#comfort characters in a car

[minijenn]

Something something comfort characters something something sassy brown haired blorbos something something give me five more of these blonde bitches something something

[elutrosop]

[wasyago]

on a lunch break

[conspicuous-clown-car]

these three fuckers on their way to be a part of my fantasies that help me fall asleep every night

[patricks-hockstetters-lighter]

COMFORT CHARACTER CAR

im all sorts of messed up

[steviesbicrisis]

💫 Steve Harrington's House 💫

So, after this post, I couldn't let go of this house. I decided to rebuild it in The Sims and then I had so much info I felt the need to share it. Other than commenting on some crazy aspects of this mansion, I think it can give some input/ideas for possible scenarios in fanfiction! (for one, I'd like to know what Eddie thinks about half of the features of this house lmao). My process was: canon information > actual house information > gaps I filled the best I could Disclaimer: keep on describing Steve's house however you want to!! I'm sharing this in case you wanna be as close to the actual house as possible!

Listings: Zillow | Trulia | Homemetry

Credits: Sticky notes by rawpixel.com | Washi tapes by rawpixel.com | background paper by starline all on Freepik

[bisexualmcqueen]

been trying to get the cars groove back have a sketch dump

[fidgetspringer-art]

'I hold on to that and I think of the Volvo covered in algae and moss, and I wonder if this was the last thing it experienced before it became a haunt'

From Mil-Liminal, the podcast by @raptorjules

[froggityboingerrrr]

Bro this car is full of yappers!!! How silly!!! Also I think I’m cursed with the trait of not being able to draw Donnie well 🙁

Also here’s each character in this goofy car if you were curious

[toxictigertonic]

They're mad because Bob's the only one with a license

[snakes-writing-corner]

Recently been obsessed with Undertale Yellow, and I am very much in love with a certain star cowboy. Long story short I need to get this idea out of my head before I forget.

Hear me out.

North Star x Bandit Reader

————————

You heard about this little town growing in popularity in the Wild East. A little place in the Dunes where monsters can get a taste of the surface, with some interesting characters to make the area more appealing.

The main attraction, of course, being “The Feisty Five” as they call themselves. Just a group of human-interested friends wanting to have a little fun, and bring hope to the other monsters trapped in this hellhole.

The Feisty Five are indeed… an interesting group. Not particularly threatening, but a good group to hang around with if you’re looking to have some fun. Most you’d have to look out for is Mooch, who ironically, has a nasty stealing habit.

Oh but what caught your eye the most? The self-proclaimed sheriff of the Wild East.

“North Star” is the name he goes by, and boy is he quite the charmer!

Initially you came by the Wild East looking for a bit of excitement. A place where you could have a bit of fun and mess with the residents before moving along to the next unfortunate destination.

Oh but this? This was a lot more fun than you ever thought it would be!

The Feisty Five despite being the “protectors” of this town were, quite frankly, terrible at the protecting part. Just a gaggle of monsters living out some sort of human-based fantasy.

Unfortunately for them, you had a streak of causing trouble wherever you went, and to this day you’d never been caught for it.

Living in the underground got… boring after a while. Everyone living in a zombie-like state of hopelessness and despair was a bit too… depressing for your taste.

Call it morally wrong, but you wanted monsters to feel, well, anything! So you resorted to becoming a… well North Star would call it a “bandit” if he knew.

During what monsters considered night-time, you’d don on your trusty cloak and mask and cause a bit of mischief. Breaking and entering, stealing, blowing things up, occasionally scaring any poor monster who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? All were fair game to you!

You weren’t a completely terrible monster however! Any damages caused would end with the owner of the property mysteriously ending up with the gold to fix it, and stolen items would always be returned by the next night. It was simply just to stir up a bit of chaos and have some fun! That and it got monsters feeling something other than hopelessness!

Which leads us to the situation at hand.

You started living in the Wild East for a little while. A few months at least, getting time to know the locals so when the chaos ensued… well you wouldn’t necessarily get blamed if the town trusted you right?

In that time you grew a bond with the Feisty Five. Honestly who wouldn’t! They all had their quirks that made them fun to be around!

Ed despite being the muscle of the group had a heart of gold, and was very fun to mess around with. You still remember his face when you snuck that little fizzy tablet into his drink, and it exploded all over his face. His reaction was priceless!

Moray was always a chill monster to be around. You enjoyed how you two seemed to be able to talk about anything, and admired their skills with a sword. Truthfully, you had a bit too much respect for them to pull a prank… yet.

Ace was a mysterious fellow, the most quiet out of the four for sure. You two never talked much, but you quite enjoyed the card game he used to offer you. Keyword on “used to”, he stopped doing that after you won one too many times. You got revenge about a month after that with an unfortunate loose floorboard in the saloon.

Mooch was a lot like you actually, mischievous and a pretty good thief at that! You quite like her and can’t wait for the day you can steal all the gold she’s taken from you back. Friendly competition and all that, but stealing it now would blow your cover so you wait. In the meantime some harmless pranks from time to time that can’t be traced back to you will do.

Oh and now for your favorite member of this rag-tag gang, the sheriff himself! North Star was definitely a fun guy to be around! Matched your dramatic flair almost too well honestly! His hero act was always one you enjoyed feeding into, especially considering what you had planned.

Oh right! That little plan of yours is exactly why you’ve stuck around the Wild East for so long!

You see, North Star wanted to play the dashing hero, but you can’t be a hero without a worthy adversary to face can you?

Sure the town had Vengeful Virgil, but honestly? He’s not a threat at all! There’s no stakes or genuine mystery with him! And quite frankly you’ve started to hate the staged performances.

No twists or turns? No drama or unplanned hang-ups? No no no! That won’t do for your new favorite group of monsters! I mean you’re hiding right under their gazes in plain sight! A well trained “bandit” who’s actually willing to cause actual chaos around here!

Which led to where you’re currently stationed. Mask and cloak obscuring your true identity within the night, you press a simple little button.

*BOOM*

You smirked from your position on top of the saloon. You see earlier you had planted some little explosives around town. Not in any spots that would hurt someone, but enough to give everyone in town a scare.

You chuckled as you heard screaming and panic envelop the town. Monsters like many times before running around terrified like mice. It was always fun to watch!

A shout rang out above the others however.

“Alright settle down everyone!”

Ah there he was… North Star.

You climbed down the roof of the saloon as you quietly hid behind it and watched.

The Feisty Four we’re running around under North Star’s orders, checking to see if any damage or harm had been done, while North Star tried to calm down the increasing crowd of monsters in a panic.

You watched a little longer.

Then North Star looked up at you.

Oh this was going to be fun.

“Stop where you are!” North Star shouted.

You smiled under the mask and made a run for it, the sheriff hot on your heels trying to get you to stop.

Oh but sheriff, the chase is half the fun no?

You continued to run, but quickly dug your heels to the ground and stopped to face your pursuer.

North Star managed to stop fairly quickly in return, and you two were suddenly at the end of a cliff in a stare down.

The sheriff lifted his gun and took aim.

You tilted your head in return, purposefully deepening your voice like you’ve done so many times before.

“Aw did the sheriff not like my welcoming gift?”

North Star glared. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you made a mistake coming into this town,”

“Bandit.” He spat with venom in his voice.

You chuckled, as you took a step closer.

“Oh but North Star,”

The sheriff’s gaze grew more sharp the more steps you took forward, you stopped mere inches away from him and the barrel of his gun.

“I don’t think I did.”

North Star fired.

No bullet came out of the barrel, a result of the tampering you did earlier to prepare for this moment.

You took the opportunity to rush forward and grab the taller monster by his bandana, and seize the wrist holding the gun in his mere moments of shock.

You stood there locked in place for a few seconds. Tilting your head to the side, you watched as the sheriff seemed to be caught between emotions of his facade and what lay underneath. After all, you can always break an actor if you try hard enough.

You chuckled and broke the silence between the two of you.

“What-” North Star started, but you cut him off.

“Tell me sheriff,” You tighten your grip on his wrist. “What do you think I want hm?”

You leaned closer towards his face.

“Money? Recognition? To simply hurt others?”

North Star stiffened.

“No.” You loosened the grip on his wrist.

“You and I both are not so different ya know?” You continued. “We’re both acting to bring some life into this hell of a place.”

You let go of him completely and take a few steps back.

“We just do it for our own personal reasons right?”

North Star glared you down.

“I’m nothing like you.” He spat.

You shrugged in response.

“Maybe not, sheriff.”

You back closer to the edge of the cliff.

“But…”

You stop right at the edge as North Star aims his gun at you yet again.

“You’ve always wanted to play hero right?” You ask.

North Star continues to glare you down. “I don’t want to hear it, bandit.”

“This is your last warning.” He whips out his lasso in his free hand. “Surrender now.”

You smirk, purposefully ignoring him.

“Well sheriff. You have your villain.”

You step off of the cliff as you see the lasso at the edge of your vision.

————————

Where?

Starlo ran over to the cliff-edge, kneeling down to look over the edge.

Where did they?

He frantically looked for the bandit, but they were gone without a trance.

Starlo huffed in annoyance, too many thoughts running through his head.

Would they actually kill someone?

Why was this monster so intent on this?

He never wanted this! This was just supposed to be for fun! He didn’t want to endanger anyone!

Starlo started internally panicking. The thought of- of this monster hurting anyone here. Would they do it? They wouldn’t right? They talked about acting so surely they wouldn’t-

The sound of paper caught his attention.

He looked down on saw a piece of paper tucked neatly into his bandana.

When did they have time to put that there?

With trembling hands he opened it.

“Howdy North Star,

Glad we finally got to meet face to face. I’ve been dying to see your reaction to when I finally make a move.

But don’t worry, I won’t hurt anyone. At least not yet.

You see I’m a bit of an actor myself, and any good actor should know you can’t have a hero without a proper villain.

So I’ll give you a warning. A heads up if you will.

I won’t hurt anyone in any truly damaging way. Unless things get boring that is, but I highly doubt that’ll happen with how entertaining you and your crew are.

I think this town needs a bit of chaos. And lucky me that you just so happened to imply you wanted a challenge when I showed up!

So tell you what. Let’s have some fun with a little game of cat and mouse. I’ll cause some trouble and you can play the charming hero as always. Besides I’m sure even you’ve grown tired of the same boring routine every day.

See if you can be the first to actually catch me sheriff. I’ll be waiting to see if you can pull it off. :)

-With hope for future fun encounters, Anarchy”

Starlo stared at the letter for much longer than he should have.

Well…

If this bandit wanted to mess around with his town?

They’ll have sure as hell a tough time doing so from now on.

[scrollonso]

You Did This — Isacksteban

The pre-race atmosphere at Yas Marina Circuit was electric. Mechanics swarmed around the cars, last-minute adjustments being made under the watchful eyes of engineers. The scent of burning rubber mingled with the desert breeze, and the roar of fans created a symphony of anticipation. Amidst the chaos, Isack found a moment of quiet with Esteban in the Haas hospitality area.

Isack leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, watching Esteban as he zipped up his race suit. "You know, this whole 'final race of the season' thing is overrated," Isack joked, trying to mask his nervous energy. "Let’s just skip it and head straight to planning our wedding."

Esteban chuckled, his familiar, easy smile lighting up his face. He crossed the room and gently tugged at the hem of Isack’s fireproof undershirt. "Oh, really? And let all these fans down? Besides, you’ve got a championship position to fight for, mon amour."

"Yeah, yeah," Isack muttered, rolling his eyes playfully. But his expression softened as he reached out to straighten Esteban’s collar. "I just want us to both get through this race in one piece. I’ve been thinking about us all week. Summer break can’t come soon enough."

Esteban stepped closer, resting his forehead against Isack’s. "It’s the last race, Isack. Just one more, and then it’s the off-season — time for us." His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with warmth. "Time to start the rest of our lives together."

The call to the starting grid came over the radio, cutting into their moment. Esteban sighed and stepped back, adjusting his gloves. "Duty calls."

"Wait," Isack said, grabbing his wrist. "Before you go..."

Esteban turned, his expression softening further. Without hesitation, he cupped Isack’s face and kissed him deeply, a brief yet tender moment of connection amidst the frenzy of race day. When they pulled apart, Esteban’s gaze lingered, filled with unspoken promises.

"Stay safe out there," Isack murmured.

"You too," Esteban replied, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the same underlying worry. "I’ll see you at the finish line, hm?"

With a final smile, Esteban jogged toward the Haas garage, blending into the flurry of team personnel. Isack stood still for a moment, watching him go, his heart both heavy and full. He couldn’t shake the feeling that today held something significant — though he didn’t know whether it would be joy or heartbreak.

Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the VCARB garage, ready to face whatever the race had in store.

The Yas Marina Circuit hummed with the energy of the season finale. Esteban and Isack were both locked in their own battles on the track, yet their thoughts seemed intertwined, each mindful of the other amidst the chaos of the race. Esteban, piloting his Haas, had been performing admirably, holding his own despite being in a midfield car. Isack, on the other hand, had spent the season proving that his rookie status belied his raw talent. His team was far more competitive than the year before, and he was on track to finish third in the championship if he could just finish above Charles in his Ferrari.

From the start, the race had been a test of endurance and skill. Esteban found himself defending his position lap after lap, his car dancing on the edge of control as he fought off challenges from more powerful machines. His radio crackled with updates, his engineer urging him to push harder.

“Esteban, keep the line. He’s closing in.”

“Got it,” Esteban replied, his voice calm despite the storm around him. He knew Isack was just a few places ahead, fighting his own battle. A flicker of pride warmed his chest. They’d always supported each other, no matter the rivalries.

Isack, meanwhile, was in his zone, threading his car through the tight corners and long straights with precision. But every so often, his thoughts wandered. Where’s Esteban? Is he okay? He checked his mirrors instinctively, hoping for a glimpse of the familiar black-and-white Haas livery.

By Lap 45, tensions were rising. Esteban’s tires were degrading, and his grip was starting to falter. He radioed his team. “Rear tires are gone. Can I pit?”

“Negative,” came the reply. “We need you to hold your position for two more laps.”

Esteban gritted his teeth, fuck. “Copy.”

Behind him, another driver closed in, his car looming large in Esteban’s mirrors. Esteban defended aggressively, shutting the door as they approached Turn 3. It was a risky move, but he had no choice. A driver he couldn't quite identify attempted to overtake, forcing Esteban to brake harder than he’d anticipated.

And then it happened.

The rear of Esteban’s car snapped out violently as he exited the turn, the worn tires losing all grip in an instant. The back end kicked wide, and before he could react, the car was careening across the track. He tried to overcorrect, but it was a futile effort. The car spun uncontrollably, a streak of bright red and black, before slamming side-on into the barriers at catastrophic speed.

The sound of the impact was deafening �� an ear-splitting crunch of carbon fiber and metal, a sickening, almost wet crack that seemed to echo across the circuit. The front of the car caved in, the chassis folding like paper as debris exploded in every direction. The barriers crumpled under the force, shards of broken carbon flying into the air, some striking the track like shrapnel, some scattering over the crowd. The marshals scrambled into action, waving yellow flags at first, but that quickly turned into a sea of red as they realized the horrifying extent of the crash.

In the cockpit, Esteban's vision blurred, his world spinning uncontrollably. His body was jolted violently, every bone in his body screaming in agony. The pain was unbearable, a surge of fire coursing through his limbs as his head snapped forward, hitting the steering wheel with sickening force. For a split second, it was like everything froze. But then, the crushing silence was replaced by the horrible hiss of air rushing out of punctured tires and fluids leaking from the car. His body was a wreck; everything was a blur of blood, mangled metal, and suffocating chaos.

The world went dark.

Isack, trailing closely behind, had a front-row seat to the horror unfolding in front of him. His mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Esteban’s car was a twisted, smoking heap, the barriers almost entirely destroyed by the force of the impact. Time seemed to slow down, and his chest tightened as he watched, helpless, as Esteban’s body slumped in the cockpit, motionless. His breath caught, a panic rising in his throat.

“Red flag!” The team radio crackled in his ears, breaking his trance. “Isack, return to the pits! To the pits, now!”

But his eyes stayed fixed on the wreckage, on the crumpled car that had once been his fiancé’s. His heart pounded as he tore his gaze from the scene, trying to pull himself together. “Is he okay?” His voice broke, barely a whisper as he demanded answers. His mind was racing, his whole body trembling with fear.

“Medical team is on the scene, Isack,” his engineer’s voice was calm but strained, as though even he couldn’t fully process what had just happened. “We need you to focus. Get back to the garage. We’ll update you.”

Isack’s hands shook violently as he navigated his car back to the pits, his heart thundering in his chest. Esteban — the man he loved — was out there, bleeding, broken, and he had to retreat to the safety of the garage, his race forgotten, his own future fading in comparison to the nightmare unfolding. The rest of the world, the championship, the race — they all seemed irrelevant.

The medical team had arrived swiftly, but even from a distance, Isack could see the devastation. They were pulling Esteban from the wreckage with brutal urgency, his body unmoving, his head lolling. His limbs were contorted at unnatural angles, and the blood that was pooling around him painted the track with a horrifying clarity. Every movement of the medics seemed painstakingly slow, as though they feared the worst but had to keep trying. Esteban’s body was a ruin — unrecognizable from the person Isack had kissed goodbye only a short hour earlier.

An ambulance was already waiting to take him, the doors slamming shut as they rushed him away, leaving Isack in a state of utter disbelief.

Isack couldn’t stay in the garage. He couldn’t bear to stay behind while Esteban was alone, suffering, so far from him. His rookie season, his hopes of finishing third — none of that mattered. He tossed the helmet aside, ignored the calls from his team as they begged him to stay put. None of it mattered. He was going to be with Esteban. That was all.

Ignoring the protests, Isack sprinted out of the garage, his mind a blur, his breath ragged. The hospital felt a world away, but the longer he stayed on his feet, the more he realized he wasn’t ready for what awaited him.

At the hospital, the sterile walls felt suffocating as Isack waited for news. Lance was quick to join him — though no one else followed suit. Not even the very driver who caused the disaster. Not even members of the team that told him to stay out despite the dangerous conditions.

Hours dragged on, each passing minute stretching endlessly, intensifying the storm of fear and helplessness that consumed Isack. His mind couldn't escape the image of Esteban’s car, a twisted, mangled wreck, crashing violently into the barriers. The sound of the impact still echoed in his ears, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had happened in slow motion, the fleeting moment of terror replaying endlessly in his mind. Lance, though equally shattered, tried to comfort him, offering shaky words and a hand that trembled as their fingers interlocked. They sat together in the sterile, emotionless waiting room, caught in a state of limbo, waiting for the doctor to walk through the door and say the words they desperately wanted to hear — everything is going to be fine.

But when the doors finally opened, the words that met them were not the ones they’d prayed for. The doctors’ faces were grave, their eyes filled with a sorrow that hit harder than any impact on the track. "Esteban is alive," the lead doctor began, his voice heavy with the weight of the news. "But his condition is critical. Multiple fractures... internal injuries... We’re doing everything we can, but his survival is uncertain. It’s a matter of hours now."

The world seemed to collapse around Isack, his knees weakening beneath him as the doctor’s words settled in his chest like a lead weight. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what he was hearing. Esteban, the love of his life, his fiancé — the man he was supposed to marry in just a few months — was fighting for his life, and there was nothing he could do.

The motorsport world, in a rare moment of unity, flooded the hospital with messages of support, prayers for Esteban’s recovery. But for Isack, the world outside these walls had lost its meaning. He was no longer part of that world — he was tethered to Esteban, clinging to his side, desperate for some sign that the man he loved would return to him.

As the hours ticked by, Isack remained at Esteban’s bedside, his fingers never leaving Esteban’s, his heart aching with each shallow breath Esteban took. He ran his thumb gently over Esteban’s bruised knuckles, as though trying to reassure him, trying to bring him back. His thoughts raced through the life they’d planned, the dreams they’d shared. He thought of the wedding, the quiet moments they'd promised to steal away together after the season ended. It all seemed so far away now — like another life, one that would never come to pass.

He leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper as tears welled in his eyes. "You have to fight," he murmured, his words raw, trembling. "We’ve got too much left to do. You promised me you’d be there, Este. You promised me we’d get married after this, after everything we’ve been through. Please... Fuck, please don’t leave me, mon amour."

But as the first light of dawn crept through the hospital window, casting a faint, fragile glow over the room, Isack knew. He knew it was over. The doctors had warned him, and the signs were becoming too clear. Esteban’s body, once so full of life, was weakening, slipping further away with every passing second. His grip on Isack’s hand, once firm and reassuring, had become limp, unresponsive. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse — barely detectable.

Isack could feel the life draining from the man he loved, could see it in the way Esteban’s face had become pale and drawn, his body broken and battered beyond repair. He couldn’t hold on any longer.

As the machines around them hummed and beeped in rhythmic monotony, Isack pressed his forehead gently against Esteban’s, his tears falling freely now, mixing with the cold, sterile air of the room. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll always love you."

But it was too late.

With a final, shallow breath, Esteban’s heart slowed, then stilled entirely. The beeping of the machines, once steady, faltered and faded, marking the end of the fight that had been too much for his body to bear.

Isack sat there, his fingers still curled tightly around Esteban’s, but it felt like the warmth was already fading, leaving only an icy void. The machines that once kept him tethered to his love now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. His chest heaved, not with sobs, but with a growing fury, an anger so raw and vicious that it burned through him like fire. His body was rigid with the shock, but his mind was alive with a storm of violent emotions — rage, grief, helplessness, and betrayal.

Esteban was gone. Gone. The life they’d dreamed of, the wedding, the future — it was all ripped away in an instant. And the one thing that remained was the crushing weight of rage. Isack couldn’t sit here any longer. He couldn’t look at the empty shell of the man he had promised to spend forever with. His heart was breaking, but in its place, fury grew. He didn’t care about the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t care that his body was shaking with the force of the grief and the anguish that had taken over.

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the room. His steps were erratic, his breath shallow, his heart pounding like a war drum. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew one thing — he needed to find the driver who had caused this. He needed to make them feel the same devastation, the same loss, the same gut-wrenching pain.

The pit of rage inside him led him through the halls of the hospital, ignoring the calls from his team, the concerned looks from medical staff. He didn’t hear any of it. His mind was consumed with the face of the driver, the one who had put his Esteban in the hospital, who had ripped his future from him in a violent flash of metal and speed. That driver was the reason Esteban was gone. That driver was the one responsible.

Isack pushed through the paddock in a haze, his eyes blurred by tears and rage, his hands trembling violently. He could hardly breathe, his chest tight with the weight of grief and fury that surged through his veins. The pit crew and engineers moved out of his way without a second thought, either too busy or too afraid to stop him. He didn’t see them. He didn’t see anyone. His only focus was finding the driver — the one responsible for taking Esteban away from him. The one who had destroyed his world.

Finally, his eyes locked onto the figure. The driver. It didn’t even matter who he was anymore — Max Verstappen, a champion of the sport, a man who was revered by millions. In that moment, all Isack saw was the person who had caused the crash. His mind, clouded with rage, barely registered the driver’s face or his name. It was just him. The one who had taken everything. His Esteban.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Isack surged forward, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as he reached the man. His hands grabbed the front of Verstappen’s fireproof suit, yanking him toward him with a force that made the other man stumble. Isack’s eyes were wild, his chest heaving, as he shook him violently, his voice ripping through the air like a guttural scream.

“You killed him!” Isack’s voice was raw, cracking with the intensity of his grief. His hands trembled, his body shaking from the force of his emotions. “You took him away from me!”

Max tried to push him off, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. He stammered, struggling to break free. “Isack— let go— what are you—?”

But Isack didn’t hear him. He didn’t care. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of Max’s suit as he shook him again, his body trembling with rage and sorrow. “He was my life!” Isack shouted, his voice breaking as the words tore out of him. “He was everything to me! And you— you killed him! You fucking destroyed everything, Max!”

Max’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in disbelief, but Isack wasn’t finished. The pain and anger welled up inside him, forcing his next words out in a scream. “You’re a killer! You did this! You—” He choked on the words, his throat raw, his breath hitching as the sobs came violently, tearing through his body, but they didn’t stop him. “You took him from me! He was mine! You had no fucking right, you know that? Do you have any idea what you just did to me? To Lance? To someones fucking family?”

With a roar of frustration, Isack shoved Max away, the force of his hands sending the driver stumbling backward. Max fell to the ground, landing hard on his knees, his hands bracing against the tarmac. The impact barely registered in Isack’s mind. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that Max was on the ground. He didn’t care about the growing circle of onlookers, the whispers and gasps of shock from the crew members. All that mattered was that Esteban was gone — and this was the man who had caused it.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any fucking remorse?! Guilt!?” Isack’s voice cracked, his fists clenching at his sides as he stood over Max, trembling with fury. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. “I’ll never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never feel his arms around me again. You took that from me!” The words were strangled, choked out by grief and the weight of a world that had just fallen apart. He bent down, leaning over Max, his voice dropping to a guttural whisper. “You killed him. You took my everything.”

Max, still on the ground, shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “Isack… I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… Please…”

Isack’s chest tightened, his head spinning. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear excuses. He didn’t care if it had been an accident, if it had been a mistake. All he knew was that Esteban was gone — and Max was standing there, alive and whole with a girlfriend and new child, while his fiancé was in a hospital bed, growing cold, shattered beyond recognition.

Tears were streaming down Isack’s face now, mixing with the sweat and the anger that still burned inside him. His hands were shaking, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotions. “Why?!” Isack screamed, his voice cracking as he collapsed to his knees, his face pressed against the cold tarmac, the world spinning around him. “Why him? Why did it have to be him?”

Max recoiled, his face twisted with guilt and confusion, his voice shaky as he tried to apologize, to explain. “I never wanted this, Isack. I’m sorry. I… I never meant for this to happen.”

But Isack could barely hear him over the roar of his own grief. His mind was a whirlwind, his heart shattering all over again. He clutched the ground, his hands scraping against the asphalt as he sobbed uncontrollably. “Why him?” The question echoed, unanswered, in the empty space between them. The crowd around them was silent now, but the tension was thick. The moment was a raw wound, an open scar that bled emotion and destruction.

Suddenly, a few of the team members from Max’s side moved toward them, trying to separate them, but Isack wasn’t ready to let go. He slapped one of them away, his body trembling violently as he screamed at Max, the words coming out in a disjointed, painful mess. “You took him from me! You— you— Max, you are the reason he’s gone!”

People were starting to pull Isack back now, trying to hold him, to get him away from Max. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Esteban was gone. And Isack didn’t know how to keep breathing without him.

Suddenly, a few of the team members from Max’s side moved toward them, trying to separate them. They grabbed at Isack’s arms, attempting to pull him away from Max, but Isack wasn’t ready to let go. He shoved one of them away with a raw, desperate motion, his body trembling violently, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. The anger and sorrow that coursed through him bled into his voice as he screamed at Max, the words coming out in a disjointed, painful mess, each one laced with grief and fury.

“You took him from me! You— you— Max, you are the reason he’s gone!” Isack’s voice cracked, hoarse and broken. His body shook uncontrollably, his fists clenching and unclenching, his eyes wild with an overwhelming cocktail of rage and loss.

Max, still on the ground, looked up at him, his own face twisted with guilt and regret, but all Isack could see was the man who had caused it all. The man who had stolen his future.

As more team members rushed in, trying to hold Isack back, his strength began to falter. He struggled against their grip, but it wasn’t the physical restraint that broke him. It was the realization that he was powerless to bring Esteban back. He didn’t care about Max, or the team, or the world that was watching, the media snapping pictures of the altercation, of the tears streaming down Isack's face, the desperate pleas leaving his lips. All that mattered was Esteban, and he was gone.

Isack’s body gave in to the crushing weight of his grief. His knees buckled, and before he knew it, he was collapsing into the arms of one of the Red Bull team members, his body shaking with sobs that wracked through him like violent tremors. The hands that had tried to pull him away from Max now held him close, but all he could do was weep.

He buried his face in the man’s chest, the fabric of the suit soaked with his tears. His heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand pieces, and he couldn't make sense of anything anymore. The world had gone silent, and the only thing he could hear was the deafening echo of his own heartbreak.

“Please… please,” Isack whispered through the tears, his voice barely audible. His hands gripped the man’s suit, his fingers curling into it as if trying to anchor himself to something, anything. “This can’t be real. Please, wake me up. I just… I just want to wake up in Esteban’s arms. Please.”

His words were desperate, each syllable laced with a pleading, painful ache. He wanted to believe this was some horrible nightmare, that any moment now, he would open his eyes and find himself back in Esteban’s arms. He wanted to believe that this wasn’t real, that the crash hadn’t happened, that his fiancé hadn’t been torn away from him in an instant.

But nothing changed. The team member’s grip tightened as Isack’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, his chest heaving with the raw agony of a love lost. The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut, and he couldn’t breathe through the crushing weight of it. His entire world had just crumbled, and he was left there, broken and gasping for air, pleading for something that could never be again.

“Please… let me wake up. Please, I don’t want this… I don’t want to be alone.”

The words came out in a broken sob, and he collapsed further into the man’s chest, the tears falling without end. He didn’t know how to keep going without Esteban. He didn’t know how to live in a world where Esteban was gone.

In that moment, all he could feel was the hollow, aching absence of the man he had loved, and the suffocating pain of never being able to hold him again.

[bottle-of-harpoons]

Is it too late to do this trend or...?

[spicypopsicleng]

Comfort character road-trip redraw meme.

Still really like this doodle so I might as well post it here 👉👈

[questions-about-blorbos]

This question was sent to our inbox and we made a separate poll in response to it. If you want to put your Blorbo in a situation of your choice and see if people think they’ll survive, send your Blorbo and the situation in which you want to see them to our inbox and we’ll post a poll for you! (For more information, check our pinned post.)

[puddltabbi]

More of this genre of character please. I love me some blue old man, slightly(?) father-coded, former racer who had a significant crash that altered their life; that is now a crew chief/mentor to some younger racer, guys.