#acknowledging the abuse and what it did to me is the only thing i did before that

[imagitory]

Not to call anyone out because everyone's entitled to their opinion and I don't want anyone getting attacked for theirs...but I saw a pro-Calypso post on an Epic the Musical community I can't reply to that kind of sent me spiraling that asked why Beast from Beauty and the Beast gets so much less hate than Calypso does when they "did the same thing."

Now I don't know if we're talking Disney's animated classic Beauty and the Beast specifically or the OG fairy tale or whatever, but um...have we forgotten the fact that Belle chose to stay with the Beast? And that Odysseus, in contrast, had no choice in whether to end up on or stay on Calypso's island? On the contrary -- Ody not only actively wants off, but he is so unhappy at the thought he'll never get home that he tries to unalive himself at one point. Then of course if we're talking Disney's Beauty and the Beast in particular, we can point out that Belle stays because she gave her word, not because she was physically unable to leave, and she leaves the castle out of fear for her own safety after going into the West Wing and enraging the Beast ("promise or no promise"), only to take the Beast back because he saves her life and is badly hurt in the process. Then the two nurture a real friendship -- something Odysseus and Calypso never did, in all their time together -- before Beast willingly lets Belle go with no expectation that she'd return, let alone break the spell on him and the castle servants. In contrast, in Not Sorry For Loving You, Calypso doubles down on how she treated Odysseus and turns everything into a pity-party for herself. She acts like she's sorry about how she treated him, but frames her disregard for his boundaries and freedom as her "coming on too strong" without ever acknowledging that she legitimately ignored Ody's feelings and wishes at the expense of her own. She uses the abusive-partner playbook to the nth degree, attempting to invalidate any hate Odysseus might legitimately feel toward her for what she did by passive-aggressively acting like it's his fault that he didn't accept her "love" for what it was ("and if you hate me, then I'm sorry my love's too much for you"). She even gets upset about why he "won't love her too" even though she knows full well he's a married man still very in love with his wife Penelope, who Calypso has been purposefully separating him from for years. Oh yeah, and on that note, Odysseus is already romantically committed to someone else, so Calypso has even less reason to presume Ody should return her feelings. Even Beast, who is in love with a single person and also has a ticking clock over him to fall in love quickly to break the curse on him and all of his servants, loves Belle sincerely enough that he didn't get angry or resentful at the thought that she might not love him back. He doesn't try to guilt-trip her into loving him. Even though in the original Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, there are a lot more toxic elements -- such as the Beast claiming he'll die if Belle doesn't return to him -- that doesn't change the fact that Belle has some agency in her situation, with the Beast connecting emotionally with this single woman over time in a way that she comes to see him as a dear friend despite his hideous appearance. And of course just about all adaptations of the story heavily lean away from or outright subvert the original's more problematic elements because they're rightly seen as toxic.

Look -- I don't see any problem with anyone feeling pity for Calypso. With her lonely backstory and lack of knowledge of how to interact with others, it's easy to. I could even see people arguing she cared for Odysseus in her own weird way. But that doesn't change how much she disrespected Odysseus's agency and used her goddess-y powers to keep him just as trapped on her island as she was, at the expense of his and his family's happiness. I personally view Calypso as a very well-developed anti-villain for this reason -- she can claim she loved Odysseus...but if she did, she didn't know what love really is, because love at its core is about selflessness, and Calypso at her core is incredibly selfish.

[spinedotlazuli1120]

Things that feel forced to me that I'm sure I'm gonna get a lot of hate for:

1) Cherrisnake

Now, I know a majority of the fandom like this ship but honestly? It feels forced. The original ship involving sir pentious was supposed to be with Rosie, which honestly makes more sense, in a way.

They both have similar styles, Sir Pentious could've originally used his growing relationship with Rosie to find some dirt on Alastor to defeat him, they both aren't that into the whole innuendos thing probably, and sir Pentious can use the help of someone who understands him and his whole stick.

Cherrisnake, however, feels more like a...sped-up background ship that they rushed in order to give Pentious a more "heartbreaking" background by making him leave his "lover". Like, for angst purposes, it works, but not in the way one would usually write. Cherrisnake just feels so toxic. Cherri Bomb never gave a fuck about Pentious, she only ever acknowledged him thanks to Angel, and the kiss at the end? She blushes because "it was kinda hot". It can be interpreted in any way by anyone, but to me, that was just Cherri being her normal self.

Plus, the sudden change in scenery probably contributed to her suddenly blushing and smiling. There was no development seen between the two, they were once "enemies", with Pentious treating it like they ARE actual enemies while Cherri brushed it off like it was nothing.

2) The way fans see everyone in the main cast except Alastor as the true angels in the show

I don't have a problem with the way the show wrote them as, they're fine the way they are. My problem lies in the fandom.

First off, ever since the finale dropped, a majority of the fandom decided to go and say that Alastor was so cocky and stupid for going against Adam and a goddamn traitor for leaving the others to fend for themselves. (This wasn't what was explicitly said, but I know what they all meant)

...the guy put up a fucking barrier to limit the number of exorcists they have to deal with, and Alastor equipped the dome itself with angelic weapons, held tightly by the tentacles. It's obvious they didn't expect Adam to break it, but to them it wasn't their issue to deal with, it was Alastor's.

I don't know what Alastor was thinking when he went up against Adam without an angelic steel, but I for sure know for a fact that if it weren't for the deal that has him leashed, he would be chopping up Adam into cubes to put into his jambalaya.

His defeat against the Fucking First Man made people think he was boasting and lying about his feats and that there's nothing to fear when it comes to me. They often downgrade his ability because of one single defeat of his against a man that's older, bigger, and stronger than him. Yeah, they're both dumbasses but Alastor at least knows when to retreat.

They often compare this singular scene with the multiple clips of the others fighting the exorcists that are the same level as them only with wings. Both the exorcists and the sinners are equipped with angelic steel and all of them have equal advantages, with the angels having wings and the sinners having multiple experiences as well as the princess of hell.

They have each other backing up one another, and they only had to deal with the angels that don't have any powers. Alastor, though? He battled against the first man, the guy with an axe that acts like a guitar and has angelic magic, and he (Adam) is ancient as fuck.

Additionally, Alastor hit more blows on Adam than Charlie ever did, and she's the Fucking Princess of Hell. Fuck you mean "The hotel crew never needed Alastor" he was the only one with a brain there in battle. Look at Sir Pentious

Not only that, but Alastor is the only one viewed as a demon by the fandom despite the show being all about demons. Angel is viewed as a sad spider who didn't do anything wrong to deserve his suffering, Husk is seen as a kitty cat who's been abused the same way angel is, Charlie is literally babies, Vaggie's sins are brushed off as if they were nothing but small mistakes, They fucking see Lucifer as an innocent angel who was sent to hell for no reason other than for "trying to help".

First off, Angel may not deserve the treatment he gets from Valentino, but everything else? Yeah, he deserves it. He died of overdosing, which may have impacted in his consumption of drugs (a.k.a he can't get high with the normal (for others, at least)amount of drugs to get high, so he's stuck trying to. He was part of a mafia, which he probably most likely killed so many people that itight rival Alastor's kill count. He's sexually harassed people on screen, which is a bad coping mechanism, but it's still wrong, similar to how lashing out on others Ang getting mad at them for things they didn't do is wrong.

Husk was an overlord, and he gambled away the souls he owned. Kind of like this: Someone wants to join you in your business, any role you give them, they'll take it as long as they're paid. The person offers something valuable of theirs (which could reveal souch dirt on that person) to make you agree. You agree, but sooner or later, you found yourself in the hands of a crueler 'boss' because your former one sold you in order to make more money and he knows you can't do anything about it unless you want others to get dragged in your problem, be it loved ones, authorities, or not.

Charlie is written as an innocent girl who's too perfect for Heaven, Hell, or Earth. But you need to remember this: She grew up in hell, meaning her morals are gonna be fucked up. She is not a human, she is not a mortal, she is not a child. She may have looked in slight disgust when it came to the bloodshed but it was just a wince, as if she's used to it but she still doesn't like it. She may be naive, but she ain't stupid. Except for the time when she thought an overlord as dumb as Valentino can be talked to in order to fix Ang issue.

For Vaggie, everyone keeps forgetting she killed hundreds per year in one day. Yeah, she may have hesitated to kill that demon child (are we sure it's a child? Cuz there's a possibility that the child is an adult sinner who's punishment is to look like a child), but did she hesitate when it came to the others. Yeah, hurting a kid is fucked up but you know what's worse? Participating in genocide and having the audacity to hide it from your girlfriend. She didn't show any remorse or regret when it came to other sinners, yet she's still seen as sinless

For Lucifer? ...yeah I already ranted about the fucking hypocrite just check out my older post/s about the angelic hypocrite

3) Everyone's obsession with gender in the fandom

Dude, the first time I started giving a fuck about gender other than girl or boy was when folks started to be sensitive with it. And the Hazbin fandom isn't spared. To this day, people fight about the sexualities of people who aren't real, especially Alastor, who doesn't give a fuck about relationships. So why?!

[maybeicanbesaved]

got into yet another fight with my mom, again about voting/the election, she said that she’s only voted once in her life and never cares to again because she ‘doesn’t care about politics’, saying that shit almost proudly?? and it set me off for obvious reasons, then she got mad at me for saying it’s because she’s privileged and ‘most’ shit doesn’t affect her directly so she can afford ‘not to care’

[voulezloux]

tw abuse in the tags

[reachermori]

I continue to break my tumblr hiatus for this show because I'm so annoyed with this stupidity and feel the need to put my thoughts into words.

Apologies for the rant. It's a little all over the place, but I tried to put it in a coherent order. It mostly focuses on hating James and on how I think Ted and Jamie's relationship and arcs were wasted, especially in relation to one another.

If the ending scene is indeed Ted's dream, I think it's even worse in regards to Jamie and Beard. Essentially Ted's "happy" versions of them have them close to their abusers, who have done nothing to deserve it.

The idea that Ted's happy ending for Jamie is him reconnecting with his father, who seems proud of him, is pure projection. That's what Ted wants for himself, but he's also inserting his own good relationship with his father. (Which, if we were getting more episodes I might be okay with as it would be interesting to explore.)

The first two seasons really built up Jamie and Ted to have a good relationship, or at least be important to one another, and I still think they could have had a really powerful impact on one another.

While Jamie has grown a lot and that had a lot to do with Ted's influence, I think he could have had that talk with Ted instead of Roy about how having a positive male influence is important to his continued growth. Ted however, could have learned through Jamie and his struggles with his father's toxicity that it's okay to let go.

I have always been happy with the idea of the show ending with Ted returning to Kansas, because I thought it was important for Ted to learn that it's okay to leave and move on. Ted's biggest internal conflict is his inability to quit things, and I really wanted him to accept that quitting isn't inherently bad. Maybe even have an arc with Henry in a toxic situation that he's sticking with because he knows his dad never quits anything to reinforce to Ted how problematic that mindset is, and decide that it's okay to quit Richmond to be with Henry where he clearly wants to be. (Also I disagree with the idea that Ted has nothing in Kansas besides Henry. I doubt Ted Lasso of all people has no one. He built a community in Richmond in only three years. He'd been in Kansas the entirety of his life up until then, there's no way he has no one. Also, even if he didn't, his relationship with his son is more important and I don't fault him for prioritizing that)

This is where I think Jamie could have helped Ted's arc. They could have had parallel journeys in deciding their father's actions do not have to define them, and I think Jamie could have reached this point first and be the one to impart wisdom on Ted for once. You could even keep the "forgiveness" talk Ted gave to Jamie, and then have Jamie come back after the game and say something that conveys "fuck forgiveness, he doesn't deserve that. But I do need to let go of the pain or I'll just hold myself back from growing. Because I'm done letting him have any influence on who I am."

Instead of getting anything with any nuance or something different than every other abuse plot in any show ever, we just had the ghost of Ted all season. He was barely in this season! Especially with relation to the players. We only had one scene of Ted and Jamie talking as people (instead of talking about football strategies or Zava when the coaches just assumed Jamie was jealous instead of concerned about the team dynamics) and connecting, and it was for Ted to tell Jamie about the importance of forgiveness.

Sorry but abuse isn't something you should just forgive, especially since James isn't making amends. He's getting sober, and we don't know if it was his choice, it could have been court mandated for all we know. Also I said this in my previous post, but addiction doesn't just make you abusive, and it especially doesn't make you facilitate your child being sexually assaulted. So I don't see any world where just getting clean makes James worthy of forgiveness. More importantly is that Ted and Jamie don't know that James is even in rehab when they have this conversation!

It's bad enough that we had to deal with the cliche "forgive him for you" perspective, but now we know it either leads to reconciliation, or at least Ted hopes/thinks it should. I'm not sure which is worse, but Ted thinking they should reconcile when he lacks a lot of knowledge about the depth of abuse Jamie endured is just insane.

I really wonder if Ted knowing about Amsterdam would have changed how he handled everything, since that is - in my opinion - the worst thing we know James has done to Jamie canonically. (Or if he knew about him trying to murder Beard...) Though knowing this show and how this season was written, if there was any discussion about this they would mess it up even more. Like I can just imagine a tangent about how many sex workers are disadvantaged, and how they may not have had a choice either, and diminishing Jamie's trauma AGAIN!

However it shouldn't matter what he knows, it's not like Ted is ignorant to the abuse, he's witnessed it twice. The first time he just walked away, something else I wish the show addressed at any point. Ted only saw what James was willing to do in public, and doesn't seem to have ever considered it being worse in private or when Jamie was younger. Bringing up the first Man City match would have been a good way for Jamie and Ted to fully open up to one another and relate to each other regarding their trauma and how they've let it hold them back.

For a show that emphasizes the relationship between father and sons, they really decided to abandon all the father figure relationships they had, especially Ted with Jamie & Nate.

I actually think it works with Nate, since it's clear Nate and his father's biggest problem was that they just could never be on the same wavelength, and while they can't fix the past, they can now create the bond they always should have had. His father actually acknowledged his wrong doings and apologized, and that level of accountability is missing from James' "redemption". Also Nate's father had a good relationship with his wife and daughter, so it makes it more obvious that his and Nate's issues are due to a disconnect and not out of malice. James never had a single good character trait until they decided to redeem him out of nowhere in the last two episodes. If we at least had Jamie say something like "my dad was great before drinking" it would have at least made the rehab stuff seem a little more like redemption. But we only have Jamie and his mother talking about how James has always been like this, and will never change.

Just changing a few things to make Ted and Jamie's relationship pay off in this season for both of them, would have done a world of good.

Anyways this has been a little all over so I'll leave it here, but suffice to say, I disliked the finale...

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

tfw you're put off by a character you used to like/tolerate in a piece of media you're revisiting, in a different way than other characters you're going 'ugh' or 'HI WHAT THE FUCK' at this time around, and you realize it's because now you've got an abusive ex under your belt that they remind you of and oh that's why lmao

[slimyenemy]

keep up i'm too fast i'm too fast push my foot up on that pedal then i'm gone😎

[babieken]

this is random and mildly embarrassing but does anyone watch Grey's Anatomy here?

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I talk about the medical neglect and ableism I've encountered as a victim of the healthcare system, there's always some cockwaffle who feels entitled to come into my inbox and make the argument of "not all doctors" while talking about how "people like them" (because it's always someone in a field of medicine who does this) are doing their best and it's really hard because so many people fake being ill to get on welfare (Yikes), but like, yeah, obviously #not all doctors, because if all doctors were negligent, bullying scum bags, I'd be dead.

But here's the thing: while I truly believe that the majority of doctors are doing their best in a system stacked against them and their patients, their presence does not negate the mass harm caused by the bad ones. And there are far more bad ones than you realize.

Fuck, John Oliver literally did a segment on this last week:

Yes, the truly bad, malicious doctors are in the minority. Most are just horrifically burned out and fighting a losing battle against a system, killing both them and their patients through a lack of funding and resources and profound overwork.

But the malicious ones do exist, and they will go out of their way to harm patients who don't kowtow to them.

I almost lost my life because when I was in my early twenties, I told a doctor I didn't think she was listening to me, and I disagreed with her assessment of my mental health (she was not a mental health doctor, and I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain). She retaliated by putting "non-compliant" in my file.

There was also a fun little "doesn't show respect" note too that lives rent-free in my head because I know I wasn't rude. I was polite. I just didn't agree with her, and my refusal to accept her off-handed comment that "you probably have bipolar or BPD" (again, I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain) meant I was "refusing care."

I wasn't. I just refused to be slapped with a mood/personality disorder when I was there because I kept fucking fainting when I stood up.

(Spoiler alert: it was dysautonomia)

That "non-compliant" marker followed me around for years. It followed me across an ocean and effectively ensured that any doctor I saw was going to treat me like absolute dogshit because no one wants to help Difficult Patients. It wasn't until I was so undeniably ill, literally on the brink of death, that anyone helped me.

I'm alive because of a good doctor. And all the good ones that came after him because of him.

So, I know they exist. You don't have to tell me that.

But I really fucking need you to acknowledge the bad ones and that you're part of a system with a long, long history of abusing minorities and vulnerable people. I need you to acknowledge that because it's the only way we're going to survive this godforsaken nightmare and make things better.

So yeah, #notalldoctors, but if you feel the need to say that because someone talking about being literally left to die by the medical system hurts your feelings, I'm going to have to ask you to take a step back and ask yourself if you're going into medicine for the right reasons.

Namely: do you want to help people, even the "difficult" ones?

Even the ones who might disagree with you?

Even if they're on welfare?

Even if they'll never get "better" in a way that means "cured"?

Just a thought. But hey, what do I know. I'm just someone who experienced hemolytic anemia because doctors kept telling me I was anxious and needed to exercise more 🤷‍♀️.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 11 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: "I told you what would happen, if you ever tried to leave."

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, near-death, choking, not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Everything had happened pretty quickly.

Too fast for your brain to comprehend, actually. And a part of you almost didn’t mind, while you sat there, surrounded by darkness.

Some things are better not understood.

He had kept his tight grip around your shoulders, pressing you into his side possessively. You had always known he was the possessive type, the obsessive type even. And a part of you almost reveled in it. The part of you that was jealous, too – and a little possessive as well – would have felt delighted about these circumstances.

But the situation at hand was too tense. Too dangerous. You knew him.

At least a little.

You knew how angry he got over nothing. And this wasn’t nothing.

He kept speaking with the man in Korean, keeping his tone polite and light-hearted. You didn’t know what they were saying, since you knew no more than a few words in Korean. You had spent quite some time in the country, but you simply spoke English with everyone. You didn’t speak to many people anyway. Only your boss, a few clients and him.

They spoke and spoke. Obviously about something regarding the apartment. You could tell by the way they way gesturing and glancing around, pointing at one of the rain gutters. The man kept glancing your way every few seconds though. He tried not to make it too obvious, but you still felt his scrutinizing gaze, sizing you up, trying to understand what the hell was going on.

But not him. Aside from his tight grip on you, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You didn’t exist. But you knew, you were more than sure, he was thinking about you. Thinking about all the heinous things he would do to you once you were alone. And you already felt sick.

You took a slow breath, when you heard the Korean word for wife. A subtle nod, a playful smile, a teasing pinch to your cheek. Yeah, you were his wife. Of course.

You didn’t understand what exactly he was saying, but you understood that much. After he introduced you as his wife, you looked at him first, then back at the other man, an unsure smile on your lips. It looked strained and forced, but you did your best to make it look convincing.

But how could you be a good actress, when you were frozen in fear?

The man looked at you again, the tiniest frown on his face. Eventually he nodded and forced a smile himself, directed at him. He smiled back. Tightly. Politely. And you knew you were fucked.

The man turned around, ready to leave you in the fangs of the man who was, no doubt, going to gut you alive.

You hadn’t tried to escape. But you knew he wasn’t going to believe you.

You slowly looked up at him, fully expecting him to knock you out on the spot, but he did something else instead. He still had that deranged smile on his face, when he reached for the candlestick from the dresser. And you were immediately sure.

This was worse than anything he could do to you.

You watched in horror as he took a quick step forward and hit the man in the back of his head with the candlestick. He then let out a pained groan and fell to his knees immediately. Your eyes widened and you shrieked in horror.

“No, what are you doing?!”

Instead of answering, he pushed you back inside and dropped to his knees beside the man, hitting him again and again. Again and again.

Until his head was no more than a bloody mess.

Your eyes widened impossibly and you stumbled backwards, far enough for your back to hit the wall. You felt nauseous. You were sure you were going to…

You stumbled to your knees, doubled over and spat. It wasn’t much, after all you hadn’t eaten anything yet. All you had done was fight with him and have sex with him. No food.

And then that. You reached out a shaky hand to wipe your face dry, but you didn’t dare to look up. He continued beating the poor man, long after he wasn’t moving anymore. The poor, nice, elderly man, who did nothing but look out for you.

A hard shudder shook your body and you heard a desperate sob choke up in your throat. All you wanted was to run. Leave.

Now, you wanted to leave.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. You were still sleeping. Still dreaming. Having a nightmare. That must have been it.

But no, it was indeed real. You forced yourself to look up and what you saw made you feel even worse. The poor man, still and lifeless, beaten to a bloody pulp. Hovering above him, the curse of your existence.

His hair was a mess and his eyes wide and crazy. You could barely make out his hands under all the blood and his cheek was covered under a thick smear of the same blood.

For a short, serene moment he glanced down at the man at his feet, almost as if he was assessing him.

Almost like he was admiring a well-cherished piece of art.

He looked so peaceful.

Until he looked up and his gaze met yours. All the peace vanished and everything that stayed was cold and unfeeling. Resentful. Maybe even hateful.

You gasped and tried to back away, but the wall behind you wouldn’t let you. You felt trapped in your own body, trapped in his living room, trapped in a life that you didn’t deserve. That you didn’t want. Or did you?

When he got up and rushed towards you like an angry bull, all you could suddenly think about was how disappointing your life had been so far.

When you already had to die, how beautiful would it be to be able to think; at least I lived my life to the fullest.

You couldn’t think such a thing. No, on the contrary, your life had been a collection of haunting, painful moments.

But at least you met him.

You were surprised, when the thought hit you, but it did make sense, didn’t it?

Yes, he hurt you.

Yes, he abused you.

Yes, he treated you overall horrible.

But he did something else as well.

He cared for you. He kissed you. He made you feel so…

So…

My love.

You flinched when he yanked you up by your hair and to your feet.

“No, please!” You cried out in horror and desperation. You were shaking furiously and you instantly cowered down, trying to keep your face out of his bruising grip.

The expression he wore was beyond furious, but all you could really focus on was the blood.

If he killed a man like that, with his bare hands, not even taking a single second to think about it, why would he ever spare you?

“Please, I didn’t try to leave!” You called out in a frenzy. Your voice shook like crazy and so did your hands.

He growled and wrapped a hand around your throat, slamming you against the wall so hard that you instantly felt dizziness take over. You tried to stay present, stay clear, stay you as good as you could, but it was hard under all the shaking and yelling.

“Please!” You now sobbed. “Please, I swear to you, I would never-“

“Shut up!” He yelled furiously and slammed you against the wall even harder, causing you to wince and cry out in pain. “I told you what would happen, if you ever tried to leave.” He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on your throat. The ability to breathe left you the same instant and you desperately clawed at his wrist.

You were sure you had a concussion at least, but what was far worse, was the lack of air.

He would kill you, you suddenly realized. And this time, he really would.

You kept clawing and scratching at his skin desperately, gasping and crying, while no sounds actually left your lips. You slowly felt your life fade away. Everything faded away. All the colors.

All that was left was his face. His beautiful, handsome face, tinged with the blood of an innocent man.

At least you’d see his face, you suddenly thought. At least you’d die as…

“You’re not my girl.” He gritted out and tightened his grip even more. "You never were."

More tears welled up in your eyes, when you realized, there was not a thing in the world he could have said that would have hurt you more. And now it would be the last thing you would get to hear, right before you died?

How cruel. How incredibly cruel.

“Plea-“ You croaked out, while you slowly felt everything fade into a mixture of darkness and warm, white light.

Was this death? Would it be peaceful? Maybe you would prefer it over life. Maybe you would finally know real peace, real serenity. Maybe you would finally feel.

Your eyes drooped slowly and you knew, this was it.

Your life – or whatever you wanted to call it…your torment? Your punishment? It was finally over. Your time had come. This was it.

At least you died by his hand. You loved him, after all. And maybe you even forgave him.

You most definitely did. He was just complicated. You had always known it would happen this way. You just didn’t know it would happen so soon. You hoped you’d have more time with him.

Only an hour ago you had been curled up on his lap, feeling him so closely, being one with him.

And now it was him who took you out. A part of you was thankful it was him and not your mother. At least it was someone who felt something for you, other than resentment and blistering hate.

Suddenly you felt you had to tell him. Let him know. What was there left to lose? You were already half dead. You didn’t want to die while never having said it.

You had to say it. At least this once. At least to someone who kissed you, because he wanted to. Not because he’d lost a bet.

To someone who’d look at you with soft eyes and read your favorite books to you.

Someone who left you the choice of taking the pills or taking the risk.

Someone who had chosen you.

He wanted you. And you loved him.

You forced your eyes open and met his gaze. He looked equally as angry as he looked something else.

Suffering.

He looked like he was in pain. Horrible, physical pain.

Just say it. He can’t do anything more than kill you.

He could reject you. That would be worse than death. But you decided to be brave, at least this one time in your life. No numbness, no helplessness. Just be brave.

You somehow managed to part your lips. There was no air left in the world. You barely managed to keep your eyes open and your lungs burned like fire.

Your vision was blurred with tears and sweat and fear and peace.

And somehow you smiled.

It was so subtle, it was barely visible. But you knew you did. The most genuine smile in…forever.

“I love you.”

The words were as quiet as the wind on a day in early spring. When the first leaves and flowers bloom between March and April, the wind sings a quiet song and brings earth back to life.

That was exactly how your voice sounded. It couldn’t be heard. It could only be felt.

And he felt it.

His eyes widened in a way you hadn’t ever seen before. He looked so young and horrified. You almost pitied him.

Before you even realized what was going on, you suddenly felt air flood your lungs. He had removed his hand. It dropped to his side as he stared at you, speechless and dumbfounded.

The blood, it somehow suited him. Like it was a part of him.

That, and the craziness in his eyes, was the only thing that made it seem like he wasn’t entirely sweet and innocent.

He looked so terrified.

You doubled over and gasped for air hungrily. Your body reacted on instant, bringing you back to life. The warmth of the white light faded into nothingness and the colors in front of you became as bright as ever. You weren’t dead.

You clutched your throat with shaky fingers and slowly looked up through the veil that was your hair. You were still gasping and panting desperately, but he looked far worse.

He looked…he looked…

He looked so confused. So torn.

The anger was still there, simmering right beneath the surface and ready to bubble up and strangle you. But he couldn’t meet your gaze. Now it were his hands shaking as he reached out and ran them through his messy hair.

You had no time to realize where you even were and what was going on. He reached out a hand, ready to slap you, his teeth gritted and his lip quivering in rage.

Unfortunately you felt far too weak to cower this time, so you would just have to take the blow and continue on living.

No peace in sight. Not for you, anyway.

But he held himself back. It seemed to cost him all the strength he possessed, but he didn’t hit you this time. Instead he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you along, until you were back in your room. He rushed and pulled the door to the wardrobe open, pushing you inside roughly. You stumbled and fell to your knees with a hoarse grunt.

Maybe he’d shoot you, you suddenly thought.

Maybe he’d let you starve.

Maybe he didn’t have the strength to watch you suffer. Maybe he wanted to end you quickly.

You had no time to think about, because a moment later, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

And you finally got to breathe. You inhaled so desperately, so hungrily, dying to breathe real air. But there was none in sight. Not for you.

All there was, was a cramped wardrobe and a girl on the ground, fighting for her life.

You didn’t even hear your own sobs or feel the marks building on your neck.

All you heard in your head was his voice.

And the sound of his silent rejection.

____________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

[cynthiav06]

I cannot believe how this hasn't been addressed in the PJO Fandom yet but does no one notice that the books, Rick himself glosses over or downplays the fact that PERCY FUCKING JACKSON GAVE UP IMMORTALITY!!!

And in reason as to why Percy gave up immortality?

The Percabeth stans are only too happy to make "Oh Percy gave up immortality for Annabeth." The hell he did. Have we read the same books? Are you really demeaning the importance of what Percy did. Cause here's what happened, and here's why it's so important:

PERCY GAVE UP IMMORTALITY SO THAT GODS COULD CLAIM DEMIGOD CHILDREN EARLY SO THAT THEY DO NOT REMAIN DEFENSELESS.

Furthermore, he did it so CHILDREN OF MINOR GODS COULD HAVE A PLACE TO BELONG TO, TO HAVE IDENTITY OF THEIR OWN, SO MINOR GODS THEMSELVES CAN BE PROPERLY ACKNOWLEDGED.

Similarly, he further added that CHILDREN OF HADES SHOULD NOT BE OSTRACIZED, THEY AS WELL AS HADES DESERVE TO BE WELCOME INTO OLYMPUS AND INTO CAMP , DESERVE PROPER RESPECT.

What ticks me off the most is how such an important sacrifice such an important change is never addressed again to the extent it deserves.

Cause this is not a surface level thing. This is going to change and better the lives of all demigods that come after or even demigods who were wrongly forced to remain in Hermes Cabin. A safe, more respectful, more meaningful environment for all demigods no matter who their godly parent is.

Are you telling that children of minor gods don't literally worship Percy for doing all this? Don't wholly completely feel grateful at least that he voiced out for them over his own difficulties? That he made a safe place for them happen?

Are you telling me that Minor Gods themselves don't feel at least a little grateful and respect Percy who did this of his own volition without having even met many Minor Gods. That he voiced out for their own children when they couldn't?

Are you telling me that Travis and Connor or any other demigods and cabin counselors don't automatically rave on about the greatness of Percy Jackson to any new arrivals in Camp Half-Blood?

Cause we were robbed of this of a proper homage to the sacrifice other demigods, Luke himself and Percy himself made to make it happen.

Piper, Leo , and Jason all seem so ignorant to it. Even newer demigods in Chalice of Gods or other books seem ignorant to this, and that's so against the usual canon representation of Camp Half-Blood as a community.

We should have seen it in Lost Hero, should have seen it in Chalice of Gods, should have seen it acknowledge repeatedly. You know why?

Yes, Percy didn't want immortality, but don't you know that deep down Percy knew exactly what immortality meant? Eternal protection from his father in his realm. No Gods bothering him, no more sacrifices or death quests. Freedom to do what he wants. To be able to spend time with his family as long as he wants without the worry of risking their safety. And he gave it all up

NOT EVEN IMMORTALITY. GODS WOULD HAVE GRANTED ANY WISH. HE COULD HAVE WISHED ANYTHING. FOR HIM TO BE PROTECTED? NO MORE QUESTS? FOR GODS TO LEAVE HIM ALONE? HE GAVE IT ALL UP, ALL OF IT.

Perseus bloody Jackson made happen what no one in the History of Camp Half-Blood has ever done. He managed to make Gods change their ignorant ways. He dismantled a culture of neglect and abuse.

And the fact Rick himself let this happen, let all this gloss over, and the fact that Percabeth stans have the AUDACITY to insinuate that he did for Annabeth and demean Luke's sacrifice, Percy's sacrifice is beyond me.

[prismalmelonman]

Touching on Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas being a bit undermined in parts of the fandom

So one thing I notice on Twitter is how some people act about the bg3 characters whose abuses were perpetuated by women.

Gale specifically for this reason (but I will touch on others)bbecause I see him dismissed super often as "can't get over his ex".

But Gale's case obviously be has the line of Mystra being like "she was my muse, my teacher, and then my lover" and sure to some that's a red flag in itself (when it comes to adults I don't really give a fuck about teacher/student) but if you view it from not only Gale's own words "ive been connected with the weave for as long as i can remember"

And that doesn't distract from his genuine love of magic of course. And it also doesn't mean that he's actually been in connection with mystra for an amount of time.

However, if you ascend Gale, and he becomes a god, you get a bunch of new little things. Tara reminiscing of course, but you get a letter from Elminster, detailing that Mystra had Elminster scope out Gale when he was eight!

And sure is that pretty cool that he's a prodigy that got the attention of the goddess of magic at that age? Yes. Mystra is, however, known in forgotten Realms lore to seek young young boys who are in tune with magic to make into her chosen. And from context clues, her chosen can be anything from Elminster and Volo, dedicated wizards who try to keep things in check, etc etc. or they're somewhat of playthings to her.

Minsc also has a conversation where me mentions that weave-touched boys in his homeland were hidden away to hone their craft, then suspecting that it was because of Mystra, given Gale's case.

Gale always seems so proud that he got to bed a goddess, and on the surface, hell yeah, that's cool.

Gale continued to have her attention even as he went to Blackstaff Academy, and Mystra eventually did take him on as an apprentice directly to her, later making him her chosen, and sleeping with him.

The reason it bothers me that people dismiss all of Gale's stuff to just "he can't get over his ex" is because that's is like almost textbook grooming? She was in his life from a young age, shaping and moulding him up as he grew up to be her perfect chosen, rewarding him by sleeping with him, and so on. And then of course casting him away when he has his folly with the netherese orb (and to be fair, it very well could have looked like to her that he was trying to seize the power himself and yes the orb does siphon off weave. That is a problem for the mistress of the weave yes).

But she also tells gale to KILL HIMSELF for her forgiveness.

Gale is much more than "unable to be over his ex" this woman was in his life since he was a kid. She's almost all he has ever known. If course it's going to be difficult for him to 1. Say no to her. 2. Get over the fact that he's lost someone that he spent his literal entire life dedicated to. Honestly if asked, I don't even think Gale would acknowledge or really see that what he went through was, in fact, abuse until it was spelled out in front of him. (Which does happen somewhat with the player character pleading to him that killing himself for mystra's forgiveness is actually horrific and that he should in fact be angry for how he was treated)

Similarly, and this one has been discussed a lot, Wyll and Mizora. Wyll was 17 and actively trying to help his people. 17, in a vulnerable state, willing to do anything to help and prove himself. Mizora very clearly took advantage of him, and regards him as a "pet", refers to him being "leashed", and so on. Personally, I do dislike the sexualization of their relationship, because it very much is also grooming (although a different type. Rather than manipulating and shaping his life from the ground up, she takes advantage of a vulnerable and desperate state to manipulate and contract Wyll into doing her bidding. I won't go too deep I to this one because it has been discussed to hell and back. But I did wanna touch on Wyll's situation as well.

Also, Halsin as well, though that has also been discussed in many retrospectives by a very good friend of mine. Halsin's trauma often get dismissed due to his polyamory, open sexual nature, and his own somewhat diminishing/dismissal of it, which honestly I love the representation of, cause for a while I did that with my own trauma. Halsin was a sex slave to a house of Lolth-Sworn drow, a matriarchal society, where the men are generally used as fodder or for breeding, though male Lolth-Sworn drow can be wizards and rise in the ranks if wizardry, but are limited everywhere else. (Minthara mentions that the third male, and every subsequent male child after third are killed for being"useless"). Halsin often referred to them as "hosts" rather than being captors, (though he does touch on that if the Player Character threatens to sell him back into slavery). Again, everything I'd have to say here for Halsin has entirely been discussed top to bottom by a friend, their link is below!!

Anyway, long story short, I dislike it a lot when Gale, Wyll, and Halsin's traumas and abuses get diminished, even if/when the character themself doesn't see or acknowledge the abuse in the same lens that we, the players, do.

[teaboot]

While I'm happy that the word "gaslighting" is more known than it used to be, and that people at large are learning to recognize what it looks like, I feel like we need to be careful not to turn it into something soft and casual we throw around off the cuff without meaning.

Being gaslit is psychological abuse that fucks you up very badly, very slowly, at such a gradual pace that you don't usually know it's happening until it's already re-wired your brain.

If you're unfamiliar with the term, "to gaslight" is to intentionally persuade someone that they cannot trust their own perceptions of reality. It's a destabilizing form of manipulation that leaves you constantly anxious, off-balanced, confused, and dependant on others.

This is done by lying about events that have happened or about things that are happening, invalidating feelings and observations, and either denying, refusing to acknowledge, or deflecting away from hard facts.

As someone who has experienced gaslighting as a form of abuse, this is what I remember from when I didn't know anything was off:

"Oh, I must have forgotten what really happened."

"I'm just not seeing it from their point of view."

"Everyone has their ups and downs. This is normal."

"I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was doing."

"I must have been wrong."

This is what I remember from when I first started realizing something was weird:

"How come every time I'm convinced they did something wrong, they just talk to me a few minutes, and I end up asking for their forgiveness? What has me so convinced I was right in the first moment?"

"I should start writing things down when they happen, so I can go back and check later when I'm confused."

"If every relationship like ours (familial, romantic, platonic) works this way, how come I never hear about it, or read about it, or see it anywhere else?"

Getting out and adjusting to the real world is hard, too, and comes with rapid swings of unfounded guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, and self-deprication that are completely unfounded in reality.

You've been conditioned to believe that you are entirely helpless and unable to think for yourself, possibly "crazy" or otherwise fundamentally impaired, and that there is a singular source of guidance that knows exactly what is right, and all of a sudden that pillar of support has vanished.

The immediate "after" that I recall looks like:

Constant uncertainty. Because nobody is there to tell you what's real and what isn't, you approach every situation thinking at it from all angles. Every question has fifty possible answers and most of them are wrong and you don't know which. If you choose wrong, the world will end.

A sense of helplessness. You feel that nothing you do is correct, and it's easier to make no choices at all- or you make wild, reckless, impulsive choices, because you feel you have nothing to lose.

Memory loss. I don't understand this one, but it's not like memoriescare being erased, but more like... you're so used to treating your memories as dreams or imaginations that you reflexively dismiss anything you recall as fake, and you can't believe anything you recall because you don't think it was real. Your abusers voice is in your head, wiping things away and telling you that you did the wrong thing. And you believe them, because they're the only constant you can rely on.

Missing the abuser, or the abusive dynamic. Because you know now that it wasn't healthy, but at least you knew where you stood. As long as you said the right things and acted the right way, agreed and obeyed and did as they expected, you felt like thevworld made sense. Now you have to figure out which parts of you really are broken, and which parts are working fine in a really weird way, and it's like tuning a piano when you've never played one before.

The long term "after"- for which I can only speak for myself- looks like:

Having to double-check, triple-check, and continue checking hard evidence of an event before responding in an active way.

Consulting with trusted friends to verify that your observations are legitimate and that your perceptions are valid. Following up with them to see if someone is really angry at you, or if you're just projecting anger onto them because it's what makes sense to your old pattern.

Obsessive collection of "evidence"- saving pictures, writing detailed journals, making recordings and video, never deleting emails or old texts, because you still don't quite trust yourself all the way and you're afraid that someone will cause you to doubt yourself again.

Continued self-doubt and being "gullible": I have straight up seen people flip me off to my face in front of witnesses and then immediately tell me, "No, I was just waving", and my first instinct is to believe them. For a few seconds, I *really do* believe them. Your brain is so trained to latch onto what people tell you to believe that its really, really hard to hold onto information that you already have.

Learning to take ownership over your own actions. (I didn't mess up because I'm "crazy", I messed up because I'm a person and people do that.)

Instinctively seeking approval. (Takes a lot of work to remind myself that I don't exit to make people happy, and that some people suck ass, and I can tell them to piss off.)

I don't intend to invalidate anyone currently struggling with this- if you feel that something is wrong, it probably is. That's the thought that got me out. Trust that feeling that something isn't right.

I just want people who don't know what to look for to know what gaslighting *actually* looks and feels like, so they don't just roll their eyes and think, "Oh, that word doesnt apply to me- I'm not some snowflake".

('Cause we all saw what happened with "triggered", right?)

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

-

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

-

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and  got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?” 

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her. 

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and  it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around. 

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders. 

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

TAG LIST: @be-your-coffee-pot @supremebaddietrash @mellowarcadefun @cmleitora @kyuupidwrites @80sloverry @newlifeforus @soulaires @hrrorflm @redwolfxx @icarus-nex @jenniferrvsesi @bborra @leilanixx @hc-dutch @withyoutilltheendodthismess @is-just-a @freetimemachinequeen @saturnchase @butterfly-lover @eddiesbitch83 @elliott-calls @nb26fort @wcnorris @vellicora @mac-daddy-210 @hiraethrhapsody @losore-prone @gills-lounge @enrapturedbythemoon @formula1mount @mightiestheroes @cherry-piee @chezmardybum @whodis-26 @mortallyblueninja @f1mockingjay @dance-the-painting

[uvobreakmylegs]

Ouroboros

this fic is one I wrote a long while ago as a lil sequel to @hypnoswrites's fic Vengeance Tastes Bitter and she gave permission for me to post :D

please be aware of the tags if you choose to check out either of these fics

Uvogin x female!reader

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, mentions of death, mentions of murder, past noncon, mentions of suicide, threats of violence, abusive relationships, attempted murder, dubcon, smut, Uvogin being a bastard

Word Count: 2.9k

The sounds of a door abruptly opening and then slamming shut were what announced his arrival. And despite being used to the sound of his return, you still tensed up when you heard him approaching as you determined how long it would take for him to find you within the house.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't very long.

Uvogin's gaze was on you the second he entered the kitchen, looking you over as you stood by the counter. You heard him hum to himself before he said anything to you, sounding slightly dissatisfied. Perhaps he was looking over the marks he'd left on your skin and was unhappy when he saw that they were fading.

Or perhaps it was because that you had yet to acknowledge him, instead keeping yourself turned away and looking out through the window at the scenery outside. The nice weather outside was a better thing to focus your energy on, though you wouldn't be able to ignore him for too much longer. He wouldn't allow that.

“Don't you have somethin' to say to me?” Uvogin asked you.

“…. I don't know what you want me to say,” you replied.

“What, you don't know that it's common courtesy to greet someone when they've returned home? Who raised you?”

That last comment stung.

“This isn't your home. It's not mine, either. Why the hell should I bother with that?” you asked bitterly.

“Because I want you to.”

He was enjoying this. You could hear it in his voice. And you already knew he had that usual victorious smirk on his face, pleased with himself that he had managed to make you snap at him.

Even though he liked the ways you would push back, he would expect you to comply at some point, and while you hated needing to bend to his will, things were better if you did that much.

Or at the very least, they were less violent.

Your shoulder's sagged as you sighed and then said, “welcome back.”

You then glanced over your shoulder to look at him.

He was smirking. As expected. Still getting a kick out of making you submit to him.

It had been several months since that fateful, awful day where you had convinced yourself that you could kill him and take revenge for your family. The day where he had soundly beaten you without even trying, and instead of taking your life for bothering him with the weak attempt, he had amused himself by humiliating you. Starting with pissing on you after preventing you from taking your own life and ending with him raping you repeatedly over a period of several hours.

He kept you at the camp he had set up for a few weeks after in the hopes that people would come looking for you so he could torment you even more by killing your would-be rescuers in front of you. But no one ever came, much to his disappointment and your relief, though it was depressing that no one seemed to have noticed that you were gone.

After that Uvogin traveled from place to place, moving from continent to continent while living a rather nomadic lifestyle. And he dragged you along with him, as you were there to be his greatest source of entertainment.

It was an existence that you despised. And he knew you felt as such.

He seemed to revel in that fact.

Uvogin tended to keep to less populated areas when it came to his camps. He seemed to genuinely enjoy surviving in the outdoors, so it was surprising when he had broken into the house you were currently in and announced that the two of you would be staying there. You could only assume that he wanted a change of pace.

You didn't complain, as it was nice to be able to sleep in a bed again, even if you did need to share with him. And Uvogin had seemed to have gotten that for you without killing someone for it, which helped in keeping you from feeling too guilty about staying in a stranger's house.

All you hoped for was that the actual owner of the house wouldn't come back while the two of you were still there. You knew what the outcome would be if that were to happen, and you would hate yourself even more if you were forced to stand to the side while someone died for no reason.

“Was that so hard?” Uvogin asked you, the stupid smirk still on his face. He was still trying to goad you into getting upset with him.

Instead you just sighed and turned away, looking back outside. The house he had found was still more on the outskirts of society, and not far from the kitchen window sat a mountain with a hiking trail where you regularly saw people walking through.

You had enough common sense to know that you couldn't go to anyone for help. Uvogin would just kill them.

And when he began to leave you alone in the house, he had warned against attempts to take your own life, telling you that if he did come back and find you dead, he'd go out and slaughter a hundred people. Even if you managed to escape him in death, he would go out of his way to make sure that someone paid the price, and he didn't care who it was.

A hundred people was a lot and it felt far too over the top when you heard it, but you didn't question him on how dedicated he was to that plan: you could absolutely see him carrying that out. And despite how tantalizing the knife block over to your right managed to be that promised you an easy way out, you kept yourself from going that far. No matter what, you couldn't give him any excuses to kill even more people.

The only way you could see yourself escaping him was if he finally got tired of you and killed you like you'd wanted for so long now.

It was an odd thing to wish that you would be so boring that he would kill you for it.

And unfortunately it seemed to be something that was easier said than done.

“What, nothing to say to that?”

When you didn't respond, you heard him hum to himself once again. Then he approached you, his footsteps sounding against the tile of the kitchen floor, and they stopped when he stood behind you, leaving very little space between the two of you.

Even without his nen, his presence was overwhelming. In part because of just how he towered over you and effortlessly made you feel smaller than you actually were. And Uvogin was clearly using that to his full advantage at the moment as he placed both of his hands on the edge of the counter, his arms on either side of your body as he kept you stuck in that spot. Any attempt to duck under his arms would just end with him holding onto you, so you stayed put. Even though him being in such close proximity wasn't ideal, at least he was keeping his hands to himself, if just for the moment.

Uvogin hummed to himself a third time.

“You've been quieter,” he said.

“Have I?”

“Yeah,” he answered flatly, “what's that about?”

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

“Because it makes you seem like you're up to something.”

“I'm not,” you said, then you added “I guess I'm just accepting my situation.”

He snorted at that.

“Accepting it, huh? Doesn't seem that way to me.”

“Okay,” you said, shrugging.

Uvogin didn't seem to buy your indifference.

“If you were really okay with this, I don't think you would've snapped at me earlier,” he said.

That time you didn't answer.

His gaze was heavy on you, and you swore you could hear the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to figure what would be the best way to deal with you. It'd be very easy for him to just hurt you, something he'd done many times before. What was stopping him from going that far right now was a mystery to you.

“It still seems like you're up to something,” he finally said.

“I'm not,” you answered.

But you couldn't help but add something else to that.

“Why does this even matter to you? Most of the time you're only interested in fucking me.”

He sounded pleased with himself when he answered with a “yeah.”

“But I've come to like our conversations,” he added.

That makes one of us

Something like that probably would've been your response only a few months ago. When you had just a bit more fight in you and hoped that if you yelled and insulted him enough, he'd kill you.

But that sort of reaction was the thing he was looking for, and your goal was to disappoint him. Something that you were failing at in the moment, but you could still try.

He was quiet again, and this time you heard his fingers tapping against the surface of the counter.

It made things feel a bit more dangerous, for some reason.

After a few moments of that, he spoke again.

“What would their reaction be if they were still alive?” he asked.

You knew who he was talking about even without him saying it specifically: the dead members of your family, who he likely didn't even remember murdering or even why he had killed them. The whole reason this awful chapter in your life had started.

The question was a trap. You knew that much.

“If they were still alive we wouldn't be here,” you answered shortly.

“Hm. I guess.”

He leaned down closer and you felt his breath tickling your ear. Despite your attempts to keep yourself steady, you couldn't keep yourself from shuddering at the feeling.

You knew that he noticed because he chuckled at you.

“If your family knew what would happen after they died,” he asked, “if they knew that one day you'd fuck up your attempt at revenge so massively that it would end with you becoming my slave, how sad do you think they'd be?”

You didn't answer.

The knife block was still in view from the corner of your eye.

“What would they be thinking if they saw you all those times you came while my cock was buried inside of you?” he whispered, “knowing that their last surviving member was the one who was getting off with help from the guy who killed them? How disgusted would they be? If they saw just how much of a slut-”

You grabbed a knife and tried to stab him in the face.

Uvogin caught your wrist, the blade of the knife mere inches away from his eye.

And he grinned as he tightened his grip around your wrist, forcing you to open your hand and drop the knife.

He won.

Again.

He'd been goading you again and you hadn't been able to help but fall right into his trap.

It went without saying that something bad was coming your way.

“That seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?” he asked you, glancing down at the knife where it lay on the floor.

“You're a piece of shit,” you hissed.

“I think we established that a while ago, babe,” he said.

Then he let you go and pulled away from you. Your hand immediately went to the aching area around your wrist, and when you looked back up at him, he was standing at full height with his hands on his hips and an expectant look in his eye.

You knew what he wanted. You'd seen that look often enough to know what it meant.

But for some reason, you decided to play dumb.

“What?” you asked.

“What, you want me to spell it out for you?” he asked back, “on your knees.”

“No.”

It would still happen. You knew that, but you didn't want to submit completely. It went against your strategy of being as boring as possible, but after trying to take out his eye with a knife, you figured there was no point in trying to keep up with that. Not for today, at least.

Instead of slapping you around before forcing you to your knees, Uvogin hummed to himself. Then his eyes went to the window behind you, as though he caught sight of something, and he smirked to himself.

That was what made you nervous. And your nervousness turned to dread after he motioned for you to look out as well and you saw what he had spotted.

Two people along the hiking trail.

Despite the distance between you and them, you got the sense that they were a couple. Something in the way they walked together, or when one of them looked back to the other. Just two people out on a hiking date.

Two completely innocent people who didn't deserve death.

The cracking of Uvogin's knuckles had you spinning back around, and he gave you a toothy grin as he said “I guess if you don't want to…”

He then turned as though he was going to leave the kitchen.

Placing a hand on his arm, you stopped him.

Like he knew you would.

When he turned back to you with that smirk still on his face, you did as he wanted and went down to your knees. It felt uncomfortable against the tile of the kitchen, but you told yourself that it could be worse. At least you weren't out in the open with stones digging into your skin while your leg was broken.

Pulling down the hem of his shorts revealed that he was already semi-hard. You frowned as you took his length in hand and began to stroke it. It wasn't long before he was fully erect, and you moved in closer to place a kiss on the tip.

“You can do better than that.”

There was a familiar feeling of a hand at the back of your head, and then you were being pushed in closer, the tip of his cock smearing precum over your lips before you forced your mouth open so he could shove the head inside.

“That's more like it,” he said, although it seemed he was saying that more to himself.

You fell into a rhythm that you knew well by now; your tongue glided over cock while you stroked whatever didn't fit. All the while he stared down at you with a triumphant look on his face.

He'd get bored of you eventually. That was what you told yourself. A man like him would one day get tired of you, when you would no longer give him any new or interesting reactions. And getting rid of you would be as simple as crushing your head beneath his foot.

Not today. You'd messed that up royally.

But eventually….. Eventually you'd get out of this hell.

Uvogin's grip on your hair got tighter and he pushed his cock into your mouth as far as he was able when he finally came. He kept you there for a while, ignoring the way you slapped his thighs to try and tell him that you needed air.

With a content sigh he finally let you go, allowing you to fall backwards onto the tile of the kitchen while you sputtered, coughing up remnants of his release. One may have thought you would've been used to something like that by now, but it always managed to feel like too much.

You were expecting more taunts from him, more goading insults to upset you further so you felt even more helpless when he would force himself upon you once again.

Yet nothing like that ever came.

And when you looked back up at him, it seemed as though he was thinking about something.

He snapped out of it when you made eye contact, however, and he grinned at you once more.

“You wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?” he asked.

“…. Bedroom.”

No sooner had you said that, he had bent down and scooped you up, throwing you up onto his shoulder just as he had done on that first day, and he began to march you over to the bedroom.

What happened next was expected: he threw you down onto the bed, tore your clothes off and roughly fingered you for a few moments before slamming his length into you. It hurt and you hated it, but you did your best to take it.

His mouth ended up on your neck faster than you were expecting, however, sucking on your skin to place new marks over the older, fading ones.

His lips were also faster in catching yours for a kiss, and when he pulled away, he saw the look of confusion on your face.

“What, you still gonna be a bitch about that?” he asked.

“…. Do what you want,” you answered, officially giving up.

“I intend to.”

Uvogin went back to marking up your neck, and in between leaving those marks, you heard him mutter “keeping you was the best decision I ever made.”

…. That was a little worrying, but your focus went back to the way he thrust into you.

One day this would end. He'd lose interest in you and then it would be over. He was just lying to try and upset you further.

….. Right?

[floral-cavern]

So.. Sarcastic Chorus has retired from doing Helluvaverse content. This is a huge blow to the series. If you somehow don’t know, Sarcastic Chorus is the Helluvaverse YouTuber. He’s done so many analysis videos, it’s kind of part of his brand in the same way FNAF is associated with MatPat. The fact that Chorus left the shows is crazy, but, honestly, it’s just a testament to how bad this show has been getting.

This is the view count for the first three episodes for seasons 1 and 2

And if you think that’s bad, look at the difference between the season finales for each season

(I know technically Ozzie’s isn’t the season finale, but Queen Bee doesn’t count because of how long it took to come out)

People are tired of the show focusing on the wrong things. I seriously recommend Chorus’s video, it has so many good points. And one point I really want to talk about is Stolas.

I talk a lot about the bad writing in the show in general and how I don’t like Stolas, but I just want to say, I don’t like him anymore. I used to really like his character.. but season 2 completely ruined him for me because they refuse to acknowledge that he has any flaws. Rather than tell “we know Stolitz has flaws on both sides of the relationship, both will work on that,” instead, it’s all just Blitzo. They’ve spent 3 whole episodes just shitting on Blitzo, when… where’s that same treatment for Stolas? Stolas is a classist, racist, rapist. But the show seems to just… forget this. They’re backpedaling so hard, I'm surprised they haven’t fallen off the bike.

I used to find Stolas an interesting character and I was so excited to see where they would take his flaws and mistakes. Like, think about it. Stolas is completely naive, having been sheltered his whole life. The only concept for genuine intimacy he has comes from erotica. Of course he’s going to have a skewed idea of what sex is like when the only sex he’s ever had is with Stella, who, and I quote, “just lays there staring at the wall” where Stella has to do all the work. Ya… that is fucked and a form of sexual abuse, just like what Stolas does to Blitzo. So, I was interested to see where they would take this cycle of abuse that Stolas is so accustomed to and how they were going to have him break it. How was Stolas going to learn his idea of intimacy is wrong?

Well… he doesn’t. Not really. He does realize this transaction is wrong, but, when he tells this all to Blitzo and when Blitzo doesn’t have the reaction he wants, Stolas throws a fucking tantrum. He walks away and refuses to let Blitzo speak, he denies having ever done anything wrong, says that Blitzo was the one who always makes things about sex when that is NOT TRUE. And the worst part? The show treats Stolas like he’s right. They never do anything to show us that Stolas is a hypocrite, instead, like I said earlier, only punishing Blitzo. And don’t even pull the “he was banished” card! Stolas was not being punished for being a neglectful father, or for being an abusive partner. He was being punished… for a heroic sacrifice. He was being banished because Andre doesn’t like him and everyone is mean to Stolas so we have to feel so bad for him, guys!

I just… I started to have my doubts for the show around Full Moon, but I wanted to stick with the show. I liked Apology Tour, but did find it a bit weird that Stolas was being woobied, but I just assumed it was because the next episode, Stolas would be the one receiving the punishing. But the next episode.. WAS ANOTHER HATE ON BLITZO EPISODE. So I told myself, boy I told myself, that the next episode will be focusing on Stolas’s flaws, on Stolas’s part on why this relationship didn’t work. AND THEY DIDN’T FUCKING DO THAT STILL. In fact, Mastermind was just full of Stolas unnecessarily insulting Blitzo, calling him an idiot and whatnot. Like.. GIVE THIS GUY A BREAK, HOLY FUCK. WE GET IT.

This show has gotten so fucking infuriating. Good on Chorus for leaving. Me, personally? I’m going to keep watching, out of curiosity and because I hate myself, but if the show gets anymore infuriating, I may just leave. Because this show is so non-self aware with its black and white writing while it tries so damn hard to have a moral high horse.

So, actually, no. Not ‘fuck Stolas’. Fuck the writers for being so blind to the kinds of behaviors they are endorsing and encouraging with him.