#if there are more please add them on but these are the ones i have on the brain

[new-undergrowth]

I think it might be more accurate to look at the horsemen as Harbingers- they do not create the apocalypse, they fortell its arival.

And, well, lets see..

Famine ; well, the world has had plenty of that for the past few millenia post-colonialism, and even if one keeps it to only the U.S Empire (where i/we live for context of this post) its been having unsolved food issues for a long time. Maybe not famine yet, but everyone who payed attention knew this horseman well was on his way here after the U.S called him into the homes of its victims.

War; This ones easy- predates famine, and the U.S has been conducting nonstop war for its entire existence. Insist on exclusively the U.S Empire? well, there was a war on drugs, even conducted with guns and resulting in

Death; The U.S was *built* with the help of the Horseman of Death. It has continued to rely on it for its entire existence. Even moreso than war, the U.S relied on it, specifically inviting it to its home by spreading addiction and ..

Pestilence; In addition to the plagues the u.s happily benefited from indigenous populations suffering from, it has also benefited from its *own* population suffering- lest it would have long ago had things such as free healthcare and shorter mandated work hours. Not to mention the Covid pandemic, which it continues to ignore. Like the other three, the U.S loves and cherishes this Horseman, employing him with great relish.

The system of capitalism and the state isn't the Four Horseman- it *employs* the Four Horsmen. Uses them, and with great glee at that.

also we're aware we've hardly even touched on many additional examples of all four. there are too many for us to count and name in one post, which is hopefully more telling than it is upsetting - that we've too little strength to say them all. please feel free to add your own examples in reblogs, if you like

Turns out the horsemen of the Apocalypse now prefer to go by Shareholder Profit, Private Equity, Corporate Personhood, and Workforce Optimization.

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ satoru hates the idea of cock-warming. he thinks it's pointless, getting the opportunity to be in you, and not even bothering to make the most of it.

his idea of making the most, well, it would consist only of fucking you so hard, you won't be able to move the next day. that's what good boyfriends do, right?

"good boyfriends do whatever their girlfriend asks them to do," you counter.

satoru whines in response, looking up at you. all pretty, you're seated in his lap, as he lays on the bed. strands of white hair fall into his eyes, and you brush them away.

he pouts, "i am a good boyfriend." satoru's getting impatient, wanting to just feel your snug cunt around him. his throbbing cock sits hard on his stomach, red-tipped and leaky.

"then, please?" drawing out the syllables, you give him the best you can: puppy eyes. he caves. instantly.

grumbling, "fine. i guess you can put her in you. willingly choose not to move, too, or whatever."

you clap your hands, emerging victorious. you're not willing to test your luck, though, not commenting on the fact that you've told him multiple times not to refer to his penis with she/her pronouns.

he groans as you sink onto him, his thick length pushing past your spongey walls. there's a filthy squelching that fills the room, paired with your quiet whimpers.

satoru's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the flesh. "shit, pretty girl, tight 'n' wet f'me. taking me s'good." his words slur into one another, lost in the depths of arousal.

there's always a certain amount of self-control it takes, to not immediately cum the second he's all the way in. "'toru," you murmur, accidentally clenching around him.

"fuck," he mutters, "you can't do that, squeeze your little pussy like that, if you aren't gonna do anything about it."

"sorry," you say, sheepish. his eyes flutter shut, a hum dismissing the apology.

"now, what? just... stay like that?" satoru tilts his head at you, questioningly. sassy, if you may add. he just really can't believe you'd rather be doing this.

shifting above him, you lean down, resting your head on his bare chest. "yeah. isn't it nice?"

his arms wrap come up, to wrap around your waist. there's a beat of silence from him. begrudgingly, your rigid boyfriend shrugs, "maybe."

you're too content to roll your eyes. he wouldn't admit it, but satoru was filled with love, in this moment. his shoulders relax, and his entire body seems to ease, a breath of satisfaction leaving him. he feels at peace. he's always at peace, when he's with you, but this is different.

more real. more raw.

it's incredibly intimate. he feels like he's a part of you, like there's nothing keeping you separated. satoru inhales your scent, holding you just a little tighter.

"baby, i love you," he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

you smile against him, "i love you, too, 'toru."

to say the least, cock-warming is his new favorite thing. there is no sitting beside him on the couch anymore, not when you're alone. no laying next to each other on bed, either.

if he was clingy before, he's a monster now. if you're near, he wants to be inside you. not to have sex, but just to rest. it's not like you're complaining, anyways. at the end of the day, you're down bad for him, just as much as he is for you.

[northopalshore]

🦪 Neptune in the

Union persona chart

Neptune in the Union persona chart describes your love story with your future spouse or long-term partner during the early years of your relationship. It also shows you what your partner may fancy you (find attractive about you) from the moment you've met. Works for every sexual orientation. This interpretation was made from my personal observation. Based on the charts of celebrities I've seen & people I've met in real life.

୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

Masterlist| Union persona chart masterlist| Briede persona chart

In retrograde! There is this longing for love. In some way, your partner might be aware of you long before you've met ( or just the thought of meeting someone like you in the past). You likely have seen things that correlate to them as well whether you notice or not. Though, this also means that a lot of waiting, back & forth unpredictable changes/troubles may occur when it comes to your love life.

°22 degrees! This degree is a bit special so I'll add a bit more to it here outside of its original attachment (Capricorn degree). Your relationship is very unpredictable there is great potential for deep healing but also a "lesson" for you to overcome. There is usually a risk you must take with this. Either to stay or to go, to shame or be shamed, or to "kill or be killed".

0° degrees! Enhances the qualities of the sign & house it's in.

FS/Future spouse & partner are used interchangeably throughout the post.

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Aries (°1,°13,°25) | 1st House

Your FS is immediately struck by your beauty, or something about your charms. They love how bold and sassy you are! It can cause this sense of rushing feelings and innate sexual attraction between you & your partner (mostly your partner). Your love story is filled with passion, fast paced action, quick progress & even feature fighting, misunderstandings & hot tempers. Though the passion runs high, so does your patience. A lot of things could happen very quickly for you even from the moment you've met. It's on par with the "hot young love" troupe! It's not completely dramatic though, just expect some bickering to show up here & there.

Ex: I had an ex friend that met her boyfriend literally less than a month before dating. And like a week later, they're talking about marriage, commitment, merging families — it's a whole thing. She has Neptune in Aquarius retrograde (°13 Aries) in the 1st house. Is there trouble? Yes. But it's quite private so I won't air it out.

Taurus (°2,°14,°26) | 2nd House

Your partner is impressed by your humility, your beauty & your work or reputation (whatever that may be). I remember writing something similar in a different post, but the "household name" aspect shows up again with this Taurus placement. However that doesn't necessarily translate into being famous. Even in the most mundane world imaginable, people will still associate you with your partner. This relationship is one where you have the potential to have it all with your partner. Where both of you are very sweet to each other & attentive to your partners needs. Your relationship is very stable, and very romantic from the beginning.

Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | 3rd House

Your FS will be very impressed with your wit & knowledge. Perhaps they love the way that you talk and express yourself, the words that come out of your mouth or the things that you write really strike their interests. They also admire your intelligence and intuitive nature. Your relationship is very light-hearted & entertaining as well! You could act like best friends, or have a somewhat sibling-like relationship. You love sharing your thoughts together; and could spend a lot of time talking or going on trips. Non stop talking even.

Ex: A friend of mine has Aquarius Neptune retrograde (°15 Gemini) in the 6th house. Her fiance is from a different state & ethnicity than her, they're on the phone 24/7. They talk about everything together. Take it from me as her roommate lol. It's quite sweet actually. Since they're long distance, both of them make sure their partner is in their life one way or another. Also, they are always giving each other advice & constructive criticism (though at times, one of them feels attacked)

Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | 4th House

Your partner could be infatuated with your innocence and warm personality. Your love story is one that's very affectionate, warm and reassuring. It's the "you are my home" placement even from the beginning. You & your partner will be very easily reliant on each other for that comfort which can lead to you will also get quite attached to your partner. The progression is very natural from what I've seen & emotions run high whenever you're with your person. You could have a codependent relationship as well. Could be a "meeting young" indicator.

Ex: Michael Jackson has Neptune in Scorpio (°4 Cancer) in the 12th house. Both his ex wives were infatuated with him when they were younger. His relationship with both of them were quite codependent, though he had a special attachment to Lisa Marie Presley even long after their divorce. She was like his place of comfort especially since they met round the time when he was most shrouded in controversy. She also tried persuading him off the substance.

Leo (°5,°17,°29) | 5th House

Listen baby, your partner thinks that you are hot shit. Straight up. Your relationship is very romantic, fun and wild. From the beginning, it's as if your partner introduces you to an exciting new world. Expect a lot of flirting and eyeing each other down. Both of you are a force to be reckoned with i.e a power couple! People will adore you when you're together. It's usually an indicator of a famous couple regardless of whether you are famous or not, just because of how good you look together. The vibe you bring to the function is sexy , fun & flirty. What can I say? Your relationship is also quite sexual, there is a lot of physical intimacy & compatibility. (Or rather, day dreaming about it lol).

Ex: Both Beyoncé & Jay-Z have Neptune at °29. They both found each other very attractive and when they met, they were on a roll in their career. Both had pretty steady reputations and Beyoncé was just looking breaking into her solo career (she debuted solo with Jay-Z in 2003).

Virgo (°6,°18) | 6th House

Your partners love the potential that they see in you, like you become their motivation or blank project to work on. Your relationship grounds you & brings you safety & structure. They also admire you for your work & lifestyle (how you structure yourself & your routine). They motivate you to become a better version of yourself. Depending on your lifestyle that could be amazing or detrimental to your sanity lol. You can either feel extremely criticized or very supported.

Ex: Brigitte Bardot has Neptune in Virgo (°13 Aries) in the 3rd house but it's also conjuncting the IC (°17 Leo). She's had several husbands, the first one was passionate and most beneficial to her career (helped her rise to fame). The second was quite hard, rigid & controlling from what I've read (disagreed with her lifestyle). The third was romantic & avant-garde (he was a German billionaire playboy lol) but short lived. The last marriage is private but seemingly quite supportive & a steady man to settle down with. Truly, a perfect example for all her placements.

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Libra (°7,°19) | 7th House

Your FS will be very impressed by your grace & poise. Perhaps to them, you symbolize the ideal woman/man. They'll think of you as beautiful and elegant & classy (at least classier than them in a sense). Your partner will be very attracted to you and find everything about you lovely. As for your love story, it is incredibly romantic & dreamy! There is usually traditional courting involved with this placement.

Ex: Priscilla Presley has Neptune (°7 Libra) in Libra 4th house. Elvis found Priscilla to be beautiful and courteous despite her age (he was likely attracted to that child-like "purity" of hers as well since she was only 14 when they met. Their relationship was very romantic especially in the beginning. They did have a proper relationship despite the aforementioned age gap!

My mom has Neptune in Sagittarius (°7 Libra) in the 6th house. Both my parents act like high school sweethearts in a way (even though they aren't). You know the good girl & bad boy trope from Crybaby? It's one of my favorite movies but it reminds me of my parents ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ! Or maybe they're closer to Hank & Peggy Hill's relationship (Kind of the Hill). They act like best friends and still do till this day, but can be quite naggy at each other.

Scorpio (°8,°20) | 8th House

Your love story is the least straightforward love story ever & likely the toughest as well. There will be a lot of personal struggles, unforeseen trouble, push & pull and potential squabbling (which could come from a multitude lot of reasons). Your love requires sacrifice, and overcoming trauma, going through the fire to be born anew. It's as if you need to be born again just to be with each other or being together helps you realize a lot of your flaws & inhibitions. This love is revitalizing, hot, & scandalous. Trouble lies ahead but can be rewarding in the end after you've dealt with the trouble. There is always a hot sizzling attraction with this placement & the lovers are usually obsessed/possessive with each other (in both a good & bad way). Though it also means your relationship has the ability to withstand a lot of pressure.

Sagittarius (°9,°21) | 9th House

Your relationship is very fun and entertaining. You and your partner are a humorous and open-minded duo; there is nothing that you cannot share or express with your partner. Even when you become old farts you'll still crack jokes and treat each other as you did in your younger days. You are each other's biggest motivators and energizers. No day with your partner is wasted or left ignored as you have a tendency of sharing your interest, thoughts, and doing/exploring new things together. This is one of the healthiest placements that I've seen in any relationship (provided you are open to playfulness & fooling around at times). You may also travel together often (or to each other).

Ex: Ryan Reynolds has Neptune in Sagittarius (°14 Taurus ) in the 12th house & Blake Lively has Neptune in Capricorn °9 Sagittarius in her 9th house. They were always the fun couple, you can see from how they act, they love to poke fun at each other and entertain each other. Literally trolling one another too. Still, they are both very supportive and most times they seem to be on the same page.

Capricorn (°10,°22) | 10th House

Your FS is very attracted to your professionalism, and your work ethic. Literally being impressed by how "cool", calm & collected you are! There is usually a separation phase which is very prominent in your relationship. Like you can't get with each other at least not face to face often, or something causes a lot of "cold" feelings, detachment & frustrations. A delay for commitment & dating. Your relationship takes time and a lot of effort to maintain, but if you can handle the turbulence, it's smooth sailing from there. Your relationship has the potential to last a very, verrry long time given the right treatment. Most of the people who have this work with their partner but it's not exclusive to that scenario.

Ex: Zendaya has Neptune in Capricorn (°25 Aries) in the 4th house. Tom said in an interview that he found Zendaya's professionalism & down to earth nature very impressive. The dating rumors started very early (on the set on Spider Man when they first started working together in 2017) but their relationship did not develop or at least wasn't that consistent as Zendaya has dated others before they finally got together again in mid 2021. Ever since then, they have been going steady & are engaged.

Safiya Nygaard has Neptune in Capricorn (°20 Scorpio) in the 11th house (conjuncting Uranus). She & Tyler met at university & were friends for a long time before they started dating. Even when they started dating, they were quite preoccupied with their own goals & interests; with Safiya working with Buzzfeed & he had his own technology centered business as well. However, after Safiya started her own Channel & invested time there, he started working with her too (supporting her). They have worked closely together ever since!

Aquarius (°11,°23) | 11th House

Your relationship will be very well known in one way or another. You could be quite popular online if you post couple content, either way, people want to see you & your partner together; people are naturally more attracted/curious about your relationship. Other than that, in a way, your relationship will defy the norm. You change something about how people, view love, commitment and connection. Nobody, literally nobody would ever think you'd be with your partner. On the most basic level, it's different. Can indicate a interracial relationship as well (since that where I've seen it show up the most).

Ex: Beyoncé & Lisa have Neptune in Aquarius. No ho none, nobody, expected either one of them to end up with who they are with now. It was very surprising to the public when both their relationships were revealed.

Guess, who has this placement too? Jungkook! (Neptune in Aquarius °0, 2nd house). For him, it will make sense just a little while longer. You can expect him to end up with someone opposite (much different) of what people thought he would/hoped/wanted to see him with. I'd love to explain, but it's not the time for it. Not yet.

Pisces (°12,°24) | 12th House

Your FS finds you completely enchanting & almost unreal. They could see you as "perfect" as well! The love you have is genuine, and built solely on love and adoration. Your relationship is very private, and you could even keep it hidden from those around you. There is usually some form of distance and delay involved with you & your partner but it's not completely restrictive (remaining mostly in contact). You progress very slowly with your relationship but the love & fascination only grows stronger as time goes by. This is an extremely romantic placement to have.

Ex: Beyoncé has Neptune in Sagittarius (°24 Pisces) in the 2nd house. They met in 2000 but didn't really start dating until around 2002 (speculated due to their collaborations that year). When they started making music together, their brands sort of merged together. Even later in the relationship, a lot of Beyoncé's love songs were centered around Jay-Z & vice versa.

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Thank you for reading ♡ support?

@northopalshore

@northopalshore union persona chart 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer.

[devdozes]

SO HAPPY TO HEAR ABT SPIDERMAN PHAINON, like can you write how exhausted he must be after being busy all night? Dozing of in the middle of class and having to cover for him and If you have more shenanigans for them please add them!!

♥ Spiderman Phainon !!

OH MY GOD THIS MAN HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD !! AND HELL YEAH ALSO SPIDERMAN PHAINON DRAWING AT THE END OF THE POST!!

This man treats you as his personal pillow istg. And, he will be passed out within SECONDS. You’ll be talking to him, and next thing you know? He’s OUT. If you try to get up, he tightens his grip around you. -"Babe, I need to get up—" "No." "Phainon." "You’re my pillow now. ;3"

He is absolutely DOWN BAD, he will definitely do those silly couple trends with you, and sometimes you wonder whether hes the man in the relation or you. -"BABYY WANT TO DO THE RIBBON TREND WITH ME??" -"BABY WANT TO DO THE LIPSTICK TREND WIRTH ME PLEAJ :(" - "Of course phai :), NOW CMERE"

He falls asleep in the most RANDOM places, and when he falls asleep, he is a HUNDRED times more clingy, You have caught him dozing off in class more times than you can count. Sometimes, his head just drops onto his desk with a loud thud. Other times? He’s literally asleep with his eyes open. "Babe, wake up." pinches cheek Mumbling. "Mmf… five more minutes…" clings onto your arm like a koala. "Phainon, we are in a LECTURE, wake up—" Grabs your hand and dramatically puts it over his heart. "Let me just… rest in your warmth for a moment…" "Oh my god."

Calls you his savior since you have to write his notes for him, of course you do hes literally spiderman and your boyfriend, you have to help him since you love his idiotic ass. If you don’t remind him about deadlines, he will forget. "Phai, did you finish the essay?" "… What essay." "THE ONE DUE IN AN HOUR???" "WHAT THE FUCK??" -You once caught him doing an entire paper five minutes before submission. The man wrote 1,000 words in 4 minutes. It somehow got an A.

Doesn’t want to admit when he’s too tired. "Phai, baby, go sleep for gods sake. "Nah baby im alright" immediately trips on air and faceplants

You once tried to see how long phainon would last without touching you and clinging on to you, he lasted 46 seconds. - baby come back i hate this, this is TORTURE—"

He texts you randomly during patrol and tells you EVERYTHING "Just stopped a robbery. Miss u. What r u doing?" "Babe I just saw a guy try to fight a raccoon behind a gas station. This city is insane." "I’m on top of a skyscraper right now thinking about u." "Send me a selfie. I need motivation."

HE LOVES WHEN YOU PATCH HIS INJURIESS !! and when you kiss them "Baby im alright no need to worry" "YOU HAVE A HUGE GASH ON YOUR ARM. SIT DOWN." "Im alright ill heal-" "Ill kiss your injuries" "Yes maam, please do that 500 times"

Bites you everywhere, fucking whimpers if you bite him back "Bites you "here is your daily serving""bites back""Lets out a whimper and asks you to do it again" "PHAI WHAT THE FUCK"

He always calls you "his" like 24/7, And gets SHAMELESS whenever he wants your attention and if someone approaches you "My love" "My baby" "Mine" "My girl" "Phai thats a cat you dont need to be all.. clingy" "Felines are cute yet dangerous"

His love language? Spoiling you. SPOILING THE LIVING SHIT OUTTA YOU. If you casually mention you like something? BOOM its in your room the next day "Babyyy you like cats dont you?" "Yes i do- oh my god." "Meet our new kid :D" "PHAINON WHY IS THERE A BRAND NEW GAMING SETUP" "But you complained on how your old gaming setup lagged :(" "Phainon i love you but you can NOT keep wasting your money"

Eats alot, and will force you to eat with him, He practically lives in your house so your fridge is ALWAYS full "Baby i got you your snacks and groceries!!" "That is enough food to last me an entire month." "You just eat less" "I am not a bigback like you Phainon" "THE AUDACITY??"

ALWAYS uses his webs cuz hes too lazy to do anything. One time, you were "too far" from him (you were 7 steps away from him" and then used his webs to pull you to him "PHAINON I WAS NEAR YOU! YOU COULDVE JUST WALKED" "Nuh uh" "Fuck you mean nuh uh"

If you compliment him once he will malfunction and BOMBARD you with compliments, kisses whatever. "C'mere pretty boy" "..." "OH MY GOD YOU LOVE ME" "We are literally dating" "MY AMAZING SWEET BEAUTIFUL PARTNER I LVOE YOU SO MUCHH"

He carries you randomly just to see your expressions, he is a down bad mf. And does those random ass stunts. "Baby look!" does a backflip "You're so dumb" It is dumb but you laugh and smile widely "YOUR SMILE IS SO PRETTYY"

If you ever feel bad, or want comfort, he will do ANYTHING FOR YOU. ANYTHING. Want fresh air? He's swinging you through the city with you in his hand the next second. Want to rant? He's listening and comforting you the next second

He may be a hero, but he would do anythin for you, even if that means betraying his city's trust or becoming evil or just quitting.

ARCADE DATES AND CHAOTIC ASS DATES. Phainon took you to an abandoned place and explored it around as a date. He is afraid of normalcy and loves being unique im not like other boys ahh 😒 -He insisted on dancing in the rain with you. "Baby can we please" "Sure :) but your clumsy ass is gonna get hurt" "No i wont!!" He falls on his ass the next moment he tries to do a fancy step in the rain with you, but you just laugh your asses off - He one time stole a shopping cart, seated you inside the shopping cart and pushed it full speed while controlling it. You both almost crashed against a light pole at like 100 km/h but his strong ass dodges it with ease luckily "PHAINON OH MY GOD LOOK IN FRONT!!" "FUCK OH MY GOD" - If you go on a beach date? hes beefing with kids and everyone. He is competitive. LIKE ALOT. He built a sandcastle and webbed it up so its technically indestructible. "BABYY LOOK :D" "Phai thats a goddamn kingdom" And whenever you all play beach volleyball, he does EVERYTHING to impress you or beat you. (he just wants to win) "HEY BABY THATS CHEATING YOUR USING YOUR SPIDEY SENSES :(" "I TAKE NO LOSSES." - Even when yall do an arcade date he does that. He always secretly uses his webs to pull out plushies without the sensors and you noticing "Aww baby you wanted that plushie" Pulls it out using his webs "PHAINON THATS STEALING!" "UH ITS JUST EXTENDED CLAW FUNCTIONALITY" Please kiss him after that - And in mall dates? he somehow manages to sneak in an entire course meal inside the movie theatre. He refuses to sit still. His leg bounces. He fidgets. He’s either whispering dumb commentary in your ear or dramatically reacting to the screen. "Baby the popcorn is so dry ugh" casually pulls out an entire full course meal from his jacket "Phainon what the fuck" "Shh Shh baby just relax and enjoy the illegally smuggled pizza" -Go karting dates? Hes gonna web the other players to win. And bowling? he accidentally breaks the bowling ball and the pins

HE ALWAYS RANDOMLY PICKS YOU UP, JUST TO FLEX HIS STRENGTH AND MUSCLES, AND EASILY DOES THINGS FOR YOU "Phai.. you dont have to hold my shopping bags" "Its okay there are only 21 bags" "Phai-" "Ill carry you too." AND HE ACTUALLY DOES. -His BACK MUSCLES OH MY GODD HE IS SO FINE, One time you walked in on him shirtless and his back was facing towards you, his shoulder blades and back msucles were so fucking fine. And the way his arms are so fuckign firm. You can NEVER get out of his grip

some texts with this menace

giggles, i am down bad AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST WHOEVER DID THIS OH MY GOD ILY

[intoanotherworld23]

The End Of Us

Summary: You and Joel have made the difficult decision to go your own ways, and Joel just wants to spend one more blissful night with you before you leave

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, smidge of spanking, dominant Joel, submissive reader, minor edging, sad ending, angst

A/N: Hello my lovelies this one is a little bit longer than what I’ve been writing lately so I hope that you guys enjoy this! Let me know what you think in the comments and reblog so that others can enjoy it as well. It would be greatly appreciated and encouraged. My Pedro pascal tag list is still open so if you wish to be tagged in future writings let me know and I’ll add ya! Thank you all so much! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

“Just one more night baby, please.” Joel had begged against your lips. “Please just let me have one more night of you.”

You and Joel wanted totally opposite things, and had different visions for the future. Constantly arguing to the point it was becoming toxic to stay with each other. That’s when you both made the difficult decision to go different directions.

You cup his face in your hands as you stare deeply into his eyes. Showing no signs of manipulation or deceit only seeing pure desire and love. Feeling your cold fingers pressed against his heated skin. Holding his breath waiting for your answer. “One more night.”

Watching as Joel stoops, and without hesitating you jump into his arms so he can pick you up. Wrapped around him so tightly almost afraid to let him go. Fearing he would disappear suddenly, and this would all be a dream. Carefully walking up to the bedroom, a somewhat somber feeling in the air.

Joel laying you down softly on the bed as he sucks on your plump lower lip. Dragging it out with his teeth only to let it bob back. Lips then caressing your jawline as his hands massaged your outer thighs. Feeling him press his erection against you causing you to moan.

“I bet you’re just dripping.” His voice low and deep already knowing the truth without even having to look or feel.

Without skipping a beat he lifts your arms up sliding your shirt off and to the side. Looking down to see your erect nipples just waiting to be touched. He was eating you alive with just his gaze alone.

“God I need you so bad.” Mumbling before leaning his head forward to nip at your bud. Dripping onto his hair as he flicked his tongue back and forth.

“Joel please just take my pants off.” He was fully teasing you at this point. Taking in more of you than ever knowing this was going to be the last night.

Emitting a noise in response at the desperation in your voice. Lifting your hips up as he pulled them down your legs leaving you completely exposed. The air hitting the wetness between your legs causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

“See I knew you would be dripping.” He smirked knowing he was right, and all you could do was just roll your eyes at him.

“Just shut up and fuck me Joel.” Groaning wrapping your legs around him to help ease the ache. Joel knew what he was doing with you he wasn’t a fool. He wanted this last night with you to be explosive and utterly euphoric.

“I would watch how you talk to me baby girl.” He warned you his tone stern and dominant. His arms on either side of your head as he kissed your collarbone tracing his lips up your neck breathing you in. “I’m the best cock that’s ever gonna fuck you.”

Not even waiting for your response he stood up for a brief moment to strip himself of his clothes leaving him naked. Leaning on your elbows as you looked him up and down. Eyes drinking him in as you memorized every detail on his figure.

“Tell me how badly you need me.” Speaking as he grabbed your ankles opening you up to him. He wanted to hear you say it out loud.

“I need you so desperately Joel. You’re all I want. All I ever want.” Your words holding truth and meaning. It wasn’t a lie to just get what you want. “I love you.”

It was the three little words that held a much bigger meaning. He was shocked to hear you say it, and that was all he needed as he hovered over you pushing his cock inside of you feeling as he stretched you around him. Gasping your mouth wide open as he just watched your face.

“Fuck you’re so big.” Your hands gripping onto his waist holding him there feeling him deeply already clenching your cunt around him. Joel just leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours just loving the feeling of you, and not wanting to move.

“Keep your eyes on me baby girl.” He directed you wanting your entire focus on him. Joel was never shy when it came to intimacy. “Keep them on me or I stop.”

“Mhm.” Wiggling your hips wanting nothing more than him to move.

Joel pulling his hips back his cock slipping very easily just enough before he pushed forward again. Snapping his hips back and forth creating a steady rhythm. Hands gripping his arms as whimpers left your mouth. Wanting to just close your eyes so badly, but knowing Joel would stop, and this feeling would be gone so quickly.

“That’s a good girl. Taking me so good.” He praised as he briefly looked down as your walls swallowed him whole. It was a sight to see.

The sounds of your wetness were echoing in the room it was overwhelming your senses. Your entire being was just a mass of tingles, heat, and want. Just wanting to look down and watch as his cock abused your hole. Keeping your eyes on him as you noticed his face turning redder by the minute, and sweat dripping down his forehead.

“You feel so good, you feel so fucking good.” Groaning as he gritted his teeth trying to hold on for as long as he could.

Senseless sounds were tumbling out of you, the pleasure coursing through your veins. Whenever you and Joel would fuck it felt like you were floating in the clouds. Never wanting to come back down. Nothing compares to the way he makes you feel when he’s inside of you, and caressing your skin. Nothing else.

“I wanna cum in you.” There’s a desperation that instills within him, wanting to get to the finish. “Please I wanna cum in you so badly.”

“Yes, please, yes.” With no hesitation as you tightly wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in even closer.

A hand slithering down your lower stomach between your bodies so he can rub your clit in harsh circles. Crying out at the overwhelming sensitivity as your nails dug into his skin. Your eyes tearing up your body felt like it was going to explode.

“I’m close.” Warning him and he responded by flipping your bodies so smoothly so you were now on top, his cock never slipping out.

“Ride me baby girl.” Hands gripping your hips as you moved your body back and forth your hands pressed against his chest using him as leverage. “Fuck just like that.”

Rocking the entire bed the headboard knocking against the wall with your aggressive motions. Joel loved watching as you took control so desperate to chasing your own high. Hands coming down on your ass as a form of motivation to keep going. Your thighs burning already from this position.

“Look at me when you cum.” He tells you your brows upturn, whining in frustration. His thumb returning to your puffy clit rubbing fast circles.

“Oh god I’m cumming.” Feeling the dam break as your walls flutter around him from the stimulation. Throwing your head back as you felt your entire body trembling from the mind blowing orgasm, feeling the heat around your body overflowing with pleasure.

“Fuck.” Joel holding you in place as your cunt instinctually clenched around him. His cock twitching inside of you his own release just right there. Euphoria finally conquering him, and it makes effective work, hot spurts of him warm seed coating your insides.

Fighting to keep your eyes open as fatigue rushed through your body. Arms and legs feeling like noodles thankful Joel was holding you up otherwise you would have collapsed on top of him. Rubbing soothing circles on your thighs in comfort as he eased you through the last of your orgasm.

“Come here.” Patting his chest signaling to lay down. Slowly placing your head on his sweaty chest placing your ear over his heart listening to his rapid heart beat. Keeping his cock inside of you not wanting him to leave.

There was a sudden shift in the air. Feeling melancholy that this was the last time you and Joel were ever going to see each other. Joel pressing his lips on the top of your head it had you smiling.

“God I hate this.” Mumbling against his skin breaking the deafening silence. Your body frozen not wanting to move because then it would become real.

“I wish there was a different way, but we’ve already been lying to ourselves long enough.” Joel was being stronger for you knowing if he wasn’t you both would keep running in circles, and having the same conversations over and over.

If only you and Joel had met at a different time in your lives this discussion wouldn’t be happening. It was just both your luck you had to meet when the virus already broke out. You could see a beautiful life with Joel.

“I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.” His voice cracking as he tried to hold back the tears. It broke your heart to see him vulnerable like this.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Kissing his chest a hand reaching up to rub the back of your head. A tear rolling down your cheek. This was going to be so much harder than what you thought.

“Who knows,” looking up at him your bottom lip trembling. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

Closing your eyes as the tears were starting fully stream down your face. You and him both knew better than that. Neither one of you were likely to see each other again. Of course, Joel wanted to make you feel better about the situation. Embracing you as he held you in his arms so tightly it actually started to hurt.

“Yeah, who knows.” Sniffling as you pathetically attempted to sound optimistic, but Joel saw right through you.

“I love you so much.” Staring deep into your eyes as he placed a kiss on your lips knowing it was the last time you were ever going to feel those soft lips on yours.

[pythonmoth]

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back. 

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans. 

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be. 

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot. 

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes. 

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain. 

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists. 

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s. 

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it. 

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again. 

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in. 

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrifying of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[4norizz]

Landoscar Fun

Summary— Oscar admits your relationship and lets Lando join you for a night of fun

Warnings— smut ; threesome ; aftercare ; dom!oscar ; soft dom!Lando ; sub!reader ; blowjob

A/N— enjoy 😉

Masterlist

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

“What’s the deal between you two?” Lando asked. “Dating or?”

“Her? Well, technically, just not publicly.” Oscar responded. “Maybe you could join; she loves company in the bedroom.”

“Really?” Lando questioned. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, it's always fun to add spice.” He replied. He went and grabbed her from the dance floor.

“What are your plans tonight, love?” Lando asked, shooting her a mischievous smirk.

“Since my brother is gone, no more drinking.” She pouted. She nudged Oscar, giving him that specific look. “Celebrating, maybe.”

“I was just talking about that, darling,” Oscar mentioned. “What if he joins us tonight?” He whispered to only her. Her face lights up, and she grabs Lando’s hand and Oscar’s, leading them away.

They admired her confidence. They also admired her short dress and how it almost showed her entire ass. Oscar grabbed it on her way into the elevator, causing her to smirk. Once in the elevator, she kissed him, and Oscar quickly established his dominance by grabbing her neck.

“Your room or mine?” She giggled.

“Up to you, darling, you’re the one getting ruined,” Oscar responded, removing his hand from her neck. She giggled again and kissed Lando as well.

“Your room, mine is an absolute mess,” She responded, looking into Lando’s glistening eyes. “Like I’ll be tonight, hm? " she whispered to him.

They make their way to Oscar’s room, giggling through the hallways. Oscar opens the door, allowing them to pass first. Lando sits in a chair, not knowing what he should do.

“Strip for me,” Oscar demanded. Her giggly mood changed, and so did her attire. She did as told and stripped her clothes. “Such a good girl.”

Lando caught the hint that Oscar was in control now. She wants to beg, but she has nothing specific to beg for. A whine erupts from her, and Oscar doesn’t like that response.

“Be a good girl and please our guest.” Oscar retorted, undressing himself.

She walked over to the man sitting on the chair in the corner. She straddled his legs and kissed him. He grabbed her ass, squeezing and slapping it occasionally. “Harder.” She moaned. He obliged and slapped her ass harder.

Oscar grabbed and stood her up, causing her to cross her arms while pouting. “Ties or no?” He asked her.

“I was busy.” She remarked. He does this when they have company, to keep her attention and to hear her sass.

“I asked you a question, darling; there's no need for attitude,” Oscar responded calmly.

“No.” She said quickly.

“Hey, there's no need to be so harsh, love,” Lando said, pulling her towards him by her waist. He turned her around to face him, and he pulled her face down to kiss her. “That was his way of getting your attention.”

The soothing calmness that came from Lando was enough for her mood to revert. Lando runs his hand up her thigh and towards her core. She straddled him again. His hand reached where she was dripping with arousal.

“So wet, love,” Lando announced. He teased her, awaiting for Oscar to interrupt again. Sure enough, Oscar had other plans.

“Darling, it sounds more like he’s pleasing you and not the other way around,” Oscar said, almost annoyed. She rolled her eyes, and Lando kissed her.

She gets on her knees in front of him and removes his trousers. She takes no time to tease and start sucking. Lando realized her hair was bothering her and gathered it in a ponytail. She went faster, sucking his cock like no other. Lando groaned and came to his high quickly.

“Fuck love.” He groaned, pulling her hair slightly as a reaction to his climax. She moaned on him as his cum shot into her mouth.

“Swallow like a good girl,” Oscar said from behind her. She did as told and swallowed the cum effortlessly.

“Come see love,” Lando said, having an arm outstretched towards her. She grabbed his hand and straddled his lap once more. They made out while waiting for Oscar. He returned with lube, and Lando leaned back in the chair.

“Go ahead, darling.” Oscar motioned her to get onto Lando. She lifted herself, only to return down on his cock. She moaned with a bit of restraint.

“Easy, easy.” Lando cooed, watching her go a bit too fast. He put a hard grip on her hips and eased her slowly down. She moaned as she bottomed out. “No need to rush love.”

He kissed her as she fell into his chest, loving the filling feeling. Lando slowly lifted her, returning her down. He could tell it was a struggle for her with his size. She was too tight for Oscar to even think of trying anything more than what she was taking.

She grabbed Lando's button-up shirt, tightly intertwining her hands in it. Lando looked at Oscar, who could also tell she was struggling. They silently agreed to just take care of her for the night.

“How’s that darling?” Oscar asked, moving her hair away from her face. Lando slowly moved her up and down leisurely, both drinking her moans and whining. She couldn’t form words, but she nodded.

“Yeah?” Lando smirked at her nod. Knowing he was the one causing her inability to speak. He felt her walls constrict lightly against him, causing his head to fall back and his lip to catch in his teeth.

“Mm, close..” she mumbled, digging her head into his shoulder as her body trembled and faltered at the pleasure. Oscar took his opportunity and rubbed her clit slowly. Erupting a moan to escape her lips.

“I feel you love; let it go,” Lando whispered before kissing her sweet spots, making her moan more. “That’s it, love, relax. I’ve got you.” He stilled her hips as she orgasmed. She almost ripped his shirt as she held on tightly to cum.

She moaned out as her body shook from the pleasure. Her mouth hung open as she breathed heavily. Oscar removed his hand, sucking the remnants. “You did so well, darling.” Oscar soothed.

“Can we give him a show?” She asked, fucked out. Oscar and Lando could go on for hours, but the one orgasm she had seemed to have drained her completely. They noticed that.

“Darling, are you sure?” Oscar asked, seemingly aware she wouldn’t give it up. “You seem tired.”

She hummed as a response squirming around, realizing Lando was still buried deep inside her tight cunt. A shaky breath escaped her lips, and Lando chuckled. “You don’t have to push yourself love.” He added.

“We can give him a show some other time, darling. You did really well today,” Oscar praised. “We should get you showered and in bed.” She whined at the realization that the night was far from over, but not in the way she wanted it to end.

“Come on, love, it won’t take long,” Lando said, toying with her hair. Not long after a bit of silence, he lifted her off of his cock. She moaned at the emptiness, and he kissed her. Oscar realized she wouldn’t be able to stand and picked her up.

“Do you want to shower or take a bath?” He asked, sitting her on the toilet cover. She wondered whether she wanted to soak in hot water or take her chances getting railed in the shower.

“Shower," She said. He knew her thoughts like the back of his hand and started a bath. He smiled at her attempt and kissed her forehead.

“Good try, darling.” He chuckled as he grabbed bath salts and sprinkled them throughout the water. Lando peeked his head in and smiled.

“I’m going to head down to my room, but I’ll be waiting for your call, love,” He said, planting a kiss on her head. They heard the door close, and she sulked.

“I’m sorry..” she said.

“For what, darling?” Oscar said, concerned she was being too hard on herself. “Don’t be sorry about tonight; you did a lot today. Understandably, you’re tired.”

She nods her head and sinks into the water, sighing in relief. Oscar starts washing her body and hair, causing her to relax and almost fall asleep in the bath.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He laughed lightly, watching as her eyes drooped. He helped her out and dried her off. He put her in one of his shirts and then into his bed. “Good night.” He smiled as he tucked her in and kissed her forehead.

The McLaren boy showered himself and put on boxers to sleep. He curled up in bed and pulled her closer by her waist.

She doesn’t sleep long, a wet dream clouding her head as she moans in restlessness. Her movements and noises woke Oscar. “Hey...” He whispered, unsure if she was awake and trying to get his attention.

“Oh god..” She moaned. “Yes, Oscar fuck.” She continued. He shook her awake, and she looked at him with embarrassment.

“Are you okay, darling?" He asked, caressing her face. It’s not often she gets wet dreams; it’s usually him, and she takes care of him.

“I fell asleep horny.” She whined. “I need you, Osc..” She felt the desire bubbling, hoping he’d give her a hand.

“I can help with that.” He whispered back. He pulled his boxers off and helped her straddle his hips.

She slowly sunk on him and moaned in relief. He moved her hips slowly, a rhythm that would make her sleepy again. She lay comfortably on top of him as he moved her hips slowly. Small moans and whines come from her lips.

“Relax, darling, I’ve got you.” He whispered after she let out a strained whine. “That's it.” He praised as she relaxed on his chest.

She finishes, slightly shaking. He pulls her off and lets her stay on top of him. She hums in relief and falls back into a deep sleep.

She’s no longer on top of him in the morning, but she is the little spoon. She felt too comfortable to get up and fell back asleep. He woke up shortly after she did and moved to his phone.

I’m dropping random fics until I run out or start getting requests 😵‍💫

[vividly-vermillion]

Okay so you had me at plague doctor already because please don't judge me but they're so hot for NO reason at all. Add monster to it and my legs spread faster than I can even hit the reblog button.

Knowing this is from you Cort, I'm going into this with high expectations that I'll know you'll meet and surpass because no matter what you write it's just UGH YES TICKLE MY BRAIN!!!!

I hope you know that a shiver ran down my spine at the intro of this masterpiece and I shivered.

The entire ambient is just so good I have no words for it. But I don't want to stop reading. You set the scene so beautifully and paint a picture for my inner eye, making me a part of the story as if I'm witnessing this live and in color.

Oh lord. the description of the monster... whERE DID MY PANTIES GO???

The pain of loss - the willingness to do everything, to not run away from this it breaks my heart. Mr husband can be a very lucky man to be loved so deeply and sincerely.

THEY WERE BURNED ALIVE OH MY- i literally scrunched up in myself at the image. The downside of the way you paint pictures- the unpleasant ones also appear (which by no means is a bad thing but agsjsbsuidnw I wanna sob)

How does one even measure a soul? Is there ever enough money that would equal the love you have felt for one another? An eye for an eye? Do you need to give yourself away in order to get them back? It's such a cruel question but you portrayed it so beautifully

Great Death was terrible up close, freezing to the touch. Pale. Dead. Not of this realm. The air around him was dense, stagnant, like it had a breath to hold. It simply did not move in his presence. The feeling of his fingers wrapping yours then, pinning them to the countertop, suffusing you with his cold and his darkness made your neck hairs stand upright.

I loved this part so much for no reason at all I think. I just love great death it seems. The way he is so... otherworldly, scaring me down to my bones but also so soothing???

You bled on his cock that night as he savagely fucked you into the table. His nothingness had been moved away, parted in halves to reveal gray and blackened purple hardness. An emaciated belly of similar tones was eye-catching and harsh and familiar, but a view which became unimportant as he impaled you, yanked your head back by hair closest to your scalp, and forced your gaze to the ceiling.

This and the next 4 blocks of text... I can not tell you how they made me feel. There aren't any words for it. It's a strange mix of disgust, sadness, need and strangely enough want? To give yourself to something like great death for love... to get back the love is so... it's a price to pay but a price I'm willing to pay if that means I get my husband back? But it also feels so violating at the same time? Is this even full consent? No one will ever know and I don't care.

He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion....

He is so cruel and absolutely vile but he also seems so.... needy? He is craving this? You scratch an itch that he isn't able to reach and that somehow makes me feel appreciated help i need to tell my therapist about this ☠️

“Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

Now, sir, with all respect... no need to get mean okay 😭 but the way he yearns, mocks and just takes and takes why am I falling in love with him help

Now Cort... I AM SHAKING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS (gently) WHAT IS THIS ENDING I CRIED LIKE A BABY!! Fuck I did not expect this at all 😭 I feared that at the question above - whats the worth of a soul - that this would happen, that he wanted a soul in exchange but hell I did not expect he would just murder us like this :(( my silly pink glasses dropped because I was falling in love over here like the village fool I fear. The way he saw everything. The beauty, the ugly, he saw our most intimate - our soul.... but noooooooooooo

I dislike great death and hope he shatters the soul jar and eats bricks >:((

Anyways, personal feelings for the monster put aside - this was a truly beautiful piece and as said in the beginning I did not expect to be disappointed. I fear that I will come back to this a few more times because it will haunt my mind in the most beautiful way.

PESTIS

plague doctor monster x reader | 18+ | 3.7k

after the doctors in your town burn the bodies of plague victims, a mysterious cortège of black wagons begins visiting once a month. the one who leads them, great death, asks you what your deceased husband's soul is worth to you, and the result of it begins a convoluted spiral.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, sexual content, major dubcon, kinda implied size kink?, size difference, his ejaculate is not sexily described lmao, extreme body horror + grotesque details, graphic depiction of gore (at the end), kinda-sorta cannibalism?, mc is pretty shitty in this, murder, disturbing details all around, bodies are burned, frightening imagery, prose + detail heavy, this is a bit of an exploration of greed + touches on some relevant events if you can figure out the parallels, plays with the idea of humans having actual souls, roughly proofread, don't look too much into inconsistencies lmao just have fun.

muted divider by @/anlian-aishang

a/n; originally, this was supposed to be >1k as part of a personal challenge where ppl could vote on a poll for what genre i'd write a piece for. horror won.

thanks to @shouyuus for shoving this prompt from @/deepwaterwritingprompts in my face. this piece followed the prompt very loosely, but still!!

pls share your thoughts + reblog this! it really means a lot to support writers, guys 💙

All anyone knew was that he was called Great Death, and he led a cortège of black wagons with black lace across the windows into town square for one night, once a month.

The procession’s arrival was announced by clopping hooves from skinless, skeletal steeds and enormous wheels jolting across the cobblestone terrain, of which the very foundation of the town had been built on top of. Even though they moved slowly, precisely, in a single line of synchrony, their sound was one of continuous rolling thunder; the roaring fireplaces where all of the bodies were incinerated.

Your husband had been reduced to human soot in one of them, but you weren't allowed to know which one.

No one was.

The doctors had argued it was to prevent grieving families and grave robbers from clawing through the ash in search of bones, scraps of clothing, or valuables discarded with the bodies of nobles. But, none of that made any difference as there was greed and loss, far too much of it to keep people out of the fireplaces and from digging and stealing and reclaiming.

You hadn't been so driven to search for your husband’s things because you still possessed more wealth than he had been burned with. He had been blistered with black and purple pustules of infection and plague before he died, so you feared that breathing him in (breathing anyone in) would fill your lungs with them (with him) and kill you, too.

But, that did not mean that you did not grieve, because you missed the beauty that he brought to your life. You missed his gentle wit and loving mind, how he always sent you exquisite clothing from wherever in the world he had gotten to now.

My love, this is your color!

- Samuel

Every color was your color, in his eyes. And, every piece he had delivered to you became a part of your collection of things. An opulent display of his devotion and good status to show to your friends, anyone sitting with you for quaint tea and distantly sourced food untouched by the town.

Meeting Great Death had come long after the burning of plague bodies, now hushedly called The Incineration, and months since the cortège had first appeared during each waning crescent.

The wagons had filed into town with their thunder, pulled by dead horses that made the ground shiver under your feet. Many townsfolk, including yourself, had been roused by the commotion and hurriedly made themselves decent to check outside. It became a spectacle of groaning complaints, white nightdresses, and bright orange lantern light floating midair in bloodless fists.

All light was to the wagons, which had formed a tight, silent ring around the poisoned fountain spouting brown plague water, and the disoriented chatter had ebbed into anticipatory shushing.

Then, the townsfolk jumped, as the windows with their blackout lace fell forward as though forced from the other side, landing flat like a countertop. The darkness beyond the windows was as dark and dense as it was infinite, smothering pulsing glows from the lanterns as some fearless men awkwardly inched closer to the wagons.

“O’ woe! Tragedy! Tragedy has befallen your home! It has taken your friends and family. It has crushed your souls and stolen theirs. But, have no fear, for we have come to return what once was yours!” said Great Death from somewhere within the throng of wagons and wet skeleton horses.

“What are they worth to you? The souls of your dearly departed. What are they worth to you? To be reunited with those that you loved so dearly and so terribly lost. Wouldn't you do everything you could to have them back? Pay any price? Come! Come! Come all! Let us speak!”

And then, bone-white beaks and hollow eyes emerged from the darkness within the wagons. Each window filled with these spectre merchants; frightening monstrosities in black cloaks and wide-brimmed hats and long fingers pushed into leather gloves.

One townsfolk had communicated what you, what everyone else had thought seeing them, “What are the doctors doing? Haven't we suffered enough because of them? They've burned everyone we loved, and now they're trying to sell them back to us as souls? This is madness!”

“They are not our doctors! Look! Look!” wailed another; a paranoid man, “those are not masks. Those beaks are bone and skin. They are demons coming for the rest of us! Run! Run for your lives! Seal your doors! Hide!”

You were pulled along with the scattering crowd, the dispersing lantern light and slamming doors, but you did not flee inside as everyone else had. Instead, you were coaxed back towards the wagons by a leathery hand and nodding beak gesturing for you to come close.

The wagon was larger than the rest, as was the creature leaning out of the window. There was fleshiness to his long beak, waxen with green veins that throbbed in the swaying light.

Great Death looked at you with nothing eyes, and nearly bent his head sideways onto his shoulder as if his true stature were cramped inside of the wagon. When he spoke, he did so clearly, even without his beak splitting into halves like separate jaws.

“How joyous! You didn't run away. Your grief must be immeasurable. Please, come even closer to me. Come here. Yes, yes, what a lovely thing you are.” Great Death giggled in delight of your obedience, or your foolishness. “You do not wear rags. You are well groomed. You possess no healthy amount of suspicion, yet I suspect you are still mourning someone. Who might it be? You can tell me. Who? Who?”

You sensed he was mocking you with that jaunty voice of his. He asked you like someone who already knew a secret, but who'd wanted to hear the great revelation straight from the source.

“My husband.” You told him. “He was a wealthy merchant who owned many ships. He sailed for more months out of the year than he was home. He could've found someone else far more beautiful, more handsome than I, but he kept me. He always came home.”

Great Death stayed at his sickly angle with his head as he leaned out the window further, both hands grasping the edge of the window-countertop. “Ah, I see. And I assume that this wonderful, merchant husband of yours succumbed to the plague? Yes. Yes, he burned with the rest, didn't he?”

“He burned with the rest,” you said.

“A hideous shame! You do have my condolences. I must ask, have there been any other cases of plague since The Incineration?” His gloves scuffed as he fluttered his fingers outward, away from you and towards the lightless houses and barricaded doors. “I won't hear an answer from anyone else, as you know.”

You couldn't hold his empty gaze, those sockets of penetrating black and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see inside at something.

Somewhere far, somewhere deep, you noticed a faint glow. Tiny hums of light blinking in and out of existence like fireflies. Little sentient creatures with will and action of their own. But, these were colors: mostly bright white, some were yellow and orange, and a few were searing white-blue.

“No,” you said, at last, remembering the question, “there haven't been any more cases since the burnings. Since—”

“The ships stopped sailing.”

“Yes.” you said.

Great Death then withdrew into the darkness of the wagon with his crooked neck and leathery hands. You considered leaving for your home, padlocking the doors and pushing furniture up against them because it was clear that this creature—all of these creatures—harbored no good intentions.

They were not your doctors who had incinerated hundreds of bodies, claiming it as necessity; saying that there was no other way to protect the rest of the town. At the time, houses quarantining the sick had been forcibly broken into by the doctors and other men in masks and gowns. They offered no apologies, no desire for absolution, no mercy.

The plagued were dragged from their deathbeds, their salt baths, their favorite chairs and out onto the streets with no dignity, in whatever way they'd been found. They were taken to the fireplaces, thrown inside those great, lashing lion flames and died screaming as they became smoke and ash. Outrage only came after as it had all happened so quickly, no one had expected it.

The doctors had said nothing. Offered few sympathies, yet promised that this sacrifice, this purge, had saved the rest of the town. That there would be no more plague.

Sometimes, the fireplaces still wailed, but not how they'd had then.

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” asked Great Death, now back in his window with his sideways head and hands clasped on the countertop.

He'd been there for a while, it seemed. And you were still standing in front of his wagon, instead of being tucked away behind the safety of locks and walls.

“You—do you have him in there with you?”

“Oh, possibly,” he said, calm and unrevealing. His hands lightly thudded on the window-countertop, rattling the glass that it was made from. “I have a little bit of everyone in here, I suppose you could say. What is your husband's soul worth to you?”

You said nothing because how could you measure the worth of a soul? Did a soul cost as much as your vast wardrobe? Did it cost as much as your house? Was it worth the same one of your legs, or a cluster of pubic hairs cut with a razor?

“Do you think his soul is worth your fortune?” Great Death saw your stricken expression just then and let out a breathy laugh. A satisfied laugh. “Is he worth you giving up your clothes? Your house? Your comfortability? Do you love your husband enough to live in rags for the rest of your life?”

You rushed up to his countertop and grabbed his hands with yours. For once, your heart was beating something awful, foul with hot-cold dread that felt wet under your skin. “I—what else is there? What else would you be willing to take? Anything else?”

Great Death was terrible up close, freezing to the touch. Pale. Dead. Not of this realm. The air around him was dense, stagnant, like it had a breath to hold. It simply did not move in his presence. The feeling of his fingers wrapping yours then, pinning them to the countertop, suffusing you with his cold and his darkness made your neck hairs stand upright.

He was enjoying this.

“I will consider it a fair exchange. Everything material that you hold precious in exchange for the man you love. Wouldn't you say that sacrificing your wealth would be worth it if it meant reuniting with him?”

“I've earned everything that I have after a lifetime of scraping around the slums. I will not return to that,” you said, low in your throat, borderline vicious. “Anything else?”

He let out a windy sound, perhaps a breath, or hum that meant he knew too much. His thumbs, much larger than your own, caressed the peaks of your knuckles, stroked the backs of your hands and pressed down on your veins while he contemplated.

“Come inside, then. Just around the corner.” Great Death moved his slanted head slightly right, indicating a black door at the rear of the wagon, which had been camouflaged by the inky dark. “I'll open it for you. Come along. Come. Come.”

The interior became familiar to you each month thereafter. But, you would always remember how disoriented you'd been first stepping inside of the commodious space filled with all manner of things vile, fascinating, and mystifying.

Great Death was able to fix his neck when he wasn't hunkered by the window that reached only waist-height on him. He and the rest of the soul vendors were like afterimages of each other, seemingly indistinct, grayer, when you stared at one long enough and then looked to another. Great Death, however, came with a heavier beak that curved more sharply; a carrion face capable of tearing through your viscera.

He was one with the semi-darkness, his shapeless silhouette a seamless mesh with air and shadows, of which the yellow tallow candlelight did not fully reach. When he moved, it was swift, inescapable; he glided rather than walked, and you could only follow his pallid features appearing to float midair.

“Forgive me for the mess, it is so rare that I have guests come inside to visit me. Transactions are better done outside, after all,” explained Great Death, already unfastening, untying, disrobing you, and laying you out on a wooden slab of a table. “My, you are lovely, aren't you? I wonder if what I see is what your husband saw in you as well? Ah, that is unlikely.”

You bled on his cock that night as he savagely fucked you into the table. His nothingness had been moved away, parted in halves to reveal gray and blackened purple hardness. An emaciated belly of similar tones was eye-catching and harsh and familiar, but a view which became unimportant as he impaled you, yanked your head back by hair closest to your scalp, and forced your gaze to the ceiling.

There, you watched the serpentine emptiness coil across the ceiling of the wagon, watched the formations in the wood grain come alive with writhing, yawning faces that never lasted long enough to know if they were speaking to you, because Great Death thrusted too hard, made you cry, bleed more, but you didn't tell him to stop.

This was the price you were willing to pay. So, you laid beneath him motionless, sore, regretting your own stubbornness for just a moment until he let out a shuddering breath of release, rutting you with his cock still twisted with your insides. He flooded your walls with cum that felt wrong, gluey, membranous. It oozed out slowly once he removed himself, the pain of him having been there was worse now that there was nothing left.

“Even I experience lust and crave a human’s touch, their soft flesh. Humans are an indulgence we are rarely afforded. Souls, well, as you can imagine, cannot do much,” said Great Death once cloaked in his darkness again. He redressed you, starting with the sleeves, and helped you off of the table with encouraging pats to your lower back. “I greatly enjoyed myself. Thank you for this exchange.”

“My husband's soul, I want it.” Now, as he ushered you towards the end of the wagon, towards the black door concealed in staticy shadows, you ached in countable pulses. “Give it to me.”

Great Death giggled, pressed his hands down onto your shoulders, and nuzzled his lethal beak against your neck.

“Come back to me next month.”

And, that's how it went on from there on out. Each month during the waning crescent, a persistent bright and sharp sickle in the sky, he led the cortège into town square and allowed you through the threshold into his sacred place. He serviced no others in town, but had expressed certain morbid appreciation to you, saying that because of your brazenness, more of the vendors were being skittishly approached by those deluged in grief and delusion.

“Oh, oh, oh, how joyous, my lovely.” He fucked you on the floor as he spoke, ramming you cruelly, until you whimpered and moaned. You wondered if he was trying to make you scream. “What a boon you've become to us all. They're all so happy. Your people. Mine. The souls. None are so happy as me, though.”

Before he'd penetrated you again, before he'd let you through the door, he met you at his window-countertop and asked, “What is your husband's soul worth to you? Have you considered letting go of your fortune? My lovely, you know that you cannot possibly take it with you once you perish and rot, yes?”

Always frightened by the thought and obstinate, you let him have you in whatever way he pleased. The pain eventually washed over with numbness. At times, his long strokes against your walls felt good, and occasionally you would come on his gray and purple cock. Focusing on how thick he felt inside of you, and the white streaks of lightning crackling behind your eyes.

Without fail, he flooded you and made it stay for a short while as if relishing your prolonged discomfort and disgust that he was still there. It would leak slowly, abnormally, as he redraped himself. Concealed his sallow body with protruding ribs, jagged angles, and dark slits spread throughout.

He was corpselike; he looked like rot. His rot inched out you for days after he was long gone, and then the sickness would set in. Red hot fevers and bone cold shivers kept you bedridden for weeks, tended to by cautious maids unsure what to make of your recurrent episodes.

Nothing showed, but you felt festering beneath your skin. Unexplainable in that you saw no such lesions, no lumps lurking in the layers of your anatomy. But, you soothed and scratched yourself like something was there. The maids were worried that your grief had made you spiral into hysterics, and they considered calling one of the doctors to your bedside.

“I will ruin all of you if you bring one of those—those murderers into my house!”

At these times, you could not be reasoned with. There was too much itch, too much sensation, too much boiling under flesh and bone, too much crawling, too much pain, too much hunger, too much vomiting, too much too much too much too much too much…

“What is your husband's soul worth to you?” Great Death had returned during the waning crescent, said you looked unwell. “Will we continue our exchange as we usually do? I am not opposed, you know that. I am very fond of you, my lovely. Come inside.”

You were fragile and fatigued from fighting illness, so it didn't much matter how hard he fucked you into the floor. Skin slapped and moistened with fluids and sweat, and Great Death’s moans broke the stillness in the air.

“Oh, my lovely, I look forward to coming to this town because I know that you're waiting for me.” He said it dreamily, like in reminiscence of a bleary, beautiful memory. A faded photograph lost between pages of a book of someone once loved. “Perhaps I see a little of what your husband saw in you. No. No, I see deeper than he ever could. I see through you into your core. I see your soul. Oh, how hideous it is.”

His body was revealed to you. The dark slits which covered him twitched and opened wide into tens of dozens of pupiless black eyes, and lipless mouths with needle teeth. Purple-red tongues lashed out of the mouths at you, making you scream and struggle beneath his weight.

“This wasn't part of the exchange! I just want my husband’s soul!” you pleaded, searing with panic through every ounce of your being. “I'll give you it. I'll give you everything. My clothes. My house. My fortune! It's all yours!”

His fucking had slowed, stopped entirely as a bullous, flickering light had drifted out from some hidden places in the depths of the wagon. It was gently orange at its center, emanating a pale aura outward, which pulsed like a heartbeat and buzzed with familiar warmth.

You thought to reach for the doomed little thing destined to be smothered by the dark. All light eventually was.

“He's waited for you all along, my lovely,” said Great Death softly. He followed the floating marvel with his nothing eyes as it circled your joined bodies. Eventually, it came close enough to snatch out of the air and snuff out in his leathery fist. “Yes, such a beautiful soul he was. I no longer want it.”

Your breath snatched in your throat, mouth agape. Shock had invited in a swell of watery cold that made you unable to truly acknowledge what had just happened. That you'd lost your husband for a second time; this time forever.

There was no telling smear of blood or glittering orange residue in his open palm when he showed it to you. It was as if it had been a brilliant trick of extinguishing candlelight without a trace.

“Your soul is most foul, but it will be my prize. My lovely, for as long as I find you beautiful and repulsive, you will live on. Yes. Yes, I'll keep you here with me so that I may always be able to admire you.”

Before you could've launched yet another scream into the immense void of the wagon, he thrust his carrion beak into your chest. He wedged it deep through your muscle and blood, piercing cartilage and bone to reach your heart.

Great Death used his hand to rip out the throbbing, glistening organ from the rest of you. He observed blood filling the cavernous well he'd left inside you, saying nothing as it backed up your throat and spilled profusely from your mouth. Once you died, the bright red that had stained your teeth darkened to exquisite purplish-red.

He tore your heart apart into consumable pieces and fed them to his mouths. The piranha teeth and long, licking tongues chewed eagerly; meanwhile, the eyelids on his body closed knowing that the mouths would soon be sated by the decadent meal.

Thereafter, he waited.

He waited for a long time, because souls were oftentimes more timid than their human husks. There was nothing left to protect them from vendors on the prowl, vendors who had built collections across millennia.

But, eventually, your soul did appear before him in stuttering pink light. He caught you easily, let you rest in his hand while he decided on which jar he owned could possibly be enough to house your beauty.

You would turn sinfully red as you matured, became strong, forgot who you used to be.

All you would know is the Great Death and the inside of his vast wagon littered with strange things. He would be kind to you by letting you out of your jar sometimes, but for now, he'd keep you on the middle shelf where he could best see you.

a/n: I have this habit of killing husbands or doing awful things to them and I am very unapologetic about it.

anyway. this wasn't executed quite as well as I'd hoped. but, I wasn't writing to perfection, it was just a little personal challenge for myself. overall, I'm not unhappy with it.

I'd like to bring great death back again in another piece sometime, if y'all are interested.

this was also the first time where I think I've actually, deadass killed my reader-character and it felt so good lmao. I've implied in several of my stories without making it explicitly so.

anyway!!! I'd still love to hear your feedback and would absolutely adore you if you reblogged!!

[squib-2006]

Making a a tomodachi life living the dream wishlist

gay dating/marriage

Nonbinary miis

Family trees (like being able to mark certain miis as family that aren’t related to you

Plays/musicals (basically just an expanded music hall)

Miis having jobs

More places and stores or hangout spots

Earrings (they gave miis ears I better be able to pierce them)

Pets (like ones that have names and belong to certain miis not like the rent a cat/dog coupon)

More mini games

More in depth relationships

Multiple miis can live in the same house

More customization options for your island

More stuff to do with kids (like add a school or something/let us do certain actions that change their personality when they grow up)

More personality types

���more interactivity with other players miis

Keep the realistic objects and photo backgrounds please (if it’s all cartoon I will cry)

Miitopia customization options (and while their at it could they just take that whole catalogue of miis and make them available for tomodachi life)

At least over 100 miis

Keep the charm of the original

And lastly

GIVE ME TOUCH SCREEN OR GIVE ME DEATH

[ao3commentoftheday]

if you hit the limit on the number of filters you apply and you don't mind a nerdy solution

Last week sometime, I reblogged a post about AO3 filters and added on a bit about where you could find them (if you use AO3 by searching, you won't see the filtering - two different processes)

Anyway, in that post, I said:

You can add a theoretically unlimited number of tags to your exclude [filter] list, but I think it’s possible to have a list that breaks things eventually. I’ve never personally hit it? But I bet someone out there has.

Several people in the notes on that post have indicated that they've hit the limit. If you're one of those people, there might be a way to un-break things?

So basically, my understanding of the issue* is that things break because the URL gets too long. Every filter you add makes the URL longer. And filters are based on fandom names, character names, etc. So when you're filtering a lot of tags and a lot of them are really long tags, well... Things break.

How do you get shorter URLs? Use shorter versions of the tags. How do you do that? Use the tag ID number instead of the text. Lemme give you an example!

Let's say you want to filter in/out works from the My Hero Academia fandom. Well, that fandom's full text tag is:

僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Instead of choosing that from the dropdown or typing it into the Search Within Results box, you could use fandom_ids: 87784924 - a much shorter way of typing in the same tag.

AO3 has fandom_ids and relationship_ids and character_ids, and you can find them all in the same place: the RSS feed button.

When you click on that button, your browser will either open up a new tab or download a file. When you look at it, you'll see a whole bunch of code, but all you need is the part of the third line:

<id>tag:archiveofourown.org,2005:/tags/87784924/feed</id>

The number after /tags/ in that line is the ID number of that specific tag on the Archive. If you clicked the RSS feed button for a fandom tag, then it's a fandom_ids number. If you clicked it on a relationship, then it's a relationship_ids number, and if you clicked it on a character, then it's a character_ids number.

There aren't any RSS feeds for additional tags.

Once you have the IDs you want, you can combine them using AND, OR, and NOT (the all-caps here is important). Joining two tags with AND means that you want to include them both. Joining two tags with OR means that you want either one of the tags or both of them together. Joining them with a NOT means that you want the first tag but not the second tag - so you're including the first and excluding the second.

You can find out more about filtering this way in this newspost from 2013 (please note: things have changed since then, that's why my instructions for finding the ID numbers look different from those ones)

Not every fandom/relationship/character has an RSS feed but this is useful for those that do! And the best part is, you can also subscribe to the feed if you want a push notification every time that tag gets a new or updated work.

*based on a half-remembered conversation from 3-4 years ago, so I could be wrong on this one

[yourlocaltalkingraven]

A simple way to recreate the Nevermore 'look' in procreate

this could (ofc) be achieved in other digital art programs as well, but since I use procreate i'll stick to what i know) I'm no expert, and i might update this as i learn, so please take all of these 'rules' with a grain of salt, these are just principles/steps that i have found work for me. i wanted to share my insight in case this could be helpful to a handful of people out there <3

All credit for this wonderful style goes to Kate Flynn and Kit Trace. i'm not claiming to know how to replicate their work, but simply offering my interpretation of it as a humble admirer :)

Brushes

Step-by-step

*this tutorial assumes you have basic knowledge of how to use procreate.

sketch/lineart - make your sketch in any way comfortable for you. use brush #1 (gesinski) in black or a grey slightly lighter than black. make sure to vary your line weight (thick -> thin). completely color in the very darkest shadows (*typically* the top lip, under the chin, pupils and ear canal). *optional: set the lineart layer to 'linear burn'.

flat colors - add background color / flat colors with brush #2 (monoline). don't add any shadows or blush at this stage, just pick the default™ color for each detail. even if you don't plan on drawing a background, i recommend filling in a color, as this helps to set the scene and to make everything look more cohesive. (note: do not color the lips at this stage)

3. blush / gradients: use brush #3 (salamanca) to color in areas of saturation (blush) + the lips. for this particular step there are a lot of brushes you could use, the key is to get one that looks 'cloudy' and has some texture to it. it can be helpful to set the blush layers to 'clipping mask' on top of the flat colors, so that everything stays within the lines. ***once added, turn the blush layers OFF as you do the shading so that they don't mess with your perception of shadows.

4. shading: (NOTE: shading layers should go above blush layers). nevermore uses a lot of sharp, clean shapes for their shadows, so avoid smudging them out! use brush #2 (monoline) and (the key) - a very saturated color. paint all of your shadows in one color, on one layer, and then set that layer to 'linear burn'. lower the opacity to 30-50%. for extra dark shadows, do the same thing on a new layer, above the previous one. you can even use the same color, 'linear burn' will automatically adjust to the flat colors beneath it so that you don't have to manually pick shadows. to clean up the shadows i like to erase with the same monoline brush, and smudge the edges just a bit with brush #5 (streaks).

at this point, depending on your colors, you could also add a highlight layer with the same technique. i'll show this a little later.

5. highlights: turn your blush layers ON again. (NOTE: highlight layers at this stage go above the lineart layer). use brush #4 (round brush) to paint in a few soft highlights with white (typically on the bottom lip, tip of the nose, the corner of the eye and on the iris). you can play around with the mode on this layer, but i find 'normal' works just fine.

finally, use brush #5 (streaks) in a slightly yellowish white to paint the sharp highlights. these are *usually* made in large, bold strokes along the edges of your figure. they are used to indicate the light source, to show wisps of hair or to create contrast with the background (see reference above). set your layer to 'add' and adjust the opacity accordingly. don't be afraid to go outside of your lineart to really bedazzle your work.

if there's anything else you'd like to add at this point (i.e. makeup or other details), i suggest using streaks or any other textured/grainy brush.

one final secret ingredient i use to really sell the lighting (especially in dark settings) is to fill in a layer on top of everything in the color of your background. set this layer to 'color' and adjust the opacity (imo 10-30% should be good, but you can really push this). this will slightly mix all of your flat colors with the background color, making them all into one unified color palette.

slap on a watermark and you're done!

here is a final look at my layers:

Applying this to different colors/lighting

here i used the same steps above on simple spheres to make them easier to understand.

row 1: an example from my original piece (annabel's hair, to be exact)

row 2: the same lighting but in a darker color, which requires an extra highlight layer in step 4

row 3: an example of shading in a dark, nighttime environment

the colors on the right are the exact ones i used to render the spheres, shown at full opacity. i am often able to use the same color for multiple shadows, but you can also make them analogous (meaning next to each other on the color wheel), such as purple and blue in row 3.

for the particular highlight in row 2 i set the layer to 'screen' and 30% opacity, but you can always play around with different layer modes. this layer goes below the lineart.

i'm sure everyone's heard the phrase "don't shade with black" by now, but i thought i would show you regardless (without the blush layer):

As you can see, even though 'linear burn' does adjust to your flat colors, it can't make up for the dullness of plain ol' grey. highlights are a little more versatile (as in pure white is easier to work with), but still, choosing a bright color close to white often makes for a richer overall effect.

Conclusion

using all of the principles above, i drew my neversona (left) in the nevermore style, and adjusted the colors in my original piece to place annabel in a dark environment. these use pretty much the exact same colors as my sphere examples, and use all the same steps i showed above.

i hope this tutorial made sense for you guys)) feel free to ask questions, i will happily clarify/expand on anything in this post. you can also repost this tutorial to other platforms, please just credit my tumblr @.

happy drawing!

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

..but then he leans his head back and looks almost serene while he's slowly being submerged; slipping further below the surface / into the rainbow river:

-

the next scenes are in the live screen version again. at the end, Harry looks to be fully submerged inside the rainbow river now. the rainbow colours are all around and over him, all-encompassing. the cgi makes it look like a veil, almost space-like, but the way his hair is floating makes it clear it was intended to have an underwater-look. Harry looks peaceful, blissful. he doesn't look like he's holding his breath at all, like he can breathe and live where he is; like he's always belonged there; inside the rainbow:

it could also mean he's fallen back asleep / has returned to his sleeping self and is now fully himself, encompassed in rainbows. in the music video snippet version, the screen now fades to black.

-

the live screen version on the other hand ends on a very strong and bold rainbow design..

..and the final shot (which is not included in the leaked music video snippet) shows something i can unfortunately not make out. [edit: please see further below about what I now believe this shows!]

-

UPDATE (28 March 2025)

huge thanks to the lovely @fookinhellcurlyyy, @delicateperspective and @nowittyusernamehere, for sending a couple more video stills my way to add on to this post. they all originate from the IMDB page of the video and the director, Daren Rabinovitch's, profile. (possibly important is also that only two days ago, on 26 March 2025, after the video leak tweet gained traction on Twitter and was subsequently deleted, Daren edited his Instagram post, which he had originally made on 13 October 2022. today i see hashtags alluding to Harry and his fans, BUT i do not know which hashtags were there before and the Wayback Machine has no entries for his IG profile - he might not have added/removed any hashtags at all, but simply corrected a typo or something.)

the additional stills include a shot of the scene of Harry sitting and singing, perhaps shortly before the blue square shape comes up to him or perhaps he's watching it float away from him:

-

then we see a creature that we have not yet met in the before-shown stills! due to the more golden-hour-ish colour grading, i believe this happens after the aforementioned scene of Harry sitting and after the scenes which i described with "Harry's walking again". the creature looks like a combination of an animal like a snake, or an insect; an alien? it's design is super mystical and fantastical; absolutely out of this world! it's holding/wielding a big pink, glowing orb..

..and Harry walks up to it and holds out his hand, as if to ask to touch the orb. It's hard to tell, but he doesn't look scared. he looks determined; fascinated maybe.. drawn to it:

-

finally, we see a close-up of the creature. it has 4 yellow eyes (the eyes of 2 people who are combined? two ghosts in one? two souls in one?) they look animal-like - like an owl or a tiger? the creature's head and chest look pretty fluffy and cute IMO (sweet creature 🎶). its chest seems to be blue with little dots. perhaps armour? or tiny orbs? is this creature where all the glowing, floating shapes originate from? we also see that the pink orb in its grasp has changed into something blue and round-ish.

since the next stills in the live screen version from Harry's 2018 tour are of the blue triangle/pyramid popping up in the sky, one could guess that this creature has summoned them? as of right now, there are unfortunately no more shots what the creature does, but i have a feeling that it plays a key role here and that the design of it was chosen this way on purpose: more eyes than one person.. seeing double.. seeing more than others or seeing sharper through the darkness (aka. animals with night vision like an owl or big cat). the creature also doesn't have a nose or ears; it barely has a mouth which resembles a tiger's maw. it's robbed of almost all senses. it can see more and better than others, yes, but it can perhaps barely communicate? it possibly can't hear or smell at all. it looks fluffy in exterior, but it's shape and posture and size make it look alien, imposing and scary to some (many people are scared of insects and snakes); perhaps avoiding it in fear. all of which Harry hasn't done, as he's approached it with an outstretched hand.

-

there is now also a better quality picture of the scene where Harry is knee deep in the rainbow river. it's incredible to see the way all those barren, cold, dark lands are being filled with colour and it's coming from deep in the mountains which were once so barren, cold and lifeless: (click to enlarge)

-

and we also now have the scene that i could imagine happens at the end of the video -- and is also probably the final shot of Harry's back screen from his 2018 tour; you know, that scene that I couldn't identify yesterday. Harry's seemingly been swept out to the open sea; has resurfaced and is floating in the water, completely surrounded by rainbows. the sky has opened back up and the bright sun is now setting beautifully, making the rainbow waves gleam around Harry:

-

i'm putting this still last, because due to the re-opening clouds and the total shot of the entire landscape being visibly filled with rainbow colours, this could be a final shot; the lands looking like this.. being left like this by Harry, forever changed, while Harry is being carried away by the open (now) rainbow sea. (alternatively, this could be a WIP shot without the dark blue-green-turquoise colour grading on it) (click to enlarge)

-

🌈 updated conclusion: the reveal of the creature has really added another dimension to this beautiful video, as well as the ending of Harry being carried away into the open rainbow sea. an open sea promises adventures of a lifetime and endless freedom, but also danger and uncertainty. what an incredible and amazingly loud music video! and in 2017 already, too!! Wow! after making this post and looking at so many details (and i am sure i have missed some things, feel free to add on to this), i'm blown away by the concept and just how LOUDLY it speaks 🏳️‍🌈 the video is playing with so many distinct colours, shapes (shapes become a language 🎶), and Larry-coded symbols like the butterflies. and then Harry's clothing and his body language.. it's all incredibly interesting. -- and i'm so glad he could at least use it for his live screen visuals during the 2018 tour, because those beautiful scenes of Harry showing himself deserved to be seen. and lastly, feel free to add on to this post! 💖 i have talked to @delicateperspective about it when they graciously sent me the shots and i know they have a super interesting theory about a possible connection Harry's later music video(s)!

Two Ghosts music video - plot & analysis

the video's plot seems to be so eerie.. and the beautiful HQ screenshots I have seen posted sadly seem to not have been in the order of the music video, so with the help of videos of Harry's giant live screen circle from his tour in 2018, where a lot of parts of the Two Ghosts music video were playing, and also the leaked video part from a few days ago, i've decided to make a little plot & analysis post.

(and if someone wants to add on more analysis, please feel free to do so!)

so, in the live version it begins with an overview of this magical looking place. there's mountains, clouds, foggy valleys, trees. in the forefront, some type of red flowers are sprouting and blossoming, a yellow/orange orange butterfly wafts through the picture and a few tiny blue squared shapes/boxes float around (perhaps in some kind of formation). the land seems to be divided into a green-ish and blue-ish part; in the forefront is the rich, living, sunny grasslands with roots and lots of living things and then in the background you see the vast, barren, cold/snowy mountains in the shadowed distance. (it could also be seen as a divide between summertime and wintertime) :

-

however, the posted screenshots of the music video begin with the following stills, which never showed up on the live screen during Harry's 2018 tour. [that makes sense, though, because not just would there suddenly be 2 different Harrys on that screen, but artistically you'd want the videography design of the live back screen more atmospheric and supporting/complementing/underlining the mood and message of the song. (i've worked on a couple of these with bands before; but on a smaller scale). from my experience, just slapping the music video in there would honestly be seen as quite lazy and unimaginative.] i don't think we know which shot is the real beginning of the music video; but I tend to learn towards the landscape overview shot, just cinematography-wise.

so, now enter lovely Harry - he's wandering around the sunny, summertime landscapes, dressed in just a long, billowing white shirt/night gown. his legs are naked and he's barefoot. he's wearing his cross necklace and another longer silvery chain. there's no rings on his hands. he's just by himself as he sings and walks. the colour palette is a starkly blue and green. it looks to be bright where he is, perhaps midday. the fact that he's wearing something that can be considered sleepwear could mean his real body is asleep and he's dreaming everything that will be happening now:

-

Harry sits down. we don't know why; maybe to watch the mountains in the distance or to rest. a the tiny blue square shape seemingly floats up to him, or perhaps it's popped up from somewhere. Harry looks at it, while the sun is slowly setting in the background:

-

in the next posted shots, Harry's walking again. perhaps he's following the blue square shape that is leading him somewhere? the colours have changed to something akin to golden hour/sunset:

- in the live screen version during Harry's 2018 tour, we instead only see close-ups of the landscapes and they slowly loop themselves twice (from 0:34 until 2:03). there we see lightly tinted sunset-skies, the powerful, snowy, barren mountains cast in shadows in the distance, but also a glimpse of a butterfly fluttering along in the forefront in the bottom left corner (cut off in the screen, because of the format) and then a close-up of the summertime and butterflies (🎶); the butterflies are are pink and orange...

...in the middle there's an intermission of a close-up of a huge blue square shape at 1:05:

- then suddenly - enter the triangle/pyramid shape. we have not met that one before, not even in the overview shot at the beginning. (2:02):

..and as the shot zooms out, we realize the triangle/pyramid shape and the square shapes are floating next to each other and they're both super big and prominent now:

-

we're met with a close-up of that giant version of the blue square shape - it's layered and seems multi-faceted; boxes within boxes and they're all see-through and connected..

...and as the camera zooms down, we realize Harry is reaching up to the (his?) blue square shape (which is still floating next to the giant blue triangle). this scene is also included in the live screen version from his tour:

-

suddenly, something happens! we can't really tell unfortunately, because the source of the dark blue/violet petals(?) is unseen in all of the shots. my guess is that either one of the shapes dissolves (maybe it's on purpose that we don't know which one) or that that "storm" or swarm of petals (to me, it moves like a swarm of bees or petals blowing in a gust of wind) shoots out from somewhere in front of him, because he looked to be standing in front of some kind of cliff or slope. the vibe becomes chaotic:

-

Harry looks deeply irritated by the petals; like he didn't expect this to happen at all. he seems to be still looking towards the sky:

-

then, in the music video and also in the live screen version from his 2018 tour, the (now leaked) part of the music video starts:

a rainbow river starts flooding every nook and cranny of the land:

-

these next scenes with him in the shots are not in the live screen version. night has now fallen - or perhaps the petal storm and possible-dissolving of the shape(s) are connected to the creation of the rainbow river in the dark. Harry's not moving; he's looking around himself and taking in what's happening while everything around him floods with rainbow-coloured thicker-than-water liquid. he distinctly keeps his hands out of the rainbow, not touching it:

-

Harry's standing there like he's been rooted to the ground while the river is rising around his legs and seems to already be up to his knees. he looks like he's trying to keep his balance. his hands are still not touching the rainbow:

-

in the next shot, we see him lift something in his hand to inspect it; it looks to be some type of moss or leaves. it looks organic..

..and while he looks at it, it turns into rainbow liquid in his hand:

that scene is included in the live screen version again:

-

the next parts are again not in the live screen version. we then see Harry in a total shot, standing in the middle of the/his rainbow river and he slowly and deliberately lifts his head to look directly into the camera for the first time again since the beginning of the video. he looks very serious; he's almost staring now; challenging maybe. i feel this total shot is inviting the viewer to not just see the shot as a whole, but him as a whole; to see him wholly for who he is: someone knee deep in rainbows. one could also argue that he's in a quite vulnerable state - half-naked in just a night gown, but we know Harry has openly never connected him being naked with shame or fear - quite the opposite - so it could also mean something positive; could symbolize being at home in his body - or pride:

-

we don't know what swept him off his feet, but in the next shot, Harry is floating down rainbow river. first he lifts his head and looks a bit around, as if to ask 'What's happening?'..

[mediocre-shark-tales]

THE ACCIDENT

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

33 pages or 12519 words later and I have finished this action packed emotional chapter to the story of Ghost. Please enjoy.

The past week had been a whirlwind of laughter, late nights, and the kind of deep, unshakable comfort that only my grid family could provide. After everything I had been through, it was exactly what I needed—a chance to breathe, to heal, and to remind myself that I wasn’t alone. And, surprisingly, I had gained one more friend along the way.

Max had spent the better part of the last month trying to convince me to finally let Charles Leclerc into my world—to let him meet me, the real me, not just the masked version he had only ever seen from a distance. I had resisted at first, hesitant to break down yet another carefully built wall. But Max had always been persistent, and in the end, I gave in.

The next day, Max showed up at my place with Charles in tow, looking far too pleased with himself. And Charles? The moment he saw me—really saw me—the shock on his face barely lasted two seconds before it was replaced by something else. Adoration. Amazement.

He had grinned, telling me how much he had already heard about me from Max, how he had hoped for a long time to forge a connection with me, even if he had never expected to see the person behind the helmet. And somehow, just like that, conversation flowed effortlessly between us. Hours passed in a blur of stories, jokes, and learning about each other in a way that felt both new and familiar at the same time.

At some point, without even realizing it, my family drama spilled out. The pain, the hurt, the anger I had carried for so long—it all came tumbling from my lips before I had the chance to stop it. I barely had time to regret it before Charles moved, wrapping me in a firm, reassuring hug.

He didn’t pretend to understand everything. He didn’t try to offer meaningless platitudes. Instead, he spoke with quiet honesty, telling me that while he might not know the pain of being rejected by his parents, he did understand the ache of loss. He knew what it was like to have someone who had supported you through every step of your career never get to see the dream come true—to race in Formula 1 without the one person who had always believed in you standing by the barriers, watching.

At that moment, I knew. Charles understood me. Just like the others, he too found something within me that he understood better than anyone else. 

And now, as I stepped out of my apartment, bag slung over my shoulder, ready for another race weekend, the weight I had been carrying for so long felt just a little lighter. My grid family was waiting. The paddock was calling.

—

The start of another race weekend always brought a familiar mix of excitement and nerves, the kind that settled deep in my chest like an old friend. But today, there was something else—something off. A strange unease sat awkwardly in my stomach, gnawing at the edges of my focus. I couldn’t quite place it, but I pushed it aside. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. This was the last weekend before the summer break, and I was determined to make the most of it.

As I strolled into the paddock, the usual swarm of media gathered behind their designated barriers, cameras clicking and rolling, capturing every moment. They never called out for me, never asked for a wave or a smile. With my face hidden behind the helmet, I was more of an enigma than a personality to them—just another image to add to their coverage. That suited me just fine.

I was making my way toward my garage when I heard my name being called from behind.

“GHOST! WAIT UP!”

I turned, already recognizing the voice before I saw him. Charles Leclerc jogged toward me, a bright smile on his face, and at his side trotted a small, energetic pup. My lips curled into a smile of my own—though, of course, he couldn’t see it.

Once he caught up, Charles beamed, gesturing toward the little ball of fur at his feet. “This is Leo,” he introduced. “I remember you mentioning getting an emotional support dog, so I thought you might like to meet him.”

I crouched down, offering my hand, and Leo wasted no time in bounding into my arms, his tiny tail wagging furiously as he sniffed every inch of me. I cooed at him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur, and he responded by attempting to climb into the oversized hood of my hoodie.

Charles chuckled, watching as Leo squirmed, determined to make himself comfortable. “If you do go through with getting one, I’d recommend a small breed—it’ll make traveling a lot easier.”

I nodded in agreement, still distracted by the little pup, who had now successfully wedged himself halfway into my hoodie.

A voice called for Charles from the Ferrari garage, drawing his attention. With a sigh, he reached out to scoop Leo back into his arms. “Well, good luck out there today. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to talk more later.”

I gave him a nod in return, watching as he jogged off, Leo happily nestled against his chest.

Shaking off the lingering warmth of the moment, I turned on my heel and stepped into my own garage, ready to focus on the race ahead.

—

My heart pounded against my ribs as his car loomed closer in my mirrors, the unmistakable pink and blue livery flashing like a warning light in the distance. Every second, he gained on me, the threat creeping closer with each turn. I was on a cooldown lap, ready to box early and call it a day for FP1, but Jack wasn’t making it easy. From the moment this session had started, he’d been aggressive—dangerously so.

At first, I chalked it up to his usual reckless driving, but when Diego pointed out that Jack had only been pulling these moves around me, it became obvious—this wasn’t just aggression. This was personal. He was using me as a punching bag for whatever anger was eating away at him. At first, it was just frustrating, but as the session went on, frustration turned into real fear. He was playing with fire, and I was the one between him and the flames.

I stayed hyper-aware of his position, trying to predict his next move. As I approached the apex, I did everything right—I stayed predictable, held my line, and even gave him extra space to make sure I wasn’t in his way. But it didn’t matter. Jack veered wide—too wide—and cut straight back into my path.

I barely had time to react before the impact.

His front tire clipped the side of my car, sending a violent jolt through the chassis. My reflexes kicked in, hands tightening on the wheel as I fought to control the sudden instability. Instinct told me to pull off and avoid further damage, but the moment my tires hit the grass, the car betrayed me.

Everything went wrong in an instant.

The back end snapped loose, and before I could countersteer, the car spun—a brutal 180-degree turn sending me straight into the barriers. The impact rattled through me, a sickening crunch of carbon fiber breaking apart on contact. My head jerked forward before the harness caught me, and for a moment, all I could hear was my own rapid breathing over the crackling team radio.

“Ghost! Are you okay?” Diego’s voice was tense, bordering on frantic.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before letting out a frustrated sigh, my pulse still racing. “Yeah, I’m good,” I muttered, pressing the radio button. “But the car is definitely fucked. What the hell is he doing? Wasn’t I out of his way?” My voice came out sharp, edged with frustration and adrenaline.

A moment of silence. Then, Diego exhaled. “Yeah… you were. He just—” A pause. “Safety car is out. They’re ending the session early.”

I glanced at the damage. The front wing was completely destroyed, one of the rear tires had half-torn itself off the rim, and the sidepod looked like it had taken a serious beating. The chassis itself seemed intact, but it was going to be a long night for the mechanics.

The medical car arrived within minutes, pulling up beside me as marshals rushed to assess the wreckage. I unclipped my belts and carefully pulled myself out, stepping onto the grass. My hands trembled slightly—not from injury, just the aftermath of the crash settling in.

“You alright?” One of the medics asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my jaw was tight with irritation.

“Protocol,” he reminded me with a small, knowing smile. “Hop in. We’ll take you back to your garage.”

With a sigh, I climbed into the medical car, watching through the window as the marshals began lifting my wrecked car onto a recovery truck. In the distance, Jack’s car cruised slowly back to the pits, untouched.

Coward.

As we pulled away, I clenched my fists. If he wanted to make this personal, then fine. But he was about to learn that I didn’t go down without a fight.

When I stepped back into the garage, the tension in the air was thick. The entire crew was hard at work assessing the wrecked car, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. The sight made my stomach twist—this wasn’t how I wanted FP1 to end.

Before I could dwell on it, Nico and Diego appeared at my side, their faces unreadable. Without a word, they gestured for me to follow them. I obliged, letting them lead me to a private meeting room tucked away from prying eyes. The moment the door shut behind us, I finally let out a breath and pulled off my helmet, running a hand through my hair to fix the inevitable mess.

Nico didn’t waste any time. “The damage is bad,” he started, his tone serious. “The team thinks they can have it fixed by FP3, but that means you’ll be sitting out of FP2.”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah… I figured as much.” It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than missing the entire weekend. After a beat, I straightened up. “Make sure the crew knows how much I appreciate them. Actually, Nico—can we get them a couple of packs of energy drinks tonight? They’re going to need it.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ll have someone pick some up and bring them in.”

I returned his smile with a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Diego cleared his throat. “You can change into something more comfortable for now,” he said, then added, “but you’ll need to handle media duties before you head out.”

I groaned internally but nodded. “Figured. Alright, I’ll be quick.”

With that, I slipped my helmet back on, masking any lingering frustration before heading off to my driver’s room to swap into something more comfortable. If I had to deal with the press, I might as well be cozy while doing it.

Hearing Jack’s words after the crash felt like a knife twisting in my chest. He stood just a few feet away, his voice dripping with venom as he dismissed the incident like it was nothing.

"Ghost should’ve just stayed out of my way."

"It’s not my fault he didn’t move over enough."

Each word hit harder than the impact itself. I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. Killing them with kindness had always been my motto, but even I had my limits.

When the interviewer finally turned to me, asking for my thoughts on the incident, I decided I wasn’t going to sugarcoat the truth.

“Well,” I started, keeping my tone even but firm. “I don’t know why Doohan chose to be that aggressive every time he caught up to me. I was on a cooldown lap, heading back to the pits, and my line for the entire lap was as far out of the way as possible. Honestly, I was watching my mirrors more than I was looking forward. I know what it’s like to lose a solid lap because someone doesn’t move over in time, and I would never want to do that to another driver.”

I let my words settle before continuing, my voice steady. “You can ask anyone else who passed me during that stint—I was as far out of the way as I could be without putting the car in the grass. So if Jack thinks I had more room to move over safely, maybe he should start petitioning for wider tracks.”

The interviewer, clearly taken aback, nodded and thanked me for my time. I gave a polite nod before walking away, finally finished with media duties for the day.

As soon as I was out of sight, I let out a slow breath, shaking off the tension that had built up in my shoulders. It had been a long, frustrating day, but at least now, I could head back to the hotel and regroup before tomorrow.

—

FP3 had gone smoothly, a much-needed turnaround after yesterday’s chaos. I laid down solid lap times, and, for once, Jack wasn’t driving like he had a personal vendetta against me. I could only assume his team had given him a firm talking-to—after all, taking a three-place grid drop for his reckless move in FP1 wasn’t something they’d let slide. Either way, I was content to leave the incident in the past and focus on the weekend ahead.

With my confidence in the car restored, I headed into qualifying feeling optimistic. Franco and I had a bet going—whoever qualified lower had to buy dinner and host movie night. It was our usual back-and-forth competition, something to keep things light before the intensity of race day.

Q1 was a breeze for both of us, and while Franco had a bit of a fight to make it through Q2, we both lined up for the final session, ready to push. In the end, I secured P8, with Franco just ahead in P7. That meant dinner was on me, and my hotel room was the designated movie night spot. Typical.

After wrapping up media duties and a quick debrief with the team, I finally made it back to my hotel room, kicking off my shoes with a sigh. I sent Franco a quick text letting him know the door would be open when he got there, then flopped onto the bed, stretching out for a moment of quiet before he arrived.

Just as I was about to scroll through the dinner options, my phone buzzed. An incoming call.

I frowned, sitting up as I glanced at the name on the screen.

Something about it made my stomach twist only for it to drop when I saw the name. JACK

The moment I saw Jack’s name on my phone screen, I knew answering would be a mistake. But against my better judgment, I swiped to accept the call, bringing the phone to my ear with a sigh.

Before I could even get a word out, his voice exploded through the speaker.

"Can you believe that idiot Ghost?" he spat, his anger practically crackling through the line. "Thinks he’s better than me? Acts like some saint when really they’re just a coward hiding behind a helmet! And now I get a three-place grid drop because of them? Unbelievable! Like, maybe if they actually knew how to drive, I wouldn't have had to force my way past! But no, of course, it’s my fault—because Ghost is some kind of untouchable mystery driver who everyone just loves to defend!"

I stayed silent, my grip tightening on the phone as his rant continued. He didn’t even pause, too caught up in his own fury to notice that I hadn’t said a single word.

"You’d think the FIA would actually do their jobs for once, but no. Instead, I get the penalty. Ghost gets to play the victim. It’s so goddamn rigged! And you know what’s worse? I bet they don’t even care! Probably just sitting in their fancy hotel room, celebrating like they’re some kind of hero—”

My jaw clenched. My fingers curled so tightly around the phone I thought it might snap in half. He just kept going.

Jack, my brother, was raging about me. Trashing me. Humiliating me without even realizing I was the one on the other end of the line.

And the worst part? He thought I was his ally in all of this.

I bit my tongue, forcing myself to stay quiet, but my patience was razor-thin. Each passing second only fanned the flames of my fury.

Then, as if finally sensing the shift, he hesitated. The ranting stopped.

"...Why are you so quiet?" His voice was softer now, cautious before sighing. "Are you still upset about two weeks ago? I thought we were siblings. Siblings don’t hold grudges."

That was it. That was my breaking point.

I exhaled sharply, my voice like ice. "Maybe one day, you’ll look in a fucking mirror and realize how stupid you are."

Silence. A stunned pause on his end.

Then, before he could say another word, I hung up.

I stared at my phone for a long moment before opening his contact and hitting mute.

No more. Not tonight. Not ever if I had it my way.

—-

The paddock buzzed with energy, the excited chatter of fans blending with the occasional roar of an engine being fired up in the distance. I waved at the crowds as our parade trailer slowly rolled along the track, the air electric with anticipation for race day.

"Hey, Ghost, wanted to chat with you for a moment."

I turned from the waving fans to find a familiar set of piercing blue eyes watching me with quiet concern. Max Verstappen leaned casually against the railing of the trailer, his expression softer than usual.

"Hey, Max," I greeted, my voice slightly muffled through my helmet. "What's up?"

He smirked, but there was a weight behind it, something more serious lingering in his gaze. "Well, I just thought I’d check in," he said, shifting to fully face me. "Seeing as a certain someone has been attacking your character to the press. Normally, I’d say you can handle it, but given that this person is… close to your heart, I just wanted to see if you’re okay. Or if you need some advice."

I stiffened slightly but exhaled, forcing my shoulders to relax. "Appreciate it, but I’m fine," I replied, though I wasn't even sure if I fully believed that.

Max gave me a look—one that made it clear he wasn’t buying my deflection for a second. "Ghost," he said, voice firm but kind, "I know what it's like to have people twist the truth about you. I also know that when it's someone you care about doing it, it hits differently."

I stayed quiet, gripping the railing tighter as I watched the crowd. The fans had no idea that under my baggy hoodie and helmet, I was barely holding my frustration together.

"Look, I had my fair share of bad press, people calling me aggressive, reckless, a bad teammate—" he paused, smirking slightly, "—which, okay, sometimes I was."

I let out a short laugh despite myself.

"But when people you trust go out of their way to turn others against you? That’s a different kind of pain," he continued, voice quieter now. "You have to remind yourself of who you are, not who they’re trying to make you out to be."

I clenched my jaw. "And what if they don’t stop?"

Max shrugged. "Then you prove them wrong. Not by explaining yourself to them—people like that don’t listen. You prove them wrong by continuing to be who you are and letting your results speak for themselves. You’re here because you earned it. Don’t let someone else's bitterness make you forget that."

I swallowed hard, Max’s words sinking in deeper than I expected.

Before I could respond, another voice chimed in.

"Max giving wisdom? That’s new," Charles teased, leaning onto the trailer railing beside us, his usual easygoing grin in place.

Max rolled his eyes. "I can be wise when necessary."

Charles chuckled but turned to me with the same concern Max had. "Ghost, I was going to come find you after this. Have you seen what Jack has been saying?"

I nodded stiffly. "Yeah. I’ve seen it."

Charles sighed, shaking his head. "It’s one thing when the media twists things, but when it’s family…" His expression darkened for a moment, as if recalling something from his past. "That’s a wound that doesn’t heal so easily."

I looked between them, both championship-winning drivers who had dealt with pressure, scrutiny, and the weight of expectations. "So what do I do? Just ignore it?"

Charles hummed in thought. "Sometimes, yes. Not every battle is worth fighting, especially when the other person only wants to provoke you. But…" He gave me a knowing look. "I also know you, Ghost. You want to say something. Which you did yesterday, but I am sure you want to say a lot more than just that."

I crossed my arms, exhaling through my nose. "I do. But I don’t want to make it worse. I just… I want to make it stop."

Max nudged my shoulder lightly. "Then make sure that when you do speak, it’s on your terms. Don’t react in anger. Take your time, think it through, and when you do respond—make sure it’s something you won’t regret later."

Charles nodded in agreement. "And don’t forget, you have people who will stand by you no matter what. You’re not alone in this, even if it feels like it in the moment.”

I let their words settle, the weight on my chest feeling just a little lighter. They were right. The best thing I could do was stay true to myself and let my driving do the talking. But if Jack thought I was going to just roll over and let him tarnish my name without consequence, he had another thing coming.

—

The race had been a brutal test of endurance, but I had thrived in it, clawing my way up from P8 to P6. Every lap had been a battle, and I had relished it. Racing Franco for P5 had been exhilarating—a test of skill, trust, and sheer determination. We had fought hard, pushing each other to the limits, but never crossing that dangerous line. It was a dance we had perfected over the years—close, competitive, and always respectful. I had giggled at one point, the thrill of our fight lighting a fire in me. This was what racing was meant to be.

But now, that moment felt like a lifetime ago.

I had finally broken through, leaving Franco behind, and my next target had been Pierre in P4. It wasn’t often I got to fight with him this high up the grid, and I had been determined to make it count. Lap after lap, I studied his lines, looking for an opening. I found it—a tiny window of opportunity he left open at the same corner each time.

So, I went for it.

The overtake was clean, precise. For a fleeting second, I was ahead, the rush of success surging through me. But Pierre wasn’t ready to give up. He fought back, pushing for the racing line, and that’s when everything went wrong.

A flash of movement.

His rear right tire clipped my front left.

Then—impact.

A sickening pop, followed by a deep, gut-wrenching crunch.

The world twisted violently. My stomach dropped as the front of my car lifted. For a split second, I thought I could save it, but then—

The wind caught me.

I was airborne.

The first flip knocked the air from my lungs, my body slamming against the seat as the car pitched sideways. Sky. Track. Sky. Track. The violent rotations blurred my vision as my body smashed against the cockpit walls. The sounds were deafening—metal shrieking, carbon fiber shattering, the deep thuds of impact every time the car hit the ground.

I lost count of how many times I flipped.

Then, the final slam.

The car landed hard on its back, skidding across the track before it slammed into the barrier with a force that rattled my bones. Pain exploded across my chest where the harness had dug in, my body jerked forward and then snapped back into the seat. My head bounced off the padding, my vision swimming. I hung from the seatbelt like meat being processed in a butcher shop. 

Then—

BOOM.

The explosion rattled through my entire body. The car shuddered as flames erupted from the rear.

Heat.

Sudden. Overwhelming.

The cockpit was hot—scalding, suffocating. The smell of burning fuel filled my lungs, thick and choking. A deep, primal terror gripped me.

I had to get out.

My hands fumbled with the seatbelts, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. I yanked at the latch—one side came undone immediately. Relief. But the second—

Stuck.

I pulled again. Nothing.

Panic surged through me, my heart slamming against my ribs. Smoke curled into the cockpit, searing my throat, making my eyes water. My exits were vanishing. The fire spread fast, licking at the sides of the car, hungrily devouring everything in its path.

No. No. No.

I pulled harder, desperation making my movements frantic. The flames were right there, creeping over the halo, licking at the bodywork. The car was turning into a furnace, the heat pressing against me, making my suit stick to my sweating skin.

Move. MOVE.

I screamed as I pulled one last time—

POP.

A white-hot pain tore through my shoulder as something gave. I didn’t have time to process it. I tumbled forward, crashing awkwardly into the side of the cockpit.

No time to think. No time to feel.

I twisted my legs out from under the halo, flipping onto my stomach, dragging myself toward the jagged opening in the barrier. Every movement sent agony shooting through my body, but I couldn’t stop. I refused to stop.

Then—pain.

A sharp, searing sting tore through my collarbone as the fabric of my suit snagged on the metal. I gasped, feeling the warm trickle of blood soaking into the material.

Then—another explosion.

The fire surged forward, wrapping around the car like a beast hunting its prey. Heat clawed at my back, almost burning through my suit.

And then—white.

A cloud of fire extinguisher foam engulfed me, cool relief against the unbearable heat. Hands grabbed at me, pulling me away from the wreckage, urgent voices shouting orders I couldn’t process.

I was out.

The moment my body collapsed onto the ground, my limbs refused to move. Every nerve in my body screamed. I sucked in greedy gasps of air, my lungs burning, my heart slamming in my chest like a war drum.

A voice—calm, steady—cut through the chaos.

“Ghost, listen to me. I know you need to keep your identity hidden, so don’t worry. Your team made sure all medical staff under contract signed an NDA for you.”

I barely nodded, my mind still trapped in the fire, the flips, the terror.

I had made it out.

The next few minutes blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and pain, my body caught in the slow, agonizing descent from the high of racing adrenaline into something I would later call borderline pure agony. The fire, the crash, the desperate scramble to escape—it had all been chaos, and now my body was beginning to process just how much damage had been done. Every nerve felt raw, every breath was a struggle against the tightness in my chest.

The medical team worked quickly, their voices sharp and urgent as they carried me through the paddock toward the medical room. The bright fluorescent lights above me blurred and streaked, my head pounding with each bounce of the stretcher. The once-distant ache was now creeping up, turning into sharp, searing pain in places I hadn’t even realized were injured.

As they rolled me into the sterile white room, my gaze flickered toward the doorway, where I caught sight of two familiar figures—Nico and Diego. Their faces were twisted in worry, their brows furrowed, their jaws tight. They stood firm, blocking the entrance, as if shielding me from whatever outside world lay beyond this moment. My stomach twisted. I hated that look—the mixture of helplessness and fear in their eyes. I wanted to tell them I was fine, that I’d survived worse. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure if this wasn’t worse.

The gurney came to an abrupt stop, and suddenly, the room exploded into movement. Medics swarmed around me, hands pressing, prodding, assessing. The air smelled like antiseptic and burnt fabric. I barely had time to process any of it before a voice cut through the noise.

“Shit, there's a lot of blood.”

The words sent a fresh wave of panic through me.

“Okay, the suit has to come off, Y/N. We’re cutting the top for now,” a female medic informed me, her voice steady but urgent.

I barely had the strength to respond. A half-formed groan of acknowledgment left my lips, and within seconds, I heard the distinct snip, snip, snip of scissors slicing through my race suit. The fabric peeled away from my skin, and a sharp chill rushed over me. The cold was jarring, but it was nothing compared to what happened next.

The medic closest to me stiffened.

Her expression, previously neutral and professional, faltered. A flicker of something—shock, concern—passed over her features before she quickly masked it, returning to her clinical demeanor. But I saw it. I saw it.

Panic clawed at my ribs.

“What—what is it?” My voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed a thick towel to my shoulder, right where the fabric had been sticking to my skin.

Pain—searing, white-hot, like fire ripping through my collarbone. I sucked in a sharp breath, my back arching involuntarily as the wound protested violently.

Then, another sound—pop.

Agony.

A scream tore from my throat before I even understood what had happened.

The pain was unlike anything I had felt before, radiating outward, setting every nerve ending alight. My vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges as I struggled to stay present. The sickening realization hit me a second later—someone had just popped my shoulder back into place without warning.

I gasped, choking on the pain, my body trembling as the intensity of it all became too much.

Everything around me started to fade.

The room became distant, the voices blending into a low hum. The fluorescent lights above blurred further, melting into streaks of white nothingness. The pain was unbearable, suffocating, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. My body felt disconnected, floating somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. I was slipping, sinking into the haze, letting it pull me under where the pain couldn’t reach.

But then—

A touch.

Soft. Steady. Grounding.

Fingers curled around my own, warm and gentle amidst the chaos.

My mind fought against the fog, instincts taking over as my fingers twitched, responding to the quiet comfort being offered.

Slowly, as if emerging from deep water, I forced my eyes open, my vision swimming before it sharpened—

Chocolate brown eyes.

Familiar. Safe.

Framed by soft, unruly curls.

I blinked, trying to focus, to cling to the one thing in this moment that wasn’t pain or fear or agony.

Next to me stood a worry-riddled Kimi, his thumb rubbing over the back of my knuckles as his other hand came up fully cup mine. His grip was steady—warm, grounding—but I could still feel the faintest tremble in his fingers. He only glanced at the rest of me once, his eyes flickering down my body before settling back on my face. Nothing in his expression changed, but I could see it in his eyes—the weight of everything he had seen, the helplessness, the fear.

That was when I started to notice the differences since I had slipped into that daze.

I wasn’t lying down anymore—I was propped up on the cot, a dull ache radiating from every inch of me. The medics were gone. In their place stood a silent wall of figures, their presence heavy with the kind of emotion that lingered in the air long after words had been spoken. Max, Ollie, Charles, Oscar, Lando, Franco. Each of them stood like an unbreakable barrier, shielding me from something unseen, something I had already endured but they still hadn’t let go of.

Their faces told me everything before they even spoke.

I dropped my gaze to my own body, suddenly understanding why they were looking at me like that. My race suit was gone. In its place, I wore a pair of soft shorts, my upper body wrapped tightly in elastic bandages. Gauze was pressed to my collarbone on one side white the bandages held my shoulder in place on the other, a stark reminder of what had happened. Small cuts littered my skin, angry red patches of burn-kissed skin peeking out beneath layers of bandages and burn cream. My legs were bruised in shades of deep purple and sickly yellow, the worst of them disappearing beneath the thick wrapping on my ribs.

I swallowed hard.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Lando broke the silence first, his voice unusually quiet, unusually small. He rubbed a hand over his face, the usual playfulness in his eyes replaced with something much heavier. “I—I saw the fire in my mirrors, but I didn’t know it was you until I came back around. I just saw…” His voice cracked for a moment before he forced himself to keep going. “I saw what was left of your car. I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if physically trying to rid himself of the thought.

Oscar, standing just beside him, nodded slowly, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was holding himself together. “Same here,” he admitted, his voice laced with guilt. “I saw the flames, and when I came back around, I saw them pulling someone out… I didn’t know if you’d made it.”

Max let out a slow, shaky breath. He wasn’t looking at me, his hands braced against his knees as he leaned forward. “I didn’t see you until I passed the wreckage,” he muttered. “I just saw—” His fingers clenched into fists. “Pieces. Pieces of your car. Then the red flag, and the radio silence.” He exhaled sharply, his usual confidence replaced with something raw. “I’ve never hated a race more than I did in that moment.”

I felt my chest tighten.

Then, Franco’s voice cut through the thick silence, soft but weighted with something deeper. “I saw all of it.”

I turned to look at him. His usual easy going demeanor was gone, replaced with something haunted.

“I was right behind you,” he continued, voice flat, distant. “I saw the car flip violently, saw you hit the barrier, saw the moment you stopped moving.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “No. I knew we were about to lose you.”

Kimi’s grip on my hand tightened slightly.

“I was behind too,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I saw it happen. All of it.” His jaw was clenched so tightly I thought it might break. “And I couldn’t do anything.”

I squeezed his hand, suddenly aware of just how much this had affected them, too. It wasn’t just my trauma. It was ours.

Ollie hadn’t spoken yet.

When I looked at him, his arms were wrapped tightly around himself, his eyes glassy but unreadable.

“I came up just as it exploded the first time,” he admitted, his voice thick. “I didn’t even think. I just—” He exhaled shakily. “I just needed to know if you were still alive. No one knew anything quick enough.”

My throat tightened.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before looking at me again. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.” His voice broke slightly on my name. “We all thought—” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “I don’t even want to say it.”

I looked at each of them, their faces still clouded with worry, fear, relief.

I had barely come to terms with my own pain, and yet they had been carrying their own version of it, watching from afar, unable to do anything but hope I would make it out alive.

The worst part?

I almost didn’t.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I’m here,” I whispered, my voice hoarse but steady. “I made it.”

Kimi squeezed my hand. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before. “But you almost didn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say because nothing could make this any better for any of us. 

Suddenly, the room erupted in chaos.

Shouting rang out from the hallway, sharp and venomous, cutting through the tense silence like a blade. The boys around me tensed, their bodies shifting instinctively to block me as the door burst open with a loud slam.

“Where the hell is he?” Jack’s voice was dripping with rage, laced with a venom that sent a shiver down my spine. “His stupid fucking move got Pierre disqualified, and I just have a few words to say to that asshole.”

I couldn’t see him past the wall of bodies in front of me, but I didn’t need to. I could picture him perfectly. Stiff posture, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles must have been white, shoulders squared as he scowled into the room like a predator ready to pounce. His teeth were probably bared in frustration, his nostrils flaring like an angered wolfdog locked onto its prey.

Max and Lando were the first to move. The second they stepped out of the wall, the rest of the boys quickly filled the gap, reinforcing the barrier between me and Jack.

“No, mate. You better get the hell out of here right now,” Max’s voice was low, edged with a quiet fury that sent a chill through the room. “This is not the time for you to spout this bullshit.”

Jack scoffed, taking a step forward. “Bullshit? Oh, I’m sorry, is it bullshit to want to call out the fucking idiot who just ruined another driver’s entire weekend? Is that bullshit to you, Verstappen?”

“Not here, Jack.” Lando’s voice was sharp, his usual easygoing nature nowhere to be found. “Not now.”

Jack let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, not now? When then, huh? When he’s got another DNF on his record? When he’s wrecked another car? Maybe when he’s gotten someone else sent to the hospital?” His voice dripped with accusation. “Or would you rather I just pretend none of this happened? Like all of you are doing?”

Max took a dangerous step forward, his jaw clenched so tightly I swore I heard his teeth grind together. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Jack shot back, his voice rising in frustration. “I saw what happened. He didn’t give Pierre any fucking space. He—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lando snapped, shoving Jack back a step. “You weren’t in the car. You weren’t in the fight. You don’t know shit.”

Jack shoved him right back, his face twisting with rage. “And you’re just gonna defend him? You’re just gonna pretend like this wasn’t his fault?”

The shouting escalated, voices overlapping in a heated, messy blur. Jack wasn’t backing down, and neither were Max or Lando. Every argument, every shove, every sharp glare only added to the suffocating tension building in the room.

And I had had enough.

I took a deep breath and carefully moved my legs over the side of the cot. The second I tried to shift my weight, a sharp, searing pain shot through my ribs, my shoulder screaming in protest. I let out a quiet groan, my face twisting as I fought to steady myself.

Ollie and Kimi immediately turned to me, their eyes filled with worry.

“No, you shouldn’t move,” Ollie whispered urgently, stepping closer like he was ready to push me back down.

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my expression calm but unwavering. “I need to speak to him.”

His brows furrowed, his lips parting in protest, but I spoke again before he could argue.

“I need to stand my ground,” I said firmly. “Just let me say my piece. Then I’ll come back to the bed. I promise. I can do this.”

Kimi and Ollie exchanged a worried glance, silent words passing between them in the brief moment before they reluctantly nodded. They stepped aside just enough to let me move, though I could still feel their hands hovering close, ready to catch me if I faltered.

My body screamed in protest as I forced myself to my feet. The world tilted slightly, my vision blurring at the edges, but I clenched my jaw and fought through it. Pain flared like fire beneath my skin, radiating through my ribs, my collarbone, my legs—but I stood. I held my ground.

Slowly, I took one agonizing step forward, then another, until I reached the backs of Oscar, Franco, and Charles. They were still blocking me from view, still shielding me, but I was there. Close enough.

The argument continued, Jack’s voice still filled with venom, Max and Lando still fighting to shove him out.

Enough.

I inhaled sharply.

Then, with every ounce of strength I had left, I yelled.

“JACK. SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Silence.

The room went still, the tension shifting in an instant. Jack froze mid-argument, his mouth half-open as he turned toward the sound of my voice.

Slowly, the boys in front of me stepped aside.

And there I stood.

Injured, aching, barely staying upright—but standing. My entire body screamed in pain, my muscles trembling under the weight of my own stubbornness, but none of it mattered.

Because the moment Jack’s eyes landed on me, the fury in his expression shattered into something else entirely.

Shock.

Guilt.

Horror.

And beneath all of that?

The realization that he had just been screaming about the barely standing wreck of the person who had survived the worst crash of the season. That same person being his little sister.

And I was pissed.

"This is between us, Jack. Not them. Us.” My voice was sharp, unwavering, carrying the weight of years of unspoken words. “So you don’t get to yell at them. You can yell at me. You can do whatever the hell you need to do. But before you start—” I took a slow, steady step forward, my muscles screaming in protest, “—give me a damn minute to say my own piece.”

I stared him down, eyes locked onto his like a challenge, daring him to interrupt me.

Jack, for once, was silent.

He was still frozen in place, his face contorted in frustration and disbelief, but his lips were slightly parted, his brain scrambling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Then, like something inside him snapped back into place, he shook his head and scoffed. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice wasn’t as sharp as before, but the venom was still there, barely masked beneath his confusion. “Why are you a racer? Is this why Mom and Dad are so pissed off lately? Did you piss them off again?”

His words were like a match to gasoline.

Rage flared inside me, burning white-hot as my fingers curled into tight fists at my sides. Again. He said it like I was some unruly child constantly causing trouble, like I chose to be a disappointment, like it was my fault our parents’ anger always found a target in me.

“It must be real nice to stand here and judge me.” My voice was lower now, seething, dripping with all the fury I had swallowed down for years. “To yell at me for this. Because god knows I’d never get the same opportunity.”

I took another step forward, forcing myself to push through the pain. My finger jabbed into his chest, punctuating every word.

“I have spent eighteen goddamn years as the family pawn. And the reject when I wasn’t playing the perfect little future bride.” My lip curled, my voice shaking—not with weakness, but with the sheer force of the rage threatening to boil over. “You wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you? Because you were born with everything you wanted at arm’s reach. Silver Spoon on a sparkling silver plate.”

Jack’s breath hitched. His eyes flickered—hesitation, confusion, something cracking behind the shield of anger he had thrown up.

But he doubled down. Because he had to.

“How could you keep this from me?” His voice was tight now, anger still fueling his words, but there was something else—something desperate. “I thought we were siblings.” His fists clenched, his body tense like he was trying to hold himself together. “Siblings don’t keep secrets like this from each other!”

A bitter laugh ripped from my throat.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” I spat. “You know what else siblings don’t do? They don’t sit there cracking jokes while their parents so obviously strip away their choices in life.”

His mouth opened, like he wanted to argue, but I wasn’t done.

“Remember that night I left?” My voice was colder now, sharp enough to cut through whatever weak excuses he was scrambling for. “Remember when I took all my keepsakes with me? After the last date?”

Jack’s entire body went rigid. I could see the realization setting in, the pieces finally connecting in his head.

“Well, that night—” My voice wavered, but I forced myself to push through it, to make him hear it. “That disgusting man assaulted me.”

Jack flinched.

“And I did not trust your ass enough to talk about it.” I took a shaky breath, my chest aching in more ways than one. “The boys behind me? They were the only reason I even survived after everything all three of those suitors put me through.”

Jack was frozen.

His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling in shaky bursts as he processed what I had just said. I could see his anger faltering now, something breaking beneath it.

Guilt.

Regret.

A horrible, dawning realization that maybe—just maybe—he had been on the wrong side of this fight for far longer than he wanted to admit.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I took a slow step back, putting distance between us. My eyes raked over him—the sweat-covered fireproofs, the race suit tied around his hips, the fact that he had come straight here from his car.

He had been so desperate to argue, so blinded by his own rage, that he hadn’t even stopped to think. He had come here expecting a fight.

Fine.

That’s what I’d give him.

“I miss the little sister from before all of this,” Jack murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, like the words might shatter if spoken too loudly. “Where did she go? The same sister who told me everything—even if it added nothing to the story.” His anger, which had burned so fiercely just moments ago, was fading rapidly, slipping through his fingers like sand.

I scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. The bottled rage inside me, the fury I had buried under years of being unheard, was spilling over like a dam finally breaking.

“Well, Jack, the only thing you miss is someone else’s storyline.” My voice was laced with venom, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Because ninety percent of the time, I was just acting—playing the role Mom and Dad expected of me. The good girl. The perfect future bride. The obedient daughter.” I shook my head, laughing bitterly. “I bet you don’t even know the real me anymore.”

Jack inhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line, but I didn’t let him speak.

“You want to know what I did learn growing up?” My voice trembled, but not with weakness—with the sheer weight of what I was about to say. “No, scratch that. You want to know what was engraved into my goddamn soul?”

I took a step forward, close enough for him to see the storm raging behind my eyes.

“I will never be good enough for our parents.” The words burned like acid on my tongue, but I forced them out. “And maybe—just maybe—I was never good enough for you either.”

Jack flinched, and for a split second, I saw it. The crack in his armor. The flicker of pain he wasn’t quick enough to hide.

“Every inch of me wants to hate you for that,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “Every. Fucking. Inch. And that’s a problem, because if I hate you—really hate you—then I’ll have no one left. No one from my own blood to call family.”

His lips parted, his breath catching like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

I exhaled sharply, my shoulders rising and falling as the fire inside me flickered, wavered, then steadied.

“But you know what?” My tone shifted, the rage melting into something steadier—stronger. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because now, thanks to these guys—” I gestured toward the boys behind me, my chosen family, my real family, “—I don’t care if I’m enough for you, or Mick, or Selina.” I straightened my spine, the weight of my past lifting off my shoulders, even if just a little.

“Because I am enough for them.” My voice didn’t shake this time as I pointed to them. It was firm. Certain. True.

“And more importantly…” I took a slow, steady breath, the words feeling like a victory as they left my lips.

“I am enough for me.”

Jack stared at me, his entire body tense, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening like he was forcing himself to keep quiet because if he spoke, he might say something he couldn’t take back.

I held his gaze for a moment longer before I added, softer this time, “I want you to be my family, Jack. I want you to open your goddamn eyes and choose to be my family. But if you don’t?” I shrugged. “Then I’ll be okay.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, the weight of everything we had said—and everything we hadn’t—hanging in the air.

And then—

A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through me, like a thousand knives sinking into my body all at once.

My vision blurring as the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright vanished in an instant. The weight of my injuries crashed into me like a freight train, stealing the air from my lungs, choking me with its unbearable grip.

My knees buckled.

“Shit—” I barely registered the movement beside me before a strong arm shot out, catching me before I hit the ground.

Lando.

He was the closest. The fastest.

I turned my head toward him, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His face was a blur of worry and panic, his grip tightening around me as my body swayed.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt tight, my voice barely a whisper.

“Help, Lan—”

Before I could finish, the world tilted.

My body went limp, all strength draining from me in an instant.

Lando reacted fast, his arms locking around me, scooping me up into a bride’s carry before I could hit the floor.

I could hear the voices around me—worried, frantic, desperate—but they sounded distant, like I was hearing them from beneath deep water.

The shouting blurred together, overlapping in a mess of indistinguishable words.

Jack’s voice—Lando’s—others I couldn’t make out.

Bodies moved around me in a frenzy, panic thick in the air.

Then, through the haze, one word cut through the noise.

“Hospital.”

And then—

Blackness.

—

When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed, the soft beeping of a monitor filling the otherwise quiet room. My body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the dull ache of my injuries. I was still in the same clothes, though my bandages had been changed. Notably, the wrap around my chest had been replaced with one of my sports bras—revealing just how bad the damage truly was.

A long, angry line of red and stitches stretched from a few inches below my right collarbone up to the side of my neck, stopping just before the middle. My left shoulder had been immobilized in a sling, secured with a specialized attachment to ensure it healed correctly. Even though I had already felt the pain, seeing the extent of my injuries made them real in a way they hadn’t been before.

Shifting slightly, I scanned the room, my eyes landing on Nico, who was sprawled across a couple of chairs, dozing. Next to him sat a familiar duffel bag—mine—most likely filled with a change of clothes.

I carefully tried to sit up, only to hit a deep bruise on my ribs. A sharp, involuntary groan escaped me, loud enough to startle Nico awake.

He rubbed his face groggily before blinking himself back into full consciousness. As soon as his gaze landed on me, his expression shifted from drowsy to pure panic.

“Woah, woah, woah—Speedy, what the hell are you doing?” He shot up from his seat, rushing over before I could even think about swinging my legs off the bed.

I reached out and grabbed his arms, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes locked onto mine, still filled to the brim with worry.

“I know that was probably scary,” I admitted softly. “And I’m not going to tell you not to worry. But right now, I really just want to get back into my clothes and—if possible—get discharged.”

I kept my tone calm, but there was a quiet desperation beneath it. I needed to get out of here. I needed normalcy.

Nico exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before sighing in reluctant defeat. “Fine.” He grabbed my bag, handing it over before stepping back to give me space.

I managed to pull on a pair of sweatpants over my shorts and slipped into an oversized sweatshirt, though I could only get one arm through the sleeve. The sling on my left side made it impossible to move my shoulder enough to fit the other through.

Before I could even contemplate figuring it out myself, a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of a nurse.

“Here, sweetheart,” she said kindly as she stepped inside. “Let me help you get that last arm in so it’s not so uncomfortable.”

She worked carefully, undoing the sling and guiding my arm with practiced gentleness, making sure not to cause unnecessary pain. As she re-situated the support brace, she began explaining my recovery plan.

I listened half-heartedly at first, already knowing the basics—rest, pain management, taking it easy. But then she got to the part I had been dreading.

“So, you won’t be able to race for the next four weeks,” she said, giving me a sympathetic look. “That will give the fracture in your forearm time to heal, while also making sure we don’t aggravate your shoulder injury or risk tearing that nasty cut near your neck any further.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably in my chest.

“You’re lucky,” she continued, her voice a little softer. “That shoulder injury and the cut were just centimeters away from being much worse—either ending your season or… well, ending you.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s a miracle, really.”

I forced a tight-lipped smile, unsure how to respond to that.

She pulled a small cart closer, stocked with an assortment of bags, medication bottles, and creams.

“For the next two weeks, I need you to really take it easy—no pushing limits, no testing your pain tolerance.” She gave me a knowing look. “After that, you can slowly start incorporating light training, but only if you follow up with a doctor once a week to monitor your shoulder’s progress.”

I nodded again, absorbing the information, though my mind was already racing ahead to how I could shorten the timeline.

Satisfied, she handed Nico a small package containing my medications and care supplies before giving me one final once-over. “Follow those guidelines, and you should be back behind the wheel soon enough.”

With that, she left, and Nico wasted no time helping me into a wheelchair.

As he pushed me toward the back exit of the hospital—away from prying eyes, cameras, and the inevitable media frenzy—I let my head rest against the seat, exhaustion settling in once more.

Four weeks.

I hated the thought.

But I was still here at least, still fighting.

“Well, I guess you’re lucky in one more way,” Nico muttered as he practically carried me to move me into the passenger seat. His grip was firm but careful, mindful of my injuries as he eased me into the car. “Good thing it’s the start of summer break. You’ll only miss one race—assuming your recovery actually is four weeks, like she said.”

He buckled me in before jogging around to the driver’s side. As we pulled away from the hospital, I finally checked the time. It had only been about 45 minutes since I was in the medical room back at the paddock. That meant the race was either close to restarting or had just begun.

I turned to Nico, already knowing I was about to push my luck.

“I know you’re not gonna like what I’m about to ask—”

“So don’t ask,” Nico cut me off instantly, his response quick and practiced, like he knew what was coming.

I pouted, making my eyes just a little sadder, just a little more pleading. He glanced at me during a red light, and I watched his resolve crack. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his temples.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “What is it?”

A victorious smile tugged at my lips, but I kept my voice soft. “I really want to go back to the paddock and support Franco. Just to watch. I promise I’ll follow any rules you want—any—as long as I can be there.”

Nico groaned like I had just asked him to commit a crime. He was silent for a moment, then exhaled through his nose before taking the next turn—away from the hotel.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded.

I barely had time to cheer before he held up a finger.

“BUT—you have to stay in the wheelchair and next to me at all times. The second I see you pushing yourself too hard, I get full authority to pull you out of there and take you straight back to the hotel. No arguments.”

I nodded rapidly, raising my hand like I was swearing an oath. “I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

“Jesus, okay—no need for dramatics, that is not the image I needed after the events of today.” he muttered, shaking his head as he merged onto the main road leading back to the circuit.

As we neared the paddock, he reached into the backseat and pulled out a familiar helmet. Well, almost familiar.

It was one of my backup helmets, repainted in the official Cadillac Racing colors. A deep, glossy black with electric blue and white accents, matching the team’s livery. Unlike my usual helmet, which had personalized flourishes, this one was purposefully simple—a disguise, meant for situations where I needed to be more anonymous in the paddock. Though I am sure being the only person constantly wearing a helmet wont change the amount that crowd me just by changing a helmet design.

I took it from him, running my fingers over the sleek surface.

“You’ll want this,” Nico said, watching me carefully. “It’s got your voice changer, so you’ll still sound like what they expect.”

A small smile formed on my lips as I turned the helmet over in my hands. It wasn’t my usual one, but it still felt right.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

Nico just sighed again, clearly resigning himself to whatever chaos was about to unfold.

With my helmet secured, we drove past the main entrance, heading toward the private back entrance meant for teams and VIPs. The paddock was just ahead.

—

I had successfully been rolled all the way into the garage without any media swarming me. Still, I had been noticed. The first TV screen I spotted, displaying the live broadcast, suddenly cut to a shot of me sitting in the wheelchair.

I smirked, easily finding the nearest camera and giving a little wave with my free arm.

Behind me, Nico leaned on the handles of the chair, his sharp eyes scanning the area like a lifeguard on duty. He was assessing, calculating—clearly trying to figure out the best way to keep me out of the growing crowd of cameras and curious onlookers.

He let out a low sigh. “Diego,” he called, motioning to one of the engineers. “Keep an eye on them. I need to figure something out.”

Diego nodded, stepping in as Nico disappeared into the mass of people.

While I waited, several mechanics and team members took turns coming over to check on me.

“You scared the hell out of us, you know that?” one of them said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, “I do like to keep you all on your toes.”

A few chuckled, shaking their heads, but there was a real warmth in the way they spoke to me. Even though we rarely talked outside the paddock, their concern felt genuine. It was sweet.

That moment of peace didn’t last long. Nico returned, gripping the wheelchair handles with renewed determination.

“You’re gonna sit with Nicolas on the pit wall,” he announced, already steering me toward the garage exit. “You can help provide feedback on how the car felt this weekend so he can adjust Franco’s strategy accordingly.”

I blinked up at him, then grinned. Honestly? This was probably the best outcome I could’ve hoped for.

The pit wall meant limited access for reporters—no microphones shoved in my face, no overwhelming crowds. Just a few cameras every now and then, but nothing compared to being in the garage.

With a quick wave from one of the officials, Nico began speed-walking me across the pit lane. He was all business, keeping his focus on getting me across safely, while I just enjoyed the brief moment of fresh air and the rumble of engines.

We made it to the pit wall without any trouble. An official held onto my wheelchair while Nico scooped me up and placed me into the open seat next to Nicolas. The strategist gave me a small smile as I got settled.

“Good to have you here,” Nicolas said, adjusting his headset.

“Good to be here,” I replied.

Nico made sure my chair was secured against the barrier before stepping back. With everything in place, I turned my attention to the screens in front of me.

The race was fully underway, and Franco was holding a solid position, but I could already see where he might struggle. I leaned toward Nicolas, watching the sector times flash on the monitor.

“He’s losing time in Sector 2,” I murmured, analyzing the data. “Looks like he’s being a little too cautious on entry into Turn 9. He’s losing momentum going into the straight.”

Nicolas nodded, relaying the information through his headset. A few seconds later, Franco adjusted his line.

“Better,” I said. “But tell him to trust the rear more—there’s more grip than he thinks, and he can afford to carry more speed.”

Again, Nicolas repeated my advice, and once more, Franco adjusted.

I grinned as his sector times improved.

For the next few laps, this routine continued. I’d analyze, Nicolas would relay, Franco would execute. It was working—his lap times were consistently dropping.

Then, during a lull in the radio communications, Nicolas suddenly reached down and unplugged his mic. Before I could ask what he was doing, he took the cable and connected it to the jack at the bottom of my helmet.

I blinked at him in surprise.

The mic jack was technically there for media purposes, so recordings could be easily captured for team content. But this? This was definitely an alternative use.

“Go ahead,” Nicolas murmured with a small smirk.

I hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath.

“Franco?” I said into the mic, my voice still modulated by the voice changer.

There was a brief pause before Franco’s voice came through my headset, startled.

“Wait—what?!” He sounded confused. “Nicolas, why does your voice sound different—wait, hold on, is that— Ghost? ¡Ay, Dios mío! I was so worried about you, are—

I cut him off before he could get too carried away.

“You can talk to me like this after you finish this race, Franco,” I said, keeping my tone firm but light. “Right now, let’s focus on getting you on that podium, right?”

There was silence for a beat. Then, Franco let out a breath, his voice settling into something more determined.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

For the rest of the race, I fed Franco a steady stream of advice, guiding him through each corner, each braking zone, each opportunity to gain a position. I pointed out where he needed to be patient and where he could push, where to watch for openings and when to strike. With every lap, he climbed the ranks, his confidence growing with each overtaking move.

By the time the checkered flag waved, he had secured P3—his first podium of the season.

The second he crossed the line, I let out a cheer, raising a fist in excitement.

“YES, FRANCO! ¡Tú eres el ganador!”

His laugh crackled through the radio, light and relieved. “I didn’t know you knew Spanish?”

I chuckled. “I thought I might as well learn some for my teammate.”

There was warmth in his voice when he replied, “I appreciate it, compañero.”

Nico leaned down to help me disconnect from the radio as Nicolas plugged himself back in, taking over to guide Franco into parc fermé. Within a minute, I was back in the wheelchair, rolling toward the main barricade where the team would gather to watch the podium ceremony.

As I sat off to the side, I watched the drivers filter through, those who hadn’t made the podium making their way back to their garages. Some stopped to check in on me, giving me nods of encouragement or quick words of support.

“Hope you recover quickly,” Esteban said.

“You’re tougher than half of us out here,” Lewis added.

I smiled and thanked them, appreciating the camaraderie. Even though we were competitors on track, moments like this reminded me that the paddock was still a family.

Then, Jack walked by. He didn’t stop. He didn’t say a word.

But his eyes—those sad, almost guilty eyes—lingered on me for a second too long before he turned away and kept walking.

I swallowed down the tightness in my chest, pushing the moment aside as the sound of hurried footsteps and familiar voices filled the air.

“Ghost!”

Before I knew it, Kimi and Ollie were kneeling in front of me, both of them looking at me like I had just walked away from a near-death experience.

Kimi’s hand landed gently on my knee, his grip firm but comforting. Ollie, on the other hand, slid his fingers into mine, holding my hand as if reassuring himself that I was actually here, actually okay.

“God, I am so glad to see you around and moving like this,” Ollie whispered, his voice unsteady.

“You scared us when you passed out like that, tesoro,” Kimi added, his Italian accent thick with concern.

I felt my face flush at the pet name. Tesoro—something lovers would call each other in italy.

Thank fuck they couldn’t see my face right now, or I’d never hear the end of their teasing.

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my composure. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m only out for four weeks, which means I’ll only miss one race. That’s it.”

They didn’t look convinced, but I pressed on. “If you want, we can plan another hangout during the break. Maybe go somewhere nice together so you can see just how okay I am.”

That got them to smile.

“Sounds like a plan,” Ollie said, giving my hand a light squeeze before they were both pulled away by their respective teams.

Just as I exhaled, thinking I had a moment to breathe, another voice called out to me.

“Hey, there you are.”

I looked up to see Oscar approaching, hands tucked into the pockets of his race suit, his usual calm demeanor softened with concern.

I smiled. “You found me.”

He chuckled, crouching down beside me so we were at eye level. “How are you really feeling?”

I sighed. “Sore, but fine. I’ll survive.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the paddock. “You staying home during the break?”

I shrugged. “For now, yeah. Haven’t thought too far ahead. But I did just tell Kimi and Ollie I would travel with them if they wanted. No official plans yet.”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “if you need anything—help getting around, groceries, someone to hang out with when you get bored—I’m around.”

I raised a brow. “Offering to be my personal chauffeur, Piastri?”

He smirked. “Only if you say please.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He patted the armrest of my wheelchair lightly before standing up. “Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t push too hard.”

I gave him a mock salute. “No promises.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but smiled before heading off.

I looked back just as Franco pulled up, his car rolling to a stop beside Max and Lando in parc fermé. The second the engines cut off, Lando was already pulling off his steering wheel, leaning over to say something to Max as the two laughed, completely unaware of my presence.

Franco, however, was different.

The moment he removed his helmet, his eyes scanned the crowd, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he searched for me. His face fell slightly when he didn’t spot me among the team, his brows furrowing in concern. But then, finally, his gaze locked onto me, sitting just away from the main group, tucked off to the side in the wheelchair.

For a moment, I thought I saw worry flicker across his face—maybe at the sight of the chair, maybe at how distant I was from the usual celebration—but it was quickly replaced by relief, his lips curling into a wide, teary-eyed smile.

“GHOST!”

His voice rang through the air, cutting through the noise of parc fermé and drawing the attention of nearly everyone around.

Before I could even brace myself, he was bolting toward me, nearly tripping over himself in his rush. He skidded to a stop just before reaching me, clearly trying to slow himself down so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt me. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of me, hands hovering as if he wanted to hold me but was too scared of causing me any pain.

I chuckled, shaking my head at his dramatics. “I’m fine, Franco.”

But he wasn’t convinced. His hands finally settled gently on my arms as his eyes roamed over me, taking in every detail—every bandage, every bruise, every sign that I wasn’t at full strength.

“Do you feel any pain right now? What was the worst injury you got?” he asked, his voice quieter now, still thick with emotion.

Before I could answer, two more sets of footsteps pounded against the pavement.

“The fuck?”

I glanced up just in time to see Lando and Max rushing over, both of their faces a mix of shock and concern.

“You came back to the paddock after all that?” Lando asked, staring at me like I had just materialized out of thin air. “Why would you do that?”

Max, on the other hand, looked downright unimpressed. “You are injured, why would you come back to the scene of it all?”

I shrugged. “I wanted to watch the race and support my family. I didn’t really want to catch any attention to risk getting even more hurt though.”

Max gestured vaguely toward Franco, who was still kneeling in front of me, practically vibrating with emotions. “Yeah. That worked out well.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could argue, Lando crouched beside Franco, looking me over just as intently.

“Are you sure you're okay to be here?” he asked, softer this time, the teasing gone.

I sighed. “I’m sore, but I’m okay. Just stuck in this thing for a while.” I pointed at the sling around my arm.  Lando frowned, but he nodded. “Well, at least you’re here.”

Max, who had been standing with his arms crossed, suddenly exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Alright, that’s it,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re coming home with me,” he stated, already pulling his phone out of his race suit pocket. “I’m not letting you fly commercial in your condition.”

I stared at him. “Max, I’m fine—”

“You’re injured,” he cut in. “And knowing you, you’d try to do everything by yourself and make it worse.” Franco and Lando both nodded in agreement, traitors that they were.

Max continued, tapping at his screen. “I’ve already invited the others who were worried about you. Kimi, Ollie, Oscar—I know they’d want to be there to make sure you’re okay.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Lando held up a finger. “Nope. You’re not winning this argument.” Franco grinned. “Just let us take care of you, cariño.”

I groaned, slumping back in my chair. “Fine. But if any of you baby me, I swear—”

Max smirked. “No promises.”

Before I could retaliate, a race official called out to them, reminding them they had a podium celebration and interviews to get to.

Franco squeezed my hand once before standing. “I’ll see you after?”

I smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

Max gave me a final nod before he and the others turned back toward parc fermé, the weight of the race now settling into the excitement of celebration.

And me? I was lucky—because of my injuries, I didn’t have to do any media.

At least some good came out of all of this bullshit.

Now the only question left on my mind was Jack, what was gonna come from this? Would I get the brother I have looked up to back? Or was this the end of my story a part of the Doohan family?

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo

Thank You everyone for the patience! I was hoping that I could get back to updating on the same schedule I started with compared to the almost once a week I had fallen into. But I did not want to turn this chapter into two parts. Hopefully from here I can continue to update as often as I was hoping.

[ama0310]

A Pawn Once More

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: For years, Haymitch has kept his biggest secret buried—his love for the one person he couldn’t afford to lose. But when the Quarter Quell announces that tributes will be reaped from the pool of Victors, his worst nightmare becomes reality.

A.N: Scene from Catching Fire. No, I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader.

Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. As you know, in every Quarter Quell, we do things a little differently. To commemorate the 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, we have decided to add a new twist to the tradition."

"The tributes will be reaped from the pool of existing victors."

The air was thick with the screams and desperate cries of your family, their voices echoing in your ears as your own face twisted in horror. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

After surviving the 66th Hunger Games, after securing your place in history and your district’s fleeting pride, you were supposed to live out your life in something resembling peace. You’d be called back each year to mentor, yes, but never again would you be dragged into the arena. Never again would you face the bloodbath.

But now? Now you were nothing more than a pawn again.

You had to leave. You had to run. Your little brother’s tiny fingers clung desperately to you, his sobs vibrating through your chest as your mother—your mother—threw things in fury, her heartbreak spilling over. Every instinct told you to stay, to comfort them, but you knew better. You had to leave or you’d lose your mind. Or worse, you’d drag them down into your nightmare.

You ran. The pounding of your feet against the dirt was deafening, a frantic rhythm of escape, but your body couldn’t outrun the reality clawing at your soul. You ran until your legs gave out and you collapsed, crumbling to your knees, gasping for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It had to be alright. It had to be. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You wiped away your tears, your breath ragged and uneven, thoughts spinning wildly. Out of the eight victors from your district, only you and one of your mentors were women. And you weren’t about to let your mentor go through the Games again. There was no chance. You knew the nightmares she’d endured, the scars that marked her body. Like you, she had survived, but she wasn’t as capable as she once was when she won during the 47th Games. At least you still had a fighting chance.

Your mind turned to your family next. You just needed them to promise you one thing. They couldn’t watch. They couldn’t watch you die. It was the only mercy you could give them. You couldn’t let them see that.

Your death would rip them apart, you knew it. Your mother would be left without her daughter. Your brother would grow up without his older sister to protect him. Your father, already a shadow of the man he once was, would be broken, lost in the absence of his “princess.” And Haymitch—Haymitch.

The thought of him hit you like a physical blow, your heart constricting in your chest. He’s a victor too. A chilling realization gripped you like ice in your veins. He could be reaped. He could be sent to fight.

Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless, as you gasped, your breath stuttering. The weight of it crushed you. He could be reaped. And that terrifying thought shattered you more than the fear of your own reaping ever could.

You let out a scream—gut-wrenching, heart-shattering—your body shaking as it tore through you. It was a sound so full of anguish, so desperate, it seemed to rip apart the very fabric of the world around you. Haymitch. He could be reaped. And with that, all your nightmares, every awful memory, every twisted fear, came to life.

-----

“Get me that damn tablet,” Haymitch barked, shoving his way through the train car in search of the device. His mind was a tangled mess, his body still buzzing from the alcohol he’d consumed in an attempt to dull the gnawing pain. 

The last few days had been a blur, but he could still feel the sharp sting of the announcement ringing in his ears. The tributes... the victors... and his own twisted fate. He should’ve been focusing on how he’d somehow managed to cheat death. Instead, his mind was consumed with one thing—and one person—from District 5. You.

When the announcement came about the victors being reaped, he hadn’t reacted with surprise. No, he’d gone into a frenzy. He’d torn apart his house, broken everything in sight, and drunk himself into oblivion. His fingers had clutched his most prized possession with a desperation he couldn't explain—a beautiful gold chain, wrapped tightly around his finger, holding the most precious ring. 

The night before, Katniss had begged him—no, pleaded—for him to volunteer for Peeta during the reaping. He had agreed. Not because he wanted to, hell no. But because he had to be there if you were reaped. And now, as Peeta decided to take matters into his own hands, Haymitch found himself thrust into the role of mentor. It infuriated him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want you in the arena again.

The other districts should’ve already been reaped by now, and his mind was frantic, itching to know if you had been chosen. Unfortunately, he’d been trapped in the mentor role, unable to watch the reaping unfold. Now, though, he was pushing everyone aside, his hands shaking as he aggressively swiped across the tablet screen, searching for answers.

“What's his deal?” Katniss scoffed, watching Haymitch swipe frantically at the tablet.

Effie, doing her best to keep the secret Haymitch had entrusted her with, attempted to downplay his urgency. “Oh, he’s just trying to see which victors got reaped. Don’t worry about it yet.”

“I can’t find it. Turn on the damn video on the TV,” he snapped, his patience gone. Effie scrambled, finally finding the footage and flicking it on.

As the video began, Haymitch subconsciously started playing with the gold band around his neck, his fingers caressing it absently as his heart hammered in his chest. The room fell silent as the broadcast began—District 5’s reaping.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort’s overly cheery voice rang out, her ridiculous outfit blinding in its absurdity. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and the 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games, as always, ladies first…”

Haymitch’s leg started bouncing in nervous anticipation, his pulse quickening. District 5 had eight victors, but only two were women—and you were one of them.

He couldn’t help it. His eyes locked onto the screen, unable to tear himself away. You stood there, dressed in black, your face a perfect mask of stoicism. Your eyes were red, your pain carefully hidden beneath a practiced, blank expression—the one you’d perfected from years of surviving. He’d taught you that. How to hide everything. How to show nothing. How to survive.

He watched you hold hands with your mentor, the two of you standing in quiet solidarity. A tiny part of him hoped that it would be you—the one they called forward, so your mentor could volunteer for you. He knew she would. You just had to let her.

The escort’s voice cut through his thoughts, though he barely heard it now. She gave both you and your mentor a small, sad smile before unfolding the slip of paper. “The female tribute of District 5…” she began, and the words hung in the air like a death sentence, “Abigail Winston.”

Effie’s sigh of relief was audible, probably thinking that you were home free, that everything was going to be okay. But Haymitch knew better. He knew you. And that’s why his entire body tensed in an instant. The anger surged through his veins like wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.

And then he saw your movement. The way you stepped forward. No.

Before your mentor could even make a move, your voice steady but fierce rang out, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Time seemed to slow. Haymitch’s heart stopped, the world around him blurring as he felt everything he’d been holding together shatter. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps as the glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The tablet in his hands followed, crashing to the ground in a violent thud.

Katniss and Peeta exchanged confused glances, unsure of who you were or why Haymitch had reacted like that. Effie’s tears fell silently, a mix of sorrow and disbelief. But before anyone could speak, Haymitch turned away, his mind consumed by rage and heartbreak. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

He stormed down the train, away from them all, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to rip the world apart. Every part of him, every inch of his being, was focused on one thought: You. You had volunteered. You had sealed your fate. And now, all of his nightmares were coming true.

-----

Haymitch wished he were drunk. He wished the alcohol could drown out the aching pain of having you step into that arena again. It wasn’t fair.

You barely had two years together. Two years of being an official couple, and yet it felt like it wasn’t enough. He’d first met you at the end of your Victor’s Tour, when you decided to escape the attention and hide at the bar. You outdrank him that night, which, frankly, was impressive.

At first, he never expected to care for you. You were just another survivor, bound to the same cruel fate as him. But then, over time, as you grew up and proved yourself in ways he never imagined, he couldn’t help but fall in love.

You were 15 years younger, and he had always kept his distance, hiding his feelings behind a wall of friendship. But as the years passed, and you all met yearly for the Games as mentors, one thing led to another. A night full of too much alcohol, too many unspoken feelings—and before he knew it, you had shared a night neither of you would ever forget.

The next morning, you confessed what had been lingering beneath the surface for so long. It took him months to work up the courage to ask you out, battling his own demons of self-doubt and guilt.

And then, for two beautiful years, you two had kept it secret. Notes passed in shadows, stolen kisses, quiet smiles, and letters filled with raw emotion. Two years of sneaking around, being completely, utterly in love.

And now, it was all coming to an end.

Effie found him passed out in the train’s aisle, and without hesitation, she put him to bed, understanding that he needed space.

The next morning, Haymitch tried to seek you out. He wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay, but his duties as a mentor took priority. Effie begged him to focus, to speak to Katniss and Peeta first, and then find you. He was torn between his heart and his responsibilities. And in the end, Effie dragged him to the kids.

He spent that day drinking and half-heartedly trying to teach them about the importance of allies.

“Finnick Odair, right?” Katniss asked, as they went through the list of reaped victors.

He nodded, pointing to the screen. “Yes, he won at fourteen—youngest victor ever. Extremely humble.”

“You're kidding, right?” Katniss scoffed.

“Yes, I’m kidding.” He flipped his hair dramatically. “He’s a... peacock. A total preener, but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peeta leaned forward, glancing at the screen. “What about weaknesses?”

“One person, Mags.” A frail, wrinkled woman appeared on the screen. “She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor, basically raised him. If Finnick’s trying to protect her, it exposes him.”

Katniss stared at the screen, watching the woman bravely volunteer for the young girl in tears. “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her.”

Sadness flickered in Haymitch’s eyes. “Well, Katniss, I just hope when she goes... she goes quickly. She’s a wonderful lady.”

He pressed a button on the tablet, knowing exactly who would appear next, but his body tensed involuntarily as the screen flickered to life.

"District Five: Mason Cover and Y/N L/N." Haymitch stared at the screen, his eyes locked on you, unable to look away.

"She's the girl we saw on the train," Katniss said, sensing the weight of Haymitch’s reaction. "What's her story?"

Haymitch glanced at Katniss before downing his drink. “She won the 66th Games at 16. The last hour of the Games, there were five tributes left. She killed each one of them single-handedly—arrows, spear, you name it. Extremely skillful, resourceful. And beloved by many of our victors.”

He pointed to Mason Cover, “Mason won the 55th Games at 18. Lethal in hand-to-hand combat. The last 30 minutes of those Games were a triple threat match. Those two are close friends. You want them as allies. And if you trust me... trust them. They're who you should be allies with.” He repeated, his gaze locked on Katniss. “Trust me.”

“Who is she to you?” Katniss asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We all saw the reaping. We saw the way you reacted. Now you want to team up with her... why?”

Haymitch squinted at her, his fingers subconsciously playing with the chain around his neck. “She's just a friend. I've known her for years. I know both of them. Good people. Trustworthy people.”

“I don’t believe you,” Katniss retorted.

“Katniss,” Peeta interjected, sensing the simmering tension. "Let it go."

But before anyone could speak, Effie burst through the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she hurried toward Haymitch. "Haymitch, thank God you're here!" she said, voice strained with urgency. She then saw Katniss and Peeta standing in the room, and immediately faltered. "Oh... uh... Haymitch, you're needed outside of this room." She gestured quickly toward the door, trying to keep the situation under wraps, hoping the kids wouldn't notice.

Haymitch caught the hint, and without a word, he practically flew out of the room. Before the door even clicked shut behind him, he was pulled into an embrace. Your arms.

And for a moment, everything around him seemed to stop.

"Haymitch..." you whispered, your voice trembling as tears flooded your face. After days of terror, the weight of the world finally seemed to melt away in his arms. He was here. You needed him more than anything.

"Y/N..." He squeezed you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. His heart hammered in his chest, sobering instantly from the haze of alcohol. The warmth of your skin, the sweet scent of you, and the soft wetness of your tears soaking through his shirt — this was real. You were here, with him... for now.

He pulled back slightly, needing to see your face, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks. He smiled at you, the corners of his mouth trembling with something he couldn't quite control. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice breaking.

It hurt him to see you like this—eyes red and swollen, your hands shaking, a look of grim acceptance in your gaze. The kind of acceptance that made his heart shatter. What had you accepted? What were you preparing for? That thought alone gnawed at him.

"It's going to be okay. I’ve got you, pretty girl." His voice cracked with desperation, the words pouring out in a rush. "I’ll get you sponsors, and you'll be okay. Then when this is over, we can go back to my district, or yours, and live the rest of our lives together. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever." He whispered it, desperate for you to believe him, for you to feel safe, for the horrible weight of your future to somehow lift.

But then, you shook your head, sobbing. "You can't... Katniss and Peeta are your responsibility. You need to help them. You need to save them." The words broke out in a cry, your eyes locking with his in raw, painful clarity. He shook his head, his heart sinking.

"No," he muttered firmly, "I’m not leaving you alone for this." His hands gripped your shoulders, holding you as if he could keep you safe, as if he could protect you from the arena, from everything.

"I’ll be alright," you tried to smile, wiping away the fresh tears that fell. "You don’t need to worry about me." You forced the smile, trying to push him, to focus on the kids, on them. You knew the truth, knew the game was rigged. Katniss needed to be victorious; you were just collateral damage, nothing more.

Your hand reached up to caress his face, your thumb tracing the rough outline of his jaw. "The kids need you, my love. You have to choose them over me. You have to choose Katniss over me. She... she is important."

"You're important." His voice cracked as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control, but it shattered as soon as he looked at you. "You're everything to me. You're my world. My wife... You don’t know what you’re asking me to do..." His voice broke, the words too raw, too heavy. "I can’t leave you in that arena. I won’t. I will save you."

You stared at him, tears running freely down both of your faces. He looked at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with an agony he couldn't hide. You had accepted your death, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this. He had already lost so much. He wouldn’t lose you too. Not like this. Not again.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He shook his head, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "I can’t let them take you from me." His mind was already spinning, heart racing with frantic thoughts—how could he get more sponsors? Who could he talk to in the Capitol? There had to be a way. Anything to keep you alive. "Why the hell did you volunteer? Why—Jesus Christ, why you?" The words cracked through his chest, his heart shattering with the pain of it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was losing you, and he couldn’t stop it.

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing over the rough, scarred lines of his cheek, your touch a silent plea. You saw the desperation in his eyes—the panic, the fear that he couldn’t hide. Your voice trembled as you whispered, "Haymitch... I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine." The words tasted like ash on your tongue, but you said them anyway, because you needed him to believe it. You couldn’t bear the thought of him falling apart, not when you knew what was coming. You had to be strong for him, even if it broke you to lie like that.

And then, with everything breaking inside him, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that spoke of everything: grief, love, fear, and an unbearable desperation. It was rough and frantic, a mixture of tears and longing. The kiss was an apology, a plea, and a final, desperate act of love.

What neither of you knew was that Katniss, Peeta, and Effie were watching from the crack in the door, their eyes wide with shock. 

Haymitch has a wife.

And she was about to die.

[nobodyinfart]

How would they react to your jealousy?

PSA: green is such'a good look on you, dear

Let’s be real, all of them will attract attention from different groups of people (oftentimes, not from just one sexual or gender orientation). There is no doubt that there will be instances where your jealousy sparks brighter than ever, seeing a cheeky hand on your lover that sends your blood boiling. Of course, you are secure in your relationship,, but that’s not to say that the boys will not have a certain reaction to your possessive attitude. 

For our beloved Soap, he is the life of the party. More often than not, he will be seen in the middle of the dance floor pulling off the cheekiest dance moves known to man. Like hot damn, who taught him how to swing his hips like that? For him, it’s more of the aftermath - hearing you growl at the offender with the sleazy hand to get off your boyfriend or you’d rip them a new one had to be the greatest aphrodisiac to exist. That fire behind your eyes is so pretty, a spark that Johnny is sure would lead to fireworks in bed later on. He can’t help himself, really - not when he knows that he would be railed out of his thoughts later. For a good couple of days, no one even dares to approach him - with the way his hickeys make him look like he’s been mauled by a bear. That pleased smirk he wears does make you suspicious that he swings his hips extra hard intentionally - as if he wanted some hopeless idiot to chase his tail.

Gaz is no doubt the residential pretty boy, like come on. Those chocolate brown eyes look too alluring to ignore, beckoning him many free drinks along with irritating company. Even at work, there is a threat from the higher-ups to not fall for his puppy dog eyes, no matter the request. Unlike playful Soap, I don’t think Gaz is the type to get you jealous on purpose - since he seems to be very content with being off the market to everyone else. However, that’s not to say there aren’t people who will try to get the elusive Kyle. Definitely the type of guy who will sass the other person to deter their advances, that sharp tongue paired with the nastiest attitude. If that’s not enough,,, let’s just say his darling’s shadow is starting to loom over his intruder - here’s to hoping you will go easy on this one, not all of them can handle your threatening like the last one.

Captain Price may just be surprised at the fact that he can still get game,, since he isn’t the conventional attractive type people go swarming for. Unbeknownst to him, age is just a number to many and he caters to a different taste that is still well in-demand. Maybe it’s a barrack bunny, hoping to climb up the hierarchy - not observant enough to notice that the absence of his wedding ring on his finger because it was looped onto his necklace. Captain is sure to mention being taken - happily, he will add - but not to much avail, the bunny pursuits rather intensively. Rumours fly, and it’s safe to say that the barrack bunny’s next visit would be hijacked. You on his lap with a raised eyebrow and a dazed Price with an absolutely dazed expression, his lips swollen enough for the poor soul to know that he was very much accounted for.

There are two schools of thought for Ghost, that he’s well aware he’s smoking or that he’s in denial. I’m a firm believer that dear Simon Riley knows he’s a looker. C’mon, anyone who sees that hunk of a body whips their head to gawk when he walks past, he has to be an idiot to not notice. He has biceps big enough to crush someone’s head - and the perfect size for arms to loop around for a hug. Along with the yummiest ass on this earth, the man is eye candy. Personally, Simon is the type to not acknowledge some admirer’s existence - just a chuff of acknowledgement translated into a simple thanks. Hell, you don’t even have to move a muscle - since Simon’s nonchalant attitude changes when he sees you. The man moving to your side faster than the other can blink, the soft look of hs brown eyes enough for all to see how much he adores you. Admirer, what admirer? Doll, he’s all yours - heart and soul with your name etched like an engraving to metal.

On the other hand,,, I believe that they will be equally tempted if you were to scoff at their company - a hint of mockery in your tone, as if you're in disbelief that these flies would ever appeal to your beloved… the yummy possibility that you are confident of their love enough to know that their attention is entirely yours,,, IS SO YUMMY. Maybe, your own payback or giving them a gentle smooch just for the flirt’s idol to melt at your feet? WALK THEM LIKE A DOG, WOOF WOOOOFFFF

[castratedtestimonies]

This is extremely typical of the Drunk Driver Mindset.

I know this is a new concept for people, so I want to take it slow.

56% of American men, and 43% of American women have driven drunk in their lifetime. I'm reblogging from an Australian, so I will also add: 14% of Australians have driven drunk just in the last six months.

Okay, who gives a fuck?

Well, the thing is, it kills people. It kills people very regularly. Drunk driving is so dangerous that it's fair to say that anyone who chooses to drive drunk knowingly risks killing people every time they do it. On average, when an American is arrested for driving drunk, they are on their 80th offense, only being caught for the first time now.

So what's the mindset issue?

Entitlement.

Entitlement is the notion that what other people do that's wrong is okay for you to do because you're special. Entitlement is less an ideology and more a habit of mind. I used to be a counselor for men who committed domestic violence. I saw this all the time: They would be able to recognize abuse and violence in other people's relationship, but make exceptions for themselves and their behaviors. They might be ashamed, but they will never admit wrong.

But it doesn't just go away, those feelings of shame. They tend to fester. They find new outlets.

The drunk driver, having knowingly risked killing others countless times begins to devalue human life itself, and feel entitled to decide which lives are important.

Enter immigration.

Illegal immigration is about as dangerous a crime as a clerical error. You might think that immigrants are the cause of lots of other social ills, mass rapes, violent drug dealers, human trafficking (or whatever the latest fad story being pushed out by nationalists). And you might even be right.

But the crime of crossing a border is a paperwork mistake. A clerical error. A non-issue as far as the health and safety of the public is concerned

So why is it that such a minor crime yields the ire and fear of such a large portion of the population?

Well, of course there's racism, and ignorance, and the idea that somehow rape and murder are worse when it's a non-national doing it, and that it's somehow, absurdly, more logical to group crimes together by the race of their perpetrators--rather than by, Oh I don't know, the crime itself. But that's boring and not actually that important.

Drunk drivers would kill children for dressing in bunny costumes if it eased their consciences.

Drunk Driver Mindset dictates that, in order to recuperate the health and safety that the drunk driver knowingly compromises in their own society, there must be someone even more dangerous. Alcoholics are notorious for blaming their issues on others, and for having obsessions around control where they cannot control things, and freedom where no one is holding them back. This drama basically ensues from the inability to get a grip on their drinking. The drunk driver compounds these obsessions because they know they use their freedom to endanger others. They know that they cannot stop themselves without a help that, were it to come, they would slap away as unjust control.

The drunk driver is the reason we can't have nice things.

The Drunk Driver Mindset is what drives our culture to be filled with murder fantasies whenever our culture collectively finds a target for their rage and their obsessions.

If you really do care about health and safety, get help with your drinking. If you really do care about health and safety, accept the reality that drunk drivers are a greater danger to society than immigrants or single mothers or trans kids or whatever other target you'd like to feel entitled to attack.

Take a deep breath.

Look at the numbers. Understand that drunk driving is the greater danger.

Or else please do shut the fuck up.