#a reminder to myself. more than anything. there always is and always will be so much good.

[mandarinmoons]

I'll be here, always

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader Summary: Anxious thoughts taking control of your mind again, Spencer reminds you that he is always there to calm your worries Words: 1389 A/N: This is a bit scary to post cause this is something that I myself struggle with from time to time and if you yourself have these thoughts then know that you're not alone <3

You sighed quietly as you watched Spencer work away at his desk, his eyes quickly scanning details of the paperwork as he worked to try and solve it. It was as if he had glued himself onto the chair as soon as he got home, barely taking any breaks to eat, use the bathroom or speak a single word to you.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“No.”

You sighed as you watched Spencer flip away at his case files, his eyes not looking up from them to meet your eyes. You don’t think you could’ve met them anyways, but a part of you was begging for him to acknowledge your existence for just once during the day. It was eating you away and with your anxiety acting up more than usual, it was only a matter of time until you were reduced to nothing but tears.

Spencer was not the same after coming home from prison. His demeanor was colder, he kept more to himself and didn’t smile as often. He had expressed himself that he didn’t like what prison had done to him, he missed the way he once was and sometimes would stay up until dawn mourning the person he used to be.

“If you weren’t around I think I would go insane.”

Spencer had confided in you one late night that you were one of the few constants in his life. You had known him for years, ever since he first joined The BAU to when he got arrested. You had seen him at his best and his worst, you took him as he was, as he were, and you weren’t going to leave him over a hard chapter in his life, especially if it had changed him.

Sometimes it was easier said than done. Spencer wasn’t the only who had issues and you were honest with him with the thoughts that consumed your head at times, how they would manifest and why. They weren’t something you were proud of, in fact you would feel guilty over them later on when you managed to get a hold of them. It seemed to be an endless cycle at times and sometimes you wondered if you would ever get better. Spencer changed that though.

He assured you countless times whenever you needed it, he would hold you until you were no longer shaking and would see you smile again, he would do anything for you and it made you stick to him like glue. That wasn’t always a good thing though considering your issues.

With having an anxious attachment, sometimes your worries would arise if Spencer took too long to answer a text or call or if his mood seemed unusual for a longer period of time. You tried your best not to get into your head about it, rationalize with yourself that he’s either busy or tired and needs some time for himself and nine times out of ten things would go back to the way they were soon enough.

This time it was different though. The time spent in prison had altered Spencer permanently and although you knew his love for you hadn’t diminished one bit, if not grown stronger, the way he would express it was different than before and it would take some time to get used to.

“He doesn’t love you anymore, he’s just not able to say it.”

Those kinds of thoughts were plaguing your mind and with the way Spencer was behaving, it was hard to listen to your logical side to try and calm yourself. Everything felt so different and it was hard not to expect that things would fall apart eventually.

You were brought back to reality when you felt tears stream down your face, the emotions being too overbearing and let go when you weren’t noticing. You couldn’t let Spencer see you this way so you brushed them away, cleared your throat and looked towards your boyfriend as you tried your best to make sure your voice didn’t crack.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

Spencer only nodded and went back to skimming through his papers, feeling your heart sink again at the lack of his acknowledgement.

Walking to bed and lying down on the covers, you couldn’t help but notice how with every day that passed the sheets seemed colder. Maybe it was because Spencer’s scent had diminished by each day, making the overall feeling less comforting and warm.

You couldn’t help but have tears pouring from your eyes. It was exhausting having to keep it in and you couldn’t bear to do it anymore. Usually you would be right on track to run into Spencer’s arms to have him help you feel more grounded, but with his behaviour being so cold lately, you didn’t want to risk it when he wasn’t in the best mood or maybe even be scolded by him. Has it happened before? No, but you were too scared of those thoughts becoming true one day and with his demeanor being the way it was right now, the chances of it happening seemed higher than ever before.

After some time of silently letting the tears out, feeling exhausted by all of the emotions, you eventually did fall asleep. At least with sleeping you knew you would feel more calm and collected later, but slowly the cycle would start again at some point and you would have to go through the process all over again, something you weren’t sure how long you would be able to keep up.

Sensing that something was wrong, Spencer made his way to the bedroom and stood at the door for a moment, taking in your sleeping figure. Your back was turned to the door and your knees pressed to your chest in a fetal position, your body's way of showing you need protection and comfort, something Spencer knew he had lacked recently.

Feeling his heart ache, he made his way to the bed, laid down next to you and gently wrapped his arms around you, causing you to stir and open your eyes.

With Spencer’s thumbs caressing your arms, another flood of tears escaped your eyes and as you tried to hold back a sob, Spencer was quick to turn you around and bury your head in his chest, making it impossible to not let out your cries.

“It’s okay sweetheart.”

With each loving touch it was harder and harder not to cry. The one thing you needed for so long had finally been given to you and you didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. You did need what Spencer was giving to you, but had it been something forced out of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“That I’m not in control this.”

Spencer took your head into his hands as his eyes looked into yours, his thumbs brushing away the fallen tears and feeling his own eyes tear up seeing how red your eyes seemed. He hadn’t been there for you and it was eating him alive.

“Honey, listen to me. It is not your fault for feeling the way you do, it all leads back to the way you were raised as a child and you had no control over how your parents treated you. We all have our slip ups, but it does not mean that you’re not handling it well, because you are. It’s just a bump in the road and that does not mean you don’t have a handle on this or that it won’t get better. It does, you just have to believe in yourself.”

Not being able to get the words out, your lips pressed onto Spencer’s gently as a way of showing gratitude for his words. He always knew exactly what to say to help calm you and this time his words hit a bit deeper. It wasn’t your fault how you were treated but that didn’t mean that you weren’t worthy of love.

Your loud inner critic lost its power slowly as you and Spencer continued to hold each other and take in each other’s presence. Soon enough you both fell asleep while being in each other’s arms and slept soundly through the night, hearts beating in unison as well as smiles plastered on your tired faces.

You can find my masterlists here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[whowrotethenote]

𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

A/N // A short set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place four months after the Prom Night short.

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Fluff...I think lol

Word count // 3.8k

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

September 27, 2024

Well—he’s doing it again. 

I haven’t heard from him or Paul in over a month. Counted the days as they passed me by in a blur. The color in my life glitching. Just like it was the months leading up to that first time in the Hamptons. 

I don’t know who or what has captured his attention this time around. It’s irrelevant. My life has to keep moving or else I’ll fall into the deepest pit of misery, trying to fill the void he leaves every time.  

The trip to Belize was everything to me. It unlocked an entire new universe of feelings toward him. Deeper than anything romantic. I felt bound to him in a way that I do with people I’ve known for years. The way I can recognize the weight Demi’s footsteps in the dark. The way I can immediately acknowledge Chanel 9 and picture my mother’s face because it's been her signature scent since I knew what smell was. The kind of binding and familiarity only associated with one thing. That forbidden four letter word. 

I thought that week meant something to him. I was terribly wrong like I always am when it comes to him. Summer is over. No longer in paradise. The leaves are starting to turn. Nights getting unbearably colder. 

In a desperate-adjacent attempt to ignite some type of spark or color back into my life, is how I find myself fresh off a first-class plane ride to Green Bay and seated in one of the most upscale restaurants I’ve ever been in. Under the comforting ambient lighting, seated across from me, smelling of that overpowering and alluring Creed scent—is a man that promises so much more than what I’ve been given—and he hasn’t even said it outright. 

It’s wedged in the lines of how he had everything already planned, to the point where I haven’t lifted a finger or dug into my pockets once. The way he felt the need to emphasize that this is in fact a date. The way he spoke of the future and included me in it. 

I’ve said it before. There’s no guess work with him. I know what it is at all times. It’s healthy. It’s loud. It’s rejuvenating. I can breathe around him. I don’t feel so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m suffocating. I don’t have to hide, duck and dodge. I’m not in an underhanded competition with anyone or anything else. If I am, he does a damn good job at concealing it. 

I hate to compare the two. There’s nothing to be compared. Two different ends of the spectrum. Spiraled into my life at two different paces under completely different circumstances. Serving two different purposes. Receiving two different Lana’s.

Maybe I’m being spiteful being here with him. I don’t know entirely. I don’t know what to feel or even how to feel. The lines between right and wrong have been skewed since he inserted himself in my life. Only thing I was certain of, is that I needed a change of scenery and different company. Anything really that doesn’t remind me of him. The sad truth is he’s become a parasite. He’s attached hisself to all the best parts of me and most memorable factions of my life now. Making it nearly impossible to evade him. He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him. Even the man in front of me right now. 

Jaire Alexander. I already knew the basics about him from previous late night car conversation or the occasional FaceTime. But tonight he’s dissected himself in a broader manner. Summing up twenty-seven years of life into a nearing hour conversation. 

He and I have closer roots than I imagined. He was born in Southwest Philly. Only an hour away from where I grew up in New Jersey. His family packed it up and moved to the midwest just before he hit middle school. He’s the only boy, with two older sisters—which explains the unadulterated softness he displays despite being outline in secure masculinity. You can always tell which men have actually known and been around women before. They just move a little differently. 

He was a beast in high school—at least that’s the picture all the articles he showed me painted. Everybody just knew he was going places. The NFL was written in his story before he even received his diploma. That is until injury after injury sat him down earlier than he ever intended. 

“It was as if the devil had his hands on my shoulders, pushing all his weight down on me,” he describes. 

This all happened after the pillar of his family—his grandmother passed and his father went shortly after. His father wasn’t dead—but he might as well had been. Just left one day and never came back. So the injuries and clipped ball dreams hit him harder than he’d ever knocked any quarterback on the field. 

Offers reneged, benched for half the season of his senior year, and all hope disintegrating—he almost gave up on all of it. 

“But I’m resilient. And I knew if I wasn’t gonna do it for myself—the least I could do, was do it for my grandma. My mother and my sisters.”

And he did. He pushed through. Molding a way when there wasn’t one to begin with.

He tells me tales of his college years. Says he felt untouchable. The way he glided through the four years like a stingray in the ocean. Earning privileges his peers couldn’t fathom. More girls  than he could count, dropping to his feet—literally and figuratively. Willingly finishing his homework and him, for nothing in return but just the opportunity to say they did so.

“If I could spend a day and go back in time to any portion of my life—I’d go back to undergrad. They treated us like gods on campus, man,” he told me. A glint in his eye projecting the past. 

“And when I got drafted, it was like undergrad times ten. Only it was more on the line. Money just didn’t stop rolling in. Sponsorships—parties with people I had only seen on TV before—people breaking their neck to make me comfortable.”

He said he got a taste of that world and went a little too off the deep end. He was fresh meat. He had a target on his back and the vultures didn’t waste any time. 

“I almost got drowned out—almost lost myself, but God threw me a lifeline. I’m good now.” 

All in all, Jaire is a man. Filling in the gaps his dad left behind, he made something out of nothing. And after hearing him break down all his fears and the hurdles he hopped to get to where he is now—he’s earned a newfound respect from me. 

My phone lights up on the table next to my half empty plate. Wiseman. My heart skips a beat. Reality of the situation hitting me immediately after. Instead of racing to unveil the contents of the text message, I flip the phone face down. Cupping the back of my neck trying not to let these thoughts infect my brain and mood, but they double down. 

Who the fuck does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think I am?

I can’t even believe I let it get to this point. Spending nearly my entire summer in Miami in that condo where the ghost of him lingers every time he leaves. His scent burned into the sheets and the pillow. Steamy and woody smell of his body soap lingering after we shower and he leaves for the day. His shirts—wrinkled and thrown everywhere, leaving a footmark and telling the story of where we started and ended up upon his arrival. Background noise of Love Island playing, as we opt for the entertainment of each other instead. 

I’ll forever remember the summer after I graduated college as his summer. Actual days, lost in one another—following the endless trails, walking the different path’s of each other’s brains—mixed with long humid and lustful nights, turned to morning all over again. First time flying out of the country—exploring the world and seeing how other people live—and it was with him.

“You need to get that?” His voice thrusts me back to the present after sinking into a pit of nostalgia. Sinking so deep I didn’t even feel the consistent vibrating of my phone against the wooden table.

Flipping the phone back over, my lips tighten reading Wiseman again. I push hard on the lock button to reject the call before tossing it deep into the contents of the Dior bag hanging on my chair. 

“Nope.” 

“Hot commodity, I see.” He laughs.

“Not really.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “What?” A smirk tugs at my lips as our eyes tip toe over each other’s faces. I can’t suppress the giddiness around him. Even in the wake of all the bullshit he’s ignorant to. 

He shakes his head. His tongue resting over his perfect top row of teeth for a second. “Still in shock I got you here.” A sting of guilt in my chest forces me to break our trance. Would I even be here if he wasn’t on his shit? “Am I overstepping by asking what all the apprehension was for?” He asks.

I blow out a breath searching for the right words. I don’t even have a rational answer for him. Playing house with a married man all summer had me taking the biggest step back from him. Calls unanswered. Texts responded to only when I got a second to duck off and coach Demi on what to say. No more parked car conversations. And all for what? For somebody that left me in the same state I left Jaire in? Ghosted, without any communication as to why, leaving my head to make up all the worst scenarios. 

“I think I have an idea.” He speaks again.

“Let me hear it,” I encourage. 

He pauses for a minute. “The normal. I was tryna sit in a seat already reserved for somebody else.”

If only he knew. I call myself forging a seat that is already full. The seat merely exists in my dreams. He never fails to wake up to this harsh and cold reality—that everything about us is temporary and none of it is for real. That he occupies way more space in my life than I ever could his. 

I adjust the diamond studded bracelet, now overflowing with different charms he’s added. 

“It's complicated,” I finally say.

“We all got complicated,” he counters. I stop for a second, really digesting him and his words. I’ve been so wrapped up in the telenovela that is my life, I think I’ve abandoned the fact that Jaire is still his own person. Selfishly, I’ve reduced him to just a character in my saga when he has own life, his own goals, and challenges—just as I. Women on his line probably in the same predicament I am with him. 

I need an anecdote for this hole inside of me. And no—not another person. The anecdote has to work with just me. Just Lana. People are going to come and go as they already have. They’re going to keep coming and keep going because that’s just the natural order of things. The toughest lesson I had to learn as a teenage girl—tossing and turning in the wee hours of the night, thinking every time the phone rang, it was the hospital calling to tell us the cancer had won. While the rest of my peers got to live in fantasy and fairytales—life was teaching me the darkest lesson that everything has to go eventually. Life, people, money—all of it.

I have to figure out how to be okay without anybody else. I have to be able to go on after he goes. Cause he clearly will go. 

His head flicks to the right in a slight nod. “Come on—I wanna show you something.” He stands, reaching into his pocket counting off bills. I’m stunned and mostly confused as fuck. Too many Benjamins for me to count land on the dinner table and he holds a big hand out inching to my side of the table.

So, I take it. Willing to go anywhere with him if it means not sitting here to wallow in self pity as the phone rings all night.

He leads us out the maze to exit the restaurant, stopping twice to sign his autograph and take a few pictures. I clutch the fox fur coat tighter to me upon meeting the brisk air of Wisconsin. The consistent fever of Miami had me spoiled. I almost forgot what cold really felt like.  

We’re not even all the way out the glass-door entrance of the building and onto the street before we’re being jumped. White and yellow lights at every turn from the faceless men shouting things I can barely make sense of.

He’s so chill and down to earth, I forget he is in fact famous. I use one hand to cover my eyes. The other rests comfortably in his while he leads me to the passenger side after retrieving the keys from valet. He moves with such confidence and ease, as if there isn’t a herd of photographers in his personal space—snapping pictures of a moment as intimate as a first date.

“You’re okay with that?” I study him while blinking at the blinding lights of cameras. 

He hooks his seatbelt before resting one tatted hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah, why? You got somebody you need to be ducking?”

It's so far off from cheating but this rush of excitement and anxiety is very reminiscent of cheating. “I can pay them to get rid of them.” He informs after I pause. 

Without thinking too deeply into it I shake my head. “No, we’re good.”

The phone buzzes in my hand again and I ignore the fuck out of it like the previous ten times. 

In Jaire’s territory, I couldn’t tell you where we are. We flew on the highway for a while, exiting onto a back-way of some sorts, until he led us to a dirt road with land that stretched for miles it seemed, with no signs of human life. I probably should’ve been scared. In this secluded space with a man I didn’t know, in a state I never been. But his energy—familiar and comforting like a hug from an elder—has me suppressing any type of anxiety. The occasional swipe of his thumb on my hand where we connected atop the center console, paired with glances that read, “are you okay,” every other minute—was enough to settle me. 

The headlights of his car cascade along a fence with a clear DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from it. Despite the obvious, he hops out anyway. Somehow unhooking and unlocking the chains to open one side for entry. 

I use this time to finally open the thread, floored by the endless texts in grey. 

He’s asking for you You left Miami? Is everything okay? I’m concerned now Call me back when you get a chance WiseMan 13 Missed Calls

I let all the angst out in the air that puffs from my nose. The fucking nerve. It’s been nearly two months and now I am expected to jump for him? Draining. That’s what this whole thing has been. He’s lifted me up—taken me to heights I never even thought I’d see at this age. Just as quickly he’s popped the bubble and I’ve been free falling since I last saw him.

It might sound ungrateful. He’s done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Got me through my last year of school. Gifted me a G Wagon straight off the lot and filled it with my favorite flowers. I live comfortably in the heart of Manhattan. Blending in with general wealth and nepotism. 

My life looks the way it did in a young Lana’s dreams, who snuck to binge Sex and The City and took day trips uptown just to gawk at all the designer through the window. This newfound peace of mind means nothing if it can be taken away just as easy. It’s stupid. I should take what I’m given, be grateful for the adventures and opportunity, and just leave with my memories at best. But that’s the thing. I’m past that now. It can never be just memories anymore. And it puts a chill in my bones to think it's just memories to him—if that. 

So when Jaire cuts the engine before rounding the car to open my door—I leave the phone and him behind. 

“You gon’ be okay walking?” He eyes my Shark Boots. “It's further up.”

“Uh…” I peak down, assessing the two thousand dollar, leather boots. 

“Just jump.”

“Huh?” I look back up. My confusions stumped, seeing his back to me.

I hop on and he carries me the whole way effortlessly. No huffing and puffing—not even breaking a sweat. 

Letting me down gently, I scope the scenery. I figured from the walk up—with all its twists and turns that we’d end up on a cliff like we are now—but the sight before me exceeds any imagery I thought I’d find at the top.

The whole entire city of Green Bay from a single vantage point. I felt like a god having access to this much of the world in one sitting.

He’s quiet and I’m grateful for it. The day turning to night. A pink glow on top of the skyline. Nothing but the whistle of wind surrounding us. Everything up here is just…quiet and still. So easy for your mind to go blank. 

“Surrounded by noise all the time. Big family. Always apart of a team. Games packed out with thousands of people screaming.” His hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans. “I come up here to drown all that out. Get a break from all the noise. Always so deep in everybody else—in the crowd—I forget about Jaire. Standing up here I remember. I can remember I’m still somebody too.” He steps down sauntering back to me. Sage eyes putting a spell on me. “You just seemed like you needed a second to remember Lana is somebody too. I don’t care who come and go—what’s easy or complicated.” I giggle as he bows his head making wide eyes. “Don’t let nobody drown you out,” he continues. “Not me. Not Mr. Complicated. Nobody.”

I never felt more seen by a man in such close proximity to the first time meeting him. It usually takes moving mountains to get a man to come to his senses and hone in. Not with him though. He’s almost too good to be true. 

I nod. Tears threatening to spill, but I suck them up. No more sad girl. I’m better than that. It’s a shame it took a man that barely knows me to tell me so. 

“Promise?” He holds out a long pinky adorned with a ring that winks at me. I hook mine onto his.

“I promise.” 

He steps back allowing me a path to the spot he left. In these less than comfortable Givency boots, I step carefully over and around the scattered rocks, over the sand and patchy grass until I’m on top of the same flat plated rock he came off of. 

The view is unreal. I can see everything up here, but it’s still nothing but echoes of silence. No noise. No world. No expectations. No worries. Just me separated from them. Separated from him.

“I got a game in two days,” he informs me. “I’d really like if I knew you was out there in the stands—watching me.” 

I turn still on top of the rock so his voice isn’t hitting my back anymore. “And you better not lose.”

He snickers. “With my good luck charm there? Never. I’ll have to give them motherfuckers the greatest pep talk of their life in that locker room.” 

My smile grows. The battle of my heart he didn’t even know he was affiliated with before today, lingering. Yeah, he lost a couple rounds in the beginning. He had all the right materials and couldn’t do anything with them because my attention had been abducted by someone who didn’t even deserve it. 

The better man might just win this time. 

Finally back in the five-star hotel room, I stare at the name on the screen calling again. I let it ring two more times before swiping.

“Paul?” But I can tell it's not him. I don’t know how I know—I just know.

“You left Miami?” His voice is authoritative—making the question sound more like a statement. “I don’t see your suitcase here.”

“I did,” I confirm after a moment. Heart skipping a few beats. From guilt? Excitement that I resent from hearing his voice after months? I don’t even know. 

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home,” I lie. Eyes shut tight. I’ve never done that with him. I never had to. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Every second that passes feels longer than the one before. And for a split second, I feel like he knows the truth or at least knows what I’ve told him isn’t the truth. Like he has his own eyes on me at the moment.

“I’d really appreciate if you came back, Lana.” 

Theres almost an underlying desperateness in his voice. Like his wellbeing depends on my presence—when he’s just demonstrated to me that it doesn’t. I remove the phone from my ear. Eyes opening at an agonizingly slow pace to face myself in the mirror. Why do I always feel so weak for him? So helpless like I don’t have any say over my own actions—my own body.

Staring back at the girl in the mirror I shake my head at her. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fall for it…fall for him.

This game he’s been playing—it's unfair. It’s cruel. He’s set it up so he’s the only winner.

The overwhelming feeling he brings to me—congesting my mind and making me forgo all the contempt and smoke I previously had in the chamber for him. Then, the promise I just made to Jaire not even an hour before, forces itself to the forefront of my mind. He won’t drown me or my intuition out this time. 

I stick the phone back to the side of my face. “I can’t,” I tell him. Voice so delicate and pliant—not even hiding the fact that I can be easily persuaded. So, to eliminate any chance of it—I press that red button. He won’t win this round.

A/N // it’s been so long friends. so much has happened since my last update…still in shock btw. so let’s disassociate and be delu together in this au😂

1. what the helly is going on with Joe? why has he gone ghost again?

2. do you think Lana genuinely likes Jaire or is she just trying to fill the space?

3. this girl spent her whole summer in Miami—what do you think happened between them? (don’t worry a good portion of the rest of the shorts take place during this time)

4. he took this girl out the country😂 any thoughts?

5. do we think him going ghost again paired with Jaire’s new presence is enough to make her split from Joe?

As always, so grateful for everyone reading especially in light of recent events. Feedback is always welcomed💗

Next update will be another short about Wrestle-mania 40. It will be up every soon. If not tonight, tomorrow night.

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[arayapendragon]

shifting advice; pick a pile 🦋

pile 1 - indifferent, austerity, undisturbed  channeled song - ride by lana del rey 

"i'm tired of feeling like i'm fucking crazy,  i'm tired of driving ’til i see stars in my eyes, all i’ve got to keep myself sane, baby, so i just ride, i just ride”

everything's moving fast, everything’s changing. maybe you’re getting a little overwhelmed, that’s okay. you may not realise it, but you’re making quite a lot of progress. embrace the shift, be open to it - it will happen sooner than you expect and may even catch you off guard. it could happen when you least expect it. ground yourself and your senses into the world that so lovingly calls you home. trust. 

take a step back, what is your intuition telling you? don't ignore it, listen intently. you can be your greatest mentor in your shifting journey even if it may not feel like it. you are the one who will figure out what works for you, what helps you shift, what fits you right. you are the one who sets the foundation for your shifting journey, and no one else can do that. realize how powerful you are. the answers you seek lie within. reflect, ponder, journal, and soon you will find yourself in the land of your dreams. 

you've been through pain, you’ve seen hardships. don't beat yourself up for “failed” attempts, or for not waking up where you wanted to. let go of the past, it cannot be changed; it was there to teach you a lesson, to prepare you, to test your mettle. what's done is done, what’s gone is gone. you still have time, you still have potential. you'll make it. let go of the past, it cannot control you unless you choose to let it. rewire your past assumptions into those that are favourable. just feel, just exist, just be. you're human, be kinder to yourself. let yourself heal. don't let the pain hinder your journey. instead, redirect your focus to the more valuable aspects of your desired reality - your loved ones, or anything else. realize how much they will help you, how much they will heal you, the joy they will bring you, and use that realisation to ground yourself into your desired reality. 

be slow, be steady. you could either be the tortoise, or be the hare, its entirely up to you. commit, persist, devote yourself to your desired reality. every small step you take will build up to something greater, something tangible, something meaningful and worthwhile. starting now, everything you do will help you shift, regardless of how small it is. the work and effort will pay off. don't stop, just keep going on. your shift is near, emotional fulfilment and joy await you. stay hopeful, stay open. you will soon bear the fruits of your labour. 

pile 2 - aversion to faultfinding, nonviolence, expert  channeled song - roslyn by bon iver & st. vincent 

“up with your turret,  aren't we just terrified? shale, screen your worry, from what you won’t ever find, don’t let it fool you, don’t let it fool you, down”

maybe you’re feeling disconnected from your desired reality, or maybe you find yourself unworthy of shifting. you might even feel like you’re missing something that you need in order to shift. let me remind you, the aforementioned is nothing but a lie; it is nothing but your mind playing tricks on you, and your thoughts taunting you. you're not alone, you’re enough. the universe has your back, this hardship will not last. even if your desired reality feels distant, it is closer than you realize. you are connected, you are aligned. just keep going. 

your biggest mistake is not realizing your power. you’re manifesting all the time, you’re shifting all the time, so what’s stopping you from shifting to anyplace else? you are the creator of your reality, and that is how it will always be. you already possess the ability to shift, just step into your power and take control of your journey, stop letting it run on autopilot. be patient, be kinder to yourself. don’t be aggressive and rough, instead be gentle and soft. approach shifting with a nurturing, almost motherly energy. by showing yourself more love and care you will raise your vibrations and thus easily align with the energy of your desired reality. keep your mind clear, stop letting emotions and negative thoughts get to you. the mind likes to mess around with you, will you give it the power to do so? or will you take control and take yourself where your heart desires? it is foolish to give power to mere thoughts and emotions, which are, at the end of the day, nothing but temporary. let go of impatient, there’s no clock ticking, there’s no one timing your shift. it will happen but you need to let go of all the pressures and worries. be confident, your thoughts are powerful and if utilized the right way, can guide you into your desired reality. 

you're far stronger than how much you give yourself credit for. you don’t need to fight or battle monsters to shift, the shift is waiting for you, calling you lovingly into a gentle embrace. simply accept it, let it catch you when you fall, drop your weapons. go soft, go steady, stop being at war with yourself. trust yourself more, realize that you are what makes the shift happen, no one or nothing else. be stubborn, but not aggressive. you want to shift? then do. no one can stop you, no one can hinder your progress. even if someone doesn’t understand or support your desire to shift, that will not change anything. only you can make the shift happen. don't let doubts weigh you down. don’t get disheartened by temporary setbacks, just keep pushing, but be kind to yourself in the process.  pile 3 - silent, gravity, charity channeled song - outro by m83

"i'm the king of my own land, forcing tempests of dusts, i'll fight until the end,  creatures of my dreams raise up and dance with me! now and forever, i'm your king”

you need to be honest and sincere with yourself. are you procrastinating? pushing the shift away? thinking there’s something more you need, or that something is holding you back from shifting? are you resisting the shift? you may be self-sabotaging yourself without realizing it. align with your desired reality by being true to yourself, by reflecting on yourself and your actions. align with the higher version of yourself. step into your power. you already know what you need to know. now it is time to put in the work. be shameless, rid yourself of guilt. welcome the shift with open arms and an open embrace. you know what needs to be done. stop getting in your own way. give shadow work or journalling a try to understand why and how you’re hindering yourself from shifting. understand the root cause behind these actions. are you scared to shift? finding yourself unprepared to experience your desired reality? afraid things won’t go your way? let go of everything, take it down a notch. you have expectations, and that’s okay, but don’t let them get in the way or make them unrealistic. be grounded, be mature, be practical. you're not playing with toys, you’re building an empire. realize that you have the utmost power and ability to shift, to live the life you desire, to get what you want. take ownership of this ability. trust yourself more. maintain some discipline, bring some structure into your routine. consider making a shifting journal to keep track of each shift, to find what helps and what doesn’t, to delve into each attempt in a detailed manner. you are the creator, you are the boss. you are the puppeteer, controlling everything else. there's no divine timing, there’s no right time to shift. there’s no prophecy waiting to be fulfilled. the shift wasn’t meant to happen at a certain time. instead, it will happen whenever you want; whenever you let it happen, whenever you give it permission, when you allow it to come through. be confident in your ability to shift, you know about this for a reason. shifting wouldn’t have found you if it wasn’t meant for you. enough doubting, enough wavering. if you want things to change you must leap into action and stop letting insignificant little things get in your way. you have the passion, you have the vision, you have the potential. be bold, be brave, let your passion for your desired reality fuel the shift. you are ready, believe and let it happen. 

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mental Healing with the Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Hey Guys, I just wanted to say I am still super sorry with every chapter that takes longer than I used to be to get them out. I asm currently in the middle of the last 2 weeks of college, so lots of studying and prep for our huge Final Projects or Tests. On top of that my FSAE team and I are prepping to leave for the Big Competition three weeks from now. However, I do not want any of my chapters to lack in the love and work that I put in to writing them. So I will do my best to try and get them out more regularly, but I will not post anything early or with any less love than the last one. So should they continue to take longer please remember this. No one has said anything about this but I still want to make sure that everyone knows I am not done with this story, just a little busy right now. With that said please enjoy...

The gym lights flicker on just before sunrise, humming low above my head like they’re still waking up, too. My hoodie is heavy with sleep and my shoulder twinges the second I shrug it off, revealing the newer, thinner brace beneath. It’s progress — less restrictive, easier to hide under my clothes — but it also means I’m out of excuses. The world thinks I’m still resting. But rest never made me stronger.

I roll out my mat in the same corner of the performance room as always. Familiar. Quiet. Grounded. Axel lays just a few feet away, head on his paws, eyes tracking my every move like he knows this day is going to be rough.

Because it is.

Today is cardio and strength. And no cast means full-arm weight again. It’s the first real milestone — a make-or-break kind of day.

I sit on the mat for a moment, my back pressed against the cool wall. My fingers find the scar on my forearm, tracing it absentmindedly. A reminder.

The crash didn’t defeat me.

"Alright, warrior,” Diego calls, stepping into the room and clapping his hands once. He’s grinning, but there’s a crease between his brows — the one that always shows up when he’s worried about me. “Scale of 1 to 10. Pain?”

I crack a tired smirk. “About a 4. Maybe a 5 when I raise my arm too fast.”

He raises a brow. “And how much of that are you downplaying to look cool in front of us?” Slightly nodding towards Axel.

I glance over at my dog, who immediately perks up like he knows he’s being talked about. “A solid 60 percent.”

Diego laughs, but he kneels down next to me, softer now. “Y/N, you’ve made insane progress. But we’re still building up. You don’t have to prove anything today.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m just trying to… feel strong again.”

He doesn’t challenge me. Just gives a nod and offers his hand to help me up. “Okay. Let’s do this. But the moment I see that shoulder falter or your breath get shaky, we’re pausing. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The warm-up is fine. Easy even. Jogging laps around the indoor track with Axel trailing behind me like a shadow. My lungs are steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I feel… almost like myself.

Then we shift to shoulder presses.

“Let’s start light,” Diego says, passing me the small dumbbells — the baby ones, I tease in my head. I hate how small they feel in my hands.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, planting my feet. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. Hell, you used to double this weight for warm-ups.”

“That was before your bones tried to throw a party and forgot to invite safety,” Nico pipes in from the corner where he’s leaning against a table, flipping through my training notes. “Let’s not reenact the crash scene here, yeah?”

I shoot him a look but secretly, I’m glad he’s here. He grounds me. Keeps me from letting the fire inside burn too hot, too fast.

I managed the first set. My form is shaky on the second. By the third, my shoulder screams. My breath catches.

Diego notices before I say anything. “Stop. Drop ‘em. Right now.”

I obey, lips pressed tight. My pride stings more than my shoulder.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench. “Now tell me what your body’s saying.”

I slump onto the bench, sweat trickling down my spine. “It’s saying I’m not ready.”

He kneels again in front of me, tone low and honest. “No. It’s saying you need time. Which isn’t the same thing.”

Nico steps closer now too, crossing his arms. “You’re not failing by resting, Y/N. That’s the bravest thing you could do right now — listen.”

I exhale shakily, brushing my sleeve across my face. “I just… I don’t want them to worry. The boys. They were scared enough. If they knew I was training again, they’d—”

“—They’d be proud,” Diego finishes for me. “Because you're doing this smart. You're building up again. You’re not throwing yourself into a cockpit half-healed. You’re working for it. Quietly. Strongly.”

I don’t respond right away. Just nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes on Axel who’s still watching me with that serious, almost human stare.

“Just… don’t tell them yet,” I finally whisper. “Let this be mine a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his voice softer now. “Your story. Your pace.”

“Besides,” Diego adds, grinning again as he hands me a bottle of water, “when you finally show up at the garage again and toss your helmet on like nothing happened, they’re gonna lose their damn minds.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

I pick the dumbbells back up before they can stop me. Not for another full set — just one more press. One more reminder that I can. I lift them once, clean and steady, before lowering them again.

“That’s enough,” Diego says gently. “Today, that’s enough.”

And for once… I believe him. Because I know I’ll be back again tomorrow. And the day after that. I’m not chasing the old me anymore. I’m building someone stronger.

—

I hadn’t realized how much I missed the scent of race fuel and burnt rubber until I stepped through the paddock gates again.

The buzz. The noise. The heartbeat of a track that never really goes quiet.

The second my shoe hit the pavement inside the circuit, it all came rushing back — that itch in my fingers to feel the steering wheel again, the thrum in my chest that didn’t hurt anymore but still pulsed with memory. I wasn't driving today — still under the "you're technically held together with sports tape and medical optimism" clause — but I was here.

That counted for something.

Nico was walking just to my left, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his black team jacket, looking every bit like my silent, slightly too-calm bodyguard. Meanwhile, Paul practically bounced beside me on the right, grinning like a rookie who’d been handed keys to a spaceship.

“I swear, I thought you were just a myth,” Paul said, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder. “They said ‘Ghost will meet with you before FP1’ and I was like, cool, should I also expect a unicorn and a sentient AI?”

My voice changer cracked slightly as I tilted my helmet toward him. “Sentient AI would be less chaotic than most of this team.”

Paul snorted. “And here I thought you were gonna be mysterious and intimidating. You’re… kind of hilarious.” I shrugged beneath my oversized hoodie. “Don’t get comfortable. I bite.”

“That would explain never taking that helmet off.” he said with an exaggerated look of fear. “Let me just go prep for my debut with the racetrack cryptid watching me from the pit wall.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your job today is to not crash my car, Aron. It likes being pampered.”

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, just as we turned down the garage hallway.

I smirked under the helmet, then nudged him with my elbow. “Lots. Don’t downshift too hard into turn six — it’ll get twitchy. There’s a subtle bump on the exit of nine, trust your rear to hold but don’t overcorrect. And if you talk back to Diego during the debriefs, I’ll personally short-sheet your bed for the rest of the season.”

Paul stared at me, eyes wide. I tilted my head playfully. “What?” “That was… disturbingly specific. How do you even know about short-sheeting beds?”

“Because I’m creative and mildly vindictive.” Nico coughed — poorly disguised laughter — and muttered, “He learned it from Oscar.”

I pretended not to hear him and turned my attention back to Paul. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be on the pit wall the whole time, headset on, translating Diego’s feedback into ‘Paul Speech.’ He’s been dying to lecture someone other than me.”

“Oh great, I’m the replacement victim,” Paul said, mock sighing. “But really, thanks. This means a lot, Ghost. Being the reserve is weird — you never know when you’ll actually be used. I thought I’d be invisible.”

I reached up and tapped the visor of my helmet, voice softening through the modulator. “Invisibility doesn’t mean unimportant. You’ve got this.” He smiled then, really smiled. That bright, pure grin that reminded me so much of Jack it almost stung.

“Alright, cool,” he said, straightening his posture like he was trying to match the height of his moment. “Let’s go make you proud.”

“Oh, you’re already halfway there,” I replied. “You didn’t trip coming off the shuttle. That’s one more point than I had on my first day.”

“I knew you were a disaster once,” he laughed.

“Once?” Nico muttered beside us. “That implies improvement.”

“Rude,” I said flatly through the voice changer, flipping him off.

We turned into the garage then, the loud hum of tools and chatter dimming the second we stepped through the threshold. The mechanics looked up, a few nodding in recognition as I passed, others just giving me that respectful kind of glance — Ghost’s back. Even if I wasn’t driving, I was here.

Paul peeled off to go suit up. I took a breath, looking over at my car — technically still mine, even if someone else would be behind the wheel for FP1. It gleamed under the overhead lights, waiting.

My fingers twitched. Soon.

Nico said something, but I didn’t hear him — not really. Because just then, the gravity of being back settled in my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just this warm, solid weight of home.

And I didn’t even realize how tightly I’d been holding onto that until I let myself feel it again.

—

The hum of the garage had dulled to a low buzz after FP1 wrapped. Tools were put back in drawers, pit boards were stacked, and Paul was somewhere in the back being debriefed, grinning like a kid who’d just aced his first big test.

I stayed where I was on the pit wall, not wanting to really speak to the media or answer questions. I didn’t need to hide here. But, it still gave me that edge of comfort… a thin line between me and the rest of the world. Especially when emotions threatened to press a little too close to the surface.

“You looked good out there,” a voice said behind me — calm, familiar, warm.

I turned slightly, already recognizing Franco’s tone before my eyes landed on him. He gave me a soft nod, leaning his elbows against the barrier beside me, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I wasn’t out there,” I said, the voice changer wrapping my words in static.

He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp and quiet. “Didn’t say you were driving. I said you looked good out there.”

I paused. Then exhaled through my nose and pulled out the mic cord completely, letting it hang from the railing as I leaned forward a bit, matching his posture.

There was a moment of silence before I added, softer, “You know it hurt… at first”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“It hurt a lot to sit here and not be the one buckling in. To know that the car — my car — was about to be driven without me. And that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fight it.”

My hands clenched slightly at the memory — the ache in my ribs still faint under the surface, the scar on my arm pulling a little under the hoodie.

“I kept thinking about how many races I might miss… how slow recovery’s felt. How I used to fly in that thing. And now I’m grounded. Watching. Coaching. Like I’m some kind of whisper in the background of my own team. Truly a ghost by name. ”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly against mine — an anchor.

“But…” I said, slowly, breathing in deep. “Then Paul started talking. Asking me questions. Getting excited. Like… full-on spark-in-his-eyes excited. And I realized I could still be part of it. Just from here. From the wall. From the headset.”

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. “He listens. Like really listens. And seeing him figure things out… watching him light up after his first laps? I don’t know. It felt… right. Not perfect. Not the way I wanted to be here. But right… okay.”

Franco nodded once, voice soft. “You’re still racing. You never stopped.”

I looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Just because you’re not in the seat doesn’t mean you’re not driving this thing forward. He wouldn’t be out there doing so well without your help. You’re shaping him. You’re shaping this whole team.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

My throat tightened a little behind the helmet. “I think… for the first time since the crash… I don’t feel broken being here. I feel like I still have a purpose. I want Paul to do well. I want him to prove himself. I want him to have the chances I had. And if I can help him get those… then maybe this isn’t all just pain and waiting.”

Franco reached up then and gently knocked on the side of my helmet. “That’s the champion mindset. And the good teammate mindset.”

He grinned. “Even with the scary voice mod.”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s for dramatic effect.”

“You’re terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Inspiring, but terrifying.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that eases tension like a pressure valve finally letting go.

Then Franco leaned back and said quietly, “It’s okay to feel both, you know. The pain and the pride. You’re allowed to miss it. And you’re allowed to find joy in what you can do right now.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “For saying that.”

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time that day, I let myself take my helmet off — slowly — and just breathe.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t stare. He just offered a genuine smile, no different than the one he gave me when I was Ghost.

“You’ll be back in the car soon,” he said. “But until then? This version of you — the strategist, the leader, the teammate — is just as badass.”

I blinked at him, then smiled.

“Don’t tell Diego or Nico that. It’ll go to their heads, like some mother duckling they might pull me from my seat.”

Franco smirked. “My lips are sealed.”  I smiled back before following him back across the pit towards the garage. 

—

It was race day when the others finally found me.

Sure, they knew I was here. The media had caught glimpses of "Ghost" in the paddock all weekend, whispers and blurry photos circling online. But catching me for a real conversation? Actually pinning me down? That was a whole different challenge to them.

Until a very familiar flash of papaya orange caught me out.

I was tucked away in a quiet corner behind one of the hospitality buildings, sitting on a crate, sipping from a water bottle, my legs stretched out in front of me.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up — only to see a smirking Oscar Piastri standing there, arms crossed.

“Well, look who I finally found," he said, tilting his head at me with a grin. "Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy during your injury. Yet here you are. Hiding like a delinquent.”

I didn’t get a word in before he stepped closer, peering dramatically at me.

“I hope you at least have your brace on under that hoodie," he teased, tugging playfully at the sleeve. "Would hate to have to carry you back to the medical center and explain to the physios why you’re broken again."

I scoffed behind the voice modulator, batting his hand away. "Relax, Mum," I said dryly. "Brace is on. Doctor's orders. I’m being good."

Oscar chuckled, dropping down onto the crate beside me with a quiet oof, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.

"I dunno if sitting here in your emo corner counts as being good," he quipped. "But it’s good to see you. Missed you, you know."

I smiled — small, hidden — but it was there.

"Missed you too, mate."

We sat there for a beat, the sounds of the paddock — tools clanging, fans yelling, engines roaring in the distance — fading into a quieter hum around us.

"You look good," Oscar said suddenly, voice softer now. "Healthier. Stronger."

"Feel stronger," I admitted, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie. "Still a long way to go. Still can’t race yet. But it’s... better being here. Even if I’m not in the car."

Oscar nodded, watching me with that patient, careful look he only ever used when he dropped the sarcasm.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply.

Before I could say anything back — feeling dangerously close to getting a lump in my throat — another familiar voice floated over to us.

"There you are!"

I turned just in time to see Charles approaching, helmet in one hand, hair a little messy from pulling it off, suit half-zipped down. His face was lit up with relief, though there was a thin line of worry etched between his brows too.

"I have been looking everywhere," Charles said, crouching in front of us, resting his elbows on his knees so we were eye-level. "You are impossible to find sometimes, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," I joked lightly, voice still crackling with the modulator.

Charles huffed a laugh, but then his gaze softened as he studied me.

"You are really here," he said, almost to himself. "And you are doing well."

"Trying," I said honestly. "It... wasn’t easy at first."

Oscar nodded beside me, nudging my arm. "But she's kicking ass. You should've seen her, Charles. Advising Paul like a damn pro. Ghost engineer era unlocked, I can’t wait to see what they can do during the race together."

Charles smiled — a real, warm smile — and reached out to squeeze my hand where it rested on my knee.

"I am proud of you, mon amie," he said. "More than you know. It takes a lot of strength to be here. To stay when it hurts."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing gently into my chest — not painful, not overwhelming. Just... steadying.

"I needed to be here," I whispered. "For the team. For myself. Even if it’s just helping from the wall. It feels like... I'm still part of it."

"You never stopped being part of it," Oscar said quietly.

Charles nodded, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. "And you never will."

For a moment, the three of us just sat there in the shade, the chaos of race day spinning on without us. It didn’t matter. It could wait.

Because here, hidden behind the noise, tucked into a small, forgotten corner of the paddock, I was reminded that even when I couldn’t drive, even when my body wasn’t at a hundred percent — I wasn’t alone. And that was enough. For now at least.

—

The race was chaotic.

From the second the lights went out, my heart thundered in my chest, the noise of the engines vibrating through the pit wall. I sat perched on a high stool right beside Diego, headset snug over my helmet, live feed on the monitors in front of me.

Paul's voice crackled through the radio — tight, a little anxious. His first F1 race. His first real chance. He'd qualified P14, and while it was a hell of a debut, he wanted more. We all did.

"Focus up, rookie," I murmured into the radio, voice softened by the modulator but still carrying the firmness I knew he'd hear. "Eyes forward. Breathe. You’re better than half the grid out there."

"Copy," Paul answered, clipped but trying to sound calm. I could hear the nerves anyway, layered under every word.

The first few laps were brutal — midfield battles that could turn ugly fast. Paul held steady, sharp and clean even under pressure. But he hesitated at key moments — lifting just a fraction when he could’ve pressed the attack.

"Car ahead is struggling with rears," I said, low and steady in his ear as Diego fed me data. "Watch him out of Turn 7. You’ll have him on exit."

A beat.

"Okay," Paul breathed. "Okay, Ghost. I trust you."

I smiled behind the visor, chest tight with pride.

And sure enough, two laps later, Paul slipped past in a beautifully patient move, climbing to P13.

The race ebbed and flowed, the pit stop cycle throwing chaos into the midfield. Every time Paul's focus wavered, I was there — guiding without overwhelming, steering him without grabbing the wheel.

"Car in front weaving under braking. He’s nervous. You stay clean. He’ll crack first."

"Brake balance forward two clicks. Save your fronts, we’re gonna need 'em later."

"Trust your exit speed. You’re faster in S2. He can’t stop you if you set it up early."

It was like music, almost — this silent, invisible dance we did together, woven between the roar of the engines and the crackle of the radios.

Lap by lap, Paul clawed his way forward. P12. Then P11.

When we hit the final stint, fresher tires on and the car lighter on fuel, Diego leaned toward me, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"One more position," he said into my private channel. "We get points."

I keyed my mic again, calm even though my heart raced like mad.

"Paul. Eyes up. P10 ahead. You are faster. You are faster. Stay close. Pressure him."

Paul’s breathing was heavier now, the strain of the race wearing on him, but he responded instantly. "Copy, Ghost. I’m on it."

I watched, fists clenched, as he chipped away at the gap — lap after lap, tenth by tenth.

Finally, into Turn 4, he made the move — bold, late on the brakes, perfect.

P9.

Inside the points.

The final few laps were a blur of adrenaline, shouting, encouragement.

When the chequered flag waved, Diego practically threw his headset into the air beside me, and I couldn't hold back the yell that ripped from my throat over the radio.

"YES, PAUL! YES! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!" I screamed, voice cracking with pride and joy.

Over the team radio, Paul whooped, the pure exhilaration pouring out of him.

"OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, GHOST! THANK YOU!" he shouted, breathless. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU!"

"You did that," I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt under the helmet. "You kept your head, you fought smart — you earned this, Paul. You earned every bit of it."

He was still yelling and laughing as he pulled the car into parc fermé, tires screeching slightly. The mechanics and engineers around us were clapping, cheering, and I stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.

He did it. We did it.

I pushed through the crowd toward the car, heart hammering.

Paul barely waited for the car to cool down. As soon as he wrestled himself out of the cockpit, he tore off his steering wheel, slammed it into its mount, and sprinted toward me.

"Ghost!" he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion.

I didn't even have time to react before he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking us both off balance.

Our helmets clashed with a loud crack, making both of us stumble a little, but neither of us cared. Paul clung to me like a lifeline, arms tight around my back, helmet pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around him in return, gripping him just as hard, laughing breathlessly even as something in my chest squeezed and ached with pride.

"You absolute legend," I said, voice trembling. "I'm so proud of you, Paul. So, so proud."

He pulled back just a little, enough that our visors almost touched.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ghost," he said again, voice thick. "You believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it."

"I knew it from the start," I said quietly. "You just had to see it for yourself."

For a moment, the noise of the world faded away — the shouting, the music, the celebration. It was just the two of us, standing there in the middle of it all, holding onto each other like it mattered.

And maybe it did.

Maybe it mattered more than either of us could say.

Masterlist

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[littlemissmentallyunstable]

CHAPTER ONE

⋆˚࿔ Flaire Lockshot 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

District 4 smelt like fish and salt and sea air. It made sense, of course, seen as it was the district of fishing produce, still it didn't make me like it anymore. It was hotter than Eight here, but not so hot as Ten or Eleven, where my skin easily burnt and peeled from just the few hours I was exposed to the sun.

Before every victory speech I was required to meet with the previous victor of that particular district, it was a ritual of sorts that I had to participate in. Though it didn't excite me in the slightest for my next visit where I'd have to be face to face with Finnick Odair.

I didn't rate Finnick one bit. I'd remembered watching his games when I was just thirteen. He was the youngest to ever win it, absolutely lethal, but cocky as hell. Of course the Capitol loved it, threw themselves right at the damn floor just to watch him thrive but it only disgusted me. Arrogance was not a trait I admired, in fact it got under my skin very much so. From all the footage I'd seen he seemed all too calm and confident for my liking. Someone who'd just murdered with any sort of morality doesnt waltz around the way he did. Or maybe I was just jealous he carried himself so well. Either way I'd decided that Finnick and I weren't going to get along, no matter what.

Besides I'd killed his tributes. Both. In my defence they'd come at me together with weapons of their own, the only thing I could do to save myself was steal their last breaths. Still, the guilt of a death never leaves in, in defence or not. A murder was a murder was a murder. And my hands forever felt stained with blood no one else can see. They would call me mad for years to come as I scraped at my cracked skin trying to clean the invisible thick red torment that had become a tattoo to remind me of my great crimes.

"Don't you just love the sea," Amaryllis sighed, clasping her hands of her chest as she watched the great mass of blue from the window, "I wish we had more places like this is the Capitol, it's so dull there. There are only a few synthetic beaches, you know."

My teeth ground against one another and it took everything in me not to bite back an offended response about the starving children in my home district and so many others that would give a right arm just for a decent meal and wouldn't even be able to dream of complaining about a synthetic beach. But Amaryllis meant no harm and would never understand even if I'd tried to explain it to her, so I clamped my mouth shut. Yet again.

"Remember Flaire," she cooed to me, "you must respect Mr Odair. Don't say anything too offensive or rude. Upsetting him means upsetting the Capitol, which brings shame to the great Panem and President Snow himself."

'Great' wasn't a title I'd give Panem, nor is 'President' to a man such as Snow, but again I found myself a little helpless. So instead I silently wondered what kind of things might upset a man such as Finnick Odair. I'd killed both of his tributes, surely if he was going to be upset with me he already would be.

I nodded to acknowledge my escort but wondered if Amaryllis really knew what she was saying. She was often so wrapped up in her frills and ruffles that she couldn't even comprehend the reality of the situation of those outside the Capitol.

The train came to a smooth halt, almost making me miss the way our trains in Eight would throw us across the wooden carriage with an ear splitting screech. My brother and I used to have a game to see who could withstand the jolt, though almost always we'd both end up tumbling to the floor in our failure. My fingers found themselves at the lobe of my ear, subconsciously playing with the stone earring he had snagged from the factory and saved away for mine and my sister's birthdays. I been gifted a pale white and she'd gotten a pair that was barely tinted pink. We'd pierced them together, at the same time for eachother and never taken them out since. The smoothness of the surface had always been a comfort for me, it reminded me of home, it wasn't the Capitol's fancy jewellery, it was harboured purely from my district's earth. The white stone seemed to be the only constant in my life, the only solid thing I could rely to always be there, everything else was far too upside down.

The two of us stepped out of the train, Amaryllis and I. Clo waved us a goodbye, muttering something about the smell of fish lingering in her freshly styled hair, though I didn't pay much attention to it as I was too focused on the sky. It was a blend of so many different colours, like an artist had covered their canvas in water and then blotted bold dyes all over it, that had seeped into onto another yet still held their own beauty. Oranges and yellows, tints of reds and hues of pinks and the faintest of purples. It was if the sky had decided to bleed this morning, like it’d gotten too tired of the world it was gazing down upon and had asked the stars to stab through it’s prettiest phases so they’d all melt into something people would finally step back a notice. Beauty was pain I supposed.

If I were to live any dream it would be to dance to a sad violin with this colourful sky behind me. My feet begged me to at least sway to the sound of the ocean’s waves hitting the rocks at the shore, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I hadn’t danced in too long. Instead, my eyes just devoured the sky, like a starved child greedily lapping up everything it was given until it was ill from it. I stared until my ears burned with dampness.

"Oh I would just die to have a dress made in this colour, wouldn't you?" Amaryllis giggle from beside me, the glitter painted on her cheeks glistening as the light hit them.

"No," I murmured quietly, "but I would like to see a sky like this again."

"District Four is known for this, you know," she replied, "they call it somesta sollencini, the rise of the sun that brings the world's colour."

A beautifully poetic name for a beautifully poetic sight. So for a moment, I stared at the rise of the sun and all of the colours it had brought, allowing myself to smile.

‧.⋆✮⋆.‧

I made a slow way to victors' village. It was bigger than the one in Eight, more houses but that didn't necessarily mean people lived in them. Still, I was sure District Four would have more victors than we had back home. The houses were the colour of sand and made from gritty, uneven stone that made them look older than they were. A few houses had seashell mosaics on the side and a few had fishing mesh instead. I walked up to the door I'd been instructed to arrive at and stood behind it, trying to work up the energy to knock it. I stalled staring at the paintwork until I forced my hand to the smoothed and shined wood and gave it two sharp raps with my fist.

The door swung open and revealed my host. His face was mostly the same as the one I remembered seeing on my screen all but three years ago, only now his eyes were a little darker, cheeks a little hollower and jaw more prominent. His ocean eyes roamed me with no discretion, amply gazing at my every aspect. The wind ran its fingers through his blonde soft waves that struck bright against his smooth tanned skin, he looked almost ethereal with a beauty that shouldn’t exist in normal people.

He raised a sharp eyebrow, flicking his eyes towards the door, "took you a while to knock."

Finnick Odair. His voice was spun silk, a smooth, even sound. I understood why people would like it but I didn't share their opinion. It was too polished and sweetened, like a medicine nectar, one drop too much and it becomes deadly.

"Then why did you wait?" I asked dryly.

He smirked, feeling satisfied with something I couldn't place my finger on yet, "patience is a virtue," he shrugged.

"Now I know why no one commented on your humour," I responded, not waiting to be invited in and instead stepping inside, brushing past Finnick swiftly.

The faster we conversed, the faster this would be over with. I could give my speech in their square, get back on the train, repeat at the remaining three districts then the Capitol and then I could finally go home. I could see my sister, my mother...

"Ouch, darling, that one hurt," he said, a grin still plastered on his face.

I nearly choked on my own spittle as it caught harshly in the back of my throat but composed myself. I whipped my head around, unimpressed, "darling?"

"Like it?" he mused, his calm attitude irking me.

"No," I replied swiftly, making my way into his kitchen. If he wanted to play it bold, I could match that. We’d played the same game before and I wasn’t intimidated to match him. So I began to analyse the area to get a better judge of his character.

Everything seemed to be reasonably neat, dishes in a glass show cabinet all perfectly lined up, countertops completely clear apart from the usual kitchen utensils for the richer districts. I tried not to look to intrigued by the toaster, I’d never seen one in real life before. There were no cups in the sink or crumbs on the floor, no sight of mess or mayhem, everything was in perfect order. Which meant it wasn’t at all. I presumed if I opened a cupboard or drawer, that wasn’t glass display one, I'd find things mismatched and thrown into place. Things that seem perfect on the outside are almost never perfect on the inside, it’s too impossible of a standard, there’s cracks in every smooth shine you just need to know where to look for them.

"Are you enjoying the analysis of my living space?" he drawled, working my motives out far too fast for my liking.

He was quick, I’d give him that. But just that.

"Look can we just get this over with," I asked, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

He sighed outwardly, "you looked so sweet on camera."

I scoffed, "well you and I both know whatever they show on camera is probably the furthest thing from the truth that there is."

"Careful," he warned, eyes flitting around, "little ears are everywhere."

I clamped my mouth shut, something sinking into the pit of my stomach. Each time I swallowed my saliva it felt like glue. What I'd said wasn't a revelation of any sort nor was it a rebel act but it was calling out the Capitol, calling out Snow. Maybe I’d gotten too cocky after the games, my thoughts too wild. My mother had always taught me how to keep myself contained but once you’ve hunted for blood like a monster, it was hard to forget the scent. But surely it wouldn't cost me. I tried to convince myself of that as I shook the pooling pit of nauseating anxiety stirring in the pit of my stomach.

Finnick's eyes slowly trailed me up and down, for the second time in the barely ten minutes I’d been with him for, and for some obscure reason my cheeks were suddenly filled with blood and became all flushed and pink, "nice getup,” he nodded towards my dress, a sarcastic grin plastered on those sweet lips.

"As if I chose it," I said, bitterly.

"I meant it as a compliment," he flashed a very boyish smile, one that I could imagine women far too old for him being incredibly flattered by.

My eyes clung to him for a moment too long. I saw his appeal. The tousled blonde waves, those alluring sea green eyes and a lean, tall figure. But I couldn't afford to fall for the appeal, not that I wanted to anyway.

"You're a shameless liar," I deadpanned.

"So you're the infamous Flaire Lockshot," he said, making my name sound worthy of a title, as if I wasn't a murderer, "to be honest you're shorter than I imagined, makes you way less scary."

I scowled, our height difference bothering me more than it was a few seconds ago, "and you're even more of a conceited peacock than I thought."

"But I haven't even started talking about myself yet," he teased with an exaggerated pout that stirred my urge to punch him.

"Don't bother," I bit back, forgetting everything Amaryllis said about being nice. I was tired, exhausted of this victory tour and all my forged smiles and laughs. The mask had to crack at some point and if that meant lashing out at a self-entitled “darling” of the Capitol then he'd just have to deal with it.

"And why's that?" he smiled, looking so irritatingly amused it made something in me scream to do something violent.

"Because I'll walk out," I shrugged plainly.

He tilted his head back ever so slightly to laugh and as he does I catch the flash of his dimples, "and what makes you think I care about you leaving?"

My stomach dropped for the second time today and I suddenly felt very vulnerable, as if I was stood here with no dignity in front of him. My cheeks heated re-obtaining that pinkish hue as I quickly formulated a smart response to hide my fluster.

"Why so many questions?" I countered the only way I could, "feels like some sort of interrogation."

"Maybe it is," he replied so smoothly it made me angry.

"Another reason for me to leave," I said, wishing that I hadn't even stepped inside in the first place, wishing my mind could work fast enough to get me out of this situation.

"So eager to run?" that silly smirk still ran riot on his lips, too rebellious for the world we were living in, "seems you really don't want to be here."

"No I don't," I quipped sharply, standing up that little bit straighter and staring him dead in the eye.

What was the point in lying about it? I had lied about too much for far too long now, what did I care about saving my face now when I didn't even know whose face I was wearing.

"Flaire, means fire doesn't it," he mused, pursing his lips, not deterred be me but intrigued, "well you've definitely got a temper."

"Only for those who are insufferable," I responded bluntly, my voice so monotonous it even bored me.

"Now don't put me on a pedestal darling, I'm just like everyone else here," Finnick replied, amused with himself.

I clicked my tongue, "I hoped you weren't how imagined you but you're living up to every expectation I had."

"You imagined me," he raised a brow, "were we naked?"

I rolled my eyes as I ignored the blush creeping up my neck, "you're a child."

"Wrong," he said in a sing-songy voice, "last time I checked you're the sixteen year old here."

"I turned seventeen in the arena," I deadpanned, the memories of the day coming back to me a little too fast that I would've liked. I gripped onto the counter behind me, to steady myself, my knuckles draining of their colour all too quickly.

"Happy belated birthday," Finnick said, almost softly, his eyes flitting to my hands, before reverting back to his more arrogant tone, "I wish I'd known I would've brought you a present."

"I don't accept gifts from strangers," I told him bluntly, something my father had engrained into my head ever since I was a little girl.

There were always traders around Eight, sometimes they'd offer little kids things for free and then come banging on their parents' door demanding for money late at night. I was always taught to never accept a thing, no matter how much it might have been worth.

"Oh so you're a good girl," he grinned.

"Excuse me," I choked, my own breath getting stuck in my throat.

"The 'do what you're told' type," he clarified.

I could see what he was trying to do, all too clearly. He was trying to gage who I was, work out my past, my mind, my ability, my strength. He was doing exactly what I was doing to him, except he was doing a poor job and I wasn’t.

"You're reading me wrong," I shrugged, remaining neutral and unbothered, "stop trying to work me out Odair, it'll never happen."

He paused, then smiled, "you decided from the train you didn't like me based on my propaganda footage. My personality annoys you, your shoulders tensed as soon as you walked in. But I'm not all that's on your mind, unfortunately you have a bit more substance than that. Let's see... you miss home but don't want to admit it out loud, part of you wishes you'd died in the arena to make your life easier now but the other part knows you need to be alive for your family."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My mouth had been suddenly wired shut and even if it could open it, my voicebox had been stolen too, my tongue cut out. My throat was dry, yet my chest was thick and weighted with a Pandora’s box of emotion just screeching to be released, bony fingers stretching through the creases to try to pry it open.

"So was any of that right or have I worked you out all wrong," he asked me, a hint of satisfaction seeping through his response.

"You've got not even a fraction of my story and half of that anyone could've guessed," I replied with a little too much anger, breaking my blunt and brittle facade almost immediately. I mentally cursed myself.

"Not anyone," he shook his head, gently, taking a cautious step in, "a victor who's felt what you're feeling, who feels what you're feeling, who knows what it's like to experience this living hell."

Something in his sea green irises sent me spiralling, I could see some meaning, some understanding, some sympathy, some pity. Suddenly, I was being drowned, pulled under by his alluring nature into the depths of those hypnotic eyes until they were the only colour I could see at all.

"You seem awful passionate about this Mr Odair," I said sharply, lowering my voice an octave, "I would watch what you're saying, you don't know who might be listening."

I reversed his words on his to see their effect, like I knew he’d watched mine. I wanted to see his emotion, his feeling, something, anything.

"He can't hurt me," he murmured, giving me a direct answer to my unasked question that hung in the air between us, "everyone I love is already dead."

We both fell eerily silent. Doubt turned up at a door in my mind like a long lost friend I was obligated to reunite with but didn’t truly recognise. Maybe I'd been too quick to judge, maybe I'd acted roo harshly. He was just a boy, just a kid trying to survive after the most traumatising events of his life, just someone like me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered finally, my voice so much smaller than I'd imagined it would sound.

"It's not your fault," he shrugged, "but I'm aware you might have to hold your tongue."

I didn't reply. He was asking the silent question now, about the people I had left to love. But I didn't want to discuss my family for fear I might break. Instead I pointed out of the window, "you have pretty mornings here.”

"I prefer the night," he replied, coming up behind me to look too, "I get to see the stars."

"I like the stars too," I murmured, feeling his soft breath on the back of my neck, "where I come from that's where the people we've lost go."

"Well it looks much nicer for them up there," Finnick said gently, eyes fixated on the blend of bleeding colours.

"I wish that could make me feel better about the loss," I replied quietly, shedding a layer of information I held close to show him I wasn't all bad, that I was just hurt, that I was just lonely, that I understood him, like he was claiming understand me.

He nodded slowly and his eyes met mine, the deep green so intense I wanted to spill all my secrets, "so you've lost before?"

"As much as the next person," I shrugged, keeping it vague. We understood each other, it didn't mean we had to open up.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at me sadly. Once I might've mistaken the look for pity and loathed it but it wasn't pity in his eyes, it was raw emotion. Something personal.

"Don't be," I told him, with a small smile of gratitude.

His eye lingered on it for a moment and then moved as he noticed me watching and calculating what that might mean, "you know I watched you closely, after you killed my tributes."

"Nice to know," I said abruptly, suddenly feeling the need to replenish my defences, talking about the games always made me more alert for one reason or another, "do you always watch people so closely?"

"Only ones I find interesting," he said with lacklustre.

I blew out a breath, leaning back into the counter with folded arms, finally finding my turn to be amused, "oh so I'm interesting.”

"Extremely," he smiled annoyingly broadly, so unashamed and confident it made some weird sort of jealousy twist in my stomach, "do you always watch people so closely?"

"Yes."

My response was immediate because it didn't require much thought. When I looked at people I analysed everything about them. From the way their shoes were tied, to how many inches of dirt were caked under their fingernails, to their choice of hairstyle. I relied on my gut and the information I gathered with my eyes. Word were meaningless in a world full of liars.

He didn't press the matter, though I could see he was a little curious, unanswered questions played on his subconscious thought, "you've got a good arm with those knives you know."

"I got lucky," I said, subconsciously touching the stone pierced into my earlobe. My constant was here, the games were over, I was okay.

"That's a lot of luck for one person," Finnick replied, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

I only shrugged at him, "life owed it to me I suppose."

He stared for a minute or two, his eyes boring holes into the centre of my skull. Then in a mercurial moment of what seems like madness, he laughed suddenly, throwing me off entirely. My eyes didn’t know where to place themselves as they flitted all over him.

"You don't need to put so many walls up you know," he chuckled shaking his head

He was good at working people out, maybe even better than me. He'd had practice, that was for sure.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I responded without missing a beat.

He raised a brow and laughed, "still playing tough?"

My tongue traced over my top set of teeth as I glared at him, "you need to stop."

"Stop what exactly, darling?" he smirked.

Anger surged through me, of course I'd fallen for his sad eyes and pitied his life, it was all a ploy to get me to expose myself. How hadn't I seen it before? That sweet face, that moment of something that resembled an understanding… I should’ve known better, I should’ve known that Finnick Odair of all people was not going to be different. Everyone seeks vulnerabilities to use against you and it seemed I hadn’t been guarding mine as well as I should’ve. Quickly, I suppressed my fury with myself and him. I was more likely to slip up in a fit of blinded rage than anything else.

"You know usually victors are able to make reasonable small talk and then I get to leave but ever since I've step foot in here you've interrogated me," I accused, folding my arms, eyeing him up and down.

"An interrogation is a stretch, darling," he chuckled again to himself.

I glowered, "stop calling me that," I spat out the words like they were snakes' venom.

"Why?" he toyed with me, taking a step closer so our bodies were almost touching, "afraid you'll like it?"

"What do you want from me Odair?" I asked bitterly, my voice low and dangerous, the sound gravelly and unattractive.

"I want for you, first of all, to just call me Finnick," he said, his tone laced with syrupy honey.

"What do you want from me, Finnick?" I mocked. I used his name for the first time, the way my mouth moved to accommodate it felt too pleasantly foreign.

He only grinned, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, slightly longer than just a blink but not enough to be noticeable if I wasn’t watching him so intently. He flashed his perfect teeth my way, "oh I don't want anything."

My blood boiled and I was sure that was the intended effect of the comment, "are you always so cryptic?"

"Painfully so," he nodded, his face pulling into some sort of sincere look.

"I see why you're a Capitol favourite," I said dryly.

His face clouded and smug expression wavered for a fraction of a second. What he was, the life he lived, something there affected him greatly.

"I think that title might be taken soon," Finnick said, a little too quietly.

My eyebrows pinched together creating a crease, "by who?"

He went silent, eyes fixated on mine and for a moment I didn't understand until it finally clicked.

I scoffed, forcing a laugh, "yeah, right."

"They lapped you up this year," he told me, "lethal, deadly, oh so composed Flaire Lockshot, you were perfect."

I tried to keep my jaw from dropping, I hadn't thought myself to have performed that specially. I'd killed, I'd fought and I'd survived but still smiled for the Capitol cameras and fed them the sweet talk they wanted to hear, I did everything my mother would want me to and my father wouldn't. Isn't that what Snow wanted?

"I played their game and they enjoyed," I said, "isn't that what I'm here for? People go crazy for the victor every year, doesn't mean they're a Capitol favourite."

"Oh I know," he said, "but you are. A talented, dangerous, gorgeous, skilled girl from Eight who no one expected to favour so much, suddenly performs so well in arena, people are fighting to sponsor her."

"You're lying," I shook my head numbly, trying to ignore the way my stomach had flipped when he’d said gorgeous, "you're lying to me."

"Why would I lie, darling? You're a victor, you're one of us now," he said, almost tenderly. Part of me wanted to melt and the other cry. I did neither.

"Well I don't want to be," I said sharply, "a victor or a favourite."

"I'm afraid we don't get the luxury of that choice," Finnick replied with words I didn't want to hear, but they were too honest to ignore.

"And who are you to tell me what choices I do and don't have," I snapped, our bodies a little too close for me the fact not to be playing on my mind.

"I'm not fighting against you Flaire," he said steadily, no darling, no smirk, "we're on the same team here."

"I never recall joining a team," I replied.

"I'm on your side," he rephrased before leaning down and pressing his lips to my ear, "I don't like the Capitol anymore than you do."

I scoffed, "that'd be why you go traipsing around the place, shirt buttons undone, ready to do people's biddings."

"You think I have a choice Lockshot?" he snarled, suddenly seized by a piercing rage, "you think I want this?"

The outburst made me jump but didn’t scare me, Finnick wasn’t a threat. In fact this proved to me that he did have true feelings behind his smooth facade. I could feel his anger, like he'd felt mine earlier. It was white hot, burning, liquid fury that made my bones ache. Still, a smirk found its way to my lips and settled, "it seems the tables have turned."

"Smart one darling," he scowled, sarcasm leeching from his tone.

I stepped into him, making myself a little taller, shooting him a deadly look, "don't call me that," I growled back.

"Make me stop," he said.

"Maybe you shouldn't try me," I responded cooly, "aren't I dangerous, according to your Capitol friends?"

"Fatal, actually," Finnick corrected.

"Then stop," I replied.

"I don't believe for a second that you'll ever use the dagger strapped to your thigh on anyone that you don't have to, let alone me," he said, in a low but powerful voice.

A shiver ran straight down my spine and heat spring into my cheeks, how had he noticed that was there, "must you be so observant," I grimace, not letting my shock show.

"Must you be so easy to read," he countered, back to his amused self again, "this is no fun for me at all."

"You're bluffing," I challenged, "either that or you just think I'm easy to read because I can guarantee you Finnick, you know next to nothing.”

"Do you want to know a secret, darling?" he asked me, changing the subject suddenly.

I couldn't make him out. He was constantly shifting narratives, steering conversation but he was like me, eager to read people, to learn, to work them out before they could hurt him. Part of me liked it. Part of me didn't want to.

He came close again, a little too close for my liking and slowly leant down beside my ear, "I once let a whole net of fish go when I was seven because I felt bad that they were all going to die despite eating them practically my whole life. Unfortunately for me, I was caught and beat for it by peacekeepers. Your turn.”

"I didn't realise this was a caring, sharing circle," I replied bluntly, still processing what he's said, picking at the pieces so I could work it all out. Was he trying to tell me something in some sort of weird hidden message or was this really just a random story from his childhood? Was it even real or was he trying to play me?

"It's not," Finnick said, "I sold you a secret, now you owe me."

"I don't owe people things," I laughed shaking my head.

"Ah but now you do owe me secret of your own in return for my shared secret," he told me, "payment is payment."

"You imposed the secret on me," I replied, "I didn't ask for it!"

"Hey I don't make the rules," he shrugged putting his hands up in the air like we all used to when peacekeepers ransacked our houses when they pleased because they held that sort of power.

I rolled my eyes, too exhausted to argue, "I'll pay you back at a later date when something interesting comes up," I sighed.

That stupid smile crept up into his face for what felt like the hundredth time, "oh but by then it would've gained interest."

"That's too much money talk for a girl who doesn't come from very much," I told him, watching the flash of guilt coat his oh so smug expression.

"You might owe me more," he explained.

I shrugged my shoulders calmly, "I'll deal with it then."

He raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth turning up further, "ambitious."

"Nothing more than I haven't already faced," I said, "than we haven't already faced."

We. Because we'd both been through this horror, this trauma. Something gnawed at the lining of my stomach, even the use of that world unsettled me. ‘We’ was a unity, but should I really be unified with anyone, least of all Finnick Odair. I hated how he was growing on me, how I was starting to find his smirk a warm familiarity, how I realised this was the first conversation in a long time I've felt myself, I've felt human.

His smile widened, "hold out your palm."

"Why?"

"Hold out your palm," he repeated, his voice smooth and soft.

"I don't trust you," I said, somehow grinning myself. He was infectious, his sunshine, his smile, his charm, everything about him made me want to punch him and hold him close all at the same time. Dizzied with confusion, I played into his game because what did I have to lose.

"And I don't think you ever will," he shrugged, "so just hold out your palm."

And I did, I didn't know what compelled me to do it but I stuck out my palm and closed my eyes. I felt like a little girl again, when my father would come home and tell me to close my eyes and hold my arms out and give me a scrap of material from his day at the factory for my mum to make me my own patchwork dress one day.

I wore it to his funeral.

"Here."

The object is small and light, a little coarse. I dared to open my eyes.

"A sugar cube?" I questioned.

"A sugar cube," he nodded, looking a bit too delighted with himself.

"What do I do with a sugar cube?" I wondered aloud, peering closer.

Was it a hidden message? Was it poisoned maybe? Was this all just some sort of joke to him?

Finnick only shrugged and walked away, humming a song I'd heard the fisherman's singing in the early morning, leaving me to see myself out. I stared at the same white cube for a long time until everything fell into place and the beers in my mind began to tick. Then I saw it for what it was. A peace offering.

I marched myself to the town square not bothering to make Amaryllis walk me there. I didn't think I could take her talking in my ear with my head already spinning from my meet with Finnick. Most of the time with him I’d spent wishing to leave but I’d come out wanting to go back and spend ours talking to that annoying face. He was confusing and cryptic and cocky but too fascinating to be considered an enemy. Besides I'd gotten a peace offering out of it, hadn't I?

I stood up on the stage, the sea air settling on my skin. I read out my card and for once the speech didn't give me anxiety. One mother looked pitiful of me, the other angry. I didn't know which one hurt more. All I knew was that I was the reason neither of their babies came home, I was the cause of their grief and for that I was the most sorry.

‧.⋆✮⋆.‧

I woke up to the melody of my own screams again, checking my hands for blood that wasn't there. We hadn't left the district yet due to train maintenance. I stumbled to the bathroom and scrubbed the broken skin of my hands until they bled. At least now I could see it. My stiff limbs cried out at me like they did every morning, they wanted to be freed. And my dancing feet were tired of so much walking and standing, they wanted to move. I ignored them once again as I hopped off the train, taking myself down to the beach. I'd wanted to go there earlier in the day but hadn't been allowed, not that it was going to stop me now.

Following the sound of the waves, I walked towards where the sea met the sand and sat down, quietly watching as the light of the moon glistened off of the surface of the ocean. Tilting my head back, I closed my eyes and listened to the music of nature. My body had the urge to move, it wanted me to lift my arms above my head and twirl, it wanted me to twist my legs and sway my hips again, it craved every extension, every turn, every roll. Yet, even though my body wanted me to dance, my brain did not, it was too numb to dance here and now. Maybe I'd feel like dancing again when I saw my mother.

Seeing her face in my mind sent spirals of shooting pains around my chest. I was so homesick. I longed to be in the arms of my family, to sleep in my own bed. And compared to the comfortable, plush, velvet Capitol beds I cared more for the rickety, rusting makeshift mattress that had been my safe haven for sixteen years.

This victory tour was too long and drawn out and I still had too much left to go, as well as facing Snow himself in the Capitol. The last time I'd seen him was the chariot parade, when I'd been flaunted around in the most ridiculous costume next to my district partner with all the tributes who hadn’t made it out. I winced at the thought of my partner and his horrible end. I'd made direct eye contact with Snow that day, so brief I didn’t think he’d registered me but I could've sworn I saw him smile a little. The memory sent a chill down my spine or maybe it was just the cool night's breeze.

"Fancy seeing you here."

I gasped suddenly, so deep in my own thought I never realised I wasn’t alone, startled by a voice I didn't expect. Though, I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Finnick chuckled quietly.

He sat down beside me, as the waves lap the tips of our toes gently. His eyes looked a little bit lighter in the moonlight, the emerald a little more mellow.

I shot him a look, my tone half between a joke and being serious, "seems you just won't leave me alone."

"It's a compliment to you that I think of your company as worth my time," he grinned back.

"Then I guess I should be thanking you," I mused, pursing my lips.

"But you won't," he said.

"You're right," I nodded, "I won't."

"Didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?" he teased, cocking his head to the side.

"Only the same yours taught you that you seem to be so evidently displaying," I quipped back with a wink.

He laughed, the sound so warm and radiant that it almost touched my own heartstrings. He soon fell silent, leaving the wind to whistle in the empty air. Something about his presence beside me was oddly comforting, I felt safety and security that I hadn't felt in all my life growing up in the rough end of Eight. There was a sense of peace he emulated that soothed my tensions, stifled them. And that worried me. How could someone undo but guard so easily, break down the very foundations of my feelings, it shouldn't be possible. Not this soon anyway, we’d only just met, people don’t just click.

He tore through the silence, "so what brings you here so late at night?"

"The stars," I murmured, not quite meeting his eye too afraid of what I might reveal.

"Good answer," Finnick smiled, "but try again."

Apparently he was a fantastic lie detector as well, much to my detriment. Couldn’t he bad at just one thing? It was as if I couldn't forge anything in front of this man, I had to show him my truest and rawest form. But it had been buried for so long, I didn't even know if it was still there.

"The people within the stars," I edited my answer, tracing an outline of a constellation with my eyes.

He exhaled slowly, "you're still lying to me."

I didn't have anything to reply with, because he was right. I couldn't cover it up again but I couldn't tell him the truth either so I kept my mouth shut. Only keeping my mouth shut felt like the only thing I did nowadays, so I pried it open and opted for a filtered truth.

"I don't sleep very often," I explained, my voice far quieter than I'd expected it to be, "and when I do it isn't pleasant, my respite seems to be in quiet moments like the one I was having before you came along."

"My apologies," he bowed his head.

I flashed him a grin and stuck my tongue out, "not accepted."

He laughed with me for a moment until we both fell back into comfortable quiet. I stretched my legs out further, pointing my toes so they skimmed over the cool salty sea even more. The moon was brighter than I'd ever seen in Eight, the sky so beautifully clear. There was so much factory work in my district that it affected how we saw the sky, but here I could see it all and it was too beautiful for words to describe.

"I don't sleep well either," Finnick murmured into the darkness.

It shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. He'd been through the hunger games, fought to the death to save his own life. But being exposed, his vulnerability, his pain, there were no smirks or smiles, it was so sincere. It wasn’t something I’d expected from him.

"Is that why you came here too?" I asked quietly, testing the waters to see how far he was prepared to open up, how far he trusted me.

He nodded slowly, "the waves are meant to be calming, they suck you out of reality for a moment, or at least away from your mind."

"I know what you mean," I nodded.

"I get nightmares," he admitted, "the same scenes over and over, like a repeating horror movie that I can't get out of."

He knew. He knew exactly how I felt, exactly what it was like. The nightmares didn't just haunt you once, they stayed, they repeated. Snow could use any mechanism of torture but none would be so severe as the power of my own mind. Knowing Finnick got them too provided me with a strange sort of comfort, that I wasn't alone or wrong for feeling the way I did.

"Do think the other victors get them too?" I asked, confirming to him that I experienced these too.

He shrugged, "I can only assume. At the end of the day, we're all human beings."

Human beings. I supposed we all were.

"Do you think the Capitol knows that?" I raised my eyebrows.

He sighed and met my eyes, "the Capitol is a brainwashed society."

"Aren't we all?" I countered.

"No," he shook his head definitely, "because we're sat here seeing through it."

"And that's all we're doing," I laughed for the irony, "not fighting back, not rising up, but instead sitting on a beach and wallowing in it."

I was annoyed at myself for not doing anything but what could I do? Every other revolution had failed before it even had the chance to properly begin.

"When the time is right," Finnick began slowly, sounding too wise for his years, "change will be made."

"Well I'm impatient," I sighed, folding my arms across my chest to block out the cold.

"Didn't I mention earlier?" he flashed a winning smile, "patience is a virtue, darling."

I shoot him a dirty look, "you're annoying when you play it smart."

"I think you secretly adore it," he taunted me.

"Dream on, fishboy," I rolled my eyes.

His face fell flat, "original," he said dryly.

"What can I say?" I shrugged, the smirk now transferred to my face instead.

He shook his head in amusement and faced back towards the sea, staring out. The world suddenly fell into an aching quiet. Peace. An illusion of peace anyway.

"I'll leave you to your silence," he said in such a low voice I barely registered the words.

He stood up slowly and began to walk down the strip of beach. My eyes clung to him, some overbearing, uninvited force pulling me towards him. I watched his every step and the prints they made in the sand soon to be washed away by the sea.

"You don't have to," I called out suddenly, the words slipping from my tongue before my brain could stop them, "you can stay... if you want to, that is."

He turned back and sat beside me, a small smile settling on his lips showing off the gentle dimples in his cheeks that made him look more like a boy than a murderer.

"I'll stay," he murmured, "if you want me to, that is."

I bit the inside of my cheek at the sound of him mirroring my words, the soft flesh moulding against my back teeth.

"I wouldn't mind you staying," I shrugged, "besides the sky is too pretty not to watch right now."

"Then I'll stay and watch the people in the stars with you," Finnick whispered with his silken voice, looking up into the night sky.

And for a fraction of a second I let my eyes slide to his face, stealing a glance. My heart thumped against my rib cage and for the first time in what felt like a long time, I felt a little less numb.

thank you for reading 🤍🤍 all parts

next part

taglist: @talahsaudiobooklibrary @gay-as-a-daffodil @hyunjinieandlix @crawlinback2youat505 @inmyheaddd @eternal--dream

[half-bakedboy]

Dialogue Prompt: "Stop crying, we both know it's fake."

this is a direct attack but man did inspiration strike :p

“I always thought I’d die alone. I’ve been nothing but undeserving of this life, Minerva, but you… You made me feel like I deserved something. So, if this is the end and I get to spend it with you, I don’t have any regrets.” 

Each word from the television is like a knife to Eddie’s heart, and he pulls Buck closer to him with each passing declaration. 9-9-9 was the show that brought him and Buck together. Minerva and Billy were the couple that reminded Eddie that he isn’t broken, that he doesn’t need to do anything more than be himself to deserve someone like Buck. 

And now, after eight seasons of more ups and downs than most couples could find their way through, Minerva’s tears soak her face as her fiancé, Billy, says his final goodbyes. 

“It’s just not fair!” Eddie mutters. He wipes at his face, trying his best to hide it from Buck, but the hiccup in his voice gives everything away. Buck chuckles and turns to face Eddie, rubbing his fingers over the runaway tears on Eddie’s neck. 

“It’s not funny, Buck!” Eddie pushes at his boyfriend’s shoulder, only earning another small laugh. 

“Billy’s not dead, Eddie. There’s no way they would be that stupid. Plus, we’ve seen his actor on set since then, and there’s a leaked script and everything!” Buck holds up his phone and swipes through his camera roll. There’s behind the scenes photos, blurry stills of videos, and screenshots of articles that at a glance seem like interviews with the cast and crew following the episode. Eddie feels his heart burst at the effort Buck has obviously put into gathering each careful piece of evidence that his favorite character is alive. 

“Are you telling me that we’re potentially grieving this fictional character all because the writer wanted to,” Eddie squints as he reads the article, “do something the audience has never seen before?” 

Buck nods. “Yupp. It’s like this guy thinks he’s some God among men.” He rolls his eyes and absentmindedly swipes his hand over Eddie’s cheek to catch any remaining tears. “There’s no way they’re going to let Billy leave like that, not after everything he and Minerva have been through. It’s just not good writing. Plus, they have to get married so that we can steal their vows for our own. It’d only make sense.” 

Eddie almost misses it in the casual way Buck says the words. Buck’s thinking about marrying him, about using their favorite show in their vows, about having a future with him… And yeah, Eddie knows that and feels the exact same, but to hear it like this, while he’s already a bundle of emotions over a character he relates to so viscerally. It causes even more tears to stream down his face. 

“Stop crying, we both know it’s fake!” Buck admonishes, and his tone forces a wet chuckle from Eddie’s throat. 

“I’m not crying over Billy, Evan, I’m crying over you,” Eddie admits. After a few seconds of confusion made obvious by the way Buck’s eyebrows pull together, Eddie adds, “You spoiled yourself so that I would feel better about this episode.” 

“Yeah, so?” Buck asks, confusion still evident, like it’s just another Friday in their house. “I know how much he means to you and obviously to everyone who watches 9-9-9. He’s… what makes the show what it is. He’s the reason that I fell in love with the show, fell in love with– you…” Buck blushes like he didn’t mean to make that admission, but Eddie can’t hold back a grin. 

“You really think he’s alive?” Eddie asks, curling into Buck’s side as their next show begins. 

“If he isn’t, I’ll write you his resurrection myself.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

[ceceswithnopizza]

Ony and Anjelica make filthy, sloppy, passionate love.

Warning you may need to change your panties(if I do say so myself)

Intro to Physics was so boring. It felt like high school, the hour and a half class started to feel like a full school day. I could barely keep my eyes open using my balled up fist as a pillow against my cheek as I dozed off again.

“Excuse me Miss Richard’s can you please tell me one of newtons laws?” Mr. Brown quizzed.

Quickly sitting up flipping through my notes as the question repeats in my head. I feel like he makes the lessons boring as fuck on purpose so he can do things like this.

A little under instantly I recited “The force acting on an object is equal to the mass of that object times its acceleration. F=m, Newton’s second law.” Looking at the old man who just quietly nodding a me lazily before going back to the lesson.

Stepping outside again back into the warmth felt amazing. Linking up with my friends James, Nora, and Londyn.

“I want some chipotle” Nora whined as we walked down the stone brick pathways on the way to drop James off to his dorm apartment.

“It’s James’ turn to pick.” I reminded going through my emails. “Fuck” I accidentally said out loud.

“What?” Londyn asked

“The salón is infested with termites so Mitch is shutting everything down for at least a week for fumigations.” I did not bust my ass getting my license just to have it sit in the frame.

“Damn but speaking of the salon and stuff my homebody Ony, he needs his locs done and stuff.” He rattled off as we approached his building.

“How you a boy and don’t know about loc’s?” Nora laughed.

Smacking his teeth “Cause what glorila said ima black ass nigga with waves.” He remixed.

“And a mixer with hella ugly.” She fired back Nora and James doesn’t know it but we all know they’re fucking on the low.

“I wasn’t even talking to you, sis you gon take care of my boy?” He asked causing Londyn to snort.

“She gone take real good care of him.” She dragged.

“Awe hell this sound messy let me gon head and go in the house and we’re eating tacos tonight.” He said going into house.

“Wait you know Ony?” Nora asked

“She more than knows him remember last year when Ony got into it with that boy on the field? That was because our sis got some good cootie cat.” Smacking my teeth at her.

“We were together in high school. We broke up when we got to collage, and then we broke up again year before last and Ony having a short temper don’t got nothing to do with me.” I finished explaining our history.

“Damn so you retwisting his hair?” Nora asked

Shrugging “I mean money is money.”

“Plus it’s Ony and maybe even some dick. . . Okay bye now” she slickly said before going into her apartment leaving just me and Nora.

“Don’t worry I won’t be in the way I too have a d appointment.” She said trying to be vague.

“It’s not a d appointment and we already knew what you were doing tonight. The same thing you’ve done four Friday’s and Wednesday’s in a row.” I teased as we walking into our apartment.

“He he ha ha worry about Ony and when he coming over here.” She said going down the hallway into her room to get ready I’m assuming.

Going into my bathroom getting my shine and jam, hair clips, ratail comb and everything to wash a detox his hair. Maybe five minutes went by before I heard a knock on the door.

Trotting over and opening the door stood Ony in all his tattooed six foot two glory holding two drink and a chic fil a bag.

“You remembered I always get- the 12 count nuggets with the fries, two Polynesian sauce and a lemonade. I know pretty.” He ran down my order walking past me into the house.

Sitting on the couch eating my food before realizing Ony didn’t have anything.

“Wheres your food?” I asked maybe it was just me but I always had a thing for eating in front of someone it felt rude.

“I’m cutting right now.” He said “eat your food.”

“Have just one please you know how I feel about eating in-front of people.” I said holding out one of the dipped nuggets for him to take.

He leaned over and ate the nugget out of my hand. I’m not going to lie I was stuck.

He gave me a half smile before leaning back over and watching the Rick and Morty I had on the tv.

Finishing my food I rinsed ony’s hair and let some stuff sit to get the products and dirt out. Standing over his form rinsing his hair when I felt his right arm wrap around my waist.

Putting my front back on as I continued to wash his hair. After his hair was dried and cleaned I started twisting his hair. Feeling him shift in the hair I stopped.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah just a little uncomfortable.”

“Oh well you can get another chair and take a little break?” I asked

“Nah hold up” he said he stood up leaving the room before coming back with my pink desk chair. He brought it to the living room and sat in front of it on the floor.

“Ony what are you doing?” I asked looking at him as he shrugged before turning back to the tv.

“Waiting for you to finish my hair” he said casually.

Fine if he wanted to get his hair done in the floor than okay.

Continuing like normal I found my rhythm knocking two of the four sections out easy. Turning his head so I could do the front left leaving his head against my knee and inner thigh.

I felt him start to rub in my thigh sending shockwaves to my pussy.

Rushing to finish the section whilst still being neat I turned his head to the other side of my leg. I tried to ignore the way his hand rubbed in circles gently. Making my clit throb.

Finishing his hair a stood up trying to go change my panties before he noticed.

“Where you going?” He said looking at me with those soft hazel eyes he looked so handsome.

“To bed?” I rushed out trying to step away again but he held his grip on my hand. He turned me to him on we were face to face, chest to chest.

“You really don’t miss me ma?” He said looking down at me his voice soft like it always was when he looked at me like this.

“How you figure that?” I asked getting sucked into his eyes.

“You rushing and you barely talking to me. What’s wrong?” I asked pulling me into a hug his lips against my ears as he rubbed on my butt.

Melting into him

“Nothing I just don’t want to get caught up into you again?” I said truthfully

“Why?”

“I get caught up into you so bad. And you abuse it”

“How?”

“You do everything right in the beginning but then you fall off, stoop showing your care stay out longer without saying anything. Just being careless.”

“I’m sorry baby, you just full of so much love I get scared and fucked up about you. Give me another chance i promise I’ll do right by you baby!” He said taking his head from my neck and looking me deep in the eyes.

He stared kissing on my face trailing down my neck. One, two, three wet kisses on my neck.

Licking my sweet spot just below the underside of my jaw biting my lips to keep from moaning out loud.

“Tell me” peck “to stop” peck peck “and I’ll stop” he said.

Moving my hand around his neck titling my head to give me better access.

Grabbing two handfuls of my ass he stuck his hands in my shorts playing with the thing sting on my thong. His big hands trailing down my skin all the way to my pussy he grazed my clit with his thumb, going in between my leg with the rest of his other fingers feeling my wetness.

“You missed daddy, baby?” He softly asked pecking me on the lips. I nodded.

“Use your voice!”

“I missed you Ony” I moaned out before helping as Ony picked me up and carried me to my room. Making quick work of my clothes I was face down ass up with Ony holding my hands behind my back.

His tongue, flat and wet as he licked in between my lips quickly finding my clit.

“Oh fuck” using our connecting hands that sat on my ass he bounced my pussy deeper on his tongue and locking me into place. He knew my body like the back of his hand the fierce wet licks easily making me cum.

“Oh-h papa I’m finna cum.” I cried out trying to crawl up the bed.

“Naw, take this shit! Cum on daddy face.” He said slurping me harder feeling the ballon in my belly get bigger and bigger as my orgasm got more intense.

“Just like that, good girl.” He praised as I squirted on his face. “Keep riding my face! Getcho nut princess.” I swirled my hips riding his mouth.

“I’m cumming” I chanted as my eyes rolled hard back into my head.

“Stay just like that!” He said as I came down from my orgasm, feeling Ony’s heavy dick tap on my ass.

“I missed your pussy so much baby” Ony slurred a little. taking his dick and tapping it on my clit before putting it in.

My eyes instantly rolled in the back of my head as he filled up me slowly going in and out of me. moaning I put my hand over my mouth.

“Uht-uh I needs hear that” he said smacking my ass a gasp escaping my mouth moaning as he started to speed up. Crawling down the bed pushing myself onto onys pelvis.

“N-need some more papa” I moaned

—-

I didn’t finish this my phone broke it was a whole thing but anyhow I will try to be more active I love yalll 🪼

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Out of sight, out of - wait.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[blamemma]

it's so hard to explain, and the facts are strange, but you know what will stay? everything we've made.

jack gilbert, failing and flying // daniel ricciardo's eight wins across his career // max porter, grief is a thing with feathers // bon iver - awards season

[rubber-glovs]

Oooohhh the urge to yap about my ocs and the world they live in......

[spookykestrel]

Very frustrated that I keep not getting any of my hobbies or goals for the day done bc I'll sit down after work to eat and stuff and then fall asleep on the couch before I could get started on anything :|

[reminderstodothings]

hello, its time once more, to brush your teeth please and thank you very much

[maliro-t]

veilguard spoilers if you're picky but re: ign today,,,,betrayal of felassan i am unwell

[causenessus]

where do i even start. two people in love, but that are hurting. two people who meet each other and are in need of love and happiness, (“do you think you weren’t loved enough?” “somewhere between ‘not enough’ and ‘not at all’. i was always hungry for love. just once, i wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it… just once. but they never gave that to me. never, not once.”). they’re in need of love; the kind of love that reassures them that they are a person. they are a living, breathing human worthy of love. that nothing of their past defines them, there is always the chance to grow. the kind of love that reassures them they are not hated by the world, but that they are loved. and they find that in each other (“i want to hold this moment. i want to believe it. i want his love to have enough salt in it to float me. i don’t want to be swimming for my life.” -frankissstein) they are two people who have been drowning in silence for so long, but then they find each other. and they keep each other afloat. with promises to keep on living and promises that they will always be there for the other. that they will never leave. that they are there to stay. and sometimes one person is all that you need. iwa and y/n have the type of relationship where they cover the other’s ears when it gets too loud, the kind of relationship where they run into the others arms every moment they get. they know each other like the back of their hands, they know what sets the other off and they always know what the other needs. and when they finally retire to bed after a long night of living, and they let down their walls and they finally say it, “i’m so tired.” the other is there to hold them, saying “i know, love. but it’s going to be okay.” and it will be, because they have each other.

ways to live: h. iwaizumi

he’s depressed. she’s depressed. it’s all they ever talk about. she’s willing to try anything to feel better. he’s less optimistic

pairings: iwaizumi x f!reader

status: completed, uploading all the chapters today & then disappearing again

tags/warnings: online friends to lovers, blended smau (every chapter has written parts), university au, mini-series, happy ending, hurt/comfort, lots and lots of frank discussions on mental health, depression tweets, casual discussions of suicidal ideation (no death or sh), disordered behaviors, recovery

taglist: i’m not doing one please do not ask to be added

prologue: the list

chapter one: exercise

chapter two: nurture yourself with good nutrition

chapter three: connect with a support system

chapter four: help yourself by helping others

chapter five: demonstrate gratitude

[too-much-boobus]

THIS IS NOT FUNNY GUYS how to become hot enough to justify being so so selfish how to not die AHGHHH AGHGGHHH I HATE HOMOSEXUALITY I HATE GAY PEOPLE AGGHHGGH literally my only weakness. can u imagine my power if i werent gay. i would die meaningless and alone but at least id know id been perfect by everyone else. i was not built for this i was built to be worshipped and yet here i am GROVELING like a PATHETIC FAGGOT because im WANTING SOMETHING which lends myself to VULNERABILITY AND GIVES THE POWER TO DESTROY ME TO SOMEONE ELSE. and WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO. KILL MYSELF?1?1!1??1? maybe the problem is having self esteem. id say maybe its ok to be this pathetic as long as it makes them love me but it DOESNT EVEN. ITS ANNOYING AND BURDENSOME. i have to suppress myself if i want any of them at all. FUCK MY BAKA LIFE.and im GRATEFUL for this much but i cant help wanting more to the point the need and denial is interfering with my ability to enjoy anything. maybe buddha was right.........

holy shit i just reached the tag limit. anyways im gonna go take a fat shit and pray to god for a system reset soon plzplzplzplz i neeeed it i neeeed to reforge my identity from a depersonalized perspective chat come on its BEEN SO LONG what do i need to do.. ITS NOT MY FAULT NO ONES BEEN TRAUMATIZING ME LATELY come on now:/ i guess thats a good thing but i didnt know i was gonna turn into such a pissbaby afterward 😭 i hate the concept of regression how about im on top of it forever how about i never feel my emotions and never act my age THIS IS TOO SCARY IM SO BAD AT IT AHGHHHHH i will persevere. i just pictured a locked in chad face as a representation of myself and all my mortal complications have been quelled. Get back to work everypony crash out OVER. 😐🧏

#globs #♡

[dmumt]

genuine question is having a flatmate ever a pleasant experience