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laneywrld · 16 hours

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alienated | Lewis Hamilton

one shot

word count: 8.6k

warnings: angst

you've been on that spaceship all alone.

You and Lewis had been separated for three months, which, if you think about is very long when you compare it to the amount of time you spent apart when you were together.

For four years, you and Lewis were inseparable, never spending more than a week apart. But that was then, and this is now, with three months of separation stretching out before you.

The two of you separated for one straightforward reason: You were the only person present in the relationship. Between his silence and your overthinking, it became a mess in the end.

Leaving Lewis was a heart-wrenching decision. The man you once believed would be your future husband, the man you were once engaged to, was now a distant memory.

As you reflect on the past, you realize how much you had been neglected. This realization strengthens your resolve and affirms your decision to leave, reminding you of your worth.

You weren’t sure if Lewis loved you. He didn't communicate with you, show you any affection, or pay you any attention. He didn't put time aside for you. It was hell being in a one-sided relationship.

It began to be exhausting putting in all the effort and trying to get him to see you because lately, you hadn't felt that.

It was a painful realization. Lewis, the man you loved, was slowly but surely draining you. His presence no longer brought you joy or adoration; it made you miserable. You felt like a ghost, unseen and unappreciated.

But even then, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He'd had a hard season, was constantly stressed, and life wasn't going as planned. So, one more try: you would halt your efforts for one week while he was away in Miami.

It was a test, really, to see if he was still putting in the effort, a plan meant to expose whether he even thought about you or remotely cared. If he could go a week without you in any form, he didn't deserve you or appreciate you. That would be obvious. Or he would notice, and he'd get his act together. But a part of you lacked faith in the latter option. In the end, his actions would give you an answer to the question you've had for a while.

Would you want to stay with someone like that? Someone who's okay without you or, worse, doesn’t even notice your change?

May fifth, the day of the race, would mark your fourth anniversary, and while he would be away, you were still curious to see what he had planned or if he remembered at all.

Lewis left on Wednesday. It wasn't like your old send-offs. There were no passionate moments in bed, him leaving you something to remember him by or even your classic bye-bye brunches. He rolled his bags from your shared home while you were still deep in your slumber.

You awoke to an empty, cold house.

You spent that day alone, with Roscoe, of course. Spending the next two days cuddled up to your fur baby and taking him on exciting new adventures. You nearly slipped up and sent Lewis many pictures and videos of you and Roscoe plenty of times, only to remember your end goal and lock your phone with a sigh.

When Friday came around, and Lewis still hadn't so much as sent you a single text, you had an inkling of what you'd have to do come Sunday.

It was almost as if Roscoe could sense your turmoil; in return, he was extra clingy. He followed you everywhere, lying at your feet on the couch, snuggled into your side in bed, and even sitting patiently at your feet as you sat on the toilet. You could only sigh as you revel in the time you had with him. He was your good boy, your first child. The thought of missing him was nearly enough for you to call off your intentions, but then your therapist's words rang through your mind like a harsh reminder.

"Sometimes, you have to sacrifice your relationship with another for the sake of one; I know it might be hard to think about losing your friends and your little guy if you do find it's time to leave him, but in the end, your job is to save yourself. Never feel guilty for thinking of yourself for once. You'll always love them, yeah? He'll remember how much you loved him, and you'll miss him; he'll miss you. But how long can you survive in that relationship?"

You remember spending that entire session crying over how much you'd miss Roscoe as you contemplated the cons of leaving your relationship.

In the end, your job is to save yourself.

On Saturday, you stayed awake even when your eyes begged you to close them. You kept your phone tucked beside you, and your eyes dropped as the clock hit twelve.

Every year before that, Lewis celebrated your love immediately. For three hours, you waited for something as simple as a text or a post—something to acknowledge you. After a while, your exhaustion won, and you succumbed to your tiredness.

You tried not to get your hopes up when you awoke in the morning, your anniversary day. You felt like an idiot as you turned over your phone, and there was nothing from Lewis. Your expectations were still very much high, which is why you scrambled from the bed and rushed to the front door. Your intent to see if there were any florals delivered to your doorstep proved pointless as you swung open the door, and the only delivery had been your Amazon package.

With a disappointing sigh, you snatched it from the porch and called for Roscoe. You slipped on your Birkenstocks, leading him outside to relieve himself. You sat on the patio, bonnet on and nightgown pooling around you as you watched Roscoe run around in the yard.

It was becoming real then.

You stayed outside for an hour, playing around with Roscoe, chasing him, him chasing you, and even tossing his ball until you decided it was time to take action.

You hauled Roscoe into the home, giving him fresh water and food as you connected to the speaker and blasted your music.

Your impending decision wasn't so much impending anymore. You knew what you needed to do; sooner was better than later.

It was one in the afternoon, and if he hadn't shown any signs of acknowledgment at that time, you knew it wouldn't come.

A small portion of you wanted to cry, burst into tears, and scream because of how hurt you were. But the dominant part of you was just angry. Lewis would learn his lesson; he'd miss you, and you'd make sure he felt it.

You wanted him to miss you like you missed him. He'd find himself craving your random calls and appreciating your silly texts. He'd crave your warm embrace again, and he'd want to die without your unique smile and your loving eyes.

He'd want everything he had taken for granted because that is precisely what he had done. He made you feel alone, even when he was there. You were the shadow lurking in your home — the distant body in your shared bed.

You deserved someone who always told you he loved you, always hugged you, and never left without a kiss. You deserve a man who talks to you about everything, who cares about how your day went and how you feel. You shouldn't give everything and get nothing; you don't deserve that.

You've been nothing but superb to him. You always showed up for him when it mattered, embraced him when he was down or even when he was happy, cooked meals for him when he was home and made every dinner special for him. You asked him about his day every day, and you listened.

Lewis couldn't say the same, and he wouldn't be able to. And that was the straw on the camel's back. You refused to give that level of love to a man who wouldn't reciprocate it. You didn't care how much you loved him; that was a level of disrespect and negligence you weren't willing to tolerate.

You weren't raised to accept the bare minimum, which was precisely what he gave you.

That was your moment of realization as you packed your bags. Lewis was due back Tuesday night, so you had the remainder of Sunday and Monday to gather your belongings and make your furtive exit.

Lewis made P7; you knew this because as you separated your belongings from his, you had the race streaming on the TV mounted in your room.

On Twitter, you saw him later that night out partying, and that only angered you for approximately ten minutes before you were only feeling disappointed in the man. You'd never been good at the art of detachment until then.

Suddenly, you weren't angry or furious with Lewis anymore; you felt content with your decision as you zipped up your last suitcase and taped up the last of your boxes.

As night fell and night arrived, you lay in your shared bed for the last time, Roscoe's head on your tummy as he snored. Your hand caressed his head in gentle rubs, and you sigh.

When the clock hits twelve and your anniversary officially passes, you feel like an idiot for even having faith in the man.

First thing in the morning, the driveway was filled with moving trucks and workers. You sat patiently on the couch as you waited for Anthony to arrive. When the sun begins to set, and the loading is done, you see headlights beam through the windows.

The door opens and closes softly, and there they stand, Anthony and Nicholas with glum faces.

"Are you sure, love?" Anthony whispers as he approaches you. He looks so distressed that you can only nod back at him. He sits beside you, taking one of your hands in his.

"As long as you are sure." And you break down into a fit of tears as Lewis' father comforts you, even as you leave his son. Nicholas takes the spot beside you, his hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you.

"You gave him time and chances," Anthony hums, his free hand rubbing circles on your back. "I love my son, and I love you just as much; we will always love you."

Nicholas hums in agreement. "Still going to be our family."

You know you must leave before you allow your love for his family to deter you. So you take one last shaky breath, standing to your feet, where Roscoe waits patiently. You squat down, tears falling from your eyes and soaking into his fur.

"I love you, buddy. So much, you're my good boy." You whisper, kissing his head over and over.

You stand again, looking at Anthony and Nicholas one last time and pulling them into separate hugs. "Thank you." You whisper out and pass the keys over and instructions on properly caring for Roscoe, even if they will only have him for less than a day.

"I'll be waiting to talk to you again," Anthony announces, and you nod.

"Don't tell him?" you request. I've left him a letter upstairs; I'd like him to find out on my terms.

They nod, and you trek through the house and out of the front doors to what used to be the home you planned on spending the rest of your life in.

As you close the door, you hear Roscoe's incessant whines and scratches against it, and you sob all over again as you continue your journey to your car.

In the end, your job is to save yourself.

You weren't selfish for choosing yourself, especially over a person whose life you're choosing to walk out of because you didn't feel as if you belonged in it anymore. You didn't belong in that house anymore, in that relationship. You didn't belong with Lewis. It was a harsh and painful reality. But change is unbearable, and from change comes growth. And that growth can also be painful. But nothing would ever compare to the pain of staying stuck somewhere you don't belong. Nothing would ever hurt you more than loving a man more than he loved you.

You always preached about "when you know, you know." You've always felt it, that gut feeling that it was time for something new. You were great at knowing when to move on and let go and acknowledging when those shifts needed to be addressed. You loved to say out with the old and in with the new. The point is that you never struggled with trusting the process of life until life told you that you weren't meant for Lewis.

This was the first time that you doubted the imminent change. This change meant that you were fleeing from your love. As you backed out of the driveway, your vision blurred by burning tears; you could only cry as you mourned the love you once had. But this was all for a greater purpose, the purpose of you finding joy in life again because you sure have felt drained of it.

Tuesday came and went, and as night fell, Lewis pulled into the driveway. Given the closed four-car garage, he did not find it suspicious that your car was missing. He grunted as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk and eased up the steps and into his foyer.

He isn't immediately greeted by Roscoe or your arms wrapping around him, and he squints when he sees how dark and cold it is inside the home.

That put him on edge.

You always liked a warm glow emitting through the home, so a dim lamp was always on to illuminate the open floor plan. At night, you liked the home to be slightly warm, like a spring breeze, yet there was an icy chill running through it.

He calls out your name as he settles his bags by the door. He even calls Roscoe, and when he hears nothing, he sets a fast pace up the stairs.

"Babe!"

No response.

When Lewis reaches the second level, he immediately heads to your guys' room. When he hits the light switch, he suddenly becomes aware of how cold and barren the room looks and feels.

You're not snuggled into the middle of the bed like he usually finds you; his pillow isn't locked in your arms and held to your chest. You're not there.

Your small trinkets are no longer scattered around the room, and he rushes to the closet; none of your belongings are there. Lewis feels his heart rate accelerate as fear creeps into his body.

He turns to face the bed again, and when he sees your nightstand, he rushes over; your ring sits in the same velvet box he proposed to you with, and a piece of paper is lying underneath it. He snatches them both up, his mind reeling, and suddenly, he feels like he could throw up.

I've made a decision that was hard for me in the beginning and became clearer as the days went on. I've gotten comfortable with the bare minimum. It's been my normal for a while. I'm choosing to evolve, grow, and learn to accept what I deserve. It'd be more challenging for me to stay with you than it would be for me to leave you. I've realized that. I couldn't handle it anymore. It was the same routine; you never noticed me or acknowledged me. I've tried to address this issue, and it's done nothing; you've done nothing but give me baseless promises. I can no longer stick around for a relationship where I've been the only one present. No matter how much I love you. And I really did love you, with everything in me. I should’ve never allowed myself to get comfortable with how you neglected and fell out of love with me. I've chosen you repeatedly, but this time, I must choose me; I have to, Lewis. Happy anniversary.

Your dad has Roscoe.

Lewis squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his chest with a firm grip. His body quivers as he slumps onto the ground, his back against the bed frame. Lewis wasn't new to panic attacks, especially with all of the stress he took on from his job. But this was his first time having to suffer through one without you.

The world seemed to close in on Lewis, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest as his heart raced uncontrollably. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the invisible hands that seemed to be squeezing the air from his lungs.

His vision blurred, the edges of his sight becoming hazy and indistinct as panic tightened its grip. Thoughts raced through his mind like a whirlwind, a cacophony of fears and anxieties swirling around him, threatening to engulf him in their dark embrace.

Desperately, he tried to ground himself, to find some semblance of stability amidst the chaos. He focused on his breath, trying to slow the frantic rhythm of his heart. But each attempt felt like grasping at smoke, his efforts slipping through his fingers like sand.

His body trembled with the intensity of his panic, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin as waves of nausea washed over him. It was as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape, a relentless onslaught of terror that threatened to consume him whole.

And yet, somewhere deep within him, a flicker of resilience remained. Despite the overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf him, he clung to the hope that this too shall pass, that he would emerge from the storm-battered but unbowed. But this hope came to him as visions of you.

In the midst of the chaos swirling around him, Lewis found himself grasping desperately for something, anything, to anchor him to reality. And amidst the turmoil, your memories came flooding back like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped by the warmth of those memories. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind, a melody that calmed the frantic rhythm of his heart. He remembered the way your smile could light up even the darkest of days, the way your touch could banish the shadows of doubt and fear.

With each breath, he summoned forth another memory, another moment shared between you two. The way you would lose yourselves in the conversation for hours on end, the way you would always know just what to say to ease his troubled mind.

It was as if you were there with him, a comforting presence in the midst of the storm. And with each memory, each recollection of your time together, the panic began to recede, like a tide slowly ebbing away from the shore.

In those moments, surrounded by the echoes of your love, Lewis found the strength to carry on and learn to breathe again. Though you were no longer by his side, your memory was a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love endures. And with that realization, he took a deep breath, the weight of the world lifting ever so slightly from his shoulders as he found solace in the embrace of their shared past.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tide began to recede. His breaths grew steadier, the racing of his heart gradually slowing to a more manageable pace. The world around him began to regain its focus, the blurred edges sharpening into clarity once more.

As Lewis rereads your letter, a torrent of emotions overwhelms him, but solace is elusive. Instead, a heavyweight settles in his chest, burdened with the weight of misery and guilt.

Your words, filled with love and longing, only serve to magnify his pain. With each sentence, the guilt gnaws at him, a relentless voice whispering accusations in his ear. He replays the moments leading up to your departure, dissecting his actions and words, searching for where he went wrong.

The memories of your time together, once a source of comfort, now feel like daggers piercing his heart. Each moment of happiness is tainted by the knowledge of your absence, a constant reminder of his failure to hold onto what he cherished most.

As tears blur his vision, Lewis finds himself consumed by remorse. He wishes he could turn back time, rewrite the script, and undo the mistakes that led to this moment. But the past is immutable, and he is left to grapple with the consequences of his actions.

In the depths of his misery, Lewis feels utterly alone, adrift in a sea of regret and self-recrimination. He longs for a reprieve from the agony that threatens to consume him, but it remains elusive, just out of reach.

And yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker of hope remains. Deep down, Lewis knows that redemption is possible and that forgiveness can be found even in the darkest of times. But for now, he must navigate the storm of his emotions, clinging to the hope that one day, he will find peace once more. That you loved him enough to give him one more chance.

In the quiet moments of the day, when the hustle and bustle of life subsides, you find yourself grappling with a sense of emptiness that lingers despite your efforts to embrace change. Three months have passed since you made the difficult decision to leave Lewis behind, and while you've tried to convince yourself that it was for the best, a part of you still aches for what was lost.

Life has moved on, as it always does, and you've thrown yourself into new experiences and opportunities, hoping to fill the void left by Lewis' absence. But no matter how hard you try, there's a lingering sense of incompleteness that tugs at your heartstrings, a yearning for the familiarity and comfort of what once was.

In the midst of laughter and celebration, there are moments when you find yourself lost in thought, your mind wandering back to the memories you shared with Lewis. The sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace – they haunt you like ghosts, reminders of a love that once burned bright but has since faded into the recesses of memory.

You've tried to convince yourself that you've moved on, that you're better off without him, but deep down, you know the truth. Life may be different now, but it's not necessarily better. There's a void within you that no amount of change or distraction can fill, a longing for something – or someone – that you can't quite shake.

And so, as you navigate the complexities of life without Lewis by your side, you're left to confront the uncomfortable truth that sometimes, embracing change isn't enough to heal the wounds of the past. Despite your best efforts to move forward, a part of you will always be tethered to the love you left behind.

In the wake of leaving Lewis and embarking on a new chapter of life, there's a profound sense of loss that lingers within you. While you navigate the complexities of change and try to come to terms with the absence of Lewis, there's another absence that weighs heavily on your heart – the absence of your beloved canine companion, Roscoe.

Roscoe was more than just a pet; he was a faithful friend, a source of unconditional love and companionship through the highs and lows of life. His wagging behind and eager eyes greeted you each day, offering comfort and solace in moments of joy and sorrow alike.

In the quiet moments when the world slows down, and the noise fades away, you find yourself missing Roscoe more than ever. The memory of his warm presence, the feel of his fur beneath your fingertips, it all comes flooding back with a bittersweet intensity that catches you off guard.

You long to hear the sound of his paws padding across the floor, to feel the weight of his body nestled against yours as you curl up on the couch together. The emptiness left by his absence is palpable, a silent reminder of the void that he once filled in your life.

And yet, despite the pain of separation, there's a deep sense of gratitude for the time you shared with Roscoe. The memories you created together are a testament to the bond you shared, a bond that transcends time and distance.

As you navigate the complexities of life without Lewis by your side, you find yourself missing your tiny makeshift family, his family included.

Losing Lewis also meant losing the connection you had with his family, a connection that had become a source of warmth and acceptance in your life, especially given the complexities of your own family dynamics.

Growing up, your relationship with your family had always been strained, marked by misunderstandings and distance. But with Lewis' family, you found a sense of belonging that had eluded you for so long. Their laughter filled the air with joy, a stark contrast to the somber silence that often hung over your own family gatherings.

They embraced you as one of their own, welcoming you into their home and their hearts. Losing them in the separation felt like losing a piece of yourself, a painful reminder of the fragility of the connections we forge in life.

In the quiet moments when the ache of separation threatened to overwhelm you, you found yourself yearning for the familiar comforts of their presence. Their voices, their hugs – they were precious memories that you held onto tightly, like fragile treasures in the depths of your soul.

As you navigated the aftermath of the separation, you couldn't help but mourn the loss of not only Lewis but also his family. Their absence left a void in your heart, a sense of loss that weighed heavily on your spirit.

Leaving Lewis meant that you lost everything.

As you reflect on your decision to leave Lewis, the memories of his distance weigh heavily on your heart. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the relationship alone, like a lone traveler traversing a vast expanse of loneliness.

The moments of connection that once filled your days together had become increasingly rare, replaced by silence and a growing sense of isolation. It seemed as though you were the only one putting in the effort to keep the relationship alive while Lewis drifted further and further away, lost in his own thoughts and concerns.

You longed for the closeness and intimacy that had once defined your relationship, but it felt like an impossible dream, a mirage shimmering on the horizon, always just out of reach. No matter how hard you tried to bridge the gap between you, it seemed to widen with each passing day until it felt like you were living in two separate worlds.

In the end, you made the difficult decision to walk away, not because you stopped loving Lewis but because you couldn't bear the loneliness of being the only one fighting for the relationship. It was a choice born out of self-preservation, a refusal to sacrifice your own happiness and well-being for the sake of a love that had long since grown cold.

And now, as you navigate the aftermath of the separation, you can't help but wonder if things could have been different if there was anything you could have done to save what was lost. But deep down, you know that sometimes, letting go is the only way to find the happiness and fulfillment you deserve. So you go about your day, cozied up on the couch in your cozy apartment, still missing Lewis but very much understanding of your decision.

As Lewis sits alone in his room, his phone is clutched tightly in his hand, and he can't shake the feeling of desperation that washes over him. He's tried everything – calling, texting, even reaching out through social media – but all his attempts to contact you have been met with silence.

Each unanswered call and unanswered message feels like a dagger to his heart, a painful reminder of your absence and the uncertainty that now looms over his life. He wonders what he could have done differently to prevent this rift from forming between you.

His mind races with questions, each one more torturous than the last. Was there someone else, or was it simply a case of drifting apart, with two souls heading in different directions? He refused to believe that because he loved you more than life, he still does.

The lack of closure gnaws at him, a relentless ache that refuses to be quelled. He longs to hear your voice, to see your face, to have just a moment of connection with you again. But no matter how hard he tries, you remain elusive, like a ghost slipping through his fingers.

In the depths of his despair, Lewis clings to the hope that someday, somehow, he'll find a way to reach you, to break through the walls that separate you and bridge the chasm that now divides your lives.

As you step out for your first date since leaving Lewis, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbles within you. It feels like a tentative step forward, a chance to explore new possibilities and rediscover a sense of joy and companionship. Chris seemed nice, and he was attentive to you, something you hadn’t felt in a while.

But as you arrive at the restaurant, the atmosphere suddenly shifts, a sense of unease settling over you like a heavy cloak. The flash of cameras blinds you momentarily as paparazzi swarm around, their lenses trained on you like predators stalking their prey.

Caught off guard, you freeze in place, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. How did they find you? And more importantly, how will Lewis react when he sees the headlines splashed across the tabloids?

The date itself fades into the background as you're engulfed by a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. Thoughts race through your mind, each one more terrifying than the last. Will Lewis think you've moved on too quickly? Will he feel betrayed by your decision to start dating again?

As the paparazzi continue to snap away, you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if your every move is being scrutinized and judged by the world at large. It's a stark reminder of the price of fame, the invasive nature of public scrutiny that leaves you feeling like a prisoner in your own life.

But still, your biggest concern was how Lewis would handle it.

He wasn't okay.

As Lewis catches wind of your date through the relentless paparazzi coverage, a storm of emotions rages within him. Jealousy, misery, and anger collide in a tumultuous whirlwind, threatening to engulf him in their tempestuous embrace.

The thought of you with another man fills him with a sense of unbearable longing and regret. He's missed you, more than he ever thought possible, and the idea of you moving on without him cuts him to the core. How could you be okay living without him, when every moment without you feels like a lifetime of emptiness?

In his mind, he replays the memories of your time together, each one a painful reminder of what he's lost. He wonders if he could have done things differently or if he could have been the partner you needed him to be. But now, it feels like too little, too late, as he watches helplessly from the sidelines as you move on with your life.

The bitterness of jealousy twists in his gut, fueling his anger and resentment. He wants to lash out, scream, and shout and make you understand the depth of his pain. But beneath the anger lies a deeper sadness, a profound sense of loss that threatens to consume him whole.

As Lewis grapples with his conflicting emotions, he's left to confront the harsh reality of your absence and the painful realization that he may have lost you forever. But he refuses to give up on you.

As Lewis observes the subtle ways you've been avoiding him, a mix of frustration and longing wells up within him. It's become increasingly clear that you're actively steering clear of any situation where you might cross paths, and while part of him understands, another part can't help but feel hurt by your apparent avoidance.

He's noticed your absence at mutual friend gatherings, the empty space where you used to stand, and it feels like a painful reminder of the void left by your departure. Each missed opportunity to reconnect only serves to deepen his sense of loss, leaving him to wonder if you'll ever be willing to face him again.

But amidst the disappointment, there's a glimmer of hope – your unwavering commitment to attending his brother's birthday celebration. It's a small gesture, but one that speaks volumes to Lewis. Despite the distance between you, despite the pain of separation, you're still willing to show up for his family, to be there for them in their moments of celebration.

In that realization, Lewis finds a sense of solace, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for reconciliation. He knows that healing takes time and that wounds need time to mend, but seeing you make an effort to be there for his family gives him hope that maybe, someday, you'll find a way to bridge the gap between you and find your way back to each other.

"She's going to be here?"

Nicholas nods cautiously, "Yeah, but Lewis, you have to let her be, okay?"

"What are you talking about? She's my fiance?"

"But she's not." Nicholas interrupts.

"And she hasn't been for half a year."

The words dawn on Lewis, and they make his heartache in a festering way, yet he can't help but feel comfort in knowing that for the first time, he'd be able to see you again, face to face.

As you step into Nicholas' birthday party, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a tangible manifestation of the nervousness that courses through your veins. You know Lewis will be there, and the thought of facing him again fills you with a sense of apprehension and uncertainty.

Your heart races as you scan the crowded room, searching for any sign of him. Each familiar face you encounter sends a jolt of anxiety coursing through you, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the way you've been avoiding him.

Determined to keep your distance, you slip through the crowd like a ghost, carefully avoiding any areas where you suspect Lewis might be lurking. You plaster on a smile and engage in polite conversation with the other partygoers, but your mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the man you're desperately trying to avoid.

As the night wears on, the tension in the air becomes palpable, a silent undercurrent that threatens to pull you under. You steal furtive glances around the room, half-hoping to catch sight of Lewis and half-dreading the inevitable confrontation that awaits.

But as the hours pass and the party begins to wind down, you realize with a sense of relief that you've managed to make it through most of the evening without crossing paths with him.

The knot in your stomach loosens ever so slightly, and you allow yourself to breathe a small sigh of relief.

That is, until you see him.

As Lewis scans the room, his gaze inevitably falls upon you, blending seamlessly into the crowd. There's a longing in his eyes as he watches you from afar, a silent ache that tugs at his heartstrings with each passing moment.

He can't help but notice the way you move with a grace that belies the nervousness he knows must be churning within you. Despite your attempts to blend in, there's an undeniable magnetism about you that draws his gaze like a moth to a flame.

Memories of your time together flood his mind, a montage of moments both joyous and bittersweet. He recalls the way your laughter filled the room, the warmth of your smile, and the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you were up to no good.

But beneath the surface, there's a sense of sadness, a yearning for the connection that once bound them together. He longs to reach out to you, to bridge the gap that now separates you, but he knows that now is not the time nor the place.

With a heavy heart, Lewis watches from a distance, his eyes lingering on you like a silent prayer. He knows that healing takes time, that wounds need time to mend, but deep down, he can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance for reconciliation, an opportunity to find your way back to each other once more.

As your eyes lock with Lewis's across the pulsating dance floor, a surge of panic propels you into action. Without a second thought, you pivot on your heel and dart through the crowd, your heart hammering in your chest like a wild drumbeat.

Every fiber of your being screams for escape as you push your way toward the exit, the urgency of your flight drowning out the thumping bass of the music. But even amidst the chaos, you can feel Lewis's gaze burning into your back, his presence a heavy weight that follows you like a shadow.

With each step, your pace quickens, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you try to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the man you once loved. But no matter how fast you run, you can't outrun the memories that haunt you or the longing that lingers in your heart.

And then, just as you reach the sanctuary of the exit, you feel a hand grasp your arm, pulling you to a sudden stop. You turn to face Lewis, his eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity that leaves you reeling.

In that moment, you're paralyzed, caught between the urge to flee and the desire to confront the emotions that swirl between you. But before you can make a decision, Lewis's voice breaks through the chaos, a whisper of longing that sends a shiver down your spine.

With a sense of inevitability, you realize that there's no escaping the truth – no matter how hard you try to run, the bond between you and Lewis refuses to be broken. And as he reaches out to you, his desperation palpable, you know that you can't ignore the pull of fate any longer.

"Baby, please, let me talk to you."

As you finally turn to face Lewis, the sight of him stops you dead in your tracks. His eyes, usually so full of life and vitality, now seem dulled with a sorrow that cuts you to the core. They glisten with unshed tears, twinkling in the dim light of the club, and his fluttery eyelashes betray the vulnerability that lies beneath his stoic exterior.

At that moment, he looks like a kicked puppy, abandoned and alone, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the pain you've caused him. His expression is a silent plea for understanding, for forgiveness, and it tugs at your heartstrings with a force you can't ignore.

Despite your best efforts to steel yourself against his gaze, you find yourself crumbling under the weight of his sorrow. The walls you've built around your heart begin to crumble, and all you can see is the hurt reflected in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out to him, your fingers trembling as they brush against his cheek. In that moment, you realize that you can't bear to see him hurting like this, that despite the pain of the past, your love for him still lingers like a ghost, refusing to be silenced.

You turn, allowing his grip on your arm to remain as you continue out the door. You are in a dark alley, he's still looking at you with that same miserable pout lodged onto his face.

"You left me," He whispers.

As Lewis's voice trembles with emotion, his words pierce through the barrier you've erected around your heart. The sincerity in his apology is palpable, each syllable weighted with the regret of past mistakes. You can't help but feel a tug at your own heartstrings, a flicker of empathy for the pain he's endured.

"And I don't blame you, I was shit to you. I've been struggling more than I care to admit," Lewis confesses, his voice heavy with the weight of his words.

"The season has been relentless, and the constant setbacks with my car... it's been a mental battle I haven't been winning."

He pauses, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his anguish. "I know I haven't been myself lately, and I've taken that out on you. I'm sorry, truly. I never meant to hurt you, but I let my frustrations get the best of me."

There's a vulnerability in his voice as he lays bare his struggles, a raw honesty that cuts through the silence between you. "I see now how my actions have affected you, and it breaks my heart. You didn't deserve to bear the brunt of my pain, and I'm sorry for not being there for you when you needed me."

His gaze meets yours, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. "I'm trying to work through this, to find my way back to myself so that I can be better for you. I want to be better for you."

His admission hits you like a wave, washing away the bitterness and resentment that had taken root within you. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, the burden of hurt and anger finally dissipating in the face of his vulnerability.

With a heavy sigh, you meet his gaze, seeing the turmoil reflected in his eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the pain of the past, the love you once shared still lingers between you, a flicker of hope in the darkness of your regrets.

And as Lewis continues to pour out his heart, expressing his remorse for the loneliness you felt in the relationship, you find yourself nodding in understanding. You know all too well the toll that suffering in silence can take, and you can't fault him for wanting to shield you from his own pain.

In the quiet of the moment, you find solace in the shared acknowledgment of your struggles, a silent understanding that binds you together even as you stand on opposite sides of the divide. And as you reach out to him, offering a tentative embrace, he physically brightens as if you have taken the sun and held it right above him.

"I need you to know," Lewis begins, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability, "how miserable I've been without you. Your absence... it's been like a gaping hole in my chest, a constant reminder of what I've lost."

His words tremble with the weight of his emotions as he continues, "I've missed you more than I ever thought possible. Every moment without you felt like an eternity, and the emptiness of your absence was impossible to ignore."

"I know I've made mistakes, pushed you away when I should have pulled you closer," he admits, his voice thick with regret. "But please understand, it was never because I stopped loving you. If anything, it was because I loved you too much and didn't know how to cope with the pain of making you feel as miserable as I was, but in the end, that is exactly what I ended up doing."

Lewis's gaze meets yours, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. "I can't change the past, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me, how lost I am without you by my side."

As Lewis pours his heart out, his words piercing through the walls you've built around your own heart, you feel a lump form in your throat. A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek as you struggle to contain the flood of emotions welling up inside you.

His vulnerability is a mirror to your own, and in that moment, you realize just how much you've missed him, how much you've longed to hear those words spoken from his lips. With a trembling breath, you close the distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean in to kiss him.

The touch of his lips against yours is like coming home, a familiar warmth that envelops you in a cocoon of love and longing. In that fleeting moment, everything else fades away – the pain of the past, the uncertainty of the future – leaving only the two of you reunited at last in a tender embrace.

As you melt into each other, the weight of the world falls away, replaced by the sweet promise of a new beginning. And as you pull back, breathless and teary-eyed, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll face them together, hand in hand, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

"Lewis," you begin, your voice soft but firm, "I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise that you'll open up to me next time, that you won't keep your struggles bottled up inside."

Tears still glisten in your eyes as you speak, but there's a determination in your voice that wasn't there before.

"That's how it works in relationships, you know? We're supposed to be there for each other through the good times and the bad. And I want to be there for you, always."

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you, Lewis, and I care about how you feel. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to internalize your emotions like you have to suffer alone. I want to walk through them with you, hand in hand."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you continue, "If we're going to make this work if we're going to have a future together, that has to change. We have to be able to lean on each other, share our burdens, and lighten each other's load. Can you promise me that, Lewis? Can you promise to let me in?"

"I promise I'll try," Lewis responds, his voice tinged with sincerity and determination. "I know I haven't been the best at opening up, at letting you in, but I want to change that. I want to be more vulnerable with you, to share my struggles and my fears."

He reaches out, gently wiping away the tears that still linger on your cheeks.

"I love you more than anything, and I don't want to lose you again. If that means being more open and honest about how I'm feeling, then I'll do whatever it takes."

A small smile plays at the corners of his lips as he continues, "You've always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it. And I want to be there for you, too, to be the partner you deserve."

With a final squeeze of your hand, he leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "Together, we can get through anything. I believe that with all my heart."

As Lewis holds your hand, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns over your skin, he can't help but notice the absence of the familiar weight of your ring. His heart clenches painfully in his chest at the realization, a sharp pang of regret shooting through him like a bolt of lightning.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't help but notice... your finger, it's bare." The words catch in his throat, choked with the weight of his own guilt and remorse.

His grip tightens ever so slightly as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away. "It pains me to see you without it," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm the reason you took it off, and I hate myself for it."

Tears gather in his eyes as he meets your gaze, his own filled with a mix of sorrow and longing. "I miss the way it sparkled on your finger, a constant reminder of the love we shared. I miss us, and I'm so sorry for everything."

With a gentle squeeze of Lewis's hand, you offer him a reassuring smile, your eyes soft with affection. "I missed you too, Lewis," you admit, your voice tinged with sincerity. "And I still love you, all the same."

You can feel the tension in his grip ease slightly at your words, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "As for the ring," you continue, a playful twinkle dancing in your gaze, "I suppose you'll have to put it back on my finger when we get home, won't you? Can't have everyone thinking I'm single, now can we?"

The corners of Lewis's lips quirk up into a hesitant smile at your jest, the heaviness in his heart beginning to lift. "I'd like that," he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "I'd like that very much." And in that moment, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll face them together, hand in hand, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

Lewis's eyes widen in disbelief as your words sink in, a glimmer of hope flickering to life in their depths. "You'll come home?" he repeats, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and longing.

A rush of emotions floods through him – relief, gratitude, and a profound sense of joy that threatens to overwhelm him.

A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features with an infectious warmth. "Roscoe will be so thrilled to have you back, and so will I," he adds, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "I've missed you more than words can say, and I can't wait to have you home again where you belong. Losing you has been hard on all of us," Lewis confesses, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But seeing how miserable Roscoe has been without you at home... it breaks my heart."

He pauses, his gaze drifting to the floor as he struggles to find the right words to express the depth of his concern. "He's been moping around, refusing to eat, just waiting by the door for you to come back. It's like he knows you're not coming back, and it's killing me to see him like this."

You can hear the pain in his voice, the weight of his worry pressing down on him like a heavy burden. "I know he's just a dog, but he's family to us," he continues, his voice cracking with emotion. "And I hate that he's suffering because of me, because of my mistakes. I'm happy that you're coming back."

"I've missed you more than words can say, and I can't wait to have you home again where you belong."

With a sense of renewed hope and determination, Lewis pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if afraid you might vanish into thin air. In that moment, surrounded by his love and warmth, you know that coming home was the right choice and that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

As Lewis's arms envelop you in a warm embrace, a sense of clarity washes over you like a cleansing wave. In his embrace, surrounded by his love and warmth, you realize that the change you needed wasn't leaving him but instead learning to communicate with him all over again.

The weight of your decision to leave lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of lightness and freedom. You see now that leaving him only made you miserable, that true happiness lies in facing your challenges together, hand in hand.

With Lewis by your side, you feel stronger, more resilient, and ready to tackle whatever obstacles life throws your way. You understand that change isn't always easy, but it's necessary for growth and renewal.

In this moment, surrounded by his love and support, you know that change is indeed good and that together, you can navigate the twists and turns of life's journey with grace and resilience. And as you bask in the warmth of his embrace, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the opportunity to start anew, to rebuild your relationship from the ground up, stronger and more resilient than ever before.

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why do I love writing angst? why is every draft I have depressing?

#lewis hamilton imagine #black reader #lewis hamilton #poc reader #lewis hamilton x black reader #black reader friendly #formula 1 #f1 #sir lewis hamilton

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twilightmalachite · 2 days

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Esu Sagiri - Idol Story 2

Author: Akira

Characters: Esu, Subaru

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Hehehe… But you know, even though I was crying like an idiot just by watching… You were smiling up until the very end and did your job perfectly as an idol, Senpai."

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Spring

Location: Cemetery

Second year of ES’ establishment. At a secret cemetery somewhere in Tokyo…

Subaru: (Dad.)

(I’m sorry I visited you so late this year as well.)

(I’m getting busier and busier year after year, you know? Although in Trickstar’s case, it’s more like there’s no leisure for the poor...)

(You wouldn't angry at that, would you though, Dad? ‘Cause you were much busier than I was, day in and day out.)

(Nothing could be done about that, though. You were a super idol who carried the industry on his shoulders, after all.)

(You never gave up, though. You never complained, and on holidays you would even be sure to come back home with a smile on your face just to make your family happy.)

(You sure are amazing, Dad. I’ve always admired you. And I’m now in the same position as you—I’ve become an idol.)

(As time passes, I’ve slowly realized more and more just how amazing a person you were.)

(It made me happy. It made me happy to be able to understand you, Dad.)

(Hey, Dad, I wonder if I’ve become an idol worthy of your praise.)

(If possible, I’d like to have you say “Wow, you’re amazing, Subaru!” if you were alive.)

(And I wish you could ruffle up my hair like I was a dog, just like you used to too, but…)

Esu: NwaaAAAAAAH!?

(thunk)

Subaru: …?

Hmm? Umm, are… you okay…?

Esu: Ah, I’m okay, do not mind me! My arms are just outta shape, as it’s been a while since I’ve climbed! I bit off more than I could chew!

I took a dangerous route to get away from this creepy guy, and accidentally slipped from somewhere high—

Esu: —Wait, you’re Akehoshi SubaruuUUU!

Subaru: Yup. Huh, are you a fan of mine?

(This isn’t good. I didn’t really want my fans to know where my dad’s grave was.)

(Although his reputation’s been restored to an extent, there’s still a lot of anti-fans who believe those rumors and consider him the worst idol ever…)

(I don’t want that. What if his grave gets vandalized or something?)

Esu: Oh, no no! It’d be presumptuous for someone like myself to call myself a fan!

Presem… Presim, prisum… Huh, is “presumptuous” correct?!

Subaru: Yep, that’s it.

Esu: Was I right? Got it! Good, good, hip-hooray! I mean, that was very kind of you! This debt of gratitude will not be forgotten even if I am reborn seventeen times over!

Subaru: Seventeen times over, huh? What’s with that oddly specific number?

You’re a strange kid.

Esu: Huh, you think so? I find myself to be normal, though! Maybe I’ve become a little out of touch with the world after having been cooped up for a while?

If I do anything that feels off, do feel free to point anything out! I’ll correct it!

Subaru: Alright. Well to start, it’s looked down upon to cause a ruckus at gravesites.

Esu: You’re right~! My bad! I’ll quiet down! I’m a man who has often been told “You’re so cute when you keep your mouth shut, Esu-kun!” by his inconsiderate classmates!

Subaru: So your name’s Esu, huh?

Esu: Yes! I am Sagiri Esu! My name’s pretty tough to read, or excessively sparkly rather, so it’s okay if you don’t remember all of it![1]

You’re free to just call me something like “Ecchan” or “Sacchan”!

Subaru: Ecchan reminds me of Eichi-senpai. Sagiri—I feel like I might’ve heard “Sagiri” somewhere before…

Esu: Oh, so you recognize it? My father used to be real popular! He was even called a super idol at a point!

Subaru: Ah, that’s right! There was a super idol who showed up sometime between the times of Hokke~Papa—Hidaka Seiya-san and my dad, right?

His name was Sagiri. My dad said that he looked up to him, so I remember.

Esu: Ahaha~, although it was all downhill for him once the next super idol, Akehoshi-senpai’s father, made his appearance.

Subaru: Well, my dad did become the talk of the town for many things, both good and bad… Those from around that time aren’t talked about as much anymore, with Hokke~Papa being an exception.

It’s like it’s all been balled together as a dark past to be forgotten, thanks to all that’s happened.

So I dunno how things are now, but, umm you—Sacchan, what’s your father doing now?

He’s not active anymore… right? I feel I’d know about him if he were active.

Esu: Oh, my father died.

Subaru: …Is that so? Sorry, I didn’t know…

Esu: Nah, if you didn’t know, you didn’t know! He passed away three years ago, and by the time he’d already turned over a new leaf as just an ordinary man.

Just an ordinary man, just with a bit of a nice-looking face.

I wish I at least looked ugly… Then I wouldn’t have to worry about being followed around by that pervert…

Subaru: Pervert? Had your father been targeted by some weird stalker or something, like mine was…?

Esu: No, no, this pervert has nothing to do with my father’s death. Sorry if I’m being difficult to follow! My communication skills aren’t all too great, after all! Just terrible!

My father died in a plane accident. Just a common—well, it’s not common, but an ordinary accident with nothing to do with idols or anything like that.

I was involved in the accident too, and although I managed to survive, I’ve been in the hospital up until recently. So, I've been in the process of rehabilitation for about six months, as of now.

Subaru: Is that so… I probably wouldn’t have even known three years ago. In the period before I entered high school, I would shut myself away from any and all information.

All of the information that would drift my way… I wouldn’t wanna hear any of it.

Esu: I totally get you~. It feels like anything and everything is an attack on you when your heart is weak, doesn’t it?

Even though nobody in the world probably spares a single thought about you.

Ah, but you’re an idol, Akehoshi-senpai, so tons and tons of people pay attention to you, of course! I was really moved by the SS from two years back![2]

It was like—and sorry if this sounds disrespectful—but your father also passed away… I felt like I could relate with you in some ways.

Like, “Ahh, this person, he’s me.”

Subaru: … …

Esu: At the time, I understood the expression on your face, your voice, everything, as if they were my own—I empathized! I was no longer able to distinguish between you and I!

I was in the hospital, lying in bed watching your performance, and I cried so hard that even the nurses became seriously worried about me.

Esu: Hehehe… But you know, even though I was crying like an idiot just by watching…

You were smiling up until the very end and did your job perfectly as an idol, Senpai. So, I thought you were real amazing—

Esu: Ahh, I can’t find the right words! Hang in there, my vocabulary!

Subaru: It’s okay. I understand you.

Thank you. For watching my performance.

You cried in place of me, didn’t you? Maybe that’s why I didn’t have to show a shameful sight like that upon such an important stage.

So… I know it sounds weird, but thank you. Really.

Esu: Oh no no, I seriously didn’t do anything! I don’t know what to do being shown gratitude like this?!

Oh, shoot!? I hear Fuyume’s voice! He hates exercise and isn’t all that good at it either, but caught up to me through sheer determination…!

I-I’m so sorry, but I gotta go now! It’s over for me if I’m caught!

Subaru: It kinda feels like you’re in danger… Do you need me to hide you?

Esu: Ah, that’s very kind of you, but I’m alright! This is a problem I gotta resolve on my own…!

But if you’d like, do offer some incense at the grave over there, the one decorated with fancy goods.

That one’s my father’s grave.

Subaru: Right. This cemetery is for those in the industry that need to be kept secret from the general public. Both your father and my dad rest here.

It was through some sort of fate I was able to meet you, and hear your words that made me happy, so… Yeah, I’ll be sure to offer some incense.

Esu: Thanks! I’m sure our fathers are happy too! It doesn’t seem like they were on good terms when they were alive, but everyone becomes a Buddha when they die, right?[3]

I’m sure all those concerns and karma have been thoroughly purified!

—Eek, his voice is getting closer! Maaan, I wanted to have a nice and quiet visit to his grave after all this time!

But, well, I also caused a ruckus for no reason, and disturbed Akehoshi-senpai’s visit to his grave! That makes it sort of a mutual karmic retribution, right!—kinda?

Subaru: It’s fine. My dad always liked it when things were lively.

I’m sure he’s standing beside your father, watching over with a smile on their faces—over us.

[ ☆ ]

story directory

A sparkly name (キラキラネーム) is a term that refers to a recent phenomenon of giving names that are over-extravagant and notably very difficult to read. Esu's name is written with the kanji 笑主, which is both very unrecognizable as a name (it uses the kanji for laugh/smile + the kanji for lord/master), the reading is also very unnatural. The phenomenon is similar to the one where people will name their babies stuff like "Mhackenzeigh" or "Lakynn". Since knowing that 笑主 is read as "Esu" doesn't come instinctively, it would be difficult to remember; hence Esu saying there's no need to remember it all.

Referring to the SS where Trickstar won, back in ! era. If you aren’t aware of what happens to Subaru and Trickstar during the event, I highly recommend reading SS - Friendship 14 until the end of the event story, else this entire scene won’t make as much sense.

Esu uses a lot of Buddhist terminology here. If you’re familiar with the idea of reaching enlightenment, once you reach enlightenment, you let go of all worldly possessions, realizations, attainments, and achievements. This is what is referred to when one becomes a Buddha.

#esu sagiri #idol #translation #subaru akehoshi

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azzibuckets · 2 days

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For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 3]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi find themselves in a very sticky situation, with only one way to get out

a/n: none of this stuff is accurate to the time line in real life but who cares

word count: 1.4k

masterlist w/ all parts

“Two weeks in and you’re already causing problems.”

Azzi shrunk under the critical stare of Geno Auriemma. Although Geno was a physically stout man whom she would’ve towered over had they been standing, he was still extremely formidable in his legacy as a basketball coach. This was the seven-peat titled NCAA coach of the year, who’d guided UConn to eleven nattys and USA to three olympic gold medals, and he was glaring at her.

“I’m sorry, sir, but-,”

“And you,” Geno interrupted, fixing his reproachful frown on Paige. “You’re going to be captain this year, and this is how you lead the team?” The blonde shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing haughtily at Azzi. “Frankly, I’m very disappointed in you. The fact that multiple of your teammates had to inform me about your behavior is very concerning.” Paige hunched her shoulders and stared at her feet, looking like a puppy who’d gotten kicked to the side of the road.

Geno focused his attention back on Azzi. “Cursing at your teammates? You signed the player contract, Fudd. We don’t tolerate foul language or bullying of any kind. Do you know what the punishment is?”

Azzi’s mouth went dry. “I don’t know, sir, but I promise I can explain.”

Geno’s eyebrows dipped down, and his mouth was pulled into a firm line. “The punishment is suspension from all non-NCAA pre-season team activities. This includes next month’s tour in Europe, since we’re only playing exhibition games.”

Everything went blank. Azzi’s heart raced, disbelief coursing through her veins. She’d only been at Storrs for two weeks, and she was about to get kicked out of the European tour that she had been looking forward to so much. What would this mean for her? She’d miss out on team bonding, and even more importantly, wouldn’t be able to debut for UConn with the other freshmen. She’d be behind, and all her teammates would hate her, and the sports news outlets would go crazy with gossip over her suspension and-

Paige’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Geno,” she said solemnly, “I have to tell you something.”

Azzi gaped at the blonde. Was Paige about to play the hero by admitting that she was the one who had started all the arguments?

“Azzi and I are dating.”

Okay, that was very much NOT what she had been expecting to come out of Paige’s mouth. She shifted in her seat, about to speak out in horror because the mere thought of dating Paige made her want to throw up, when she felt the other girl lay a palm on her knee.

Geno looked between the two of them, surprise evident in his eyes. “You two? Dating?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “We uh, wanted to keep it on the down low. So that we wouldn’t distract the team. So we decided to act like we didn’t like each other, but we might’ve taken it a little too far.” Paige chuckled, and Azzi had to restrain from rolling her eyes. Even she could tell that Paige’s laugh was forced.

Geno opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang. He looked down and grunted. “Give me one second,” he said before picking up the phone and slipping out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Azzi swatted Paige’s hand that was still on her lap. “What the hell was that?” She hissed. “I don’t know what kinda weird kinky stuff you’re into, but dragging me into this is not cool.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Just trust me, okay? I might be an asshole, but not enough to get you kicked off our trip to Europe. Just follow my lead.”

Azzi was about to protest, not understanding how telling Geno they were dating could save her ass, but he stepped back in before she could. Paige squinted at her, as if to make sure she was in on the plan. Azzi was completely and utterly confused. But she didn’t know what else to do, and she really wanted to go to Europe. So she decided to go along with Paige’s schemes, at least for now.

Their coach interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them. “So what you’re telling me is that you two are in a relationship? A romantic relationship?”

Paige nodded, a little bit too enthusiastically, before taking Azzi’s hand in hers. She tried not think about how soft and warm Azzi’s hands were. “Yeah. I promise you that Azzi didn’t mean anything. She just gets a little bit too into her role sometimes, you know?” Paige smiled fondly at her, and it seemed so genuine that Azzi herself was almost convinced that they were dating.

“I promise, though, that there’s no bad blood between us. None at all.” She squeezed Azzi’s hand, signaling that it was her turn to shine.

“For sure!” Azzi’s voice came out high pitched and squeaky. Feeling Paige’s hard side eye, she cleared her throat and tried again. “There’s nothing but love here. Right, sweet cheeks?”

Paige winced, and Azzi realized that that might not have been as smooth as she’d thought. But the blonde forced back a smile, coming to her rescue. “Geno,” she said pleadingly. “Do you have to suspend Azzi?”

Geno took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “I’m having a hard time believing that you two are dating.” Both girls nervously waited with their breaths bated. “But,” he continued, “since you guys apparently are, I now have a request for you. My daughter Paula is doing a little video series on the team this year as part of her assignment for her film class. She’s been wondering how to approach the personal life segment, but now you two just opened a wonderful opportunity for her!”

Paige and Azzi exchanged looks. This was not what they thought they were getting themselves into.

“If you could help Paula with her assignment, by you know, showing the dynamic between you two and how that can translate to chemistry on the court,” Geno paused, studying them over the rim of his glasses, “I could possibly see about giving Azzi a lighter punishment. Like cleanup after practices. Nothing as severe as suspension from the Europe tour.”

“Send Paula our numbers,” Paige said immediately.

Geno’s face brightened, and he looked at them with a pleased smile. “Great! I expect both of you to keep your relationship professional during practices and games, but other than that, you have no objections from me.” He sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. “Have a good day, girls,” he dismissed.

The two basketball players hurried to leave. Once outside and walking down the corridor, Paige turned to Azzi. “Sweet cheeks, really?”

Azzi blushed furiously. “Stop,” she complained. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

“Okay, honey buns,” Paige smirked, elbowing her gently in the side.

They fell into silence as they walked. “So what do we do now?” Azzi finally asked. “Pretend to date?”

The taller girl furrowed her eyebrows. “I guess. But just to make it clear, I don’t have feelings for you. I’m doing this because we can’t start off our season without one of our players, especially one as…promising as you. It’s for the team’s better if you’re in Europe - it’s for the love of the game.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke, avoiding eye contact with Azzi.

“Okayyyy,” Azzi trailed. “What’re we gonna tell the rest of the team?”

“They can’t know,” Paige responded quickly. “Did you see how all the stuff we said to each other got back to Geno? We’re gonna have to pretend in front of the team too.”

Azzi halted in her steps, realizing the full extent of what they were about to do. “You realize this means that we’ll have to act like a couple basically all the time right? We’re always with the team.”

The corner of Paige’s lips turned up. “What?” she asked. “You scared you’re gonna fall in love with me?” When she saw the look on Azzi’s face, she said in a more serious tone, “Don’t worry. We can always break up after Geno’s kid finishes her assignment. I think the issue is making everyone believe we’re dating after…you know.”

Azzi nodded, deep in thought. “We can say that in the meeting with Geno, he forced us to spend time together and we just kinda grew on each other.”

Paige made a noise in agreement. “It’ll be kinda hard, though,” she said. “Not being mean to you.”

“Shut the fuck up. And for the record, I’m straight. I will absolutely not fall in love with you.”

“We’ll see about that, sweet cheeks.”

#paige bueckers #uconnwbb #azzi fudd #wbb #wcbb #pazzi

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genericpuff · 2 days

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I saw your "hades and apollo looking at Persephone the exact same" post and like honestly??? This series would be so much better if Hades/Persephone were intended to be toxic and Hades was MEANT to be a manipulative asshole. There are so many panels where everything is designed to make it look like Hades is the bad guy (hades following/"rescuing" persephone during the proposal) and like... ugh if it was INTENTIONAL it would be so much more interesting for the story. But it's not and it bothers me so much.

Also your "Thanatos yelling at Hades with Hades speech to Kronos" edit made my whole life, I was literally liveblogging my reading of the chapter to a friend on discord and i was telling them that everything Hades said to Kronos is something Thanatos deserved to tell Hades and I wanted someone to make an edit. So thank you for reading my mind somehow and making it 😂💖

Right, I've been dying over the same thought for ages now, if the whole point of LO was to showcase a girl being groomed and manipulated into becoming a worse person due to a richer and older man taking advantage of her... then maybe I'd be singing praises about what it's accomplished because as it stands, I really can't celebrate LO as being a "romance" in any way shape or form.

Either that, OR it should have stayed as like, a feel-good fluffy office romance story. Like if it had stayed in the territory of S1 with Persephone going to university and working in the Underworld without delving into any of the crazy supernatural fertility goddess / Kronos returning BS. Sure, considering it's Greek myth obviously it wouldn't be as 'fun' to have the characters not be actual gods who get into supernatural tussles, but LO just... isn't being written by someone who's capable of writing stories to that scale, and it's especially evident throughout the entire third season. Rachel should have just stuck to the character-driven plotlines with the grounded and intimate story beats (slice-of-life type stuff).

That's not to say she shouldn't ever try to write a bigger story with higher stakes and more intricate plotlines, but like... she's clearly not ready for that yet and I hope at the very least LO has been a learning experience for her so that her next story will either be more grounded or at the very least organized better if she can't resist doing a larger-than-life story.

also ur welcome LOL though honestly I can't take credit for that because that was basically ALL of us reacting to that scene like... wtf, this is what Thanatos should be saying to Hades fr LOL so have some confidence in knowing that you weren't alone in feeling that LMAO

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lo critical #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical

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gynandromorph · 1 day

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god this shit took forever to sketch. another NofNA emulation comic. it reminds me of the midterms in secretary, for obvious reasons, but Legend is sort of an inverse secretary situation, where she is exceptional at fighting, but wants to write.

let me see what i can remember...

PS, the blue-eyed black lemur, has been friends with Legend since their mutual first season at college, as mentioned above her reference sketch... they probably became more friendly after being paired up to peer edit each others' work. PS has since graduated from college and works as a markscraft. Legend frequently commissions PS to scribe for her, not only because they are friends, but because PS is one of the few markscrafts in the area who isn't a rodent. many primates go into law or medicine. mainly Legend commissions notetaking in classes -- she is too insecure to share her stories. PS has a more relaxed, informal personality, and i tried to get that across -- i think it's relevant to why she decided to become a markscraft instead of pursuing more intense study. still, i also tried to get across that they are good friends, not just scribe and customer, particularly with the amount of touching that PS does. the impulse to touch and groom is probably innate for her as a primate. there isn't as much information about her species, but in ring-tailed lemurs, lemurs usually only groom based on the strongest bonds, rather than more communal aggregate grooming as a sort of social currency. i honestly don't know what PS would need to note during finals, but i think Legend just Wanted her there anyway.

the bird, DL, fighting the squirrel, GG, is a grey shrike. i imagine him as an average student in the middle of his education, but i think he is in the class for combat purposes, because pressure point manipulation can be incredibly powerful, more so if from a less expected species like a bird.

mr. deciding is a much more serious, no-nonsense teacher, possibly due to his specialty. when you're teaching students how to explode a kidney with a handshake, you probably just play it safe and try to put the fear of god into them before any kidneys get exploded. i wanted this class to have a much heavier emphasis on safety of the participants than the class in secretary, with a more focused goal than "who can beat the shit out of each other better." i think the goal of fighting to show off knowledge here is still Fucking Insane, but it's just. their culture, i guess. you can technically "move" your pressure points, so being able to defend yourself by utilizing this knowledge can also show off what you've retained. the mouse next to him is a proctor, who is an extra teacher brought in to judge and often write for another teacher, but primarily as a peacekeeper and bouncer. in classes where a student can theoretically totally disable a teacher by just touching them once, the precaution is seen as necessary. the mouse is probably a combat-oriented point invocation instructor.

the mandrill, MK, is a first-season or first-year student -- i assume that one class, from midterms to finals, is a season, as secretary seems to start near autumn. midterms have snow, and finals are during early spring. anyway, that's tangential. i think he's very new to the educational system. i pictured him as a medical student. in his fighting style, i made him more defensive; he doesn't really know nearly as much about attacking an opponent in a fight. he does think at least about his opponent's most immediate reactions, but doesn't have enough experience with fighting to think ahead to the degree that Legend does. you can see him make the same mistake that Legend did against Machinations, which disables his non-dominant hand. needless to say, he will probably always be aware of headbutt proximity now. he attempts to use two factures in the fight within a style meant to evoke debilitating vertigo by manipulating the connection between the occular, vestibular, and proprioceptive systems. it's obvious that he created the style from his medical classes. it is fairly empty as far as styles go. interrupted facture: nystagmus, which causes the world to spin around the opponent by involuntarily twitching the eyes back and forth. second facture: strabismus, which misaligns the pupils, primarily impeding aim. denied by Legend because a honey badger does not rely on vision or a vestibular system as much as a primate does -- not something he really considered when making the style. factures that never ended up being used: pursuit, which forces the target to follow a spinning image of themselves instead of looking where they should; and mask's lasting, which forcibly initiates saccadic masking, suppressing the intake of new visual information altogether.

the large bird is a bateleur. the mouse is just a regular house mouse. the lizard is an ornate sandveld lizard. the opponent of the lizard is a common mole-rat, also called an african mole-rat (even though most species of mole-rats live in africa). the monkey god i'm not super sure but i believe it's just a vervet monkey. the other mouse is also a common house mouse.

GG is a second-year student, which is the last year for a rodent. i think she's been kind of aimless -- she thinks incredibly fast as a squirrel, and finds solving problems in the moment to be a much more successful endeavor than trying to plan ahead. she doesn't worry about the future and doesn't ruminate on the past much. she's aware that she isn't the best ever and doesn't apply herself as much as others, but it also doesn't particularly bother her. kind of ironic, given the aesop she slops onto Legend after the fight. i imagine that she will eventually choose the name Serendipity. i tried to write her lack of foresight, but compensatory quick thinking in both fights. like the shrike, GG is a combat-oriented student. the style she briefly introduces at the beginning is called fanciful flower's delightful blight. it is based on the deadly nightshade flower and its berries -- which are toxic, obviously, and a hallucinogenic. squirrels flick their tails for many reasons, and the most common reason is simply a default flicking to attract predators. their tails are designed to "deglove" easily; if a predator lunges for their tail, which is the moving part of them, the skin and fur will tear off, and the squirrel can escape. delightful blight utilizes the attention-grabbing flicking of the squirrel's tail as a nightshade plant to induce a trance-like state. the berries represent temptations so much more pleasing than what you ought to focus on. a nice berry and a flower to smell are so much nicer than struggling in a fight. even when you resist them, they linger in your mind, and "plant seeds" when the berry falls as self-restraint is worn down over repeated abstinence from the temptation. factures induce hallucinations and nausea. she primarily uses the base rodent style to fight Legend here, but also uses base squirrel style twists, which include more acrobatics, backflipping, and contortions.

the two things that really catch Legend off-guard use limbs that she doesn't have, and most opponents don't have -- elbows long enough to use defensively, and a long, rope-like tail. she is otherwise supposed to be fairly adept at analyzing what an opponent will do, usually a few steps ahead, related to her ability to fabricate narratives quickly. you can see her also come up with a lie for kicking GG fairly quickly... she was going to say the impulse was in her legs because she was trying to move away from GG's strike.

anyway if any part of this fight is like... unfathomable i can probably explain. i've already been typing for way too long, lmfao

#nofna shitposting #partaking in the act #basically legend left her chest open because she expected GG to attempt to block #instead of considering that GG could take an offensive action instead

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bymarara · 1 day

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I want to talk about lovers lake and more specifically about one moment.

We all know very well that the lake of lovers is closely related to the Bylers, more about this is There are plenty of other blogs on Tumblr like this.

Let's just refresh our memory that in this lake of lovers, they found the fake body of Will Byers, in this lake, under the pressure of Troy, Mike Wheeler almost died because of jumping off the cliff, if it wasn't for El, he would have died.

Let's think back to season 4 now. When Max “died”, the gate to Lovers Lake opened very, very wide, as if the silhouette of Lovers Lake's heart had split apart, heart broken. What happened before Max's “death”. A declaration of love from Mike to Al.

Let us try to put everything in detail. Before the love confession scene, there was a conversation between Mike and Will about the painting and I'm a proponent that Mike realized what Will was saying about himself, even though he was afraid that it was his stupid fantasy. He had hope that it was mutual. I also stick to the fact that if Argyle had not interrupted them, Mike would have talked to El about the breakup and the reasons for it, it would have been easier for him to support the girl and be honest with her, but Argyle interrupted the moment for two people like El and Mike, the intimacy of the moment and further already, it was necessary to act and save Mike.

The moment when he confesses his love is very tense. Mike cares for El, we see him worrying as much as anyone, but when he doesn't know what to say to make her feel better, Will comes to the rescue. He says “Mike, you're the heart, you're the heart.”, this is where Wheeler probably hesitated in his sentences, he thought that everything Will said was true about El, you can see the disappointment on his face, the worried look on his face. Mike realizes that he'll have to hide his real feelings and other things again.

In the declaration of love, we are also shown just one moment as a flashback, we are shown just the moment of finding El, at that moment and in that interval, he treated her like a friend, like a sister. Just to compare the exact same scenes with Max, she has flashbacks with Lucas in a romantic context, with friends, where she was happy and basically her most important moments in life and where she was herself, the real her. In that moment, their meeting, they were both being themselves and not using each other for protection and “normalcy”(El is just as possibly using Mike, but I'll write about that later), they were being themselves.

During the declaration of love, Mike's face is not that of a man who says it from the bottom of his heart, and it doesn't make El feel any better, it's like she hears the lies in his words and the sadness.

Look at his heartbreak right before Will pushed him to tell El that he loves her.

It's not just fear in his eyes. He looks devastated, like all his hopes have been dashed. I'd say this is especially noticeable when you consider that he had hope after Will gave him the painting.

Mike's declaration of love and the simultaneous breaking of his own heart. This is another way in which they are symbolically connected to the lake, and where their relationship is just as, connected to Max's safety.The heart-shaped lake has literally split in two, as the “gate” is right there. Now it's a broken heart.

Also, I want to remind you that in the show Mike is constantly associated with a heart, that drawing with his name and hearts next to it, that Will's drawing of Mike's shield has a heart on it, he's everywhere as a heart.

I was thinking that maybe at this point Will's heart and hopes were broken, but I think Will's hopes and heart, were broken back in the van, back in the van he became broken, afterwards he was literally depressed and looked at Mike with such devastation, he realized that his feelings were not reciprocated (in his opinion).

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totothewolff · 16 hours

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Season of Love (7/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

The Color of Truth is Blue Arc Chapter 7: Red flagsss

Italy

You stay off-the-grid that entire weekend to everyone's concerns.

Your phone remains turned off and forgotten on the sofa at Seb's place, kilometers away from you now, as he takes you on a sudden road trip through the Italian Riviera in his 1995 classic blue Citroën DS19.

Knowing the beautiful scenery and brief stops at the Mediterranean towns' gorgeous tourist sites would keep your mind from hurtful thoughts.

And, boy, he was right.

Your mood gets less somber as you two enjoy your gelatos while peacefully walking the Giardini Botanici Hanbury, feeling the fresh breeze from the trees on your skin and hearing the birds chirping around you.

It turns out Seb is full of great love and life advice. He sounds so mature and open about it that it seems new and shocking to you.

How can someone love so freely and so fearlessly?

Seb watches you sigh as you finish packing the clothes you bought and wore during the weekend in your also new suitcase since touring Italy in his clothes seemed like something other than a fit for your aesthetics and ego.

Still, you chose to wear his vintage Monty Python t-shirt with mom jeans for the flight back, as you loved the graphic, its colors, and the fact that it fits you a bit oversized and comfy. It made you feel safe.

—Everything will be fine —he expresses.

—I know —you look at Seb and give him a shy smile, only if he knew.

—Ready, then? —he holds open the door for you.

—More than ever —you answer, and you are.

Hungary

Much to your poor nerves, the Hungary Grand Prix week is finally here.

And you need to meet Pascal on the outskirts of town so he can deliver you the device.

That nervous sensation in your stomach grows as the chauffeur/gunman drives you closer to the meeting point, which is inside the third floor of a decadent and abandoned old building from the socialist era.

It's been more than a decade since last you saw him in person, as he was getting violently pinned down to the floor and dragged away by a SWAT team as you screamed.

His piercing blue eyes and his handsome face were covered in blood coming from a deep wound over his eyebrow from the contact of a fist punch as he whispered a soft and reassuring "I will be fine; you will be fine."

That memory was forever tattooed in your brain, sometimes making you wake up with a cold sweat at night.

As you finish climbing the narrow swirl stairs that once may have been stunning, you open the enormous, washed-down, and scratched-wood double doors. They creak so loud, making the place echo, as the tall, muscular figure of a man looking out of an open, broken window turns your way, following the sound.

Your heart skips at the sight of him; you guess those feelings never truly disappeared.

He watches you approach him with the same expression as your heels clack loudly on the dirty, now opaque, tiled floor.

You rush your pace in the last couple of remaining steps. Reaching closer to Pascal's figure, a smile forms on his lips, expecting you to throw yourself into his arms.

But as you are millimeters away from his body, you slap him so hard, making his head turn. His lip bleeds a little bit from the contact before sinking into his neck as he pulls you in a really tight hug above the ground; your hand caresses his hair and cheek as you lay your foreheads in one another.

—It's great to see you, kid. We don't have much time —Pascal tells you as he places you back to the ground and points to the ankle monitor on his calf with a blinking light. —Inside this is the tracker; follow the protocol precisely as we practiced it, and everything will be alright. You are so brave —he hands you a green Hermes bag. —Go.

You want to talk to him more, say more, and let him know all that happened in your life after him and thanks to him, but he rushes you to leave, not wanting to expose you more than necessary, and for you to return to safety.

You slide your hand down his arm and squeeze his hand as you walk away, letting it go only when he gets out of your reach.

The weather at the track gets damn awful, umbrellas everywhere, grey skies, and all lights on, even if it's really early.

The free practice is a complete mess, thanks to the various puddles and Logan's car pinballing around.

Sam looks extremely uneasy that day under the stern scrutiny from Toto.

—Stop it. You are making me uneasy, too. What's with you? —he asks as Sam nervously moves around.

—Nothing, I don't want Lewis to crash or George to get hurt. That thing with Logan was awful —she lies quickly, as paramedics had to help him out of the car while many "ouchs" from the crowd were exchanged as he wasn't walking alright.

Toto looks at her with a deadly "Please, I'm not stupid" look.

But he lets it go before he overhears; Niki asks her directly as she reaches him. —Have you heard from her?

Sam knows exactly to whom (you) he is referring. —No.

And that's what makes her more nervous than anything. "Please, be ready," she thinks.

Toto raises an eyebrow at the interaction. Is something going on?!

You decide to show up until qualy.

You walk around the paddock and pitline as if following a path, but this is only noticeable if someone is paying you lots of attention, which Charles is.

He catches your step in the middle, distracting you; you cut him as he opens his mouth to say something.

—Not now, later —you look so authoritarian he doesn't protest. —I need to focus. Do you get it? —now you mutter to him, low.

He nods. —Take care, please —is all he says, and he walks away. He is not able to talk to you about what happened at the Gala and about all Seb told him; he only told him the bits Seb knew weren't to be kept.

Toto is there, too, observing your every move. The more he looks and follows you, the weirder it gets.

Judging by the expression you and Charles shared, how nerve-wracking Sam is acting, and how quiet Niki is, there is no way something isn't happening.

Could it be the aftermath of what happened at the Gala? To which he is the one to blame for.

Toto waits for the perfect moment to confront Sam. After the practice ends and everyone moves to the hospitality and headquarters, he notices the blond walking down the corridor of his office in the direction of Niki's. He quickly gets on his feet and follows her around. Sam notices and rushes her pace.

Out of nowhere, he pushes Sam softly against the wall to make her stop. —What's going on? Don't dare to lie to me —he looks dead concerned about it, borderline paranoid.

—It's not my place to tell you —she sadly replies and pushes him away too, roughly, knowing the last time she said those words, she ended up hurting a friend. —Don't push it! It won't work! My lips are sealed —she warns him as she fixes her shirt and returns to work.

—I know I fucked it up —Toto lets out, looking at Samanta's back as she faces the door down the hall as he leans one of his hands on the wall.

Fuck, he sounds so sad, almost wounded. Sam closes her eyes, feeling awful, before taking a step and walking away in total silence.

It's the eve of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and the paddock is abuzz with excitement and anticipation.

It's regular business with teams preparing their cars and mechanics working tirelessly to ensure every engine is revving if it wasn't for the extreme security present this time.

There are not-so-discreet gunmen in different places, catching the attention of some guests and team members.

Fans gather at the circuit, voices rising in cheers. The energy is palpable as everyone eagerly awaits the engines' roar and the tires' screech on the track.

This time, The Hungarian Grand Prix is more than just a race; today, it welcomes a peculiar, to say the least, special guest to participate in the opening ceremony: one political candidate, desperate to be in the spotlight and under the cameras, seizing the opportunity with the upcoming election just weeks from today.

It has been almost a year since your intelligence team confirmed to you that the juicy donations from Hungarian and Serbian accounts addressed to the FIA/F1 were the single most crucial lead to the man you have been hunting for years and years: Jószef Lenkov.

Lenkov had planned to tour the paddock on foot before arriving at the pit lane to participate in the committee during the country's anthem ceremony.

It's your only opportunity in decades to approach him, and you can't miss it. Your entire team and life depend on it; it's personal.

You feel sick to your stomach as you watch Lenkov and his entire entourage arrive. After all these years, he is there, in person, just meters away from you, as in one of your nightmares; there he is, the reason behind all the suffering in your life and the ones you love.

Even if you now have a different name and aspect and are being protected and monitored, a lingering fear is still deep in you.

You were just a child the last time you saw him.

God, how much you despise that man, how much you want to succeed in bringing him down, how much you want him gone for good.

You start casually walking closer and around them, near the distance but not enough to be noticed by all those guards protecting him.

You follow the path that you rehearsed thousands of times.

Everything goes according to plan until you make it to the pitlane on the final and most crucial move.

In a matter of seconds, your vision gets all blurry.

Your ear makes an awful whistling sound, and you feel stabs of pure pain on your right forearm, the one you just got up by instinct to protect you from smashing directly into the glass, which shatters enough to hurt you as you get pushed to the side against the glass barrier where Rolex had an interactive advertising booth for those with a VIP access.

Everyone near you watches the scene in genuine shock as one of the brutal security assholes of Lenkov forces you away from him.

As you approach the older man from behind, you are able to place your hands on his shoulder and just above his jacket pocket inside that entourage of suited security men as he waves the crowds of militants in the stands supporting him.

Lewis watches, shocked at how little you react to such a violent punch. There is almost no expression in response from you, no wincing, which raises all his alarms.

Samanta tries her best to look as surprised as the rest, and thank God Toto next to her is fuming with rage that doesn't pay her any attention.

Since yesterday, he has been suspicious that something is going on and has followed her closely the entire day, too, so she has remained as far from you as possible.

A lot happens around you as you recover; Lenkov doesn't even bother to turn around or give his attention to the commotion as he gets rushed away from the scene by his team of gorillas guarding him.

Your blood starts spilling everywhere on the pitlane concrete floor; it seems and feels like a deep cut on the forearm.

FIA security holds the violent bodyguard and escorts him out, and aid comes your way.

You compose yourself reasonably quickly.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice your entire team of mechanics and drivers moving towards the guy with killer instincts since everything is happening barely a meter away from your garage entry.

—Anyone who dares to move an inch gets out of this team —you warn them in such a dangerous, deep voice. Something no one has witnessed you do before.

Millie looks at you as you have transformed into someone else, like something buried inside you has come out.

No one dares to move.

You rush to grab one of the mechanics' jackets and tighten it around your arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Paramedics arrive as fast as possible and start working on your nasty wound.

Once inside the ambulance, you instruct them to take you straight to your hotel room against their will; you let them know it's an order, not an option.

You catch a glimpse of Pascal among the crowds near the pit stop. Now, he knows you have accomplished the job because of the smile you give him through the open door of the ambulance, like a lioness before eating her sleep prey.

After getting some provisional stitches and a fresh bandage, you arrive at the Corinthia Hotel.

The white gauze gets redder with every step you take. Still, you hide it well behind the space thermal blanket the paramedics give you, walking as fast as possible, trying to avoid grabbing the attention of the guests in the hotel on your way to your destination.

Drops of blood are on your expensive pink glaze tweed Valentino dress.

You knock on the room you got instructed to, using the signal number of knocks your team told you to.

You quickly enter the large double room once they open the door for you. The curtains are closed, and the lights are on. A team of six guys on computers with tons of cables and some devices wrapped in foil, along with a couple of gunned men, greet you.

An exceedingly handsome, fit man in an expensive Armani power suit sits on the couch, legs crossed, with a drink in his hand.

He turns to talk to you. —We got signal! Now we can trace him —he informs you; he notices you are hurt and instantly gets concerned, and his fierce eyes softened.

Everyone claps as you collapse next to him on the couch. He grabs your once again bloody hand and comes close to kneel in front of you, sharing an intimate moment as tears run down your cheeks, not knowing if it was the emotion of the moment or the pain provoking them.

—You succeeded! I'm so proud of you —Matt rubs a finger on your bruised knuckles and softly kisses them —The tracker you placed on Lenkov will lead us to his current quarters. I will take it from here.

You nod, exhausted.

—You are done more than enough; now I have to play my part —he informs you.

—What?! —you let out as your heart skips.

—If I don't cause a scene, it will raise questions.

—Wait, Matt, it's unnecessary! I don't think they notice; the FIA aren't exceptionally bright...

—You just got slaughtered in our team garage, and you think it is not necessary? —he looks at you with an exasperated face.

—You don't need to show up! I can handle this! I don't require you to intervene! —you enter complete panic mode; you need more time and want more time.

—What you need is a surgeon; that cut seems deep, but they will take you to the hospital now. I will meet you there after visiting the pitlane —Matt ends the conversation right there, his beautiful clear blue eyes looking authoritarian at you.

—Matthew, no, wait! —you know it is impossible to make that man change his mind; once he makes a decision, it gets done. You all live in a world that is his. You know how erratic, spoiled, and unreliable he is.

There it is, the control freak from which you ran away.

Your limbs get cold as you have this conversation, and moving causes you so much pain now, so you let your case rest, knowing there's nothing else you can do.

More tears run down your face, but not caused by the wound; it is your heart bleeding.

Samanta watches Matthew walk past the Mercedes garage's front like she is seeing a walking ghost.

He looks gorgeous, with perfect hair, on-point clothes, and swaggy steps, but this time, he has a lethal gaze.

He tilts his head and looks straight at her for a second. Sensing her eyes on him, Matt subtely smirks at Sam and keeps going.

Sam stays still, watching, knowing everything is about to change.

—All good? —Lewis asks her, concerned, witnessing the interaction.

—Yes, I'm just shocked and worried about what happened! I hope she's doing okay!

—We all do —Niki joins the conversation, looking somber, hands in his pockets. Then, he softly whispers to Sam. —I hope she succeeded.

—Me too —Sam answers, knowing that he knows.

Toto is quiet and reflective in his chair, far from them. Sam does everything possible not to cross his sight and avoids him the rest of the night.

He has many questions and needs your answers.

If you ever want to talk to him ever.

He prays God you do.

That you still want him.

Matthew arrives at the gruesome scene with a group of lawyers, who carry cameras and tablets and start taking pictures and collecting testimonials.

Of course, it is all pretend; your team is about to control the narrative of the events: "It was a non-related security brokerage" is about to fill social media, bots, press, and TV.

The FIA is about to be blamed for having weak security protocols for its people.

Matt is not pleased to see your blood spread all over the pitstop's concrete floors. He feels murderous inside, and he looks like it.

He notices many curious eyes set on him, but he is used to it; a man with his appearance always draws attention anyway.

Schumi walks to him. —Hi, Mr. De Vos. Is Y/N okay, boss?!

—I just got informed she is at the hospital right now getting surgery. I will be by her side soon. I needed to see it first with my own eyes. I can't believe this! —fuck he sounds pissed looking at the "crime scene."

The next day, the stewards were going nuts trying to manage the entire situation, and the busy FIA scheduled a meeting to discuss the violent events with all the astonished team principals.

To reassure them that they were handling the situation and that there was no need for anyone not to feel safe, and to say: "It won't happen again, we swear."

—I didn't know Ken existed in real life! —Otmar jokes under his breath with Mattia and Fred as they all watch Matthew having a call on the other side of the clear glass panel walls outside the meeting room.

All TPs are gathered in a vacant and enormous room, along with some team owners, waiting for Massi to arrive and discuss the gruesome circumstances of the night before.

Matthew enters the room, grabbing everyone's attention and provoking a "Who is this guy?" face on the men inside.

His blonde lawyer waits for him outside just by the door; they both look busy.

That blonde guy looks familiar to Toto. Oh, yeah! It's Sam's brother.

Matthew joins the circle of chairs. —Couldn't they get cheaper ones? —he jokes as the thing squeaks with his weight. He is very muscular but lean, like a model.

Everyone laughs, agreeing.

—We look like we are about to take fucking therapy —Gunther colorfully adds.

Horner chuckles at his comment.

—My name is Zack, and I'm addicted to speed —he teases.

—Hi, Zack! —three of them answer in unison.

—I'm Christian. I'm addicted to winning —Horner jokes, too.

—Mr. Lauda —Matthew greets him, standing to receive a hug from the older man as he joins the group.

—Oh, so handsome as ever! —Niki comments on Matt's good looks and pats his face. Matt doesn't seem bothered by it; he has quite an authoritarian presence and a stern face that could spam from the sweetest thing to a serial killer within seconds, but he smiles at Niki.

—How is she? —Niki asks, concerned for your well-being.

—She went through reconstructive surgery, which took five hours. The glass cut tendons and nerves, so she needs to take therapy to get her movement back. She can't feel pressure or heat on her fingers and has minimal movement on her entire arm.

—Yeah, all sense gets gone for a good couple of weeks —Niki states. He knows the procedures well; he went through some after his crash. —I'm calling her to advise her on how to deal with it; it gets frustrating.

—That would be fantastic. Y/N will very much appreciate your supporting words; she is still shaken by all that has happened.

—And what happened exactly? —Mattia inserts himself in their conversation. Matthew turns to him with a cold expression, a mixture of "you aren't part of this conversation" and "I don't have anything to explain to you."

—According to the FIA, it was just a simple "accident," but my team differs —Matthew answers him with sarcasm and deadpan.

Toto already dislikes Matt. He acts arrogant and entitled. Niki sits beside him, and Massi rushes in, followed by a group of stewards and his assistants.

—Apologies, it's been crazy! Oh! Mr. De Vos, thank you for joining us!

"Mr. De Vos?!" Toto's expression changes from annoyed to surprised as he stares for the first time straight at him, to which Matthew holds his look.

Matt instantly switches personalities as Massi addresses him. His pose goes from relaxed on his chair to dangerous, with one leg resting on his knee. His eyes look harsh, like a wolf about to bite the lamb's neck.

—This can't happen again —he says in the most authoritarian voice, with no greeting. Massi's eyes widen. —This wasn't an accident; it was incompetence from your security, your organization, and yours —Matthew destroys him.

He knows playing with your food is not polite, but he isn't the most successful man in his type of business by being kind or soft. —Bring your PR team. I need to have a word with them —Matt continues.

Massi looks at him, alarmed, but nods, agreeing.

—Now —Matt slowly and softly finishes saying.

Massi nods again and quickly goes out of the room.

—Can we hire you? —Stroll asks Matt in awe.

—You don't have that kind of money —he jokes back.

"Yes, he is insufferable," Toto thinks.

After an extensive meeting, Matthew gives the FIA two months to develop a new and better security protocol, or they will sue.

After receiving many concerned texts and "I hope you get better soon" mentions, you finally replied in the group chat: "I now have a bionic forearm, but it doesn't shoot lasers. Bummer!"

"I have something in my body that shoots too, but neither is my arm nor are lasers," Lando jokes.

Everyone laughs.

During the break that the Mercedes team takes to lunch, Sam visits you at the hospital, and she takes you tons of gifts. She is the only one who is allowed to visit you or knows your location.

Among the gifts is a letter from Toto that you don't dare to open.

After returning from the hospital, Sam joins the girl squad for a much-needed chat.

—He looks fake! It's like the Greeks marbled him —Millie says, checking out Matthew while he talks with a man obstructed by a poster with Sam, Angela, and Brigita beside her.

—He is so handsome! That's some cute, firm bubble booty —Angela lusts for him.

—And you haven't seen him without a shirt; he has abs for days —Sam informs them.

—One can only imagine —Brigita whispers.

Matthew is chatting with Alexi, Sam's brother, behind the sign, obstructing Millie's view until he moves.

As soon as she notices Alexi, she hugs and greets him. —Uncle! —she lets out, throwing herself into his arms, excited as they embrace each other.

Sam joins them against her will. —How lovely! A family reunion, yikes! —she says sarcastically, pretending to hate the thing.

They all candidly talk till Niki and Toto reach them.

—You don't remember Matthew?! Really? Are you sure?! —Alexi looks incredulous at Millie as he asks her.

She denies fiercely with her head.

—But he has been invited to many family gatherings!

—Nope! —Millie then gestures at Matt's body with her hand. —If I had seen this, I would remember it, believe me! —then she turns to him, a bit red on the cheeks. —With all due respect —she adds, and Matthew shrugs, amused.

—Don't boost his ego, please. It's already enormous —Sam rolls her eyes at them.

—No worries! —Alexi addresses his niece. —He is so used to this; a girl once fainted before him. No joking; it happened during our college years. You were so popular with the girls —then turns to face Matthew. —Y/N was the most envied girl on campus —Alexi finishes saying and then looks at the two men now joining them.

—You must be Sam's brother —Toto extends a hand to him, to Niki's right.

—Yes, I am! I have heard so much of you —he says as they shake hands. Alexi looks very friendly and chatty, utterly different from Sam and Matt. It could be more like Millie's genes; maybe it's that part of his family.

—I hope nice things! —Toto jokes.

—Apparently, this gremlin is fond of you —he smirks at a now embarrassed Sam at the revelation.

Alexi is Matthew's lawyer. They have been friends since childhood, since the womb as their families have been close for centuries. Yes, centuries, big old-timey money with insulting fortunes, the kind of money that would make someone sick.

They both studied law at Cambridge at the same time.

Alexi then quickly adds. —You haven't been introduced to each other, right? Matthew, this is Toto Wol..

—I know —Matt cuts him. —We just saw each other at the meeting.

None of them moves an inch to greet the other. An awkward tension is palpable.

—Oh, well, then. Anyway, this "knows it all" is Matthew De Vos, owner of the Williams team and Y/N's husband.

"Y/N'S HUSBAND! WHAT THE FUUUU-!" Toto struggles to play it cool.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter > - A new arc is here with lots to unpack and reveal! Finally, we are getting to more know about her! I hope you liked this chapter, but prepare for what comes next! Read you soon <3

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lady-phasma · 2 days

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Do you believe Aemond is a Valyrian Supremacist? He models Daemon so much in his focus on Valyrian history, dragons, Targaryen blood etc, that to me I feel as though he must to some extent believe Targaryen's to be superior? I see alot of people defending him on the basis he isn't, but... I just don't see why Aemond of all characters wouldn't have feelings of superiority based on his blood? Extending from that, do you think he would have preferred to wed a Targaryen woman? We get a glimpse he feels that way from the TV show, but in the circumstances he had another sister instead of Helaena, surely he would have been betrothed to her/wanted to be? I just truly cannot see him as being free of "bigotry" in regards to seeing non- Valyrians as below him. Like? Isn't that the point of him hating Rhaneyra's sons? Because they are bastards from a lower House?

This is a really great ask, anon. Thank you for asking me. But of course, you asked me, so it’s no surprise that I will give a very me answer.

First, I really dislike having that phrase Valyrian Supremacist on my blog. I only have it one other time that I can remember and that was also an ask. Briefly, I’ll tell you why: it is a 20th-21st century Earth term that may not have been present in Westeros. If we are discussing in-universe theory and not literary/film theory then I choose to avoid it.

This may get long but I want to be as clear as possible: I only slightly agree with you. If we grant the premise, that he models parts of his personality after Daemon (which is a difficulty premise to grant in its entirety), then I would say that his Targaryen side would value that heritage to a degree. However, he cares deeply for his entire family and that includes the Hightowers. His last name is Targaryen, but let’s not forget he is also a Hightower. I think great houses/names are very important to royalty in Westeros, Aemond included. Hightowers are certainly not lowborn.

Trying to go in the same order as your questions, I would say next that all descendants of Valyria may feel superior because of history and dragon lore. I can never overlook House Velaryon in these discussions. They also have immense pride in their heritage and name. However, when you say “Aemond of all characters” I wonder exactly why he stands out as someone for whom this pride seems more important. If we examine his actions in season one and in the book, I think we can see that his character is no more or less concerned with it than the average character.

If he were more concerned with Targaryen blood and that pride fueled his decisions, what would that say about Alys Rivers? I think most fans who haven’t read the book know a little about her, but for those who don’t she was a bastard Aemond took as a “war bride.” Regardless of whether or not she bewitched him, we can’t talk about his life as a whole without mentioning her and their relationship. If she did, we aren't told at exactly what point that happened. He wasn't above sex with non-Targaryens.

Since it was first uttered, I have been obsessed with his line “I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” Leo Ashton delivered it with such sincerity and commitment that it is hard to argue against Aemond’s devotion to his family (not discussing any specific romantic ships here). As we know, royalty and aristocracy in Westeros get very little choice in who they wed. The hypothetical “if he had another sister” is interesting because that marriage would, ultimately, be decided by Viserys and Alicent.

Such a betrothal would have been seen as a duty and honorable, so I have no doubt that Aemond would have agreed. I don’t know that anyone would disagree that Aemond puts his family above everything else. Thus, I have yet to see in the series direct bigotry from him. Factually, with no nuance, the issue with Rhaneyra’s sons is illegitimacy. Every character may have a different interpretation as to how this effects the line of succession and only a few state it explicitly in the series. I would argue that Aemond doesn’t care that their father isn’t Laenor Velaryon when he first calls them bastards. Children at that age might not really comprehend the ramifications of that accusation (I think we see clearly that Aegon doesn’t). Aemond first dislikes his nephews because they were cruel to him. Yes, his brother was as well. The Pink Dread was seemingly almost entirely Aegon’s idea, but siblings often forgive each other more readily than they may forgive outsiders.

In Fire & Blood we get a clear picture of how much his animosity and resentment fuel his actions:

One by one, every man and boy with Strong blood in his veins was dragged forth and put to death, until the heap made of their heads stood three feet tall.

I do not think this action was about bloodlines or heritage. I believe this was entirely revenge. By this point in the Dance, Aemond is furious and nearly crazed by his need to avenge the wrongs done to his family. I don’t think it was an attempt to annihilate the Strong bloodline, but a show of force and power. Aemond is formidable, rash, and still young enough to not care about consequences. Perhaps you have noticed I skipped over the direct slight against him. Lucerys altered Aemond’s life irrevocably. Had this same mutilation happened to a low born boy, he would have had no future at all in Westeros. Aemond’s lifestyle was only salvaged because he is royalty and through determination of will.

Would the loss of an eye, the murder of one’s young nephew (Prince Jaehaerys), and the maiming of one’s brother cause a young prince to go nearly mad with rage and the need for revenge? I believe so. By this point in the Dance, further along than I think you asked about, Targaryen heritage is probably the last thing on Aemond’s mind. I have no doubt that he was raised to believe that dragons, the throne, and many other things make Targaryens better. But we should never discount his mother’s influence. This man loves her dearly and Alicent may provide some balance in his understanding of things. My headcanon about his religion (not particularly relevant here) comes from the canon that Alicent has a strong faith in the Seven. I think this has a deep effect on Aemond and could influence whether or not Targaryen blood is paramount to him.

Lastly, I wanted to address this statement:

I see a lot of people defending him on the basis he isn’t

I assume that you use “defending” in the sense that these fans attempt to separate him as somehow immune to this pride or better than other Targaryens. I don’t know that I have read exactly the defenses you’re referencing, but I will be clear: this is not a discussion of fanfiction. If that is an element of a work of fanfiction, then by all means, go for it. It doesn’t seem plausible, however, that anyone of Valyrian descent is immune to this type of indoctrination.

#I seriously love this type of ask #asked and answered #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #dance of the dragons #dance of the dragons spoilers #fire and blood #Aemond #aemond one eye

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katuschka · 1 day

Text

Olalla – Chapter Two

Josh Kiszka x female OC

1903 words

(This one is rather short, but that's intentional. This passage should be posted separately, because of the mood. I promise the next one will be posted very soon.)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere. Even though this chapter is rather harmless, the rest of the story won't be.

Warnings: melancholy, allusions to heartbreak, allusions to the death of a close person, alcohol consumption

Taglist

Chapter One Olalla masterlist

Agnieszka

“I brought some blankets.”

Even though he invited me to join him, I really wasn’t sure how to approach him. He was cute, and had been very friendly so far, but something about him almost intimidated me. I couldn’t really put my finger on it. Not many people traveled alone here, and those who did were usually seasoned climbers with one thing in mind (maybe two). This obviously wasn’t the case. He didn’t have any equipment when he arrived, not even a pair of decent boots. No lone wolf craving his daily dose of adventure; he was like a nightingale that got lost. Yet, this place seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be.

That man simply made me irrationally nervous. So I fell into the role I knew best: a caretaker. I handed him the blanket and he accepted it with a silent smile, but kept it folded in his lap while he watched his hands laying on the chequered pattern for several long seconds as if he saw them for the first time. He really wasn’t making it any easier for me.

“You were much more eloquent this afternoon.” I tried to sound as unaffected and playful as possible, but the sudden shift in his behaviour from bubbly to brooding was palpable and for a brief moment, it made me rethink my decision to join him. I felt like an idiot just standing there. It was almost dark now and the automatic lights above the veranda went on, effectively turning the perceived sky from electric to navy blue and at the same time putting out the stars that just started blinking. The artificial light still barely reached us, though, and with him facing the other side of the garden, I could only see the outlines of his profile. It was, however, enough to tell me he was troubled.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I had a rather unpleasant phone call earlier this evening.” He shifted a bit to make more room for me and threw the blanket over his shoulders. “Please, sit. I’d love to have some company.”

Would he! Was he running from something? Or someone? I wrapped myself in the other blanket and climbed on the withered wooden table next to him. “So…I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are you travelling alone?” He smiled ruefully and looked at me for the first time. The mischievous twinkle from earlier that day was gone. He really did look sad.

I was very much aware that it was a blunt question, but still also one I asked frequently, for practical reasons, so I decided to play this card, hoping that he wouldn’t get offended. I’d have to ask anyway, sooner or later. “I don’t want to pry, really, it’s just part of my job to give you proper instructions. It’s generally not advised to go hiking alone, and if you do, the lodging provider should be notified about your daily plan, so that we could give the mountain rescue service some valuable information about your approximate location if necessary. It’s just a common policy. The weather is unpredictable here and you might easily find yourself seeking a makeshift shelter somewhere on the way…” I know, it was still pretty lame.

He only nodded. “Noted…I see I’m in good hands…and as to why, I just wanted to. I think I needed some alone time. I’m just not used to it, I guess…and it’s only harder when the ghosts won’t leave you alone.”

“So, a ghost called?”

My question made him laugh. It was genuine this time, and it sounded like sleigh bells. “Yeah, you could put it that way.” He took a sip of his drink and, remembering why he invited me in the first place, handed me the second, unopened can. I don’t really drink beer, and that wasn’t why I came, but I accepted anyway.

“Is that why you were singing?” It had been a woeful melody and judging by his current state of mind, it had been an intentional choice, too. He didn’t respond at first and I saw how his jaw clenched. My own insolence surprised me, but what was I supposed to do, ask him what he thought about the daisies in our garden? Still, I didn’t want to make it sound like I was interrogating him, so I quickly tried to turn it into mindless chatter. “That’s what I was doing when I was little. Me and my sister, actually. We would sing when we were alone in the evening, to chase away ghosts and fairies.” I regretted it immediately. Good job Olalla, now you sound like you never grew up.

He looked at me again, and the twinkle was back. He could see right through me. “You’re not the one to talk about the weather, are you. That’s ok, I like it. I’ve had enough chit chat in my life.” A car just passed by behind the garden fence and the headlights illuminated his face for a brief moment. He gave me just a side glance, so I could take a good look at his profile for the first time. A strange man, indeed. His features were symmetrical and delicate – plump lips with a slight pout, a straight nose with just a tiny bump at the bridge, and oh, those big dark eyes – but it was still masculine enough to be considered attractive, with sharp jawlines and well-tended facial hair. His haircut was strange, and he wore earrings too. Clearly a bohemian of sorts. You really couldn’t blame me for wanting to know who he was and what whim made him come here. I felt emboldened to continue.

“I just did talk about the weather,” I teased. “But you’re right. I could politely ask you where you’re from and what you’re planning to do tomorrow, or some other meaningless casual shit. But, since you don’t even have decent clothes with you, I already know your only plan so far is to go shopping. Our guests often sing tramp songs around the fireplace, but you’re the first lonely siren we’ve ever had here. So yeah, I’m curious.”

I really wouldn’t blame him if my inquiry offended him, but he just laughed again and patted my shoulder gently.

“It’s a song I wrote just recently with my brother. And yes, it’s kinda about chasing ghosts, although it was never my intention to chase them away...”

“You write songs?”

“Only when there’s nothing better to do,” he tried to laugh, but it was more like a sigh. “But enough about ghosts. Now I’m more interested in the things that are real. I’m Josh, by the way.” He offered me his hand and I took it. He didn’t shake it, just held my fingers gently, with his thumb slowly caressing my knuckles. I was so completely taken aback that I didn’t realize I was being rude again until his raised eyebrows put me back to reality.

“Umm, my name is Agnieszka, but everyone except my parents calls me Olalla now.”

“Olalla…,” he rolled the nickname slowly around on his tongue, before he gestured towards the building. “…because of this?”

“Good catch! Eulalia actually is my baptismal name. You can tell my parents really love this place,“ I snickered. “Mom also liked the meaning behind it… But no, it’s in fact just a coincidence. It’s just my favourite song. I was listening to it all the time after…a bad thing happened. It helped me to let go of an actual ghost. It may sound like a cliche, but I think music can heal. And then it kind of stuck.”

I didn’t even know why I said that. I was well known for keeping my feelings and hurts locked safely out of anyone’s reach, but something about him made me feel like I could pour my heart out and everything would be ok. It was wild. We were both complete strangers, yet both already overly familiar with each other. It felt surreal.

I looked up to see his eyes boring into me. I realized that he was still holding my hand when he lifted it to his lips in a silent nice to meet you gesture. It seemed completely natural to him, but I must have looked a bit shocked, which I was, because he quickly dropped it and apologized.

It effectively killed the conversation. There was nothing to apologize for, but I couldn’t force myself to tell him the real reason why I suddenly felt so shaken. He had nothing left to tell and I didn’t know what to say, so after a short, awkward while, he cleared his throat and suggested it was probably time to go inside.

I didn’t want the moment to end. Under any other circumstances, I would just return back to my usual professional self and let go. People come and go, sometimes you click and sometimes you screw up. But other men who came in here never behaved like this. Hikers and sportsmen and family men and someone’s else’s men. Some were more polite than others, and the sweetest or the flirtiest of those single ones sometimes warmed my bed, but their intentions were always pretty clear…and so were mine. I never behaved like this either. He just made me. This Joshua was an enigma. And, even though I didn’t want to admit it, he just ignited something in me that I thought was long gone. Maybe if I did admit it to myself, I would just return back to bed and probably tried to forget anything happened. Instead, I wanted to get to know him. The best thing I could think of was to take his hand in mine again. “I’m sorry you’re chasing ghosts, Joshua.”

“Please, it’s Josh…”

“I Like Joshua better. I think it suits you more,” I whispered, smiling, and he squeezed my hand. “And I’m sorry you were haunted,” he mumbled.

We spent another surreal moment in silence, listening to the sounds of the evening, until a particularly loud group of people returning from a pub to a nearby hotel brought us from our mutual reverie.

I finally let go of his hand, opened the can and took a healthy gulp. “Fuck ghosts, and cheers to the living then!”

We spent the rest of the evening in a lively conversation about my family and our life in Willa Eulalia, he told me about his siblings and his hometown that was some sort of a Christmas village. At least that’s how he described it. I also advised him where to go and what to see after he told me that he was rather a “valley guy” and didn’t dare to venture past the tree line. At least not yet.

It was well past eleven when we finally made our way back to our respective rooms, both already chilled to the bone and I also desperately needed to pee. My private apartment was on the second landing so we stopped by my door to say goodnight. He took both my hands in his and shook them playfully. “Thank you for the lovely evening Olalla. I can’t wait to see your lovely face again in the daylight.”

“It was beautiful, by the way.”

“What was?”

“Your singing.”

He observed me for a few long seconds, thinking. Then he placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed my cheek. “Night, lovely.”

Chapter One Olalla masterlist

@its-interesting-van-kleep @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @thewritingbeforesunrise @lvnterninthenight @fleet-of-fiction @takenbythemadness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @love-isnt-greed @klarxtr

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fluff #greta van fic #gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka fic #Spotify

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trashforeverythingdotcom · 1 day

Text

Castaways

Ghoul Cooper Howard x Alien Reader

A/n: this one’s a bit of a long one. Probably the longest entry since it’s the intro. Cooper doesn’t have a big role in this chapter since it’s introductory buuuut I’m going to post the next two (? Not sure yet) chapters within the next few hours so you can see more of Cooper. This is more of an intro to the reader’s character and schtuff. I hope you guys like it. There may be some typos here and there so I’ll come back every so often to edit it lol. Pls lemme know what y’all think 😭🙏🏻

Edit: I forgot to mention this takes place roughly 30 years before the first season.

Rough summary: you are an alien that crashed landed on Earth while you were on your way to a different planet. Cooper runs into you while trying to catch/collect a bounty.

Chapters:

1 2

Nembaria. It was a tiny little planet, much like Earth. Rather, what Earth used to be. Nembaria was full of bodies—of water that reflected the colour green because of the planet’s atmosphere, of plants that reached different heights. Tall and lanky, short and stubby. A home of different species of animals.

The small planet orbits a different star. It does not reside in the same galaxy as Earth, but the next one over. Though the small planet contains many different life forms as Earth always had, its political landscape is not the same. At least, it’s not comparable to the one currently on Earth. There are three nations in Nembaria, separated from each other by vast oceans.

The planetary society as a whole is technologically advanced. Far more advanced than its neighbouring planets and definitely more advanced than planet Earth, pre and post war. While this is true, the Nembarians made sure to take great care of their ecological systems. They were also known for being a -mostly- pacifist society. Their military, in spite of the pacifism, was known to be able to hold its own. It had to, with all the interplanetary tourism and trading.

The planet was able to sustain a mostly peaceful atmosphere for centuries, having not involved itself in any conflicts, outside or inside the planet.

Despite this, the planet wasn’t perfect. The three nations still disagreed, but they refused to show the public they disagreed. Instead, they enacted policies that greatly contradicted each other and greatly affected the ones outside of political power. People with little money, no generational wealth and inheritances. People like you. Regardless of the troubles, it was home to you. It was where you slept, ate, socialised. It was where you planned to live your life.

Time is unforgiving. Change is inevitable. With time, everything changes. You had lived a mostly happy childhood, despite your family’s place in the world. The Lyri family was big. Your parents couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other and because of this, you had a total of six siblings. Four brothers and two sisters whom you adored. You were the eldest daughter, but not the eldest child. Even still, you acted like the oldest, most times. Making sure your siblings had everything they needed—as much as you could. You all looked fairly similar to one another, as family tends to. All having varying shades of purple hair, yours was closer to periwinkle; while the rest of your sibling’s hair alternated between lavender, periwinkle, and indigo like many of the people from that region. Your skin was rose pink, the same as the rest of the family’s, save for your father. His skin was tan from all of his outdoor labour, rouge pink would describe it better. You had lighter pink markings that swirled along your body and antennas, save for your face, that you were born with. That was also common for your people.

Though many in more privileged positions seemed to look down on you and those in your class, you were still able to excel in school. You and your older brother, Dimiil, took your schooling very seriously in hopes of transcending your status and, in turn, that of your loved ones. Your younger brother, Nikkand’r, the third child in line, wasn’t as driven but he was smarter than you two. It’s because of this, the three of you were able to graduate from your university with many accolades. This resulted in the three of you being recruited by the DOI (department of intelligence) in the military. You would go on to complete 3 months of general military training and 6 months of training for your specific “job”. Though the three nations in your planet remained separate from one another, they did share their military as Nembarians weren’t known for fighting amongst themselves. At least, not on a grand scale such as war. The military’s purpose was more for intergalactic defense.

The three of you weren’t separated from each other when you joined. Such a practise was actually considered barbaric and outdated. The military determined it was better not to separate family from each other, when possible, to reduce the stress and anxiety of the separation. They deemed forced splits to be counterproductive. That didn’t go to say that you couldn’t part ways if you wanted to take different jobs in different places; but forced partitioning was unlawful.

It had been four years since you officially finished their military training. You and Dimiil made it through with flying colours with Nikkand’r barely scraping by. Nikk was never really the disciplined type— but once he started to work in the field, he surpassed his brother and sister in his performance.

You still cared for your brothers the way you always had and often called home to keep in touch with the rest of your family via holographic projections. Aside from communicating with your loved ones at home, you also enjoyed playing and writing music. your ears were never deprived of music. And you never seemed to stop singing, much to your roommate’s chagrin. Your roommate seemed to give up on yelling at you to shut up not too long after you moved in and created a soundproof force field between you that she’d lower whenever she felt like talking to you. Which was rare.

Nik spent most of his free time playing games online with his friends on different planets on his GalaSphere. Dimiil mainly spent his time studying. It was never the same thing, just anything that seemed to pique his interest in that moment. He’d alter between listening to podcasts and watching VousTube videos.

In spite of you being in a militaristic environment with the intentions of defending your planet—it was very peaceful. Mostly because Nembarians didn’t really involve themselves in conflicts. They didn’t mediate, nor did they instigate. So when all the branches were summoned by their supreme leader, Maromik Fyndru, and told that they had gotten pulled into a conflict with Anthraxus, one could imagine all of their surprise. When asked why they were going to war, they were told that it wasn’t determined they were at war just yet, but some Anthraxans had killed innocent Nembarians. The supreme leader assured his soldiers that his first priority was ensuring that their peace would not be disrupted by war. He assured his soldiers that he was sending some diplomats to speak with the Anthraxans.

And while it was true, Maromik was striving for peace, it did not matter. Jorak Kannus, the Emperor of Anthraxus and the Anthraxan Empire, had other plans. His empire had been annexing many planets for years. They’d been expanding from solar system to solar system, galaxy to galaxy. Any planet that was deemed useful in their eyes was either given to them willingly by their primary population or taken by force.

Jorak wasn’t interested in peace. He was planning to do what he had been doing his whole life, what his father had done his whole life before that, and his grandfather before that. He was going to take Nembaria for his own. He was going to add it to his collection.

The reasoning behind it didn’t matter much to you, all you could be certain of was that your world was going to change.

After your supreme leader, Maromik, finished explaining the situation to the branches, he cleared his throat. “I am now going to read off a list of names. If you are called upon, I ask that you kindly follow Boraq to the Strat room…”

Your violet irises trailed over to Boraq, watching as he opened the door and made a gesture, signalling that he wanted those called upon to walk in. “Jenip’r Grenol, Johar Monolna…” Maromik listed off, his voice grew more and more distant in your ears as he read on. Your mind trailed off, racing with the possibilities of what could happen. What this potential invasion could mean. If the invasion would improve your general quality of life or turn your lives into a living hell.

“Y/n Lyri,” you heard Maromik call. You snapped back to reality and swallowed the spit that gathered in your mouth.

You felt Nikkand’r elbow you in your side, prompting you to suck your teeth and roll your eyes as you slowly made your way to where Boraq stood, your head and body turning to look back at your brothers. Boraq clicked his tongue to signal you to keep walking.

“Dimiil Lyri…”

Right on cue, Dimiil started his walk, following your trail. Once he’d caught up to you, he bent his knees a bit and leaned his head to the side to meet your ear and whisper. “Everything will be fine, nebby.” Nebby was the nickname he had for you, he’d named your nebbies. They were bugs that came out at night. Their lower thoraxes and antennae light up in the dark. You used to stay up to watch them every night.

“I’m not so sure about that…” You muttered, turning your violet eyes to the door as you watched your other brother speed in.

Nikkand’r nodded to you both and stood beside Dimiil whilst you all patiently waited for the side meeting to commence.

The three of you walked out of that meeting feeling a bit uneasy. You weren’t told much about the exact state of things but even with the very little information you had, you’d inferred that it couldn’t have been good. Of course things couldn’t have been going well. You wouldn’t have been pulled into a meeting and assigned to spy on the Anthraxan empire otherwise.

“When’s your appointment?” You asked them as the three of you sat in Dimiil’s room, devouring your bowl of noodles with beef. You stood up to serve yourself some more food as you listened for your brother's answers.

“Tomorrow at noon,” said Nikkand’r with his mouth full.

“Tomorrow at one,” said Dimiil, bringing another forkful of beef and noodles up to his mouth. “You?” He asked while he chewed.

In front of others, you ate more properly. Amongst yourselves, you ate like animals, most times.

“Tomorrow at eleven,” you groaned.

“Sweet, we’re an hour apart from each other,” Nik pointed out.

“Ah yes, one hour apart from each of us getting our heads split open,” You cheered sarcastically.

“Don’t be so optimistic,” Dimiil snorted. “It’s not like we’re gonna die or anything—“

“They’re splitting our skulls open—“

“It’s a surgery. Those happen all the time,” Nikkand’r failed to reassure you. “Plus, this is a standard procedure for people in our department and has been for ages. I’m surprised they waited till now, to be honest.”

“Look on the bright side, we’ll be able to download languages into our brains and become fluent in almost any language in a matter of milliseconds!” Dimiil couldn’t contain his excitement. You scoffed, he was such a nerd.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “I’m not a fan of being cut into.”

“It kind of comes with the territory, sis. We’re in the military, we’re not always gonna be farting shooting stars or whatever the phrase is,” Nikkand’r sighed before digging right back into his bowl.

“We’ve been at peace for over two hundred years. Forgive me for thinking everything would be fine.”

“Things can always go tits up at any given moment—doesn’t matter how long you’ve been shooting the shit.”

“Dude, come on,” Dimiil complained, pointing to his food as if to say, ‘I’m eating, here.’

You cackled, temporarily forgetting about the stressors that ran through your mind. Those were tomorrow’s problems.

You forgot how quickly tomorrow would approach. When you’d laid your head down to sleep, you woke up as quickly as you had closed your eyes.

You groaned as you slowly sat up in your bed, the blue Nembarian sun having woken you up by beating down on your face from the open window. You looked down at your wrist watch, 7 AM, it practically screamed at you. You still had a bit of time to enjoy your morning before everything went to hell. With yet another groan, you climbed down from your loft bed, starting to get ready for this morning’s shenanigans. After dawning your indigo uniform with neon green linings, you stepped out of your dorm, making your way to the cafeteria. You had forgotten the instructions issued to you not to eat before your surgery until you had the food displayed right in front of you as you stood in line for breakfast. You cursed under your breath and sighed before putting the empty tray back and stomping off to your room. Your stomach rumbled. You were irritable.

8 AM, your watch reads, projecting the time holographically to make it bigger and easier to see. You were still nervous. you’d never had a surgery before. You’d never purposely been cut into and had some foreign object inserted into your body. The thought made you shiver. Whatever, you thought to yourself. I’ll just take a nap.

And that you did, but not before setting five different alarms, all five minutes apart starting at 9:50. As much as you hated the idea of getting that surgery, you understood you couldn’t afford to miss it.

9:50 came faster than you’d wanted it to, and once again, you made your way to the restroom to brush your teeth and fix your hair before you could stomp off to the medical wing of the base. As you sat down in the waiting room, reading a magazine, you felt your watch vibrate. Looking down at your wrist, you noticed Dimiil had messaged you.

Good luck with your appointment, Nebby. You’ll be fine. He had sent it in their group chat.

Almost as soon as the message was received, your watch vibrated again to indicate you had received another text.

If she’s gonna be fine, why are you wishing her luck?

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, putting your attention back on the magazine you had picked up. A few minutes later, you heard someone call your name from the metallic door frame. You put the magazine back in its place before standing up and walking through the doorway. “Good morning,” you said politely as you passed the assistant. The employee pointed you to another room, the room where you’d get your final check up before the surgery.

Your physician walked in after they’d administered all the final labs with the results, “looks like you’re good to go. You’re in mint condition, as usual.” He grabbed your hand, you resisted the urge to yank your arm back and recoil. You didn’t like it when he did that. It was nothing personal, really, you just liked your personal space. “You’re going to be fine. This is a standard procedure. We get lots of them done every day. Our surgeons can practically do it with their eyes closed—not that they would.”

Your nose lets out a sharp breath, the kind that comes out when you chuckle silently. “Okay, fine. I’m trusting you. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

The doctor gave you a small smile before he stood up, “they’ll come retrieve you shortly, your anaesthetist, Wilcyn, is going to administer your anaesthesia first.” He informed you, opening the door to let Wilcyn in as he walked out

The surgery turned out well. And as medically advanced as the Nembarians were, it didn’t seem as if your recovery would take longer than three days.

After those three days were over, you had been pulled aside at work. Your Sergeant, Grover, informed you that your task would begin tomorrow and that you were expected to board your ship at 5am. He warned you not to be late.

And you weren't. As a matter of fact, you were an hour early, waiting by the closed space ship. You played music on your phone made of light particles that attached themselves together whenever you tapped your fingers together that you listened to via your wireless earbuds as you waited. You scrolled through your social media feeds, silently judging some of the things you saw your coworkers and friends post.

Half an hour later, your antennas perked up, sensing that someone was approaching and emitting a dim yellow light as a result. You looked around and noticed your brothers walking over.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be traveling through space.” Nikkand’r commented.

“Yeah, it’s like we’ve always dreamt,” Dimiil smiled.

“I don’t know ‘bout you two, but I never dreamt of doing it under these circumstances,” You scoffed.

Dimiil started, “it makes it all the more exciting—“

“Death is exciting to you?”

Your brothers exchanged a look, nodding to one another before turning their heads toward you. They spoke in unison, “yes. Yes it is.”

You facepalmed, your pink, fleshy antennas moving up and out of the way as you did so to avoid your hand’s wrath. The action left a faint red mark on your forehead.

“Good morning, hope you all had a good night’s—” the Sergeant stopped in his tracks once he saw your red face. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?” You questioned him, obviously confused by his unreasonable concern.

“Have you felt or noticed any symptoms other than redness?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“He thinks you’re having an allergic reaction to the medicine, ya dingus.” Nikkand’r explained, annoyance seeping through his tone at his sister’s supposed idiocy.

“She’s alright, she just hit yourself trying to kill a moskfly before it bit her,” Dimiil cut in. His explanation made you look like an imbecile.

The Sergeant sighed and looked up to the sky, “if this is the smartest team we can get, we’re doomed.” He muttered to himself.

Nik snorted, you elbowed him in the stomach. “So, uh… which planet are we heading to?” You asked in an attempt to bring the conversation back to its original course.

Sergeant Grover cleared his throat, “yes. You are going to Anthraxus itself—“ your jaws dropped, “—but you are expected to also visit a few different planets on the way. Most of which will be known allies of ours. Some otyours will be more… neutral in their position. The goal is to try and secure the relationship between us and these different planets. That alone may be enough to deter the Anthraxans from trying to invade us.”

“Or it could provoke them. They may see it as an act of retaliation—of aggression—“ Nikkand’r spoke.

“That’s not for us to decide,” Dimiil warned, placing a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. He looked down at him knowingly, his eyes screaming for him to shut up and take the job.

The young man gulped and apologised.

The Sergeant smiled politely, his eyes didn’t smile though. They remained cold and empty, giving the appearance of an animal baring its teeth to scare their predators. “I’ve sent a link of the necessary documents to your tablets. From there, you’ll be able to download said documents to your chips and view the necessary information, even without access to your devices. I also suggest downloading the different languages files as you pass through certain planets, even if you’re not planning to stop by them. You may have to make some extra stops depending on how fast you go through your food supply.” The Sergeant shot a look at you.

You pretended to be offended and gasped, “you’re really hurting my feelings here, Serg.”

“Have you all downloaded the documents into your chips yet?”

“Yep, just finished installing,” Dimiil informed.

“Perfect, open them up and scan through them once you’ve boarded the ship. If you’ve got any questions, feel free to reach out,” the ship’s door opened itself as he said this. A long set of stairs descending to the ground to meet them.

You gulped and shook your jitters away, taking the first step up with the rest closely following you, except for the Sergeant who had already begun walking back to the base.

“So, which one of us is flying this thing? Can I go first?” Nikkand’r asked, practically calling dibs on the pilot’s chair as he ran in.

You made sure everyone made it safely inside before pressing the button to bring the stairs back up and close the door. “Yeah yeah, go ahead, geek,” you heard Dimiil say as you turned back to look around the ship with your eyes, not bothering to move from your spot before you did. With your x-ray vision, you looked through the walls of the ship. Not that you needed to, you were safe in your home base, nothing could go wrong. But you just had this weird feeling that made you worried sick to your stomach. You felt as if something was going to go wrong. Your eyebrows furrowed when you noticed strange figures approaching from a distance.

Without hesitation, you pressed the invisibility button, not wanting to take a chance. “Hey, what’re you doing?” Nikkand’r complained. You shushed him and kept watching even still, noticing how the number of strangers seemed to multiply: all of them with weapons in their arms.

“Go,” you commanded, Nikkand’r groaned. “Go,” you said more sternly.

“Dude, at least let me admire her before I take her out for a joyride!”

“Go, go, go, gogogogo!”

“Will you calm down?”

“What’s going on?” Dimiil questioned, knowing it was not normal for you to be reacting like this. He knew that you had been nervous about the journey, but he still knew you well enough to know you were not one to panic this way.

“Look!” You directed, pointing to your eyes to emphasise he’d need to look past the steel walls of their aircraft.

He followed your directions, eyes widening at the sight. “You’ve gotta go. Now.”

The youngest one followed the eldest’s command, turning the engine of the craft on and starting to lift off. You and Dimiil continued to watch the scene play out as scores of aliens raided their base. As much as you wanted to know what was happening, you needed to get out of there and start your mission. All of your antennas emitted a blue light that looked purple because of the pink shades of their skin. It was clear that the threat of the Anthraxan invasion was much graver than they were told by their superiors. It was now clear that the threat had reached Nembaria. It had reached your home. The three youngsters sighed. You were all distraught. You thought you had more time, you thought you’d have a chance.

“Okay, let’s get movin’… The first planet on the list, Firulandis.” Dimiil read from the document in the chip that was inserted into his brain. His eyes glossed over with some kind of a white film. “After that, we have to head to Mattrinum.”

“Okay… that’s 26 light years north for Firulandis and then 180 light-years west for Mattrinum?” You clarified.

“Yes. You heard that, Nik?”

“Yep, I’m stepping on it,” Nikkand’r agreed, “sit down and hold onto your shit.” He commanded before pressing the button to fast-travel to their first target planet.

After days of traveling, speeding across the stars, you made it to the first destination of many. You were welcomed in with open arms. This was one of the ally planets. Nembaria traded frequently with Firulandis, their histories having been interwoven for over a millennia.

When you had left, you left with more food to take for their travels. More than enough to last you all until you could hit your third destination, at least.

“Ya know, I’ve always wanted to go backpacking through space,” Dimiil mused as he stared out one of the many giant windows surrounding the disc shaped spacecraft. “I know the circumstances aren’t… optimistic… but this is still kinda nice.”

“I wonder if Jaina is okay…” You mumbled.

“Ha, knowing her, she would’ve kicked all those Anthraxan asses for making too much damned noise,” Dimiil laughed. “Ah, man… she is really pretty…”

“I told you to shoot your shot,” You softly nudged him in the bicep. “She’s single and very sweet once you get past all the… meh.”

“I really hope it’s not too late…” he looked down at his bowl filled with food that vaguely resembled couscous and chicken. He stood up and walked over to their fridge and put his unfinished serving inside. He’d lost his appetite and decided he’d eat that for breakfast.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “I hope so too… If you made it, you’d better ask her out. You’d better not play chicken.”

“You’ve been watching those old Earth TV shows again, haven’t you?” Nikkand’r laughed, “you’re talking like them now.”

“And? You know, before they destroyed everything, they created some nice art. I like their music a lot.”

“I know, ever since you were a kid, you’d sing Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra songs like your life depended on it,” Dimiil chuckled.

“Don’t forget Celia Cruz,” Nikkand’r chimed in.

“Those Earth TV shows were the worst!”

“Hey! They’re actually really good if you take the time to watch them.” You answered defensively.

“Do they even watch them?” Said Nikk.

“They blew themselves to oblivion, so I doubt they do,” Dimi crossed his arms.

Silence befell them. You all thought the same horrible thing but didn’t dare to say it out loud. “Here, why don’t I play some music—not from Earth— that we can all enjoy, huh?” you proposed, standing up from the cushioned blue chair you sat in. “Morgana,” you called, activating the voice assistant in the aircraft before commanding the ai program to play some music. As the music started to play, you pulled your brothers up from their chairs by their arms.

“Gemmy, I’m flying here,” Nikkand’r groaned. Gemmy was the nickname he’d given you when he was little because he had trouble pronouncing Nebby for some reason.

“Put it on autopilot, Nikk,” You suggested, earning yet another groan from the youngest before he gave in and did as you instructed. He then let you pull him up to the center of the ship. You all danced together, temporarily forgetting your worries and troubles at home; feeling hopeful for the future even if it looked bleak at the moment.

You all danced until you started to feel sleepy. One by one, you and the boys gave in to your tiredness and moved to the sleeping quarters, letting the playlist you turned on ring as you drifted out of reality.

The Lyri family was awoken by several violent shakes and loud noises. “Are we getting fucking hit?” Nikkand’r jolted awake, running back to the pilot seat.

Dimiil was the next to run to his position with you following closely behind, bringing your blanket with you. Your rose fingers grabbed at the joysticks after wrapping your blanket around yourself to shield yourself from the cold as you aggressively and strategically thumbed the buttons to fight back against your attackers.

You sighed, once you noticed the insignia on one of the masses. “Anthraxans, they’ve caught us— turn on the invisibility gear.”

“I can’t, it’s jammed.”

“Nikki, do it now!” Dimiil yelled.

“Did you not hear me? I said it’s fucking jammed.”

Dimiil stood up and ran over to the dashboard, looking at the variety of buttons on display. You couldn’t say what exactly it was that Dimiil did to fix that issue because you were busy shooting lasers at their attackers and the wave of relief that waved over you when he did was also inexplicable.

“Now haul ass out of here, they can still kind of see us with their sensors, but if we get far enough, they might not find us.” Dimiil instructed him again. Earning a nod and a salute from the youngest.

You stopped shooting the laser cannons in their enemies’ direction as you all scurried off, not wanting to give away your location. You just prayed the forcefield wouldn’t be overpowered by them if they were able to keep a close enough distance. You sighed, moving your curly, periwinkle hair out of your pink face so your violet eyes could glare daggers at the two men. Your antennae glowing some sort of green colour. “So, is this the kind of backpacking through space you had in mind? Or were you looking forward to having more missiles directed at us?”

The year was 2263. The sun shone brightly in an irradiated man’s scarred face. The man’s eyes moved behind his eyelids before he slowly brought himself to open them, squinting for a few seconds as he let his eyes adjust to the sudden light. He groaned, sitting up in the desert dirt. He brought his knees up to his chest, his hand sat atop his knees, as he looked around at the barren orange landscape. Another day, another chem. He thought to himself. It was what seemed to motivate him to keep going—aside from the possibility of reuniting with his daughter.

The scarred man grabbed his hat that was sat next to him on the dirt, plopping it back on his head as he stood up and kept walking toward his destination. He hadn’t planned on sleeping there. Not initially anyway. But he was so tired, he couldn’t help himself. Luckily for him, there was no one around, at least not when he’d last checked, as he was so close to the place he’d been walking to that it didn’t seem to matter.

He grabbed his bag and took a look inside with a sigh. He was running low on chems again. “Yep. That’ll do it,” he groaned, forcing himself off the sandy ground. His bones ached, something he never got used to in spite of dealing with joint pains for over a century. It came with the territory. The chems helped with the pain. He debated with himself whether he’d stick the pain out until he got to the agency or if he’d just take some of his ‘medicine’ beforehand. He chose the latter; inhaling some the chems before he set off to the nearby settlement. A settlement he was very familiar with. It was home to the bounty agency he frequented.

“You look like hell, Ghoul,” the man working the agency greeted the scarred one.

“Got nothin’ new to say, I see.” The Ghoul glanced at the employee walking up to the bulletin board, “any new jobs for me?” He asked no one in particular, he didn’t need to be told when he could just look at the wall himself. There was a pretty new face on the wall. He chuckled, “y’all coloured this one?” He questioned as he looked at the girl on the paper with your e/c eyes. Elena Zakharova, it read. Long h/c , s/t, y/h, about 25 years old, travelling with four others. Wanted dead or alive. Bonus if she’s alive.

Wonder what kind of trouble she got herself into, he thought to himself. Squinting at the prize offered at the bottom of the page.

50,000 caps. Not bad, he thought to himself. Not bad at all. He grabbed the paper from the wall and folded it before putting it in his pocket. “See you in a few, butterball.” He tipped his cowboy hat at the employee as he walked back out into the desert sun. His eyes squinted while he stepped out as they readjusted to the bright light again.

Days went by, and it seemed as though you’d lost their adversaries—or rather, their adversaries had lost you. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the next planet that you’d been attacked yet again. You barely scraped by this time, but when you were attacked a third time, almost three quarters of the way to your destination, your space RV gave out. All it took was one last beating before the ship started to plummet into some random planet’s harsh atmosphere.

You held on tightly to the handles that stood on either side of your chair, already strapped into it. There was also a beyond noticeable change in pressure within the aircraft, as the regulator had been blasted by the foreign military. This resulted in your ears popping, your noses filling with stinging pains; unbearable migraines with vertigo and joint pains. You felt as though you were dying, and you could very well have been. The systems were going haywire, popping in and out use as you all descended at dangerous speeds toward this planetary surface. You couldn’t see whether you were going to plummet into the ground or into a body of whatever liquid this little planet contained because it was so dark. It must have been nighttime. You closed your eyes, not that it made much of a difference, it wasn’t like you could see where they were headed, but you prayed for the former, silently. Your eyes stayed closed the whole time, bracing for impact. “Please,” you heard Nikk cry, “don’t let me die a virgin! I haven’t even had the chance to tell Wandala I love her!”

“Activating emergency landing protocol,” you heard Morgana speak calmly through the chaos once you were 150 feet off from hitting the ground. Two clear parachutes particalised outside the aircraft, causing the now hunk of junk to spring back a bit in the air. It would have been a… smooth landing had the ship not landed in the forest and the parachutes had not gotten caught in the trees on their way down. “Caution, stuck. Caution, stuck. Caution, stuck.” Morgana repeated.

You groaned and stood up, your brothers huddled up to one another, clutching each other's hands. They looked up from the floor at each other and immediately scrambled apart. Dimiil coughed loudly, “glad to see you’re alive, brother.”

“Same to you, bro,” Nikkand’r cleared his throat.

You rolled your eyes as you carefully walked over to the dashboard and climbed on top, careful not to step on any of the buttons. You moved a latch down to open one of the various windows and climbed out and on top of the ship. You felt water droplets falling onto your face and head as you pulled out a handle and pressed a button on its side. A jagged blade materialised at the end of it. You blinked the water out of your lashes and used the blade to cut the strings of one of the parachutes, causing the aircraft to turn on its side. You held on to the ‘doorway’ tightly and impatiently waited for the machine to stop moving before carefully climbing over to the other side and repeating the same motions. The moment you finished cutting, there was a snap; the spaceship started falling toward the ground again, rocking side by side as it bounced between tree after tree on its way down. You didn’t have enough time to put the blade away. The knife cut through your indigo jumpsuit with neon green linings. In one of the jerking movements of the aircraft, you were dragged forward and impaled yourself in the gut as you descended. You winced in pain, careful not to stick your tongue in between your teeth.

The aircraft settled onto the muddy ground below with one final, violent drop. “This is just great,” you muttered to no one in particular as you fell back into the structure.

Dimiil saw your fall back in and your uncoordinated motions as you crawled toward one of the drawers within the cockpit. He ran over to quickly close the window and to grab the first aid kit for you and quickly patched you up. You moaned in pain as you sat up, Dimiil grabbed your hand to help pull you up. “Thanks,” you managed to say. He simply nodded.

Dimiil turned to Nikk. “We need to get out of here. Grab whatever you can.”

Nikkand’r nodded and immediately started packing some first aid kits and vacuum sealed food bags into his backpack. You sat for a few seconds as you collected your bearings and started to do the same.

Once you had all finished collecting some important items, you quietly made your way out, using your watch to turn you invisible beforehand.

You heard loud crunching and squishing noises approaching and hid behind the bushes for safety. The invisibility feature had recently gotten an update that had some bugs, ironically, that needed to be fixed–the main one being battery drainage, which would then leave them exposed once the watches shut off. They could only really be used for half an hour at a time, which in most cases was enough to get away from attackers. But you needed to find a way to wander the world for parts to help repair the spacecraft undetected.

It was as you watched five humans walk past you, three males and two females, that you realised where you were. You had landed on Earth. And those people had just discovered your spaceship. A feeling of dread overtook you. You were screwed. The place was known for being a savage and chaotic cesspit.

“What the fuck is this?” You heard one of the men say as he stared at it. He looked a bit rough. They all did. They all looked dirty, their clothes dirty and tattered as well.

“Who the fuck knows… Let’s check it out,” said another man in the party of thugs. His voice was gruff.

“Oh hell no, I’m not going in that thing,” said the third man. One of the women seemed to agree with him and stood by his side, nodding vigorously.

“Well, if y’all two are too chicken shit, you can stand watch outside. Let’s go check this thing out, baby,” the other woman spoke up. She had wavy h/c picked up in a ponytail. Her e/c eyes narrowed at the two scaredy cats as she spoke before lighting up at the end when she looked up to, who some would assume was, her partner.

“Sound like a deal?” Her partner said to the two that stood away from the group, grinning.

“Yeah, whatever,” said the third man as the rest of the group went inside, leaving him outside with the other woman, pacing around the perimeter of the ship with their guns at the ready.

More crunching and slushing noises approached, and a new stench came into the air with it. Your eyes widened. It was them. The Anthraxans that had followed and attacked you. They looked much like regular humans with very few defining features that set them apart from the other species. The most obvious were their stench and the shape of their ears. You swallowed your spit silently, watching them as they approached the spaceship. The moment the humans noticed them, they started shooting them, to no avail. Their skin was bulletproof. The bullets bounced off them like it was nothing. The soldiers grinned, amused by the human’s futile attempts at killing them.

Fear flooded the man’s face as one of the Anthraxans stepped closer, grabbing him by the neck. Another one stepped forward toward the woman, doing the same. Without much effort–just a tiny squeeze–they snapped the human’s necks and flung them through the ship’s entrance. The lights in and outside of the ship were still flickering on and off in spite of its battered state, making the scene more terrifying.

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around yourself as if to soothe yourself before covering your ears. A choir of screams emerged from inside the ship as the Anthraxans slaughtered them all. The boys watched in horror, unable to pull their eyes away from the scene. It only took a minute. One minute for them to be killed off. One minute for the soldiers to walk out of the spacecraft unscratched and unbothered. The boys watched them walk off in the direction they’d originally come from, climb into their own undamaged ship and fly off. They let go of the breaths they didn’t quite realise they were holding.

Dimiil shook you, “they’re gone. It’s safe now.”

You opened your eyes and stood up, following your brothers back to the spaceship, walking slower than the two of them. “Walk faster,” Nikk grumbled as they climbed up the silver steps. Begrudgingly, you did as he commanded.

Still slower than the other two, you followed behind them, wincing once you saw the violence that had occurred in their humble aircraft. Your invisibility feature turned off once you entered the spaceship, the twenty minute timer you’d set had shut off the mechanism.

It was a massacre. Blood was plastered everywhere. Entrails decorated the place. Throats were slashed. The human’s bodies were displayed in unnatural positions with bones sticking out of their bloodied skin. The family couldn’t help but let their minds wander to what could’ve happened to their friends back at the base. You felt like crying but fought back your tears. Nikk gagged, swallowing back the acid and previously eaten food. Dimiil looked unphased. His antennae glowing red. You and Nikk felt a wave of calm rush through you. Dimiil had manipulated the physical effects your emotions had on your bodies. Slowing down your heart rates and calming your stomachs and bowel movements down.

You still had thoughts racing through your mind, but the physical uneasiness escaped you. You looked up to Dimiil and furrowed your brows, confused if you should be grateful or angry that he was controlling you in that way. You decided to choose the former for the sake of moving things along and getting out of the hellish spaceship as soon as possible. “Right, so…” you started, placing your hands at your hips. “We’re going to need a disguise… because this,” you paused and pointed to your antennas, “is going to give us away.” You ran your fingers through your hair.

“You can’t be serious,” Nikk crossed his arms, disgusted by your suggestion.

“It’s not like we’re going to be wearing their skin—“

“No, but pretending to be them isn’t any better.”

“Do you have any other ideas?”

Dimiil and You stared at Nikki as if they were expecting an actual answer from the man. He growled, “no.”

“Okay then…” You mumbled under your breath as you looked at the two women. You picked the one with y/c hair as you found her to be the prettier one of the two and completed a scan of the dead body by pointing your arm out in front of it. A green holographic light illuminated the cadaver, separating into multiple lines moving about vertically as it scanned her body. Once done, the watch chimed, prompting you to look back down at your wrist. Would you like to copy the body’s appearance in its current state?

You tapped one of the two options offered to you. No.

The watch then presented you with more options. Current age, infant, five years, thirteen years, seventeen years. You picked the current age. The watch presented some more options. Would you like to copy the body’s appearance before death in accordance with genetic information?

Yes.

Please insert a DNA sample! You bent down to pull out a piece of her hair and placed it on top of your watch so it could examine it. Thank you! DNA collected!

Hold out watch to finish the process! You did as you were instructed. The green lights came out again, doing one final scan of the body. Scanning complete! The body is now in your inventory! You sighed, going to your Home Screen on the watch to find the program that would change your appearance.

“This is horrible,” Nikk complained as he finished the copying process.

“Yeah, well. We signed up for this, dude,” Dimiil said, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t.”

“You signed the dotted line, brother,” the eldest sighed as he started the process of morphing his body to match that of the specimen he selected. “At least we’re not skinning them and wearing their skins. That’s what they did centuries ago.”

That seemed to shut the youngest one up for the time being as you all morphed into three of the five humans you’d seen alive not even twenty minutes ago. You took the clothes off the dead woman’s back and changed into them. Blood, cuts and all. The two males judged you silently. “Well, if you wanna have everyone looking at you, feel free to keep the uniform on.”

They looked at each other before nodding and following your lead.

Once done, you all started to inspect the ship inside and out to perform some kind of diagnosis. You knew how the parts were destroyed, you experienced it, but you needed to know exactly what was damaged.

You spent a few minutes taking a look at everything that had taken a hit and noting down the materials and elements that made up the materials.

Nikk spoke up, “what happens if we don’t find what we need?”

“Then we’re out of luck,” Dimiil scoffed.

You glared at your older brother , “or, we find another way, you Debbie-downers.” You stood up from the dirty ground, patting the dirt that clung to your stolen pants off, swiping at your back side. “Well, let’s start looking for this shit.”

Nikk rolled his eyes, “do you even know where to look?”

“Nope, but neither do you. We’re not gonna get anything done if we stay put, asshole.”

“Let’s at least wait until daylight. Get a good night’s rest. We’re all tired and irritable,” Dim suggested. You all looked at each other silently, as if you were deliberating your options.

You were the first to agree, “I’ll clean up in there, I refuse to sleep with that mess.”

“I’ll help,” Nikk offered, it was his way of extending an olive branch without explicitly apologising.

You smiled softly, recognising his intentions, even if he didn��t outright say it.

It took you a bit, but you finally finished cleaning your station. Whilst everyone seemed to be able to sleep soundly, you couldn’t. Every time you seemed to drift into your slumber, you’d get pulled out by the hurtful thought that you wouldn’t be able to fix your mode of transportation. The aching thought that there would be no way for you to go home.

You shook your head as if that would shake the bad thoughts away. You needed to have faith that everything would turn out okay and that you would be able to save your home. You looked down at your watch and tapped the headset icon. The watch flashed a bright blue light, wireless earbuds materialised and you stuck them in your ear, hoping some music would soothe you enough to allow you a few hours of sleep.

————————

Voustube- basically YouTube lol

GalaSphere- basically an Xbox or PlayStation. The name is a play on the game cube

Y/h- your height

S/t- your skin tone

E/c- eye colour

H/c- hair colour

#cooper x reader #alien x ghoul #alien reader x ghoul cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout #fallout tv show #50s 60s alien aesthetic #alien reader #aliens and ufos

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