#it really is 2 am when I'm typing this

[bluejayadler]

So I have more thoughts! Once again, its a ramble. I'm not editing this cause its 2 am. Enjoy! TW: We're talking about grief due to death of a loved one.

Okay, I have to come back to this. Because I looked at Edwin, Charles, and Crystal dealing with the grief of losing Niko. But then I was thinking about Niko's grief. Because Niko is still grieving when we meet her. She's grieving the death of her father, being sent away by her mother, the loss of all other connection. Niko is as cut off as the others - the boys via their deaths, Crystal via her amnesia. She's no less alone and grieving. Her's is just not from some supernatural involvement. But more than just the idea that Niko is grieving is that the grief we see almost flips the grief we see the others go through as a result of her death. 

Edwin freezes in grief, running into a mountain, but I think he'd eventually process the grief and does come to accept the loss at least a little in the bedroom scene - "she has moved on to her afterlife". On the other hand, Niko does try to move on. And the timeline isn't really clear. When I watched the show, I assumed Niko's trip to the dandelion shrine was AFTER her father's death as I don't imagine she was infected when she was home for his funeral. So my analysis assumes that Niko tried seeking courage, not just to attend the boarding school across the ocean but to grieve and be without her father in her life. Niko tries to move beyond the mountain, but ends up being halted, not by her own choice but by others. We'll come back to that.

For Charles, I looked at the idea of grief taking things that are familiar and making them foreign and the continuance of his habit of hiding behind a smile and placing his needs and wants aside for others. Niko is quite literally thrust into the foreign. She is sent away. For her, there is no familiar after her father's passing. She left the familiar, again not really by her own choice/action, but "the sadness came too". That grief, that loss is the most familiar thing she has when the others meet her. She also doesn't hide it and she doesn't set it aside for anyone. She is open about her loss and her grief, open about her sorrow, and about how it has impacted her. She lives with her grief in the open, even if she doesn't quite process it or address it fully. 

Finally, Niko isolates where Crystal connects. When we meet Niko, she's a shut in and she's refusing to read her mother's letters. She dropped out of school. She doesn't reach out to the only family she has left. She doesn't have an friends. And we know later that she was probably pretty social at school or at least had social connections - she knew Brad and Hunter, she knew the rumors about them, she knows the football chants and cheers and happily sings them, even doing the hand gesture. Niko had connections. She lost them when she withdrew and isolated. Now, this is how some people respond to grief. Maybe the loss is too heavy and they get buried under the mountain. Maybe it's fear of losing others so better to cut ties now. Maybe its not being able to look at anyone without wondering if they're gonna die too. But for Niko, this lack of connection, this withdrawal isn't actually due to her own actions, but the intervention of others. 

And I think this is a huge part of grief that the show helps explore. Niko's first loss of connection is her loss of home and her loss of family - her mother sends her away. Her mother may have meant well. She writes Niko and Niko says that her mother tried to "send her away from the sadness". Though, her mother may have sent her away because she is one of the people that responded to grief by withdrawing and therefore forcing the same response on to Niko. Her second loss is her school and her eventual shut-in status, which results from the Dandelion Sprites. Niko says that she left school because everyone kept staring. And its so easy, when your grieving, to perceive people staring as a result of grief. I definitely felt that - this idea that people looked at me and only saw my grief or talked to me and only heard my grief. People would ask me "how are you" always with this tone of assumption, this weird sympathy, borderline pity thing. Like I was glass or needed to be handled with kids gloves. And if I said I was fine or doing okay, they'd get this look on their face like "awe, look at her being brave". And yeah, part of my perception was colored by some initial interactions. Most likely, only some people made that face or had that tone, but I got to seeing it and hearing it in almost every interaction. And I hated it. I wanted for my grief to be left alone. Now imagine that except people won't stop looking. The Dandelion Sprites made people look at Niko, not in pity. Not even at her grief, but at her. Except, she couldn't tell that. All she knew was that her father died and she went to school and everyone kept staring at her - staring at the girl who lost her father, staring at the girl who's mother sent her away, staring and staring and staring. So she fled. That progress she was making with her courage to climb that mountain grief threw at her - the progress came to a shuddering halt and she cut her connections and she isolated. 

But Niko's journey with grief doesn't end there. Because there's a third intervention - the Agency. And not just in regards to the Sprites. They do resolve that for her, which removes that driving force of her isolation. But they also offer connection and support. Niko eventually reads her mother's letter and sends her own because of seeing how much Crystal misses her own mother and wishes for that connection. Niko talks to the others about her loss and her grief on more than one occasion, not just a single one off of "this happened" and nothing else. She even has a bit of "wait, can this new supernatural world help me and bring my father back" but she accepts the answer of "no, you wouldn't want him back that way." Niko doesn't just form connections with the Agency, but due to the Agency's support, she reforms connections with others - her mother, Jenny, the wider community. She even finds new purpose in helping the Agency solve cases and helps the others process their emotions, especially Edwin. She starts moving past that mountain grief created. And its through the support of others.

This is how we compare the grief journey's we see. Niko didn't have anyone. She didn't receive support from her mother. She didn't receive it from her friends or school (again, supernatural involvement, but this mirrors common real world scenarios with grief). People don't always know how to handle someone grieving. They worry about saying or doing he wrong thing, so they do nothing or they do end up doing the wrong thing. We don't often teach how to handle grief - our own grief, let alone the grief of others. So its hard. And for Niko, this inability of others to support her in her grief led to her isolating and being buried under a mountain. And the later support from Crystal and Edwin and Charles helped her move forward and form connections again. And this support is something we see immediately with the others - especially Crystal. She tentatively asks to join the Agency in that scene in Niko's room. Edwin could hold his usual line of "we don't need Crystal" but he doesn't. He accepts her. Charles does to. They are there for each other from the beginning of their journey through grief. They have what Niko didn't.

Dead Boy Detectives - Grief

Spoilers ahead for in series character death.

I received this NGL

I have a lot of thoughts about grief and Dead Boy Detectives. The show touches on grief a bit and there were some things in the show that immediately connected with my own experience with grief. So this question and answer was a bit of an emotional exploration for me. In my usual manner, I ended up with quite the ramble. Firstly, trigger warnings for mention of terminal illness and parental death.

I think Edwin, Charles, and Crystal, in the very small glimpse that we see, show three different aspects of grief and grieving. I'd be fascinated to see how each react long-term, but all we have so far is the scene in Esther's house and the next in Niko's room. 

Grief is a difficult thing to predict. Edwin and Charles have a rather close relationship with lower-case "d" death - they have both lived through their own deaths, spend their afterlife constantly helping others deal with their death in a way, and have capital "D" Death hanging over them at all times, in the form of fleeing from her. Death isn't new to them, and I don't think grief really is either. They both have probably grieved their own deaths. Charles grieves the life he can't live. Edwin probably grieves not just his death but his time away - he didn't get to say goodbye, he didn't get to see what happened to his family. He didn't just die - he had his world ripped away. And we don't what's better - Edwin who suddenly is in a world not his own or Charles who has watched his slowly change and fade away and move on without him. But these are both losses that a person may grieve.

Edwin, with Niko, there is the added layer of connection. Edwin seems pretty determined not to form connections, by choice or false belief in his own inability to do so. He calls the living messy, even saying he'd welcome Crystal if she had died. He also seems aghast at the idea of having a living client in Becky Aspen. Charles is pretty open to befriending Crystal and Niko, so I think he's probably had a few living friends over the years. Meaning, he's probably lost some living friends over the years, either by death or them moving on from the perpetual-16-year-old.

Anyway, drawing it back to the moment of Niko's death and grief in that moment. I feel like grief hits you no matter how prepared you are, no matter how used to death you are. Because grief means you loved something or loved the hope of something or...its loss. Even if its loss you are used to or are prepared for. I see a lot of my own grief in Edwin and Charles.

To explain a little, I grew up with a mother with a terminal illness. She was given year to live when I was born and made it 28 years. She was fucking stubborn. Me and a couple of my siblings have had near death experiences. One of us even being declared clinically dead for a bit. And my father was a soldier, regularly deployed to war zones. Us kids were very aware of the fact that each goodbye when he deployed could be the last. So I grew up with death as a constant potential. It was always there, lurking nearby. And people used to tell me that at least, when someone I cared about passed away, I'd be used to the thought of it.

I wasn't. I don't think you can be, because you don't know the form that loss will take. What things in your day-to-day life it will color and which ones you won't.

I got used to the idea of death much the same way I think the boys have. But I wasn't ready when my mom passed away. And I don't think Edwin was when Niko passed away. That initial loss is like a mountain that's just dropped in front of you, that seems so insurmountable and also makes it impossible to see what's beyond, what life looks like afterwards. In the scene when Edwin, Crystal, and Charles are around Niko's body, it's Charles that grabs the other two, Charles that says they need to leave. This is the first time that is NOT Edwin inciting the flee from Death. Charles's death, the WW1 ghost, the Devlin house, the two Dragons. Each time, Edwin is the one that reminds Charles of the urgency to leave. Edwin initiate it. With Niko, Edwin can't. He's frozen. Not physically, but emotionally. He can't leave Niko. Until Charles makes him. I think this is a perfect example of the effect and weight of grief. Edwin has spent 30+ years running. He is constantly aware of the need to flee Death, the risk to himself and Charles if he doesn't, if he stops for even just a moment. But here, the grief over Niko overrides that decades built survival instinct. Edwin doesn't move. Edwin let himself befriend someone who could die, and even though he knew that people die and is so intimately familiar with death, that actual loss hits and it hits hard. On top of this, we know that Edwin doesn't always process his emotions. He has multiple comments about things being "too much emotion for one day" and again "messy" - grief is TOO MUCH emotion and is way messy. Edwin has started to explore his emotions and feelings, with his love for Charles, but I don't know if he ever actually fully explored grief. And I think he will this time. I think because it's Niko he will. Because Niko helped him explore love and open up and encouraged him in that journey, I think he'd feel he'd owe it to her to explore his grief properly. Do I think he'd do it immediately? Do I think he'd do it openly or well? No. But I think he will, eventually.

Grief also has a way of turning the familiar foreign. Charles and Edwin have been in each others space for 30+ years, and they have their roles. Its established immediately - "He's the brain. I'm the brawn." But its established in other ways, Charles being the smiley ones who charms the clients while Edwin is the fact-gatherer. Edwin again keeps them from Death's reach while Charles acts as the protector. Them moving around each other is familiar. Charles taking care of Edwin is familiar. Charles having to pull Edwin from death is foreign. Charles having to watch his friend lose someone is probably also foreign. When my mother passed away, my brother handled most things - funeral arrangements, phone calls to family and friends, reservations, flowers, everything. I supported him, keeping track of the to do list and making sure he stopped for food and water. My brother being the leader was familiar. Me being his second-in-command was familiar. Him thanking me for making sure he ate food was foreign. Him having to take 10 minutes outside the flower shop before he could drive was foreign. He was always the strong one, the one that couldn't be stopped. And while I was always his second, we never gave that words. We never talked about it. We just did it. And suddenly, these familiar things were foreign. I think this is Charles in that moment in Esther's house, and I think it'll be him moving forward. Charles takes the role that Edwin drops. Its an extension of his normal role, protector, but its still something that is solidly Edwin's job in their partnership. As for long term, Charles hides his emotions behind a smile. And yeah, him and Edwin had a moment in ep 5 about it and Crystal has called him out on it, but Charles hasn't changed in that regard. He hides his negative emotions behind a smile and he sets his own needs aside for others. I don't think grief is new to Charles. Imagine the dozen little griefs he experienced when he was alive - the grief of not having a loving father (he saw it with other kids), the grief of not having a mother who would protect him, the grief of not having any adult step in, the grief of his friends' betrayal. Charles was as used to sorrow as he was to rage and just as used to hiding it behind a smile. I think he does this here as well. I think he'll put his own grief aside, slap on a smile, and do everything he can to care for Edwin and Crystal. I think Charles will lean into the familiarity Edwin and even Crystal offer, definitely dive into solving cases - "all I need is my best mate and a case to solve".

Crystal for me is a third aspect of response to grief - connection. Some people, in grief, withdraw and isolate. When my mother passed, my family became closer. I definitely ignored some relationships, tangential friendships, but I clung closer to family. Crystal I think goes this route. This feels right to me given lack of connection and new connection is such a huge part of her storyline and arc. Crystal is ready to leave, reluctantly, but ready at the beginning of ep 8. She doesn't want to hurt Niko or the boys by staying and potentially being who she used to be, but she also wants to rebuild those connections she lost with her amnesia and with her past behavior. She's seeking connection, and she's seeking it, I think, where she feels she's meant to - her family, her parents. But her parents are the connection she needs, nor the one I think she reaches for after Niko dies. I think she'll still probably try to reconnect with them. After all, she helped convince Niko to reach out to hers and there is that drive there - Niko can't ever talk to her mother again. Edwin's family is gone. Charles can only watch his family in a mirror. Crystal is the ONLY one who can still see her family, so I think she does. But I think, with the grief of Niko, Crystal is also driven back to the boys. At the end of ep 8, Crystal doesn't try to leave again, instead, in Niko's room, she asks "what about us?". Charles offers her the out, bringing up what she previously said about returning to London alone, and Crystal rebuffs the offer, asking to be part of the Agency, to remain with the boys. There are probably multiple things that factor into this, especially considering Crystal very evidently didn't want to leave before but seemed to be doing so out of feeling like she could hurt them. Crystal seeks out connection here, holding on to the familiar bonds she's started to form, and strengthening them by asking to stay and asking to be a part of them. She admits how good they've been for her and her desire to keep that. 

For the second part of this question - how'd they get to Niko's room. I'm assuming this isn't like "practically how'd they get there." Like, did the police show up. Was there an investigation into the explosion at the butcher shop and now a dead teenager also so soon after a missing child and an attempted murder turned accidental death? I assume we mean, "how'd they get to the point of standing in Niko's room and planning what comes next." And really, it makes sense to me and seems like the perfect follow-up to the previous scene. Grief and loss change a lot, but the shocking amount of things that stay business as normal is... a lot. Like I mentioned earlier, some people process by handling logistics and just making sure to get from a to b to c accordingly and keep everything moving and on track. Some people use future plans to help them move forward, to believe there's something beyond the grief and see past that mountain. Charles takes care of the others. Crystal clings to connection. Edwin sets his emotions aside until he can process them. So they move on, in little ways, in that moment - what do they (and Jenny) need to do for Niko. What's next for them. The agency is still running. Crystal still needs to go "home". They are still "alive" and business continues as normal even when its so clearly not. When I went through multiple death in a row, people seemed so confused that I was still going to work, still hanging out with friends, still going about my day. I was shocked too, at times, how a day would go by like nothing had changed. This scene sort of shows that for me - the idea that things keep moving. And we move with them. Hope this made some sort of sense.

[gameringgungke]

edit 2: leak is FAKE everyone, go home

so of course i'm keeping up with the pokemon leaks and

I KNEW IT

I FUCKING KNEW IT

I SAID THE KANTO FAVORITISM STARTED BECAUSE OF BW'S BACKLASH AND WAS GOING TO MAJORLY STAGNANTETHE SERIES FOR YEARS AND NOBODY BELIEVED ME

update 113 notes later: might be fake, idk

[icewindandboringhorror]

What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

[luniviravosshipper]

So what if I said season 1 and season 7 of TDP are my favorites. Can you blame me?

And I'm tired of having to pretend those are some of the worst seasons of their retrospective arcs.

[teh-nos]

when a fandom person links to their kofi/patreon/etc i always click on the link to go and see how much money they're making doing things that i've stupidly been doing for free

[daz4i]

i feel like. a lot of people talking about horror miss the true horror factor in many stories and esp in body horror. the horrifying part is what's happening to the characters, yes, but when you sit down and think about it... the implications, if that's the right word, are scarier

take smth like a werewolf transformation. it has to be painful, even if you get used to it eventually, the unnatural changes to your body have got to hurt, and you don't recognize yourself by the end of it

the horror isn't the mere transformation, but the physical pain, and the psychological aspect

now take stories like i have no mouth and i must scream, or long dream, or the jaunt. yes, they all have their own horrifying aspects, but also elements that others might not consider horrifying - in particular, a long life, or even immortality. some people truly strive for that. yet, here they are presented as horrifying. and i think that's for the same reason

i think. the true horror in most horror media. isn't the monster itself or the killer or the machine etc. it's consciousness

think about it. why does a slow death sound horrifying? it's your awareness of the pain you're going through, as well as the knowledge that you're about to cease to exist. the actual death is normally considered a mercy in these situations, because your suffering stops. your suffering stops once your consciousness stops.

and! this idea is true about both in-universe and on a meta level. a lot of horror relies on keeping things juuuust out of sight to get your mind going and scare itself better than any sfx or verbal descriptions ever could. your own brain working against you, the same way it works against the characters in the story.

the common thread between any horror that i, at least, find scary, is the human brain itself

and it's scarier, bc this is real. this is smth you experience every day. you wake up and think thoughts and are generally aware of what's going on for most of the day, for better or worse. this same level of awareness can be applied to the most horrific situations, and so, bam you've got yourself quality horror. and you're always just one accident or one mistake away from it, too. you just try not to think about it, because, well, your own brain is scarier than any monster it can conjure.

[heartbeetz]

did you see that tony grayson posted a video of somebody dressed up as anton riding a mechanical bull on twitter. incredible things are happening in the world around us every day

Woah........

[heartshattering]

Stomach pain hours 🙃

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[youkah]

gonna delete this later because I'm trying not to spoil too much about an insane idea I have but I feel like people need to see my vision for my evil plot to get ahs to notice me so I can be the next miodiodavinci but of the blue freak (ust by narzum, song is idol by yoasabi)

[parakeetpark]

I've always stocked up on tissues, because I am King Allergic Reaction and also whenever I'm ill my nose is not like a leaky faucet- it is like a very functional water fountain. A snot fountain.

One year i bought a 12 pack of tissue boxes because value for money, and housemates were astonished and laughed how i couldn't need all those boxes! How wrong they were. Alone i made it through 9 boxes before moving house a year later. Point being that i am so very thankful that I've continued this tradition bc I'm so ill I'm shaking and weak so definitely couldn't leave the house. I am well stocked on tins of soup, and lemon honey and have flu tablets. So even though I'm alone today I should be fine.

[roboticchibitan]

Sometimes you have to be yourself on purpose. What I mean by this is that sometimes we lose touch with ourselves and start coasting and just going through the motions. Which is fine for a while because we get tired and/or depressed and that's fine. Happens to everyone. But eventually it starts to feel bad and you get a specific kind of brainweird that's hard to describe but means that you've lost sight of who you are, what your values are, and what you love.

Leaning really hard into something that makes you go "this is the most me thing ever" helps that specific type of brainweird quite a bit! But maybe you don't know what the most you thing ever is. You are not alone! I get depressed and forget every interest I have. 100% understand that.

When this happens, it helps to remind yourself what you like and enjoy. So what do you do? Well for me, it helps to think about 1. Things I used to enjoy and 2. Things my friends Know Me For.

Like I've been feeling not myself lately and I haven't really knit or created much this month at all. But I'm the Makes Things Guy. I like making things and many of my friends not only know me as someone who makes things but a lot of my friendships specifically come from communities of People Who Make Things.

So I forced myself to pick up an old project, and that helped a bit. But what really helped was coming up with a project that combined my interests (leather jackets, art, and teapots) for me to look forward to and get really into planning for! The most ME I've felt in weeks has been the last hour I've spent planning on painting a famous fine China design on the back of my leather trenchcoat. Because not ONLY am I the Makes Things Guy, I am also The Teapot Guy. I finally feel like myself again.

I wish I had more concrete advice in regards to how you remember your own interests when you get disconnected from them, but a solid place to start is things you used to like and things your friends know you like. If you struggle consider asking a friend what things they know you like. Sometimes friends can see us better than we can see ourselves and it helps to use them as a mirror to see yourself through.

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[gaydryad]

oh also why are there So Many trade evolutions

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can you please do a George having a daughter the same age as Kimi, and he finds out there dating, and freaking out?

The boyfriend/teammate

"I can't believe he thinks he's faster than me through Sector 2," Kimi scoffed, tossing a protein bar toward Yn, who caught it effortlessly.

They were sitting on a low wall just behind the hospitality area, the warm hum of the paddock swirling around them. Mechanics rushed by, PR people clicked down the walkways in sharp heels, and the ever-present sound of tires being rolled echoed nearby.

"You are faster," Yn said with a smirk, unwrapping the bar. "But he's not wrong about your starts. Those are a disaster."

"Okay, rude," Kimi mock-pouted. "I'm trying my best."

"Your best almost ended up in the pit wall in Bahrain."

Kimi blinked at her. "That was one time."

Yn arched an eyebrow. "Two."

"Okay, fine. Twice. But we’re not talking about that anymore. We’re talking about how awesome I am in Sector 2."

"Your ego needs its own garage space."

Kimi grinned, leaning back on his hands. "You love it."

Yn flushed, just barely, the warmth rising in her cheeks not from the sun.

She did. God help her, she really did.

Yn had grown up in the paddock. Her earliest memories included race day adrenaline, the scent of burning rubber, and her dad’s voice on the radio. By the time she was twelve, she could tell the difference between tire compounds just by looking. By fourteen, she was helping her dad review telemetry.

And now at eighteen, she had the run of the paddock like it was her second home.

Which was great.

Except for the part where her dad’s new teammate was annoyingly charming and exactly her type.

Kimi was just a few months older. He was confident, a little too pretty for his own good, and had a laugh that made her stomach flutter.

It had started slow. A shared joke here. A walk back from the media pen. Watching data together. And then... more.

Now, they snuck hand squeezes behind hospitality tents, exchanged texts all through the night, and once, memorably, made out in the motorhome when the team was at a strategy meeting.

But they'd kept it quiet.

Until now.

"You what?!"

George stood in the team’s motorhome, eyes wide, voice somewhere between a shout and a squeak.

Yn winced. "Dad, calm down."

"I am calm!" George said, clearly not calm. "You’re dating him?"

Kimi, ever unbothered, lifted his hand in a little wave. "Hi."

"Don’t 'hi' me! I trusted you! I mentored you! I— I— I taught you how to heel-and-toe!"

"That was very helpful, thank you," Kimi said earnestly.

George flailed. "Kimi!"

"Dad," Yn said, stepping between them, voice steady. "It’s not like we planned it. We just... started spending time together. You know how often I'm around."

"Yes, and I trusted him!"

"I’m still me," Kimi offered. "Just with your daughter’s number now."

"Not helping!"

"Sorry."

George paced a few steps, hands on his hips, then turned to his daughter.

"Yn. You’re my little girl."

"I’m eighteen."

"My baby girl."

Yn groaned. "You let me drive a car at Silverstone at fifteen."

"Exactly! Because I trust you! But this—this is different."

"Why? Because it’s Kimi?"

"Yes! No! I mean—he’s my teammate!"

Kimi raised a finger. "I’ll never crash into him on purpose."

George stopped pacing. "On purpose?"

"I mean—I wouldn’t crash at all. Sorry. That came out wrong."

George sighed dramatically and sank onto the couch.

"This is going to be a disaster."

"Or not," Yn said softly. "Dad... we care about each other. A lot."

George looked up at her, then over at Kimi, who looked surprisingly earnest. He’d taken his cap off, ruffling his hair like he always did when nervous.

"I’ll take care of her," Kimi said. "Promise."

There was a long pause.

George sighed again. "I need coffee."

The next day, the entire paddock knew.

Not because they told anyone.

Because George told everyone.

"Did you know my daughter is dating Kimi?" he said to a stunned Toto at the morning briefing.

Toto blinked. "...Congratulations?"

"Thanks. I think. Maybe. I don’t know!"

When Max wandered into the lounge later, George cornered him.

"She’s seeing Kimi."

"...And you’re telling me this why?"

"Because you’ve known him for years! Should I be worried?"

Max blinked. "About what? That he’s gonna crash her into a wall of roses? He’s the most boringly respectful guy I’ve ever met."

George frowned. "That's what worries me. No one is that respectful."

Later that afternoon, Kimi was cornered by a swarm of drivers in the cool down room.

"You’re dating George’s daughter?" Lando asked, grinning wide.

"Please tell me you told George in the car."

"No, it was in the motorhome," Kimi muttered.

"Coward," Pierre said, flopping onto a beanbag. "I would’ve done it in the garage. With the radio on."

Oscar leaned over. "Are you scared of him?"

"Terrified," Kimi admitted. "He keeps looking at me like he’s imagining pit stop sabotage."

George, for his part, was trying to be supportive.

He just... had moments.

Like when he stood outside the motorhome while Kimi and Yn were inside, dramatically clearing his throat every five minutes.

Or when he "accidentally" sat between them at dinner.

Or when he started casually asking Kimi about his intentions. Every day. In public.

"So, Kimi," George said, strolling up with a totally fake smile, "where do you see yourself in five years?"

Kimi blinked. "...Still racing, maybe. Traveling. With Yn, hopefully."

George narrowed his eyes. "Mm-hm."

"You asked," Kimi said defensively.

"Just making sure we’re on the same page."

Yn rolled her eyes so hard she almost tipped over.

But slowly, things softened.

George saw how Kimi waited for Yn outside of interviews. How he held her hand protectively in crowded media zones. How he watched her with the same tenderness George remembered in Carmen’s eyes when Yn was born.

One evening, George found them sitting under a canopy of stars behind the paddock, Kimi’s jacket wrapped around Yn’s shoulders, her head on his shoulder.

George didn’t interrupt.

Just watched for a moment.

Then smiled.

The race that weekend was a blur of chaos—rain, safety cars, unexpected pit stops. Kimi managed a podium. George finished just behind.

As they stepped off the podium, champagne-soaked and exhausted, George nudged Kimi.

"Nice drive."

Kimi turned, blinking. "Thanks. You too."

George gave him a long look.

Then smirked.

"Hurt her and I’ll replace your steering wheel with a baguette."

Kimi grinned. "Noted."

"Good. Now go kiss your girlfriend before the photographers find her."

And with that, George walked off, already planning to call Carmen and tell her everything.

Kimi ran straight to Yn, swept her up in a hug, spinning her slightly before pressing a kiss to her lips. She laughed into it, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"He smiled," Kimi whispered.

"My dad?"

"He didn’t even flinch."

"Wow. Progress."

"Do you think he likes me now?"

Yn grinned. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

Back in the motorhome that night, George flopped onto the couch beside Carmen.

"She’s in love."

Carmen looked up from her book. "We knew that."

"With Kimi."

She smiled. "I know."

George groaned. "I’m not ready."

Carmen kissed his cheek. "You don’t have to be. You just have to be there."

He sighed. "Do you think I can still scare him a little? Just to keep him on his toes?"

Carmen smirked. "Oh, absolutely. That’s a father’s job."

George nodded. "Good. Tomorrow I’m sending him a list of dating rules."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Color-coded?"

"Laminated."

She laughed, leaning into him.

And in the next room, Yn and Kimi lay curled on the couch, watching old race replays, fingers entwined, hearts full.

Love, it seemed, had found its place on the grid.

Even if it had to dodge a few protective elbows along the way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

Also, please ignore that the ages of the people don't really make sense. Thank you!

Another also, thank you to 🐴Anon for your kind words (OMG, I have an anon (can I even say that?)).

To answer some questions, yes I can speak German because I'm from Austria. About writing Part 2's for some stories, I'll have to think about that.

Thank you for all your kind words and support!

Special shoutout to @heyitspapayaontop for defending me with their life. Now that's what I call a real girls girl

-🤍🦢

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...