#heat pump evaporator

[hitechhotwater]

Role of Heat Pump Components in Modern Hot Water Systems

Curious about components of hot water systems? Let's explore how each component works in harmony to provide reliable, eco-friendly hot water for your home.

Call on Toll-free number 1300 011 015. Mail us on- info@hitechhotwater.com.au Visit us- https://www.hitechhotwater.com.au/role-of-heat-pump-components-in-modern-hot-water-systems/

[hitechair]

Ducted or Split Systems Chilling Choices for Melbourne's Climate

Which Heating and Cooling System are Supreme? Ducted or Split Selecting between split systems and ducted air conditioning can be difficult. Larger spaces are ideal for ducted air conditioning, which employs hidden ducts to heat or cool the entire home or business. Split systems, which have two outdoor and one inside sections, are ideal for cooling single or smaller rooms. Split systems use indoor and outdoor units that cooperate to regulate the temperature, whereasDucted Heating and Cooling in Melbourne use forced air through ducts placed throughout your house. Choosing the correct system is especially important in Melbourne, where the weather can change drastically from sweltering summers to freezing winters.

What is Ducted Heating and Cooling?

Ducted heating is a highly effective central heating option for homes and businesses of all sizes. These systems typically consist of ducts installed on the roof or under the floor. A number of vents and grilles, as well as an external or internal furnace, are installed in addition to these hidden pipes. There is a high range of options available, all of which are known for their energy efficiency, effective thermal comfort, and ability to heat your entire property. To provide efficient central heating, ducted heating systems offer versatility, including Hot Water System Repairs Melbourne, providing complete comfort solutions for homes and businesses.

Benefits

●       Due to their size and installation complexity, ducted air conditioning units are not advised for small apartment owners or renters. Regular maintenance is needed to keep the system running smoothly

●       Instead, larger homes with multiple spaces that require heating or cooling are best suited for these air conditioners. With ducted air conditioning, homeowners can chill certain rooms or zones in the house or the entire space.

●       Air conditioning with ducting is flexible. You can choose to save energy by turning it off completely, or you can select to warm or cool specific zones. You have complete control over the comfort and temperature of your house, and you can also influence how much energy you use.

What is a Split System?

A split system, also called ductless, offers efficient cooling or heating for modern homes in Melbourne with its two separate units, making it an ideal choice for comfort solutions. Trust our Aircon Installation Company in Melbourne for expert installation to provide optimal performance and comfort.

Benefits

Flexible installation,

 Though initial costs may be high.

They're energy-efficient but require regular maintenance.

Differences in Performance in Melbourne's Climate

Ducted heating and cooling in Melbourne effectively manage temperature extremes. They can efficiently provide heating during cold winters and cooling during hot summers.

Compared to ducted systems, split systems often have lower energy consumption and cost-effectiveness, which usually translates into lower energy costs. In larger buildings, however, ducted systems provide better long-term cost-effectiveness.

Both systems show flexibility in response to Melbourne's weather variations. Despite changes in the outside weather, they can change their functioning to maintain the correct indoor temperatures.

The choice between split and ducted air conditioning systems can be affected by a number of important variables, such as personal preferences, budget, and the size of the home. Although ducted solutions are more costly initially, they provide smooth, whole-home comfort. Conversely, split systems offer more flexibility and a lower initial cost, but larger spaces could need more than one unit. Heating and cooling technology advances provide more efficient and sustainable solutions for Melbourne's multiple climate needs.

Find the upgrade of your heating and cooling system in Melbourne. Explore Hitech Air Solutions for expert installation and maintenance of both ducted and split systems.

[omegagraphite]

Unveiling the Power of Graphite: Exploring Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company's Innovations

Welcome to the blog of Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company! Here, we delve into the world of graphite and its myriad applications, showcasing our expertise as leading manufacturers in the industry. From cutting-edge Graphite Heat Exchangers to essential Graphite Condensers and beyond, we are dedicated to pushing the boundaries of what this remarkable material can achieve.

Graphite Heat Exchangers: Revolutionizing heat transfer with our innovative designs, our Graphite Heat Exchangers offer unparalleled efficiency and durability. Whether it's Cubic Block or Cylindrical Block configurations, we provide solutions tailored to meet your specific needs.

Graphite Condensers and Coolers: Our Graphite Condensers and Coolers set the standard for reliability and performance in demanding environments. Designed to withstand corrosive substances and extreme temperatures, they ensure optimal operation and minimal maintenance.

Shell & Tube Graphite Heat Exchangers: Combining versatility with efficiency, our Shell & Tube Graphite Heat Exchangers excel in diverse applications, from chemical processing to pharmaceutical production. With customizable configurations, we provide solutions that adapt to your workflow seamlessly.

Graphite Reboilers and Falling Film Evaporators: Enhancing process efficiency and productivity, our Graphite Reboilers and Falling Film Evaporators offer superior heat transfer capabilities, enabling precise control over evaporation processes.

Specialized Solutions: Beyond traditional heat exchangers and evaporators, we offer a range of specialized solutions to address unique challenges in industries such as chemical processing and petrochemical refining. From HCL Absorbers to Sulphuric Acid Dilutors and Dilution Coolers, our comprehensive portfolio caters to diverse requirements.

Graphite Ejectors and HCL Synthesis Plants: Leveraging our expertise in graphite technology, we deliver advanced solutions for gas handling and synthesis processes. Our Graphite Ejectors and HCL Synthesis Plants optimize efficiency while ensuring safety and reliability.

Graphite Distillation Columns and Accessories: Enabling precise separation and purification processes, our Graphite Distillation Columns and Accessories meet the highest standards of quality and performance. From tubes and fittings to pumps, we provide complete solutions for your distillation needs.

Global Presence: With a strong presence in India, Mumbai, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Brazil, and beyond, we serve customers worldwide with dedication and excellence. Our commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction drives us to continually exceed expectations.

At Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company, we are passionate about harnessing the potential of graphite to empower industries and drive progress. Join us on this journey as we continue to innovate and redefine possibilities in graphite technology.

Stay tuned for more insights, updates, and success stories from the forefront of graphite manufacturing. Together, let's unlock the full potential of this remarkable material and shape a brighter future for generations to come.

For inquiries and partnerships, please contact us at [Contact Us At: info@omegagraphite.com | 9820045787 | https://www.omegagraphite.com].

[ocwizard]

The Value of Cooling And Heating Solutions: Guaranteeing Comfort and also Efficiency in Every Residence

HVAC (Heating, Air Flow, and also Cooling) systems have actually ended up being an important part of our every day lives, giving us with the convenience and ease we require in our homes. These systems play an essential role in maintaining a comfortable interior temperature, making certain correct air flow, as well as enhancing air high quality. With severe climate condition coming to be more usual, it is essential to comprehend the importance of heating and cooling systems as well as exactly how they contribute to our general health.

Paragraph 2: One of the vital benefits of a/c systems is their capability to control interior temperature levels, giving warmth throughout chilly winters and great alleviation throughout scorching summer seasons. This not just creates a comfortable living environment yet additionally aids avoid wellness issues created by extreme temperatures. Furthermore, a/c systems ensure appropriate ventilation by circulating fresh air throughout the home, decreasing the danger of airborne contaminants and enhancing indoor air quality. By removing dust, irritants, and pollutants, these systems play a vital role in keeping a healthy and balanced home for individuals with respiratory problems or allergic reactions. Additionally, a/c systems enhance energy performance by effectively managing the intake of power, resulting in reduced utility costs and also reduced carbon footprint.In conclusion

, cooling and heating systems are more than simply a high-end; they are a necessity in today's contemporary residences. From maintaining a comfy temperature to promoting better air top quality, these systems greatly add to our overall well-being. Whether it's chilling wintertimes or scorching summers, HVAC systems guarantee that our residences are a place of comfort and effectiveness throughout the year.

Read more here morehartac.com

[anantaru]

cw. this is filthy and yummy and horny, i wrote this entire thing in five minutes i am a whore, fem! reader

when neuvillette mounts over your body with the look in his eyes being deep, true and certain— he proceeds to run his sharp teeth along your collarbones to welcome your tottering skin.

when he breathlessly, hikes his fingers up your thighs, over to your hips, neediness all firing towards the man as he listens to the flawless tapestries of short-winded moans cross your parted lips— he holds them close to his heart, dwells in the setting.

what was there about your sounds? those cries, travelling with an additional clumsy voicing of his name as he engages back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear— they sound dedicated, obsessed and loaded with devotion, mirroring the man who was reaching for the truth. 

he's a little tense, you feel it, running on fumes, wanting to make love to you like you deserved.

at the same time, neuvillette liked the adrenaline it gave him, how he starts with slow pumps in you and works himself faster, creaming your burning walls and making you feel delirious on the inside. the strong, heavy taste of his erection thickening in you and further bordering inside was crushing your mind.

touching more, kissing, stealing muffled cries.

neuvillette drums the sound waves of flesh on flesh throughout the heated room when he holds you in position, aching against you, shivering, a droplet of sweat decorating his forehead when he gulps down close into himself.

you spread your legs further, giving your all, and take notice when the burning in your thighs spreads and covers the majority of your lower area as he grinds into your cunt greedily. you felt persistently hot with the tip of his cock bumping against your sweet spots, absorbing blow after blow as he pinpoints his thrusts like that on purpose, right to your dearest places.

you open your eyes to watch him shyly, crystal clear gaze half opened when the lingering shadow on his face turned him even more handsome, if it would be possible to make him look even better.

but it's constant, the way his face presents a lumbering mess of delirious emotions on him, the greedy drags of his cock adding to it greatly.

neuvillette was perfect— always fucking you so fast that it brought you to tears, making a mess and splattering your fluids all around you with each drag and your legs above his shoulders.

currently, you were presented on a silver plate, spread on the matteess, bare and galvanizing to his famished eyes.

the mounting proximity was becoming utterly intoxicating that his rough thrusts were never hesitant— because the desire to impend boundless pleasure on you was simply excessive, even better, coming faster than your body could react to it.

your core turns tighter, squeals and cries mixing in keeping with every squelch, squelch, squelch that formed on your sore cunt.

the flustered desperation in his eyes followed shortly, or the extensive gasping. neuvillette shifts you back and forth on his cock, each hammering vein on his shaft being tasted by your softness as the throbbing flesh gnawed itself into your puffy cunt. he stuffs you and roughens up your spongy insides, the small fuzziness in your belly stitching together your climax.

this was too good to be true, it had to be, and the burning hunger inside of him never seems to evaporate, no matter how well he pleased you.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Sleep is overrated for Xavier and can you feel how much I want you for Zayne if these haven't been requested yet please🫶🏽❤️

Hey anon! Sorry I'm getting to this kinda late, I was sick and just started to feel better. Normally I'd say limit one prompt per request but since I didn't get that many I'm writing both (and because I'm a sucker for these two).

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.”

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

--------

Xavier:

It was a rare day off and Xavier was snuggled into you, your back pressed comfortably against his chest. You knew being a hunter drained him and that sleep was a luxury for him. However, you were just needy enough today that the sight of him getting ready to fall asleep was making you antsy. You turn in his arms, pushing your face up to his.

Blue eyes already heavy from a long's day work blink at you. "Are you ok?" His long fingers idly play with your hair, pushing it back behind your ears, a sleepy smile twisting his lips.

"Xav, are you planning on going to bed already?" You run your fingers down the front of his tshirt hoping to rouse him but he yawns loudly as the question is asked.

"I was. I'm sleepy."

“Sleep is overrated. I have better ideas.” You hold your breath waiting for his reaction and see a little twinkle in those captivating eyes.

"Better ideas? Like what?" Curious, he props himself up on his elbow to look at you.

"Oh you know...just...cute little ideas..." You boldly trace your fingers further down his chest, running bast his belly and suggestively give a light stroke at the front of his pajama pants. His sleepiness evaporates in an instant, every nerve in his body at attention.

"What are you doing angel?" he asks tentatively as you stroke him again, then reach out to cup him in your palm, feeling the softness morph under your touch.

"Isn't it obvious?" you tease then start pulling down the waistband of his underwear and pajamas at the same time. Pink dusts his cheeks but he allows you to do so, covered only by the blanket. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, his newly hardened cock now in your grip and pump him enticingly.

"Does that feel good?" you murmur sweetly in his ear, hot breath tickling him as he lets out a groan. Xavier manages to nod and you continue playing with him, stroke after long stroke of your small, soft, hand bringing him closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

His hips start to roll on their own accord, matching the pace of your hand as you bite and kiss his neck.

"Mhhmm...that's so good angel..." his voice pants, thick with desire as your dextrous fingers continue to pet him. Precum leaks from his tip and you gather them to further lubricate him, movements growing slick and fast. Heat gathers in his abdomen and he can't control the noises he makes, hoping for it to come to peak soon.

A low, gravelly moan escapes him as he orgasms, spurts of cum erupting from his tip and falling messily onto your hand, little spasms punctuating his pleasure at the base of his cock.

He gazes at you in adoration and you grin.

"Still sleepy?"

Zayne:

Your arms are wrapped around Zayne's neck as he kisses you, tongues mixing and lips desperately locked against the other's.

It hadn't been that long since you'd had sex but the two of you had a hard time keeping your hands off each other, growing clingier as the day had progressed. Zayne's intentions were made clear from the moment you stepped into the car, his broad hand caressing your thigh as the other remained on the steering wheel. Your bare bodies are flush against each other and you feel tight hardness pressing against your thigh.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He rasps, grinding himself on the soft plushness of your legs, his head bowed against your collarbone. "You make me...so weak for you..."

His lips capture yours possessively as his fingers dip between your wet folds, gently stroking before inserting a thick finger into your leaking core, his thumb coming up to rub circles on your clit. Your lips part to let out a sigh of pleasure, struggling against his actions, the sweetness gathering in your pussy too good to describe.

Your nails tighten on his back , leaving marks, whining needily. "Zayne don't stop...that's perfect..."

"I have no intentions to stop if it's making my pretty girl feel good," he says in a smooth whisper and you bury your face into his shoulder as you cum, pussy spasming around his fingers in harmony with your clit. Colors fade in and out of your vision as you ride out the waves of pleasure before collapsing back onto the bed. Zayne licks his fingers clean before positioning and sheathing himself into your warm cunt.

Both of you hiss in pleasure as he bottoms out, stretching you deliciously. "Can you take it?" He asks as he starts to thrust.

You nod dizzily, your brain turning to mush as he strokes your inner walls.

"That's my good girl."

[reasonsforhope]

"Heat stored underground in caverns can be set aside in Finland’s summer months to be re-used during frigid winters thanks to a state-of-the-art ‘seasonal energy’ storage facility.

Slated for construction this summer near Helsinki, it will be the largest in the world by all standards and contain enough thermal energy to heat a medium-sized city all winter.

Thermal exchange heating systems, like those built underground, or domestic heat pumps, are seen as the most effective way available of reducing the climate-impact of home heating and cooling.

Their function relies on natural forces or energy recycling to cool down or heat up water and then using it to radiate hot or cold energy into a dwelling.

In Vantaa, Finland’s fourth largest city neighboring the capital of Helsinki, the ambitious Varanto seasonal energy storage project plans to store cheap and environmental friendly waste heat from datacenters, cooling processes, and waste-to-energy assets in underground caverns where it can be used to heat buildings via the district heating network whenever it is needed.

In Finland and other Nordic countries, the heat consumption varies significantly between seasons. Heat consumption in the summertime is only about one-tenth of the peak load consumption during the cold winter months.

Varanto will utilize underground caverns equal in space to two Maddison Square Gardens—over a million cubic meters—filled with water heated by this waste heat and pressure that will allow the water to reach temperatures of up to 300 degrees Fahrenheit without the water boiling or evaporating.

“The world is undergoing a huge energy transition. Wind and solar power have become vital technologies in the transition from fossil fuels to clean energy,” says Vantaa Energy CEO Jukka Toivonen.

“The biggest challenge of the energy transition so far has been the inability to store these intermittent forms of energy for later use. Unfortunately, small-scale storage solutions, such as batteries or accumulators, are not sufficient; large, industrial-scale storage solutions are needed. Varanto is an excellent example of this, and we are happy to set an example for the rest of the world.” ...

“Two 60-MW electric boilers will be built in conjunction with Varanto,” adds Toivonen. “These boilers will be used to produce heat from renewable electricity when electricity is abundant and cheap. Our heat-producing system will work like a hybrid car: alternating between electricity and other forms of production, depending on what is most advantageous and efficient at the time.”

... Construction of the storage facility’s entrance is expected to start in summer 2024, while it could be operational as early as 2028."

-via Good News Network, April 12, 2024. Video via VantaanEnergia, March 10, 2024

[onelittlespiral]

You should make a top to bottom story!

FML: Worship

He had always been a great gym crush. When I was getting my pump, he would consistently be just a few machines over. His fiery hair and muscles glistened as he moved through his reps. I always worked a little harder when he was there, even though I knew it wouldn’t work. We had hardly ever exchanged words, but the few we had let me know he was straight as an arrow. I was a stacked guy myself, and I knew that there were countless twinks who would fawn over the chance to get with all this:

But I wanted him. I started slowly working up the nerve to talk to him, and was shocked to learn he knew my name

“Yeah man, I’ve seen you round here. You’ve got some sick gains, you’ve got to let me know your routine!”

From there, I decided to make a plan to ensure he would become mine.

I found a video that promised to create a “Gym Bro to Perfect Sub” out of any guy who watched it. It’s description promised that a single whiff of their dom would leave them madly in love and obedient. I told him that we should meet up at my place for some prep before hitting the gym together tomorrow. He was happy to oblige.

When he came over I quickly welcomed him in and ushered him to the couch. He sat patiently as I told him I had a tutorial for the routine set up to show the proper form. I cued up the video and left the room, turning back just to make sure it was all going according to plan. In just a few seconds, he was grinning stupidly as he fell under the spiral’s control.

As he fell deeply into a trance, the programming began:

You put in so much work bro. You should lean back and relax.

Intuitively, he leaned back on the couch, putting his feet up and hands behind his head. He had been really overworked the last few weeks.

Sit back and feel your body. Notice the feeling of muscle squeezing. Smell your body radiate heat and sex through stale deodorant. Feel the power you have. The power to change the world around you.”

He grinned as the feeling of masculinity flowed through him. He felt his muscles ache from yesterday’s workout. He had banged hard the night before and his musk was definitely not being held back by yesterday’s Axe. But the ladies loved it. He could pull just about any chick he wanted, do anything he wanted. He was a king.

You think about the person you see yourself as. But that’s not quite true, is it?

What? Nah man, he knew he was the shit. He was… he was… wasn’t he?

That’s not who you are. That’s who you could be.

As his self-perception popped, his body began to follow suit. His mature scowl began to take on a more boyish smirk. His once imposing stature shrunk down as he felt a bit more awkward and out of place. He still had potential though. Plenty of time to grow. He still worked religiously on his body to keep it plenty strong.

That’s the kind of men you look up to. Big powerful biceps. Pecs firm. Asses bubbly and tight. Cool, assertive personalities. Thick dicks to back it all up.

Y…no… yesss. That’s right. How silly of him. His arms deflated from buff to, generously, toned. His pecs shrunk down into his chest. His glutes lost tone as they became firm but small. His body sweat at the effort of losing years of hard work as muscle evaporated off of him.

This isn’t even the man you want to be. This is the man you want to be with.

At this moment, his mind flicked to his new mentor. He was promising to show him how to get shredded like him. The way his muscles glistened as he worked out… The way he towered over small guys like himself… The way his hair curled around his pecs and into those pits and captured his raw smell…

A hard on quickly developed, throbbing at the new feelings of lust. He began gently rubbing, imagining how good it would feel to pound his crush’s ass as any memories of straight life began leaking out his tip.

Men like that don’t need competition. They need relief from all the gym bros. They want a little bro. A boy toy.

All at once the need moved from his pole to deep inside. A deep itch he could never reach. A high pitched moan escaped as his ass felt so empty and needy. His thoughts of topping were drained away as he felt his ass reshaped to take cock. Any fight left in him melted away as the need to be fucked consumed his mind.

They deserve worship. They demand obedience and submission.

His mind, effectively broken at this point, slowly began to rebuild itself with one goal in mind. To bring pleasure. To serve. To feel a man use him as a tool for pleasure. He needed to submit. The spiral pushed on.

Good boy. You are ready for your new purpose. Your big, smelly gym bro will walk in soon and come to claim you. As his presence envelopes you, you will see him as yours. You will serve him so well and he will take care of you in turn.

He was ready. His mind emptied of any remaining thoughts but service and pleasure.

Good Boy.

His brain felt a warm wave of joy flow over it. He wanted to behave.

So submissive.

God he needed his dom, he needed to submit.

Perfectly happy, dumb, ready to serve.

Yeah, sooooo… happppppy… so… empty…

Now wait.

I walked into the room to his mouth still stuck agape, mind empty and happy. As my feet hit the floor, he came to, and looked over at me. I could feel his gaze trace my body as just my presence began to change his brain chemistry. “Get over here boy. ”

“Hiiii… oh god… fuuuuuck”

I walked over, picked him up off the couch, and pressed him against the wall.

“Yeah babe, take it all in. You’re much cuter. Daddy has been waiting far too long for this. I want you on this dick now,” I growled.

I watched as his mind was overtaken again, the programming taking over as my scent consumed him and my fur pressed against his body. His gaze was pure longing as he savored the scent that would become his world.

“Yes sir.” His breath was quick and heavy as his small hard on pressed against my stomach. He was drooling over my body as his tongue rolled out his mouth. He practically melted in my embrace, perfectly submissive.

“Good.” I carried him to the bed room, ready to give my new boyfriend the workout I had promised.

[soullessdianthus]

11.. with ghost

A/N: Some nice time straddling lieutenant in the private of his room, but MacTavish has to interrupt the two of you! Giggling and swinging my feet while writing this. :3

𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | "𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧?"

Warnings: smut (save a horse, ride a cowboy?, none really)

The room was getting more steamy with each passing minute. Dim surroundings, enlighted only by a small light on a nightstand, invited you to the embrace of your lover. 

Your thighs were wrapped around Ghost’s hips, spreaded open as you rolled your waist against him. The man groaned, his calloused palms digging into the soft flesh of your legs. 

The sudden thrust of his pelvis upwards made you whimper and lean forward, over his scarred chest. Your hands were splayed across his abdomen searching for a support. 

You tried to ignore the stabbing pain in your knees and the trembling of the thighs, chasing the sweet like honey pleasure. Not the first one this evening, how greedy of you. 

Ghost rolled his balaclava over his nose allowing you to see how wide his smile was, devouring the lovely sight before him. You. 

Some of his teeth were sharpened almost like they were designed to sink in your tissues. Each time he dragged them across the inner side of your thighs (and his breath tickled your sensitive sex) or pinched the skin of your neck between them, you melted into his touch. You really shouldn’t have, but you did nonetheless.

Another sound of lust echoed in the room as Ghost pumped his shaft inside of you with a vigor and force that made you bite on your own lower lip, collecting the drool on your tongue. 

After a long day your muscles relaxed, your body becoming malleable between Simon’s fingers, giving in the delight of the moment.

All of the sudden a loud bang on the locked door interrupted the two of you. A fucking party destroyer. 

━ Mind lettin’ the rest sleep at peace, steamin’ Jesus! 

The annoying voice belonged to no one else than Soap MacTavish, who decided to visit you at such a late hour. Upon hearing his voice you froze in place and rapidly turned your face towards the doors. 

His hands slowly climbed up your long limbs until they rested over the curves of your beautiful hips. 

━ Relax, luv. I locked them real tight, remember? ━ Simon stated in a quite calm tone, trying to reassure you, everything’s fine. His big hand caressed the side of your body, when you turned your head to look back at him.

Your pretty face was flustered, probably slightly ashamed of this whole situation.

━ I told you it was a bad idea. We shouldn’t–

But he interrupted. Almost in an instructive manner. Which only made you more aroused.

━ Ah, ah, don’t even finish that sentence. 

Ghost kept a firm hold of your hips and quickly shifted your position, laying you beneath him on the narrow bed. You let out a sigh, when he got closer – his chest and stomach pressing against yours, lieutenant’s breath tickling your ear. 

━ Why so shy all of a sudden? ━ He teased you, stretching your weeping cunt once again with his length and you moaned. ━ Soap can go fuck himself. 

Ghost raised your long, exhausted legs and brought them closer to your chest as he thrusted into you back and forth. He was moving just fine, scratching just the right places inside of you. He knew your body too well.

You tried to raise your hand and cover your mouth, not to interrupt anyone else with your noises. But the man above you grabbed your wrist and got the idea out of your silly head pretty quickly. 

━ Come on, let ‘em hear, who fuck you this good. 

Simon continued to shove his swollen member into you, pushing on your legs to get even deeper into your warm embrace. It should be alarming that the lieutenant knew how to make you squeal and sing for him. Just like he wanted you to.

Soon enough your pleasurable moans and his low grunts filled the room just as the steam that was evaporating from your heated bodies. 

Ghost held you tight in his strong arms, not letting you go anywhere. He craved your presence, your touch, the smell on your skin, the intimacy – everything. The lieutenant wanted you entirely. 

And he would have you tonight, all to himself, because you were his and he was yours.

[midgardianminx]

Reckless Abandon

Pairing: Hobie Brown x female reader

Summary: You and Hobie had "grown up," but that doesn't mean you're immune to making some questionable decisions.

Rating: Explicit (18+) - Smutty smut. Minors be gone.

Notes: Listen, don't fuck in grimy venue restrooms. You don't know the last time they've seen hot water and a mop. Written on my phone per usual. All mistakes are my own.                                                

Cross-posted on AO3

You and Hobie had long outgrown your wild youth. Still fun, but less reckless. It’s what happened right? Just a typical progression of life. Plus your wild past had thrown you into large responsibilities earlier than either of you had planned. But you’d both been able to grow and adapt together. 

It had been years since Hobie played a gig. Sure the group would get together every now and then when schedules allowed in order to let off some steam and practice their old sets, but performing gigs had not been a priority for a long time, but this opportunity was one Hobie couldn’t pass up. The gig was at your old stomping grounds and everyone was able to get together for it. Hobie had been buzzing with energy the entire week as the gig approached. It was a small show, mostly for old time’s sake, but the excitement was palpable. 

You could tell Hobie had been nervous upon stepping into the venue, but as soon as Hobie stepped onto what was considered to be the “stage” all the nerves evaporated. Hobie settled into that old persona so easily and it was captivating to watch. You’d found yourself almost breathless at his presence, he’d always been a force to be reckoned with, but over the years you’d forgotten just how striking he could be when he commanded the stage. Then he found you. The lighting in the room was shit, but that didn’t stop his eyes from locking onto yours. This was the person you’d spent the last decade plus with, but fuck if that look didn’t go straight to your cunt. And he knew, he fucking knew exactly what he was doing. 

…which is how you found yourself here. Bent over, skirt hiked up around your waist, palms pressed to the graffiti covered wall with Hobie thrusting deep inside from behind. 

“Fuck love, squeezing me so tight. Better bite down harder on that belt, the whole fucking place can hear ya whining for my cock. Bet there’s a line outside right now, knowing exactly what you’re doing right now.”

You couldn’t help the flutter of your walls at that. The thought of being caught had always been something that turned you on, and Hobie had always used that to his advantage. 

“Fuckin’ knew it. Still just as filthy and needy as the day we met eh?”

A needy whine slipped from your lips, Hobie’s belt nearly slipping from between your teeth. You couldn’t form a coherent thought if your life depended on it. Your orgasm was barreling toward you. Hobie knew all your tells and reached his hand around and put those fingers to good use, knowing exactly the pressure and pace to apply to your clit. And you were done. Hobie’s belt clattered to the floor as you let out a cry. Words incoherent, begging for more while it was simultaneously too much. 

Hobie was right behind you, his pumping becoming erratic before he found his end. You could feel his hot cum spilling out of you and dripping down your thighs. “Fuck…so fucking perfect. Makin’ a mess all over me huh love?”

Hobie pressed gentle kisses down the back of your neck as he eased out of you, using his fingers to push his cum back inside of you, causing your whole body to shiver. When he finally spun you back around to face him, the world had begun to come back into focus and though your chest was still heaving, your breathing was slowly starting to mellow out. Your cheeks were heated and your legs were quivering. Yeah you’d just been thoroughly fucked in a dingy bathroom, but you felt so good, so safe, so loved. It’s how you’d always felt with Hobie, and although you’d both grown and evolved over the years, that part had never changed. 

“Right love. Now that the whole place knows how good ya are to me, let’s get you home so I can really take my time with ya.”

[lunaasolstice]

A Midnight Show

Pairings: Chishiya x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW! Smut (18+), Public Sex, Oral Sex 

Summary: Chishiya helps you win a game. Now he wants something in return. 

Your body shivers as you dive head first into the clear blue water. It didn’t help that it was well past midnight, the cold breeze hitting your skin as the heat evaporates off your body. There wasn’t many people around, surprisingly, only a few at the other side of the pool drinking their beers and conversing with one another. You stand still as your back leans against the wall of the pool, giving your body some time to adapt to the temperature of the water. It was a stupid idea to go swimming at this time but you honestly couldn’t deal with all the crowded people during peak daylight hours.  Plus, you basically have the entire half of the pool to yourself so it’s an obvious win. 

“Surprised to see you here.” said a condescending voice. You look up and see that it’s him, giving you an arrogant smirk.

You met him earlier at one of the games. It was a diamonds game and the two of you were randomly paired together by the game master to work together. The objective was to try and save the other players that were trapped behind several doors before the time runs out. In order to open those doors you had to figure out the pass code with certain riddles that were given. If the task was not successful, then everyone dies. Your white-haired partner basically figured out every single riddle and all you had to do was punch the codes in and get everyone out.

“Thanks for saving us. I don’t know if I would’ve done that myself.”

“It wasn’t difficult. The name is Chishiya by the way.”

“Oh thank you Chishiya. I don’t know to repay you.”

“I’ll figure that out soon.” Were his last words to you before he stepped out of the building.

“What do you want?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Didn’t know it was a crime for me to come out into the pool.” He takes off his white jacket and gets in the pool, his body slightly shivering after making contact with the water. 

“I didn’t say that. I just asked what do you want?”

He’s right in front of you now, giving you that smirk once again. “Hm, well since you asked you do owe me from the game earlier today.”

“Okay? What is it?”

His cocky smirk only gets wider, “Well I know there’s something we could both use right now.”

You cock your head to the side, “Oh?”

He slowly inches toward you, his cat brown eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches and it was as if the water was frozen because you could not move at all.

“I know you want me, Y/N. I could tell by those pathetic heart eyes of yours.”

There was no way to respond to that because he is right. When you first saw him you couldn’t stop admiring his beautiful features. You were sure not to stare at him too much throughout the game but it was probably too obvious now that you think about it. 

His hands land on your hips, lifting you so that you are now sitting at the edge of the pool. Your legs were still dangling against the water, eyes never leaving his. You can feel something crawling under your skin, in your blood giving you a jolt of fire you couldn’t explain. 

You can feel your pussy tingling. There’s no denying now that you are horny for this man and  hope that he is thinking the same thing you are thinking right now.

“Let’s have some fun right here, yeah?” You immediately nod and his hands are now on your thighs, slowly opening up your legs as he looks at your pleading eyes. With ease he’s able to move your bikini to the side, his fingers delicately touching your folds.

“Huh, already wet for me?. Are you that horny for me Y/N?”

You are embarrassed to say the least, but oh how fucking good does this feel right now.

He inserts his index finger inside you, pumping in and out slowly as he carefully adds his middle finger.  This time, he was speeding up the pace of both his fingers inside you, and it was enough friction for your vaginal walls to want to beg for more. Soft whimpers escape your mouth, and you tried your best to hold it in. You didn’t want to be too loud as it would cause attention to the two of you. After all, there were still people at the other side of the pool. You never in your life expected to be in this position but you didn’t care. You wanted to enjoy this moment and if it meant you had to be his fucking whore for the night then so be it. 

His thumb starts circulating against your clit, your whimpers now turning into loud moans. You bite the back of your hand to prevent the moans from getting louder. Chishiya chuckles, bringing your hand away from your mouth, “Moan for me, princess.”

You were about to reach your high, his thumb keep circulating your clit as he finger fucks you and you couldn’t hold back the moans any longer. Your eyes look over to the people at the other side of the pool. Chishiya follows your gaze and laughs.

“Let them watch” He says, “They can enjoy this beautiful show we are giving them. All the world must know how fucking good I make you feel.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. His dirty talks were making your vaginal walls clench against his fingers, your eyes begging him to not stop this euphoric sensation. 

“Please don’t stop, Chishiya. It feels so good.” you whimper.

But teasing you is fun, and he slides his fingers out of you just before you were going to orgasm. 

“The show isn’t over yet princess,” he begins to completely take off your bikini.

“Tell me what you want.” He demands.

Your eagerness was through the roof and all you wanted was your pussy in his mouth.

“I want you, Chishiya. I want you right now.” The desperation was visible in your voice, and he gives you that same signature smirk as his mouth inches closer to your folds. The tip of his tongue licks your clit, a quiet moan escapes your lips.

“Say it again.” He commands.

“I want you so much Chishiya, I need you.” you beg. 

“Good girl.” Your legs wrap around his head as his tongue starts exploring the inside of your pussy. His tongue thrusts in and out, the soft moans desperately singing for more. His long tongue licking your clit gave you an intense stimulation that made you scream his name in pleasure.

He enjoys tasting the saccharine juices escaping your folds as your thighs suffocated his head deeper against your pussy. The waves of pleasure were out of this world, and you felt like you were on cloud nine. 

“Oh my god Chishiya, I’m going to cum.” you yelp. His mouth working over time as he licks your pussy faster while his thumb stimulates your clit. Chishiya’s brown cat eyes are boring into yours, and he enjoys seeing how much of a wreck he is turning you into. Your feet were shaking and you cried out his name as you reached your orgasm. Your heart was racing and your breathing was out of control. Looking down you see Chishiya giving you a wide smirk, along with huge boner peeking out of his swim trunks. 

“That felt really good holy fuck.” you complimented.

“Hmm, guess I don’t mind having another midnight show. ” He grins.

And you wouldn’t hesitate doing it again. 

[scotianostra]

Fife Coastal Path, St Monans to Pitemween.

Quite an intersting stretch, steeped in history, among these pics are the remains of the salt works. In the late 1700,s, after wool and fish, salt was Scotland's third biggest export, and the Fife coast was the main source of the product. Further west, at Dysart, Pan Ha' bears the name of the industry, Panning being the method used so the name came from the many salt pans that once lay nearby.

Further east on the coastal path evidence remains of the Salt Pans at St Monans, along here there is a new company, founded in 2019, that still exports salt, The Eat Neuk Salt company. Using a combination of traditional and modern methods, ENSC creates 100% organically hand-harvested Scottish sea salt flakes using the finest Grade A waters sourced from the coast of the East Neuk in Fife.

Back in the day most coastal communities that had access to coal were involved in the industry: coal was needed to heat the evaporation pans where water from the sea was boiled into sea salt. The windmill at St Monans—the last remaining windmill in Fife—was used to pump sea water into the salt pans, which were then heated by local coal.

Also in this part of the walk we have St Monans outdoor tidal pool. Hewn out of the rocky coast, the pool is ringed by man-made walls and access points which naturally replenish with a fresh cascade of seawater. The pool is no longer maintained , as a warning signs tells us, and bathers are warned they use the pool at their own risk. While I was there a golden labrador/retrriever called Ruby was enjoying the waters.

Above this point is St Monans Windmill, the interior of which is currently closed until further notice., so I didn't bother climbing the hill to inspect it further. This windmill dates from 1772 when, as I mentioned earlier, was constructed as part of a salt panning enterprise. This entailed extraction of salt from seawater, a business established by Sir John Anstruther. At this time salt was a valuable commodity used for food preservation when refrigeration did not exist.

[hitechair]

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[awritesthings1]

How to Disappear (Chapter 7)

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: The finale. Vader must choose where his loyalties lie.

ao3 link

-

Your skin itches. His true name sits under there, marked into your bones. Separated by two different worlds yet tied together by an invisible string. You tried outrunning it, hiding behind mountain peaks and the blinding light of stars. But he always found you in the end, whether he meant to or not. Resisting was futile. You knew your next confrontation was inevitable.

Guilt, your new companion, shadowed your journey. You hadn’t seen Anakin—Vader in a while. So much has happened since then. On Lothal, you felt so close yet so far away from him. He was different—hollower. And yet you let yourself believe that your Anakin was fighting somewhere inside the shell of his body because you couldn’t let him go. Selfish, maybe, but you never got to say goodbye. How could you do it now?

You pondered those thoughts adrift in the galaxy, allowing yourself to be swept away in the Force and guide you to wherever and whenever it needed. The silence breathes life into nearby systems, inhaling the darkness and allowing light to diffuse. It works together as one body, balancing the good and the bad like a mastered routine. And for a moment, you were able to catch a breath, close your eyes, and drift away. Where would you appear next? You would ask. The Force never replied; it only pulsed, sending electrical signals across the galaxy. Your head whipped back as it took hold of you, relaying various flashes of images, scents, and sounds until it formed one picture.

Coruscant.

Dark, gloomy, lifeless Coruscant. Once a home, now a graveyard. The once mesmerizing skyline had diminished. Sharp skyscrapers that used to reflect the sun now stand as bleak overcrowded blocks. Even the Temple sits quietly in the absence of the Jedi, as it is afraid to make a sound. The marble floors no longer gleamed, and the pillars were singed from lightsaber strikes.

A shiver cascades down your spine.

Under your feet, a metal grate hides a room under the floor. For a faint moment, you see yourself looking back up at you from beneath it. Anakin is beside you with his Padawan braid, sulking at his new metal arm. Your eyes widen as you reach down towards them, but you slip through the floor into the room. When you look up, your younger self is gone along with Anakin. All that remains is a collection of Master Yoda’s candles that are spilled in a pile on the floor. You hope Yoda made it out of this mess.

The next time you blink, you are in a corridor. It stretched from one shadow to the next. Rust grew on a leaking pipe above your head, dripping dangerously close to loose hanging wires. Air evaporated over a heated air duct, emitting a foul stench. The Force buzzes inside you like static. You didn’t feel welcome here, so why had it sent you? Further down the corridor, a red light pulses like an alarm that had been set off. Yet it remained airily quiet, luring you deeper. Tension swelled despite the stillness.

There was a sinking feeling in the Force as if you were plummeting into an open chasm, only you didn’t have the pumping blood or adrenaline in your ears. Instead, you were left with the unsettling prick of pins up your spine. Something lived deep within the hollow walls—something that was itching to get its claws on you.

You almost call his name. Maybe it was instinctual or maybe the feeling in the air knew something you didn’t. Either way, you found your legs moving against your will. You couldn’t help it. The red light at the end of the corridor held your gaze.

Your eyes strain and stare off into the distance. Within a blink, you were at the end, standing before a heavy metal door. It called you. It snuffed out your surroundings and it breathed you into the coldest room where even sound vaporized.

When you stepped through the door, it all connected.

Your dead body laid flat on an examination table in the middle of the morgue.

It wasn’t evil; it was scared. You were scared.

A wretched choke greedily swallows the frigid air, but your last breath left you long ago. With a chilling realization, you carefully turn around to face him. Anakin—Vader, sits behind you in the corner of the morgue, rocking his body back and forth and mumbling incoherent thoughts aloud. His cheeks are hollow and his eyes are sunken, carelessly letting a stream of tears dampen a dirty dark robe. He doesn’t appear to notice the twitch in your eye, much less your appearance.

"GET UP!" You seethe. You don’t have the strength to look at your deceased body anyway. "GET UP!" You wail, running over to him on the floor and beating your fists into the wall next to his head. "GET UP!" You don’t think you just scream and wail.

"I’M—I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY!" He cries back. It’s not enough for you. Not even his exhales visibly vaporizing in the air are enough. You died. YOU DIED. YOUR BODY WAS JUST LYING THERE AND ALL HE COULD DO WAS CRY? "I’M SORRY MASTER, I DIDN’T MEAN TO."

You freeze. Vader’s hyperventilating had stopped. Now, he is looking right between your eyes. For a fleeting minute you think he had noticed you until you heard the other voice. Because Vader wasn’t looking at you—no, he was looking through you at his master. Darth Sidious.

That persistent itch returns. It clicks then. You weren’t really here. No, you were witnessing it like an outsider. An outsider of your own body. A ghost haunting their own body; a ghost protecting their own body.

"You understand what you must do now?" Sidious beckons.

"…Don’t send me back," Vader hiccups.

You never find out where. The Force nudges you away just in time, beckoning you to bleed back into the corners of the room. You spend the last second glimpsing remorsefully at your body. It disturbs you greatly, like teeth growing under your skin. Why had the Force shown you this? What was it trying to tell you?

Somewhere deep down, you can’t misplace the feeling of this all being so wrong. You were given another chance to live, to see Anakin again, and this was how it always ended. Always the martyr, but never the savior. Was this your new life?

"I feel I’ve gone wrong somewhere." You whisper to no one but yourself.

The other souls weren’t good company. They were wiser than you and quieter than you.

How could it be that the Force had ascended you into this ghost torn between two worlds when you never got to accept your death?

Invisible hands link together around your neck. You blink. The touch grows steadier. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling the Force whisk you away.

"Haunting my dreams too?"

At whiplash speed, Vader is standing in front of you with his hands wrapped around your neck. Sweat sticks a stray curl to his forehead. His chest rises and falls as if he had been overexerting himself. To your surprise, the corners of his lips are pulled into a faint smirk. But it doesn’t reach his eyes; only the reflection of your blue glow does. Your back stiffens. You stand there still as porcelain, afraid to crack under the pressure. Your thinly veiled anger is held together by a string.

The pressure on his fingers loosens one by one, sliding them across your shoulders and down your arms before falling to his sides.

His lie hangs in the air. That hadn’t been a dream.

Venom rips through your stomach and into your mouth. You feel sick.

"This needs to stop," is all you manage.

Vader runs his hands over his face, stopping to press the heels of them into his eyes. "I don’t know what to do," he hisses, sounding more human than Sith. You had seen him deflated on the shores of Mustafar, defeated on Tatooine, merciful on Lothal, and a prisoner on Coruscant. Something had changed since then. Despite all these ill-fated meetings, only one question continued to plague you.

 "What was it all for?" Your teeth grind.

Vader is taken aback, his bare feet stumbling back a step. "What?"

"All this pain, all this suffering. What is it that you want?" His time as a Jedi Knight was the happiest time of your life. When had it all gone so wrong?

"Power," he breathes, "power…" The scar across his eye throbs.

You take a step closer. "And when will it be enough?" Your voice is devoid of emotion. One more ounce of energy and you might just disappear forever.

His lips part as if to answer you, but nothing comes out.

-

Vader’s back slumps against the wall until it slides to the bottom. A panel in the wall catches on his robes. He muffles his cries of pain by biting into the bottom of his lip. At the top of the stairs looms his shadow: Darth Sidious. Only one has blood pooling beneath their body, and Vader had used up his luck a long time ago.

So much red. Lakes of it decorate the Imperial Palace, creating rivers of his sins down the stairs. From the red lightsaber clutched in Sidious’ hand to the spots in his vision. It caked beneath his nails too, from where he was hopelessly trying to ease his wound. Vader had lost his own lightsaber after tumbling backwards down the very stairs Sidious stood atop.

"You are foolish…" Sidious rasps, "perhaps not the Chosen One we all thought."

Vader had been foolish enough to try to kill his Master before the break of dawn because of a fever dream. And when will it be enough? Your words intoxicated his thoughts.

And when will it be enough? Vader recalled kicking away the thin bedsheets that had pooled at his feet sometime during the night. The question seared through to the bone, irritating the mechanisms of his metal arm. He spent hours lying awake like that, staring at the shadows, partly waiting for them to come and take him away.

His breath vaporized like the smoke forming in his head. In the haze of his frenzied state, he tried to recall your face, but that too slipped out of reach. Everything kept slipping, peeling away, and disappearing.

What was it all for?

Power.

A feverish shudder strikes.

Killing Darth Sidious would have been the end of it. If only he hadn’t given into his frenzied thoughts, he might have done just that. But no, Vader didn’t act on thought; he acted on feeling. His lust for power took him to the edge of the cliff each time.

Palpatine had seen him coming. Vader had only spent a few moments shrugging on a dark robe; he hadn’t even bothered with a shirt. And when Vader prowled only a few steps outside his bunker, a shining beam of red pierced his back through to his abdomen.

Which is how he ended up here, slumped against a wall, fighting to keep his eyes open. Another cough sets his lungs alight.

Darth Sidious’ breath washes over him as the man reaches out to trace the scar across his eye. "Pity."

Vader doesn’t have the strength to fight back, so he grits his teeth in response while heaving for air. His skin is growing paler by the second.

Ghosts linger in the hall.

Shmi, his mother, sits next to him. She soothes her hand down his shoulder. Vader sniffles. It had been so long since he had seen her. Although the sensation in his lips is fleeting, he opens it to say something, but she smiles and whisks away all the worries in the universe like mothers do. He realizes in that moment that she never saw him as Vader, only as Anakin Skywalker, the son who couldn’t save her. Yet she came and sat with him as blood continued to flood the floor of the old Jedi Temple. That must be love, he thinks.

On the other side, you wait there, careful not to make a noise. But he notices you. Feels you. His blue ghost, his guardian angel. You weave and entangle into him through the Force, saturating the pain away. You are like gravity, holding him there until it’s his time to ascend. His breath is shallow as he turns to you. He never meets your eyes, too ashamed of the man he will see in them.

And then, only then, on the brink of death, it all falls away.

He sees you. Void of your blue gleam and replaced with the radiant glow of your flesh—the skin and bone kind. With crimson blood pulsing your heart to life like hallowed memories breaking free from their cage and unraveling at his feet. Pieces fell back into place. The lingering weight of a palm between his, the brush of a smaller shoulder, and a smile pressed against his own. When he thought you were dead. We will be alright. Then words fall into place. Candles beneath the grate still burn. The wick dies. All alone. Grieving.

Vader’s flesh hand wraps around Palpatine’s neck in seconds. They both stare at each other, collectively gasping for breath. The darkness is suffocating sweet on Vader’s tongue. He draws on it like a man thirsty for water, sipping it out of Palpatine like it were his last meal. Before him, Palpatine’s face falls deathly ill, cheeks hollowing and eyes bulging. Vader tastes his life Force; it’s bitter and metallic.

More shields fall, gifting him even more special moments with you.

Sunshine on Hoth.

You blinked at it, removing your goggles. "I can see the sun."

Holding hands away from prying eyes. A smirk pulls at his lips. "Can you?" He asks, oblivious to the view, too focused on the snowflakes catching in your lashes.

He remembers how your thermal suit malfunctioned shortly after and the way he kept your hands warm on the journey back. He even remembers the time he sulked in your hiding place after he got his new mental arm and your patience to sit with him.

Memories jostle back to life, and Vader breathes them in like the soup you inhaled after your Jedi trials. They churn a fire in his belly and create a stream of ever-growing energy through his body.

And as he catches his breath, he feels a power so peculiar lacing itself into his veins. Behind his weary eyelids, a soft blue glow trails up his arm and around his flesh hand that was choking Palpatine. It occurs to him that he’s no longer alone. You are there with him, covering him with a blanket of blue.

And then it all clicks together. This deep, dark pain that fueled his every move was blind. It fed on his flesh and bones like a parasite. And it would only eat and eat and eat until he was no more. But you; you would feed and feed and feed him until he stood taller than the steepest mountains. There was no home here behind these fortified walls. Not when you lived in his very soul.

Your ghostly face reveals itself, passing through Vader’s like a ghost through a wall.

Yes, he thinks, this pain won’t last forever.

And so he lets his muscles relax and relish in the essence of you. Let the Force carry out its plan and use whatever scraps of Anakin Skywalker are left. Because he knew where he belonged now, where he always belonged. As Anakin, your Anakin.

Resigning into the wall, he waits for the darkness to swallow him whole. He isn’t afraid anymore.

Palpatine breath rasps against Anakin’s cheek. The blood gurgles at his wound, but he doesn’t feel the pain. He tries to blink away the spots in his vision, but he is blinded by a piercing light. Then he hears what can only be a thunk of a body collapsing to the floor. Between the ringing in his ears and his squinted vision, the light forms a narrow beam.

Your other hand had plunged a lightsaber right through Palpatine’s stomach.

Not any lightsaber—your old lightsaber.

Palpatine’s chest rises a final time with a choked gasp.

And when will it all be enough?

He knows the answer now.

They were all right. Love did lead to the dark side. His devotion to you left him a shell to be remade in the Emperor’s eyes. But love was not all evil, and it did not solely exist to tempt. It also had the power to save, the power to redeem, and the power to defy the odds. And that power is enough for him.

Neither of you move. Anakin thinks he might be dead already, given how much blood he must have lost. He doesn’t spend a moment longer because he notices how your hands are still trembling on the hilt, as if you couldn’t let go.

Your pupils are blown wide, and if he looked any closer, he might have been able to see your teeth chattering.

With a drunken smile, he cups your cheek to draw your attention to him. Wordlessly, you turn, your face still frozen in shock. His metal hand reaches to rest atop where your hands are gripped on the hilt. You drop the lightsaber, letting it pierce the silence with its echoing bang on the floor.

Inhaling through his nose, Anakin tries to clear his dry throat with a cough. "So, this is it, huh?" Although it comes out more slurred.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between his. "Anakin," you say his name as if it were a vase on the edge of a counter.

Your blue light flickers like a flame being fanned out.

His eyebrows furrow. "What? No, you can’t go." He wants to say so much more, but fatigue looms closer to him.

You glance down at the wound in his stomach before glancing back into his eyes in a poor attempt at hiding your panic.

In all odd sense of the idea, you never learned how to disappear. It wasn’t something you could control. Like many things in your life, it just happened on its own terms. You felt foolish that it had come down to this: Anakin lying in the spot where you died with Palpatine dead by your lightsaber. The irony was palpable.

But there were things you were wise enough to learn. Fore ghosts only existed as parities of the light side. And what you had just done was an act of pure darkness. No matter how pure your intentions may have been, killing was still killing.

Yes, you knew exactly what you were doing. You had to kill him. If Anakin had, Vader would have consumed him.

Your light flickers again.

…You would be the one to pay the price.

"Anakin," you repeat, resting a hand over his heart. You needed him to know. "I’ll always be right here."

"No! No…" His teeth grit out a hiss as he tries to sit up.

You know he can see the pain in your eyes, maybe even the wobble of your bottom lip. His wound is deep, and the blood terrifies you. But you feel him. You can feel his strangled breaths and his beating heart. It claps like thunder against his ribcage. He would live to see another day.

You are lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat. You lean into his presence, touching your forehead to his with your eyes closed. Tears track down his cheek. You feel the scalding pain each time his chest is wracked by a sob.

"I just got you back… I can’t let you go now." His voice is coarse and wavers the same way his flesh hand trembles against your cheek.

Your eyes flutter open to a sea of blue. Waves crash at the shores of his eyes, creating rivers down his cheeks. You understood him. You didn’t have the strength to say goodbye, either. Especially after all this time you spent fighting for this. To have it brush against your fingertips only to be ripped away hurts.

It feels bitter to call this a happy ending, so you wouldn’t. This was a fresh beginning, a second chance for Anakin. Your time had run out long ago—Anakin's was only starting.

You admire his pools of blue one last time before allowing yourself to be swept beneath the waves and carried out to sea.

Anakin inhales sharply as you fade gently into the night. Your silhouette singes the air where it once was. His stomach still ached, but the bleeding had stopped.

Palpatine’s body lays motionless in a pool of blood on the marble floor.

Anakin swallows. It burns his throat.

Where to now? He thinks.

Home, a voice echoes in his head.

With a grunt, he stands, leaning his weight onto the wall.

He leaves the old Jedi Temple without saying a word.

He leaves Palpatine’s body to rot.

He leaves it all behind.

Except, of course, one thing.

Palpatine’s blood was printed onto the sole of his boot. He had stepped on it as he left.

No, Anakin doesn’t think he will ever forget the way it marked the marble behind each step.

-

A/N: THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE AND I PROMISE A HAPPY ENDING!!

[jjkeremika]

Big Time

description: eren is fucking mikasa and she accidentally says jeans name so eren calls him while fucking her.

smut: yes

Eren was mad. She fucked up. She fucked up big time.

It wasn’t on purpose. The name slipped out of her mouth before she even realized it was inside. A split-second memory reinvigorated by Eren’s cock sliding in and out of her. Somehow that made it worse.

“What the fuck did you just say?” It was practically a hiss, the venom of his words stabbing at her like ten thousand tainted kunai.

His strong hands roughly grabbed her hips and flipped her around harshly, back now flat against the bed. Definitely leaving bruises.

His hand then roughly squished her cheeks and held her face still, forcing her to look dead into his eyes. The flex of his muscles was salivatingly distracting. He glared at her like she was an enemy he needed to eradicate.

He was seething, steaming. The sweat he’d perspired from pounding into her over and over again was now evaporating from the heat of anger. His eyebrows were tightly furrowed and the intensity of his stare was overbearing, burning holes through her body, the draft sending shivers down her spine.

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find what to say. She wanted to say it didn’t matter, that she was with him now, wanted him right now. She said nothing, didn’t think it would help.

“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.” He leaned over her, glaring. His fingernails dug into her thigh. She squealed at the sharp sudden pain. “Did you fucking say… Jean?” He spat out his name quickly like saying it would kill himself.

She didn’t respond, just swallowed loudly. Her heart was already racing from the intimacy and this was sending it into overdrive. But the extra blood didn’t pump to her limbs, just straight to the one spot between her legs. Where she could feel herself becoming wetter and wetter.

Eren stood up and pulled away from her; Mikasa lamented at the loss of physical contact. Before she could say anything to beg for him to come back, to forget what she said or even to teach her never to say it again, she heard the phone dialing.

Her whole body froze mid-sit-up when she heard another voice ring out in the stagnant air. “This is Jean.”

Eren glared at the half-fucked out girl on the bed. She closed her eyes, recoiling at the sound of the question. “Did you fuck her?”

Mikasa’s face was blushed bright red. She thought back to last night, when she snuck into Jean’s room.

“Who?” He played dumb, but everyone involved knew better.

Eren wasn’t having any of it. “You already fucking know who.“ His voice had lowered an octave, sounding eerily more hot and dangerous by the minute.

Mikasa squirmed in her spot, letting out a light gasp at the friction on her already wet and sensitive clit.

“Oh. You mean Mikasa?” She could hear Jean’s arrogant demeanor even through the static. “Yeah. I fucked her. What about it?”

Eren stalked over to the bed, towering over her. His eyes were dark, lip curled in a snarl, fist unclenched and clenched like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with her. To her.

“You want to hear about how wet she was?”

Mikasa watched each muscle tense throughout Eren’s arms and chest. She watched his chest rise and fall faster with aggravated breaths. He knelt onto the bed.

“How fucking loud she screamed my name?”

Eren’s jaw clenched and his grip on the phone tightened to the point where Mikasa wondered if he’d break it.

“Or maybe about how many times she begged me to do it again?”

Eren chuckled evilly, almost in denial. He tossed the phone next to her thigh on the bed. “Oh, you fucking slut.”

“Isn’t that right, Mikasa? You begged and begged until your voice was hoarse to bounce on my cock with those thick little thighs of yours. Screamed until not only your throat was sore.”

She closed her eyes and blushed deeper at the memory of Jean being inside her.

Her eyes opened in surprise as a hand roughly grabbed her hair and dragged her forward, causing her to squeal at the tug. Eren’s fist was wrapped tight in her hair, holding it above her like she was a dog on a leash.

“You just love being fucked, huh?” Eren asked lowly, rhetorically. He used his other hand to slide her legs open and almost immediately thrusted a finger inside, fingering her more roughly than before. “Treated like the slut you are.”

He slipped two more fingers inside and picked up the pace, squelching noises echoing in the room each time Eren’s fingers slide in and out of her soaking cunt. The noises were joined by the slight breaths and moans that Eren’s fingers evoked. “Doesn’t even matter who does it.” He glared at that; he really didn’t like that.

“Matters if it’s me,” was all that Jean added. She was surprised he’d stayed on the line.

Eren scoffed loudly and dramatically. “Evident as she’s fucking me,” he hissed in response to Jean, never breaking eye contact with Mikasa.

“Well, she’s coming over tonight, isn’t that right, baby? Repeat rendezvous but I’ll make it harder this time. Like you asked me to.”

Eren scoffed again. He removed his fingers from her pussy and lined his cock up with it instead. She shivered as he brushed the tip against the sensitive skin, teasing her while slicking up his cock with her fluid.

“We’ll see about that,” he grumbled before forcefully pushing himself inside her at once. She frantically fisted the sheet at the abrupt feeling and let out a slight cry of his name. “She’ll be too sore to leave.”

Eren pulled out slowly to catch her attention before slamming the whole length deep into her, satisfying a primal itch Jean wasn’t even able to scratch. Probably because Eren was longer.

“I’ll just come to her. Satisfy her the way a real man should.”

“You’re such a slut I bet you don’t even care,” he whispered in her ear, biting it as he shoved inside her again, her whole body jutting backwards with each thrust. “Isn’t that right?”

She moaned loudly. His lips traced to her jaw and stopped just shy under her chin.

“Say it.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Mikasa.”

“Fucking dare, Mika,” Eren breathlessly countered, the energy draining from fucking her so roughly she’ll be hiding a limp.

She drowned out Jean’s voice with her own. “Such a slut, always fucking craving you.”

It was a miracle she had enough air in her lungs to make a sentence with the wind getting knocked out of her on each thrust. Eren’s grip on her thigh tightened and he moved it above his shoulder, his hips picking up speed and his thrusts gaining power.

“Craving who?” Eren teased.

“You, Eren, you. Fuck, it’s always you.” Not a whole truth, but not a whole lie either. Though in the moment it certainly felt true.

Right now, all she wanted was for what was happening to continue. For Eren to fuck her at full strength.

“How many times do I have to fucking remind you that you’re mine, eh?” Eren snarled in her ear, biting it afterwards, and grabbed another fistful of her hair. “Get it through your head. You’re mine.”

“Don’t fucking listen to that crap,” she heard Jean’s voice, muffled from the phone lost between the sheets. It sounded like he was moving, but the pleasure building made it impossible to focus on anything more than the enormous force pushing in and out of her, dragging her body with it, pulling her hair with it. He purred compliments into Mikasa’s ear that Jean couldn’t hear.

Eren groaned as he slammed inside her again, this time landing directly on the right spot. Mikasa loudly cried out Eren’s name, her fingers clawing into his bare back. Red marks and raised trails left behind.

“Fuck, I love my little slut.” Mikasa’s thighs were starting to shake as she rapidly neared her climax, her perseverance wearing thin from the repetitive force.

“Fuck you, Eren.”

“Our favorite girl is doing it for me.” He had an evil smile on his face as he replied. He knew he had won. She was his for the night.

Jean was eerily quiet as both of them approached their limits and climaxed together, Eren coming inside her and Mikasa shouting his name and biting his shoulder as he kept sliding in and out.

Eren held himself over her as they both caught their breath.

“You’re my whore, Mikasa. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

[aduckinpain]

Grief still knows my number

Tags: Character study style writing, heavily implied Lestappen, Symbolism, Hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Very focused on dealing with Grief, Charles Leclerc centered, Charles Leclerc Analysis throughout the years, All the radios and quotes that people use to describe Charles are accurate

Word Count: 2.8k

This is also on AO3 by roianamustang (me).

Hardships and life go hand in hand. Walk side by side. Fall into step with each other. Bleed together. Sigh deeply. Rinse and repeat.

Time and healing go hand in hand. Presumably anyways, according to everyone. While the years have allowed the blood to gradually crystalize, Charles Leclerc doesn't think the wound will ever stop dripping on his pristine wooden floor.

Success, achievements, wins. All these things fly with glory. Trigger adrenaline. The blood pumps, moves. Colors seem brighter, voices seem simultaneously louder and quieter, blending in with the murmur of the wind, of the cheers. The heart doesn't stop, doesn't take a break. It keeps on going and going and going. If any tiredness is supposed to be felt, it seems non-existent at that moment. The trophy is cool, blending with the heat of his hands. The light reflects on the champagne bottle. The crowd roars, so does he. 

Man has never felt more godly than when he's soaked in red with the cape of history and legacy flowing down his back. Never felt more untouchable than when he's deemed irreplaceable. A hero from a legend coming straight to life. 

The highs reach the moon. 

So the lows reach the Earth's core. Bright, yet hot enough to incinerate, evaporate.

People die and the world doesn't bat an eye. Life keeps moving and time keeps flowing. But its core weeps molten metal, scalding. Dripping furiously, wondering, screaming. It seems so loud, yet no one notices. Why don’t they see it? Why don’t they understand? 

Every June, his phone rings. Echoes in the walls of his expensive apartment. No matter how much he pays, it soaks itself in the crevices between the tiles. Makes sure it follows him. Hangs heavy in his pockets, in his rooms.

The heart has four chambers, each one of Charles’ overflowing.

Every July, Charles hangs his heart, lets it air out in the Monaco air, near the sea. It never fully dries. It drips and drips and drips.

In 2014, F3 welcomed him with open arms, the sun shined bright and his career seemed to be soaring. The future clear.

On October 4th 2014, the present halted. It stopped. His heart dropped, yet it deafened his ears. Hands shaking and eyes unmoving, he heard the gasp of his maman next to him. From the corner of his eye he could see his papa get up and call someone in a fervor. He felt hands on his face and the panicked, yet soft voice of his mother. Everything blurred. 

Turned dark.

Blank.

He doesn’t remember much afterwards.

On July 17th 2015, Charles Leclerc’s phone rang at 4:03 AM. Jules Bianchi called him on a Wednesday’s waking hour for the last time. The sea was bursting in his room through every opening, every window. 

Jules was finally resting.

Charles couldn't wake up from this nightmare.

His heart swelled. The rush of liquid in its chambers sudden. Wrong. The first thing to fill up were the ventricles, allowing them to hang heavy at the bottom. Slowly over the years, with every drip, every leak, the atriums expanded with the never ending grief.

2017 was his year of change. F2 had kicked off with a grand slam and he kept racking up the points. One after the other, after a long and difficult time, Charles’ future seemed set. His road to F1 perfected already.

He wanted more. He couldn't wait to have it. He'd jump, leep, crouch and slide to achieve what he wanted, what he deserved.

He'd honor Jules, he'd make Papa proud.

He’d bleed red. Get submerged in. Breathe till the bubbles escaped his lungs to reach for the sky.

The high of Monaco still lingered on his skin. In the month in between he'd been counting down the days. Training, sleeping, hoping.

20 days left.

10 days left.

9 days, then 8.

7, then 6.

5, then 4.

Halt.

Stop.

Just stop.

Not again. It's too much.

No.

Not again. Not now. Why now? 

No.

The 21st of June’s sun peaked its rays on the cloudy sky, Hervé Leclerc’s eyes slipped shut and Charles Leclerc met his breaking point.

The quiet before the storm, then a boom was heard.

A sudden calm and then a supernova.

His phone rang on the 25th of June.

‘He’d lost his father earlier in the week. We’re talking literally 48 hours later, he was in the car. He then went out, fell to last place, fought his way through and won the race. This was a kid who’d just lost his father and he was a kid at the time, a teenager. To have that kind of mental strength, I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Charles Leclerc won the 2017 F2 Baku Grand Prix.

Charles and Hervé dreamed a lot together. He remembers the race nights, the Grand Prix, the atmosphere, the wins. The drivers and their celebrations, their fireproofs and livery. The success, the wins, the championships, the legacy, the weight.

They remembered the red.

They looked up to the red.

They dreamed of it.

Laid down their lives for a chance to look at it in the eye.

So he lied.

His father on his deathbed, sick and weak, still held that spark in his last words. That smile, that used to be his comfort, now lingered with a looming feeling of dread. Of knowing what's happening. 

So he lied.

And take him back in that moment right now, he would still lie.

With his own reassuring smile, Charles Leclerc looked at his dying father and told him Scuderia Ferrari signed him into F1. The horse pranced and jumped and bled Charles Leclerc, as much as his own family had bled for it.

So he lied.

And his father died happy.

His heart filled to the brim. Charles could almost sympathize with the weight of the horse on his back.

Soon enough it'd be his.

Soon enough he would be the horse.

Fury seeped from every pore, screeched in his head, escaped his lungs.

Everything he wanted was taken too early.

Not this.

He wouldn't allow this.

‘It’s very unusual for Ferrari to choose a young driver. But after a decade with no championship success, perhaps trying something a little bit different is going to reap its rewards.’

A year into F1, it became reality.

The wind howled, his heart soared. It dumped its contents on the ground. Blood red leaking down, slowly spilling over each step, each stair. He should be jumping in joy, flying through the sky. Climbing.

So why?

Why was it heavy?

He looked up hoping to see the Sun, catching glimpses of it in between the clouds.

He plunged.

Eyes wide open. Hand holding onto a hoof. Hearing the echoes of its neigh.

His phone rang. 

The sound made him pick up his head. Hazy, confused, he looked at the called ID. 

Papa <3

Charles Leclerc was drowning in molten gold. 

He didn’t swim.

He declined.

‘What Charles is doing is a continuation of Jules’ legacy. Charles has a mission. A mission to do what Jules should have done.’

It was never meant to be his seat. 

At least not like this.

He doesn’t know, if on that fateful day in Suzuka, rain hadn't been falling, a crash hadn’t happened, a life wasn’t lost, would he still be here? In this seat? 

Who was bleeding more red? Him, his father or Jules?

Can dead men bleed?

Are his achievements his own?

At the end of the day, the past has happened. Its consequences reaped.

Charles can’t revive the dead, but he can honor them.

In his second year in F1, Charles Leclerc became a Ferrari driver.

In his first year in Ferrari, Charles’ teammate was a 4 time world champion.

In his second year in F1 and first in Ferrari, Charles Leclerc won in Spa.

Anthoine Hubert lost his life a few hours before. A crash and a boom. A win and a trophy. 

Death is imminent. It favors none and follows all. 

And yet, Charles Leclerc at the age of 22, feels its shadow linger near. Never close enough to him, no. 

It lingers right there, on the podium, in the trophy, in his anthem, in his legacy.

It gazes, but never touches.

Some days he wished it did.

After all, no one can truly best the perfection of the dead.

‘You can see the celebrations starting. He’s got one more corner, the famous Parabolica to go. Mercedes threw everything at him today. Charles Leclerc has coped brilliantly! 

He won in Spa! He wins in Monza! 

Charles Leclerc is the winner of the 2019 Italian Grand Prix!’

Monza is another type of beast. It’s godly. It paves the way for anyone, but it spreads the ocean for scarlet.

The confetti falls gently. Lewis Hamilton bathes him in champagne.

He points at the sky. He points at his suit. He looks above. 

He sees the Sun.

He shakes his head, laughs in disbelief. Wipes his eyes.

Charles Leclerc wins.

‘On this Sunday afternoon, the Tifosis celebrate, what an epic race—’

Charles got so preoccupied with red he forgot about blue. Dark, mysterious, never ending blue. 

Always there. Never far.

This cloud of rain that followed him around, dripping on the track.

Drip, drip, drip.

A puddle was created.

He pushed blue.

Disqualified the both of them.

He doesn’t regret anything. If he’s not winning, no one is.

Austria 2019 was a blur of purple. A blur of hate. 

His blood was pumping. Pupils dilating. Eyebrows furrowed. 

The PR training didn't matter in that moment.

Charles Leclerc doesn’t just lose.

He opened Instagram’s purple icon, went to his followings.

Typed in ‘Max Verstappen’.

Pressed the button, made it turn blue again.

2020 comes and goes. The quarantine unfamiliar. Unknown. More people gain shadows, and there’s an inkling at the back of his mind that his might finally touch him.

But there’s no time.

He can’t wait and waste his time with things like fear.

Every win, every overtake is not his alone.

So Charles holds his breath and anticipates.

The sky sees. The clouds look back. His phone charges.

He’ll admit, while he doesn’t think he will ever have a teammate which he wouldn't deem his rival, Sebastian Vettel would always be a special case. Would always hold a special place in his pool of a heart.

So it hurt.

It wasn’t Seb’s fault at all. For the first time in his life, Charles Leclerc felt something else towards the prancing horse.

Admiration and hopes were temporarily hidden behind confusion and hurt.

This time the shadow didn’t touch or tap or even come closer.

So why was he alone again?

Why was he leaving?

Please don’t leave!

Don’t leave.

A ring cut through the silence.

He declined.

Charles knows hurt and sadness, anxiety and fear. But that’s too many things to account for, he can't be writing them all in his notebook. Seb wouldn't.

So he writes a piece of paper with ink, doesn't let it dry, crumbles it and puts it in a little red box. A label lays on it.

Rage.

2021 happened, that’s for sure. 

Shit car, shit luck, shit strategy, shit Charles.

Oh, and a new teammate.

A win stolen.

But it’s ok. It’s fine.

Patience is something he has learned the hard way, honed it to be his comrade.

Silenced, his phone’s screen flashed at 5:58 AM.

He ignored.

2022 is here and so is Charles.

Bahrain. A dream on the precipice of flowing over the rim of the glass.

He won.

He won!

The season had started off on a good note.

In a good car.

It was now on his shoulders to bear the expectations. Not just of others and his own, but also the expectations of the dead and their wishes.

Hope is a scary, scary thing. 

It runs along with failure and when you least expect it, it catches its arm while it plummets in the abyss.

Drags it along, one drag at a time.

Saudi Arabia was a close call, but the clouds overtook him.

That’s ok.

He’s just starting.

He’s got what it takes. He knows he does.

So, for the hundredth time, why?

Goddamnit, why?

Every time. Every time he lets himself want.

This happens.

Charles Leclerc wins in Australia.

Charles Leclerc loses in Imola.

Loses in Miami.

Loses in Spain.

Loses in Monaco.

Loses and loses and loses.

But he’s always been special to Austria.

And Austria seems like it wants to be special to him.

He’s always got a knack for the raging bull. Specifically the blue one.

He crosses the finish line and Charles Leclerc smiles. Eyes squinting in the face of the screams. Cheeks pulling upwards. He runs to that podium.

Charles Leclerc grins at the cloud, at the sky.

The cloud pours and Charles Leclerc laughs.

Turns around, shakes his head and looks at it in the eye. His one constant. Grief can't touch the fastest after all.

There is hope.

It was blatantly obvious after a few more races, that Ferrari had no clear vision on how to improve its car.

So he lost.

He had the championship cup in his hands, and it slipped through its fingers. Rolling away on a slope. 

So he lost.

He got second, but second was never what he aimed for.

This time, when his phone rang, Charles Leclerc anticipated it.

A thunk was heard. A crack was felt.

Whether it was his phone screen or his heart, Charles didn’t know.

He broke.

He doesn’t know if it will ever get better or heal. Everyone tells him scars heal with time, yet his is infected.

He can’t do this. Can’t hold this weight.

Why does he still call?

Why?

Grief still knows my number, and I don’t have the heart to block it.

2023 rolled around and there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing Ferrari could do about the absolute hindrance of a car that they had created. 

A tractor would’ve at least given him more consistency.

It was out of his hands, but maybe he never had it in the first place. 

His heart had been hanging out to dry for a while, yet the humidity kept it aching.

So for the first time in his career, summer break rolled around and Charles Leclerc breathed. 

The shadow has retreated.

So with that in mind, you could see how it was a pleasant surprise.

Pole positions, podiums. No wins yet, but the Sun was shining, the Earth rotating and its core waking up from its slumber with slow, but assured movements.

Mattia Binotto out.

Fred Vasseur is in. 

Finally for the first time in years, Charles felt the warm embrace of a calm figure in his life, who understood his struggles. 

Finally for the first time in years, Charles Leclerc was first. Not in the championship standings, in his own.

The dead may be honored, but they are gone. They can be remembered.

The living are here. They can’t be put to wait in line, life doesn’t wait for people to catch up.

His blood is rushing, his lungs expanding, eyelids blinking, thoughts running. 

He’s alive. He’s here. He’s important.

Charles Leclerc races in Las Vegas for himself. He fights for himself. He forgives for himself.

Max races after him to apologize but Charles has already moved on. He doesn’t hold grudges anymore. 

He wraps his arm around the cloud and reassures. He smiles, eyes sparkling in the Vegas lights. Blue meets green.

He remembers and looks at the sky. His heart returned in his chest, no longer in the hands of mother nature’s fickle decisions.

Charles Leclerc makes his own decisions. 

After Abu Dhabi, his phone rings again.

In the first time in 6 years, he answers.

It’s quiet for a while.

The number you are trying to contact is inactive. Please try again.

At least he tried.

A ping was heard. A message arrived.

Papa <3

impr0ud

He remembers the adrenaline, the confusion. He froze for a moment, but recovered quickly.

He replies. 

Papa? Are you there?

Unseen, unanswered. 

And yet, he’s content. 

He sleeps and dreams, and legacies don’t plague him.

He sleeps and he wakes up the next day, calls his maman.

“Hey maman. How’ve you been?”

Charles Leclerc is familiar with Grief’s number, as much as he’s familiar with his own. 

2023 ends. But he’s just getting started.

The winter break came and went in the blink of an eye.

Contract extensions, announcement dates, livery showcasings and more.

Air enters his lungs and he lets himself feel.

5 wins this year, that’s the goal for now.

A small step backwards for a giant leap forwards. 

Charles Leclerc is ready, has always been.

Rage in one hand and pride in the other, he steps forwards.

Blue on his side, as was meant to be. Blue meets green, understanding in between.

The crown on his head high and bright, and well deserved. His accomplishments and wins.

The cape down his back is theirs. He’ll let them have this.

After all, the championship will be his.

‘Charles Leclerc. Prince of Ferrari. King of Monza. Legacy of Monaco. What a star of the future! Celebrating wildly in the present!’

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Charles himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

All of the italicized sentences that start and end with ' ' are actual words said for Charles, either by Netflix, Will Buxton, Crofty or other documentaries.

The phone ringing from a person that has already passed away, has happened to me and my mom. So it directly inspired me.

Time for some clarification of my analysis:

The wound is grief showing its head at the very start of this.

The cape is Ferrari obviously.

The Earth's core and its molten metal is always Charles himself.

Every correlation with a phone/phone call is Herve's, except the specific Jules one.

Every time the heart is mentioned it mostly means Jules grief.

The ventricles are the two lower chambers of the heart, which in this case filled up first, which is why it weighed him down.

The atriums are the two upper chambers, which are slowly overflowing.

Herve died exactly 4 days before his F2 Baku race, that is why the time stops at 4.

Red is Ferrari.

He holds onto the hoof and hear a neigh. This is Ferrari's prancing horse.

The Sun is hope, the unachievable.

The clouds and the color blue are always Max Verstappen, including the blue raging bull.

The sky are both Jules and Herve.

The shadow is always death in every mention.

Purple is the conflict and the brief pushing from Max on Austria. It shows an intriguing way of which even when they are fighting they are always in sync.

The notebook is the habit he picked up from Sebastian.

His one constant in life that will never leave is Max Verstappen. He calls him the fastest despite not knowing how the results of the 2023 season.

The message for anyone temporarily confused says: I'm proud. Its more of a sign that Charles has finally started racing for himself, has let go of some of the self-afflicted responsibility to hold the dead's wishes.

Every blue colored things is Max Verstappen.

Every red colored thing is the intense feeling that Ferrari gives him, every win makes him soar, but every loss digs him deep.

The title of this work is inspired by someone on social media showing their own experience of old phone numbers calling.

No one can best the perfection of the dead is a quote from Aya, in Bungou Stray Dogs season 5, which I thought was exactly what this fic needed.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or likes!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen, Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!