extra company, do ya?”

“Not at all,” you smile sweetly at your mentor before turning to Coriolanus, “Besides, there’s still a lot about you that I don’t know about just yet. And I’d love to hear all about it.”

Jack hums in agreement. Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at you, and you raise yours back. He clears his throat, standing up slightly straighter than previously.

“I can always pour us some wine, and we can discuss some lighthearted details before turning in,” Coriolanus offers you, “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“That sounds lovely. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must grab my belongings from outside, and then I’ll be available in the den, Coriolanus.”

Jack and Coriolanus watch as you leave the room, closing the door behind you. Jack feels fairly content and is proud of his esteemed shadow getting along with his best friend. Or, appearing to be, anyway. Coriolanus is silent and remains neutral in his facial expression. He carefully turns the idea of you over and over in his head. There’s something to your character that intrigues him. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t figure it out.

When Jack and Coriolanus wrap up their conversation, you’re getting settled in the den. You’re curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, continuing your book from earlier. You circle a sentence that catches your attention, gnawing on the tip of the pen as you think of what Jack could have meant by this specific statement. You’re ripped from your thoughts when a hand delicately holds a glass of blood-red wine in front of you.

You abruptly close your book, taking the glass of wine, “Thank you.”

You don’t look at Coriolanus as he sits down, and he does so quietly without breaking his eyes from you. He keeps his focus on you as he sips his wine, and you can feel him do so as you stare into the flames in front of the couch.

“So,” Coriolanus clears his throat, “How long have you known Jack?”

You pause, taking your time to swallow your wine before glancing over to Coriolanus with little to no expression. You flash him a closed-lip smile before setting your glass down on the table, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

Coriolanus is taken aback, not showing it other than his raised brows before responding, “I see. And what makes you think I already know the answer to that?”

“Despite what society may think, a woman isn’t as daft as she appears to be. Given a man in her presence is smart enough to know that she isn’t, anyway,” you stare at him, unblinking, “No offense Senator Snow, but I know you’re a man of Harvard. And you know I’m a woman of Harvard, so let’s cut the chit-chat.”

Coriolanus slides his tongue across his teeth underneath his closed mouth before chuckling smartly, “I can see why Jack chose you. And you’re right, I did know the answer. But not every source is reliable.”

You lean down to retrieve your drink, “And why would Jack be an unreliable source?”

Coriolanus shrugs, “Well, as I’m sure you know, Jack knows his way around the ladies.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by this common knowledge, Mister Snow?” you swirl your wine around in the glass, peering up at him warningly.

“Of course not,” he furrows his brows, shaking his head in light disgust, “But you’re not unattractive by any means, miss.”

You scoff, “I’m very well aware. But your suggestion that I would entertain a superior I’m studying for one thing is pretty crass.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand, “You know how Jack is-”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, “However, I’d never involve myself in nonsense.”

“And why is that?”

You tilt your head at the man, laughing in awe at his brazenness, “For starters, he has a loving and caring wife. Someone I rather respect and admire, actually.”

Coriolanus nods, sipping his wine without a word. It’s not the only reason, of course. But it takes anyone with common sense to know why you wouldn’t so much as poke Jack with a ten-foot stick. Yet you still decide to take this friend of Jack’s by surprise.

“And besides,” you shrug, “I prefer blondes,” you say plainly, throwing back the remainder of your wine as Coriolanus fights to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Now,” you lean against your knee that’s crossed over your other leg, holding your empty glass out to Coriolanus, “I’m studying the man and have studied him for years already. So, how about you tell me something I don’t know, hm?”

It takes a little while for Coriolanus to warm up to your snarky attitude, given he is the reason you have one. But you also take some time to soften up yourself. You aren’t always so bitey- not unless deeply provoked. And all that Coriolanus Snow has done is provoke you as long as you’ve known him, which has only been a few hours. But the more the two of you talk and drink, the more you both begin to unravel. It takes about three glasses of vintage wine to make Coriolanus crack a genuine smile for the first time in front of you. Which, by all means, was not normal for him, especially around someone he just met. More so around a woman in general. However, just as you know there’s something to Coriolanus, he knows there’s something to you as well. And he has barely even scratched the surface.

“One night during his campaign, he had a little too much to drink at a dinner, and his accent was so thick I had to translate,” Coriolanus says, his chin resting in his hand. His arm is propped on the arm of the couch that you are perched on where he now also sits. Coriolanus is far enough from you to be civil but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. For someone with such a cold demeanor, he could put the fireplace to shame.

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “That’s actually quite funny, considering how thick it is in general. I can’t imagine how it must sound while he’s a few sheets to the wind.”

“Exactly,” Coriolanus lifts his finger from his glass to point at you, “But in actuality, it was a test.”

You look at him confused as you pour a fourth glass for yourself, “How so?”

“Jack wanted to make sure I knew what to say to voters and donors,” Coriolanus says, finishing his wine.

You offer to pour him more, to which he accepts, “Why would that matter?”

“He knew I was planning to run this year.”

You set the bottle of wine down, “To run?” you repeat, openly laughing now, “For what? Cabinet?”

“No. President.”

The burn of alcohol shoots pitifully through your sinuses, nearly exiting your nose as you struggle to cover your obvious laugh. You sniff harshly, covering your mouth and nose with the back of your hand as you swallow the remainder of the wine, recovering the best you can before answering.

“Normally, I’d believe a senator who says that, but before today I had no idea who you were, Coriolanus,” you look at him incredulously, “The election is eleven months away now. You need to, and pardon me when I say this, light a fire under your ass.”

Now it’s Coriolanus’s turn to laugh, “Shocking you’ve never heard of me, considering you’re a political science guru.”

“Shocking that I’ve never heard of you, considering you’re a senator of the United States of America under John F. Kennedy and running for the thirty-sixth President of the United States,”  you bark in response, your initial disliking of this man rising back to the surface.

Coriolanus’s jaw jerks to the side before he looks down in his lap, nodding to himself, “No, you’re right. I do need to light a fire under my ass.”

You shrug, finishing your wine and not bothering for another glass.

“How about since you made me realize this, you can help me out.”

You set the empty glass on the table before sinking back into the couch, crossing your arms as you look straight at Coriolanus, “Help you out with what, exactly?”

“My campaign,” Coriolanus says.

“You’re terribly hilarious, you know. I have too much to worry about right now to help a grown man who should already have a plan if he truly wanted to win the election.”

Coriolanus goes to defend himself, but you interrupt, “Before you give me some sort of excuse, yes, I know you’re a grown man. Yes, I do have too much to worry about. I’m literally writing a book about a man and his entire life. Yes, you most definitely should already have a plan by now if you want to win.”

Coriolanus just stares at you, unsure of what to say, but again you give your two cents, “And yes, as much as I probably shouldn’t, I will help you. But you will owe me big time. Got it?”

It takes a moment for Coriolanus to realize you’ve agreed to help out, but when he does, there’s a slight glow of gratitude in his eyes, “Thank you. I know I’m seriously behind, but I know I can do this. Especially if someone as well-endowed as you is helping me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m well-endowed in more ways than one, but politics is just the icing on the cake, sweetheart. So, let’s continue this tomorrow before I fall asleep here.”

Standing up from the couch after numerous glasses of wine has proven tricky. Your head swims, and you sway slightly from side to side. Coriolanus has to rest a gentle hand on the small of your back in order for you to steady yourself. You glance at him, letting your eyes linger in silent thanks, before collecting yourself and walking out of the den into the hallway. After putting your book and notes away, you strip your clothing and curl up under the soft duvet on your bed. Hopefully, your craving for political experience and curiosity in your interest won’t land you into trouble with Coriolanus Snow. But you’re eager to find out. 

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover  @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove @ilikefictionalmen @etfrin @xyraphine @arzua10 @shadowolf993 @niki-is-a-thing @ashy-kit @snowsgames @impeterporker @randomgurl2326 @tspilled @tonixe @sammythecat7 @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0 @ebsmind

[madrone33]

I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you Jorge. Thank you everyone who sung, and drew, and edited, and worked on EPIC: The Musical because you have all given me something that I will always - ALWAYS - remember and cherish.

I've been on this journey for over a year now, since Halloween 2023 when WolfyTheWitch posted a random short of Poseidon with the coldest musical lyrics I've ever heard. Ruthlessness brought me to this project, to this fandom. I was in all the events my timezone could reach, posted and messaged and freaked out with fellow fans on discord and tumblr and youtube and tiktok and twitch. I scoured the whole internet to find every piece of music, read the interviews, watched every livestream - most notably of which were the Ocean Crowdcast stream, the Circe Stream Crash of 2024, the Policy Violation Stream, and the IRL Odyssey streams XD

I got my family into it and was able to gush and rant and ramble to them about it; I've made so many friends because of this, and entered so many other fandoms too: MHSG, Udad, PJO, Hadestown, JCS, Lucids, DEH, and so many, many more; I've made essays and graphs and spreadsheets and analysis, discussing and picking apart the themes, characters, music details, motifs, lyrics; My voice has grown leaps and bounds because of how much I sing out loud now, I learned the songs on the piano, I started drawing?? I've written almost 112k words of fanfic for Epic, it's insane (and also not written down so much more LMAO). I even went out of my comfort zone and posted some of my writing and my covers which is CRAZY and nerve wracking and really fun!

Each saga I was left completely stunned and awestruck. Each saga I thought "surely, nothing can top this" and yet EVERY TIME I was blown away again the next time. The writing, the singing, the voice acting, the visuals, the orchestration, the lyrics, everything is just- !!!

Jorge. Miguel. Rivera-Herrans. HOW?? It's so good! It's SO GOOD!! And everyone's voices?? Everyone, just everyone is just talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same- THIS MUSICAL IS PURE ART, A MASTERPIECE OF A LEVEL HITHERTO UNKNOWN, THE LIKES OF WHICH MAY NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN. The fact that I was born in this spot in time, able to experience and appreciate and bask in the light of this glorious concept musical?? I am unfathomably lucky, and I thank the musical gods that it is so.

This past year has been one hell of a journey. I laughed a lot, I wrote lmao while actually only internally laughing a lot, I was tired and comforted and excited and anxious, I cried which I'm almost never able to do with media; Every day I would wake up and immediately check my phone for an upload notification, which is how I caught the Livestream today instead of missing it, so phew; I felt burned out sometimes, but managed to catch it and diversify my activities a bit, sinking into something else for a while before coming back refreshed and even more excited; My entire music wrapped this year was Jorge, Epic cast members' independent music, and greek mythology musicals; I watched the fandom grow even more, all the art, the fanfic, the theories, the memes, the friends.

I still don't think it's fully sunk in yet, but the entire musical is out now. It's done. I'm watched from saga three to nine, from Ocean to Ithaca. I've been here, every day, for a year. This is something that I don't think I'll ever experience again. I am so so thankful.

Thank you, Jorge, for bringing this into the world. What would it be, five and a half years now that he's been creating EPIC? He should be so proud, because I'm sure as hell proud. Odysseus finally made it home. The story is over.

But still, as Jorge said - This not the end of the journey, this is just the end of a chapter; the journey goes on!!

And I'll be here, taking that journey with you.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (25) Intuition

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 25)

Summary: Rosie's protective foursome are visiting her in Paris, Mycroft shows off his poshness, and they all meet Timothy and his parents at a well-chosen location.

Twenty-Five Years Old

The years in Paris went by too fast, and suddenly I had turned twenty-five and was graduating from uni. Sadly, both mine and Timothy’s graduation ceremonies were on the same evening, but we all had plans to meet the next day. I’ll admit that I had mixed emotions about that. My parents and uncles were to meet Timothy and his parents, and I couldn’t help thinking of all the different directions that meeting could go.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Timothy assured me. “Mum and Dad are over the moon to meet your celeb family, and I’m sure The Fab Four will behave for a few hours.”

“Ha! My intuition tells me otherwise. I wouldn’t put it past Papa to give some snarky remarks if he’s annoyed with your mother’s lipstick or your dad’s shoelaces,” I sighed.

“You know John won’t allow that, Ro,” Timothy laughed. “And your uncles are less inclined to cause any damage, I think. Relax.”

***

I had only met the Browns once before. Marie was a secondary school teacher, loved the royal family passionately, royals in general actually, and she was also a decent tennis player. Daniel was a business solicitor, loved his singing, and was quite a wine connoisseur.

“They’re both perfect conversation partners for Mycroft,” Papa informed me after I’d met them. He can share gossip from the palace with her and show off his wine cellar to Brown senior.”

Dad tried to shush him, but his efforts were nonsensical, and I was inclined to agree. 

***

Whenever uncle Myc visited Paris, he stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel George V, and for my graduation dinner, we ate at one of the hotel’s restaurants, Le Cinq. His Poshness, as Papa called him, moved through the restaurant after the maître d’ like he owned the place. Uncle’s three-piece suit had never been more appropriate. The rest of us were dressed up as well. Papa even wore a tie, which I hadn’t seen on him since my uncles’ wedding. 

The food was arranged like tiny artworks, and I felt like a vandal ruining them with the cutlery. Once the first bite reached my taste buds however, all regrets were forgotten. Each dish surpassed the other visually, and with different textures and surprising combinations of flavours. Every wine was perfectly matched with the food, and even uncle Greg, who was more of a beer lover, admitted that it was quite good, which earned him an exasperated sigh from his husband.

“How’s the job search going?” Dad asked after the third course was devoured.

“I’m expecting a few answers over the next weeks. Hopefully, something turns up,” I said.

I actually had high hopes, having already been summoned to an interview when I was returning to London the following week. Papa gave me a thoughtful look and shifted his gaze towards his brother who lifted an eyebrow just the tiniest bit, which made me sigh and swallow my remark with some excellent chardonnay.

***

To Marie’s delight, we were meeting at Versailles the next day. Neither of us wanted to take the guided tour but preferred to walk in the gigantic garden. 

“Much easier to escape if the conversation gets tedious,” Papa teased.

“Brother mine,” uncle Myc warned, more out of habit than an actual rebuke.

We had agreed to meet on the balustrade where it would be easier to spot each other. I could see that Marie was fidgety and excited, while Daniel seemed quite composed.

“Better at hiding it,” Dad remarked, which earned him an incredulous look from me and a fond chuckle from Papa.

“Is this mind reading business contagious?” I sighed and walked towards Timothy and his parents.

***

“The Fab Four are behaving,” Timothy stated. “A bit disappointing really.”

“Try refreshing,” I retorted dryly.

“Do you think Sherlock would mind if I asked him to deduce some of the people here?” Marie asked in a hushed voice, which Papa had no problem hearing.

“I don’t mind at all, Marie,” Papa interrupted with a bow. “Anyone in particular?”

And with that, Marie and Papa stuck their heads together to conspire. Daniel and Timothy looked amused, while the rest of us rolled our eyes, though I must admit it was the perfect ice breaker, and I was relieved that my intuition about Papa’s behaviour had been wrong.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[achelouise]

Together, forevermore

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Pairing: (Yan?)Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: Pretty dark, (at least its the most dark thing I've written so far DONT JUDGe me), blade is not nice here, non-con but no sex

Summary: Someone visits you on your deathbed.

A/N: ...... i may be on a slight toxic writing streak......... I WILL BRING SOMETHING ELSE FLUFF ENJOYERS I PROMISE

imma be honest i dont know if this is considered as yandere but i will tag it as such just in case

Your bones are weary. Wrinkles are prominent on your face, and your hair has completely faded to white.

You savor it all. The way time robs you of your youth, the way you bend to its will, morph yourself into a fragile being that couldn’t continue her adventure on the Express. The way you laugh when you spill a cup, when eons ago you would charge towards the enemy with your spear in hand.

You were satisfied with yourself. You have lived, breathed, and entertained yourself before the curtain fell. You have made friends, enemies, lovers, and experienced the joy and suffering of life. The galaxy is your sky, and the worlds you travel to is your home.

Well- perhaps just one lover. It felt like many, though. You could never forget him, but he is just a hazy memory in your old brain.

To think, a former Cloud Knight soldier would live and breathe without mara- truly, a wonderful end to a blazing life like yours.Granted, you weren’t from the Xianzhou- but to be on the battlefield is to sign up a guaranteed death by Abudance.

Even as the Crew parts, their memories and cherished ambitions lay dormant in your heart- beating weakly, slowly, and closer to eternal rest.

You loved this life, and you hated to see it go. Perhaps this is the wisdom Jingliu was desperate for- to understand mortality, and to understand an end to a life well spent.

You feel your fear of death grasping your chest as you heave, drinking in every breath. Unparalleled joy also envelops you; ah, the precious catalyst life holds for this body. Even as you have withered away, this body still yearns for a little bit of life, still squeezes every last drop, a complete opposite of the mara-stricken soldiers tethering between sanity and mania.

Beautiful. How beautiful this life could be.

You could only wish for the others to feel the same. You hope March understands the beauty of fragile mortality, and Dan Heng’s rest during his rebirth.

Even then, human will never dies. You and the trailblazer have entrusted yours to the Cosmodyssey, greeting the future generation of trailblazers from the distant past. Only this way, would you be immortalized, encapsulated in a beautiful dream.

A soft creak of the door alerts you. You smile, even as you struggle to inhale enough air to speak. “... Can’t you leave an old lady… to her death bed?”

Your voice is grating and unpleasant, but you cherish it all the same.

The visitor doesn’t speak. They walk in slowly, carrying a glass of water. At least, it looks like it- oh, you can’t blame yourself for not recognizing anything with such poor eyesight.

Probably one of the nurses that are hell bent on keeping you alive. You don’t really like them, you never have. Ever since you resigned yourself to an elderly shelter on your home planet, where you could meet even more friends before your end, the nurses have been instructed to keep you alive for as long as possible. Probably because if you do, you can attend more interviews, review more biographies about you and the Legends of Akivilli.

You can’t muster up the strength to retort any more, though. The nurse doesn’t really speak, either. They have a comically large mask on, one that shields their whole face, with only eyes piercing back. You don’t recognize them. Eugh, poor eyesight.

The monitor begins to beat feverishly. You are quite parched, though. No harm in quenching your thirst one last time before you kick the bucket.

As you reach for the glass, memories flash before your eyes. Your mother cradling you, your father holding you tight, your celebration with your friends as you pass your finals, your first arrival on the Xianzhou, your first kiss, your promise for a future with him, your losses, your despair, your fears-

And-

The Express. Your true home, the fondation which you rediscovered yourself and rebuilt yourself on. A place where you will never part, not even in death.

The warmth you felt for it, and the warmth it returned to you will never be forgotten.

You heave as you gulp down the drink. “Thank… you.”

You close your eyes.

Farewell, everyone.

You feel so light. You can properly feel your hands again. The backache is gone, stripped away, and you marvel at the skin that seems to reweave itself- granting you your youth, your past, prime shape. So the afterlife is merciful, after all.

You open your eyes. The birds near the windowsill are still chirping. Nothing has changed.

Wait.

What?

You feel your body reconstructing itself, your bones rearranging and your senses returning. Your eyes grow sharp and your face feels soft. The scars on your arms grow rapidly smaller, and smaller, until they are gone before you can blink. Uneasiness crawls in your chest.

And all the while, strange, delicate branches curl around your limbs, a soft green glow imitating the blessing of-

No. No no no no no no no no no.

No.

NO.

You find your strength to speak properly again. Your voice is lighter, easier to speak with, a voice or a bygone past, and it only nausates you as you grip your blanket. “What did you do?”

You turn to look at the nurse properly, as they finally start to make a sound- a soft, unsettling chuckle, one hand removing their mask.

The cruel smirk dances on Blade’s lips as he gestures to the glass cup in your hand.

Only now do you see the Emenator of Abundances’ blood swimming in the clear water you were so desperate for, only moments ago. You feel light-headed. You feel sick to the core.

You drop the cup, and it shatters on the floor- your skin feels cold, and your brain is spinning. You’re hyper-aware of how the liquid seeping out still flashes with the curse of Abundance, how the birds are screeching, and how Blade is cackling.

You heave, your breaths growing shorter by the moment. You watch as Blade reaches for your face- and if you flinch, he pretends to not notice.

No. You were close. You were so close.

“Why?” you cry, the first tears finally dripping down your cheeks. Blade’s bandaged hands wipe them away, and his dry lips press on them- as if savoring them.

“Did you honestly think you could escape me?” Blade reprimands softly, his empty eyes shining with disgusting, sickening adoration. “You promised you would stay, for as long as you could, for me.”

“You disgusting, wretched beast.” You lament, curling in further of yourself. The effects of the mara have started to settle; your muscles pound hard with fresh life breathed into your body, your bones gritting far worse than when you were of old age, and your mind starting to delude your sight. “I had forgotten you. I had lived, unlike you.”

“Promises are not to be broken.” Blade responds coldly, gripping your chin with sheer strength. You cry out as your skull cracks, only for it to mend itself, in perfect shape, the phantom pain lingering on your jaw. “I watched you blaze a trail for yourself. To me, your life was only moments worth of mine.”

“I married. I had children. They will remember me wedded to someone else.” you seethe.

Blade only chuckles mirthlessly at that. “Your attempts at deceiving me are truly pitiful. I know I was your first and last lover. I watched you fall apart in my absence. I watched your success. I watched how you withered away, and I envied you so, so much. Why couldn’t I feel that happy? Why couldn’t I feel that free?”

His hand ghosts over your neck, a silent warning if you dared to cry for help. Not that you would- you knew exactly what bringing his wrath would entail. Breaking your neck over, and over, and over again, to feel the pleasure of death like his master brought for him.

“I watched you pave a way for yourself. I hated you. I loved you. I don’t know how I feel anymore. Kafka has numbed everything away. But I chose to hold onto these feelings. Only you could give rise to new emotions after my rebirth. And you will be my partner. Together, we will be betrayers of death.”

You shake your head, and you wish so badly that all of this was a figment of your imagination. But it is real. You’ve seen enough soldiers fall prey to mara. You might have only succumbed to a dilated version, but it still tears away at your soul.

“Your playtime is over. Death will never reach you. Not even Nihility can bring you the peace you need. So stay with me.” He leans over, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. Your head pounds. Shapes and colors blend into a mess. Only Blade sits before you.

“Not that you have a choice.” He nips the bud of your ear, his voice soft and stifling. The stench of blood and rain clings onto his skin, and you succumb to the despair that fills your heart. “You will join the Stellaron Hunters. Kafka will help you, as she did with me.”

He leans back, and he smiles, deranged and devoid of sanity, living in his own world of pure delusion.

Sometimes, when you were dating, you wondered what he was before he was Blade. Would he still date you?

And even now, as he seals his promise with a kiss, you think. Would he condone any of this? How would he feel, knowing he has turned into a monster?

You close your eyes. You envision your friends and comrades, who all bear no burdens of eroding immortality, an apology on your tongue.

I’m sorry. I failed you all.

“Together, forevermore.”

[dee-writes-anime]

Hi! I love your works so far, I haven’t been following your blog for long but I am already sucked in😭 I thought I may as well request. Would you be open to writing a slowburn or semi-slowburn bkdk fic? You can choose if you would like to add smut and age-up, but I’d love to see you write their characters.🤍

THE STRIKE ZONE

FEATURING Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya

SUMMARY Katsuki Bakugo is a world renowned picture at the top of his game. Izuku Midoriya is an up-and-coming sports analyst who got lucky enough to find himself in a long-term position analyzing and interviewing Bakugo. The two of them have unresolved history from their childhood and Izuku could have never expected that the spark was still just as fierce as the last time they talked.

CONTENT WARNINGS slight angst, slow burn, no romance just yet, Bakugo being Bakugo

AUTHORS NOTE this is not the beast I promised because I decided I hated how I wrote it originally. I still haven't decided whether or not I even like what I wrote for the second time, but if you like it and maybe want to see this become a series, let me know! Hope you enjoy! <3

The afternoon sun hung low over the stadium, casting long shadows across the diamond as Katsuki Bakugo stepped onto the mound. His presence was a force of nature—a sharp contrast to the chatter and chaos of the crowd. His signature glare was locked in, focusing on the batter standing in his way. Everything else faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the ball in his hand and the next strike. 

From the press box, Izuku Midoriya could see the tension in Bakugo's shoulders, the fierce determination burning behind his eyes. It was unmistakable. He had seen it before, during countless games growing up, but now, this close to the action, it felt different. Personal. 

“Bakugo’s been on fire this season,” he muttered, typing furiously on his tablet, his thoughts spinning into a series of detailed notes for his upcoming article. "Fastest recorded pitch in the league, unpredictable breaking balls... He's impossible to read.” 

A flash of movement caught his eye as Bakugo reared back and fired another fastball. The sound of the bat slicing through the air echoed around the stadium—a clean miss. A strike. 

Midoriya's heart raced. 

This was his first live game as an official sports analyst, and of all the players, it had to be Bakugo Katsuki—the same Bakugo he’d known for years, ever since they were kids. They had grown apart after high school, their paths diverging sharply, but somehow, they were always drawn back into each other’s orbit. Like now. 

Bakugo had made it to the top of the league, his explosive talent making him one of the most feared pitchers in Major League Baseball. Meanwhile, Midoriya had worked his way up through the ranks of sports journalism, his obsessive attention to detail and deep understanding of the game earning him respect as an analyst. Today was his debut covering the league’s biggest star, and he wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence—or a twist of fate. 

As the game progressed, Midoriya found himself watching more than just the stats. He noticed the way Bakugo moved, the precision in his throws, the way his expression never wavered. Yet, there was something else beneath the surface—a crack in the mask that Bakugo wore so well. Maybe it was the exhaustion from a long season or the pressure of the spotlight, but Midoriya saw it. He always did. 

Bakugo struck out another batter, ending the inning with a triumphant snarl, and as he walked off the mound, his eyes flickered briefly toward the press box. Their gazes met for a split second, and Midoriya froze. Did Bakugo recognize him? It had been years since they last spoke, but that brief connection sent a jolt through him, stirring memories of a rivalry long left behind. 

Midoriya shook his head, pushing the thought away. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t here to dredge up the past. Yet, as Bakugo disappeared into the dugout, that old feeling of competition—of something unresolved—lingered in the back of his mind. 

The rest of the game blurred by in a flurry of fastballs, curves, and strikeouts, with Bakugo dominating the mound like he always did. Midoriya couldn’t help but admire his former classmate’s skill—even if Bakugo had been insufferable back in the day. There was something mesmerizing about the way he commanded the game. Every move was calculated, every pitch perfectly placed, as if he had memorized every weak spot of every batter he faced. 

Yet, as Bakugo continued to dominate, Midoriya’s mind wandered back to the years they spent growing up together—well, more like growing up beside each other. Their rivalry had been anything but friendly, always one-upping each other in everything from schoolwork to sports. And now, even though they hadn’t spoken in years, that tension was still there. Bakugo had made it to the top, and Midoriya couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still trying to catch up, even as a reporter. 

The post-game buzz hummed through the stadium, and Midoriya gathered his notes, preparing for the real challenge: the locker room interview. He had to face Bakugo. Professionally, of course. They weren’t kids anymore, and Midoriya wasn’t about to let the past cloud his judgment. He took a steadying breath as he made his way to the locker room. 

The atmosphere inside was intense, the heat of the game still palpable in the air. Players moved about, their voices low as they cooled down from the adrenaline rush. Midoriya scanned the room, catching sight of Bakugo in the back, sitting alone, as usual. His head was down, towel draped over his neck, muscles tense with post-game strain. 

This was it. 

Midoriya approached, his footsteps echoing louder than they should have in the silence between them. He hesitated for a split second before standing a few feet away from Bakugo. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unsaid. 

“Bakugo,” Midoriya started, keeping his tone neutral, professional, though his voice felt a little too small for the moment. “Can I ask you a few questions?” 

Bakugo didn’t look up at first. He wiped the sweat from his face, then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Midoriya’s. And there it was—that flash of recognition. Sharp and unyielding, like a gust of wind hitting a flame. 

“Deku?” Bakugo’s voice was low, rough from the game, but the familiar edge was still there, as if he hadn’t forgotten their history. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Midoriya straightened, doing his best to ignore the nickname. He wasn’t the same kid who used to cower under Bakugo’s sharp tongue. “I’m here as a reporter,” he replied evenly, holding his ground. “I wanted to talk about your game today.” 

Bakugo let out a short, humorless laugh, tossing the towel aside. “Of course you are.” He leaned back against the locker, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing in that calculating way that always made Midoriya feel like he was being sized up. “Go ahead. Ask your damn questions.” 

Midoriya steadied himself, forcing the tension out of his voice. “Your curveball was nearly untouchable today. What’s been your approach this season to refining your pitch? It seems like you’ve found new ways to stay unpredictable on the mound.” 

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t respond. He just stared, as if debating whether to give a serious answer or brush Midoriya off like he used to. But then something shifted in his gaze, and he shrugged. 

“Gotta stay ahead of the game,” Bakugo said, his voice casual, but there was an edge beneath it. “Everyone’s always watching, waiting for you to slip up. I don’t give them the chance.” 

Midoriya nodded, scribbling down the response, though his focus wasn’t entirely on the words. There was something more going on here, something that went beyond the standard post-game interview. It wasn’t just the tension between them; it was the way Bakugo answered, like there was a wall between them that had only gotten thicker with time. 

“And your fastball,” Midoriya continued, his tone carefully measured. “It’s faster than it’s ever been. What’s changed?” 

Bakugo snorted, leaning forward slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “None of your business, Deku.” 

The name stung, as it always did, but Midoriya swallowed it down. He was here to do his job. “It’s my job to ask, Bakugo. You know that.” 

Bakugo’s eyes flickered with something—maybe frustration, maybe something deeper that Midoriya couldn’t quite place. “Yeah, I know,” Bakugo muttered, his voice softer now, almost resigned. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the game. “Look, you wanna know why I’m pitching better? Fine. It’s because I’m not thinking about anyone else but myself. That’s what it takes.” 

Midoriya frowned slightly. “No one else? Not even your team?” 

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Midoriya thought he had gone too far. But then Bakugo stood, his posture towering and tense, the fire in his eyes blazing hotter than before. 

“I don’t need anyone slowing me down,” Bakugo shot back, his voice rising just enough to make the rest of the locker room glance their way. “I’m the best, and I don’t need to prove it to anyone—not to you, not to them. Got it?” 

The intensity in the air was unmistakable, crackling between them as if the years apart hadn’t dulled their connection at all. Midoriya was no longer the boy who would shrink beneath Bakugo’s glare, but that fire was still there, burning just as fiercely in the spaces between words. 

Bakugo stood in front of him, arms crossed, muscles taut with frustration, his expression daring Midoriya to keep pressing, to say something that would make him lose control. But Midoriya knew better now. He’d learned to handle the sharp edges of Bakugo’s personality—he had to, if he was going to make it through this interview unscathed. 

“Is that why you’ve been isolating yourself lately?” Midoriya asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I’ve noticed you’re not interacting with your teammates as much. Is this part of your strategy too?” 

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt too small, too confined for the tension building between them. Midoriya could feel the weight of Bakugo’s stare, like a storm gathering on the horizon, ready to break at any moment. 

“You’re really digging, huh, Deku?” Bakugo muttered, voice low, dangerous. He stepped closer, and Midoriya had to resist the urge to step back. “You think you know everything about me just because we used to go to the same school? Because we grew up in the same shitty town?” 

Midoriya’s breath hitched, but he didn’t flinch. He met Bakugo’s stare head-on, refusing to let him push him away. “I’m not trying to dig up the past, Bakugo. I’m just asking about your approach. You’ve always played with that chip on your shoulder, but now it seems like it’s weighing you down more than ever.” 

The locker room had gone quiet, the tension thick enough to suffocate. Bakugo’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a second, Midoriya wondered if this was it—if Bakugo was finally going to snap. But instead, Bakugo’s lips twisted into a tight, bitter smile. 

“You think you know me, Deku?” Bakugo said, his voice soft but cutting. “You don’t know a damn thing. You never did.” 

Midoriya’s heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something he wasn’t sure he could name yet—building inside him. This wasn’t how he expected the interview to go, but it was Bakugo. He should have known better than to think it would be simple. 

“Then tell me,” Midoriya said quietly. “Tell me what I don’t know.” 

For a moment, the challenge hung in the air between them, neither one willing to back down. Bakugo’s eyes blazed, his jaw tight, but just as quickly, the fire in his gaze dimmed, replaced by something Midoriya hadn’t seen before—something that looked a lot like weariness. 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Bakugo muttered, turning away. “This interview’s over.” 

Before Midoriya could respond, Bakugo stormed past him, his shoulder brushing against Midoriya’s just hard enough to send a jolt through him. Midoriya stood frozen for a moment, watching Bakugo’s retreating form, the locker room door slamming shut behind him. 

Midoriya’s fingers tightened around his tablet. He had gotten the bare minimum out of Bakugo—certainly not the in-depth analysis he had hoped for. But even more frustrating was the way that familiar, unresolved feeling gnawed at him. There was still something there, something unfinished between them, and it was bigger than just an interview or a rivalry. 

It was personal. 

As Midoriya packed up his things, he couldn’t shake the sense that this was far from over. Bakugo wasn’t the type to let things lie, and now that they had crossed paths again, that old fire was burning brighter than ever. 

[findafight]

Not me writing a prologue for a fic I'll maybe never write about Steve being on the Dream Team lmao. I saw a pro basketball player Steve post a while ago and couldn't stop thinking about it. Anyways-

At the end of March Madness in 1989, the scout for the Pacers has lunch with the head coach of a community college basketball team that somehow made it to the first round before being pulverized. They sit across from each other, the coach seemingly a bit overwhelmed but not outright surprised. That's good, it means Jerry, the scout, doesn't have to worry about him freaking out or babbling too much.

The team captain had caught his, and possibly others', eye. Good layups, a few three pointers, solid defence, and a helluva lot of potential add up to someone to keep an eye on, except they can't because the guy plays for a rinky-dink community college and only had one televised game. The only reason Jerry saw the kid is because the Roane County Community College Ospreys had put in a hell of a fight the past three seasons. Jerry wonders why the hell the kid hadn't been offered a scholarship somewhere...not Roane County. Doesn't matter though, because they're here now.

"so. You wanted to talk about Steve?" Says the coach, August Nearaly, a bit weary.

Jerry nods, sipping his coffee. "Yeah. Wanted to get a sense of him before I actually talked to him."

August sighs. "As a player or as a person?"

Raising his eyebrows. "Is he that different off the court?"

"no! No, not like how you probably think. Harrington's a sweet kid, but also incredibly...well, not weird, but. Peculiar? He's got quirks. Bit paranoid, but not in a conspiracy way. In a 'no one should walk home alone in the dark' or 'hey, where'd John go? He was right here and then I did a headcount and he's not?' kinda way. Y'know? Like, they're all adults, but he does headcounts and worries anyways."

"huh. Oookay?"

"it-- I'm not saying this to rag on him, to be clear. It just too a while to get used to. Honestly, it's been good for team building. Makes them think of each other not as individuals, but part of a unit that needs everyone healthy and whole to work."

"that's good. He's a team player."

"oh yeah. It's not surprising, really. He's from Hawkins." August says the name like Jerry should know what that means. It's a town, sure, but other than that... Jerry's at a loss. Maybe something a few years ago about a fire? "He has most assists in Osprey history. Some of the guys joke that he's allergic to the ball."

"He's good on the court?"

"Jerry. I know you're here because you saw the March Madness game. You know he's good. He'd be even better if he could afford those fancy prescription goggles Horace Grant wears."

"seriously? Why not contacts?"

"don't make them for his prescription. You didn't see his interview? Kid's got thick horn rimmed glasses. Too many concussions apparently. God knows how he tells players apart when the jersey colours are similar."

"shit. That's why he was squinting the whole time? I thought he was just stressed."

He shrugged. "eh. Probably a bit of both. He takes it seriously, but not too seriously. Y'know? Half the guys were shitting themselves from nerves and Harrington stands up in the locker room, hands on his hips, and gives a speech worthy of the most melodramatic underdog sports movie."

Jerry laughs. "No shit."

Waving his hands, August nods. "no shit! He says all this stuff like 'we worked hard...we deserve this...we may not win but let's do our damn best. The worst that could happen is we lose, and that isn't the end of the world. So let's go out there and play some basketball!' or something, his was better, and the boys cheer. Then they put in fifty points to one-thirty."

Jerry winces. "Must have hurt, huh?"

August grins. "No way. One of the best games they ever played. You saw it. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't. They played their goddamn hearts out." He leans forward. "My boys don't have the same facilities as the big universities, or the funding to offer scholarships. They're at Roane Community because they want a degree or certificate but have other responsibilities. Parents or siblings to stay close to, jobs to work, people to take care of. They joined my team because they like playing basketball, loved the game and wanted to spend some of their precious time playing it. They put the work in on the court and off it. And we made it to the NCAA tournament because of it. We put in fifty points against the goddamn Michigan Wolverines! The champs! And they knew that. I've never heard of a locker room after an 80 point defeat so happy."

"seriously?"

It's all pride when Coach Nearaly says "yep. They may not be the best basketball players in college, but my god, they're probably the best team."

"because of Harrington?"

"partly. They all contribute, make sure they do things right. It's not a one man show, that's the point. They rally around him, but they all are part of the team, and know it. That's what Steve makes sure. Why I made him captain."

"So, you think he'd be a good pick for the Pacers?" This is, after all, a business meeting.

August nods, picks at his pancakes. "I'll be honest with you Jerry. You're not the first scout to talk to me about Steve."

"really? Who?"

"you know I won't say. But, between me and you, Steve's Indiana born and bred. His wife's planning on getting some lib Arts degree in Chicago or Indy, and your offer might be the deciding factor for them."

Jerry blinks. "He's married? At, what? Twenty-one?"

August nods. "Just turned twenty-two. High school sweethearts or something. Obsessed with each other." He chuckled, a bit ruefully. "I'm a bit jaded but damn. You mention her name? He lights up like the fuckin Fourth of July."

Jerry whistles. "Honeymoon phase gets us all."

"for almost two years? Nah. It's just love." It sounds a little wistful, coming from August. "Anyways. I dunno if the other team is serious about him, and if they are, they'll probably be disappointed. Kid isn't moving out of the Midwest. He's got family here, and is getting a goddamn elementary education degree. He won't uproot his life for a chance at the NBA. But, if you offer. Well. He'd at least seriously consider it."

Humming, Jerry chews his eggs as he thinks. "You think he'd be up for the lifestyle? The road games out numbering home ones?"

There's an air of seriousness when August levels Jerry with a look. "If he doesn't want to, he'll tell you. You gotta give him time to talk to his family though. This offer? It'll come out of left field for him, even if I give him a heads up. You get that, yeah? You want to recruit a kindergarten teacher to the NBA without any build up. He needs time to process that and then see where the people in his life are at with it."

"I guess it is unusual."

"try being the community college basketball coach getting two goddamn calls from NBA scouts. Thought I was hallucinating."

Jerry laughs, counts some bills for the tip. "Thank you. For your time and insights. Let Steve know I'll call tomorrow?"

"will do. He'll still probably drob the phone on you, though."

"as long as he doesn't hang up!"

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Nie Huaisang and the Morality of Revenge

(Greatly expanded AO3 version here – I would definitely recommend that one more, but it's a little long for a tumblr meta)

"Take revenge on the ones who bite you. Wen Ning’s branch doesn’t have much blood on their hands."

There's a clear pattern as to how revenge is presented in MDZS. Though revenge against the ones who wronged you (or those close to you) isn't something you're morally obliged to do, it isn't condemned, and tends to be presented in the right. Revenge against innocents, however – that's where you draw the line.

All of which leaves Nie Huaisang in a very interesting position. Because though his target is the person directly responsible for his brother's death... those he's willing to harm to achieve that goal are not.

Vengeance in MDZS

MXTX: If you were to ask Wifi as to why he did not reveal [Nie Huaisang's] mask, it’s because there wasn’t enough evidence, there wasn’t a way to catch his tail (...) there was no way to punish him, because his reasons were righteous. - MXTX interview, translation here – 'Wifi' refers to Wei Wuxian

Now, it's one thing to say revenge is presented as right, and it's another thing to prove it. Why do I think this, and what material is there to support this in the actual text?

One major piece of evidence is Wei Wuxian himself.

If he were Chang Ping, he wouldn’t have cared how prominent or powerful the LanlingJin Sect was, or how much glory the road ahead offered him, and he wouldn’t have let the matter [of his clan being murdered] go. Instead, he would’ve went to the dungeons on his own, cut Xue Yang up so that he was nothing more than a puddle of flesh on the ground, and summoned his soul back to repeat the process to the point that he regretted ever being born in this world. - Chapter 33, EXR translation

This is something that Wei Wuxian thinks in the present day – not under pressure, not in the aftermath of anything traumatic. And the important thing is that it's never questioned. There isn't a moment where Wei Wuxian or anybody else dwells on this and thinks/says 'maybe I shouldn't keep retaliating like this' or 'will harming more people after their actions have already been taken actually fix anything, or just cause more damage?'. It's also never framed as a tragedy that these views don't change. There is a moment of thinking his past self went too far with his vengeance, but look at the context:

And for every one of the Wen Sect’s cultivators whom he killed, he made them into puppets as well before controlling them to kill the friends and family they had before they died. (...) Not only others, even when he, himself, thought about it afterward, he felt that he had done a bit too much. - Chapter 60, EXR translation

Killing their friends and family – yes, this is a war between clans (people with blood ties to each other)/sects (in which you spend most of your time around fellow members), so it's likely many of these are on the battlefield... but do we know this is the case for everyone? We know there are people and branches of the Wen sect who are noncombatants, and we know outer disciples exist, whose families may or may not be affiliated with the sect in some way. We also know resentful corpses can seek out, recognise and target people due to their bloodline without direct control (see Nie Mingjue finding Jin Guangyao and then targeting Jin Ling in Hatred and Concealment), so seeking out family members outside of the battlefield is possible. Out of the potentially thousands of people Wei Wuxian killed in this way, is it really that probable that every single one was guilty?

This is what I believe 'done a bit too much' means – targetting people who may or may not have been directly involved in action against Wei Wuxian/the allied sects.

There are also other instances of vengeance, directly against the ones who harmed you, being framed as justified (resurrecting Wen Ning to kill the inspectors that killed him, for example); as well as instances that aren't exactly vengeance but are still linked to punishing somebody for their bad deeds (seen a lot with Xue Yang – eg Xiao Xingchen demanding "severe punishment" for what Xue Yang did to the Chang clan in Chapter 30*, Wei Wuxian's "Xue Yang must die" after witnessing the Yi City flashbacks in Chapter 41), also framed this way.

But, first, a clarification.

MDZS may not condemn vengeance, but it does condemn holding onto resentment and letting it twist you, particularly when it leads to the harming of other people. And this is something important to note about Wei Wuxian's character, as well – he is quick to vengeance and retaliation, but that's exactly the point. He does the deed and then doesn't hold onto those feelings (under normal circumstances), instead carrying on to live his life with his adherence to his moral code unaltered**. See the Second Siege – a lot of these people directly contributed to the first siege on him, but he doesn't hold onto his resentment and decide not to save them as a result. Instead, he and Lan Wangji work to save them as well as the Juniors at great personal risk to themselves. That's why most of his actions are justified by the narrative, and why the two times he does act based on feelings of resentment he holds (Sunshot Campaign in the above quote, and Nightless City***), his actions aren't.

Back to vengeance itself.

Of course, vengeance is not presented as the only course of action! Lan Wangji doesn't do anything to avenge Wei Wuxian's death, instead focusing his energy on helping people and on teaching the younger generation to avoid the mistakes his made, and he's all the better for it. The line immediately following Wei Wuxian's thoughts on Chang Ping and Xue Yang is this:

But, not everyone was like him[.]

Which is followed by understanding for Chang Ping's situation, especially taking into account the fact that "some of the Chang clan's people were still alive" and may have been casualities if vengeance was carried out. Revenge isn't something you're obliged to do – and when the alternative is protecting others, is arguably less important. But, in itself, it isn't a moral wrong. As someone I talked to about writing this meta said, it's often the only way to bring someone who has done bad deeds to justice (which the story supports: see my earlier points about Xue Yang, as well as MXTX saying Xue Yang "deserved to be beaten by the protagonist") in a society which often leaves bad deeds unpunished and good deeds condemned.

(Of course you're allowed to disagree with this view of vengeance and punishment – I do myself – but that's what I believe to be the story's view on the matter.)

When it does become a moral wrong is when it targets innocent people.

Going Too Far?

As we've discussed, there two scenarios where revenge is presented as in wrong: the above, and being corrupted by the resentment you hold due to continously seeking your vengeance. And more often than not, these scenarios are strongly tied to each other. The sects targeting the Wen remnants after the Sunshot Campaign is an example of the former, as is Xue Yang's murder of the Chang clan; Nie Mingjue's single-minded hatred of Jin Guangyao is a clear example of the latter. Even if Jin Guangyao did do the actions Nie Mingjue had hated him for (and he did!), the resentment Nie Mingjue carried due to this eventually led to his death (through its amplification by the Collection of Turmoil). We also have a reversal of scenario two with Jin Ling's arc of learning to let go of his hatred, which deserves its own post.

But even in the above, there are traces of the other problem. Were the sects not blinded by their resentment and prejudice against anyone with a Wen name? Did Xue Yang's experience with Chang Ci'an and the injustice/resentment he felt from that not negatively impact him? And did Nie Mingjue's anger at Jin Guangyao (even if it was supernaturally amplified) not lead him to lash out at Nie Huaisang, an innocent in this scenario? And other scenarios are even more intertwined with both, for example Jiang Cheng pursuing ghost/demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death (scenario 1) due to his hatred and resentment (scenario 2).

This relationship is very interesting, since it leads to the idea that holding onto resentment does make you more likely to target innocent people – ie, it often leads to loss of critical thinking, something else that's strongly condemned in the novel (as the force behind mob mentality, etc). It's also eerily similar to people's ideas of what practicing guidao, aka cultivation using resentful energy, does to you ("damag[ing] your heart" – LWJ, Chapter 62)... as well as to the loss of discernment that occurs both times Wei Wuxian loses control of his cultivation (Wen Ning accidentally targeting Jin Zixuan, the corpses accidentally targeting Jiang Yanli)****!

As for why this sort of vengeance is presented as wrong, I think it's pretty obvious – it harms innocent people as well as yourself. There isn't really any good in that.

Nie Huaisang In Context

So, with all that said... let's finally look at Nie Huaisang.

As MXTX has said, she believes his reasons were justified. His aim wasn't to take revenge on innocents, which avoids scenario one (in motives, at least). Whether or not Nie Huaisang was 'corrupted' due to resentment he felt is a little harder to judge***** – we don't really know his inner workings before Nie Mingjue is killed, so we don't know his moral code or what he's willing to do before then. We're also not there for the vast majority of his planning, so we don't know how he changed during that period, and by the time we're in the story proper, his mask is too good to really discern anything about his attitude... and we don't see much of him afterwards, either, the only thing being him starting to his more competent side when organising the coffin sealing ceremony. So we'll leave scenario two as an unknown, and not comment – however, it should be noted that vengeance doesn't seem to affect Nie Huaisang's critical thinking.

But what's unique about his vengeance isn't motives, direct targets, or the effect it has on him. It's something we haven't really seen before – the effect on those who weren't his targets, but were still heavily harmed. In other words, collaterals.

The most obvious example is probably Mo Xuanyu:

Perhaps to gain information from Mo XuanYu, Nie HuaiSang talked to him once. From Mo XuanYu’s grievances, he knew that Mo XuanYu had once read the fragmented manuscript that recorded an ancient, forbidden technique in Jin GuangYao’s collection. He then urged Mo XuanYu, who had had enough of the humiliation coming from his own clan members, to seek revenge using the forbidden technique of body sacrifice. - Chapter 109, EXR translation

Was Mo Xuanyu a direct target, someone who Nie Huaisang knew was innocent yet decided to take vengeance on anyway? No. But was he provided an avenue to and motive for suicide by Nie Huaisang, as part of his plan to take revenge on someone else? Yes! And Mo Xuanyu isn't the only death Nie Huaisang had a hand in causing – perhaps his is even the least direct. After all, he was responsible for releasing the hand at Mo Manor as well, leading to the deaths of four people (the Mo family and A-Tong) and endangering many more (the junior disciples, the rest of the household's servants). Yes, this wasn't his aim – he wanted Wei Wuxian to subdue it and start investigating the case – but he knowingly endangered everyone while doing so, and in the end the hand was subdued as quickly as it was by Lan Wangji's involvement, who he couldn't have known was there!

There's also the case of luring the Juniors to Yi City, purely to place more blame on Jin Guangyao if they'd died there! That isn't even necessary to taking down Jin Guangyao and figuring out the case of the corpse, as resurrecting Wei Wuxian and releasing the hand arguably were (Nie Huaisang could've tried to expose Jin Guangyao earlier, but we don't know which way public opinion would've swayed – that isn't necessarily a point in his favour, just a remark)! Then he threatened Jin Guangyao with the letter, leading to the events of the Second Siege which endangered and nearly killed "thousands" (Chapter 68) of people, as well as to the events at the Guanyin temple which nearly killed Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian and endangered more... and there are the smaller things too, like killing those cats, potentially dismembering the innocent Meng Shi's corpse, and possibly knowing about Sisi for a while before freeing her (she said she was freed "recently" in Chapter 85 – but to be fair, we don't know how recently he found out, or how long ago exactly she was freed. She wasn't necessarily freed right before she gave the testimony). We can't forget about potentially endangering many people who lived in Qinghe due to causing the Nie sect to greatly decline, and making himself seem like somebody useless, meaning people likely wouldn't go to him for help if they needed it.

In conclusion: a lot of people were killed, harmed or endangered in his plan. So, with a potential body count that would've (...nearly. maybe. not quite.) rivalled Wei Wuxian's had things gone wrong... where does that leave him in the eyes of the narrative? Do the ends justify the means?

...It's interesting.

Slowly, Nie HuaiSang brushed together his storm-drenched hair, “I think that if this person hates Jin GuangYao so much, they’d probably be entirely merciless towards something he cherishes more than his life.” (...) Perhaps (...) he didn’t want to admit that he used others as pawns, treating human lives as nothing. - Chapter 110, EXR translation

Nie Huaisang's actions are certainly framed as some of wrong. This is consistent with the closest example we have to his actions also being framed as in the wrong (Nie Mingjue harming others by lashing out while hating Jin Guangyao, albeit on a much smaller scale, with durations, intentions, presences of plans, the effect holding onto resentment had on them also being very different; possibly Jin Guangyao himself in his plan to kill Jin Guangshan, although that's obviously not the only condemnable action Jin Guangyao takes, and he very much does intentionally harm others even if it wouldn't really contribute to his aims (burning down the brothel, giving the Tingshan He sect to Xue Yang to experiment on, killing the prostitues when he could've bribed them and forcing them to keep on going even once Jin Guangshan was dead, among many other things)... there really aren't many similar situations to Nie Huaisang's in the novel), even though they're framed this way for different reasons (being blinded by resentment vs knowingly endangering others as part of a wider plan).

Yet, on the other hand, it isn't considered a tragedy that his actions went unpunished – and with reference to MXTX's quote about Nie Huaisang, this isn't accidental (with a slight caveat we're about to talk about).

In the end, it comes down to another, very related, theme.

Conjectures were conjectures, after all. Nobody had evidence. - Chapter 110, EXR translation

MXTX: If you were to ask Wifi as to why he did not reveal [Nie Huaisang's] mask, it’s because there wasn’t enough evidence, there wasn’t a way to catch his tail. - MXTX requote, start of this meta

Think critically. Don't target somebody without evidence. Don't target someone who may not have done something wrong.

Don't target innocent people in pursuit of vengeance, or justice.

That's the main reason Nie Huaisang wasn't exposed. Would Wei Wuxian have exposed him had he had the evidence needed? Maybe – we can't really say. He did endanger a lot of people. But targeting him without evidence, letting suspicions drive actions, would make Wei Wuxian – and indeed, anyone who did so – no better than the mob that does the same thing throughout the novel.

They're also doing it in pursuit of what they think is justice, or vengeance, or an intertwined mixture of the two, after all.

---

*Which is quite similar to Wei Wuxian's own thoughts when first told about it (in the quote). This further supports the assumption that this line of thinking is presented as justified, due to Xiao Xingchen himself being written as an ideal of goodness:

When writing paragraphs about Xue Yang, I had to adjust my mentality to be in the darkest, cruellest state, while it was the exact opposite for Xiao XingChen, from whom I felt holy light every time I wrote about him. - MXTX's postscripts (Chapter 113.5), EXR translation

**"Forgetting the pain as soon as the wound has healed" is a phrase that's used to describe him in the novel, and while it's generally used to describe somebody not learning a lesson after a punishment, it describes this aspect of him perfectly.

***Relevant quote:

Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well.

Holding onto those feelings of loathing and resentment is directly tied to losing judgement and presence of mind – which demonstrates this theme better than any analysis can, I think.

****For more analysis on the themes of resentment and how resentful energy ties into that, this amazing meta by @rynne delves into it more deeply than I do here – I really recommend a read!

*****MXTX does say this earlier on in the same interview:

As to whether it was purely to take revenge, maybe he only had one motive. But afterwards, he wasn’t thinking purely on revenge.

Which does suggest that other more noble factors, such as prevention, may have played a role in his plan too. This seems to indicate Nie Huaisang wasn't completely overtaken by resentment, working to his favour in avoiding scenario 2. However, for the the purposes of this analysis, this isn't too important (and not just because there's nothing to prove or disprove it in the text) – such aims could be achieved by simply exposing Jin Guangyao without utternly destroying him, which is where the motivation of revenge and its effects comes in. It's this aspect of the plan that leads to Nie Huaisang endangering innocent people, which is what this meta dwells upon.

[evstostuff]

Consequences To Your Actions

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warning: 18+, language, little bit of nipple play, no sex, bit of dirty talk, French petname, fingering, female receiving

Word count: 1,637….a sort of short one to ease me back in

Note: I just want to apologise for how crappy I have been with my writing. Really really hoping I can get back into it again.

A little bit of excitement for you guys...I have a mafia Carlos idea brewing at the moment so that should be interesting!!

My requests are definitely open so if you want something specific let me know :)

His eyes rolled.

He rolled them into oblivion.

You felt the anger bubble up inside of you. How could he be so stupid to roll his eyes with several cameras, interviewers and team staff. 

His arrogance radiated, everyone could feel it.

Charles had finally got a podium. It was a massive boost to his confidence, hence the whole pompous act he had going on during the post race press conference with Max and Checo.

The press wasn’t paying him any attention and it was clearly eating away at his ego.

His eyes locked on yours. You scowled at him, expressing your distain for his attitude.

Your scolding stare did nothing but bought a smirk to spread across his lips.

His smirk had the desired effect. You could feel the moisture gathering in the lace of your panties.

You and Charles had a mutual agreement. No strings, just sex and keep it quiet. It was a perfect setup, both healing from past relationship wounds and travelling around the world with the same schedule. It satisfied you both. Due to the four week long break between Australia and Azerbaijan, you both hadn’t seen each due to family and work commitments.

The press conference had started to wrap up as you got a text from your boss asking you to come to her office. 

Shit.

She must have seen Charles reaction. Notifications had started to flood in on all social media platforms, picking up on Charles’ little eye roll. 

You stormed out of the media room with Charles following quickly at your heels.

“Y/N wait for me.” The Monegasque shouted after you.

Luckily the Ferrari hospitality wasn’t too far from the media rooms.

Charles’ fingers touched the bare skin on your arm. His touched burned deep into your skin and started to radiate through your body. You were snapped out of your trance as you turned and slammed into his muscular fireproof clad chest.

“What?” 

Confusion flooded his features.

“Y/N…” He whispered.

“You know what Charles, you may have just got a podium after a shitty couple of races but it doesn’t mean you get to ruin everyone else day just because your ego got bruised due the conference.” Your words dripped with venom.

“I’m so sor.”

“Save your apology. Thanks to you I am about to get told off because you cannot control your actions and be mature.”

Charles’ face dropped as he studied your features. He had never seen you this angry before.

You turned away from him and rushed to your manager’s office.

The meeting consisted of you getting scolded like a toddler about how unprofessional Charles had been and that you should’ve prepared him properly for the conference. 

Walking out of the hospitality building you looked at your phone. Two new messages from Charles.

Charles: I am so sorry Y/N, I acted like a dick and didn’t think how it would affect you.

Charles: This is not how I wanted this weekend to go after not seeing you for four weeks. I’m in my drivers room, come see me please x

You sighed. All the anger disappeared at his apology.

Slowly you made your way to his driver room.

His door was left slightly open. “Charles. It’s me.” 

Your eyes scanned the Monégasque. His race suit still hanging off his hips, his fireproof top clinging to ever curve of his muscles. This is how you liked him, post race and untamed. 

“I am so sorry Y/N. I wasn’t thinking at all about how my actions could reflect on you. Please forgive me.” Charles closed the gap between you to enclose your face in his large hands.

His touch sent shivers throughout you body. 

All weekend the pair of you had struggled. You wanted nothing more but to be alone with Charles so that you could both forget about the pressures and demands of the job. 

His eyes stared into yours. The green orbs begged more than his words did for forgiveness. You wanted to forgive him but something about this all seemed like it was far too easy for him.

“I don’t know Charles. That meeting was awful, she really laid into me. If you really are sorry, you’ll show me.” You held Charles eye contact as you detached his hands from your cheeks.

His hopefully eyes dropped into sadness.

“Actions speak louder than words Char.” You purred as you smirked up at him.

You watched Charles’ eyes wash with lust.

“Oh mon cherie, I’m going to show you how sorry I really am.” 

He looked at you like you were his next meal. He played the game of cat and mouse too well. He closed the gap, you stepped back repeatedly until your back hit door. 

Charles wrapped his hand around your neck and slammed his lips on your. The kiss was rough, filled with so much desire, it made your knees weak. You gave up all control to him and let his tongue roam your mouth as his other hand made it’s way down you body and to your skirt.

You were dripping. You arousal started to seem through the lace of your thong and down you thigh as Charles kissed and sucked all the right places on your neck. Your small moans bounced off the walls of his driver room.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me or you’ll get us caught.” Charles whispered in your ear as his fingers dipped into you panties and circled your clit.

He was right where you craved him. The pleasure washed through you. All you wanted to do was moan his name, tell him and everyone how good he made you feel. 

“Take it off.” Charles grunted at you, eyes shifting to your shirt.

You did as you were told. The shirt was gone in seconds.

Charles chuckled.

“You that eager for me to see those pretty tits of yours.” Charles eyes were glued to your breasts as they rose with your heavy breathing.

The feeling of Charles’ fingers was staring to become overwhelming. He was pleasuring you but by god was he dragging it out.

Slow sloppy kisses along your neck.

Gentle nibbles on your earlobes.

Fingers circling your clit leaving you wanting him to do so much more.

“Char pl..please more.” 

Your eyes locked, pleading for him to give you something. His free hand pulled a cup of your bra down.

You watched in awe as Charles’ tongue flicked over your hard nipple, causing you whimper at the pleasure shooting down to your core.

Charles fingers came away from your clit and down towards where your wetness was leaking. Without warning, he pushed one singular finger inside you.

“Charles.” You were getting impatient. The orgasm you craved was teetering on the edge. 

One look in your eyes and Charles knew you were close.

Charles added a second finger. He started off gentle, curling his fingers against your g-spot.

You were a mess. Mascara streamed down your face due to the torture Charles was making you endure.

“I really am sorry mon cherie.” Charles whispered in your ear.

“I only ever want to make that pussy wet.”

The speed of his fingers increased.

“I want to always make you look this fucked every time I have my fingers inside you.”

He adjusted the angle of his fingers.

“I only ever want to hear you moaning my name and begging me to fuck you.”

Charles got faster. It was the perfect combination.

His possessive word caused your head to tilt back against the door as the the knot of pleasure in your stomach started to reach its peak.

“I don’t ever want to make you mad.”

You were so close. Charles could feel you clenching around his fingers.

“Cum for me mon cherie.” Charles whispered as he latched himself to your exposed nipple.

His words of encouragement pushed you over the edge. 

“Fuuuck Char.” 

There was nothing you could do, your whole body washed with pleasure as you throbbed around Charles’ fingers.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl.” Charles cooed, holding you steady as he continued to help you ride out your orgasm.

Charles just watched, dick completely hard against his race suit leaking with pre-cum.

A knock on the door interrupted both of your trances.

“Charles, it’s Pierre you ready to leave yet?”

“Shit what do we do?” You frantically pushed Charles away from you.

“Just go into the bathroom.” Charles picked your shirt up and pushed you towards the small bathroom.

You re-dressed and adjusted yourself whilst trying to listen into what the two drivers where talking about. 

“Mate, why does it look like you’ve just had sex?”

You sniggered at Pierre’s question. Shit. 

The door swung open.

“Hi y/n. Your mascara is a bit smudged” Pierre smirked.

You frantically rubbed at your face trying to remove the marks and hide your embarrassment.

“Erm thanks.” You smiled at the Frenchman.

“Well it’s about time you two did something about the sexual tension. It was really starting to make the paddock uncomfortable.”

Both you and Charles looked at Pierre in confusion. Both of you had tried to be discreet.

He rolled his eyes and tutted.

“I’ll meet you at the car Charles. Don’t be too long will you.” Pierre winked and walked off.

You checked in the mirror that you had removed the mascara smudges from your face and turned to Charles.

“Don’t ever piss me off like that again.” You pointed at him.

“You seemed to enjoy the apology though.” Charles smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Just because I enjoyed it doesn’t mean you are forgiven.”  You cooed as you went to leave.

Charles grabbed your wrist and span you round into him.

“And how do I get you to forgive me?” He brushed your hair out of your face.

“Actually I have a few ideas, if you wouldn’t mind me trying.” He didn’t give you time to respond before his lips had captured yours in a heated, lust filled kiss.