#broken rage interview

[khany82]

Venice Film festival ended strong with 3 Takeshi Kitano autographs as seen on Venice TV xD Thank you Kitano Sensei 🙏 

#takeshikitano #meetingfans giving #signature #autographs at #venicefilmfestival #brokenrage #北野武 #ビートたけし #battleroyal #hanabi #zatoichi #japanesemovies #asiancinema #venezia #italy #venice #tiff #meetingcelebrities #veneziadaily #sonatine #takeshiscastle #violentcop #gits #ghostintheshell

[genderqueerpositivity]

I absolutely cannot wait for this election cycle to be over because genuinely what the fuck. I keep drawing parallels to the 2016 election because there are just so many similarities, but what I haven't said much about yet are the ways in which things are worse.

Having the majority of people I know or randomly encounter be Trump supporting Republicans is absolutely wild now, because sometimes they will just drop the most unhinged comments you could possibly imagine into casual conversation as if they're simply commenting that the grass is green or the weather is nice today, and every time it gives me this bizarre sensation like I am somehow the one living in a different plane of reality.

The Democrats are intentionally bringing undocumented people into the country and giving them drivers licenses so they can vote in the upcoming November election, and unless Donald Trump wins and is allowed to carry out his mass deportation plan the United States will never again have a Republican Christian president.

Joe Biden has been using the US military to release chemicals into the atmosphere for the past four years which have the ability to affect the weather in order to trick the American public into believing that climate change is real.

The attack on Donald Trump at his rally was rally a plot enacted by The Deep State, a secret group of powerful liberals who are running the country behind the scenes, and they don't want Trump to win in November because he is too powerful for them to control.

Joe Biden was replaced by a secret identical body double when he allegedly had Covid several weeks ago, and the double is the one who really dropped out of the election, gives all of his speeches, and does all of his interviews now for him.

Those are just the ones I heard last week.

And the reactions I get when contradicting these wild takes range from rage to mocking to a bizarre persecution complex. In 2016 and even in 2020 I was able to have a lot of productive conversations with many people who disagreed with me greatly on major issues, and that is largely not happening this time. If I dare to disagree, they turn to anger, attack me personally, or cry immediately that I'm denying their right to free speech. When bringing up my actual lived experiences with certain issues, I've been dismissed immediately as emotional and brainwashed. There is no room for discourse or discussion anymore, it has broken down.

I know that we've been going out of our way to call them weird, but we're not really talking about fringe weirdo conspiracy theorists anymore, we're talking about your neighbors and my coworkers and your aunt and the guy behind me in line at Aldi. These people are everywhere, they're 100% serious about believing in this shit, and they're voting Republican in November come hell or high water, truth be goddamed.

You know, the lives of millions and millions of women, LGBTQ+ people, undocumented people, and other marginalized peoples are at stake in this election but it feels increasingly like reality is at stake too.

"Alternative facts" sounded outrageous seven years ago...now they've made it a way of life. Unless we can correct course, and rapidly, it isn't going to get better.

[rbbtruther]

I came into this fandom a very broken human being. I was twenty-four, had just come out and ended an engagement, and had no fucking clue who I was.

I never saw this fandom coming— the people who changed me, the people I hurt, the lessons I learned, the ways I grew. The truth is, one of the reasons I sidelined myself in this fandom is because I didn’t like the person I had become, and my actions had caused hurt that I needed to take accountability for. So I left. And I did work. And I am SUCH a different person at 34 than I was at 24. But I got that chance. And Liam didn’t. All of the nights spent awake until the early hours of the morning, shitposting and memeing and headcanoning. All of the press junkets, interviews, talk show appearances, performances, releases, charity events. All of the fan initiatives. Project No Control. Rainbow Direction. All of the laughter, some of the best friends I have ever known.

Liam had a part in that. A big part. I remember once, some fandom friends telling me that if I was anyone, I was Liam. I never quite knew how to feel about that. He was a child who was paraded, stripped down, abused, overworked, but he also became someone who was enabled, inflated, unaccountable. And I know what all of that feels like. He never got the chance to grow up, and that’s what fills me with rage the most. Coming from someone who DID get that chance, who has a life beyond her wildest dreams now. Why not him.

I keep thinking about how purely sparkling 2015 was, how giddy and bright-eyed we all were. I’m so sad. I’m so, so sad. I’m so angry, there are so many people I want to torch and pitchfork and roast over a spit. I have no idea how I’m going to ask my boss to work from home tomorrow and how to explain it other than to tell her I don’t feel well.

We have experienced lost. Jay. Fizz. Robin. Others. But I don’t think anything could have ever prepared any of us for this. It was all of our worst unexpressed fears. I just… I love you all. So very much. And I am so, so sorry. May we all remember that We Are 1D Family. We will see each other through this.

If you or someone you love is struggling, please know that I stand here as someone who will happily meet you where you’re at with grace and compassion, and absolutely zero judgement. I think we all need to feel this together, and we all need places to talk. I’m here for that, so happily— because it’s what we do. For family.

[norrizzandpia]

Used (Part 2) (LN4)

Summary: Even in times of pain, they’ll find their way back to each other.

Warnings: very emotional, but happy happy ending, lando’s actually depressed its so sad, cisca norris to the rescue, oscar and lando are enemies for a while

Note: HII ITS HEREEE I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT I THINK ITS PRETTY SLAY? 🤞🏻

In the wake of Lando’s actions, Y/n was left with a broken heart and a hole in her stomach. Constant emptiness plagued her, contradicting the love that had once filled her for a boy who used her and took every inch of her.

She was quiet, once more. Lonely, once more. Oscar couldn’t do anything to remedy the pain she felt, neither could her parents or friends. Simply, she sat within herself, retracing all the memories they shared together.

On the other hand, Lando was faced with the consequences of his actions. While the public didn’t know what happened, they were aware something had gone down with Oscar’s hostile driving toward his teammate every time they found themselves together on a track. If it wasn’t because of that, it was because of the angry fights accidentally had between the two men fans consistently caught on their cameras. And if it wasn’t because of the fights, it was because of the disappearance of interviews. Both drivers not being seen in a room together for a good 4 weeks straight after a particularly aggressive video sourced online of Lando and Oscar shoving each other behind the McLaren Garage. Yelling at each other about something the camera couldn’t pick up on, but angry faces and hands flew about for minutes before Lando’s dad rounded the corner and split them up.

Nonetheless, when Lando went to bed at night, he didn’t think about the fights with Oscar or the negative press he was getting online. He thought of Y/n and only her. His mind replayed moments of her bright smile, a warm feeling lingering in his stomach before his hand drifted to the cold, empty side of his bed and reminded him of his loss. It was almost as if he mourned her. She no longer showed up to races and if she did, her appearances were strategically planned so as to not have the couple run into each other. He had pleaded with Charlotte, McLaren’s PR manager, to “somehow” slip up on their schedules, but she wouldn’t budge. What he didn’t know was that Charlotte had gotten an ear full from Oscar and his parents about how Y/n was not to see Lando. The poor girl had been utterly ruined by him and his extortion of her.

Whether he liked to admit it or not, Lando knew that.

He knew she would never be the same because he had been reckless, and he knew the chances of her ever even looking at him again were slim to none. Still, he allowed his soul and heart to continue being tied to her. If he was being honest with himself, his whole being would always be tied to her, whether she loved him or not.

He tried convincing Oscar of this, of his love for her, but the Australian just continued screaming.

“YOU’RE A DICK, YOU KNOW THAT?” His blonde hair tangled after tugging on it so much as Lando stood in the corner of the room, taking the punches because he deserved them.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Lando whispered, his hands curling in his pockets as his tears threatened to fall.

“SORRY? SORRY WILL NEVER CUT IT FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” His arms flailed around. Oscar’s own tears gracefully fell to the ground as his rage consumed him.

There was a moment as the two boys looked at each other, both broken to the core for 2 completely different reasons, yet over the same girl.

Sighing, Oscar stepped back before plopping onto the couch, “Why’d you do it?” He whispered, his head falling into his hands.

Lando came to sit beside him, “There’s no good reason, but the only thing I can tell you is that I have always loved her, since the moment I saw her. Martin’s bet gave me an excuse to fall back on if she rejected me like I thought she would. When she didn’t and we started going out, I tried to push it away. But, Martin kept calling me and texting me, taunting me with how me and her had actually started. Throughout it all, though, I love her. I continue to love her even though she refuses to see me and I still love her even though she’s blocked my number. I’m starting to think I always will. Love her, I mean.”

Oscar turned his head to the side, capturing the blue eyes of his teammate and the ones that were so clearly defeated, “Really? It wasn’t a joke to you?”

Lando shook his head immediately, “No, of course not. It never was. I tried to explain that to her when everything came out, but she wouldn’t listen. After she shut the door on me when she found out, I tried to knock and ask her to let me in, but I don’t think she heard me because all I heard on the other side was crying. Oscar, I’m so sorry for what I did. If I could take back how it started, I would, but I won’t, and will never, wish to take back the moments we shared together. Even now, when communication between us has stopped, the memories keep me going. Just the memories of her are enough for me. I’ll always be grateful to even have them with her, having been able to experience that kind of love with someone who reciprocated it is something I never expected to feel ever in my life.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have done it. I wish you would have just gotten with her naturally. I really thought you two would get married.” Oscar said slowly, trying to let Lando down easily.

However, Oscar’s attempts failed as the sorrow hit Lando all over again. Flashes of the night when she opened up to him under the sky bounced around in his mind as he wondered what it would have been like to marry her, spend a lifetime with her.

Wiping a hand over his face to conceal the physical signs of his despair, Lando averted his eyes from the boy that reminded him too much of her, “Yeah, me too.”

—

“Y/n?” Her mother’s voice filtered through the door.

She shifted under the blankets, groaning quietly at the disturbance, but her mother’s next words made her falter.

“Mrs. Norris is here to see you if you’re up for it.” The door creaked open before soft footsteps made their way to her bed, the mattress dipping before a hand came to rest on her side.

In the time she and Lando spent together, Cisca became like a second mother to Y/n. Whether the woman intended for it or not, her soft-spoken voice and gentle, motherly touch had filled Y/n with comfort during times of self-confliction or arguments with Lando or the other men in her life.

“Hi, darling.” Her hand rubbed slowly up and down her torso as Y/n untangled herself from her blankets, sitting up to meet the older woman’s eye.

“Mrs. Norris, it’s so nice to see you.” Her smile wasn’t as big as it used to be, Cisca noted.

Giggling, she smoothed a hand down Y/n’s cheek, “Even after all this time, you still call me ‘Mrs. Norris’”.

They laughed together for a second before silence overtook the moment and Cisca was watching Y/n retreat back into her heartbreak.

Her small voice cut through the stillness, “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Y/n’s head tilted to the side as she pleaded with Lando’s mother to not begin this conversation, for the sake of her healing process. However, Cisca knew, deep down, that this conversation would do more good than bad.

So, she continued.

“He won’t talk about you. He shuts down the moment we mention your name.” Cisca took Y/n’s hands in hers, cradling them as she had cradled her son the night Y/n had blocked his number. Lando had shown up unannounced at his parents’ home, clutching his phone in his hands as if it was the only thing anchoring him. The moment she had opened the door, his eyes told every bit of pain he had tried to force down as he convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to feel grief if he was the one having screwed it all up. His legs gave out and he had fallen into the safe embrace of his mother, clutching onto her as he rambled about losing Y/n. Cisca had brought him into the house and sat with him on the couch all night as he poured his heart out to her, tears and all.

He didn’t leave their house for a week after that.

Now, she sat with the girl who had destroyed her son, just as he had destroyed her. Prepared to try and reconcile something so beautiful.

“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have done it.”

Cisca nodded, completely agreeing with Y/n’s logic, “I understand, but Y/n, we both know this is much more complicated. You two have loved each other for a long time. I would even say from the moment you first met, but I won’t speak for you. When he said he loved you, he meant it. From the start. Yes, he messed up and did something I did not raise him to do. However, Y/n,” Cisca’s hand moved to turn Y/n’s face, forcing her to look his mother in her eyes, “I know my son and I know when he’s gone for someone. He’s utterly gone for you. Hell, he’s so lost without you, the boy can’t even tie his own shoes.”

Cisca wiped away the tears Y/n didn’t even know were falling before the girl in bed whispered, “But, what if he hurts me again?”

Sighing, Lando’s mother scooched to squeeze on the bed beside Y/n, putting her arm around the girl and hugging her into her side, “I know it’s hard, but just give him a chance, yeah? He betrayed your trust and a lot of other things, so it will be difficult to let him in again. But, and this is hard to understand because he was your first everything, what you two had was unlike anything I have ever seen in my entire life and I’ve been married to his father for years. The way you two understood each other was on a level that I think would be a shame to not fight for. You were good for him, really good, and I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t do everything I could to make my child happy again. It just so happens that, in this case, it would also benefit the person he was in love with too.”

Nodding, Y/n hugged the woman tighter, “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Seeing as her job was done, Cisca got up and made her move toward the door, but not before she stopped to turn around and look Y/n in the eye once more, “When you talk to him, be gentle, okay? I know it sounds stupid because he should be being gentle with you after everything he pulled, but you don’t know how hard he’s beaten himself up over this. There are only a handful of times in motherhood where you will see your child grieve so hard over someone, they vomit. It’s hard to watch your son destroy who he is because he loved so hard. If you won’t do it for him, do it for me. There’s only so much a mother can take when it comes to seeing her child in pain.”

Y/n smiled lightly as she promised the woman she would be soft with the man she loved.

The man she loves.

—

“Can you at least shower?” Max asked softly as Lando curled further into his bed.

Sniffling, Lando mumbled, “There’s no one to smell good for. Don’t see the point.”

Max rubbed a hand over his face, hating how his best friend had become the shell of a human, “Lando, it’s for your own health. Please, it’ll be good for you. You haven’t gotten out of bed for a week. I’m worried about you, mate.”

“I don’t ca-” Lando started, but was interrupted by a knock on their front door.

Max’s gaze shifted between his best friend and the slab of wood, not wanting to let Lando leave his sight, yet knowing he needed to open it. He exhaled a breath as he stole a quick glance at the body under all the lumps of blankets before making his way to the door.

Opening it, he sighed in relief at the sight of Y/n, the remedy for his best friend’s turmoil.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but I think it’s for a good reason. I hope it’s for a good reason.” He said as he let her in.

She smiled at him, still a bit nervous to see Lando, but relieved she had finally gone through with it this time.

“Is he here?” She asked quietly.

Max laughed, “Is he here? Yeah, he has been for the last eternity.”

She cringed before making her way toward his room, inhaling a breath before opening the door.

“Max, I’m serious. Leave me alone.” He said, annoyed, from under his pillow. She couldn’t help the smile that took over her face at his voice and common stubbornness. She had missed him like the ocean missed the sun when it disappeared in the night. Missing his soft touches, hushed kisses of warmth, and the light he continually exuded on both good and bad days.

“Lando, it’s me.” She said as she rounded his bed, sitting down on the side of it.

He froze. His brain tried to convince him he was going clinically insane, no longer seeing her in his head but hearing her in his room. However, his heart contradicted the argument when he felt the bed dip and he just knew. He knew it was really her by the way his skin lit up at the close proximity and his breath stopped for a moment before filling his lungs once more like life was returning to his body.

He lowered the blankets. Her face coming into view almost had him breaking down, but this newfound chance at redemption had his brain short-circuiting, and crying so hard he couldn’t speak didn’t seem like a good plan.

“Y/n…” His tone was subdued as if she was an angel, completely struck by her and her existence.

Her hand reached out to caress his cheek. The igniting touch had color pumping through his body again as he leaned into her touch, seemingly reconnecting with his lifeline.

“I thought we could talk.” She said as his eyes fluttered closed, her thumb rubbing circles over his cheekbone.

“Of course,” He said breathlessly, enamored by her and the way she made him feel.

She giggled, a sound that Lando was etching into his brain as if he was going to lose it again, “Okay, but you’ll have to open your eyes for that to happen, Lan.”

He blushed at the nickname. The last time she had called him the shortened name was when she was confronting him over what he had done. The reminder of the moment when she walked out on him hit him hard. He stared at her, scared she had only come back to him to give him a taste of what he could’ve had only to take it away once more.

She must have realized his agony because she was grabbing his hand with hers, coaxing him away from the dark place to come back to her, in the now. The funny part was that she didn’t need to physically bring him back, he would always return to her just by the comforting presence of the person he fell in love with.

“Dating me because of a bet hurt like hell. I thought I would never come back from that kind of pain, but as I rotted away in my room, I realized that, even though you had hurt me so deeply, I still loved you. It took me time to understand what that meant seeing as you have been my first love, my first everything, but I think I’ve got it down, now.” She squeezed his hand as their eyes welled together, “Even though those times we spent together had been created under such a gross circumstance, I wouldn’t want to forget them. Ever. Because I love you, Lan. I was talking to my mom and she explained to me that giving people second chances isn’t always a bad choice, if they’re good for you. That’s when it clicked for me. Giving you a second chance is a no-brainer because you’ve never wronged me before. I fell in love with you and when you fell in love with me, you always showed up. Even when I found out about the bet, you still showed up. You stayed on the other side of Oscar’s Driver’s Room door, asking me to come in before he showed up and forced you away. You’ve always been there for me, always secretly supported me, and wished the best for me even when I rejected you completely. Over this time by myself, I came to the conclusion that I don’t want anyone else to root for me on the sidelines other than you.”

His arms had found their way to her, loosely circling around her waist as he tested the waters. When she didn’t push him away, when her arms twisted around his neck, he leaned in. What she thought would be a kiss was actually a bone-crushing hug that was, surprisingly, way more intimate than any kiss he could have planted on her at that moment. His tears wetted her shirt and hers did the same to him as he whispered how much he loved her in her ear. Softly, he explained to her just how much she made his heart stop, “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could go back in time and treat you with respect. I’m so sorry for what I did and for what I put you through, my love. The thing that was so scary for me when I realized how much I loved you was that you had always been in front of me. Like, you’d been standing right in front of me for years before I understood who I needed you to be to me. I never thought that one singular person could change the course of my life and how I lived it let alone someone I had known for so long, but it’s always been you. I’m not sure if you always felt that same way about me, but I have. Once I began looking to you when shit in my life hit the fan, I knew I wouldn’t be able to love anyone the way I love you. It would always have to be you because, if it wasn’t, there’d be no one else to fulfill me the way you have. You came into my life and flipped it right side up, not upside down.”

When his hushed words ended in her ear, she pulled away. Tears tracing the outside of her lips, she scratched at the hair at his nape, something she knew he always loved.

Realizing that he had never fully lost her, Lando whispered an “I love you” before smoothing the hair out of her face.

When he was finally able to see his favorite face, only then did he kiss her.

End.

Tags (thank you for the sweet comments): @tpwkstiles @lqvesoph @hearts4joao @flwr-stella @formula1mount @405rry @msliz @gaslysainz @summerslike11

[themultifanshipper]

The crash was horrible. You scared yourself and everyone else when your car hit the wall with a sickening crunch. But the person you scared the most was Sebastian.

Warnings: Smut, oral, squirting, plot is similar to my other Seb fic (it was based on the same prompt) but this one is more angsty and fluffy and the vibes are completely opposite lmao, but the smut is also disgusting, barely edited tbh

His car had minimal damage, so he was just going to carry on, but the glare of flames in his mirrors was enough for him to panic and stop the car to go and help get you out of the flaming wreck, despite Christian shouting at him to continue over the radio. He just couldn’t leave you, never mind what he portrayed to the cameras, you meant too much to him and he would never have forgiven himself if he’d been that selfish.

But by the time he got there you were already out of the car, being helped across the gravel by a marshal. As he approached, you threw your helmet at him and screamed.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? PULLING A MOVE LIKE THAT YOU COULD HAVE GOT US KILLED! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE MICHAEL SCHUMACHER OR SOMETHING YOU B-"

You jumped on each other at the same time, scratching and punching at each other like children, and the marshal was forced to call for reinforcements to get you separated.

Later, during post-race interviews (you'd both been banned from the press conference) you were asked what happened and you got incredibly wound up again just talking about how careless and dangerous Seb’s move was.

Your press officer moved you off quickly to avoid any further incidents, but unfortunately for her Seb arrived at that moment, and you noticed that he looked rather pale, but that didn’t stop him from going straight to the interviewer you were just talking to.

“So, Seb, tell me about the incident, and what do you think of your rivalry with, uhh-” She glanced over to where you were standing only a few feet away, waiting.

Seb looked at you before answering. “She’s a promising talent, and no doubt she is beautiful, but she shouldn’t be in formula one.”

Before you could jump on him and cause another scene, you were dragged away to your post-race debrief before being sent back to the hotel.

Unbelievable! You crashed because of him, ruining both your races. And he had the audacity to say you didn’t belong in formula one? What a fucking joke! To say he was out of line would be an understatement, but of course, if you complained you would just be labelled as emotional, or immature, or god forbid, on your period. That’s one you had gotten once during an interview and the man swiftly ended up with a broken nose, which of course didn’t help your image, but it felt good none the less. What didn’t feel good was how little Seb had seemed to care about what happened. He could have killed you, he could have killed himself.

Hours later, you were still seething with rage when you heard a knock at the door.

The last person you expected to see when you opened it was Seb.

“I have nothing to say to you” You tried to slam the door in his face but he blocked it with his foot, making him wince.

“I know, but I just want you to know that I wasn’t playing for the cameras when I ran to get you on the track, I was worried I had caused you-“

“Oh give me a break! You crashed and saw an opportunity to look like the bigger person and come recue the damsel in distress but guess what? I didn’t NEED you Seb!”

“No, I didn’t crash! Christian told me to keep going but I stopped the car for you!”

You frowned at him, gears turning in your mind. “You stopped the car? Why the hell would you do that?”

He sighed frustratedly “Because I panicked! I saw fire and I was worried about you!”

“Oooh you were worried about me!” You parroted in the meanest tone you could muster, ignoring the beating of your heart at his words “You were worried about me because I don’t belong in this tough manly sport of yours is that it?”

He paused at your words, seemingly hurt at the implications behind them.

“You shouldn’t be in formula one, I stand by that. But not because you’re a woman, or a bad driver. It’s because I don’t want you in formula one. I don’t want you to be in that kind of danger, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you on my watch!”

Tears prickled your eyes as you took a step back from him. “So I should just give it all up huh? I should give up my dream just because you’re scared of hurting me?  What the fuck is wrong with you? I chose this! I chose motorsports for the adrenaline! The competition! The passion! What I didn’t sign up for was you crashing into me every chance you get because you can’t handle being beaten by a girl!”

Tears were properly streaming down your face by now, and you went to push Seb out of your room, but he caught your arms and pinned you against the door instead.

“Let me go Seb! Get out!”

No! You’re misunderstanding me and I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say! I care about you because despite you being a constant bitch around me, I’ve seen your real personality! And as much as you hate me, I just can’t bring myself to hate you! I didn’t want to save you to look like a hero, I wanted to save you because the thought of losing you was just-” he got choked up and you could see tears forming in his eyes as they stared intently into yours. “It… I-”  He took a deep breath “It would have been too painful.”

You gulped. “Seb, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I love you, and I’ve loved you since-“

You surged forward and kissed him.

He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in closer.

You honestly couldn’t say how long the two of you made out in the dark corner of your room for, but after a while you both ran out of oxygen and had to separate, breathing hard. His hands slid down to your thighs, picking you up easily and carrying you swiftly to the bed.

It became a competition to see who could get their clothes off faster, and you laughed at each other as you struggled to get your race suits off.

Once you were both naked, he climbed over you and started the long expedition over your curves and dips, kissing and marking every expanse of skin he came across. You writhed and squirmed at the attention, needing him to just get on with it. When he finally got up to your mouth, he was hard and you could feel his dick poking at your thigh.

“Please Seb, I need you to fuck me now” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to get him closer, but he refused, instead sitting backwards and kneeling between your legs to get a look at you.

“Calm down Schatz, I need to prepare you first, I don’t want to hurt you” he said soothingly, running his hands up and down your thighs before stopping just shy of your folds, using his thumbs to spread you open for him.

“God you are so wet for me” he groaned and dipped a thumb inside before bringing it to his mouth, sucking your juices off and groaning even louder. “And you taste so good, baby, fuck!”

He dipped a finger in gently, then two and pumped them a few times, making you mewl, before pulling them out and sucking them clean.

“I’m obsessed” he panted “I’m sorry baby, I need to taste more.” And with that he dove down and devoured you like a man starved, running his tongue over your lips and clit with gusto. His fingers soon joined and he hit that spot immediately, over and over. You quickly felt an orgasm building in your loins as your thighs tightened around his head and you fingers tugged on his hair.

“Seb, I’m so close baby!”

“I know” he growled and doubled down on his efforts, making you writhe in pleasure as the pressure building in your stomach became too much as he assaulted your clit with his talented mouth.

Your orgasm hit you so hard you couldn’t even get a breath in to make any noise as you came all over his face and chest.

He sat up over you and you saw that his hair was drenched, plastered to his forehead as drops of your cum slid down his nose and landed on your body.

He was grinning like a maniac, ecstatic at having made you come so hard you squirted on him.

“That’s never happened before!” you panted but he just smashed his lips to yours and grabbed your face, spreading wetness all over you both as his chest lay over yours.

It was disgusting.

But so, so incredibly hot.

“Fuck me now, please Seb?”

“Okay Schatz, your wish is my command” and with no further ado, he rubbed his tip through your folds a few times before sinking into you all the way to the hilt.

He was so thick it was hard to breathe as the stretch knocked the breath from your lungs, and you clung on to him for dear life.

It didn’t take either of you long to come, and you did so almost simultaneously, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s air, wrapped around each other as tight as possible.

You being incapable of walking just yet, he carried you to the shower and helped you wash, giggling as the sensation of his hands scrubbing over your skin made you ticklish.

It’s only when you got out of the shower and looked in the mirror that you noticed the marks he had left from his earlier ministrations. Small bruises littered your legs, hips, stomach, chest and neck.

“Dammit Sebastian! It’s summer and you’ve turned me into a dalmatian!” You shrieked, but he just laughed and smacked your ass on his way back to the bedroom.

“I’m serious! I can’t go out in public like this!”

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “Now everyone can stop flirting with you”

You tuned around in his arms “Awww, is my Sebby jealous?” You cooed.

He huffed “I am not jealous, but I am yours” he smiled, leaning down and kissing you.

He finally had you after years of loving you, and he was going to savour every second of it.

Of course the first person you saw the next morning was Jenson freaking Button.

He took one look at you, in shorts and a tank top, dozens of hickeys on display, then at Seb who had just appeared behind you in the lobby, connected the dots immediately and shrieked in laughter, attracting the attention of the few other drivers who had come down early for breakfast.

You were never living this down.

[incarnadin3]

Obey Me! Quotes from an incorrect quote generator pt.2

Mammon: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Lucifer: Language, Mammon. Belphegor: Yeah watch your fucking language. Asmodeous: OKAY WHO TAUGHT BELPHEGOR THE FUCK WORD? Satan: 'The fuck word'. MC: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time Satan: Oh my god they censored it Belphegor: Say fuck, MC. Satan: Do it, MC. Say fuck.

Lucifer: MC... How do I begin to explain MC? Satan: MC is flawless. Asmodeous: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000. Belphegor: I hear they do car commercials... in Japan. Mammon: One time they punched me in the face... it was awesome.

MC: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat* Mammon: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents MC: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you Satan: Actually I did the math, Mammon would have $225, not $0.15. Mammon: Fam I’m right here.... Asmodeous: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :) MC: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please? Asmodeous: Sorry I only have a dollar MC: :( Satan: Hey I just realized my brother is right, Mammon would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent Asmodeous: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice Satan: You can buy anything you want with $22,500 Belphegor: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice Satan: Apply juice to what MC: Directly to the forehead Mammon: Great chat everyone

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Lucifer: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Beelzebub: ...I did. I broke it. Lucifer: No. No you didn't. Satan? Satan: Don't look at me. Look at Asmodeous. Asmodeous: What?! I didn't break it. Satan: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Asmodeous: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Satan: Suspicious. Asmodeous: No, it's not! Belphegor: If it matters, probably not, but MC was the last one to use it. MC: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Belphegor: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? MC: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Belphegor! Beelzebub: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Lucifer. Lucifer: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Belphegor: Lucifer... Satan's been awfully quiet. Satan: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Lucifer, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Lucifer: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Lucifer: Lucifer: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Belphegor: Rules are made to be broken. Lucifer: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Satan: Uh, piñatas. Asmodeous: Glow sticks. Mammon: Karate boards. MC: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Belphegor: Rules. Lucifer:

Mammon: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something? Lucifer: Nope, absolutely not. Satan: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through. Asmodeous: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life. Belphegor: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you. MC: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome. Beelzebub: I'd be there for you! :D

Lucifer, driving MC and Mammon: So how was your day? Mammon: We almost got surprise adopted! Lucifer: What? MC: We almost got kidnapped. Lucifer: Oh, okay. Lucifer: * slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?!

[bitchinbarzal]

thirteen | Mat Barzal

summary: the little green monster comes out when you’re wearing another jersey.

-

You and Mat had an argument about Mat’s newfound friendship with the new islanders presenter.

You’d seen them after one of his games, they were no longer filming their interview and instead were just talking.

Admittedly, you felt a pang of jealousy watching the scene unfold before you but then it all came to a head when you returned home and mentioned it to him.

He blew up, accusing you of thinking he was cheating, that you didn’t trust him. Essentially just blaming you for this whole argument.

You didn’t retaliate, opting to get your side out another way. Because when he goes low, you go lower.

So when the rangers found themselves at UBS arena, you were wearing blue.

“He’s gonna kill you” Sydney laughed as she found you at the bar, looking at your jersey before catching the name and number on the back.

“Oh my god! He’s gonna really kill you!”

You laugh and do a twirl for her “Like?”

“What did he do?”

You giggled and explained the situation to her “Oh my god, what a dick! Also she has totally been making the eyes at Matt this week too I get where you’re coming from”

“Right?!” You say, holding onto her arm as you both laugh about the situation.

In the suite, Alexis found you and looked at your jersey with wide eyes “Oh he fucked up!”

“Very!” Syd adds from her seat in the front and you smile at her playfully before turning to Alexis

“Me and Mat had a fight and I’m giving him a taste of his own medicine”

“Oh girl don’t explain! I’m on your side!”

The game is rough, as per usual when these two teams meet during the season.

Mat’s never one to get involved in the fighting, typically just sitting and looking pretty which you liked because it meant you were never worried about him.

That was until the period break, Mat was pulled for yet another interview by her. In which she showed him a fab picture of you in your rangers jersey

“So Mat, we hear your girlfriend is repping the Rangers tonight or better yet repping another number thirteen?!”

He looks confused until she shows him the image, his eyes immediately filling with anger.

There you were standing at the bar, in his arena wearing your ex boyfriends jersey. The name Lafrenière where Barzal usually sits.

“Uh… I didn’t know” he laughs it off but anyone who knows him can see his mind running a million miles a minute.

As soon as the interview is done he’s having to go back out, no time to text you and tell you to take it off.

Instead he goes out on the ice like a raging bull.

You watch from your spot in the box as the puck drops and Mat heads strait for Alexis on the ice, taking him straight to the floor.

You gasp as they hit the ground and begin fighting.

It doesn’t last long, Mat being sent to the box straight after. You see his face on the jumbotron, his nose is bent the wrong way and there’s blood rolling down his cheek.

You don’t say anything else, simply curling into yourself and thinking about what you’d caused. It was meant to be harmless, just a way to get back at mat for what he’d said but now his nose was broken, you felt horrible and you’re sure Alexis was out for the rest of the game.

Mat always had a jealous streak in him, from day one. You met at an event where you were Alexis’ date, Mathew introduced himself to you and immediately fell.

He waited months, scrolling through your socials for the day you’d be single and when he finally heard you had broken up he grasped the opportunity but that didn’t stop the comments and his own insecurities getting to him about your relationship.

By the end of the game you’re not celebrating like the rest of the girls, you silently made your way down to wait for Mat.

When he comes out of the locker room sporting a wrapped nose you wince. He looks at your jersey and growls

“Take it off for fuck sake”

“I don’t have anything on underneath” you mumble, the sleeves now crumbled up into your palms as you clutch them anxiously.

He doesn’t respond just walking to the car, you begin walking behind him. There was no congratulations kiss, no conversation as you sat in the car silently as he drove back to your apartment in Manhattan.

Traffic was bad which didn’t help Mat’s mood.

You tried to turn on the radio but he muted it immediately.

It wasn’t until you got to sunnyside when Mat said

“I would never hurt you like this”

You turn to him, his eyes still on the road

“Mat I’m sorry… I was annoyed about the whole-“

“I told you there was nothing happening between us! You were the one convinced I was doing something”

“I know that! And I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine!”you shouted, angry he wasn’t listening.

“Giving me a taste of my own medicine? y/n he was your fiancé… do you think I don’t feel bad about that? That you were actually so in love with him you wanted to marry him at one point!”

You sunk into the seat of the Range Rover and mumbled “Yeah well now I see it was a stupid idea”

Arriving at your apartment, Mat waited for you to get out and you asked “Are you coming in?”

“I’m going back to Long Island. I think maybe we were a mistake”

Your heart dropped in your chest and you leaned back into the car “Mat I’m sorry ok! It was stupid and I’m so sorry-“

“I’ve told you how he makes me feel y/n and you threw it in my face, in public infront of everyone to see and you embarrassed me. I don’t think I want to go through life constantly worried about everything and feeling insecure”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks “Mat please… I’m so sorry baby it’s only you, I’ll take it off, I’ll stop with the games just please-“

“I love you, but I’ve got to protect myself first” he says, starting the car again and waiting for you to step away before he drives off back home.

Leaving you standing there watching the Range Rover leave, your heart going with it.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Cozy Secrets || Bucky Barnes

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N discovers her seemingly perfect roommate, Bucky, is a spy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

In the heart of the bustling city, Y/N  found herself looking for the perfect roommate. Her previous housemate had bid adieu after getting engaged, leaving Y/N in the lurch to find a suitable replacement.

After countless interviews, Y/N finally stumbled upon what seemed to be the answer to her roommate's quest – Bucky, a sports photographer with a penchant for cleanliness and a propensity for quiet nights.

His nocturnal work hours meshed well with Y/N's daytime routine, and his willingness to contribute to the apartment's upkeep made him the ideal housemate.

The first three months of their living arrangement went smoothly. He was always punctual with rent, impeccably tidy, and even willing to take on household chores without complaint – he was the roommate Y/N had always dreamed of.

However, something twisted happened one day when she returned home later than usual.

As she swung open the door, ready to unwind in her sanctuary, her eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

Her once-immaculate living space was now a chaotic mess, and right in the middle of the turmoil were two men engaged in a heated scuffle, with Bucky caught in the crossfire.

"Excuse me, what the heck is this?" Y/N exclaimed, her initial shock transforming into a mix of rage and confusion. The three combatants froze, turning their attention to Y/N.

The two men, realizing they were caught in the act, exchanged nervous glances but didn't utter a word. Bucky seized the opportunity for a strategic move in the split second of confusion.

With a swift motion, he expertly maneuvered between the brawlers and shut them down with a series of impeccably executed moves, leaving them in a stunned heap on the floor.

"Bucky, what in the world is happening here?" Y/N demanded, her eyes darting between the mess and her roommate, who was now defensive.

Bucky, seeing the need for a more honest approach, took a deep breath and decided to come clean. "Y/N, there's something you should know. I'm not just a sports photographer. I'm actually a spy."

Y/N stared at him, her initial anger giving way to sheer disbelief. "A spy? Are you serious, Bucky? Is this some sort of elaborate prank?"

Bucky shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I'm dead serious. I chose this apartment because it provides the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on a target across the building. Those guys you just saw? They were after the same target, and things got a bit out of hand."

Y/N blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Wait, so you're telling me that all this time, while I thought you were just a neat freak sports photographer, you've been living a double life as a spy?"

Looking genuinely remorseful, Bucky began, "Y/N, I'm really sorry about the mess. This wasn't supposed to happen, and I didn't mean to put you in this situation. It was a mistake, and I take full responsibility."

Y/N, arms still crossed, nodded. "Apologies won't fix my now-ruined living room, Bucky. This is unacceptable. I thought I finally found the perfect roommate, not a spy who turns my place into a battlefield."

Bucky, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded solemnly. "I understand, Y/N. My agency will cover the expenses for the repairs and replacements. I'll make sure everything is back to normal. You have my word."

True to his word, Bucky coordinated with his agency, ensuring a team was dispatched to clean up the aftermath of the brawl. Broken items were replaced with new ones, and the apartment was restored to its former glory.

A few days later, as Y/N surveyed the now spotless living room, Bucky approached her tentatively. "I hope this makes up for the mess, Y/N. I really didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Y/N, now feeling a bit more forgiving, sighed. "Fine, Bucky. You've cleaned up your mess, literally. But I still need time to get over the fact that my roommate is a spy who uses my apartment for covert operations."

Bucky hesitated, "Y/N, I hope you don't want me to move out. I really like it here."

As Y/N contemplated whether she should ask Bucky to find a new place, her phone buzzed with a notification about her upcoming high school reunion. The idea of attending filled her with dread.

"Ugh, a high school reunion," she muttered to herself.

Bucky, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. "Problem with the reunion?"

Y/N grimaced. "I despise those events.” She doesn’t want to meet the popular girl from her school who constantly bullies her. But this time, she wants to show off. She got an excellent job nice apartment. But there’s one she doesn’t have. 

A boyfriend. 

Y/N looked Bucky from head to toe and mumbled, “What if..." But this idea was insane; she shook her head. 

Bucky looked curious. "What if what?"

“Nothing.”

Bucky, understanding the high school dynamics, chuckled. "Ah, trying to one-up the mean girls from the past. So you need someone to accompany you? I'm in.”

Y/N fell silent for a moment, a realization slowly dawning on her. "You knew about my personal life?"

Bucky rubbed his head, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. He didn't deny it, saying, "Well, I'm a spy, and my agency does background checks on everyone."

Her hands now covering her face, Y/N sighed, "Oh no...."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "What do you think? With my spy skills, I bet I could impress everyone at the reunion. In exchange, please don't kick me out. Pleasee...."

Y/N grumbled, her frustration apparent. "Fine."

Bucky grinned, a mix of relief and amusement in his eyes. "Thanks Y/N. I swear you won’t regret this."

As they navigated the quirks of their unique living situation, little did they know that more surprises and adventures awaited them in the days ahead.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

[f1girliefics]

Too Far

Mick Schumacher x Reader

Summary: When dating him causes rage in some fans, they forget where the line is.

When the news of Mick and you dating came out, you expected the rumours, you were ready for the hate and the comments.

What you weren’t ready for is the crazy fans who decided to harass you in public.

It started off with small things.

When you went shopping, things were missing from your cart. Then people started to push you. You thought it was by mistake but then you realized, it was all a game to them.

Videos on TikTok started to go around, it was almost like a challenge to them.

Who could push you more?

Mick mentioned to you that it wasn’t okay and you didn’t have to deal with the harassment, but you brushed it off.

“Don’t worry, it will die down after a while. You know how people are, they will move on to the next thing.”

He knew you were right. 

But then, it got out of hand. So much so that you fell and got injured.

The video went viral before you could even get some help.

You were rushed to a hospital with a broken ankle and twisted wrist.

Your boyfriend called you, furious. 

“This has to stop!” he texted. “I’m on my way, almost there.” came another text, then. “I’m so sorry that this happened. I love you!” 

Before you could text back, the door opened and he came in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he saw the cast on your leg and the wrap on your arm.

“I’m good. The idiots pushed me on a slippery floor and as I fell my leg got stuck under the shelf and I fell on my wrist. How I can press charges?”

“I saw the video, Lando sent it to me. It’s going viral and the public opinion is with you. Everyone’s saying how that is just taking it too far and how they should be ashamed. Someone even found out the name of the girls and even after they took off the video, someone reported them.” he let out a long sigh. “I was so worried about you. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I agree, this has gone too far. Light pushing I can handle but breaking my leg… too much. Thank you.” you smiled at him and pulled him in for a short kiss before the doctor came and let you leave.

You arrived home and ate something while Mick was on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a post. I need to set the boundaries and I can’t just let this one go.”

“I understand and agree… just be… kinda nice.” you said as he nodded and continued typing.

‘My Dear Fans,

I’m sure many of you are aware of what happened today. I kept silent out of respect for my girlfriend, but I can no longer do so. 

She got seriously hurt today and I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen before.

I do appreciate all my fans but I think we all can agree that this is seriously not okay.

I decided to take a break from social media and spend my time with my girlfriend as now she will need someone to help her with tasks.

I hope we all can learn from this.’

You gave Mick a nod and he posted it.

He spent the entire day helping you with anything. He ordered food and even offered to help you eat.

“My other hand is just fine!”

“But I want to help.” he argued and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He wanted you to smile and laugh to forget everything that happened.

But later that night, while he was sleeping, your mind began to wonder.

All your insecurities and fears came to the surface. 

You knew you shouldn’t blame yourself. But you were angry that you let things get out of hand and it got to this point.

You were used to the interviewers, the inappropriate questions, and people shouting at you.

But this was a new low.

You were just happy to have Mick by your side.

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[its-avalon-08]

tell me why you're here (dc14)

anon you're a star! istg such good requests, thanks alot for reading <3

pairing - David Coulthard x ferrari!driver!reader

The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes and the thrumming tension of a championship fight. 2001, Monza. You, the undisputed Scuderia Ferrari Queen, and David Coulthard, your McLaren nemesis, stood on opposite sides of the grid, a simmering rivalry stretching back years reflected in your steely gazes.

There was something undeniable between you two, a spark that ignited on the racetrack and flickered in the post-race interviews, veiled in thinly veiled barbs and stolen glances. But the truth was, unspoken fears kept you both tethered to your teams. The scarlet of Ferrari was your armor, the prancing horse your symbol of unwavering loyalty. McLaren, for David, was a second family, and Mika Hakkinen, his teammate, a brother-in-arms. To break ranks, to chase something more, felt like a betrayal.

The lights flicked out, the grid a blur of red and silver as you surged forward. Every lap was a dance on a knife's edge, pushing the limits of the car and yourself. You battled wheel-to-wheel with David, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in your helmet. Then, disaster struck. Bottas, the Williams driver, misjudged a turn, clipping your rear wing. The world tilted on its axis as your Ferrari went airborne, a sickening weightlessness before a bone-jarring impact with the barriers.

The cockpit filled with dust and the acrid tang of burning rubber. Your head throbbed, vision blurry. Disoriented, you fumbled with the release lever, the silence deafening after the symphony of the engine. You stumbled out, shaken but miraculously unharmed. The red car, however, lay broken and unmoving, a testament to the violence of the crash.

David, having witnessed the horror unfold in his mirrors, felt a primal jolt of fear course through him. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a raw, visceral terror that left his palms slick with sweat. But he clenched his jaw, a silent apology lodged in his throat. McLaren needed this win, and Mika was hot on his heels. He couldn't afford to falter.

Fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a terror that left his palms slick with sweat.

He couldn't take his eyes off the dust cloud engulfing the spot where your car had disappeared. The championship fight with Michael was a distant thought, the roar of the crowd a dull thrum in his ears. His voice, when he finally spoke, was tight, a mask of professionalism barely containing the tremor of worry.

"Get me a status check on the red two," he barked into his radio, his gaze fixed on the dissipating smoke. "Accident at Lesmo. Looks bad."

"Copy that, David," his race engineer, Dave Masten, replied, his voice laced with concern. They both knew the dangers lurking on the high-speed corners of Monza.

David pressed his foot down further, the car a blur as he pushed for every last millisecond. He knew he couldn't afford to lose focus, not with Mika hot on his heels. But every corner, every bump, sent a fresh jolt of unease through him. Images of your crumpled car, of you… he pushed them down, burying them deep. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. Yet, with every passing lap, the worry gnawed at him, a relentless current beneath the surface.

"Any word on Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice clipped, betraying none of the turmoil within.

"Medical team's on the scene," Dave responded promptly. "We'll get you an update as soon as we have one."

David grunted, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He couldn't let this distract him. He had a race to win, for McLaren, for Mika, for himself. But a silent vow echoed in the confines of his helmet. He would see you, Y/N. He would get to you, somehow, the moment this damn race was over.

The race raged on, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in David's ears. He drove on autopilot, the image of your crumpled car seared into his mind. Finally, the checkered flag. A hollow victory, a McLaren 1-2. Relief washed over him, tinged with a gnawing worry.

As he climbed out of the car, the first person his eyes met was Michael, a grim expression etched on his face. "Y/N," he started, his voice tight, "they're taking her to the medical center."

David's heart lurched. All thoughts of the win, the championship, faded into insignificance. He didn't care about points or podiums. All he wanted was to be by your side, to see you safe. But duty, that ever-present burden, held him back. He could only nod curtly, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air, a promise he hoped he wouldn't break.

The post-race celebrations were a blur of forced smiles and hollow champagne toasts. David felt like a fraud, the gleaming trophy a cold reminder of a victory that felt hollow. He couldn't shake the image of your car, a mangled sculpture of red against the asphalt. The medical center visit had been a whirlwind – you were shaken, sore, but thankfully unharmed. Relief had washed over him, a tidal wave that left him weak at the knees.

But the relief was laced with a bitter aftertaste. He hadn't been able to see you. Team protocols, the swarming media, a suffocating sense of duty – all conspired to keep him at bay. Back at the McLaren motorhome, the silence was deafening. He showered, the hot water failing to wash away the lingering dread. Just then, a knock on the door startled him. It was Mika, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Mind if I intrude, mate?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

David sighed, gesturing for him to come in. "Fire away, Mika."

"Look," Mika began, his usual playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness, "I know what just happened out there scared the living daylights out of you."

David flinched. He hadn't spoken a word about his terror, yet Mika saw right through him.

"Don't worry, DC," Mika chuckled, "your secret's safe with me. But seriously, mate," he continued, his voice softening, "you looked like a ghost out there. You haven't been yourself since that crash."

David stared down at his hands, guilt twisting in his gut. "I just… I couldn't believe it. One minute she's pushing me hard, the next…" he trailed off, unable to voice the terrifying image that haunted him.

Mika placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of surprising tenderness from the usually stoic Finn. "You care about her, don't you?"

David met Mika's gaze, his own filled with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. "It's complicated, Mika. We're rivals."

Mika scoffed. "Rivals who can't seem to keep their eyes off each other. Come on, DC, we both know this dance you two have been doing is getting old. You think I haven't noticed the sparks flying whenever you're around her?"

David opened his mouth to protest, but Mika cut him off. "Look," he said, his voice firm, "life's too damn short for these games. You almost lost her today. Don't waste another minute wondering what could have been."

Mika's words hung in the air, a challenge and a dare. David looked into his teammate's eyes, seeing not just a competitor but a friend who understood. Maybe Mika was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding, to stop letting fear dictate his actions. He wouldn't let another day pass without knowing the truth, without letting you know how he truly felt.

A resolute expression settled on David's face. "Thanks, Mika," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "You're right. It's time."

The sterile white of the medical center walls had been a blur as the doctor droned on about rest and recovery. Back in the familiar confines of your driver's room at the Ferrari garage, however, the events of the day crashed down on you like a tidal wave. The mangled wreckage of your car, the searing pain that had mercifully subsided, the chilling realization of how close you'd come to...well, anything but a podium finish. You curled up on the small cot, exhaustion warring with a nagging anxiety. A soft knock at the door startled you.

Wiping the tears that had sprung to your eyes, you called out, your voice hoarse. "Yeah, come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sight that made your breath hitch. It was David, clad in his now-unfamiliar McLaren overalls, his face etched with a worry you wouldn't have believed possible just a few hours ago. Before you could even process his unexpected appearance, he was striding across the room, his expression uncharacteristically intense.

The next thing you knew, you were enveloped in a warm embrace. His arms, surprisingly strong, held you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. It was a gesture so foreign to the typically stoic David that you froze, unsure how to react. He'd never been one for displays of affection, not even in the fleeting, celebratory moments of a podium finish.

"David?" you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes holding a depth you'd never seen before. Concern, something akin to fear, flickered in their depths. "I heard you were back," he said, his voice rough. "I... I just needed to see you, to make sure you were alright."

You blinked, your mind racing. This wasn't the David you knew, the one cloaked in professional rivalry. This was a man stripped bare, his emotions laid raw on the surface. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a counterpoint to the lingering chill of fear.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice finding its strength. "Just a bit banged up." You reached out, hesitantly placing your hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through you, a familiar spark you'd long suppressed.

A wry smile tugged at your lips, the memory of countless post-race interviews flashing before your eyes. "You don't exactly strike me as the huggy type, DC," you teased, the playful jab a way to mask the fluttering in your stomach.

David's jaw clenched for a brief moment, a flicker of his usual competitive spirit igniting. But then, his grip on you tightened, surprising you with its intensity. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice husky, "accidents have a way of changing things." He buried his face in your hair, the familiar scent of Ferrari leather and adrenaline a strange comfort. "Don't push me away, Y/N. Not now." The words were a plea, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the composed facade he usually maintained. You felt a lump form in your throat. This wasn't just about the crash, you realized with a jolt. This was about something deeper, something unspoken that had simmered beneath the surface of your rivalry for far too long.

You let out a shaky breath, the playful facade crumbling under the weight of his unexpected vulnerability. "David," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "why are you really here?"

He held you tighter for a moment, his silence a thrumming tension in the air. Then, slowly, he pulled back, his blue eyes searching yours. "Because," he began, his voice low and husky, "the thought of you… of almost losing you… it scared the hell out of me."

Your heart hammered in your chest. This wasn't just about concern for a fellow competitor. This was something more, something you'd only dreamt of.

"Scared?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wry smile touched his lips, laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "Scared enough to break all the damn rules," he admitted, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Scared enough to realize that this stupid rivalry… it doesn't matter anymore. Not compared to you."

The dam inside you broke. All the unspoken feelings, the stolen glances across the podium, the simmering tension that had fueled your every race – it all came flooding out. "David," you breathed, your voice trembling, "I thought… I thought you never felt the same."

He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. "Always," he confessed, his voice a mere thread. "Always, but the timing… the teams… it never felt right."

A tear escaped your eye, tracing a warm path down your cheek. David leaned in, brushing it away with his thumb, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

David cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. He confessed, his voice a low rumble. "This whole time, this stupid rivalry… it was a shield. I was afraid to admit how I felt, afraid of what it would mean for our teams, for everything."

A bittersweet smile touched your lips. The fear you'd harbored for years, the fear of rejection, mirrored his own. "David," you said, your voice catching slightly, "I… I felt it too. The spark, the tension… I thought it was just competition."

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "It was always more, Y/N," he murmured, sending shivers down your spine. Then, his lips found yours in a hesitant kiss, a tentative exploration that quickly deepened with newfound urgency. The taste of adrenaline and relief mingled with something sweeter, a taste that promised a future neither of you dared to dream of.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. A soft laugh escaped his lips, tinged with disbelief. "Who knew a near-death experience would lead to this?" he whispered, peppering your face with gentle kisses, each one a silent apology, a promise.

The first kiss landed on your temple, a whisper-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second brushed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling. Then, a third, softer still, grazed the corner of your lips, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, your voice barely a whisper. "David," you breathed, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the firm line of his jaw.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against your chest. "Don't tempt me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His lips danced across your jaw, trailing a line of fire down your neck before finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips as he lingered there, sending delicious shivers radiating through you.

His kisses were a whirlwind, a mix of apology and exploration. Each one whispered a story – the fear he'd felt watching you crash, the relief of seeing you safe, the yearning he'd kept buried for so long. You surrendered to the feeling, letting out a soft sigh as your arms tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

The world outside your small driver's room faded away, replaced by the intoxicating rhythm of your heartbeats and the warmth of his touch. In that moment, there were no rivalries, no teams, no championships. There was only you and David, two souls bound by a love that had finally found its voice.

The tender scene unfolding in the driver's room was a stark contrast to the usual post-race chaos. A few doors down the hallway, Michael Schumacher and Corinna were winding down after a celebratory dinner with the rest of the Ferrari team. Michael, still buzzing from his podium finish, was regaling Corinna with an anecdote about a pit stop mishap. But his voice trailed off as his gaze drifted towards the window overlooking the driver's area.

"What's wrong, Schatz?" Corinna asked, following his line of sight.

A sly grin spread across Michael's face. "Looks like Mika owes me a hefty sum," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Corinna's eyes widened as she saw David, his McLaren helmet abandoned on a nearby chair, holding Y/N in a tight embrace. Her normally stoic teammate was peppering her face with kisses, a sight so unexpected it brought a smile to Corinna's lips.

"Aww, they're so happy," she murmured, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Michael chuckled again. "Remember that bet we made before the season started? Fifty bucks says those two wouldn't confess their feelings by Monaco."

Corinna rolled her eyes playfully. "Fifty bucks? You know you just wanted an excuse to see them squirm."

Michael shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little. But hey, at least they finally stopped dancing around each other."

Corinna couldn't help but agree. As she watched the tender scene unfold, a warmth bloomed in her chest. The rivalry between Ferrari and McLaren was fierce, but beneath the surface, there was a certain camaraderie, a respect for the talent and dedication of their competitors. And seeing Y/N and David find happiness, even amidst the high-octane world of Formula One, brought a smile to her face.

"Looks like Mika needs to pony up," Michael declared, reaching for his wallet with a triumphant grin.

Corinna swatted his hand away playfully. "Don't be a sore winner, Michael. Just be happy for them."

Michael feigned a hurt expression. "Fine, fine," he conceded, pulling her into a hug. "But you have to admit, this is a lot more interesting than that story about your dodgy pit stop crew."

Corinna laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway, a counterpoint to the soft murmur of confessions and the gentle rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync.

[yuurei20]

Interview with Twisted Wonderland Music Composer Ozawa Takumi from the Soundtrack:

Q: How were the individual tracks for the Overblot battles created? (pt1)

Ozawa: "There are no base phrases or sounds that are shared throughout every theme; instead, entirely different tracks were created based on each individual character. I took the unique anger and sadness each character must have felt according to how it was that they were driven to overbold, and expanded upon it."

‘Showdown in Heartslabyul’ (Disc2-10) was where Riddle, always so suppressed, explodes with the regret of everything that he was denied as a child. Rather than an eerie aura there is a rhythm sharply carving out its own way to portray his anger and sadness.

Leona's ‘Showdown in Savanaclaw’ (Disc2-17) was based on a lion running through the savanna. After creating the first version I also submitted another with more melancholy, as I felt the initial incarnation was possibly too bold and did not properly convey the depths of Leona's frustration and sorrow.

But the first version was highly praised and ultimately selected for the game. Leona's overblot is characterized more by anger than it is by sadness.

It inspires imagery of Leona charging valiantly ahead, despite his rage, which makes me feel that the initial version was indeed the right choice.

Azul's ‘Showdown in Octavinelle’ (Disc 2-21) has a jazziness that is reminiscent of the dorm's theme.

To represent writhing octopus tentacles I used arpeggios (broken chords played one note at a time) on the piano and I was surprised to later learn that arpeggios were also used to represent the sea in the original ‘The Little Mermaid.'"

[httpsdana]

Football

angst ☾

fluff ♡

hurt/comfort ✧

Pedri Gonzalez

Maybe I Am ♡

Mine ♡

Boys Night Out ☾ ♡

Issues ☾ ♡

Favorite Torres Sibling ♡

Only For Me ♡

Football Crush ♡

Stop That ☾ ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pablo Gavi

Rage and Jealousy ♡

Sunshine ♡

Pretty Boyfriend ♡

Soulmate ♡

Not Meant To Be ☾

Babysitter ♡

Lazy Mornings ♡

Coffe Date ♡

Scent ♡

Meeting the Fam ♡

Madridista ft. Carlos Sainz ♡

Softie ♡

Official ♡

Sleepless Nights ♡

Just Sugar ♡

Interview ♡

Insecure ✧

Broken Family Ties ✧

Shy and Shyer ♡

Period ♡

20 Gifts for 20th Birthday ♡

Busy Schedules ♡

My Smurf ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Mason Mount

Stream ♡

Fifa And Cuddles ♡

Knocked Out ✧

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

João Fèlix

Drunk Nights ♡

Another Loss ✧

Scared ♡

Stay ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Jude Bellingham

Secret ♡

Kidnapper ♡

Fans' Favorite ♡

Heartbeat ♡

Sal o Azúcar ? ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Marcus Rashford

My Own ♡

Teasing ♡

Drunk Confessions ♡

Photographer ♡

Commitment ☾ ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Lucas Paqueta

Baby ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Antony Santos

Unexpected ☾♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Hakim Ziyech

Our First ♡

First Ramadan ♡

Clingy ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Eric Garcia

Perfect ♡

Drunk In Love ♡

Flirt ♡

Bad Day ✧

Cleaning Time ♡

Idiot ♡

Loved ♡

Misunderstanding ☾ ♡

All-Nighter ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Ferran Torres

Favorite Medicine ♡

Cure ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kylian Mbappe

French ♡

The One ☾ ♡

Tickles ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Julian Alvarez

Champion ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Alejandro Balde

Braids ♡

Clingy ♡

Date ♡

Scared Of Replacement ☾ ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Rasmus Højlund

Crazy In Love ♡

Danish Love ♡

First Of Many ♡

Heartstrings Tangled ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Hector Fort

Tattoos ♡

Only Yours ♡

Morning Run ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Florian Wirtz

Birthday Cake ♡

Yapper ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Jamal Musiala

Cupid in Bali ☾ ♡

Family Dreams ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pau Cubarsi

Comfort ✧

Academic Rivals ♡

Hidden Feelings ☾ ♡

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Marc Bernal

3 Dogs and a Boyfriend ♡

[justheretolurk003]

A long post on why Daniel is more fascinating than Armand (according to Louis)

Got you. In fact I’m a bit torn on whether or not Daniel is that different from other people that he is extremely fascinating. I think he has a risqué attitude that a lot of the people at the bar share: that willingness and unapologetic desire to live life and enjoy pleasure at maximum. A bit like Lestat’s answer in S1, when Louis asks him why vampires are on Earth, and Lestat answers he himself put Louis on earth for the purpose of pleasure and do whatever they want.

But I don’t think a resemblance to Lestat is the whole reason Louis didn’t kill Daniel that night. While being broken down by Armand, Daniel admits that he is good at getting people to open up, a trait that is more uncommon but not so much. Still, I think Louis picks up on that, even at the bar when Daniel says he is good at looking for people in the cracks. That sparks Louis’ interest. A way Daniel shows he is good at listening is the way he does not judge Louis when he shows him his own coffin —instead he just asks how it works. When Louis shows him his fangs, Daniel is scared af at first, then asks him to show his fangs again later on. This creates an environment of comfort Louis uses to rage against Lestat and mourn for Claudia. Their interview is not an interview based on accuracy, it is an “emotional upchuck” which can only be had in an environment where there is some level of trust, comfort and a non-judgmental attitude. In 1973 Daniel is not so much an interviewer, but a therapist.

And still I don’t think that is the whole reason Daniel was not killed by Louis that night cause Daniel is also unapologetically himself. Unapologetically horny, unapologetically weird, unapologetically chill, unapologetically idiotic, cringey and with no sense of danger when he offers to become Louis’ companion. I think this trait along with the previously touched upon ones are the reason Jacob calls Daniel “cool”. Daniel is cool in the sense he is unpretending. A dude that is chill, observant, with an angle and you can have fun with.

And still, these are not incredibly fascinating traits that few people possess. In fact, I know plenty of people who share these traits and embody them even more than Daniel. On top of that, at that point in his life, Daniel hasn’t lived a fascinating life. He said it himself: just a shitty kid from Modesto. In fact, Armand has lived a ten times more fascinating life than Daniel (argue with me in the comments if you disagree, bitch) and Daniel is right when he says Armand is more fascinating cause for fucks sake, he can actually read minds! But again, the comfort they offer to Louis is radically different. And that is why Louis prefers the night he spent with Daniel than the decades alongside Armand. On one hand we have Daniel’s non judgmental, unassuming gaze compared to the snobbishness and high horse attitude of Armand. We have Daniel letting Louis be messy and vengeful and emotional, and Armand who is composed and impenetrable and we’ll-adjusted, the whole time.

And yes, I think Armand looks down on Louis because Armand is giving a performance of how to be a well put together, good adjusted person. Armand looks down on Louis for picking up men at bars, he looks down on him for being a mess and opening up to Daniel, you can say he looks down on him for committing suicide (though this coexist with the hurt and betrayal Armand feels at seeing his efforts, cause yes, Armand sees it as efforts, be thrown away by Louis).

Whoever Armand is with, he tries to appeal to his partner and create an environment in which nothing is out of order, nothing is evocative, in which everything is to their liking. In this case, the environment is plain because the goal is that there is not a single thing that triggers Louis. Armand justifies this by saying he does it for Louis’ sanity and comfort. And the epitome of this place is Dubai.

Louis is cut off from society, in a place where everything is tailored to him to never upset him or trigger him. And I genuinely think this is the way Armand knows how to pay for what he did in Paris and show his love for Louis. This blandness and willingness to appeal to the desires of the other (“Is it gremlin or good nurse tonight?”) is how Armand expresses love. And it is tragic that is how he does it. Because what is sex work if not appealing to the desires of other people? What is a slave if not someone who is forced to appeal and is exploited to the greed of other people? What is a master if not a person you have to satisfy in every of their wishes? Armand caters to desire. That is how the dozens of people that exploited him taught him how to relate to them, especially Marius. The only way Armand could love Marius was by serving him, cause that was the only way Marius made himself available.

The power of Louis and Armand’s roles as maître and Arun is that Armand performs as a slave when he is the master and Louis performs as the master when he is the slave. Armand is recreating his dynamic with Marius, it is just that this time Armand has the power to be the master. Instead of outright being one, he is covert.

As a side note, I don’t think Armand is taunting Lestat when he contacts him to talk to Louis. I think he has that call with him out of the goodness of his heart — perhaps, to show Louis how good he himself is— but mostly because the role Armand forces himself to play is so suffocating, so unfair, so fucked up, that when Lestat says I love you Armand can’t deal with the pain of having to repeat that back to Louis. He just can’t. It is a genuine vulnerable moment of Armand. Ideally, it would be a wake up call for him to stop playing this role, but the events in Paris have him stuck playing that part.

It is intentional that they show us Armand letting Lestat come and destroy the coven, because he is letting Daniel do the same thing: come destroy Dubai, come destroy the catering to desire, come destroy the constant acts of service. And I hope this time is for good. I hope Armand and Louis are free from this dynamic that eats away at them. The space Armand holds for Louis to process his emotions hurts both Armand and Louis. Armand, hurt by always having to work relentlessly and never sit down with the truth according to Assad, which I argue is a lifestyle he inherited from his past as a slave. Louis, hurt by not having a non-judgmental space to cope, process and grieve as a victim of abuse, perpetuator of abuse, and the betrayal he committed against Claudia.

The reason Daniel comes across as fascinating to Louis is because Louis was begging for a listening ear, for somebody to care about his story, and Daniel has good the traits to listen to Louis and met him at the right time.

Sadly, centuries of trauma prevent Armand from being who Daniel is.

(Also didn’t Claudia say to Madeleine that there was something broken in her and Madeleine told her sometimes people go boom and then fine and then boom? To me, Louis in the 70’s embodies this so much).

Gif by @unicornspwnall

[my-coven-is-claudia]

the way daniel starts off as only a symbol to louis. a symbol of the resilience of his and armand’s companionship. a symbol of his long lost humanity that he so desperately desires. a symbol of being understood. daniel asks louis why him and louis responds with because you were there. they both enter that apartment in 70s san francisco searching for something to satiate their desires: daniel with a drug-addled mind looking to satisfy his addiction and louis eager for someone to release his pent-up rage at. it’s surface level. impersonal. but they both come out of this hellish experience with each other’s faces burned into their minds, both trailing after an echo of one another for the rest of their lives. louis’s final words of comfort to daniel following him and urging him through life, remembering every word and memorialising it in his memoir. louis tracking daniel’s life and career, watching him age and live a life that he can never have. a life that mirrors his own. two broken marriages and daughters that are estranged from him. they set out to complete an interview cut short by boyish immaturity and childishness. but they’re still two confused men talking in a room, so what’s really changed

[umanari]

yan! sunday x reader - long walk home

summary: this isn't a one-shot, more of a scenario. reader here is sunday's spouse and is dealing with everything after what happened in the end of penacony.

c/w: sunday is stated to be controlling, manipulation, the whole yandere shebang. also using that one theory that sunday might become a stellaron hunter, but it's mostly implied here. feel free to tell me what tags are needed, because i am horrible with tags.

Sunday is missing. He had been missing ever since the Astral Express crew had beaten him.

You react to this with indifference, mostly. Of course, you put on a show in public- because you have to. Robin finds comfort in you, over some idea of shared grief- you wonder, once, where she had gotten the impression. But you wave it away. Robin cries into your shoulder, and you know better than to hurt her when she's down.

Everything remains the same. Sunday had not been the greatest love of your life- which he had always lamented. You were his love- so, in truth, you move on fairly quickly. But you don't seek anyone new- because there is no point, and the cameras watch your every move. So you settle. You stay in that suffocating mansion of his, and act like a grieving spouse. This role does not suit you, but you can just about make anything work for you nowadays.

Sunday hadn't been a terrible husband. Controlling, yes, possessive, too- but he was not particularly unkind. He loved you. As much love as the man can give, in any case. You had once come to the conclusion that he did love you, yes- but it was out of some desire of control. You had loved him once, perhaps. That love had been out of fear, though, you amend. Terrified. But you had grown used to him.

The new status quo for you is relatively simple. You attend interviews, and you lament- tearfully, of course- on what the wrongs your husband had committed. You say you miss him. It is not true, but you must make it seem that way.

This is your life. You prefer it, if for the calm silence broken up by the occasional interview or phone call.

And then Sunday appears again, and everything is thrown into disarray.

----

"Why are you back," you state. It is not a question. You do not look at him with any sort of affection. In fact, you seem close to rolling your eyes.

Sunday sighs. "I am allowed to visit my partner."

"Aren't you in jail," you respond instead, "well," you pause. "Supposed to be, in any case?"

Sunday waves you off. He does this normally, and you have grown used to it. When he does not respond, you take it as a yes.

"I was," he finally states. "But I have been.. shown an different path. One free from both Ena and Xipe."

"What does that have to do with me," you counter. You inch away from him. He looks different. You finally notice the little imperfections about his outfit, and wonder briefly why he hasn't gone into a rage about it yet.

Sunday does not notice your gaze. Rather, he does notice- but he pays it no heed.

"I would like for you to come with me."

You pause. You purse your lips.

"No," you reply. "No. Wouldn't it be best for you to shed any remnants of your old identity, if you really did escape from jail or whatnot?"

"You make sense," Sunday states. "I have always liked that about you. You are logical- but kind."

He walks closer. You slink away. His halo flutters, and you realize something. He will do this regardless. He has always done what he wants, regardless. He loves you, therefore, he needs to control you.

He is finally close enough to touch you. And your barrier cracks, and you shiver and you want to cry. You hate this man, you bitterly think, you hate him. He takes and he gives and in recompense for everything, you were his little stress toy.

"Come now," he croons out, fixing a strand of your hair, "we shall leave Penacony together. While the perfect dream did not work out, we will always have each other."

In a way, it is romantic. In another universe, perhaps. But here you shiver. You recoil. He only grabs you tighter, and it is here- it is here, when you finally do cry for something.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69