#I punched the air when the harmonies started

[last-of-the-jaded]

They once again brought their A-game

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (ii)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 16.7K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOW BURNNN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), some nipple-play, vaguely (?) rough (?) sex, begging

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

a/n: ok pt 2 here we gooooo! to kae @ylangelegy , who hasn't read the ending of this because they wanted to be surprised. i love you, im sorry, i love you // to alta @haologram , who hyped me up so much and made me feel so much better about my writing // thank you to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading! // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 1 here.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA 2024 Track: Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Monza, the Temple of Speed. The track that had seen countless legends, where every tire mark told a story of glory and heartache. The crowd—the tifosi—roared like a living entity, their chants filling the air, demanding greatness from Ferrari’s finest. It wasn’t just a race here, it was a pilgrimage. The heat of Italy in late summer mixed with the electric atmosphere of a home Grand Prix, and Jeonghan could feel it all—the energy, the expectation, the weight of a thousand eyes on him.

The Autodromo Nazionale Monza was a track built on speed, but more than that, it was a track built on history. The sweeping curves, the long straights, the iconic Parabolica that would make or break a driver—it was a place where only the brave thrived, and only the strongest survived. Jeonghan knew the stakes: it wasn’t enough to be fast, not when you were wearing Ferrari red. He had to win, not just for himself, but for the tifosi, who saw him as their golden boy. He had to deliver.

As the weekend progressed, he couldn’t escape the growing weight on his shoulders. His performance was scrutinized with every passing second. In the pits, the team’s eyes were on him, hoping for that perfect lap. The techs, the engineers, the strategists—all working in harmony, hoping that Jeonghan would be the one to pull them across the finish line, but in the back of his mind, Jeonghan kept hearing the unspoken truth: nothing less than pole would suffice. Anything less was a failure.

He felt his pulse quicken as the qualifying session wore on, his concentration laser-sharp, every move calculated. But the tire strategy wasn’t perfect, and as the final moments ticked down, the truth settled over him like a cloud of doom. He was not going to make Q3. Neither was Soonyoung. The agony of it slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

The Ferrari garage was quiet, save for the hum of the engines being powered down. Soonyoung clapped him on the shoulder, a small gesture, but Jeonghan could see the frustration in his eyes, the mirror of his own defeat. The disappointment felt like a heavy weight on Jeonghan’s chest, suffocating, and he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t even look at the team, let alone the tifosi waiting outside.

The mood around the paddock was tense as Jeonghan left the garage, still in his race suit. The world felt unreal, as though it were in slow motion. He couldn’t escape it. The tifosi would be waiting to cheer their heroes, but today, he hadn’t been the hero they wanted. He was just another failure in a sea of victories that had come before him. He needed to escape it, to clear his mind.

It was then, as he walked toward his motorhome, that he felt it—a small, electric connection. Your hand brushed against his.

He froze.

Your presence was like a balm, soothing the sharp sting of defeat, but it also distracted him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of your shampoo, something floral and faintly sweet, hit him like a memory, and his heart skipped a beat. That scent, mixed with the lingering tension of the day, flooded his senses. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t form words. All he could think about was that fleeting moment—so close—and the ridiculous notion that he had never noticed how desperately he wanted to be closer to you.

You didn’t stop walking either, your movements fluid, confident. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you, the way the tension built with every step.

Without a word, you both continued on, the space between you shrinking until you finally spoke. Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that told him you understood more than he let on.

“Tough luck out there,” you said, a hint of sympathy in your tone.

The words were simple, but they hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened as he swallowed. “It’s... whatever,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t have the energy to care.

You glanced at his fist, clenched so tightly it was almost painful to watch. “Doesn’t seem like ‘whatever’ to me,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, your words cutting through the fog in his mind.

He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice more convincing than he felt. But even as he said it, he knew. He wouldn’t be fine—not until he had redeemed himself, not until he could prove to the world that he was still Ferrari’s shining star. He had to be.

But for now, there was a fleeting connection between the two of you, and it was the only thing that made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.

The race was an uphill battle from the start, as expected. Jeonghan’s starting position was far from ideal, and the track ahead was a maze of cars, each one blocking his path, each one a reminder of the high stakes. The pressure weighed on him heavily, like an invisible force that squeezed the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just about the race, it was about redemption. The tifosi—his tifosi—filled his mind with a deafening chant, a roar of expectation, as if they were willing victory into existence. The weight of their adoration and their demand for perfection followed him, a constant reminder of the legacy he carried.

But Jeonghan had never been one to back down. The track felt like an extension of himself, the tires gripping, the engine vibrating beneath him, urging him to push. Even with traffic clogging his way, he found openings. He fought for every inch of track, his movements sharp, instinctive, like a surgeon making precise cuts. Overtaking felt almost effortless—his car slipping through gaps with the grace of a dancer. He was fluid, controlled, never losing sight of the goal.

As the laps unfolded, his nerves sharpened, but so did his focus. The aggressive strategy that had been laid out for him was beginning to pay off. He was making up ground, inching forward, climbing the ladder of positions one battle at a time. The thought of the tifosi cheering, of their voices blending into one thunderous symphony, drove him. They believed in him. He had to deliver. His mind cleared. He no longer heard the roaring crowds, the whirling thoughts of doubt. All that mattered was the track, the tires, and the roar of the engine beneath him. The conditions became his advantage—he thrived in this chaos.

Through the speed-trap corners, Jeonghan carved his way through the field. The world outside the cockpit blurred into a haze, his focus narrowing into sharp precision. He saw every gap, every opportunity, and he seized them without hesitation. The rain had turned the race into a dance of risk and control, and Jeonghan was leading the waltz.

Crossing the finish line first, Jeonghan allowed himself a single moment of release. The victory wasn’t just for him—it was for Ferrari, for the tifosi, for everything that had been building in his chest since the first day he’d strapped into the car. He had done it. He had delivered.

The roar of the crowd felt like an affirmation of his own heart, beating in time with the cheers of thousands. In that moment, the weight lifted off him, replaced by an overwhelming surge of satisfaction and relief. He had proven himself once again, and it was more sweet than any victory lap could ever capture. The tifosi were wild, their cheers ringing through the air, a thunderous confirmation of what Jeonghan had already known in his heart: this was his race. This was his victory.

After the podium celebrations, the champagne-soaked cheers, and the endless barrage of media questions, Jeonghan finally managed to steal a moment of solitude. His body was spent, muscles aching, his throat raw from the adrenaline-fueled roar that had escaped him as he crossed the finish line. And yet, his mind wasn’t on the race anymore. Not on the points, not on the tifosi.

It was on you.

The fleeting brush of your hand earlier lingered like a phantom touch, a warmth that refused to fade even as the hours passed. The memory of your scent—the subtle floral notes of your shampoo—clung to him, more grounding than the overwhelming chaos of the Monza circuit.

He walked toward his motorhome, each step feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had begun to wane. The din of the paddock was fading, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, and as he turned the corner, there you were. Waiting for him. Leaning casually against the side of his motorhome, your arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on your lips. His footsteps slowed as his eyes locked onto yours, the soft gleam of your smile both a challenge and an invitation.

“You’re late,” you teased, tilting your head in mock disapproval.

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

“You’re always on a schedule,” you shot back, your tone light but your gaze sharp. “Besides, I thought you’d be faster off track too.”

His smirk deepened as he stopped in front of you, close enough that the scent of champagne and adrenaline clung to him. “Big words for someone who’s hanging around my motorhome.”

“Big win for someone who barely made it out of Q2,” you quipped, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Jeonghan’s chuckle was low, almost indulgent. “Touché.”

There was a moment of silence, the din of the paddock fading into a distant hum. His eyes traced your face, noting the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheekbones, the way you seemed perfectly at ease under his scrutiny. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit. You’d always been too good at staying cool, keeping him on edge.

“So,” he finally said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “where’s your article? Shouldn’t it be out by now?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, you think I’m done? I’m holding out for an exclusive.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, his ego soaking up your words. “An exclusive? From the tifosi’s god?”

Your laugh was soft, teasing, and it sent a warmth through his chest that rivaled the rush of the race. “Your words, not mine.”

“You want a headline that bad?” His voice dropped, his tone dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you shift.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way he was looking at you now—like he was ready to devour you whole. “But you’d have to give me something worth writing about.”

It was playful, the banter you always shared, but there was something crackling beneath the surface tonight, an electricity neither of you could ignore. Jeonghan stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between you. You shifted back instinctively, your spine meeting the cool surface of the motorhome door.

“You always have something to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

“Someone has to keep you grounded,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as his hand braced against the door beside your head, caging you in. His other hand hovered near your hip, close enough to make you hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him.

“Grounded?” he repeated, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “You’re doing a great job of that.”

Your heart was pounding now, the proximity, the tension—it was overwhelming. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice quieter, more measured, “this… this isn’t professional.”

“Fuck being professional,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession. Before you could respond, his fingers tilted your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding you to look up at him.

And then his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was as fierce as it was unrelenting. It wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was raw, all the tension and frustration that had built up between you spilling over in a single, consuming moment. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding the front of his race suit, clutching the material as if to steady yourself. The world around you blurred into nothing; there was only the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he kissed like he was claiming something he’d wanted for far too long.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—confirmation, permission, anything. Whatever he found made him grin, wicked and hungry. Without a word, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a sharp motion. The door swung wide, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you inside. 

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you both into the dim interior of the motorhome. Jeonghan's hands were everywhere at once, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment.

You stumbled backward, your legs hitting the edge of the small couch. Jeonghan followed, never breaking contact, until you were lying beneath him, the leather cool against your heated skin. His weight pressed you down, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he breathed against your neck, his words punctuated by hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to your collarbone.

You arched into him, your hands fumbling with the zipper of his race suit. Your fingers trembled slightly as you tugged it down and yanked off his fireproofs, revealing more of his sweat-slicked skin. Jeonghan groaned against your throat as your hands slipped inside, exploring the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths, curiosity mingling with desire.

Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "Since the first time you interviewed me," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "The way you challenged me, saw right through my bullshit... I knew I was in trouble."

The confession sent a thrill through you, and you pulled him down for another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as his hands roamed your body, pushing up your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. 

“So what you’re saying,” you whispered, grinding your clothed cunt against him. “Is that you’ve been obsessed with me as long as I have with you.”

He drops his head and groans, hot and heavy, against your throat. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this for three years?”

You pull him back to your lips by his hair, relishing the way he hisses at your touch. “If only you’d put your money where your mouth is, pretty boy.”

At that, he props himself up above you, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “I knew you called me pretty in Japan!” 

You desperately claw at his shoulders in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. After three years of cat and mouse, you do believe you’re entitled to it. “Jeonghan, I swear to everything that is holy-”

“Say it.” His necklace hangs in front of you, glinting in the dim light of the motorhome. You have half a mind to crane your neck and take it with your teeth. But instead, you choose to stare up at him in mock confusion, fingers dancing at the nape of his neck. 

“Say what?”

His answering laugh mocks you a little, and he leans down to gently bite your earlobe. When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Say I’m pretty. I know you think it when you’re drunk.”

You shiver at the sensation of his teeth grazing your ear, heat pooling in your core. His words make you flush, remembering all the times you'd drunkenly gushed about him to your friends. You'd always been careful to keep things professional in person, but apparently some of your true feelings had slipped out.

"And how would you know what I think when I'm drunk?" you challenge, trying to regain some control.

Jeonghan chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You're not the only one with sources in the paddock, sweetheart."

The pet name sends another thrill through you. You decide to give him what he wants, if only to move things along. "Fine," you breathe, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You're pretty, Jeonghan. Gorgeous, actually. Happy now?"

His grin is triumphant as he captures your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming. "Ecstatic, darling," he murmurs against your mouth.

Your hands roam his body, tracing the lean muscles of his back, feeling them flex under your touch. Jeonghan's fingers dance along your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, then your neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

"You know," he says between kisses, his voice low and husky, "I've imagined this so many times. On the couch in the media room, in the garage, during those long interviews..."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Is that why you always fidget so much during our talks?"

He chuckles against your skin. "Guilty as charged."

Your hands find the waistband of his fireproofs, , but as one hand curls around your jaw, the other stops you. 

“You first,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees to gently urge you out of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to peel your shirt off slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. The cool air of the motorhome raises goosebumps on your flesh, but Jeonghan's heated gaze makes you feel like you're burning up.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "Even better than I imagined."

You reach up to pull him back down to you, craving the warmth of his body against yours. As your lips meet again, his hands roam your sides, mapping out every curve and dip. You arch into his touch, desperate for more.

His hands brush over your clothed nipple, and you inhale sharply. The sound makes Jeonghan raise his head, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. “Sensitive, are we?” He coos, hands drawing shapes against the swell of your breasts until goosebumps erupt on your flesh.

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you though the thin fabric of your bra. “Jeonghan,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.

His smirk widens as he lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Yes, sweetheart?" He murmurs against your skin. His lips trail lower, ghosting over the lacework.

You arch your back, silently begging for more. Jeonghan obliges, his tongue darting out to trace the lace edge of your bra. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close.

With deft fingers, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. You lift slightly, allowing him to slide it off. His eyes darken as he takes you in. You moan wantonly, arching your back in an effort to touch you - somewhere, anywhere.

“Jeonghan, please-”

A singular finger traces the curve of your waist up to your collarbone. He hums as you squirm. “Look at you,” he murmurs. You shriek as he pinches your waist. “You act so big in the paddock, and here you are, begging for me to touch you.”

It enrages you a little, how easily he takes you apart. Hell, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction.

"Jeonghan, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Everything?

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You swallow hard, and the heat pooling between your legs feels hot enough to burn. “Y-your-”

“My what, baby?” His words are punctuated by hot, open mouthed kisses against your collarbones. He pointedly ignores your nipples, a thought that makes you whine. “Speak up.”

“Your mouth, Jeonghan,” you finally get out, hissing when his teeth find purchase on the skin of your neck.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” His hands fit themselves against the curve of your waist. “Here?”

“N-no,” you hate it, the way Jeonghan turns you into a whimpering mess. You shiver as his hands trail up your body.

“Hm…how about…here?” His thumbs brush against the underside of your breast again, and you arch your back, desperate and aching for him.

“Higher,” you breathe, mesmerized by the way his fingers dance up your body, by the way his eyes never leave yours.

“Here, baby?” His fingers tweak an already-hard nipple, and you gasp.

“Yes, please-”

“Say I’m a good driver, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your eyes snap open, narrowing at him in disbelief. Even now, with you half-naked and writhing beneath him, he can't help but tease. "You're kidding, right?"

Jeonghan's grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not at all. Come on, darling. Just a few little words."

You bite your lip, torn between your pride and your desperate need for his touch. His thumb circles your nipple lazily, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Finally, you cave. "Fine," you breathe. "You're a good driver, Jeonghan. The best, even. Now please—"

Before you can finish, his mouth is on your breast, hot and wet. You cry out, arching into him as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing your other nipple. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Jeonghan's tongue and teeth work in tandem, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. The sensations are overwhelming, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"God, Jeonghan," you breathe, your head falling back against the couch cushions.

He hums against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand trails down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging for more.

Jeonghan lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Tell me you want this," he says, his voice husky and low. "I need to hear you say it."

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with need. "I want this. I want you, Jeonghan."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low growl escaping his throat. In one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants and slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You kick them off eagerly, now fully bare beneath him.

Jeonghan's gaze rakes over your body, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs. "So fucking beautiful."

You reach for him, tugging at the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. "Your turn," you say, your voice breathy with anticipation.

He grins, standing to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widen as he reveals himself fully, drinking in the sight of his toned body. Jeonghan's grin widened as he caught you staring. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words as your eyes roam his body. The lean muscles of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the impressive length of his cock standing proud against his stomach - it was all even better than you'd imagined.

He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

That snapped you out of your daze. "Shut up and get back here," you growl, reaching for him.

Jeonghan obliges, lowering himself back onto the couch and covering your body with his. You gasp at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat of his body against yours. His lips find yours in a searing kiss as his hands explore every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers finally brush against your core, you gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily.

“So wet,” he murmurs against your lips. “All for me?”

"Yes," you breathe, your hips rolling against his hand. "All for you."

Jeonghan's fingers explore your folds, teasing and mapping out every sensitive spot. When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan loudly, your back arching off the couch. He sets a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just right to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"More," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please, Jeonghan."

He obliges, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that have you writhing beneath him. You can feel the tension building in your core, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. Your hands scramble for purchase against his shoulders – you’re too drunk on lust to recognize if you’re pushing him away because it’s too much or pulling him closer because it’s not nearly enough. 

"That's it, baby," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me.”

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a cry, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm until you're trembling and oversensitive.

As you come down from your high, Jeonghan peppers soft kisses along your jaw and neck. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go."

You're still catching your breath when you feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh. Your hand snakes between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. Jeonghan hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Fuck," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Show me," you breathe, thumb brushing over the tip of his pre-cum slick cock. You relish the way he shudders against you. “Show me everything you imagined, pretty boy.”

He preens a little at your teasing words, arms shaking with the exertion of keeping himself above you. “Yeah?” he purrs, hips bucking to the tempo of your hand. “You wanna see, sweetheart?”

You barely have the time to nod before he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs and sitting back against the couch, setting you on top of him. Your wet heat is inches from his weeping cock, and you give him an experimental roll of your hips. The friction is delicious, and you bite your lips at the way his head rolls back.

You take advantage of his position and press hot kisses against his neck as he squirms below you.

“This is what you wanted, baby?” you whisper against his ear, biting gently. He shudders, one arm circling your waist and the other finding purchase in your hair. “You wanted me on top? Me in control?” 

He laughs breathlessly at that, hips grinding against yours with such fervour that you almost succumb right then and there. “You might be on top, sweetheart,” he hisses as you position yourself above him, one hand circling his length. “But I’m the one in char-”

He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as you sink down until your hips are flush to his. “Hmmm?” You hum sweetly against his throat, exhaling at the sheer size of him inside you. “What was that?”

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch as his hands trail down to rest on the curve of your ass. “Move, please, sweetheart.” 

“Tell me how much you love my writing.” The words leave you in a rush, the sight of him panting for you almost too heady to ignore. You hadn’t planned on teasing him, but his earlier words had lit a fire in your core that would only be doused once you flipped the script on him. 

His head is still on the back of the couch as he barks out a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, pinching your waist. “Now, move.”

“No.” It takes every bone in your body to stay absolutely still. You can feel him, thick and throbbing, and the thought of it makes you almost forgo this insanity to ride him into oblivion.

His eyes meet yours, and he raises his eyebrows in mock outrage. “Are you serious?” He punctuates his words by dragging a hand down your body, fingers finding your clit and pressing until you jerk away from him. It’s a futile attempt though, because his other hand is still fisted in your hair, and he uses it as leverage to hold you against him, powerless against his ministrations. 

With a shaking hand, your press against his wrist until his fingers stop moving in circles around your clit. “C-come on,” you tease breathlessly, using your other hand to thread through his sweat-soaked hair and yanking until he bares his throat to you with a groan. “Play nice, pretty boy. Tell me how much you love my writing.” 

He groans again as you lick a stripe up his throat, the hand in your hair loosening as his resolve weakens. “Y-you don’t play fair,” he moans, legs shaking with the exertion of keeping still, of playing your little game of cat and mouse. 

“Neither do you,” you whisper, your words paired with a tweak to his nipple that has him gasping and arching his back. 

“Fuck!” He cries out, curling forward until his chin rests against your ribs and he’s staring up at you. “Y-your writing is perfect.”

He’s rewarded with another gentle tug on his hair and a firm, “keep going.”

“S-so perfect and wonderful, I – fuck, baby please – read every word th-three times,” he’s almost whimpering now, looking up at you with so much desire that you decide it’s time to reward him for being so pliant, so good for you. “You-you’re the best writer in the whole paddock, fuck, yes, thank yo-”

You decide to put him out of his misery, preening at his praise, you start with an experimental grind against his hips, and watch with glee as he almost melts back against the couch. You decide to take advantage of the situation for a little while longer, rocking your hips faster as his lips find your nipple.

“Who’s in charge?” you coo, fingers gripping his hair a little tighter. He draws back to give you a quick smirk. They don’t call him the fastest on the grid for nothing – one second, you feel like you’re in complete control, and the next, he’s lifting you off of him with surprising ease. Your chest meets the couch before you can even form a single thought, and Jeonghan gathers up your wrists in one of his hands. 

“You really thought,” he hisses as he re-enters your aching pussy. “You were in charge, sweetheart?”

The new angle allows him to sink even deeper inside you, drawing a low moan from your lips.

"You were saying?" he purrs, chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck as he sets a punishing pace. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whimpering beneath him.

"You thought you could tease me like that and get away with it?" he groans, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "Thought you could make me beg?"

You can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pounding into you relentlessly. The couch creaks beneath you dangerously.

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands, slowing his pace torturously.

"J-Jeonghan," you manage to stammer, your voice muffled against the cushions.

He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear. "What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you."

You turn your head, meeting his intense gaze over your shoulder. "Please," you whimper.

“Please what?” He demands.

"Please," you gasp, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Jeonghan's hips continue their torturously slow pace. "Please, I need more."

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "More what, baby? Use your words. You’re so good with words, aren’t you?"

You whine in frustration, trying to push back against him, seeking the friction you desperately crave. But his grip on your hip is firm, holding you in place.

"Fuck me," you finally manage to choke out. "Please, Jeonghan, fuck me harder."

"There we go," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Was that so hard?"

Before you can retort, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

Jeonghan sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you further into the couch cushions. The hand not holding your wrists snakes around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jeonghan groans, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."

You moan at his words, feeling the familiar coil of heat building in your core. "J-Jeonghan," you whimper, "I'm close..."

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his fingers working faster against your clit. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Every part of your body is on fire, from the way Jeonghan's hips press against yours to the way his fingers expertly stroke your clit.

You come with a cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a deep groan from Jeonghan.

He doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another. You're oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

"God, you're perfect," Jeonghan pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "So fucking perfect."

You feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, his breathing ragged against your neck. "Come on, Jeonghan," you manage to gasp out.

"Come for me," you urge him, clenching around him deliberately.

With a guttural groan, Jeonghan's hips stutter and he comes, spilling inside you as his body shudders with release. The feeling of him pulsing within you sends you over the edge again, and you cry out, trembling beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sound in the motorhome is your combined heavy breathing. Jeonghan releases your wrists and gently pulls out, causing you both to wince at the sensitivity. 

Jeonghan collapses onto the couch beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulls you into his arms. The weight of him, the feeling of his heartbeat drumming against your cheek, is grounding. You curl into his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare moment of stillness. His fingers trace lazy patterns across your back, the movements unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you just yet.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough and lower than usual, laced with satisfaction. “I think that was worth the wait.”

You huff a laugh, the sound barely audible over the soft thrum of life outside the motorhome. “Of course you do,” you mutter, your cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest, which smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and something uniquely Jeonghan.

His fingers pause their tracing for a moment, as though considering his next move, before starting again, this time slower and more deliberate. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, though softer now, quieter, like the vulnerability from before hadn’t completely left. “You’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

You tilt your head up, catching the faint glow of the ceiling light reflected in his eyes. They’re darker now, warmer, but still full of that infuriating smugness. Your lips twitch in defiance as you fight the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about it at all?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, a lock of hair falling across his forehead in a way that’s unfairly distracting. His grin is sharp and unrelenting. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“Am not,” you fire back, though your tone lacks any real conviction. The way his fingers continue their soft, languid exploration of your back doesn’t help.

“Okay,” he says, clearly enjoying himself as he leans his head back against the couch. “So when you cornered me after qualifying that one time in Japan two years ago, that wasn’t because you couldn’t stop staring at me in my race suit?”

You gape at him, your body jerking upright just enough to glare at him properly. “I cornered you because I wanted a quote, you egomaniac.” You punctuate the accusation with a half-hearted swat at his arm.

He catches your wrist easily, his grip firm but gentle, and intertwines his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand against yours is distracting, and it takes all your willpower not to lose focus. “Oh, you got a quote, all right,” he counters, his laughter bubbling up like he’s savoring every second of your indignation. “Admit it—you’ve been counting the days.”

You roll your eyes, the movement dramatic, though the warmth blooming in your chest betrays you. “And if I was?”

Jeonghan’s grin softens at your words, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, something vulnerable. He lifts a hand to your face, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Then I’d say it was worth the wait,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.

The air between you shifts, heavier now, the teasing replaced by something else entirely. His gaze locks on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades—the low hum of the paddock outside, the faint creak of the motorhome settling. All that exists is him, his hand still resting near your face, and the weight of his words hanging between you.

Your throat feels tight, and you clear it quickly, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over you. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, shifting slightly to put some distance between you.

“Too late,” he replies with a ghost of a smirk, leaning back lazily against the couch. His arm stretches along the back of the cushions, the casual sprawl of his posture somehow making him seem even more confident. Then, with an easy grace that feels entirely unfair, he leans forward and plucks something from the coffee table. “By the way, your article? It’s still late.”

You blink at him, incredulous, before groaning and burying your face in your hands. “Now you care about professionalism?”

Jeonghan shrugs, holding out his hand as if offering you an invisible microphone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive with the winner of Monza? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

You peek at him through your fingers, shaking your head with a laugh that’s half exasperation, half affection. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he counters, his voice softening again as he leans forward to press a kiss to your temple. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “But I’ll let you pretend for a little while.”

Jeonghan’s arms tighten around you as the laughter fades into a comfortable quiet. The warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breathing are grounding, but your thoughts won’t stop spinning. You tilt your head up to look at him, searching his expression for something you can’t quite name.

“What?” he asks softly, his tone warm but teasing. His fingers brush over the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“What… what are we now?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw.

Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t waver. His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “We’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart,” he says simply, his voice low and full of something too deep to name.

You feel your heart stutter, the weight of his words sinking into you. “Can we…” You hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment making your voice falter. “Can we take it slow?”

For a second, he just blinks at you, and then the corners of his mouth lift into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. “Take it slow? After you just made me beg?” He chuckles, the sound soft but undeniably teasing. “You’re full of surprises.”

Your face heats instantly, and you swat at his shoulder, your embarrassment overridden by his smugness. “Shut up.”

Jeonghan catches your wrist before you can retreat, his laughter fading as he shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m kidding,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. The mischief in his eyes melts into something gentler, something that makes your breath catch. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

You glance at him, your walls crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “It’s just…” You trail off, trying to find the right words, the weight of reality settling in around you. “Our careers, the season… It’s a lot. I don’t want to mess this up, not with everything else happening.”

Jeonghan’s expression softens even further, the teasing flicker in his eyes replaced by understanding. “I get it,” he says quietly. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’ve waited three years to feel this close to you. What’s forever if it means I get to do it right?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, equal parts devastating and beautiful. You close your eyes for a moment, letting them sink in, before leaning forward to press your lips to his—soft, brief, but full of everything you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

When you pull back, Jeonghan’s smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“No pressure, though,” he adds after a beat, his teasing tone returning as his grin widens. “Unless you’re writing a follow-up article about me being the world’s most patient man.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” he counters, his hand sliding back to your hair, cradling you close.

And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Baku City Circuit

The streets of Baku were as much a character in the race as any driver—a stunning clash of history and modernity, where medieval walls stood beside glimmering skyscrapers. The track was notorious for its tight corners and long straights, a playground of risk and reward. Jeonghan knew every inch of it like it was an old rival, one he had to best to keep his championship hopes alive.

Qualifying was tight—Jeonghan secured P2, just behind Mingyu. "He’s fast," Jeonghan muttered to you that evening, the weight of the competition clear in his voice. But there was no self-doubt, just the quiet calculation that always preceded his brilliance.

Race day was a spectacle. Jeonghan’s precision through the castle section was breathtaking, and when the opportunity came to pass Mingyu on the long straight during the final stint, he didn’t hesitate. The roar of the tifosi—echoing even in Azerbaijan—followed him as he crossed the line first. The team’s radio had erupted with cheers as Jeonghan crossed the finish line, and when you saw him after the podium ceremony, his champagne-damp hair and triumphant smile had made your heart skip a beat.

Later, after the media frenzy, Jeonghan pulls you aside. "Come on," he says with a conspiratorial grin, grabbing your hand. "You didn’t think I’d let you leave Baku without exploring, did you?"

The cobblestone streets of Baku feel like something out of a postcard. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the historic Old City. Jeonghan walks beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he gestures to the buildings with a sense of wonder that’s rare to see in him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as he points out the Maiden Tower and recounts its legends with surprising accuracy.

He grins, tilting his head in that maddeningly charming way. “What, you thought I only studied race strategies? I’ve got layers, sweetheart.” He insists on taking cheesy tourist photos, including one where he pretends to be a knight defending you at the city walls.

“I could be your knight in shining armor,” he teases, holding his imaginary sword aloft.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re already Ferrari’s golden boy,” you shoot back, snapping the photo anyway. “Isn’t that enough?” 

He’s good at this—whisking you away from the chaos of the paddock and making you forget, even if just for a moment, that the world is watching him.

Now, as you wander the streets of Baku, he’s more relaxed, his usual playful demeanor slipping into something softer. You pause in front of a street vendor selling intricate souvenirs, and Jeonghan picks up a small, hand-carved wooden box.

“For your desk,” he says simply, handing it to you before you can protest.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but you take the gift anyway.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the two of you continue down the street, the sound of distant music and laughter filling the warm night air.

That night, back at the hotel, Jeonghan skims your article on his phone while sprawled on the couch.

Jeonghan’s Baku Blitz: Closes the Gap to Mingyu with Stunning Victory

His smirk grows wider with every sentence. “Stunning victory, huh? You really know how to make me sound good.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “It was stunning. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he quips, pulling you into his lap. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the little shout-out to my late-braking move. Makes me wonder how closely you’re watching me.”

“Always,” you admit softly, the truth laced between your words. His grin softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

FORMULA 1 SINGAPORE AIRLINES SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Marina Bay Street Circuit

The Marina Bay Circuit was infamous—its oppressive heat, humidity, and unforgiving corners made it a grueling test of endurance. It was Jeonghan’s least favorite track, something he’d muttered repeatedly during practice.

In qualifying, he delivered a masterclass, securing pole position under the glowing lights that lined the circuit. "See?" he said, leaning casually against his car afterward, sweat still dripping from his brow. "Guess the heat doesn’t bother me as much as I thought."  Watching him grin through post-quali interviews, drenched in sweat but radiating confidence, had you practically floating back to your hotel room.

You’ve barely ventured outside the hotel after qualifying, and he texts you cryptically to “stay put.” Now, the air conditioning hums softly as you sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through headlines about his performance. You’re still reading when the door swings open, and Jeonghan strides in, carrying a tray.

“Room service,” he announces with a dramatic flourish, setting it down beside you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, popping the cork with practiced ease. “Pole position deserves a celebration. Plus…” He smirks, holding up a strawberry. “I wanted to see you smile.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he moves closer, offering the berry. But when you reach for it, he pulls it back, dragging it over your lips instead, smearing chocolate at the corner of your mouth.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss it away. The sweetness lingers on his lips, and before you know it, he’s pulled you into his lap, the rest of the world forgotten.

The race the next day is less triumphant. A perfectly timed pit stop keeps Jeonghan ahead of the pack for most of the race, but a late safety car allows another driver to close the gap, relegating him to P2. Still, with Mingyu out of the race, Jeonghan’s second-place finish is enough to reclaim the championship lead.

Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable when he reads your latest article:

Heat and Havoc in Singapore: Jeonghan Takes Second as Mingyu Crashes Out

“Well, at least you didn’t call me lucky,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair.

“You weren’t lucky. You earned that result,” you reply, watching his face carefully.

He hums, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Still. Next time, I’d rather win outright.”

FALL BREAK: SEPT 23-OCT 17

The crisp autumn air brushes against your face as you unlock your front door, arms full of groceries. It’s been a quiet few weeks since Singapore, the space between races stretching out like an eternity. You’ve tried to enjoy the pause, but it feels strange—unnatural, even—to be so far removed from the whirlwind of Jeonghan’s life.

Your thoughts drift to him as you drop the keys on the counter. Monaco. Ferrari’s headquarters in Maranello. Both places are worlds away from your little apartment.

You’re unloading a carton of eggs when there’s a knock at the door. Confused, you glance at the clock. It’s too late for deliveries and far too early for your neighbors to come by.

When you open the door, your heart stops.

Jeonghan stands there, his frame relaxed yet somehow magnetic. He’s dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. A bouquet of your favorite flowers is clutched in one hand, their vibrant colors almost as captivating as the smile tugging at his lips.

“Jeonghan?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “What are you—how—”

“Miss me?” he interrupts, stepping inside before you can fully process his presence. He hands you the flowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips.

Your breath catches, and you can only stare at him, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You live in Monaco,” you point out, still staring at him. “And work in Italy.”

“I’m aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Of course, I missed you,” you murmur, your cheeks heating.

“Good.” He grins and takes your free hand, tugging you toward the door.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“Out,” he says simply.

You try to protest, gesturing to the groceries still sitting on the counter, but he’s already leading you down the hallway. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite your confusion.

An hour later, you’re standing at the entrance of a sprawling amusement park, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the evening sky.

“You’re serious?” you ask, staring at the carousel spinning lazily in the distance.

“Dead serious,” Jeonghan replies, his tone light as he hands over your ticket. “I figured you could use a night off.”

“I’m not the one traveling the world every other week,” you point out.

“Exactly,” he counters, his smile growing. “I needed to see you smile. And this seemed like a good place to start.”

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and adrenaline. Jeonghan, surprisingly competitive, insists on winning you a giant stuffed bear at the ring toss, only to fail spectacularly—twice. You tease him mercilessly, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.

When you step off the bumper cars, your cheeks are flushed, and your voice is hoarse from yelling. Jeonghan is no better, his hair sticking up in all directions after you gleefully rammed into him three times in a row.

“I think you’ve got a mean streak,” he says, pretending to nurse an invisible injury.

“Me?” you gasp, feigning innocence. “You literally tried to corner me!”

He doesn’t respond—at least, not verbally. Instead, he grabs your hand again, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you toward the Ferris wheel.

The view from the top is breathtaking. The park stretches out below you, a sea of lights and movement, while the city skyline glimmers in the distance.

Jeonghan is quiet beside you, his gaze fixed on your face instead of the view. You turn to him, suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’re happy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I like seeing you like this.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s slow and deliberate, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as the world around you seems to fall away.

When he pulls back, you’re both smiling.

“This is dangerous,” you tease, though your voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re going to make me think nothing can go wrong.”

“Maybe nothing will,” he replies, his forehead resting gently against yours.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Circuit of the Americas

Austin brought a different kind of challenge. The Circuit of the Americas was iconic for its mix of sweeping corners, elevation changes, and a crowd that rivaled the tifosi in their enthusiasm. Jeonghan thrived here, securing P1 in qualifying and delivering a flawless race to claim another victory.

"Two wins in three races," he said that evening, pulling you into his side as you walked into a cowboy-themed bar downtown. "Guess I’m on a roll."

The bar was loud, filled with locals and fans alike, but Jeonghan stood out effortlessly. His cowboy hat tilted just right, a plaid shirt unbuttoned enough to make you wonder how he managed to look like that after hours in a car.

He kept his hand in your back pocket all night, his touch a silent claim when no one was looking. Every time he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his lips brushed your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," he whispered at one point, his grin wicked as he tipped his hat at you.

That was all it took. You dragged him back to the hotel, barely making it through the door before he was on you, the hat ending up on the floor somewhere between the bed and the door.

The article you write the next day earns a rare whistle of approval from Jeonghan:

Cowboy Jeonghan Rides High in Austin, Extends Championship Lead

“I think this might be your best one yet,” he says, setting the phone down as he pulls you into his lap.

“Because I complimented you, or because I called you a cowboy?”

“Both,” he answers, his lips brushing against yours. “You know how much I love it when you’re right.”

And as his hand slides to the small of your back, you can’t help but think this season isn’t just his championship—it’s yours, too.

FORMULA 1 GRAN PREMIO DE LA CIUDAD DE MÉXICO 2024 Track: Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez

The atmosphere at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez crackles with energy even hours after the race ends. The stands have mostly cleared, but the celebratory chaos of the paddock lingers. Jeonghan, fresh off another stellar performance, grins as reporters crowd around him, microphones extended like offerings. His hair is damp with sweat, his race suit tied around his waist as he leans casually against the Ferrari garage.

You watch from a distance, notebook in hand, trying not to let your gaze linger too long. He catches your eye anyway, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been calling you his “lucky charm” ever since you started waking up in his bed on race mornings, and it’s a moniker he seems to enjoy reminding you of at every opportunity.

"Don't go too far," he says when the interviews wrap up, his voice low as he brushes past you on his way to the motorhome. The warmth of his fingertips grazing your wrist sends a jolt of electricity through you. "We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re not wriggling out of it this time."

You don’t see the ambush coming.

You’re reviewing your notes in the quiet corner of the paddock when your editor finds you. His expression is stern, almost irate, as he approaches. The celebration around you suddenly feels muffled, the weight of his presence pulling you back to reality.

"Finally," he snaps, crossing his arms. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days."

"Hey, sorry, it’s been hectic," you start, tucking your notebook under your arm.

He doesn’t let you finish. "Hectic? I gave you the Ferrari all-access months ago. They’re breathing down my neck about where the hell it is. Where’s the draft?"

The question lands like a punch to the gut. You open your mouth, fumbling for an answer, but he’s already barreling forward.

"And don’t think I haven’t noticed your tone shift," he continues, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "All this newfound niceness toward Jeonghan in your articles. What’s that about, huh? You sleeping with him or something?"

The accusation slices through you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

"That’s not—" you begin, but your voice falters.

"Spare me," he says, waving you off. "I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but I do care about the reputation of this outlet. You’ve built your career on being incisive, unbiased. So get it together, or I’ll find someone who can."

He doesn’t wait for a response, leaving you standing there as the din of the paddock swells around you. The celebration feels distant now, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.

When Jeonghan finally finds you later that night, you’re a bundle of frayed nerves. The confrontation with your editor replays in your head like a broken record, each word cutting deeper into your carefully constructed sense of self. You sit hunched over your laptop in the corner of the media center, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that match the knot in your chest.

“What, you sleeping with him or something?”

The accusation echoes, burrowing into your mind, where it tangles with your own insecurities. You’ve built your entire career on being sharp, unbiased, and unflinchingly honest. And yet, somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had slipped through your defenses. You can still hear the venom in your editor’s voice, feel the judgment in his eyes. The doubt wasn’t just his anymore—it was yours, too.

Was he right? Had you compromised everything for Jeonghan?

Your hands tremble slightly as you scroll through the notes you’ve been trying to organize for hours, but the words blur together, useless. Guilt presses against your ribs like a vice, mixing with a raw ache of something you’re too scared to name. You’re drowning in your own thoughts, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve let everyone down: your editor, your readers, and most of all, Jeonghan.

When he finally appears, his presence fills the doorway like a shadow cutting through the sterile light. He leans against the doorframe with a casualness you can’t match, arms crossed and head tilted slightly, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. The sight of him, so familiar and yet suddenly so distant, sends a pang through your chest.

“Working late?” he asks, his voice low but carrying the faint edge of concern.

You look up, startled, and quickly shut your laptop as if that might erase everything weighing on you. “Just...catching up,” you say, forcing a smile that feels as flimsy as the excuse.

Jeonghan doesn’t move, his eyes scanning you with the precision of someone who knows you too well. He doesn’t buy the act—you can tell by the way his brows knit together, a subtle but telling sign of his worry.

“Catching up on what?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone light but probing.

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Just notes. Articles. The usual.”

His gaze sharpens. “Right. And that’s why you look like you haven’t breathed in hours?”

You glance away, your fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. “I’m fine, Jeonghan. Go enjoy your win. You earned it.”

“And what, leave you like this?” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, resting his arms on the table. “Not happening.”

The flood of emotions bubbling under your surface threatens to spill over. You want to tell him everything, but the words feel too tangled, too raw.

“I just need to get this done,” you say, your voice tight.

Jeonghan frowns, studying you more closely. "What’s going on? Did something happen?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, sidestepping him. "I just need some space tonight, okay?"

His hand brushes your arm, but you pull away, and the confusion in his eyes makes your stomach twist. "Fine," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "If that’s what you want."

Jeonghan wakes up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, but the bed feels empty. The cool sheets where you usually sleep tug at his attention before he fully registers the weight in his chest. Frowning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, still groggy.

The screen lights up with a mess of notifications: congratulatory texts, memes from Soonyoung, and a dozen links to your latest article. He swipes through the chaos with a faint smile, already anticipating your sharp insights mingled with the familiar affection that’s always laced through your critiques.

Propping himself up against the headboard, Jeonghan opens the piece. At first, the smile lingers—he’s grown to appreciate the balance you strike between honest criticism and admiration. But the further he reads, the slower he scrolls, the words pressing into him like bruises.

His smile fades entirely by the time he reaches the paragraph describing his meltdown in Spain. The words cut too close, dragging him back to that moment in the Aston Martin garage: the oppressive silence, the rain hammering against the roof, and the suffocating realization of yet another missed opportunity.

"Jeonghan’s brilliance is undeniable, but brilliance without consistency leaves championships just out of reach."

The sentence burns itself into his mind. The carefully chosen words feel clinical, detached—so unlike you. He rereads it, hoping to find the warmth he’s come to expect, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Jeonghan tosses his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, disbelief simmering into anger. This wasn’t just an article. This was personal.

The paddock is bustling, teams dismantling their motorhomes to get ready for next weekend. Jeonghan doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats before leaving his room, each step through the maze of hospitality suites and garages fueled by frustration.

When he finally reaches the media center, his chest tightens at the sight of you hunched over your laptop, headphones in, oblivious to his stormy approach. He doesn’t hesitate.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" His voice slices through the low hum of conversations around you.

Startled, you pull off your headphones, your eyes widening as you take him in. "Jeonghan—"

"No." He slaps his phone onto the desk in front of you, his movements sharp and deliberate. The article stares back at you, a glaring reminder of the wedge you’ve driven between you. "Don’t ‘Jeonghan’ me. What is this?"

"It’s my job," you say, standing to meet his intensity. The tremor in your voice betrays your composure. "You’ve always said you respected that about me."

"Respect?" His laugh is sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You think I respect this?" He gestures to the article like it’s a living thing, something venomous and cruel. "You went for my throat."

"I didn’t go for your throat," you argue, though your voice cracks at the edges. "I wrote the truth."

"The truth?" His hands ball into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know when you’re pulling punches? You tore me apart for no reason."

"You’ve been avoiding media days. You had a meltdown in Spain," you fire back, your tone rising as your frustration bubbles to the surface. "Those are facts, Jeonghan."

"You didn’t have to highlight them," he counters, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "You know how much this season means to me."

"And do you think this was easy for me?" you ask, tears pricking at your eyes. "Do you think I wanted to write that?"

"Then why did you?" His voice softens, the anger slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I had to!" The words explode out of you, breaking the fragile tension. "Because people already think I’m biased. That I’ve gone soft. That I’m compromised because of you."

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, pressing down on both of you. Jeonghan’s face shifts, the fury giving way to something heavier—hurt, confusion, disappointment.

"I never asked you to compromise anything for me," he says quietly, his voice thick. "I never would."

You look away, your gaze falling to the floor. "I know. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about my career. My integrity."

"And what about us?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "Where does that leave us?"

You have no answer, the words lodged in your throat. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of activity outside the room.

Finally, Jeonghan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t do this right now," he mutters, taking a step back. "I need...I need to get out of here."

Jeonghan finds himself at the bar later that evening, the neon lights washing over him in hazy blues and reds. The whiskey in his glass is halfway gone before Soonyoung slides onto the stool next to him, his arrival quiet but not unnoticed.

"You look like shit," Soonyoung says, his tone light despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

"Thanks," Jeonghan mutters, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

They sit in silence for a moment before Soonyoung breaks it. "Want to talk about it?"

Jeonghan stares at his drink, the ice melting faster than he can keep up with. "I don’t know what we’re doing anymore," he admits, the words coming out heavier than he expected. "Me and her."

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You two have always been complicated."

Jeonghan huffs out a humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

"But," Soonyoung says, setting his glass down, "you’ve also always figured it out."

Jeonghan doesn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and longing.

"You’re not going to fix it tonight," Soonyoung continues, his voice quieter now. "But if it matters—and I know it does—you’ll find a way. Just...don’t wait too long, yeah?"

Jeonghan nods slowly, the whiskey burning on its way down. Soonyoung’s words linger, a reminder of what he already knows but isn’t ready to face.

Not yet.

FORMULA 1 LENOVO GRANDE PRÊMIO DE SÃO PAULO 2024 Track: Autódromo José Carlos Pace

The rain is relentless in São Paulo, hammering down on the paddock and turning the atmosphere into a chaotic mess of drenched personnel and frayed nerves. Qualifying has been suspended indefinitely, the downpour rendering the track undriveable, and the mood in the Ferrari garage is grim. The asphalt glistens under the floodlights, reflecting streaks of color from team banners and sponsor logos. It feels like the world is holding its breath. 

You’ve never liked rain. It has a way of amplifying what’s already simmering under the surface, and today is no exception. Your heart pounds as you weave through the maze of garages, dodging puddles and sidelong glances from team members. You know exactly where he’ll be—Jeonghan never strays far from the Ferrari setup, even when there’s nothing to do but wait.

Sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the edge of a workbench, his race suit unzipped to his waist and his damp undershirt clinging to his torso. His head is bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bench while the other pushes wet strands of hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted—physically, emotionally—but the moment your shoes scuff against the concrete floor, his eyes snap up to meet yours.

You’ve been blowing up his phone all week. Texts, calls, voice notes—all unanswered or met with cold, clipped replies.

"Jeonghan," you start, the sound of your voice barely carrying over the rain pelting the garage roof.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. "What are you doing here?"

The coldness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."

His laugh is short, bitter. "Why are you surprised? This is where I always am."

"Don’t do that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks."

"I haven’t been ignoring you," he snaps, pushing off the bench. He stands tall now, towering over you, his hands resting on his hips. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You call one-word replies busy? Jeonghan, I’ve been calling and texting nonstop, and you’ve barely said anything to me."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant clatter of tools being packed away. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again.

"Maybe I’m tired," he says, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "Maybe I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Your heart twists at the admission, but you push it aside. "What’s not fine? Tell me, Jeonghan. Because I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out."

He shakes his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "You don’t understand?" His voice rises, cracking with the weight of his frustration. "How could you not? You tore me apart in that article like I was just another driver. Like I meant nothing to you."

"It’s my job," you argue, but the words sound weak even to your ears.

"Your job?" he repeats, throwing his arms up. "You mean the job where you’re supposed to be unbiased? Yeah, I’ve noticed how ‘unbiased’ you’ve been lately. Especially when it comes to me."

"That’s not fair," you shoot back, taking a step closer. "You know I’ve always tried to be honest—"

"Honest?" He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "You call dragging my worst moments into the spotlight honest? You didn’t write about me; you dissected me. Like I was nothing more than a story."

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see how much his words cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"But you did," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "And now I don’t even know where we stand."

"We stand..." You falter, your throat tightening. "We stand where we’ve always stood. I care about you, Jeonghan. But this is complicated."

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "It doesn’t have to be. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way."

You look away, unable to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand what this means for me. For my career. For the season."

"And what about me?" he presses, his voice breaking. "What about what this means for us?"

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy and suffocating. You take a shaky step back, the sound of the rain growing louder in the silence. "Maybe I should go," you whisper, turning toward the garage entrance.

"Don’t," he says sharply, and before you can take another step, his hand wraps around your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me.”

You barely have time to register the movement before he’s pulling you back, his other hand cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. The rain spills into the garage, soaking you both as his kiss deepens, desperate and unyielding. His hands slide to your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I won’t give you up," he whispers, his voice raw. "But I need you to choose."

"Jeonghan..." Your voice trembles, but he cuts you off.

"You love me," he says, his hands cupping your face. "Yes or no."

You hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on you like the storm outside.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don’t make me beg."

"I’m scared," you admit finally, your voice breaking. "Scared of losing myself. Of losing everything I’ve worked for."

He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Are you willing to lose me to keep writing?"

"I..." The words catch in your throat, the truth slipping through your fingers. "I don’t know."

His hands drop to his sides, and he takes a step back, the distance between you like a chasm. "When you decide," he says quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "give me a call."

The rain clears just in time for Sunday’s race, and Jeonghan is unstoppable. He weaves through the slick track with the precision and grace that made him a legend, crossing the finish line first and extending his lead in the championship.

But you’re not there to celebrate with him.

You watch from the media center, your chest tight as the cameras capture his triumphant smile. But there’s a hollowness in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken as he scans the crowd for someone who isn’t there.

The post-race interviews blur together, and even as you type up your article, the words feel lifeless. Without him beside you, the hotel room feels cold and sterile, the thrill of the race dulled by the ache in your chest.

The days leading up to the Las Vegas Grand Prix are a haze of press releases and anticipation. Jeonghan is one race away from becoming a world champion, but all you can think about is the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you under the floodlights.

Your editor calls to praise your latest pieces, but the compliments feel hollow. The articles are polished and professional, but they lack the spark you used to feel when writing about him.

You glance at your phone, your thumb hovering over Jeonghan’s name. You haven’t called. Haven’t texted. Haven’t dared to.

Because the truth is, you’re terrified. 

Terrified of losing yourself. 

But even more terrified of losing him.

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Las Vegas Strip Circuit

The sun sets over Las Vegas in a haze of neon and desert dust, the city already buzzing with anticipation for the final race of the season. But in the paddock, the air is electric for all the wrong reasons.

Jeonghan crashes out in Q3.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as Jeonghan’s car slides violently into the barriers, the sharp sound of the impact slicing through the usual hum of commentary. Gasps ripple through the room, but your stomach lurches with something deeper than professional concern. 

You’re in the media center when it happens, staring at the screen as his time locks in. The commentators speculate, the other journalists start drafting headlines, but you can’t hear a word of it. Your heart is already in free fall, and you don’t breathe again until he climbs out of the car, his hands held up in frustration as he waves off the medics.

P8. A disastrous result for the race that could make—or break—his championship. It might as well be the end of the world. 

The room erupts into murmurs as analysts speculate on strategy and rival team fans cheer, but you barely hear them. Your editor sidles up to your desk, his grin practically gleaming in the fluorescent light.

"Well, well," he says, leaning over your shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got our headline for tomorrow. ‘Jeonghan’s Championship Dream in Tatters.’ Perfect angle to dissect his mistakes, maybe even his cocky attitude catching up with him—"

His words fade into the background as something clicks inside you. Every fiber of your being recoils at the thought of reducing Jeonghan—your Jeonghan—to nothing more than a headline. You love writing, yes, but this? This isn’t writing. This is tearing apart the one person who matters most to you, all for clicks and ad revenue.

Without thinking, you swivel in your chair, fixing your editor with a glare so sharp it silences him mid-sentence. "This is my two weeks’ notice."

He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You stand, grabbing your bag and laptop. "I’m done."

Before he can argue, you’re already out the door, leaving behind the cacophony of keyboards and camera flashes. The paddock is chaos as you weave through the throngs of team personnel and fans, your heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and urgency.

You run.

The Ferrari garage is chaos. Engineers scramble to pack up the car, Jeonghan’s manager barks into his phone, and his publicist looks ready to faint. You push your way through it all, ignoring the glares and the shouted protests.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Soonyoung says, stepping in front of you as you approach the motorhome.

“I don’t care,” you snap, shoving past him.

The motorhome is empty.

For a moment, you’re frozen, your chest heaving as you glance around the pristine space. The stillness only amplifies your worry. And then it hits you, like a sudden gust of wind: you know exactly where he is.

You sprint again, your heartbeat pounding louder than the chaos of the paddock behind you. The world blurs into streaks of neon lights, the hum of distant conversations, and the faint roar of engines being powered down for the night. The grandstands loom ahead, their cold metal steps stretching upward like an impossible climb. Each step burns in your legs, your breath coming in shallow gasps, but you don’t let up.

You don’t stop until you see him.

Jeonghan sits alone, halfway up the grandstands, his figure slouched as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The floodlights bathe him in a pale glow, illuminating the soft curve of his profile, his hair catching the light in strands of gold. His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the track below as if searching for answers in the lines he couldn’t master tonight. A half-finished beer dangles loosely from his fingertips, the bottle swaying slightly with every small movement. Beside him, another bottle sits untouched, condensation pooling on the aluminum seat beneath it.

Waiting.

You take the last steps slowly, your chest tightening as your breathing evens out. Up close, his exhaustion is palpable—dark shadows under his eyes, his usual sharp features softened by an unfamiliar vulnerability.

“I knew you’d come,” he says without looking at you, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but it carries a weight that settles heavily in your chest. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere far ahead, lost in thought.

You hover for a moment before lowering yourself into the seat beside him. The cold aluminum seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin after the sprint. Jeonghan doesn’t move, doesn’t turn toward you, and the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jeonghan...” you start, your voice hesitant, but he cuts you off with a bitter laugh.

“This is what happens when my lucky charm leaves me,” he mutters, a sad smile curling at the edges of his lips. His tone is light, but it does nothing to hide the ache in his words. He takes a slow sip of his beer, the motion unhurried.

You glance at the track, the sharp turns and straightaways now cloaked in shadows. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to brush his arm. He flinches at the contact, his muscles tense beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

“P8 doesn’t mean it’s over.”

This time, he turns to look at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The raw vulnerability there makes your chest tighten further. His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the beer bottle in his hand. “This race... it’s everything. If I win, I’m a champion. If I don’t...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air between you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice cracks, and the sound is almost unbearable. “Scared of all of it. The pressure, the expectations... losing.”

You stare at him, the usually unshakable Jeonghan, the Golden Boy, the Ferrari God, unraveling before you. Your hands move without thinking, cupping his face and tilting his chin so he’s forced to meet your gaze again. His skin is warm beneath your palms, a faint flush from the alcohol—or maybe the stress—lingering across his cheeks.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you close the distance between you. “You love me. Yes or no.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. And then his hands come up to grip your wrists, his touch firm but trembling. “Yes,” he whispers, the word spilling from his lips without hesitation, raw and resolute. His voice shakes, but his eyes hold yours, steady and certain despite the tears brimming there.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Good,” you whisper, the word carrying a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me.”

His grip on your wrists loosens, his expression shifting to something between confusion and hope. “But your job... your writing?”

“I’m quitting,” you say simply, letting the words hang for a moment. You watch the shock bloom across his face, his eyebrows shooting up as he sits back slightly, pulling your hands with him.

“You’re what?”

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek as if to soothe him. “Not writing, idiot,” you tease gently. “I’m still going to write. But I’m not writing for any organization that profits off me tearing the man I love to shreds.”

His lips part, but no words come. He blinks rapidly, trying to process, and you take the opportunity to continue.

“Besides,” you add, your voice lighter now, “Sky Sports has been trying to recruit me for an on-air job for almost a year now.”

He stares at you, his gaze searching your face for any hint of doubt or regret. Finally, his voice comes, soft and uncertain. “You love me?”

The corners of your mouth lift into a playful smile, and you raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you decide to focus on?”

“Y/N,” he says again, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost desperate. His hands move to clasp yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if afraid you’ll slip away. “Do you love me?”

You answer with action, leaning in and capturing his lips in a quick, tender kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers tightening around yours. “Win tomorrow, golden boy,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak. “And I’ll tell you my answer.”

For the first time that night, Jeonghan smiles—a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes and softens the tension in his face. And in that moment, as the world fades to just the two of you under the floodlights, you know he’s already won.

Jeonghan is going to lose.

He’s sure of it.

The car feels like it’s fighting him at every turn, the tires slipping just slightly when he needs them to grip, the brakes locking up when he’s trying to conserve them for the final laps. His body aches from the sheer force of the race—the g-forces on the corners, the strain in his neck, the tension in his hands from gripping the wheel too hard.

The numbers on his dashboard blur together, his mind a muddled mess of strategies, tire temps, and sector times. He’s made up four places since the chaotic start and sits in P4 now, but every gain feels like a herculean effort. Every corner feels like it could be his last.

He slams the steering wheel in frustration as he exits another turn slower than he should, the car wobbling slightly under him. “This isn’t working,” he growls into the radio, his voice clipped and strained.

His engineer’s calm voice filters through the crackling static. “We know, Jeonghan. Stay focused. We believe in you.”

Jeonghan clenches his teeth, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but before he can spit it out, the radio crackles again.

“Your girl is here. In the garage. She’s watching.”

“What the fuck?” The words come out before he can stop them, his tone incredulous.

“Soonyoung wanted to surprise you,” his engineer explains, and Jeonghan can practically hear the grin in his voice.

His mind stutters to a halt, and for a moment, all the noise fades—the engine’s roar, the tires screeching against the asphalt, even the deafening wind rushing past his helmet. He blinks, the image of you sitting in the garage flashing in his mind, your presence there grounding him in a way nothing else can.

And then, like a light cutting through the fog, your words echo in his head. “Win tomorrow, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

His grip on the wheel tightens, his breath steadies, and something in him clicks. It’s not just the car anymore—it’s him. His mind, his body, the machine—they all fall into alignment like pieces of a puzzle.

“Copy,” he says into the radio, his voice calm now. The frustration is gone, replaced by a steely determination.

Lap 50. Jeonghan is chasing down P3, the gap shrinking corner by corner. His tires scream in protest as he takes each turn with precision, braking just a fraction later, accelerating just a fraction earlier. The car isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s making it work.

As he dives into the braking zone at Turn 7, the car in front of him falters, locking up slightly. Jeonghan seizes the opportunity, darting to the inside line and slipping past with a calculated aggression that leaves no room for error.

P3.

Lap 53. The leader pack is within sight now—Mingyu in P1, his closest rival, and Seungcheol in P2, a surprising dark horse this season. The three of them have danced this dance all season, but tonight feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line.

Lap 55. Seungcheol’s car begins to falter, his tires degrading as he struggles to maintain pace. Jeonghan hovers in his slipstream, biding his time.

On the main straight, he pulls to the outside, pushing his car to its limits. The engine roars as he edges past Seungcheol, the two of them side by side into the braking zone. Jeonghan holds his line, his heart pounding as he feels the car stick.

P2.

Lap 58. Mingyu is just ahead, the gap less than a second now. Jeonghan can feel the strain in his body, his hands cramping from the sheer effort, but he doesn’t let up. Every ounce of energy he has left is poured into these final laps.

Lap 59. DRS is open, the rear wing flattening to reduce drag as Jeonghan closes the gap on the straight. Mingyu defends aggressively, forcing Jeonghan to the outside.

They enter Turn 10 side by side, the apex inches away. Jeonghan holds his breath, his tires brushing the curbs as he edges ahead. But Mingyu doesn’t back down, his car pushing right up to Jeonghan’s rear wing as they exit the turn.

Lap 60. The final lap. It’s a battle of wills now, neither of them giving an inch. Jeonghan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst, the sweat dripping down his face soaking into the padding of his helmet.

The final corner looms ahead, and Jeonghan knows this is it. Mingyu is on his inside, the two of them neck and neck as they approach the braking zone.

Jeonghan brakes just a millisecond later, his car sliding slightly as he takes the tighter line. He holds his breath, willing the car to stay steady, and then he’s through.

The checkered flag waves, the two cars crossing the line almost simultaneously.

Jeonghan’s chest heaves as he slumps back in his seat, his mind a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. He doesn’t know if he’s won or lost—everything was too close, too fast.

The radio crackles to life, and for a moment, all he hears is chaos—shouting, cheering, voices overlapping in a cacophony of noise.

And then, cutting through it all, your voice rings out.

“YOON JEONGHAN, TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”

The words hit him like a lightning bolt, and a yell tears from his throat, loud and raw and triumphant. He punches the air, his entire body trembling with emotion as he lets out another scream, so loud he’s sure the neighboring cars can hear him.

He’s done it.

Through the static of the radio, he hears your laughter, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the only sound that matters.

Jeonghan rolls into Parc Fermé with deliberate precision, the sound of his engine fading into silence as he pulls to a stop. His hands are shaking, his knuckles pale from the grip he’s maintained for the last grueling laps. The cockpit feels stifling, and yet he lingers for a second longer, the enormity of what’s just happened crashing over him like a wave.

He’s done it.

The realization leaves him breathless. His fingers fumble with the steering wheel as he pulls it free, his movements automatic even as his mind spirals. Around him, the world is chaos. Fans scream from the stands, the floodlights of Las Vegas painting the scene in stark gold and shadows. Through the static in his earpiece, his engineer’s voice is still ringing with elation, and he hears indistinct shouting from his crew, but it all blends into a distant roar.

All Jeonghan can think about is you.

He climbs out of the car, bracing his foot on the halo as he pushes himself upright. For a brief moment, he stands tall atop the machine, his body vibrating with adrenaline. His fists shoot into the air, and he lets out a triumphant yell, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. The Ferrari crew erupts in response, a sea of red swarming toward him, shouting his name, their arms outstretched in celebration.

But Jeonghan’s eyes are already searching, scanning the barriers beyond the chaos, darting from one face to another. He’s not looking for his engineers or the cameras or even his teammates. He’s looking for you.

And then he sees you.

You’re there, pressed against the barricade, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your face is wet—tears streaming freely—but your smile is brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It’s disbelieving, joyous, and so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat.

In that moment, everything else fades away. The cheers of his team, the flashing cameras, the rules about protocol—none of it exists anymore.

Jeonghan jumps down from the car, tossing the wheel to a waiting mechanic, and tears at his helmet strap. The world around him is a blur of movement and noise—his team surging forward, the cameras flashing, the announcer’s voice booming overhead—but none of it registers. His helmet comes off with a sharp tug, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he grips the sleek surface in one hand and bolts toward you.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his boots pounding against the pavement as he cuts through the throng of people. The barricade draws closer, and the sight of you—your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling shoulders—grounds him in a way nothing else could.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t stop.

His hands find you immediately. One curls around your neck, his palm warm and steady against your skin, while the other cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears tracing paths down your cheek. His chest is still heaving, his breath ragged from the exertion of the race, but his touch is impossibly tender.

Your lips part, and your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. “Congratulations, pretty boy.”

It’s like the world holds its breath. For one fleeting second, it’s just the two of you. The noise of the paddock fades, the flashing lights dim, and all that remains is the quiet intimacy of your words.

Jeonghan’s lips curve into a smile so pure, so unrestrained, that it feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. “You love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. His forehead dips to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Yes or—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your arms shoot out, locking around his neck as you pull him down into a kiss. It’s desperate and dizzying, a culmination of everything left unsaid. Jeonghan freezes for the briefest of moments, his eyes widening, before melting into you entirely. His lips move against yours, soft but insistent, and the hand on your neck slides up to thread through your hair, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Yes,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice breaking. Your hands fist in the front of his race suit, anchoring yourself as you press your forehead to his. “Yes. I love you.”

The barriers around you tremble as the Ferrari crew erupts in celebration, their cheers deafening. Jeonghan barely registers it. His fist shoots into the air, his lips still brushing against yours as he laughs—a sound full of pure, unrestrained joy.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with a mix of awe and certainty.

And when you smile back at him, it’s brighter than the floodlights, warmer than the victory. 

EPILOGUE

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit

The air at Albert Park hums with the kind of energy that only a new season can bring. The stands are packed, a sea of flags waving for drivers and teams, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint tang of engine oil. It’s not quite spring yet, but the Melbourne sun still beats down relentlessly, leaving Jeonghan’s fireproofs clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he strides out of the Ferrari garage.

His mind buzzes with the aftermath of qualifying—P2 isn’t pole, but it’s close enough to feel like a promise. Yet, beneath the satisfaction, there’s the familiar tug of nerves that always follows a strong start. Tomorrow is what counts.

His publicist catches up to him, clipboard in hand. “Sky Sports first,” she says, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Jeonghan barely suppresses a groan, already knowing what awaits him. He doesn’t mind media—not entirely—but right now, his thoughts are miles away from answering questions about his out lap or tire degradation.

He rounds the corner into the media pen, where cameras are trained on bright logos and polished smiles. But his eyes find you immediately, waiting just behind the barricade, a microphone in hand, your hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

You’re a vision.

He slows as he approaches, his publicist muttering instructions he doesn’t bother to hear. Your eyes catch his, and a secret smile spreads across your lips. He mirrors it, his heart lifting in a way that has nothing to do with his qualifying position.

Jeonghan leans against the barricade, his hands braced on the metal. It’s casual, nonchalant—a stark contrast to the spark simmering beneath the surface. As the questions begin, his fingers shift, brushing yours. The touch is featherlight, a soft sweep of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

The lanyard around your neck gleams in the sunlight, a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. You’re still you.

And you’re wearing it.

The chain glints faintly against your skin, the two charms catching the light with each movement. One is the microphone, delicate and detailed, perfectly crafted. The other is his initial: J. Small, simple, yet undeniably his.

(You’d teased him endlessly when he gave it to you at Christmas. “Modest as always, aren’t you?” you’d laughed.

“Of course,” he’d replied, his voice low and teasing as he leaned into your hair. “One charm for your new job, because I’m so proud of you. And one for me, because I’m so amazing.”

“Two-time world champion,” you’d corrected, poking his ribs.

“Two-time world champion,” he’d agreed with a grin, pulling you into his arms.)

“Jeonghan,” you greet, a secret smile tugging at your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips—professional but laced with affection—sends a warmth through him that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Y/N,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.

The interview begins, your questions sharp and to the point. Jeonghan answers with his usual ease, the confidence that had earned him his titles. But he’s distracted, his focus flickering between your voice and the way your thumb absently brushes the microphone charm as you speak.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who only managed P2,” you tease, tilting your head slightly.

He leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Just keeping it interesting. Wouldn’t want to win everything too easily.”

You roll your eyes, but the soft laugh that escapes you betrays your amusement.

The banter continues, each exchange laced with an undercurrent of warmth that only the two of you can fully understand. To anyone watching, it’s just another driver and journalist sharing a lighthearted moment. But to Jeonghan, it’s everything.

When the cameras finally cut, the energy between you shifts. He leans over the barricade without hesitation, his hands curling around the edge for balance as he dips his head toward you.

The first kiss is quick, a soft press of lips that feels like a punctuation mark to the conversation.

The second is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the fact that he can do this now.

The third lingers, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, glancing around with a mix of amusement and exasperation. But your grin is wide, and your cheeks are flushed, and he knows you’re not annoyed in the slightest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice so low it barely reaches you. His eyes are soft, his expression open in a way that’s reserved only for you.

Your hand finds his wrist, your fingers curling gently around it. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, your gaze unyielding.

For a moment, the world around you fades—the bustling media pen, the hum of conversations, the clicking cameras. All that exists is the space between you, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet certainty of what comes next.

And as Jeonghan straightens, reluctantly stepping back into the whirlwind of his world, he knows he’s carrying a part of you with him—just as you carry a part of him. Always.

a/n: and that, was full throttle. i cannot express to any of you how proud i am of myself for finishing this. i think i spent more time deleting things on this doc than i did writing it and somehow, i fucking love the way this turned out. alta, kae, if you're reading this - thank you. from the bottom of my heart. this story would have never happened had it not been for the two of you motivating me to get this out of my head and onto a doc. you both inspire me every day and i am lucky that i had you on my side for this one.

[sun-pluto]

The Ascendant

picture sources: x x x

(Please do not plagiarise, copy, or repost my work. Thank you.)

It’s funny how I made a post about the 7th house first before a rising sign post, but to be honest I wanted to flesh out how every house can be relatable before going to the heart and drive of it all. And what better example than the 7th house which is supposedly your opposite? Well now we know it’s not and can actually be what you show and how you interact on a regular basis.

Now though, I want to talk about your motivations, which is the first house, or namely ascendant. I understand that the ascendant rules first impressions and appearance, also your personality. But I also think the first house drives you, it’s your heart, the reason why you continue to trudge forward in life. To make this more fun, I’m adding what the signs represent in tarot cards to add that extra depth, since a lot of stereotypes make all the signs seem a lot shallower than they are. So anyway let’s get started!

*side note, if the majority of your first house falls in a sign other than your ascendant, feel free to read that sign’s description too. Placidus housing adds nuance to your expression of the ascendant I find.

Aries Ascendant

If someone has to go first, I understand it will be me. ~ The Emperor

Fiery? Yes. Driven and direct? Also yes. Or at least it is a natural part of them to find a goal and immediately work towards it with no fuss or beating about the bush. Although known as the “youngest” of the zodiac as they signify spring, I’ve found many of these risings possess a very mature, headstrong attitude. They’re usually cheerful and actually pretty easygoing rather than just their short-tempered stereotype, although they certainly can be. What I have found cool about this placement though, is it easily makes people experienced in a lot of situations. Their life has set them up for them to lead and be the first to do something, and whatever placement they have, they experience it to the fullest via trial and error. Hence, it is both a burden and a source for excitement— it makes sense for them to be wise and discerning, and to recognise value in each aspect of their lives over time. To have your chart ruled by The Emperor in tarot, and having Mars as your chart ruler, makes for pretty chaotic and extreme life experiences. People often like to show only the extreme and violent aspects of Mars, because it’s dramatic and flashy. It’s proven here when Aries risings go out of their way to show off their power and hide their insecurities, as they can embody both the healthy and unhealthy masculine ego. They can also be surprisingly pessimistic, thinking their dreams are only a fantasy and yet are also angered by this (Pisces 12th house). When mature however, they make incredibly wise and capable leaders. The Emperor is known for being masculine, go-getting and authoritative while knowing his power is used to uplift and protect those around him, and Aries risings can be a prime example of that. Literally fire and cardinal modality packs an extreme punch and they’re often noticed wherever they go, purely because of the way they carry themselves. They’re often steadfast in their pursuit of things and even when they’re fast, they’re consistent, hence debunking the stereotype that they can be flaky. Lots of extreme experiences develop them into very skilled beings, and they often possess a lot of insight and depth that few can reach in subjects and topics they take an interest in, because to them, it’s go big or go home. Extremely passionate and unstoppable, over time they learn to control this fire within them to go for the things they want, because in the end, they do not need limits, only direction. 

The people I know who are Aries Risings are sure footed, determined people. You just have to look at the way they treat others (Libra 7th house) to realise they do want harmony in their environment, even when some do like  drama and chaos as air signs do. They are extremely loyal and loving to their family and friends (Cancer IC) even to their detriment, especially if mars, saturn, uranus or pluto is in their 4th house. They are always trying to look at the bigger picture, the higher perspective in order to make the best decision for themselves and others. They are a bit hypocritical in worrying and nagging their loved ones to take care of themselves, while neglecting their own health in the process. The ones I know can also be deathly afraid of vulnerability and highly controlling, because they know how sensitive and soft they actually are. You guys need to take care of yourselves more, and not just do things in extremes. Some who I know with Aries Risings can easily sleep all day, and then stay up for the next 24 hours. They do crave and try to incorporate balance in their life, and when they actually do, not a lot of things can stand in their way. They are ultimately very determined people holding the fort for everyone, and people really need to see this side of them more.

Taurus Ascendant

Here’s why we need to think and set a foundation first. ~ The Hierophant

The bull of the zodiac, they are powerful people, and we’re fortunate they normally choose peace. They can be stubborn, sure, but it means they can be unstoppable in achieving whatever they set their minds to. They are about setting traditions and foundations, and it doesn’t have to be outdated. They can be real trendsetters and pioneers on things that can outlive them (Aquarius 10th House). They represent the raw, earthy side of beauty and abundance, and they often know how to treat themselves well and can have tailored tastes and preferences. I know for a fact that they are very loving and loyal to their loved ones and family, and the way they move through the world can be surprisingly fast and very efficient. In tarot, they are represented by the Hierophant, which is all about setting down stable foundations, rules, beliefs and following through with them. They can be extremely driven to help those suffering (Scorpio Descendant), and the structure they create can really bring progression and healing. However, this level of abundance and stability can unfortunately also bring hubris, arrogance, ignorance and stagnation if they do not keep themselves in check. Their tendency to hold their emotions in an iron fist could also make for a violent, explosive temper. When they do not possess direction, they can easily succumb to indulging their senses and material world to fill up emptiness. At the same time, as said previously, they have the most potential to be abundant internally and externally. The Hierophant knows who he is and sets the rules for people to follow, and Taurus Risings embody that. They have the ability to subvert tradition and set down new rules that benefit others, because they have the groundedness and practicality, as well as an intuitive and resourceful mind. This inner fire makes them extremely devoted to their loved ones, their own ideas, and their causes. They can be extremely empathetic and generous to those in need, and can really lead others with grace and inner knowledge that draws admiration from others. Besides being beautiful, they are pioneers with no label, because once they know what they want, not a lot of things can change their mind, and success? It’s almost guaranteed with Venus as their chart ruler. 

The ones I know with this rising are so, so caring. They definitely know some things about love that others can’t seem to grasp, such as devotion, responsibility, and respect. And it doesn’t have to be romantic love, these people don’t discriminate with their friends, family, or even colleagues at work. Although I know some people with this rising who can be ignorant, apathetic and  self-serving, I can safely say even these same people care a lot about setting a stable foundation for themselves and their loved ones to grow on. With Scorpio in the 7th house, I’ve already already talked about their craving for intensity and stimulation— they are very easily adrenaline junkies— but this could be done in extremes and they could end up with unhealthy coping mechanisms. However, they’re also incredibly savvy and almost slick with their words, and with Scorpio in the 7th house, they can be incredibly mesmerising. Overall, most I know are just really powerful and passionate people, devoted to their own people and causes. They know what it takes to get the wheels rolling, and their level of determination is solid and awe-inspiring.

Gemini Ascendant

There’s always the other side of the coin. ~ The Lovers

Highly intelligent and insanely insightful are the first things I’ll say about people with this rising. They are extremely perceptive and incredibly nuanced in their ability to observe behaviour and mannerisms. The first of the air signs to make their appearance, they are ultimately concerned about figuring out the truth in situations, and in a way setting the foundation for the other air signs to come in. Represented by The Lovers in tarot, they understand duality in people and have the exceptional ability to accept all sides to an individual. And guess what, this makes them incredible friends and lovers. They understand flaws make people human, and they themselves are very intimate with their own perceived weaknesses and shortcomings. Depending on how they express this, they’re either extremely accepting and authentic with themselves and others, or they can be strict and sometimes judgemental. Most though, have the discernment to use both depending on the situation. However I will say these people can be pretty erudite and snobbish if they are unaware of their pride and ego. Additionally, the flighty air sign stereotype is shown the easiest with this rising, because they see options and opportunities, but they may not have security in themselves to follow through. A lot of their perceived stability and self-esteem can come from their loved ones, but in general, they’re just very caring and observant towards the people they love. Ruled by Mercury, they are playful but can surprisingly be wild and even rough with their play. To be honest, they often surprise others with how they can turn soft to aggressive in a snap, but when you understand complexity in a person, as they do, it is an obvious route. They love exploring both sides to a situation, as they themselves embody duality and two sides of a coin. At their depths they would like to find completion in themselves, to not feel so scattered or fragmented, but instead understood and seen as a whole. I would go so far to say they wish to be seen and accepted just as how they see and accept others so easily. Ambitious and often holding higher ideals, I’ve noticed they hold principles dear to them that they follow groundedly (Cancer 2nd house, Virgo 4th house). They are logical, adaptable people who, in the end, care very much about what impact they make on others. The ability to make the most out of any situation is their ace card, and boy can they give anyone a run for their money.

People I know with this are so sweet they make my teeth ache. Like YES, can kill you with their words. YES, incredibly talented and resourceful. Also yes, they are hardworking and can often find a niche they top the field in. But damn they are so caring. Very funny people with sometimes a sly or darker sense of humour, but honestly they’re just multifaceted. They make amazing detectives or people to go with to an escape room. They really try their best for their loved ones, I cannot emphasise this enough. They can jump between impulses and indecision, but ultimately what comes through is how it will affect their inner circle. Which is why it’s incredibly important that these people carefully select the people they allow into their home or their found family. I have not met people with this rising who are irresponsible, although there is potential (as with everyone). Instead, I know people with this who worry a lot and overthink about their decisions, their career, their life etc. which is why it’s extremely important for them to ground themselves (Virgo 4th house, Taurus 12th house). That is how they can heal and feel whole. Overall, their ability to think out of any situation and tease out the truth is a gift, and they shine with how much intelligence they hold that benefits themselves and their loved ones.

Cancer Ascendant

I’m here to follow my passion. ~ The Chariot

Firstly, they’re normally extremely good at putting themselves in other people’s shoes. Much like Gemini in the way they easily perceive people’s dual nature and complexity, but unlike Gemini, others perceive Cancer Risings to be softer and more forgiving, which is often a rushed assumption. Rather than just studying and probing a person’s nature, Cancer Risings intend to wield this to protect and serve their loved ones and themselves. This is why they’re often underestimated, because they’re soft and caring while still wielding resourcefulness and strategy to keep them and their loved ones safe— even thriving in their environment. You do not really know a Cancer Rising unless they allow you to. They’re elusive yet empathetic, firm yet graceful with their manners and boundaries. They are surprisingly bold with their style and can come across as very direct with Aries in the 10th and Leo in the 2nd. They are aware of how they want their environment to be like and they’re really good at setting up a foundation for themselves by literally tranquilising/eliminating anything jarring or disharmonious to them. These people are built to understand social structure and navigate through them (Capricorn DSC) while also sometimes exhibiting a rougher, wilder quality as you get to know them (Aries Midheaven). Symbolised by The Chariot in tarot, if there’s one thing a Cancer Rising knows in their soul, it is what they want. They are extremely connected to their heart space and can be very passionate and bull-headed with their goals. They are ruled by the Moon after all. These are the people whose intuition is like a compass— it points them to the right direction and signals to them when something/someone is awry. However, I have also observed some chasing their goals recklessly, going after the things they want or siding a group without thought if that helps with their agenda. In a distorted viewpoint, they can actually become selfish and cutthroat, seeing people in hierarchies/categories and coldly putting people down under the guise of protecting their circle and resources when it is mainly to serve their ego. However, at their best, they work through their Capricorn Descendant, and they’re extremely strong, regal, empathetic, and caring, and a light to those around them. They wish to bring understanding and insight into the world (Gemini 12th house) and so they often pursue passions that bring unique insights and perspectives as well as aligning with their own heart. Overall, they take charge and follow their heart, much like a shooting star, and it is a great gift they bring for others as well.

Guys. We’re all sleeping on Cancer Risings. They’re literally one of the most secretly successful rising signs out there. They build their base shaped best to their individual needs down to its core and then silently help those around them. Why do you think they are overly simplified as the mom friend? They’re literally guardians in every sense of the word, they hold their own down strong enough to help others struggling. If there’s one thing about them it’s that they’re always abundant in the space they’ve built for themselves. You would be lucky to experience that abundance if they decide to share it with you. I’ve once called them the captain of their own pirate ship and I stick by that, they are ambitious people who follow where their heart goes. At the truth of it, they are extremely wise for being connected to their heart, their intuitive compass, and their feelings. They like people who are strong and structured while still being open to change (Saturn-ruled 7th and 8th houses) and depending on their placements, they embody this too. Their Gemini in the 12th house actually makes them really likely to create/invent something useful in their lifetime, and why wouldn’t they, with the way they lead with passion? They illuminate the path ahead for others to follow, and they’re most likely to find a safe space for all.

Leo Ascendant

Someone has to bear the weight of the rule. ~ Strength

Being surrounded by Leo placements all my life, I’ve had the honour of knowing a few Leo Risings. Firstly, like the walking sunshine they are, they attract attention wherever they go. Their chart is literally built that way. Their Midheaven is ruled by Venus, they know how to make a good first impression with Virgo in the 2nd house and their Aquarius 7th house speaks for itself.  However, I’ve noticed a lot of them do not like being put on a pedestal, because more than ever, they wish to connect with the people around them and feel their warmth. What is underrated is their love for learning. They absolutely love acquiring knowledge about different people and cultures or any topic really (Aries 9th house), and to do so they connect with others easily and charismatically. Additionally, they bring warmth and the spotlight, and they are often incredibly generous people. They hide a super soft heart that they shield with a lion exterior— they’re not exactly cold or closed-off, but they do show off their power, skill and confidence. Ruling the Strength card in tarot, they have the capability of retaining their warm loving nature and generosity in the face of hardship and difficulties. Leo Risings often portray a softness and kind nature that was absent in their childhood (Cancer 12th house). I’ve known many who grew up in violent homes, dangerous neighbourhoods and/or in financial difficulty (Scorpio 4th house). But because they’ve constantly shifted and transformed themselves to their own top standard and beat the odds, a lot of them have this aura of majesty and yet, this lightheartedness as well. I will say though they do let their emotions get the best of them at times and may have the tendency to wallow and stay stagnant in the hole they’ve dug themselves in or their coping mechanisms or both. I also know that at their worst they tend to hide their wounds, vulnerabilities and softness, and project their confidence to extremes while throwing their weight around. This can ultimately lead to them pushing others away or being the new bully they so hated. However, much like Strength, they have the capability of taming a lion without deadening their feelings and emotions. And much like Strength, they are able to attain their goals and win the admiration of many without closing themselves off to their inner child and softness.

Leo Risings have the greatest potential to show the world how strong and magnificent they are without feeling ashamed of their wounds. Cancer in the 12th house does pack a punch, the 12th house talks of loss and the subconscious while Cancer is the protective nurturing energy we all need, especially as children. They may feel like they missed this energy in childhood, and many have learnt to stay quiet and work their way through life, while repressing their need to be cared for and paid attention to, when really, that’s all they want. They are incredibly intelligent and resourceful people who work hard and have high standards for themselves, while also retaining the bright curiosity and initiative needed to attain success. They definitely can be great leaders, however to fully be themselves without feeling drained or suffocated by people (who definitely will ask something of them), they have to learn to listen to their feelings and know to set boundaries and care for themselves. The RIGHT way, not just by suddenly pushing others away or taking more control. I feel they can benefit a lot from sitting or walking in nature and finding ways to connect to their big heart again, because honestly that’s what their loved ones love them for. Having a heart of gold is the main descriptor for this rising sign.

Virgo Ascendant

What can we improve? ~ The Hermit

I think one thing about Virgo Risings is they’re incredibly conscientious. Conscious of themselves too, they know the energetic space they take up (aka they can tell they’re the shit). They embody the saying where in order to succeed you need to know thyself. And work hard of course, which they also got in the bag. They’re incredibly generous people but they show, not tell. Which makes their craft and actions extremely valuable, they can bring incredible gifts and abilities to the table because of their astute ability to perfect and sharpen whatever skill/ability they set their minds to. Ruling the Hermit card in tarot, they are often great self-reflectors and can really piece together lessons from the past to make invaluable judgements and decisions. Although known for being perfectionistic, nitpicky or judgemental, they’re often also unfairly idolised and idealised to live up to a standard created by other people. They are expected to gruel and go through tense/difficulties in life and not complain, and when they do, their accomplishments and character get swept under the rug. Over time though, they can find the people and places who acknowledge them for who they are, because whatever they’re perfecting now, they will be noticed eventually. They almost remind me of a soldier going up the ranks, and they do this with a whole lot of strategy and intelligence. The cons with this is a kind of nihilistic, sometimes “dog-eat-dog” mindset that they have to manage, because it can overtake them and contribute to feeling depressed or hopeless in this ever changing world. They can be mysterious, but they’re usually just extremely compassionate and giving people who guard their hearts. Their minds and way of thinking is incredibly unique and is often the first thing people spot about them, because they’re often deep thinkers who can provide unique, efficient and just sharp solutions to problems others cannot solve. Also can I just say, they’re incredibly sensual people. They’re attuned to detail as well which contributes to this, but generally I’ve noticed they have a very alluring, ‘come hither’ energy that can turn very passionate and fiery quickly. But back to that, their Rising gives them the ability to reflect on issues and sharpen their skills most of all, they can go through fire and come out skilled and wiser. 

The people I know with this Rising are incredibly humourous. People don’t talk about their Sagittarius IC or Gemini Midheaven enough. They KNOW how to bargain and strategise their way through life. They often build connections and hone in on stability/security incredibly fast. Because they’re a mutable sign, they’re very flexible and adaptable to people and are normally very witty and astute in their observations. Depending on how much air they have in their chart, they’re also sometimes very straightforward and blunt, but “one man’s meat is another man’s poison,”, people who they surround themselves with will treasure that astuteness and honesty and use it to improve their lives. They can get pretty indecisive on what they want to do in life I’ve noticed, but I think it’s because they often like things that deviate from mainstream careers. Once they realise they have a gift in an area though, expect them to top that field. Nobody I know with this Rising comes out of life defeated, that’s what I will say. They always find a way out of darkness, it’s very similar to Scorpio Risings except these people just outsmart or outskill situations in the end. 

Libra Ascendant

There needs to be justice. ~ Justice

Lots of misunderstandings and conflict with this Rising. When you have your whole chart flipped and signs in opposite houses, you’re going to have a life as extreme as an Aries Rising, except this time you are meant to oppose The Emperor. This time, you’re journeying through the other side of the wall — you clearly see the other perspective, and now the responsibility of seeking justice is thrust into your hands. What do you do with it? That is the question Libra Risings will ask and answer throughout their life. These people are met with opposition at every twist and turn with Aries in the 7th house (or they create the opposition by arguing), and from a young age they are exposed to the neverending opinions and expectations of others they have to sort through. It’s almost like they sprung out of the womb as an adult, because these people are exposed to harsh reality pretty quickly, or some form of duty or obligation. Hence these Risings try to form judgements and make the best decision for everyone very early on. They are very giving and for people. Ruling the Justice card in tarot, they best embody being the judge and jury because they have a lot of extreme experiences that they can sharpen into principles, ideals, and morals. They can be very stubborn with their ideals and can hold a lot of resentment and anger if it’s not dispersed productively. Venus was, very early on, the planet of war, and this air cardinal sign embodies that with strategy, tact and grace. Their perspective is cutting and they have this uncanny ability to see the truth into things and be direct with it. And people do not often see this side of them, because they’ve learnt to show the charming, peaceful sides of their personality while working behind the scenes to bring a safer, more nurturing environment that they crave and want their loved ones to have. They understand the value of harmony/peace and this Rising is best known to have a magnetising appeal to the masses, because they understand what people want/need. However, the obvious flaws of this are that they act too much the harmoniser and balancer, that they erase their personality altogether. We all know people-pleasing or being superficial are the weaknesses of this air sign, and it can really culminate to that if these people do not set boundaries and heal from the rough start they were in (Scorpio 2nd house, Capricorn 4th house). They are in the best position to stand up for the underdog, not be a doormat. Much like how a judge's verdict is final, Libra Risings know the power they hold and can be scared of it, but once they hone this power, they hold a lot of rule and say in everything, and their judgement is invaluable.

I’m a Libra Rising, and I also know two others who have the same Rising sign. What I personally feel is people give too much credit to how emotional and charming this Rising sign is, and end up belittling or disrespecting this sign. Although they can be just as empathetic and human as others, they hold a lot of capacity to be very cerebral and impartial, sometimes to the extreme without considering the emotions of others and coming across harsh and blunt. They, like Gemini and Pisces Risings, let people see what they want to see while offering no clue to what they’re doing behind the scenes, for better or worse. At their worst, Libra Risings can be pretty amoral and bitter, leaning to the unfairness they’ve experienced rather than finding justice for themselves or others (“It’s just how the world is”). However, at their best, they embody a weapon themselves in how they deal out justice, and they can be extremely ruthless with it. They need to be able to find balance, or they will create it. Seek justice for yourself, and soon you’ll seek it for others as well. They can really be revered and adored by others for their beauty, inside and out. They care about people, their friends and loved ones, full stop. And they’re the most likely to bring change in pursuit of it.

Scorpio Ascendant

I understand the underbelly, which is why I know how to deal with it. ~ Death

Much like how Death shows up commandingly clad in armour on a horse in tarot, these people very much remind me of soldiers or generals of the zodiac. Scorpio Risings have the ability to weather through any storm, grit their teeth and emerge victorious and wiser. These people have often witnessed a lot of unfair/disadvantaged situations or been in one, and had to work their way around that. They advocate for peace and are often extremely stable and giving in relationships, and they are often loyal to a fault and honest with their dealings is what I’ve noticed. They are opportunistic in any business they’re in with Sagittarius in the 2nd house, and are optimistic people who value simplistic enjoyment in things. But much like Death in tarot, their signature is in their ability to bring change to their environment, and upend foundations and what’s not working anymore. Opposite from Taurus, who sets rules and foundations, Scorpio Rising’s 4th house in Aquarius gives them this innate ability to figure out what’s wrong with any foundational structure, and strike it down. This could be anything, from worldly issues to relationships to even why their computer isn’t working, they take the truth and wield it to something that serves them. This is why most people either become inspired by them or fear/hate them, because they have this innate ability to transmute and are known for it (Leo 10th house). Their perseverance is admirable and also terrifying because once they decide to continue towards their goals, it’s over. Just like Death, it is inevitable that they get what they commit to. However, these Risings really go through it, their life is marked by erratic changes and tower moments after all, and that’s why they can be insecure or doubtful of their abilities, or distrustful and despairing about their life’s direction. These Risings however, should know that this ability to transform and persevere through tough life situations makes them extremely powerful and wise, almost like a “once I’ve gotten through this, I can get through anything”. Death in tarot is after all, freeing of all limitations and restrictions, and these Risings have the capability to build themselves a haven after everything they’ve been through.

The people I know with this Rising just really need sleep. And lots of hugs, they need to have a good support system they can rely on when the going gets tough. These people have such an amazing gift at creativity and the arts that they themselves could underestimate, but it is definitely healing for them should they choose to practice their craft. That Libra in the 12th house? Devastating. Early on they might’ve thought peace or harmony in their lives is unreachable in some way, or they might’ve seen unhealthy conflicts or fights happen a lot in their inner circles, which is why they seek to bring it into the world somehow, subconsciously. Paradoxically, this is why they’re so good at unearthing the truth and bringing even more peace and resolution to anything they touch after destabilising it. They may be a dark horse or feel ‘other’ in some way, but in the end, they are the architects and re-constructors of our world. They match Taurus Risings with their raw level of power, and their insane level of insight into situations and people is what spurs them to do what they do best— transform. 

Sagittarius Ascendant

There’s hope! Let everyone know! ~ Temperance

I think one thing I’ve noticed about Sagittarius Risings is their zest for life. Not a lot of things get them down, even when in the Sagittarius Pluto generation, Pluto is in their first house. The ones I know are enthusiastic and driven, rambunctious and joyful. However, one thing I see but hasn’t been said is how stubborn and willing to bite the bullet they can be. They are mutable fire, and they can dither from decision to decision, however once they’ve committed to the bit, they can really pull through. The most dynamic and free-spirited of the fire signs, they are symbolised by the Temperance card in tarot. After Justice and Death, there’s a need to regain sense of oneself, to come home and regain balance and find multitudes internally and externally. With their Gemini in the 7th house, they love to communicate, explore new topics and share them with people, and are excellent debaters. They have an innate drive to pursue multiple talents and create, and who’s to stop them? Ruled by Jupiter, they embody the wise, knowledgeable and skilled traits of Jupiter, and expanding outwards as a whole. However, the downsides to this are obvious, such as biting more than one can chew or overexerting oneself, and they can share the same erudite arrogance as Gemini. These people are the ones who despair when they realise they can’t master all the skills they want to pursue. They hold a secret love to life’s mysteries and wonders, and so it’s not surprising they wish to investigate and travel in their lifetime. They can be known to relocate or at least explore often, and they have the potential to be incredibly savvy and resourceful (Saturn-ruled 2nd and 3rd houses). Just like the Temperance card, they have the potential to find true abundance and knowledge not just through exploring, but via their own intuition and inner selves. They carry their abundance and multitudes with them that inspires and awes others, and they only need to see that within. Honest and forthright, they wish to spread whatever they’ve learnt to inspire people and make an impact, and can be known as whistleblowers (in the good way). At their worst, they are fickle and yet harsh with others, insecure in themselves and critical of everyone else. Like all fire signs, they hold a temper that can lash out at those around them, sometimes at unpredictable times as well. At their best, they are the inspiring teachers in class, the passionate explorers and researchers, and/or the wise gurus. They represent joy in multitudes, and they won’t let you forget it.

Sagittarius Risings I know could be anything under the sun, and they know this. Which is why it’s so hard for them to settle and find a niche where they can continue to explore and share their ideas and, well, expand. They can really believe in the weirdest, newest, most unique topics and skills out there, and they’re willing to let others know it. That Scorpio in the 12th house doesn’t really let them rest, they wish to explore and investigate and it’s not uncommon to find them in detective work, forensic science or even as paranormal investigators. However, with their Pisces in the 4th house, what they really wish for is understanding, inside and out, and it is beneficial for them to rest and self-reflect from all these ventures and solidify what they’ve learnt so they can share (Virgo in the 10th house). Remember not to give so much, let others share their own resources, ideas, skills and care to you. You’re ruled by Jupiter, not the giving tree. Sometimes dipping fingers in too many pots disrupts both your inner stability and others. But overall, you hold a lot of inspiration and warmth, so never be afraid to share that. 

Capricorn Ascendant

Let’s build this from the ground up to make it stronger than ever. ~ The Devil

These people are surprisingly active and take initiative all the time. Their Aries in the 4th House makes them feel like they have a constantly running generator powering up their energy, and they’re the most quick on their feet out of all the earth risings in my opinion (or maybe Taurus risings are on par). Headstrong, cordial and resilient, they are the “oldest” earth sign in the zodiac and these risings showcase that the most. They are extremely knowing and skilled in working a crowd (Libra 10th house/MC), have an extremely strong and adaptable work ethic (Aquarius 2nd house and Gemini 6th house), while also having the ambition and dreams to go far in life (Pisces 3rd house). The reason why they’re symbolised by The Devil in tarot then, is a culmination of all these reasons. They take initiative, and they keep going despite obstacles, and they can rinse and repeat to the point of exhaustion. These people run the risk of obsessing on something, be it their work, their family, or just a stable income, and they can be incredibly attached to things easily (Cancer DSC, Taurus 5th house, the list goes on). They are also incredibly forgiving people who are aware of how tough life can get, and often experience a pretty tumultuous and erratic home life. Ruled by Saturn, the planet of karma, restrictions and duty, this can be a blessing in disguise for them as they are too kindhearted or stubborn to let go of things that may not serve them anymore. As stereotypes can portray, they indeed may have control issues or over worrying about the worst possible outcome. However, they do not realise how much of a blessing they are to others, how their ability to get their hands dirty and grind has pulled them out of extremely tough situations not many could have continued. They are strong people, with a depth not known to many, and they have retained their kindness and generosity through it all. These people are blessed by the phrase “you reap what you sow”, because they can reap incredible abundance from their intuitive way of going about work. Legacies? These risings can definitely leave them. In other meanings of The Devil, their focus, precision and loyalty is incredibly attractive to many, and their ability to power through and hone any skill is a raw power. That Leo 8th house? Hot. They know how to work their finances and these risings are powerhouses in their own right while still having the adaptability to cruise through life. Saturnian children may get their blessings later, but when they arrive, they last and stay for a very long time.

These people can actually be quite idealistic if their placements allow, they’re situated right in between their Sagittarius 12th house and Aquarius 2nd house, and they have a very soft, parental quality they like to perpetuate in their environment and with loved ones (Cancer DSC). Much like how hope and optimism can actually convince them to stay in unhealthy cycles, they normally learn their lessons on cutting cords and finding out consequences earlier, only to find it easier in adult life where they slowly start to get the hang of things and thrive. People easily have faith in them and their reliability, and they can normally climb their career ranks very quickly. Their cardinal earth quality remind me of earthquakes, they are successful because of their ability to stay grounded and yet adapt. They’re able to build anything from the ground up, just give them time. Rest up, because it’s part of being productive, and once these Risings learn how to nurture themselves properly, all they can do now is succeed.

Aquarius Ascendant

If we were headed in a direction, where would we go? I want to know. ~ The Star

A beacon of hope. One thing about these Risings is they are undoubtedly authentic, and if they choose, they wear their hearts on their sleeve to showcase their individuality. This strength they have to inspire the masses by just being themselves is extremely powerful, and raw. Opposing Leo Risings or the symbolic Strength card, these rising signs bring massive change and upheaval by showcasing what may not be palatable, might be weird, might be taboo, but is needed. Why they’re named the rebel, the humanitarian, the water bearer, is because deep down they are deeply generous and abundant (Taurus IC) and when they notice something amiss, when there isn’t justice or space for freedom, they fight for themselves and others. With water signs in the earth houses, especially the Pisces 2nd house, they dream of an idyllic reality where people are not shunned, or hurt, or damned. Ruled by Saturn and Uranus, these Risings are not as contradictory as you might think. They deeply crave order and structure that benefits everybody; they think about the collective. Hence they are rebels with a cause, all their signs in the specific houses are built for causing change that can benefit them and those around them. However, as all of us have, their weaknesses can range from being too trigger-happy to having insurmountable expectations with reality (Aries 3rd house, Virgo 8th house, etc. you get the idea). They can easily feel down or bogged by expectations or feeling invisible. Because they have felt shunned or rejected for who they are, they can easily go the other way and turn selfish or narcissistic, expecting others and the environment to fit around them instead. They can also be prone to emotional outbursts (Scorpio 10th house), although this can be turned into emotional awareness and insight. When they give themselves space to shine, they can bring that spark and fire to any group and allow others to shine with them. Symbolised by The Star, the reason why hope is so powerful and needed is because it finds us when we are at our rock bottom, when we are weak, and when we are bone tired from fighting. These people bring everything to the surface and address them, they are the canaries in the mine, they’re the reminders that better things can come if only we address what’s wrong. Because to them, everything is exposed and raw, including themselves, they have the capability of accepting themselves and the reality for what it is and are able to work with it. These people are excellent channels for the new, the exciting, and even the genius. They can be excellent at any chosen art form to express themselves, but most of all, they are excellent guiding lights, especially for themselves, if they choose to believe in it.

My younger sister is this Rising, and I’m an Aquarius, so I guess this rising sign holds a little special place in my heart. I think the deep root of Aquarius Risings is the need to feel seen and to be understood (Leo 7th House). They could have been treated as the scapegoat very commonly by others (Scorpio 10th house) while still bringing much needed insight and troubleshooting into their communities and circles, and this could lead to bitterness and resentment very often. They’re incredibly emotionally attuned individuals that felt shunned for not having needs met, and so a lot of things, they do it to vindicate themselves and hence others who have felt the same way they did. Not all of what they do is rebelling obviously, they want to recreate structure as we know it and empower others very deeply, so they will act this out in their unique way. Obviously being very intelligent, they can often tinker and experiment with their own self-expression or whatever they’re interested in and hold vast amounts of energy and focus for whatever they set their mind to. Although sometimes distractible, reactive and maybe drama queens in their own way, they hold the key to a way out in any darkness, and it would be wise to listen and have faith in them.

Pisces Ascendant

We need to understand everything is connected to make this work. ~ The Moon

The Moon card in tarot is as soft as it sounds, and yet it encompasses an enormous depth to its meaning. It shows the distance between our internal worlds and the external one, how far/illusionary perceptions can be, and how close can we get these worlds to collide and be one whole. Pisces Risings adopt this energy straight off with their Aries 2nd house and Scorpio 9th house. Stubborn, determined energy with their values, ideals and beliefs, they seek to reflect back what their inner world has to offer in comparison to reality. Opposing The Hermit card in tarot, Pisces risings have had enough with inward isolation, now they want to experiment how far their perception and beliefs can hold by acting it out practically (Virgo 7th house). Extremely perceptive and insightful, they are the known psychics or intuitive beings simply because they know how to adapt, copy, mirror, reflect, and feel the world around them (Gemini IC). They are often extremely effective in bringing solutions and ideas into reality, because they are both dreamers and hard workers. They wish to bring their dreams to life, and in doing so they symbolise The Moon card best by unveiling illusions and harnessing a deep wisdom in themselves to match their internal world with their external one. However, just like how The Moon can unveil illusions or create them, these risings are the most prone to self-delusion when their reality simply doesn’t match up, or results take longer to arrive. They can be impatient and irritable, and could have a pension for arrogance and hubris if not brought down to earth (Leo-Aquarius in 6th-12th house axis). Often very ambitious and idealistic, they could have the power to bring creativity and inspiration into any interest and hone it down into a fine skill (Virgo DSC, Taurus and Cancer 3rd and 5th house). Deep down, they crave unity for themselves and others, and they often seek fairness and understanding in every interaction. They are the best at researching and understanding what it means to be a part of a larger whole, and hence how to act on it. They are really good at empathising and seeking justice with/for others due to this ability to recognise a simple concept: the human experience is universal. Often extremely generous and helpful as well, they seek to nurture and hence purify their space and their close circles. Pisces risings showcase themselves through their life’s work and dutiful application of their values (Leo 6th house), in hopes to inspire others and bring people together. Just like The Moon, they symbolise power through deep inner knowing and hence illumination of the self.

I wonder if you guys ever get tired of being called dreamy. It could be accurate, because in the end you hope for something, but with that Aquarius in the 12th house, you wish to reconstruct and redefine what you know as reality. It could be that change either doesn’t come easy and you tend to be stuck in places/relationships that are stagnant, or there is too much fluctuation which also calls for improvement. Unlike a lot of people, Pisces risings wish for change, and so a lot of them become it. I think they really embody the word ‘manifestor’, and this time not in a traditionally dreamy sense, but rather they set their sights on something and can transform themselves and their surroundings to attain their goals, which is extremely admirable and inspiring. The drawbacks are never really getting to know who you are, at a base level, and only constantly pursuing something you want or lack. Pisces risings are capable of illumination in the highest sense of being aligned with themselves, and hence leading others along with you, so never lose sight of the inner you. They bring the extraordinary into daily life, in their own unique way, and at their best they recognise the innate value they have in themselves and others, which is an extremely life-changing thing to have and wield.

Thank you for reading! I hope this brought you some clarity c: Feel free to leave feedback in the comments or reblogs.

[tea-wrote]

Posting here to see if anyone would want a Mandalorian Obi-Wan running away from the Jedi instead of going to Bandomeer. You know, cause he shouldn't have been assigned to the agricorps until he was 13.

Also, I wrote a bit for it and have about 5k worth of story written. Might bit the bullet and post on AO3 finally.

****************************************************

Obi-Wan quietly snuck around the hangar until there weren't any maintenance droids and even fewer beings. The air felt still. Almost stale from disuse. The explorcorps mechanics were nowhere to be found. A starskipper was parked with a lowered ramp.

He drew in a breath. Let it out slowly. He could do this.

"The Force is with me." 

He managed to sneak onto the starskipper.

"I am one with the Force." 

The council should have remembered the first half of his life. He used his datapad to clone the keycode for the starskipper.

"There is no death, there is only the Force."

He punched in the keycode. It allowed him to retract the ramp. He flipped through several switches to begin departure. His hands were starting to sweat.

"There is no emotion, there is peace."

His voice cracked on the last word. He focused on going through the pre-flight check. The ship had been sitting after all. The fuel tank was full.

"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

The ship was in good condition. The pre-flight check beeped all clear. He flipped several switch covers and began a launch sequence.

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

It didn't help that his heart was pounding as the ship rose. He started to plot his first hyperspace jump. A starskipper could do several. He just needed to get out of atmo and gun it... Quinlan would kill him for not telling him about this. Quinlan was also a padawan who'd been wanted by the order.

"There is no chaos, there is harmony."

The hangar's air control was trying to beep in as he slowly passed the ground crew and other ships. That had taken longer than Obi-Wan expected. He ignored the hails to acknowledge who was taking out the ship. 

"There is no death, there is the Force." 

He strapped into the pilot's seat. Took the two large controls in his hands. Then he flew the ship up and out of the open hangar door. He was leaving Coruscant behind. He was leaving his home behind. 

The temple finally managed to break through the comms. He heard a swear as he looked at an explorcorps member. Obi-Wan smiled. He didn't acknowledge that he was being asked to return back to the temple. Immediately.

"I am grateful to the order for all it has done for me. However, my place is no longer with the Jedi or the agricorps."

The Force had been quiet until now. It lit up when he said that. Felt like a warm cuddle pile with all his crechmates. This was the right decision. Obi-Wan broke atmo. He pushed the lever for the hyperdrive to boot into his first plotted jump. He hoped he wouldn't end up crashing into a planet at the end of it.

Blue streaks began to surround the ship. It was too late to back out.

"May the Force be with you."

 Almost thirteen was too old for a Jedi. There was one thing the council should have remembered before assigning him to the agricorps. Almost thirteen was perfect for a Mandalorian.

[perfectsunlight]

[𝟎𝟕] 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐞𝐭𝐜. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐮𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲/𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

the new school year brought with it a sense of renewal, and you were eager to embrace it. amid the whirlwind of fresh faces and new routines, you found yourself forming a close friendship with a girl named jang wonyoung. 

you two were both in a 4th period music class, a subject you both enjoyed and excelled in. the class had become a refuge, a place where you could lose yourself in melodies and harmonies. wonyoung’s enthusiasm for music was infectious, and her support meant the world to you.

and it was actually because of her that you ended up becoming an artist.

one day, as you were both working on a group project for the class, wonyoung noticed you staring wistfully at the piano. “you’re really talented, you know that?” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “i’ve seen you play, and i think you should seriously think about pursuing music.”

you looked up, slightly surprised. “really? i’ve thought about it, but i don’t think it’s something i can actually do.” wonyoung leaned closer, her irises dancing with encouragement. it was a look of pure belief and encouragement.

“why not? you have a gift, and you shouldn’t waste it.”

you had always loved music, but the idea of making it a career felt like a distant fantasy. but wonyoung’s encouragement felt like a spark that lit a fire in you. 

“i don’t even know where to start,” you admitted, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. the industry was very competitive, and you knew your chances were slim, even if you were talented.

wonyoung smiled, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “start small. maybe take on some gigs, work on your music. i can even ask my dad if you can perform at his gala events.” you chuckled and tried to decline the invitation, but the taller girl was adamant. 

“you just have to believe in yourself, and i believe in you.”

her warmth and kindness were a breath of fresh air, and you quickly became inseparable, bonding over shared interests and heartfelt conversations. 

when you two weren’t talking about music, you shared bits of your love life.

wonyoung often spoke of her significant other with a mix of affection and nostalgia. she mentioned that her partner had just recently graduated, but never went into detail. your curiosity was piqued, but you respected her privacy. ironically, you often did the same.  the advice and understanding between you two strengthened your connection.

as your friendship deepened, it felt like you had found someone who was always there for you. you spent countless hours together, navigating school life and supporting each other through its ups and downs.

one afternoon, as you enjoyed a break in the school courtyard, your best friend inez approached with a concerned look. she pulled you aside, her expression serious. you couldn’t help but wonder what she was about to say.

regardless, you could’ve never guessed what it really was.

“look, i saw something today that i think you need to know,” inez said, her tone low. she quickly glanced around, making sure anyone else was around. the pause made your anxiety spike even more. 

“i was at lunch in the cafeteria, and i saw wonyoung with someone who looked like yujin.”

your heart stopped. you could feel every breath becoming more ragged. “yujin? are you sure?”

inez nodded, pulling out her phone to show you a photo she had discreetly taken. in the image, wonyoung was seated with yujin, sitting on a bench while they kissed.

your mind raced, trying to process this revelation. yujin—who you were still in a relationship with—was cheating on you. your mind raced, struggling to process the revelation. the world around you seemed to tilt, and the image of yujin and wonyoung together was like a punch to the gut. 

“i thought you and yujin were still together,” inez said, sensing your distress. “i didn’t know you two had broken up.”

“we haven’t,” you replied, struggling to keep your emotions in check. “we’re still together.”

everything started to make sense now. the late-night texts, the vague excuses, the sudden distance. the nagging doubts you had pushed away now felt like a tidal wave crashing over you.

you stared at the photo, your emotions a turbulent mix of hurt, betrayal, and confusion. “i—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. “how could she do this?” inez quickly put her phone away and wrapped you in her embrace. it was difficult news to process, and she understood that.

needless to say, you both ditched the rest of the school day and inez came over to your house to help you figure out what to do next. you sat at the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the floor while inez made herself comfortable beside you. the weight of the situation pressed heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think clearly.

“are you okay?” inez asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern. you could tell she was trying to offer support without overstepping, giving you the space you needed to process. you shook your head slowly, trying to hold back the tears. “i don't know. i thought everything was fine. i thought we were happy.”

inez reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “listen y/n, you deserve to be treated with honesty and respect. and yujin shouldn't have done this to you or wonyoung.”

wonyoung. that was the other problem. did she know? you assumed no. upon further digging, you and inez found out yujin had a separate instagram account with numerous posts with the other girl. it was very obvious that she was publicly loving her, and privately loving you.

“i know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “but seeing her with wony, it’s like she’s happier with her? she looks happier. she looks at her in ways she’s never looked at me, and maybe as bad as it sounds, i don’t want to ruin her happiness. if she’s happy with someone else, i love her enough to respect that.”

inez gave you a reassuring squeeze and a firm but loving glare. “just remember it's also about what's best for you. you shouldn't have to compromise your own happiness for someone else's.”

you took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. the idea of confronting yujin was daunting, but you knew you needed to face her. you had to understand where you stood and what her feelings really were.

a few hours later, you found yourself standing outside yujin’s apartment. your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the strength to knock on her door. you needed answers, and you needed to hear them directly from her.

when yujin opened the door, her expression shifted from surprise to concern. “hey, what’s wrong? you didn’t call ahead.” the dim light from the outdoor lamp shone on your face with gentle hues of yellow. there was a glare in your eyes that sent chills down yujin’s spine. you had never looked at her with such an intensity. 

to be quite honest, it scared her.

“we need to talk.”

yujin’s brow furrowed, but she stepped aside to let you in. the tension in the room was palpable as you both sat down on the couch, facing each other.

“i know what’s been going on,” you began, your voice cold and steely. the older girl looked confused, but you knew it was all an act. “what are you talking about, babe?” yujin asked slowly, brows furrowed at you.

“i know about you and wonyoung.”

yujin’s face turned pale, her eyes widening in shock and guilt. “i didn’t mean for you to find out like this. i didn't get to explain everything—.”

“really?” you spat, the anger and hurt bubbling over. there was no way she was still trying to lie in front of your face. “so what was the plan, yujin? to keep me in the dark while you parade around with wonyoung like you’ve moved on from me? is that it?”yujin opened her mouth to respond, but you cut her off with a harsh, biting tone.

“don’t even try to defend yourself. you’ve been lying to me and cheating on me. how the hell do you think i’m supposed to feel?” her eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t relent. you were angry, and it was all because of the girl you loved.

“how long?” you whispered, looking dead in her eyes. 

yujin’s face went from a look of panic to resignation. she looked away, unable to meet your gaze as she tried to find the right words. “i didn’t mean for it to go on this long. it just happened, okay?”

“save me the bullshit,” you snapped. “i want a straight answer. how long have you been cheating on me with wonyoung?”

yujin took a shaky breath, her voice barely audible. “about six months.”

the words hit you like a train. six months of lies, six months of betrayal, and the thought of how you’d been manipulated all this time made your stomach churn. “six months,” you repeated, struggling to keep your voice steady. “you’ve been living a double life for half a year. what the hell is wrong with you?”

her tears were now flowing freely, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to offer her any sympathy. “i was trying to figure things out,” she said through her sobs. “i thought i could manage both—”

“manage both?” you cut her off, incredulous. “you think you can juggle two relationships and not hurt anyone? i only just left for the summer, thinking we were building something together, while you were out there with someone else. how could you do this?”

yujin’s voice trembled as she tried to explain. “i didn’t mean for it to happen this way. i was trying to—”

“save it!” you shouted, the raw pain in your voice echoing off the walls. “i don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. you’ve been living a lie, and i’m sick of it.”

you stood up, the anger and betrayal burning through you like a wildfire. “i trusted you, yujin. i thought we had something real, but you’ve turned it into a fucking joke. i’m done with your lies and your games. i need to get out of here.”

yujin reached out, her voice breaking. “please, don’t go. we can work through this.”

you looked at her with a mix of sadness and fury. “no, yujin. we’re not working through anything. you’ve made your choice, and now you can live with the consequences. i hope you and wonyoung are happy together, because i’m done being your second choice.”

you turned on your heel and walked out of her apartment, the door slamming shut behind you. the finality of your decision was both a relief and a heartache, but as you stepped into the cool night air, you knew you had made the right choice. 

—

there was something different in the air once you graduated. the weight of the past months seemed lighter, as if you had shed the burden of yujin's betrayal with every step you took towards the future. you had decided to pursue your music career, encouraged by wonyoung's unwavering support. although you and she had become closer than ever, you never revealed the truth about yujin’s infidelity. you didn’t want to shatter wonyoung’s happiness or your own newfound peace.

time passed, and the memories of your relationship with yujin faded into the background. you focused on your studies, your music, and the new friendships you forged. you attended your graduation ceremony with a sense of accomplishment and freedom, surrounded by friends and family who celebrated your achievements.

the graduation party was a lively affair, filled with laughter, music, and the joy of new beginnings. you mingled with your classmates, sharing stories of the past and dreams for the future. everything seemed perfect until you noticed a familiar figure standing by the door, her presence drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

yujin had arrived.

she was now a rising actress, her face recognizable from the movies and tv shows she had starred in over the past year. she looked stunning, her confident demeanor a stark contrast to the tearful girl you had last seen. as she walked into the room, all eyes were on her, including yours.

wonyoung was on her arm.

there was a moment of silence, the noise of the party fading into the background as you both stood there, facing each other. you searched her eyes for any sign of the girl you once loved, but all you saw was a stranger—a beautiful, successful stranger who had once broken your heart.

wonyoung noticed your stare and followed your gaze to yujin. she gave you a concerned look but didn’t say anything, instead squeezing yujin’s arm gently and whispering something to her. yujin nodded, her eyes never leaving yours.

“i’ll be right back,” yujin said softly to wonyoung before making her way through the crowd towards you.

your heart pounded in your chest as she approached, the familiar ache of old wounds resurfacing. you forced a smile, trying to keep your composure.

“hi,” yujin said when she finally reached you. “can we talk? privately?”

you hesitated, glancing at wonyoung, who was now chatting with some of your friends, oblivious to the tension. “alright,” you said, leading yujin to the back porch where it was quieter.

once outside, the cool evening air hit your face, providing a brief respite from the heat of the party inside. you turned to face yujin, crossing your arms defensively.

“what do you want to talk about?” you asked, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

yujin took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing. “i just wanted to say i’m sorry,” she began, her voice trembling. “for everything. for lying to you, for cheating, for hurting you. i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but i need you to know that i regret it every single day.”

you felt a lump forming in your throat, but you stayed silent, letting her continue.

“i miss you,” the actress confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. the muffled noise from the party was the only other sound in the air, aside from her voice.

 “i miss us. i miss the way we used to be, and i hate myself for ruining it.”

your heart ached at her words, memories of happier times flooding back. but you couldn’t forget the pain she had caused you, the betrayal that had shattered your trust. it all felt too late, even if you liked hearing her apology.

“why now, yujin?” you asked, your voice breaking. “why come here and say all this now?” 

“because seeing you again reminded me of everything i’ve lost,” she replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i’ve tried to move on, to be happy with wony, but it’s not the same. it’s never been the same. i thought i could forget you, but i can’t.”

you looked away, trying to process her words. the anger, hurt, and confusion swirled inside you, but there was also a part of you that still cared for her, that still longed for the connection you once had. but you couldn’t forget what happened.

“look,” you said softly, your voice filled with pain. “you broke my heart. you lied to me, and you cheated on me. how can i ever trust you again?”

she took a step closer, her gaze pleading. “i know i’ve hurt you, and i don’t expect you to forgive me right away. but i want you to know that i’m truly sorry, and i want to make things right. even if we can’t be together, i need you to know that i still care about you. i always will.”

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. part of you wanted to believe her, to give her another chance, but another part of you knew that you deserved better, that you deserved someone who would never hurt you the way she did.

truth be told, you knew your heart was still hers. but you weren’t ready, or willing, to accept that fact.

“i appreciate your apology,” you said finally, your voice steady. “but i need time. i need to figure out what’s best for me. and right now, i don’t think being with you is what’s best.”

yujin nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “i understand. and i’ll wait, as long as it takes. just know that i’m here, and i’ll always be here for you.”

you both stood there in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. the pain in yujin’s eyes mirrored your own, and despite everything, you could still feel the connection between you. it was as if the years apart had never existed, and all the hurt and betrayal were just fleeting shadows in the face of the love you once shared.

before you knew it, you were stepping closer to her, feeling both disgusted and drawn to the girl who still had your heart, even if it was in pieces. yujin looked up, her eyes wide with desperation.

 “i still love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. the next thing you knew, your lips were on hers. it was a desperate, aching kiss, filled with all the pain and longing you had both endured. tears mingled on your cheeks as you kissed, each salty drop a testament to the tumultuous journey you had been on.

yujin’s hands cupped your face, her touch gentle but firm, as if she was afraid you might slip away again. you clung to her, pouring all your conflicting emotions into that kiss—love, hurt, anger, and a deep, unyielding desire.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless and tear-streaked. the intensity of the moment left you reeling, and you could see the same turmoil reflected in yujin’s eyes. you both were a mess, but it felt like the right thing at the time.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice trembling. “i’m so, so sorry.” you nodded, swallowing hard. “i know,” you replied, your voice barely audible. “i know you are.”

for a long moment, you simply stood there, holding each other, the world outside fading into insignificance. in that embrace, you found a flicker of hope, a small chance that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other someday.

but for now, you knew you needed to heal, to rediscover who you were without yujin. and as painful as it was, you had to let go, if only for a little while.

“i need time,” you repeated, stepping back slightly, though still holding her hand. “but thank you for being here.”

yujin nodded, her tears still flowing. “i’ll wait,” she promised, her voice filled with a determination that both comforted and broke your heart. “no matter how long it takes, i’ll wait for you. i only want you.” the actress was telling the truth. she did still love you, and she did still want you. however, she failed to speak the full truth.

because just four months later, she proposed to wonyoung.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @silantryoo @neuftaeng @regaiis @jisooftme @skisk1 @pandamiswifey @bzeus28 @jiihu @jeindall777 @yacii @jiwoneiric @cooldazetidalwave @chaersly @sunasami @nkahydnxo @shashatonin @lea-pg @wonyoluvr @urfriendlylocalidiot @writingficsblog @yoontoonwhs @aurumness @pandafuriosa60 @solwanq @lizseos @yourlittlecherry @aloneinacity @luv4tzu @onecalm-anon @sewiouslyz @li0ilthecxnt @awkwardtoafault @kikelikesmc @1r3n31ty @mitangiieee

CLOSED.

[exquisiteserotonin]

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary: After an altercation Ellie has at school, Joel visits you to have a talk

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ only (MDNI, PLEASE), angst, some violence, coarse language, brief talk of losing children and spouse (if this triggers you), Oral sex (Fem receiving), Squirting, PiV sex, Hurt-Comfort sex, Creampie, no use of y/n

A/N: Not-beta'd. I wrote this very, very quickly a few days ago when I was in some kind of incredibly weepy, hormonal mood or perhaps it was the full moon. Either way, that is why there is so much angst. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to share it today, but here we are. Real tears were shed during the writing of this fic. I'm a wife and a mom, hence why there is talk of reader once having a husband and children (Sorry, if that's not your thing or if you cannot relate). This generally follows canon except that Ellie and Joel are more fully integrated right away to the Jackson community.

Read on AO3

Take My Love, Take it Down

Screams, cries, and murmurs filled the freezing Wyoming air. A sharp pain took hold of your chest, creeping up your neck, and over your back as the sounds reached your ears. It sent you in a wave of memory and panic and was followed by the constant crunching of snow under a few shuffling feet. Clutching your chest, you took a few deep breaths as your charges came running towards you calling out your name. Well, your last name anyway. As their teacher, they didn’t get the privilege of knowing your first name. 

“She punched me!” One of your older students cried out as a few of his peers pushed him forward presenting him to you. 

You winced as you saw blood streaming down his nose, mixed with cold tears that were falling down his face. Other children watched with intrigue as you pulled a few tissues from your coat pocket, bringing them gingerly to his face, gesturing for him to hold pressure to his nose. 

“Who punched you, Carter?” You asked as holding gentle hands to his pale freckled face. 

He and several other students pointed in the same direction, fingers towards your new student, Ellie. You saw her standing a few yards away, her coat disheveled, the knees of her jeans scattered with dirt, and her face red from the cold, but also, mostly, from her anger. A sigh escaped you as you put your hands on your hips. Gently, you gestured for your other students to return to recess while asking your assisting teacher to bring Carter inside to clean up. 

“Ellie, could you come here please?” You requested, beckoning her over with what you hoped was a welcoming gesture.

“It wasn’t my fault, he started coming at me telling me what I should do and how I should be and I--,” her voice was fast and full of rage and pleading. 

“Ellie, stop,” you stated, a natural calm imbued in the tone of your voice, “let me see your hand.” 

The last words that fell from your lips must have been the perfect disarmament, since her response was to hold her hand out to you immediately. You pulled another tissue from your pocket and began to wipe away remnants of blood on her knuckles. Upon closer examination, any injuries she may have sustained were minor especially compared to what she had inflicted on Carter. 

“Carter can be a little much, can’t he?” you added, keeping your gaze on her. “I’m sure whatever he said or did, you've every right to feel the way you did.”

Her eyes lit up in relief at your words. It was a familiar look that you had seen before from your students. The look that lit up when they thought they were about to get away with something. You stilled yourself, holding back emotions that began to well up within you. It was a familiar look you had seen from your own children. 

“But just because someone wronged you doesn’t mean that your automatic reaction should be to hit them.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ellie shouted at you. “This place sucks, with all your peace, love, and harmony shit.”

“Ok, you know what? You need to go inside, Ellie,” you stated, somehow retaining your calm. “In fact, everyone we all need to go inside; recess is over, time to get back to work.”

You waved for your students to line up, while pointing at a space directly in front of you with the expectation that Ellie would take the lead. Begrudgingly, she did, the remainder of the students falling in line behind her. 

As you trudged through the snow back to the school house, you turned to Ellie, “I think I’ll have to talk to Tommy or Maria about this.”

“Why?!” She snapped and then added, “Just because they got me in here doesn’t mean they’re family.”

“Well then, I guess I have to talk to Tommy’s brother,” you countered, “Joel, right?”

“Go ahead and do it then,” she retorted, “but he’s not my dad either.” 

You shrugged but nodded, listening carefully to her words. You never mentioned anything about him being her dad. You just knew that they’d shown up at the gate and were now the newest residents of your quiet community. 

Your one-room classroom buzzed with the chaotically happy energy so often found in a classroom. Thankfully, the rest of the day went without incident. Having students from a very young age to teenagers was not something you were used to. It brought a different kind of chaotic energy that was, at the very least, interesting to observe. The mix of pretend play from your youngest students and the giggling gossip from your oldest students represented life in a world that felt like nothing but death. That’s what everyone told you, anyway.

They didn’t even need to tell you, really. You saw it in their eyes; the way that children and their parents greeted you on the street with their eyes crinkled at the corners with joy and gratitude. It should have made you happy. It made you happy in your life before this. Sometimes you wondered to yourself why you were teaching again. No, most of the time you wondered why you were teaching. 

You replayed the memory of how it happened as you walked home. 

First Maria asked you. 

“No, I don’t think so.”  

Then Tommy asked you.

“No, I really don’t think I’m the right person for the job.”

Then Maria and Tommy asked you. 

The exhaustion that overcame you from their consistent requests eroded what little resistance you had. Their arguments and evidence were hard to defend against especially since you’d been a teacher and that the children in the community loved you. Out of some strange sense of obligation, you refrained from telling them that each day you were just going through the motions. You were like a robot completing an assigned task. Because doing, thinking, or feeling anything else was just too painful. 

You reached your home, a cozy little cottage that was more than enough for you. As you closed the door behind, you felt a tight pain in your chest similar to what you felt this morning. You strangely thought of Ellie, then thought of your boys, then your husband. It rose to your throat and it was suddenly hard to breathe. You rushed to the kitchen, filling a glass with much needed water. 

A loud knock on your door had you startled. Grabbing a pistol from a kitchen drawer you made your way to the door. The knock came again. 

Looking through the peephole allowed you some relief when you saw a familiar, rugged-faced man, with salt and pepper hair standing at your door. It was Joel Miller, Tommy’s older brother and Ellie’s apparent caretaker. You opened the door, pistol still in your hand. 

“Hello, I don’t think you’ll be needin’ that,” he gestured towards your gun, “though I won’t hold it against you if keep it nearby.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry” you nodded, “force of habit—please come in.”

You gestured for him to have a seat at a small round dining room table. You placed your gun away in a nearby drawer, observing Joel as he looked around your house. You winced as his eyes settled on a photo of you, your husband, and two children. Reluctantly, after his brief overview of your home, he moved towards your dining room table. 

“You’re probably wonderin’ why I’m here,” he said, taking a seat and spreading his legs in a way that you could only describe as hyper-masculine. 

You clenched your teeth beneath tightened lips as it spurred inexplicable feelings discomfort and disgust. They prodded at you simply because you had noticed. 

“Surprised, yes,” you said, trying to hide the trembling in your voice,“but I think I know why.”

“Ellie gave that boy a bloody nose.”

There was something in his voice, in that Texas drawl that sounded almost like…pride. 

“Yes, I know, I was there,” you acknowledged in exasperation, “I’m sure she had her reasons but I don’t think it warranted violence, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel,” he corrected, “I agree, but you have to understand where she’s comin’ from, ma’am.”

“Alright, Joel, can I get you some water?” you offered. “Please don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old.” 

You gave him your first name along with a glass of water. 

“Ellie’s been through a lot,” his voice was hushed and gravel-like as he gave his excuse, “you can’t hold it against her for tryin’ to stand up for herself.” 

“Joel,” you said calmly, tapping into the part of your brain where you held the voice you used when talking to parents at conferences, “we’ve all been through a lot here, doesn’t give us the right to start punching people in the face.” 

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it, though,” he continued, incredulously, “sittin’ pretty in your perfect little town, with your perfect little job, in your perfect little house---you don’t really know what’s out there right now.” 

“What?” 

Your hands began to tremble at the words, traveling up your arms, to your neck. It was as though someone lit a burner inside you and your blood was the fuel. Red and hot, like living lava from the volcano of you, it threatened to erupt. 

“You haven’t seen the things that I’ve seen,” he grumbled, standing up to pace around your home, his right hand trembling, “or done the things I’ve done.”

“What do you want a medal ‘cuz you’ve smuggled shit and killed some people in the process?” you scoffed and advanced on him. “You know, you roll up in here, saying you’re here for family and you come in to my house, Ellie’s teacher’s house, making excuses for her to bash another child’s face in and you expect me to give you sympathy because you’ve got people’s blood on your hands that you chose to spill?”

“I did what I had to survive,” his voice grew in volume as you stepped closer to him, “and I’m teaching Ellie to do the same.” 

“And I am doing exactly the same thing,” you growled at him. 

The way his left eye twitched and the way he moved his jaw told you that he wasn’t expecting that answer. Beyond your control, you felt tears start to sting the corner of your eyes. A sudden feeling of helplessness and shame overcame you as felt the sudden urge to explain yourself to a man you had only known in passing for a few days. 

“I’m not stupid, Joel; Maria and Tommy are my friends, my good friends,” you spoke, not moving from where you stood. “I know what you lost and I know you know…”

The hatred you felt for yourself amplified as the tears fell freely from your eyes. Your view of Joel was blurry from your tears as you tried to find your words again. 

“I know you’re not stupid, I saw you looking at my photos, so you know what I’ve lost,” your lips trembled and stumbled at every word. “I have nightmares all the time and I see them--and how I had to l-leave my, my boys.” 

A broken shell of you was all that was left. Maybe Joel was right, maybe you were just a broken shell in a perfect town, with a perfect job, in a perfect house. All of it perfect from the outside, but none of it real. You drew your hands to your face trying to stop the tears from falling from your eyes as Joel stared back at you. You spotted a flinch here and there as he tried to gather the knowledge to comfort you. 

“I’m sorry, I--,” he said as he reached a tentative hand towards you, but you shook your head and finally took a step away from him. 

“This is how I’m trying to survive, Joel, to try to make things better, but I’m just---just  fucking it all up,” you said through tears. “Everyday, I’m doing this job that your brother begged me to do and everyday I wake up and it’s never real. And these kids, they’re depending on me and asking me to help them with the simplest things and I can’t; my chest hurts and I can’t breathe, and I fuck up, and I fail, and I lose everything.”

The tears were falling so freely now that you can’t even see Joel. All you heard is how loud the silence is, louder than the tears and labored breaths that are escaping from you. You tried to mumble something unintelligibly to Joel. An apology. An explanation. But you’re certain it just comes out in even messier sobs. The next sound that floats to your ears is the creaking of your floor beneath Joel’s booted footsteps as he moves towards you and unexpectedly grabs you by the arm to wrap you in the tightest embrace that you’ve felt in the longest time. 

Tears stained his leather jacket and shirt as you cry into his chest. He spoke nothing. His comfort came in the rise and fall of his chest as he breaths, in the way that he somehow manages to understand to caress the back of your head and your hair, and in the way that his hands rub your shoulders as he squeezes you tighter as if doing so might somehow expel some of your pain. And somehow it did, if only just a little bit. It was enough to allow you to wrap your arms around his waist in return. Your hands explored his back, rubbing up and down to give him back some of the comfort he had given you. 

Everything is still dark behind your closed eyes that are still buried in his shirt. With one quivering exhale, you managed to look up to find him looking back at you. His eyes that were tight with stoicism and anger when he stepped through the threshold of your door had changed. Round, soft, deep brown, and glossy with the onset of tears. You knew them like an old friend because they were just like yours, because they’d seen the same horror and felt the same pain. You took your hands from his waist and cautiously brought them towards his face, learning more with your eyes before he gave you the slightest nod as a form of permission. With your fingers, you gently caressed the wrinkles on his forehead tracing down to his temples until you wiped away the tears that had managed to escape from the corners of his eyes. You held your hands at his cheeks, keeping hold of his gaze with your own. He brought his hands to grip yours, rubbing his thumbs on your wrists before his fingers met your forearms with a touch that was beginning to awaken something inside you. 

“I reckon we’re more alike than we are different,” his words were a cathartic confession. 

You nodded, uncertainty still circling around you as you caressed his face and began to lace your fingers in his dusty-colored hair. It seemed to be all the permission he needed to dive forward to kiss you as he held your face gently in his hands. But you needed more, as quickly as he had moved in to kiss you, you began to peel his jacket off his broad shoulders, throwing it on a chair at your dinner table. A determined, almost dangerous stare filled his eyes as he discarded the flannel shirt beneath his jacket. You pulled off your sweater and blouse in one skillful move, tossing it without a worry as to where it landed. You were left standing before him only in your jeans and bra.  

An obvious hunger had taken over you both, as he lunged at you grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss less chaste than the last. Your lips held onto each other, tongues exploring and tasting each other through the remnants of salty tears. You hooked your hands into his belt loops, grabbing him by his ass to push his hips towards yours, feeling his cock beginning to twitch and harden with need. 

“Bedroom,” you commanded breathlessly. 

He nodded and then lifted you as you leveraged yourself against his chest and shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist while he kept his mouth on yours. He threw you on the bed, eliciting a quiet yelp as you bounced on the firm mattress. You shifted yourself further up the bed as he crawled towards you. Pushing yourself up to your knees you moved towards him pulling him to you by his shirt with desperation. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you sighed, gently pulling it over his head. 

He smiled and let out a breathy chuckle. It was the first time you’d seen him smile since the moment he reunited with Tommy when he and Ellie first arrived in town. This was different, of course: a little playful and a little dirty and something you hoped, at least in the moment, was just for you. 

“Sorry, y’know it’s winter,” he chuckled again as his lips were back on you. 

His hand cupped your breast and then his mouth traveled to your shoulder. You lowered your back to the bed, allowing him to come down with you, his arms pushing himself up on either side of you to get a better view for him to admire your body with his eyes. With a gentle touch of your finger nails, you caressed his forearms and triceps. Your eyes studied the broadness of him and how his chest looked especially strong as he propped himself over you. 

“I’m gonna apologize, ya know, before we---,” he warned quietly, “it’s been a little while.” 

“I reckon we’re more alike than we are different,” you whispered, repeating the words he spoke moments before he kissed you. 

Faster than you could think, he was on you again, somehow expertly unclasping your bra as he rolled with you in your bed sheets. You helped him unbuckle, unzip, and pull off his jeans, laughing as he clumsily kicked them off with his boxers somewhere on your carpeted bedroom floor. With an involuntary bite of your lip, you admired his large, uncut cock as he moved towards you, this time helping you unbutton and unzip your jeans. You lifted your hips as he slid your jeans from them, taking your underwear with them tossing them on the floor to join his. 

You stared at each other for a few moments, drinking in the view of each other’s bodies, maybe even holding a picture of it in your head to keep as a memory to hold on to forever. 

“You sure ‘bout this?” He asked, giving you one more chance to make a smarter, level-headed decision. 

“Joel, please,” you implored, your fingers dancing in his hair, “I need this, need you.”

He brought his face close to yours, first pressing his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss before giving you an equally gentle kiss on your lips. Everything else he did with his mouth however, was anything but sweet and gentle. He led with his tongue, first at your neck and then between the valley of your breasts until he tasted each one, swirling his tongue around the pebbled surface, lightly biting at them with his teeth. The anticipation of where his tongue was leading left you panting. The softness of his lips paired with the coarseness of his mustache and facial hair was the perfect contradiction. Your breath hitched as he kissed your mound, stopping there long enough for you to panic about what he would do next. 

“Joel, is everything ok? Is there…is there something wrong?” You propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. 

“Not at all, sweetheart,” he murmured his voice full of marvel like he’d seen a dream, “just admirin’ the view.”

You smiled and before you could say anything else, his mouth was on you. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, as he worked on you first with a broad lap of his tongue through your folds. He works through them at a torturous pace, pitiful moans echoing through your quiet bedroom. And then he moved faster as he savored you, finding your clit poking at it first with a pointed tip of his tongue until he took it between a tight purse of his lips, sucking on it  furiously until you cried out for him to give you more. He swiped a few more heavy stripes down your folds until his lips are on your clit again, sucking and humming, the vibrations making your already sensitive center weepingly wet. 

“Oh god, god, Joel,” you moaned, your hands grasping at his hair, “I haven’t felt this good in so long.”

You cried out incoherently as he chuckled and returned his attention to your clit, maneuvering two fingers in and out of you as his lips continue to suck and vibrate on the most sensitive part of you. He continued to move his fingers in and out of your folds at an agonizingly fast pace. You whimpered helplessly, crying out his name over and over as he worshipped your cunt like his own personal idol. The pressure from his mouth intensified on your clit as his fingers pulsed in and out, in and out until you cried out seeing stars. A hot gush of liquid came out of you covering his face and hand, dripping onto your ass and onto the sheets beneath you. 

“Shit…fuck, Joel, Joel!” You wail, clutching at the sheets from your orgasm. 

He let go of your clit with a gentle kiss that makes your body jolt from overstimulation. Your body was still writhing from your climax, your breaths were still fast as you tried to bring yourself down. Opening your eyes, you lay in a misty daze as Joel crawls towards you, wiping his face and facial hair with the tips of his fingers and the pad of his thumb, taking one last lick of your essence. You hadn’t seen anything so erotic in years and you pulled him close, your chests pressed together as you took him in a long and sensual kiss. 

“Oh sweetheart, we made a little mess,” he growled as he positioned himself over you. 

“I--I forgot I could do that,” you said, still coasting on the high of your last orgasm. 

Joel breathed out with a low and sexy, but at the same time sheepish. You looked at him, seeing his cheeks slightly pink with a mixture of pride and humility. 

“Glad I could help you remember,” he replied with a smirk,that quickly changed into a heavy groan as you pumped his girthy cock. “Fuck sweetheart.”

“Need to feel you inside me, Joel,” you pleaded, bucking your hips up to his. 

“Yes, baby,” he grunts as you wrap your leg around his thigh. 

With a sudden urge you sat up and held him close, kissing him fervently and rolling over him so that his back was on the bed. Your fingernails gently scratched his expansive chest as you straddle him. His eyes gleamed with anticipation that evolved into pure pleasure as you lowered yourself down onto his cock, unable to keep from moaning with the feeling of him stretching you. You bounced on his cock and grind on him with the tightest of circles. 

“Oh, fuck, Joel you feel so good,” you cried, your pussy fluttering with each bounce. 

“Come on, baby,” he groaned as he started to buck his hips up into you with the same rhythm of your bounce. “Keep ridin’ me, you feel so good.”

Moans and slaps of your skin are all that fills the air in your room. You grabbed at his thighs, feeling ecstasy with each bounce. To your surprise he sat up and grabbed you by the waist, thrusting into you and rolling you over so he’s back on top. For a brief moment, his cock left you and you felt suddenly empty. He settled over, pushing your bent legs up towards your chest. The pad of his thumb easily found your clit again and with a few slaps of his cock at your folds, he was pushing into you again. His hips rocked into you in a new found depth and pace as his thumb continued to circle your bundle of nerves. In this position he felt even wider than he had before and your heart and mind raced with each desperate thrust Joel made. That magic feeling began to will within you again as Joel’s pace became faster and faster. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I don’t think I can hold on much longer,” he growled through thrusts, grabbing your hips tightly and angling them upward. 

“Oh god, Joel, please, baby,” you cried, knowing you were right there with him. “Take what you need, baby, please take what you need.”

Neither of you could speak anymore. You’d evolved into an orchestral union of bodies, reaching out for each other and crying out each other's names with each grind, push, and thrust. And like dying stars, you exploded together in your orgasms, crying out praise and gratitude for it all and each other. The way his cock pounded in and out of you so easily and how it mingled with your sticky sweetness took you away for a moment. You began to shake uncontrollably and pulled his face close to yours. 

“Oh fuck---I, sweetheart---” was the last thing he moaned before looking to you for a final answer to a question unspoken. 

“Come inside me, Joel, it’s OK,” you assured, shaking as he gave one, two, three more thrusts to fill you up with him before he whimpered into the crook of your neck. 

You collapsed together on your bed, a tangle of heavy breaths and intertwined limbs. For the longest time, you bathed together in your naked silence, pulling up your quilted comforter over your bodies that were starting to get a little cold from the tiniest bit of winter air that you could feel through the walls. 

Through closed eyes you listened to Joel’s heartbeat through his chest where you had rested your head. He had taken your hand and rested it there, gently caressing it with his. More little comforts came to you in the form of him nuzzling your hair with his cheek and kissing your forehead. You could fall asleep like this, but being awake was more fulfilling in every possible way. 

“Hey,” you heard his voice whisper as he caressed your hair and then your shoulder, “you asleep?”

“No,” you murmured, waiting and wondering about his next words. 

“I’m sorry about Ellie,” he apologized. 

“Mmm, it’s okay,” you replied and then added, “just give her time, she’ll find her way.” 

Heart beats and deep breaths and caresses between words. 

“I think so,” Joel’s voice was rough but more resolved than how he had spoken when he came to your door, “I think with your help, she will.” 

You smiled, feeling tears again slip from the corners of your eyes, a cleansing exhale leaving from your lungs. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” 

He shifted, squeezed your shoulder, and brushed your hair out of your face until you were looking up at him. 

“Hey, baby,” he said softly and then kissed you, his fingers caressing your skin, “you take what you need.”

[electronickingdomfox]

Excerpt from "The Entropy Effect" by Vonda N. McIntyre

McCoy flung himself around, swinging his fist in a clumsy roundhouse punch. “Damn you, Spock! Damn you, damn you—” Spock grabbed his hand easily. McCoy kept on trying to hit him, flailing ineffectually against the science officer’s restraining strength. “Dr. McCoy, you know that I am right.” McCoy slumped, defeated. “You cannot hold him any longer. You did your best to save him, but from the moment he was wounded he could not be saved. This failure holds no shame for you, unless you prolong a travesty of life. Let him go, doctor, I beg you. Let him go.” The Vulcan spoke with penetrating intensity. McCoy looked up at him, and Spock pulled away, struggling to hide the powerful feelings of grief and despair that had come perilously close to overwhelming him. “Yes, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, “you are right.” He opened the door of the quarantine chamber. Air sighed past him into the negative-pressure room, and he went inside. Spock followed. McCoy examined the EEG one last time, but he knew better than to hope for any change. The signal remained flat and colorless; all the tracings sounded the same dull tone. McCoy brushed a lock of hair from Jim’s forehead. He could hardly bear to look at his friend’s face anymore, because of the eyes. Precisely, deliberately, he went to work. Once he had made up his mind, his hands moved surely, unaffected by the liquor he had drunk. He withdrew the needles from Jim’s arm. The chemistry signals started changing their harmonies immediately. The oxygen tones fell, carbon dioxide rose; nothing filtered out the products of metabolic activity. The signal deteriorated from perfect harmony to minor chords, then to complete discord. McCoy removed the connections that would have restarted Jim’s heart when inevitably it failed. Finally, his teeth clenched hard, McCoy disconnected the respirator. Jim Kirk’s heart kept on beating, because the heart will keep on beating even if it is cut out of the chest; the muscle will contract rhythmically till the individual cells fall out of sync, the heart slips into fibrillation, and the cells die one by one. But the breathing reflex requires a nerve impulse. When McCoy turned off the respirator, Jim’s body never even tried to draw another breath. After the final, involuntary exhalation there was no struggle at all, and that, far more than the evidence of the machines, the persuasion of Spock, or his own intellectual certainty, finally convinced McCoy that every spark or whisper of his friend was dead. All the life-signs stabilized at zero, and the tones faded to silence. The doctor pulled a sheet over Jim’s face, over the dead gray eyes. McCoy broke down. Sobs racked him and he staggered, suddenly aware of just how much he had drunk. He nearly fell, but Spock caught him, and supported him in the nearest thing to an embrace that the Vulcan could endure. “Oh, god, Spock, how could this happen?” McCoy sank gratefully into darkness. Spock caught McCoy as he fell, and lifted him easily. Loss and regret pulled at Spock so strongly that he could not deny their existence; all he could do was keep them from showing outwardly. That did not lessen his private shame. His face set, he carried McCoy to one of the cubicles and eased him onto a bunk. He removed McCoy’s boots and loosened the fastenings of his sweat-stained uniform shirt, covered him with a blanket, and lowered the lights. Then, recalling the single, humiliating, inadvertent time he himself had become inebriated, Spock decided to stay until he was certain the doctor had not ingested enough ethanol to endanger his life. Spock sat in a chair near McCoy’s bed and rested his forehead against his hand.

Punch me right in the feelings. 😥

[growwithmeastrology]

Thursday, April 4th 2024 Sun in Aries♈️🔥Moon in Aquarius ♒️💨

We have another energy shift today that is adding to the intensity of what we will experience astrologically this month. But first, we have a sextile between the Sun in Aries and the Moon in Aquarius setting the stage for all the love talk today. This transit creates outgoing and harmonious energy and gives off a positive boost that makes us feel good.

The Moon will later square Jupiter in Taurus which gives us a general feeling of optimistic, feel-good and social energy. The only thing to be aware of with this transit is it creates overindulgence and can make us feel a little over confident and indecisive. The Moon then goes on to square Uranus in Taurus as well which adds impulsivity and impatience into the mix.

Venus is the bigger topic today and she’s quite busy. She starts the day in a conjunction with Neptune at the end degrees of Pisces which will help even out the hyperactivity as they separate. Before she leaves Pisces she’ll also sextile Pluto in Aquarius. This energy brings in deep and intense love. Companionship may feel like a critical necessity all of a sudden and can also create obsessive desires to be with someone. If you’re starting a romance with this transit, it’s likely to have a significant impact on your life.

Lastly and certainly not least, Venus then shifts into the sign of Aries and this energy packs a punch. You may suddenly feel like you’re no longer willing to compromise when it comes to your desires. It also creates another level of impulsivity as she enters Aries energy that is very contradictory to what Venus stands for. Do watch out for manipulative behavior but overall this energy will have you questioning your values in search for true and authentic connections.

A lot of new romances could be forming at this time. Don’t forget that Mercury is in retrograde so there’s already a sense of longing in the air. I recommend new romances before going back to old ones.

Another important transit today is the Sun will conjunct the North Node in Aries setting the course for new beginnings. The time ahead is shining bright. Use this energy to let go of the old self once and for all with gratitude and get ready for big changes ahead. April is sure to be a spicy month and we’re just getting started.

If you enjoy my daily forecasts please like, comment, share and consider a gratitude tip in support. 🅿️ PayPal, Venmo or CashApp - @NaliniFlor

Learn more about your personal energies and how the daily forecast affects you! Comment below⬇️ or DM me for a consultation.

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

If a Speed Stinger could speed speedily, softly swooping swiftly, how speedy is he really?

Never has the word “speed” looked so wrong, now.

The Next Big Sting (1x12) is a great episode for Snotlout, actually. Personally, I love it for Speedy and the taming of a species otherwise thought to be untrainable (cough, still waiting for the Changewing, cough cough), but Snotlout is so great here! And with Ruffnut, too? Oh, ho, we were spoiled.

Plus, it’s funny how this episode includes Snotlout trying to get rid of a dragon, but then is preceded by an episode where he’s trying to keep his dragon. Kind of ironic, actually.

Reasons why this episode is great include:

The important stuff (like Meatlug cuteness and Ruffnut & Snotlout centralism):

The first ones shown to give Hiccup “a look” when he presents the Dragon Fly One are Ruffnut and Snotlout. This is obviously foreshadowing.

Hiccup talking about how The Dragon Fly One will be handy if they and their dragons ever get separated. Sorry, Hiccup but I think this mostly only ever affects you. And Ruffnut and Snotlout that one time.

Actually, I don’t think it’s ever actually happened to Fishlegs and Meatlug other than when Scardian’s pack carried Fishlegs off in season two. Look out, Hiccup, looks like you could stand to learn a thing or two.

Additionally, Hiccup says it’s going to be so handy, and yet he’s built the heaviest looking thing imaginable. I know it’s a prototype but like, come on!

Snotlout asks if he could have Toothless after it all doesn’t work. Yeah, like you wouldn’t be in too much shock after the fact, Snotlout. That’s so cousin of you.

Hiccup: “I’ll be floating on a bed of air!” — Snotlout: “Or crashing on a bed of rock.” This man.

“I cannot believe that that hunk of junk actually worked.” It’s okay, Snotlout, neither can Isaac Newton.

Snotlout’s whole character this episode is remembering Frozen from Defenders of Berk. And rightfully so. But the other riders don’t acknowledge it at all until it happens to them (aka Ruffnut).

“Is he seriously going back?!” Snotlout is so real for that. — “Snotlout, meet Hiccup. Of course he’s going back.” Maybe someone should tell Astrid that when she’s grouching over the Dragon Fly One like she did earlier and inevitably will later.

The only one that doesn’t help wrangle the Stinger is Snotlout. And, honestly, who can blame him.

Part of Forbidden Friendship (a harmony with some sopranos) plays when Hiccup tames Speedy. I love the symbolism behind this sound effect because of what a righteous, monumental moment it’s supposed to be.

Ruffnut is fine around the Stinger until she gets stung. And then it’s all downhill from there. I love the natural progression (albeit a quick one) of her character through this episode. At least she and Snotlout can relate to one another now.

Speedy immediately goes for Snotlout because of how on edge he is. He also is able to dodge, punching the air, “Not even on your best day, pal.” He’s so extra here I love it. (Makes you think what his dad said to him after he got stung the first time.)

And of course Ruffnut immediately gets stung again but makes sure to cross her legs.

Tuffnut starts boxing the air, intensely mimicking Snotlout ready to I assume defend Ruffnut from anymore stings before he starts getting kicked. How cute-turned-cruel this is.

Barf gets stung and immediately Ruff calls out to him before crawling her way as quick as she can to I assume comfort him despite the difficulty it takes her. This is so sweet. I wish we had more episodes surrounding Barf & Belch and the twins, and not just the twins or whatever The Zippleback Experience was. (Also symbolism how it was Barf to get stung and not Belch. Barf and Ruffnut are great together <3)

Snotlout gets to basically say “I told you so” but no one listens except for Ruffnut (I assume she also wants to avenge her dragon, which is sweet). I wonder if this went in his book.

Snotlout and Ruffnut’s whole interaction as the sun’s rising is pure serotonin. They are BFFs. (Also both of their episodes together and Snotlout and Tuffnut’s in Maces and Talons Pt. 1 include Ruffnut riding Hookfang. And of course Tuffnut gets a spin in Snotlout’s Angels. Makes you wonder how much Hookfang actually tolerates and/or likes the twins.)

“There are other things I want to say, but none of them are very ladylike!” Between this and the leg crossing you can really tell that Ruffnut was experimenting with gender this episode.

Snotlout immediately grabs Ruffnut after she gets stung and starts falling off and as such takes his attention away from the air-sick and anxious Speedy. He cares so much!

Hookfang then gets stung and they crash land. The fact that he and Snotlout have both been stung is very poetic, much like Ruff and Barf! (Maybe I’m too obsessed with the “Dragon is a reflection of the rider’s soul” analogy.)

Speedy is calm once back on the ground and licks Snotlout as thanks for catching him! See, guys? He was only scared when up in the air, the poor thing.

Hookfang lights on fire to protect Snotlout from the no-longer-hostile Speedy. See? Now he’s cautious! Snotlout and Hookfang are paralleling one another.

“This is a new low even for you, Snotlout!” — “I was trying to save us!” :(

A sign that Speedy doesn’t belong in the pack (and is a teenager, obviously) is that he talks back to Toothless telling him off, whereas the others wouldn’t have done so! I like little bits like this. (And Toothless had Stormfly as back up. Like a mom and dad telling their kid off.)

Ruffnut and Hookfang have a semi-paralysed affiliation together now, both going around in a circle. And I love how they’re going it side by side, I wonder if they did it to support the other. At least Meatlug is here to defend them!

Ruffnut saying to Meatlug, “Hey, girl, thanks,” and fist-bumping her tail is really cute. Hookfang also gives an additional sound.

Speedy also realises that his old pack is hurting his new pack! Nurse/Big Sister/Favourite Aunt Meatlug getting hurt was the final straw for him.

Snotlout starts swinging with a stick and says he’s not leaving anyone behind (start of his heroism/selfless arc) but it’s obvious he’s still scared himself. Hiccup’s sass was not necessary! The nerve.

Snotlout using Speedy as his own Stinger feels like a thousand IQ move and I love him for it.

“Needle Butts” feels like the millennial term for Speed Stingers and we have Snotlout to thank for it. Alternative terms were probably “Deadly Dodos” and “Sneaky Sewing Machines”.

“Snotlout, Snotlout, oi oi oi!”

Snotlout accepting Speedy after he turns on his own to protect him.

“I’m never going to get you, dragon” Snotlout: confirmer of species’ and genuses everywhere! Also, why isn’t this dragon a dinosaur, again?

“But he hates me!” Snotlout’s delivery of this is great.

Kind of criminal that Speedy couldn’t have become Part Of The Gang™. It’s okay, Speedy, you’ll always be in our hearts. (Doesn’t this kind of make Speedy Snotlout’s Scauldy? I guess?) (Shame, too. I alway imagined he would have gotten along great with Smidvarg.)

I realised when Tuffnut lights a streak of gas on fire to ward off some Stingers and then he compliments a still-paralysed Barf that Barf looks kind of drunk. Now that you’ve noticed that, too, I order you all to laugh.

Oh, and then goes Belch.

And I think Tuffnut. See what I said about one not being able to go down without the other soon following? This. Is. Symbolic. (Or so I religiously believe.)

Hookfang is still seen as formidable by the Titan Wing Speed Stinger even with half his body still paralysed. I wonder if this could temporarily be seen as disabled rep — I wish we could have seen his development from being completely defenceless (Meatlug protecting him and Ruffnut) to him doing this.

It was probably to defend Snotlout.

And that’s great.

The Meatlug Cuteness Counter:

Fishlegs reminding Hiccup that their dragons can fly and Meatlug being cute about it. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: 1.) (She’s the cutest.)

I love how Fishlegs tries hiding his arm’s paralysis by leaning on Meatlug only to get sabotaged when she goes to play with Speedy. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +1 point. 2.)

Nurse Meatlug encouraging Speedy through his physiotherapy is adorable. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +5 points. 7.)

When Snotlout is about to go off, we can see Meatlug and Fishlegs sleeping next to one another. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +4 points. 11.)

“Nurse Meatlug, if you would do the honours, please” and she does! She does do the honours! Oh, she’s such a good girl. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +10 points. 21.)

“Meatlug, quick! Stop him! Speed Stingers can’t swim!” And then she goes so determinedly. So cute. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +100 points! 121.)

Meatlug’s shocked face when she sees Speedy being able to skim the water. (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +20 points. 141.)

Meatlug defends the defenceless (Ruffnut and Hookfang), only to immediately get stung. She tried! (Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +59 points. 200. Additionally, Meatlug Heroism Counter: 10 added points.)

It also takes us back to that scene in Frozen where she defended Fishlegs and so he couldn’t leave her. (Nostalgia Counter: 1. Meatlug Cuteness Counter: +30 points. 230. Additionally, Meatlug Heroism Counter: +15 added points. 25.)

Fishlegs stands by Meatlug after she gets frozen. (Fishlug/Meatlug Cuteness Counter: 10.)

Bonus (mostly non-Snotlout and Meatlug related things):

First thing Tuffnut thinks about is food and/or destruction in the morning.

Chicken was also woken up early to see all this. She is the best dragon rider.

“The chicken is not amused.” (She then leaves dramatically.)

Surely it would be more efficient in situations like this to employ either Stormfly or Hookfang to go after Hiccup instead of the one dragon that can’t fucking fly. Surely allowing the latter is just counter-intuitive.

Astrid goes “Ugh, boys” and Tuffnut is shown right next to her with this simple frown on his face as his eyes flick back to Hiccup! I don’t know why that’s so funny but it is. Shame how quick it was shown though.

“Okay, everyone. Dragon Fly One: maiden flight.” Foreshadowing. I think.

“You’re not actually thinking of trying to train it, are you?” Oh, Astrid. This is extremely ironic for when you coerce Hiccup into letting you bring Garff along on a rescue mission.

In conclusion: Meatlug is cute, Snotlout is great, Barfruff supremacy, Hiccup sabotaged having a pet Speed Stinger on the Edge, and Chicken is the supreme leader.

[doomedandstoned]

WARLUNG Reveal New Music Video “29th Scroll 6th Verse”

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by Laura Bennett

There's no denying the deep, groovy, doomy heavy rock vibe of WARLUNG on their new music video, airing the first single from their upcoming 5th studio album, 'The Poison Touch' (2025). Lyrics draw upon moments from the original Planet of the Apes movie (I'm talking the one from way back in '68), scripted by classic Twilight Zone writer Rod Serling:

Beware the beast man, for he is the devil's pawn. Alone among God's primates, he kills for sport or lust or greed. Ye, he will murder his brother to possess his brother's land. Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours. Shun him. Drive him back into his jungle lair. For he is the harbinger of death.

This screed was preserved in the Apes' sacred scripture, "29th Scroll 6th Verse," which is the title of this album-closer. Its truth is self-evident, generation after generation, bringing chills when you hear the words: "No way out..."

"This is an ode to classic sci-fi," the band explains. "The song warns against the destructiveness of human nature. It’s an interpretation of the Law Giver’s sacred scriptures from The Planet of the Apes lore."

Warlung's forthcoming 8-tracker is bursting with energy, made immediately recognizable by the distinctive two-vocalist approach of axemen George Baba and Philip Bennet that deliver some truly effective choruses, with delicious guitar harmonies, hell-yeah solos, and poignant riffs, backed by the stalwart and inventive rhythm section of Chris Tamez (bass) and Ethan Tamaz (drums). These two brothers bring dramatic punch to "29th Scroll, 6th Verse," making its message all the more gripping.

You can pre-order The Poison Touch starting today on Heavy Psych Sounds, with the release date slated for February 14th on multiple variants of vinyl as well as compact disc and digital (get it here). Mixed and mastered by Travis Weatherred of fellow Houston band Fostermother, whose recent album Echo Manor was lauded in these pages.

Warlung's tight, highly-charged sound and earnest vocals possess the stage, making them a must-see live, and I know Europe will be pumped to see them in the new year.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Warlung is a Texas band formed by longtime friends and brothers in 2016. Their sound is an ode to classic rock and modern metal, mixing heavy riffs and catchy melodies with a psychedelic twist.

After self-releasing their debut album “Sleepwalker” in 2017, they quickly gained a cult following around Texas, opening for bands like Wo Fat and Dead Meadow. The band seemed to accept that they don’t have to stick to traditional themes and goes for more epic storytelling, helping to further expand their sound.

They wasted no time and returned to the studio to release “Immortal Portal” in 2019, becoming a local favorite to support bands such as High Reeper and King Buffalo. The band promoted their unique sound. playing notable festivals End Hip End It Fest, SXSW, Stoner Jam, Lone Star Unleashed and Ripplefest. They are renowned for their pneumonic rage, utilizing elements of true doom, stoner rock and occult-driven blues.

After signing with Heavy Psych Sounds to release “Optical Delusions” in 2020 and “Vulture’s Paradise” in 2022, they embarked on their first European tour in early 2023. Their wicked riffs, dream-like vocals and sinful solos subdue the listener into a deep state of fantasia. Touring sporadically, they continued to be included on lineups of Desert Rock Fest, Seismic Summer, and Heavy Psych Sounds Fest, sharing the stage with High on Fire, Truckfighters, Bongzilla, Weedeater, Windhand, and Brant Bjork.

Warlung is set to release their fifth studio album entitled, “The Poison Touch” and preparing for another European tour in early 2025.

'The Poison Touch' (2025) delves deeper into atmosphere while maintaining the gritty undertone that defines us. From start to finish, the listener is blasted with in-your-face raw energy while simultaneously feeling like a hauntingly beautiful experience. This record captures the essence of our live sound while exploring new realms, serving as both a continuation and evolution of our style.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[lightsaroundyourvanity]

Well I'm nearing the end of S5 of Buffy and I got to see the Body recently (episode of all time for sure) and I've been generally having a great time the whole time with the show, (honestly when I was first starting I went in expecting it to be overrated because of how much I did not like Firefly when I watched it way back but I saw one too many Faith gifsets and needed to get in on it but I actually did really enjoy it from the get go). Also been watching Angel, fun story I have actually seen some of Angel but mostly like only S4 from when I was real younger (Cordelia is occasionally my favourite character when I'm not thinking about Faith or Buffy but she's always up there so I am dreading the future because I know it's all gonna go real bad real fast for her at some point). But yeah love it great stuff. I am 'working' in the loosest possible terms on an S3 Fuffy and an S5 Coffy (also a Vampire!Willow/Harmony one but that's less large) fics but no promises that they'll ever be finished or posted or anything I haven't written fic in like a decade plus at least and I have not opened the files in a while to work on them. I don't think I've actually started typing anything for the Coffy one and that currently exclusively lives in my mind

OH COFFY GO OFF?????? i love that ship so much because cordelia and buffy are such mirrors in the same way that buffy and faith are, just from like opposite directions, you know? where faith is the slayer reflected and cordelia is the girl. (the femslash dynamics of btvs are actually excruciatingly good whenever i sit down to think about them and wail)

i frankly miss cordelia SO much in season 5 lmao. i think it would have been really funny if she was around and dawn worshipped her and buffy was like. what the hell. also cordy is too good for xander but sometimes i wish she'd stuck around and they'd explored some of the same beats he did with anya with cordelia instead. even when -- well, that's season six, so i shan't say. but her journey on angel served her character so much better (until uh. well.) so who am i to say where she belonged!

s5 actually isn't my fave dfhfgjfg but i think that's partially because my family's cable situation was dodgy when the last episodes of it were airing so it always feels really convoluted in my head because i remember experiencing it via every third episode and in pieces of reruns. also its my least favourite season for buffy's hair. BUT. the body really is spectacular. the sound design.. the fruit punch speech.. the lingering emotions.. the desperate "mom?? mom?? mommy??" from buffy.. man was that ever TV

(all of your loose works i am. i am listening. vampire willow/harmony... i am Listening. girl its femslash february... u owe it to the month)

[mistydeyes]

hiyaaaa i saw you were doing pairings, and i thought id go for it! i’d like you to ship me with one of our gorgeous cod/mw2 boys 🫶

my name is Aia, and I’m a student!

personality: to start off, i’m very introverted (ITSP). i need a lot of alone time to recharge, but i can manage to be around people even when im drained if i like them enough 😭

i have a tough outer shell - not tough in the way that i’m rude or stuck up, but i never really open up about my feelings, or about anything in general. i don’t like talking about myself much with people i don’t really know, and i’m very independent - id rather be on my own. i only open up with, and wanna be around the very few people that i trust - they get to see my softer, more relaxed and true authentic self. and they also get to see my much more energetic and funny side! it all depends on my mood, but it’s usually a mix of both.

i’m very understanding, and i’m VERY empathetic. i can empathise with pretty much everybody and i’m great at giving advice, or even just listening to people’s struggles if that’s what they want. but i can also be extremely blunt and honest at times since i really hate lying & sugarcoating things.

i’m really confident, yet humble. i’m an extremely secure person, and nobody’s words really get to me 😭 i absolutely do not tolerate disrespect and i will cut somebody off or put them in their place if they’re disrespectful enough. I am really humble, however.

this sounds so conceited, but i’d say that i’m really funny 😭 all of my friends describe me as funny, i’m known as the “funny friend”, and i always make people laugh unintentionally! i also laugh at others jokes a lot - i have a hard time taking many situations seriously because of my fkn clownery 💀

the thing that i don’t like about myself however, is that i can be very airheaded and a little like… gone? like very just… unaware and in my own bubble. sometimes i’m extremely clumsy and foolish n shit 😭 i can also be very stubborn at times.

temperament: i’m pretty sure i’m choleric and melancholic! i don’t know a lot about temperaments and such, but i think i’m those two. mostly choleric tho… i think i’m 60/40.

what type of person i am: i’m pretty sure i’m level headed and adventurous. i’m chill, understanding, confident, kind, passionate, and hardworking! i’m mostly logical, but i can be emotional when needed. i’m also extremely loyal and trustworthy.

hobbies: i have quite a few!

- gym/bodybuilding :p

i absolutely ADORE working out, and it’s my main hobby that i tell people about

- cooking & eating :)

- drawing & painting <3

- gaming!

- boxing c:

appearance:

for my body, i’m 5”2/158cm, and i’m normal weight. i go to the gym a lot, so my build is pretty muscular, but i still look feminine overall. my body is like, balanced, i’d say :) i just have an overall fit look!

my face is kind of hard to describe so bare with me! i’m kurdish, so i have very strong individual features, but theyre all in harmony.

My eyes are big, brown, and round. My nose is hooked. my lips are kind of thin, but not overly thin, and theyre kind of bow-shaped :). my eyebrows are thick and dark. my face shape is oval/upside down triangle! my skintone is like… medium? it’s for fair but not super olive either. my hair is thick and dark brown. it is kind of medium length, a bit below my collarbones, and i like to keep it straight, but it is naturally wavy. i have curtain bangs too :)

that was all!! tysm <333

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (a/n thank you for submitting! I love the amount of detail you put in this and I hope I did you justice!)

How you met: Civilian As you sat in the relief of the cool fan breeze on your face, you re-wrapped your hand with your light blue handwrap. In recent months, you started to train in the ring more often and you loved the gym you found. The air smelled of sweat and the sound of grunts and punches filled the room but it satisfied your competitive spirit. "Aia, you're up!" your trainer called and you walked to the ring to find your opponent. While he was taller and more muscular than you, his kind smile made you feel a little bad for the ass beating you were about to deliver. You had see him around before but this was the first time you would have a session with him. "Kyle," he said as he approached you and gently shook your hand. "Aia," you exchanged and soon took your stance. It was clear when you started that Kyle was a pressure fighter, bombarding you with a barrage of attacks then retreating out of your reach. While his goal was to exhaust you, you were an out-boxer and focused on anticipating his attacks and returning them with a long range punch. Most out-boxers were taller than you but you were able to methodically plan your attacks and kept Kyle on the offensive. You danced around the ring, making intense eye contact with his dark brown eyes until you finally managed to land a winning punch to his sternum. As he fell, you stood above him in victory. "Good match," you complimented as you held out a hand and helped him up. "That was one hell of a punch," he said as he massaged his chest, "I definitely have to train with you more." "Looking forward to it," you replied and exchanged numbers with your new gym buddy.

A peek into your relationship: When you weren't going to the gym with your boyfriend, you enjoyed a nice night in with a cookbook and drinks. Tonight, you and Kyle were attempting to make creamy garlic chicken pasta, a recipe he had suggested. You danced around the kitchen as Kyle took care of the chicken and you handled the pasta. "Babe, this is a great chicken," you said as you peeked a head around his torso, "some might call it im-peck-able!" Your corny joke was met by a hearty laugh from him as you kissed his cheek. "That was bad," he replied and you rolled your eyes as you finished draining the pasta. "I'm just eggs-centric," you said with a smile and this one was met with groans. As Kyle tossed the pasta, he kept poking fun at your humor. "You know, love, if you just told me one of your jokes I probably would have doubled over laughing," he said and sat down on the couch next to you with two bowls. "True but I would never have found the best gym partner," you countered and he nodded in agreement. As you ate your dinner and exchanged more dad jokes, Kyle was happy that he had found the perfect person to be his best friend and to kick his ass at the gym.

[karin-ko]

Family Game by Yoshimitsu Morita

The film "Family Game," was directed by Yoshimitsu Morita in 1983. I watched the drama adaptation starring Sho Sakurai in real-time, and because of that, I was familiar with the basic storyline, character names, and title. However, I found that the direction and some parts of the story itself were quite different, allowing me to enjoy it as a completely separate work. Overall, I found it to be a thought-provoking film about family and education, striking a balance between realism and surreal comedic elements.

First, what stood out was the complete absence of music in this film. Even scenes where characters listen to records lacked any musical accompaniment. Instead, sounds like those of meals being consumed or punches being thrown were emphasized. Throughout the film, there were numerous dining scenes where the clattering of tableware and the characters' eating noises were amplified to the point of inducing discomfort in the viewer. On the other hand, the sound effects during physical altercations had a somewhat cheap and game-like quality.

The characters themselves all possessed an air of peculiarity. The tutor, Yoshimoto, always carried a botanical reference book and would gulp down any beverage given to him in one go. He mumbled constantly and would suddenly resort to physical punishment. The father of the Numata family wielded his authority as the head of the household but remained indifferent to his family's affairs, showing interest only in his sons' academic performance. Both Yoshimoto and the father exhibited an odd sense of distance, and it was difficult to read what they thought. Scenes where Kōsuke returns home and observes Yoshimoto and his second son, Shigeyuki, studying, or when they have a drink together, reveal that their apparent harmony is only superficial. The mother appears calm and kind-hearted, but she comes across as absent-minded, giving the impression that she may not be actively engaged in thinking. The father uses the mother, who in turn uses the eldest son, Shinichi, and Yoshimoto, to observe Shigeyuki's behavior. Both parents exhibit a sense of passivity, shifting responsibility onto each other. Shinichi, who excelled academically, became so obsessed with romance that he delved into fortune-telling and eventually started to decline academically. On the other hand, Shigeyuki's academic performance improved significantly thanks to Yoshimoto, allowing him to enter a prestigious high school. However, the reason he worked hard in his studies was because he wanted to see the displeased expression on his childhood friend and bully, Tsuchiya's face. Thus, he was happier when Tsuchiya failed to get into the same high school than when he himself passed the entrance exam. None of the members of the Numata family genuinely care for each other or provide support. Focusing solely on their children's academic performance or not lecturing them at all deviates from the typical expression of parental love, as impose responsibility and discipline on each other and indifference to each other's preferences or how they are doing, which deviates from the conventional marital relationship. Despite their physical proximity, they fail to connect emotionally. They are merely participants in a "family game" rather than a true "family."

Yoshimoto physically disrupts this "family game" in the final dinner scene. In addition to signs of positive change in Shigeyuki's academic performance and his ability to withstand Yoshimoto's physical assaults without bleeding, the scene where the entire family behaves recklessly at the dinner table and clean with every family member, seemingly suggests an improvement in their relationship, ultimately leads to no real change in their familial dynamics. After Yoshimoto departs, they continue their lives as before. Shigeyuki continues to struggle academically after entering high school, and no family issues are resolved, maintaining the same cycle of "family game," evoking a sense of nihilism. However, this portrayal felt incredibly realistic. To be honest, it reminds me of my own family. I think that many families may outwardly appear functional but harbor underlying issues. Also, the film realistically depicts aspects such as violence in educational settings at that time which are uncommon today, as well as the secrecy surrounding adolescent romance to avoid ridicule from peers. Humorous elements, such as pretending to wipe away non-existent sweat with a handkerchief, synchronized movements between Shigeyuki and Yoshimoto descending stairs, a teacher tossing a failing student's test into the schoolyard, and the chaotic final dinner scene, are also interspersed throughout the narrative.

By the way, the moment Japanese people feel happiest is when they are enjoying delicious food. Indeed, we are quite particular about food. From the manners at the table, people can sense not only how a person was raised but also their character. The dining atmosphere greatly reflects the relationships within a family, and in this film, it seemed to play a crucial role in portraying the dynamics of the Numata family. Particularly, in scenes like the individual dining moments at the opening, or the final dinner scene where instead of paying any mind to Yoshimoto when he behaves crazy, the sons are acting up, the mother continues to eat, and the father keeps delivering a lecture which nobody listens to, depicted the discordance within the family, showcasing its significance.

Furthermore, the sense of confinement without an outlet is a significant point in this adaptation. Scenes like the beginning where Yoshimoto goes around asking people for directions to the Numata household only to be ignored, or when a woman who lives in the same apartment complex compares the size of her childhood home to her apartment, expressing confusion (with Shigeyuki pleading with the mother in his underwear while the woman continues talking, phones ringing, and a kettle boiling in the background, creating chaos lol), illustrate the societal shift towards nuclear families and the changing dynamics of families compared to the past.

Throughout the film, we can feel a pervasive sense of physical closeness and confinement created by the narrow confines of the apartment complex. For example, in scenes where they are closely packed together when they dine, study at the desk, and converse in a car, or crowd the hallway when Tsuchiya arrives. Everyone is physically close, and the screen's square-like shape adds to the feeling of suffocation. In contrast, outdoor scenes are shot with wider angles, conveying a sense of openness and serving as a stark contrast.

There are many creative direction techniques too, such as alternating scenes with the word "dusk" with corresponding evening landscapes, and filming characters from underneath a transparent desk using acrylic boards. Especially, the directorial choice where books placed in front of Shigeyuki and Yoshimoto slide, revealing a cake, followed by a telescope appearing in front, and then transitioning to a scene of Shinichi and the mother in the adjacent room, all with Shigeyuki and Yoshimoto in the background, was exceptionally well-executed.

[zimcard-artblog]

'The Battle Against The Narrative"

When the first player sliced his blade through the air, striking nothing, his target had moved just a milimeter off of the place to make eye contact with his attacker.

Square, cyan warrior, the one who gripped the handle of his sacred blade that materialized from the pure essence of the One that has settled within his core. A mobilized being that nestles inside his heart- akin to a sentient tumor that emits energy for Square's utility. Nonetheless, the cyan warrior turns his wrist and his blade makes contact with nothing.

Blixter whistles between his teeth, familiar with this song and dance as he steadies himself to raise his arms. The metal clasps over his arm muscles emit a soft glow, the motif within starts to spin and fade out, soon springing out seperate metal plates akin to the arm sprites that acted as his common pattern.

He strikes against the blade, metal with metal. The collission rings through the air, capapble of irritating the ear drum.

Someone smiles, baring pink fangs simialr to ones skin.

"I didn't take you as the kind to accept some inter-world invitation after last time," Blixter cooes as he deflects another slice aimed to his neck.

"Did you?" Square asks with an ease in his voice, his body and voice unmatching with how he continued his strikes with careful precision, an attempt to break through the fast-reacting defenses that Blixter is puttin up.

He talks like a friend yet his body acts like an enemy.

"I was just bored, that's all." Square answers with half-honesty in his visible eye.

"Bored?" Blixter frowns a little, taking one step closer to use his forearm as a barrier between him and the surprise kick that Square gave.

Their movements are either in sync or disharmony, dancing as opposing forces or as one entity. With an armed cyan warrior destined to slice through the small gaps of vulnerability within Blixter's retreating act and Blixter- acting as a mirror- reflecting the movements of the cyan warrior as a pink reflection that accurately hits the incoming attacks and deflecting them.

With such calculated movements of backing away and movign forward with punches, it was clear that this was not Blixter's first tango with a man with equal strength and a blade nestled withing his palm as if it made its home.

Developed instincts- trained muscles- every little movement has experienced this rush of adrenaline. This dance has been carefully choreographed by two actors on the stage, a live performance for the unknown audience that had paid their tickets.

"Spare some words, Blix?" Square's voice breaks the tense silence and Blixter had to fight down a breathless laugh at the vocal intrusion.

"About what? Why I should win?"

"Isn't that the prompt of the day?" Another slice into the air, barely grazing the white cloth of Blixter's clothes "I thought you wanted to win."

"I like to win, sure," Blixter blocks a punch and he held Square's fist into his palm, claws threatening to sink into the cyan flesh. "But I like you more."

Was there an opponent and another? Was there even a challenge to begin with? It's becoming blurry- perhaps naunced. The competition is non-existent, the battle has been moved to focus primarily on the two who were at the opposite sides of the spectrum.

Blixter smiles as he breaks a sweat, feeling as if his muscles are screaming in a harmonious choire the more he pushed his limits. This was the thrill of battle he craved for, a familiar developed feeling in which he found fondness and the adrenaline rush sparring with a friend.

No… sparring seems to vanilla. Too soft. What he and the opposite end had was… unique, to say. It's complicated, indescribable, perhaps addicting in a personal way. It forces him to punch harder, let his arm sprites act like saw blades, the sound of his punches hitting metal and cloth fills the air.

"Come on, Square! Keep up!" He's laughing- akin to a kid swinging on the swings in a playground.

"Spare me for a bit, eh? You're having way too much fun-" and with a swerve, Square barely dodges the incoming arm sprite aimed towards his 2-dimensional cyan square head.

"You're one to talk, you look way happier than me!"

He was, wasn't he? Square shakes his head yet doesn't argue, knowing well there was no point keeping the face of an enemy when his heart beats faster within each move and strike he produces and the fact that Blixter, too, was smiling.

In his mind, screw professionalism. The contract needs him to fight to the death with his close friend so why not? If the blade must break through the skin, embedd itself between the ribs and be one with stone- so be it.

But may the deities mind their business as Square chuckles, not wanting to fight back the enjoyment he has with this dance.

"Even if I lose this thing… at least I got to see you." Blixter thinks.

Death was a concept too familiar. If you become familiar with it then why fear it? The stakes have always been so high when it comes to these two, prancing and fighting until something shatters. Sweat and tightened jaws, the claws of another and the feeling of cloth against skin, the blade dances to pierce through the air and space between them- just a milimeter off.

"Why do you deserve to win again, Blix?" Square asks with a hidden mouthless grin.

"Why do I deserve to win?" Blixter hums.

"Because," He starts-

"I think I did good. I fight with vigor. Made mistakes yet kept going. I wasn't exactly perfect or your model-esque winner. But I didn't seek to be a failure too. I did what I could and kept doing it. When it comes to winning, I prefer to savor the challenges met during the climb.

So far, I had fun. Competitive, yeah, but I enjoyed my time. Some people think I'm too nice than the model Blixer. Too vanilla, too soft, too bright, maybe out of touch. I didn't care because there was no model to be built off of.

I think I'm doing gine by myself so, if I'm able to jump over the hurdles then- yeah, I deserve to win."

"And if you lose?"

"Then that's it." Blixter smiles, "I lost to a competition against myself."

Square pauses.

"…would it hurt your pride?"

"hm? Why would it?"

Blixter then smiles brightly.

"I'd still have you. So what if I lost? It doesn't really reflect on my everything, huh? In the end, I'll go home… hang out with my family, my friends, and you. The world isn't going to stop spinning over a loss."

In another timeline, things would have ended with broken shards of cyan glass and crumbled stones made of pink. However, with what is currently present, not even a battle could overshadow their affections to one another.

It is impossible to beg to the one who has loved you unconditionally since the start of time. The thing you beg for shall not be handed to you on a silver platter, instead you shall be met with a familiar and admirable gaze that bore into your soul and ask: "Was I not enough that you have resort to begging?"

@nyazhis-jsablr @nyazhi

Battle of the Blixers - CHALLENGE SIX

“Welcome back… TO THE BATTLE OF THE BLIXERS! I’m your host Step here to bring you the FINALE OF THIS COMPETITION!!!”

“It has been a fun time seeing everyone’s entries, but now it all boils down to the final three competitors, Blixter, Blixter and Blixer! no that isn’t confusing, what do you mean”

“So now, it’s time for the FINAL AND ULTIMATE CHALLENGE!!! And your challenge is to….!”

“…Tell the viewers why you should win!”

“Your challenge is to say your reasons WHY you DESERVE to win over the others, but with a twist.”

“And the twist is that while you beg, the ‘Cyan’ of your universe will fight you while you beg!”

“Don’t worry if you’re friends with them or whatever, these Heroes WANT BLOOD. Or at least they want to defeat you. I don’t want these guys actually killing you, so they just want to fight till you drop.”

“If you don’t have any ‘Cyans’ in your universe, like me, then I’ve prepared an alternative, which is an evil clone of yourself! They will also be trying to fight you till they win.”

“In a nutshell, your challenge is to say why you should win whilst battling your Cyan- or yourself.”

“Your deadline is March 25, but yet again I’m willing to give extensions!”

“Now, your challenge starts NOW! Goodluck and Godspeed, competitors!”

@zim-card @jsabaddict @starwlf

[jaydeemedia]

[ad_1] My visit to Dominica was supported by the national tourism board Tears start to infiltrate my eyes as the ragged road pummels our car’s suspension. “It will be worth it”, Alex, my driver-turned-new-best-friend, gleefully calls from upfront. “It’s my favourite beach in Dominica”. But it was neither the bumpy dirt track nor the eye-itching dust that was causing my bleary eyes; rather, the moment to utter farewell to this precious and often emotion-inducing Eden was fast approaching. Soon, a small twin prop would rip me away from this wild, rugged, and ravishing nation — and almost certainly, a fragment of my heart would remain behind. Rarely does a place compel me to cry at goodbye, but as I’d learned over the previous nine days, the Commonwealth of Dominica is as unusual as departing tears. Islands like these are fast fading in a tide of overtourism, an ironic fact given the very reasons we trumpet travel — arresting landscapes, chummy conversations, untamed wilderness and the awe of authentic adventure — is all writ large here. Equally uncommon was the manner in which this lush speck in the eastern Caribbean Sea had taken mere moments to earn my adoration. And Alex, now wrestling the wheel to swing into a pristine palm-laden bay, had been an influential part of that all-important first impression. Dominica’s dirt tracks require the right wheels A verdant welcome “Honking is good; honking is friendly”, Alex hollers over the rhythm of the horn as we ascend into cloud-reaching peaks. Villagers frantically wave at my driver — who I am starting to assume is some kind of local superstar — and with each hand raised, he dutifully shoots back a short toot. Behind us, the minuscule airport shrinks into the distance, rampant rainforest and wild river-coated terrains enveloping our vehicle. Suddenly, Alex kills the engine. Signalling me to angle my ear outside the window, the squawk of a parrot echoes like a roar over the whispering breeze. The scent of lemongrass leaves lingers in the air, and almost on cue, the first drops of the day’s rain tumble. Inclining myself to be further out of the car, I breathe it all in, the humid air more intoxicating than any manmade substance. Just thirty minutes after arriving in Dominica, I was feeling more in harmony with nature than I had all year. You don’t have to scour far for Mother Earth’s most exceptional work here; it’s everywhere and all-encompassing. Fort Young Hotel Pulling into Roseau, Dominica’s mountain-backed, pint-sized capital on the island’s west, Alex welcomes me to my first temporary home, the historic Fort Young Hotel. Over a swift check-in, which I mainly spend sipping on the first of what I assume will be many locally distilled rum punches, I discover that too-cool, cheeky-grinned Alex was, in fact, one of the very few people on the island who wasn’t a film star; most other islanders had made their silver screen debut when the cast of Pirates of the Caribbean had descended on the island, roping plenty of the 70,000-odd residents into background roles. Movie trivia aside, the cinematic views around me are Hollywood-worthy. From the balcony of my sea-facing suite, the sparkling waters seem close enough to touch. I’m half tempted to dive in — the hotel doubles as a scuba school, after all. But far from being your typical luxury Caribbean resort, Fort Young has no private beach but a diving pier instead, and rather than being far-removed from the day-to-day of Dominica’s life, the city’s colour and character are right on the resort’s doorstep. Keen to grab a light bite before calling it a night, I venture to the hotel’s high-roofed, all-wooden restaurant in hunt of Callaloo, a vegetable-loaded soup that serves as Dominica’s national dish. A special scuba open day has taken over the pool, allowing local kids to master the basics of diving. Spoon in hand, I grin with great delight; I’m not going to have to try hard to slip into a resemblance of local life here.

Subued by stew and a second (okay, third) rum punch, I push the balcony doors wide before sinking into the silky bed. The sea shimmers under the moonlight while stars flicker in the dim night sky. Feeling like I’m cocooned in a cruise cabin, the soothing tide lullabies me into dreams of breaching sperm whales and dancing dolphins. For Young’s Swimming Pool Part of the Waitukubuli National Trail Into the Eden “No cocktails. No lying on the beach here. No-no-no.” my hardy hiking guide, Marvin, chortles as we hide from heaven’s downpour under a lush, verdant canopy. “Strap your boots on, and let’s go dive in some pools”, he booms over the rain’s racket. It was at this moment I knew Dominica was going to live up to its moniker as ‘the Nature Island’. While other Caribbean destinations promise pricey pampering and lazy days flitting from beach to bar, Dominica’s allure is more adrenaline than all-inclusive. It’s the kind of place you come for multi-day hikes, pinnacling in makeshift rum shacks rather than to top up your tan. And here, in the chasms of the lush UNESCO-listed Morne Trois Pitons National Park, I was in my element. Tropical overgrowth blankets the valley’s landscape in all directions, while the occasional fumarole acts as a reminder of the island’s volcanic nature. Marvin strides ahead, guiding me through an unexpected degustation menu of the island’s fauna. “These taste like crisp green apples”, he advises while eagerly handing me an average-looking leaf. “And these,” he continues, pausing for a moment at a ruby-hued berry tree, “these are safe to eat”. Impressive Middleham Falls is a short hike away Marvin dismisses our masterclass in wild fruit salad making, and we resume our rainforest trek for another hour or so until towering Middleham Falls comes into view. Getting closer, a slight yet stealthy stream of water crashes down from some 60 metres overhead, the wind guiding a welcome and refreshing mist in our direction. At the cascade’s base, an even more refreshing swim beckons, although it seems the only other two hikers we’ve witnessed so far this morning have got first dibs in one of Dominica’s five-star showers. Awaiting our dip, I bask in the bewildering feeling of having this moment of equilibrium almost all to myself. Reading my mind, Marvin informs me it’s not always this tranquil, particularly when the cruise ships dock. Thankfully, for more intrepid travellers, at least, liners anchor far less regularly here than on more fabled nearby isles, with itineraries often bypassing Dominica in favour of easier-to-market soft sands. The lack of direct international flights — until a Miami route launched in 2023, there were only inter-Caribbean connections — dictated by the diminutive runway also ensures these ethereal scenes remain relatively undisturbed. Continuing onwards and upwards, we track part of the Waitukubuli National Trail. Named after one of the island’s original names, bestowed by the indigenous Kalinago people, this is the Caribbean’s first long-distance trek. Traversing some 185 kilometres of far-flung fauna and flora over 14-day sections, it’s certainly not for the faint-hearted — Dominica’s topography is more that of a mountain soaring from the sea than a typical island. Canyoning in Dominica Ti Tou Gorge Adventures over all-inclusive The next morning, wrapped in a wetsuit tighter than the crevices I was about to scrape through, I’m back in class. This time, for a lesson on launching myself from precipices rather than which berries are safe to eat. Up front, Berani from Extreme Dominica is demonstrating ropes and rappels while declaring how the island’s rainforests are as equally suited for scaling as roaming and waterfalls. Approaching the moss-coated Ti Tou Gorge with a mix of awe and apprehension, I tentatively press myself through a tight fissure in the volcanic rock. If I’m honest, canyoning in the Caribbean was never really a box

on my beach holiday bingo card, but I was adamant acrophobia wasn’t going to get the better of me. Peering over the charcoal-grey edge, a chilling stream of water trickles over my feet, plunging into the gorge some thirty feet below. From here, it’s near impossible to ascertain how deep the opaque pool directly below me is, but a shout from far down reassures me that it’s more than safe. Teetering on the edge for a little too long, I hear Berani’s voice boom through the gorge, commencing a countdown. “3, 2, 1, jump!” he bellows above the soundtrack of gargling water, the final word echoing throughout the valley. With my eyes closed, I blurt out a profanity and take a leap of faith. Seconds later, I’m fully submerged in the fresh and frosty waters, and my swear words shift into underwater screams of joy. As I push my helmeted head back above the surface, Berani greets me with a high five. He had been right; this is an unforgettable adventure, and I quickly haul my smitten self onto the next ledge with excitment to sling myself down the next zip wire. Inside the rainforests of Dominica “Shrimp, chicken or fish?” questions a furrowed yet easygoing face peeking through the window of the River Rock Cafe cabin. By now, I’m well aware that many of Domincia’s best restaurants don’t need menus, and I fire back my order without hesitation. On the terrace, a stone’s throw from the impressive twin cascades of Trafalgar Falls, the soundtrack of tumbling water and trilling birds provides for a tranquil lunch spot. I lean back in my chair, wondering if anything can make this setting any more perfect. The answer arrives in the form of flavoursome creole-sauce-coated freshwater shrimps washed back with creamy soursop juice. Fueled and fizzled by the mid-day heat, I plump for an afternoon of soft adventure. Dominica’s 365 rivers (everyone keeps reminding me there is one for each day of the year) and innumerable lakes aren’t just ripe for adventure; they’re also rich in soothing properties. Closest are the sulphur springs of Wotten Waven, which, on arrival, disappoint. After the majestic nature-carved pools of this morning, the site of baths circled by cement overshadow any promise of rejuvenation. One of two cascades at Trafalgar Falls A Creole shrimp dish Instead, we climb deeper into the heart of Morne Trois Pitons to circle the Freshwater Lake Trail. Cloud and drizzle join us, shrouding the forest and body of water in a hazy mist, yet we still manage to track the ridge of this dormant volcano. I’d had high hopes of hiking to the infamous Boiling Lake, a gurgling grey former fumarole that you certainly wouldn’t want to swim in, but sadly, time was not on my side. En route back to Fort Young, I stop at Morne Bruce Lookout. High above Roseau, the city seems even more compact, a spectacular sunset starting to swallow the settlement. “You should try to make it to the Emerald Pool,” Alex suggests as I put my camera into overtime. “That’s the best spot for a refreshing plunge”, he reiterates before striking a thumbs-up pose for the final photo of the day. Dominica is a bird-watcher paradise Sightings from the sea to the sky “Look! It’s over there,” whispers Bertrand Jno Baptiste as I abandon my bicolours in favour of his far-reaching telescope. Squinting and refocusing, I finally glimpse what we’ve spent half the morning searching for: the endemic and ethereal purple-and-green Sisserou parrot. I remain silent in hopes that Dominica’s national bird will linger longer in the canopy across the valley, and for a few moments, it feels like she’s staring me straight down the barrel. Footsteps ruffle on the leaf-coated trail behind me, and an enthusiastic voice breaks the stillness. “Dr Birdy’, a lady sings in an English accent, eagerly making a beeline for Bertrand. She recounts to our group how she had seen him present a talk at a bird-watching event in the UK the year before. An expert in all things winged,

the nickname is unsurprising, and there’s no one I’d rather have serenading me with facts as we stroll the Syndicate Nature Trail. Without any predators on land, the island’s exotic bird population remains steady, though some species are now classified as endangered. Sadly, the same can’t be said of Dominica’s mountain chicken frog. Once abundant and previously seen as a gastronomic speciality, the numbers of these croaking amphibians have fallen drastically in recent years. Dominica is the last remaining place on earth where the species can be found, and with less than two dozen still alive, efforts to avert extinction are critical. But while wildlife in the interior might stay well hidden in the lush rainforest, it’s another story a few hundred metres off Dominica’s coast. Dr Birdy, a well known bird expert in Dominica A sperm whales tail “Did you see that?” squeals a fellow passenger as a pair of breaching sperm whales descend back into the depths of the deep blue. Gawping and gleeful, my eyes continue scanning the lapping waters, and I’m quickly rewarded with a second sighting of playful dolphins. As one of the only countries in the world to have a year-round resident population of sperm whales, your chances of witnessing these majestic mammals and plenty of other cetaceans in the wild are high. It’s one of the main reasons in-the-know travellers flock to Dominica, especially between November and March. Before our small craft had departed from spectacular Scotts Head, the starting point of popular scuba adventures in Soufrière Bay, we had been told about conservation efforts and Dominica’s rules for protecting marine life. Daily boat departures are capped, and ships have to stay well back from any whales. Most importantly, jumping overboard would not be tolerated — permits are required to swim anywhere near whales. But as the two majestic whales return for another tail-wagging performance, no one seems to mind that they kept their distance; if anything, I feel good to be in a country that doesn’t seem intent on destroying itself. Nature seems a more important currency in Dominica than the dollar; hopefully, it will remain that way. Playful Dolphins followed the Sperm Whales Indigenous lands Dominica’s extreme mountains and isolated positions aren’t just an adventure playground — they’ve long offered both home and protection to the island’s first people, the Kalinago, and one of the best ways to learn about the traditions and culture of the indigenous community is to visit their territory. Driving up the coast to the eastern side of the island, there’s no fanfare or fences as we cross the ‘border’ into the Kalinago territory. The same lush carpet of emerald green leads the way, though I do notice an abundance of yellow flags fluttering outside homes. Alex informs me they relate to the upcoming elections — the colour is the symbol of the Kalinago people — while the red and blue flags we’d seen elsewhere represent other political parties. Arriving at one of the eight hamlets that make up the 1,500-hectare Kalinago territory, I’m eager to learn more about the the community and their history. Like many of the colonised islands in the Caribbean, Dominica was harrowed by the slave trade and slaughter, yet some of the local population managed to survive. It wasn’t any degree of kindness that led to some of Dominica’s first people being spared; the island’s topography and isolated mountains allowed the Kalinago people to hide and continue their life and culture on this otherwise ignored stretch of coast. Still, only a small area of land was decreed to the Kalinago in 1903, a reminder of how much was seized by the Spanish, French, and British who conquered and pillaged this isle. Learn more about the island’s history at the Kalinago Visitor Centre Walking around the Kalinago Barana Aute (the village by the sea), I’m taken on a tour of traditional outfits, thatched homes, weapons and stories from years long gone.

With no cruise ships this month, the site is devoid of visitors, meaning I could decline dance performances and weaving workshops and instead opt for more intimate insight and unguarded one-on-one conversations. In the visitor centre, I read about how the island was originally known as Ouitoucoubouli, then Waitukubuli before Christopher Columbus arrived in 1493 and imposed the unsurprisingly Latin and Christian name of Dominica (translated, it means Sunday, aka the Lord’s Day). Further exhibits inform about how the Kalinago (formerly known as Carib Indians) ancestors came from Asia and across the Bering Straits before settling in the Orinoco River basin in South America. It was from here that the Kalinago travelled to become the first settlers of Dominica. Justinian, a Kalinago guide, chats with me about the modern-day territory and local rules. Outsiders can’t buy property or land in this protected area, but of course, the Kalinago can live wherever they like on the island. She tells me that this means there are only around 3500 people still living on the territory and that recent reports suggest about 90% of the Kalinago people now have mixed heritage. Sadly, the indigenous language has nearly died out, with just a few phrases still in use and only the elders — one lady who is over 100 in particular — knowing the language skillfully. Roseau’s colourful street market Morne Bruce Lookout What is luxury anyway? Begrudgingly, I drag my bags down to the reception desk of Fort Young, taking a whistlestop tour to say my goodbyes to the hotel team, who had treated me like family rather than a guest over the previous few days. It was Saturday morning and time to depart Roseau in favour of the west coast, but I was keen to see a little more of the island’s capital before departure. Strolling the downtown streets one last time, colour and conversation were rife. Market day was well underway, and fresh fruits such as mangoes, bananas, guava and custard apples were laden high in the shade of rainbow-striped umbrellas. Stocking up on coconut tablet — sweet sugar and spice balls of shaved coconut I’d developed a fondness for — I continue to the National Museum of Dominica to find it shuttered on weekends. Roseau might not be the most attraction-laden city, but it had been good to me. The botanic gardens are serene if small, and there are enough atmospheric bars and restaurants serving local specialities, such as the invasive lionfish, to offer varied evenings. Alex had also advised me early on that it’s always best to ask for the ‘local drinks’ as these mainly rum-based berverages are billed in Eastern Caribbean Dollars, unlike the cruise-ship-ready menus in USD. While grateful for the advice, this had led to a few affordable hazy evenings. Dominica’s beaches might not be the main attraction, but they are blissful all the same Driving up the west coast, we pass silver sand beaches, which quickly start fading into black shorelines as we get further north and deeper into the volcanic side of Dominica. Stepping onto the surprisingly soft black sands, which were being baked by the sun, I quickly forgot about Fort Young Hotel; Portsmouth, Dominica’s second city, was certainly anything but a consolation prize. For the last few nights of my trip, I’d opted to stay at the Picard Beach Cottages. Simple, laid-back and all wooden, the vibe is far more Southeast Asia backpacker than a Caribbean resort. Settling into a low-slung chair on the veranda, which has direct access to an underdeveloped beach, I take in the absurdly handsome views of Cabrits National Park opposite, quickly distracted by a rainbow radiating above the still waters. I raise my arrival soursop juice to what I call luxury: a flawless view, an easy-going room, and time to take it all in. Who needs a five-star hotel when your bedroom opens onto this? Views from Picard Beach Cottage A serene boat ride up the Indian River Rivers of rum

Roseau was sleepy, but Portsmouth was in even more of a slumber. Ambling along the beach, the occasional juice cafe and seafood restaurant appeared between the foliage. It’s unsurprising that this side of the island had been used as a backdrop in Pirates Of The Caribbean; I felt like a true castaway. With little to do other than settle into a slower pace of life, I could have easily spent my final days in Dominica reading, relaxing and recharging. But there was one last location I was keen to experience: the Indian River. From the town, it was easy enough to find a small wooden boat to take the slightly touristy ride upstream. Dipping under an overhanging canopy, the river narrowed, and my captain pointed towards some palms, announcing that this is where the Kalinago had initially lived. Other than the splashing of the oar hitting the water, all is silent; I find myself breathing in the intoxicating drug that is Dominica again. Along the river banks, a clutch of Bush Bars — modest wooden structures where home-distilled rums in every imaginable flavour are dished up — invite you to pause for a pick me up. Stepping off the raft onto the pier, I quickly realise these are more touristy than some of the authentic tipples I’ve had elsewhere. But still, I figure it would be rude not to raise a glass to the river and order a papaya-infused rum, which is readily poured from a questionable bottle. The afternoon would be spent snoozing on the swarthy sands anyway. The Indian River is one of the widest in Dominica A final beach boarding call Tears start to infiltrate my eyes as the ragged road pummels our car’s suspension. “It will be worth it”, Alex, my driver-turned-new-best-friend, gleefully calls from upfront. “It’s my favourite beach in Dominica”. Swinging the car off the dirt track, Alex announces our arrival. Nestled in private land — I’d had to hand over a few dollars to take the road — Batibou Beach is about as paradisical Caribbean as you can get. A deserted, palm-fringed bay, I found myself spitting out various superlatives as I rushed to place my feet in the translucent water. Sitting in silence on a makeshift swing, I survey the empty shoreline and feel another rush of emotion. Dominica had been an island unlike any other, and to coin a lazy travel writing term, I felt truly speechless. Luckily, there were few words left to say other than expressing my heartfelt thanks to Alex, who felt more like a lifelong friend at this point. And of course, that dreaded goodbye. Batibou Beach You’ll still find your typical palms and sand here “You’ll be coming back,” Alex declared confidently as we hugged it out in the car park of the teeny airport after a final roadside snack. “Carnival is in February, or come in October for independence celebrations”, he continues, and I make a mental note of when I should start planning that inevitable second visit. Stepping into the tiny terminal where just a few passengers are waiting, the check-in assistant questions why I’m grinning when I’ll soon be leaving her beautiful home. “I’m not happy I’m leaving”, I reply as she hands over the boarding cards. “I’m smiling because I’ve found a paradise I didn’t believe could exist”. Summoning the strength to mutter a final goodbye to Alex, I take a few steps into the boarding area. The small hall is souvenir-shop-free, but parting gifts weren’t necessary; this Eden was now etched in my heart, a memory that would long outlive a fridge magnet. Read More:Plan your trip: Dominica Travel Guide [ad_2] Source link

[travellingheist]

Israel loss of life ascends to 600 after Hamas assaults. Hamas blindsides Israel with most serious assault in an age

Israel was shocked by the most aggressive activity Hamas has at any point sent off from Gaza.

The size of what's been occurring is uncommon. Hamas penetrated the wire that isolates Gaza from Israel in various spots in the most serious crossline assault Israel has looked in excess of an age.

It came a day after the 50th commemoration of the unexpected assault by Egypt and Syria in 1973 that began a significant Center East conflict. The meaning of the date won't have been lost on the Hamas authority. Israel's State head Benjamin Netanyahu says his nation is at war and will correct a weighty value from its foes.

Recordings and photographs of dead Israelis, regular folks as well as warriors, are all over virtual entertainment Different recordings of outfitted men from Hamas pulling troopers and regular people into bondage in Gaza have irritated and frightened Israelis. Inside the space of hours Israel was answering with air strikes into Gaza, killing numerous Palestinians. Its commanders will design a ground activity next. The presence of Israeli prisoners there implies it will be much more muddled than past attacks. For quite a long time, it has been evident that there was a developing gamble of a blast between Palestinian furnished gatherings and Israel. How and where it happened was a complete shock, outside the outfitted wing of Hamas.

Israelis and Palestinians have been zeroing in on the West Bank, the domain among Jerusalem and the Jordanian boundary that Israel has involved starting around 1967, where there has been practically nonstop showdown and viciousness over time. Equipped Palestinians, particularly those working out of the West Bank towns of Jenin and Nablus, have gone after Israeli troopers and Jewish pilgrims.

The Israeli armed force has mounted many attacks. Furnished pioneers have gone rogue, with retaliations against Palestinian towns. Outrageous strict patriots inside Israel's conservative government have rehashed their case that the involved regions, completely, are Jewish land. Nobody anticipated that Hamas should imagine and fastidiously plan such an intricate and composed activity out of Gaza.

Recriminations have previously begun in Israel about the disappointment of its knowledge administrations to see what was coming. Israelis expect that a broad organization of sources, specialists and super advanced observation will take care of its business.

Eventually, Israeli knowledge was sucker punched by the Hamas activity, which came when Israelis were unwinding or supplicating during the few days of a strict occasion.

Hamas has said it acted in light of dangers to Jerusalem's mosques. During the last week, a few Jews have implored inside the Aqsa Mosque compound, the third holiest spot for Muslims after Mecca and Medina in Saudi Arabia.

A similar region is likewise revered by Jews, as it was the site of the scriptural Jewish sanctuary. Petition by strict Jews on what they call the Sanctuary Mount probably won't seem like a lot, however it is restricted by Israel as Palestinians consider it profoundly provocative.

All things considered, by the principles of Jerusalem, consistently a tinderbox of public and strict clash, it was not outstandingly tense.

The intricacy of the Hamas activity shows that it had been arranged over months. It was anything but a rushed reaction to occasions in Jerusalem somewhat recently or somewhere in the vicinity.

The motivations behind why Hamas and Israel are indeed at war run a lot further. The contention among Israelis and Palestinians has been warming up in any event, when it is a long way from the titles of global news associations.

All things considered, it has been to a great extent disregarded by nations that still formally call for harmony through a two-state arrangement, shorthand for a free Palestine close by Israel. For some time, during the Oslo harmony interaction of the 1990s, the possibility of two states was a genuine expectation. Presently it is a vacant motto.

The Palestinian-Israeli clash has not been fundamentally important for President Joe Biden's organization in Washington DC. It has been attempting to figure out how to give security certifications to Saudi Arabia as a tradeoff for a rapprochement with Israel.

The last American endeavor to relaunch a harmony interaction bombed 10 years prior, during the organization of President Barack Obama.

At the core of the difficulty is the recalcitrant and unsettled very long-term struggle among Middle Easterners and Jews for control of the land between the Mediterranean Ocean and the stream Jordan. These quickly raising occasions demonstrate indeed that the contention can't just be made do. At the point when it is passed on to rot, brutality and gore are ensured.