Saviouroflord - Do You Want To... Kill Them All?

Aged stone, quiet groves.

Search History Verse, future fic, 830 words, Charles POV.

Charles rolls the bottle between his palms, watching the slosh of the deep red in the glass. The car is parked, but he rests his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, eyes squeezed shut. He'll need to visit the Foundation while he's here, check in on operations and upkeep, make the rounds with the kids-

But this comes first.

He swallows, steeling himself as he steps out of the car, neck of the wine bottle grasped between his fingers.

People had offered to come with him- they always do, lately. Pierre, Daniel, Mick, the boys, Gianpiero, Lorenzo and Victoria...

Maybe one day Charles will take them up on their offers.

That day isn't today.

The grove is private, tucked away and secluded. It had become one of Max's favorite spots after he'd started spending more time in the Netherlands again, and Charles has had countless lunches with Max between the trees here.

Now he walks alone down the path, winding further into trees on a trail he knows by heart.

The first time Max had shown him- he'd been giggling, fingers laced with Charles', pulling him through the trees while Charles panicked about dirt on his white sneakers.

"It is of course just dirt, Charlie, it will wipe off."

"These are designer, Max- how did you even find this place, how far back are we going?"

"I had to chase one of the dogs back here a few weeks ago. You'll love it, I promise."

It had felt like they were teenagers again, sneaking away somewhere they shouldn't have, tripping over their feet.

Charles is wearing that same pair of sneakers now. They're beyond saving, not that he's ever tried. The dirt is important to him now- he'd dirty every pair of shoes he owns if it meant getting to hear Max laugh at him again.

The path ends here. It's a circular gap in the trees, a large smooth rock that's perfect for sitting, or using as a table. There's a memorial stone in the middle- it's surrounded by small trinkets and mementos, left behind by the various children of the Foundation who come through here.

Charles digs into his own pocket, pulls out a small cat charm. It's silver, and it had randomly caught his eye a few weeks ago when he was out shopping with Arthur.

He'd known immediately where it needed to go.

It settles nicely between the other gifts, resting against the memorial stone.

"It is from a local vendor, in Italy. I thought you would like it- I was out with Arthur."

Charles settles down onto the dirt next to the stone, back resting against the large rock behind him as his legs stretch out in front of him.

His joints are aching, and they'll be screaming at him whenever he tries to get up, but.

It's part of growing old.

"They are starting a clothing brand, I think. I told them not to make it ugly, but I have to be honest Max, I think I'm starting to lose touch with the trends."

He laughs softly, staring at the wine bottle between his hands.

"Ah, I am getting old. I got lunch with Gianpiero the other day, he is thinking of moving to Switzerland. He and Alice would like to be closer to their grandkids."

Charles worries about them both, living alone back in Bedford, so he'd been supportive of the idea.

"And I am visiting the Foundation tomorrow. Checking in on your kids, just like I said I would. One of your first ones is back, by the way. He is a lawyer, Max. He came back to work for the Foundation after it saved him, and I think-"

Charles cuts himself off, chest tight.

"I think you would have liked that, chéri. I told him that you would've been proud. I know you are."

He reaches out his fingers, brushing against the stone lightly. It's well maintained, by visiting family and friends, Foundation kids and workers alike.

He carefully sets the wine bottle down at the edge of the pile. It's fair game- someone else visiting can take it if they'd like. It's less of an offering or memento, and more of a personal need for Charles.

It's not about the wine, it's about bringing it.

"I don't drink anymore. The last time I saw someone with a gin and tonic at a party I had to leave."

It hadn't been Mason's fault. He couldn't have known, hadn't been thinking about it.

It had still made Charles feel like he was being stabbed in the heart anyways- taken the air out of his lungs, the grief slamming into him like an inescapable tidal wave.

It's starting to get dark, the sun dipping below the horizon, and Charles leans down, presses his lips over Max's name.

He used to stay out even when he could see the stars, but he's getting too old for that now, and it makes the boys worry. He'd promised Arthur he'd call when he got back to the flat.

"I miss you, Max."

There's no response. There hasn't been one for years.

"I love you."

regular maxiel interactions would be most ships' canon event™️ meanwhile max casually mentions that him and daniel fingered each other's butt holes and the entire fandom reacts like

You are back

as someone said on twitter: major monegasque depression

Unironically, vegans need to be advocating for more and better sheep, llama, and alpaca farms. Wool is one of the best fabrics we have in terms of versatility, longevity and most importantly, insulation. Even wet, it retains 80% of it’s insulation potential.

AND IT DOESN’T SHED MICROPLASTICS

Max as a duck would still find a way to hold his emotional support Red Bull can

wait wait wait mutuals rb this with a description of ur voice

How do fanfic writers feel knowing that people might have been masturbating to their work?

Max: *Says something slightly egotistical*

Media: Max Verstappen, always having to be on top

Charles: *Starts laughing from the other side of the room*

YOU THINK I’M JOKING BUT I’M DEAD SERIOUS