#like first ill puke but then ill cry

[constellation-skirmishes]

they rotate the same 3 roasts every argument

c: you need to use some toner, vod.

r: you need to get some dick, vod.

(not cloneshipping. go away)

[moon7jay]

omg I'm so in love with the way you write 💖

can you write first time with jungwon but his girlfriend is a bit traumatized by men cause of her bad experience? we really need gentleman jungwon yaay

I rarely write soft sex so bear with me if this isn't as good anon 🫡

DELICATE (y.jw)

MINORS DNI

Warnings : mentions of trauma, panic attack, smut, ig that's all?

Your mind went blank upon hearing the glass bottle crash on the floor, no longer intact it was shattered into pieces with the perfume it held inside gone to complete waste as the expensive fluid seeped into the carpet.

your hands shook as u heard jungwon's voice calling for u from the other room, your throat tightened and your vision started to become hazy, terror filling up your body, freezing it from inside out. You stayed rooted to your place, your heartbeat sounding too loud in your ears as u heard jungwon's footsteps get closer to where u were.

Panic was beginning to overtake u, your mouth gone dry and hold tightening on the dust cloth you were holding in your hands. Your eyes began to water and it was becoming difficult to breathe

"Baby what was that noise? You okay? " Jungwon's voice sounded muffled to you with the blood rushing to your brain. You looked up at him with distraught eyes as your boyfriend finally noticed the shattered perfume bottle.

His perfume bottle, to be precise.

"I-im so sorry, sorry j-jungwon I'm so s-sorry,it was an a-accident"

his head snapped up at hearing your trembling voice, taking in your shaking figure he took a step forward towards u. This action made u flinch, your trauma induced reflex working faster than u could comprehend, bringing two hands in front of you to protect yourself from the oncoming strike as you let the dust cloth fall to the floor and shrinking yourself in size as u begged for forgiveness.

Jungwon was stunned. What the fuck.

He halted his advance towards u instantly upon seeing how terrified u actually were of him. At the same time, he couldn't just stand there while u sobbed on your own. He slowly approached your crouched figure and took your hands softly in his own, removing them from the front of your face, revealing your tear stained cheeks, terrified eyes looking up at him to gauge his next move.

"I'm not going to hurt you baby" He whispered in a soothing tone, hoping it would bring u back. He wanted to puke. Seeing you like this was something he didn't want even in his worst nightmare. You thought he was gonna hit you? You? his sweet little love? he felt an insane urge to scream

Your form stayed frozen, quiet sobs and sniffles coming from your mouth as u stared into his love filled eyes. He loved you. This was your jungwon. He would never hurt you.

"I-ill buy u another, i-i promise I'm so s-sorry, please" u started crying again, fear overtaking all your senses, just the thought that he could stop loving you or leave u over ur stupid mistakes made you cry harder. Why were u such a loser, no wonder your ex didn't love you, no wonder he called you worthless, all u did was destroy things.

"Hey hey hey, look at me y/n, look at me baby-his warm hands cupped your wet face, breaking your inner monologue-i don't care ok? I don't care about that stupid perfume bottle, u can break hundreds of them, here, break this one too I don't give a single fuck"

He grabbed another expensive perfume bottle from his collection behind you and handed it to you

"Just stop crying, I love you, nothing matters more than u y/n, nothing, do u believe me baby? " He asked exasperatedly, his own eyes filling up with moisture just thinking about how deep your past suffering must be for you to react this way. His thumbs continually swiped under your eyes as warm moisture kept seeping from your eyes. But u were beginning to quiet down, nodding slowly,your body had stopped trembling and jungwon took this as a cue to finally wrap your heaving form in his arms. God you were so small, he felt a raging urge to hurt whoever had dared to damage your self esteem in such a drastic way.

He sighed in relief when he felt your arms coming up to wrap around his neck, burying your face in his chest, sniffing quietly.

Jungwon realized that day that you were someone very delicate and fragile at heart. the fact that you had given him the privilege of coming so close to u even after all that u had been through, he thanked his lucky stars for that. You were his baby and he swore to always treat u in a way that would give u no chance of experiencing that hurt ever again.

His hands tightened around your warm, soft body, kissing your head and whispering sweet nothings in your ears, letting u know that he loved you.

your giggles were like music to his ears, watching you like this was something he could do all day, just listening to you talk about random things and adding his own jokes here and there, making you laugh and hit his shoulder. This was all he wanted. You were all he wanted. and damn did he want u so bad.

He could not focus on what you were saying as his gaze pivoted to your delicious lips, he needed a taste and he needed a taste right now. He leaned towards you and cupped your cheek in his palm. you stopped mid sentence and stared into his eyes nervously, his face was inches from yours and the proximity was making u fidget.

"I want to kiss u baby, please tell me u want that too" He whispered and watched in amusement as you blushed profusely and gave him a small shy smile. A small nod from you was all he needed to capture your tempting lips in his own. The kiss started off as soft, but your taste was addicting as he delved further into your mouth, pressing his tongue against your lips, biting softly on your lower one which made u gasp in his mouth, giving him the chance to protrude his tongue into your warm mouth. Your taste was addicting, he reached deeper, licking into your warm cavity with passion. Your hands fisted the couch material that u were sitting on. The kiss felt so good. You had never been kissed with such want before. you were trying your best to return his passion by tangling your tongue with his own when all of a sudden you felt his other hand beginning to slip under your tank top, caressing your naked skin. Jungwon felt your body stiffen underneath his touch and he stopped his movements immediately, pulling back from the kiss. He heard your sharp inhale before he saw the tears gathering in your eyes. He immediately cupped your face "baby what's wrong, did I make u uncomfortable? " He asked softly, trying to understand your boundaries regarding physical touch.

He knew physical touch didn't come easy to you, it was something you struggled with on the daily and you and jungwon had come a long way from the first day when u flinched even from feeling him hold your hand and now u were wrapped around him like a koala everyday. There was progress and he didn't want to ruin it.

"I-im sorry, I don't know what happened" u whispered, a few tear drops rolling down your eyes. This was your jungwon, he would never do anything to hurt u, u reminded yourself. He cooed and shushed you, kissing your tears away

"It's okay baby, I'm willing to wait for u for however long it takes, do u understand me? " He asked and u nodded. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck and u stared deep into his eyes guiltily

"I don't want you to think that I don't want you, because I do " u whispered but jungwon shook his head, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

"Never. and I mean it y/n. Never do something u don't wanna do just because u want to spare my feelings. I love you and I would never forgive myself if I ever became the person u have been running from till now"

His words made u tear up and u buried your head in the crook of his neck. U don't remember for how long he whispered sweet confessions and how proud of you he was in your ear until u eventually drifted off to sleep in his arms.

You loved kissing jungwon. And u guessed he loved kissing you too because everytime u both were in a close proximity, his mouth was on yours, desperately making out. But the more time you spent in your boyfriend's arms with his tongue in your mouth the more your desire for him deepened. Your thighs desperately rubbing against each other, trying to get some sort of relief from the burning feeling between your legs.

And u knew that jungwon saw it too, u had seen how he would break the kiss to look down at your rubbing thighs and his eyes would darken and he would kiss you harder, messier. But he never dared cross your boundaries even once. His hands staying respectfully above your clothes, caressing your sides or holding your face, never venturing to touch the parts of you that u hadn't given him permission to touch yet.

And you were beginning to feel so safe around him. Jungwon was your safe place, your safe haven. so different from your past. so loving that u weren't used to being desired this way.

His every action screamed his adoration for you, making you gasp at how someone like him could want someone like you. And as much as he wanted you, he respected you. So much so that he taught u how to respect yourself and your emotions.

u weren't used to that. u weren't used to this. and even though everything was new to u and there were so many new feelings to process, you were sure about one thing. u wanted to give yourself to jungwon. u wanted to feel him intimately.

"um, wonie? " your hesitant voice captured your boyfriend's attention from where he was sitting working on his laptop, atop the couch

"Yeah sweetheart?" He asked u, his eyes looking at your figure sitting in the middle of the bed in nothing but his shirt. you blushed at the nickname and played with the hem of his shirt, making it ride further up your thighs. Your breathing became heavier when u saw how jungwon was ogling at your exposed thighs. One thing about your boyfriend was that he might not be able to touch u with his hands but his eyes were always caressing you every which way. His eyes and lust filled gaze were the reason it had been so difficult for u to control your desires from spiralling like this.

"Do u want to kiss?" u asked shyly, this was the first time u had taken initiative in matters like this

You almost laughed upon watching how fast your boyfriend was shutting down his laptop and sprinting to come close to you on the bed

He made u lie down on your back as he hovered over you, this was the first time u had been underneath him and u could tell that jungwon liked the view

"U know I always wanna kiss u baby, always wanna taste you" He whispered before lowering himself and capturing your lips in his own. You wrapped your arms around his neck, opening your mouth to make way for his tongue, slowly sucking on it, making him groan into your mouth. The sound reached straight between your legs and u were pulling away from the kiss to stare into jungwon's eyes. His panting breaths falling on your face

"Can-can we.. " u trailed off under his intense gaze, suddenly feeling too shy to tell him what u wanted. He sensed that as he bent down to kiss your nose

"Hey, tell me" His soft voice filled with absolute adoration made u more confident

"can we-can we try something new today? " u said, ur eyes looking for a reaction on his face, you bit ur lip when he smirked in shock and joy.

"Yeah? U wanna try something new baby?"

U nodded, pressing yourself closer to his body hovering over yours

"want u so bad won, please take me" u whispered at him and his jaw clenched.

Jungwon cursed under his breath and bent down to suck on the delicate skin of your neck

"Fuck u drive me insane y/n" He whispered, his hands moving down to caress your thighs, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth at his touch but before he could pull his hands away u were holding his hand there by urs.

"I'm okay, I'm okay I promise wonie" u assured him. His grip tightened on the soft flesh of your thighs at your words and he started caressing your flesh.

A sigh escaped from your lips upon feeling his touch, his touch made u feel safe, it didn't make u wanna run away. U closed your eyes and tangled your fingers in his hairs as he sucked small love bites throughout the length of your neck, his palms caressing every inch of naked skin they could find, finally getting the opportunity to grope your pretty body.

His pulled away to gather your shirt on your abdomen, revealing your panties underneath. You heard him curse some profanities while he pushed up the shirt further up your body, revealing your naval which made u bite your lower lip. His fingers prodded at your naval and he looked up at you with a hooded gaze

"Can i? " He asked, his voice heavy with lust and u nodded without asking him what he meant. U just knew that u were ready for whatever it was that he wanted to do. That's the reason why u were caught off gaurd when he started licking your naval, rolling his tongue around the skin of your abdomen, just licking your flesh, making out with it. You fisted the sheets around your head as he continued his ministrations. It felt so good.

His hands reached at the back of your bra and he was asking for your permission again. Soon enough u were left in just your panties, sweet moans filling the bedroom as your boyfriend kept sucking and groaning around your nipples, his hands rubbing over your slit from above your panties. Your fingers were buried in his hairs, pushing him further into ur flesh.

"J-jungwon, please, please" u begged for your boyfriend's touch, feeling your body burning, getting flushed with wanton desire

Jungwon came up to bite your lower lip and groaned at how wet you were, your slick beginning to ooze out from where he was rubbing u over your lace underwear.

"Gonna give u everything u want baby, ask me" he whispered and u moaned at the way his fingers were still pressing on your clit.

"I-inside, won please" you were too far lost into your desire to feel shy any longer. Jungwon looked at you with want, making u drip more. He watched your pretty body heaving and squirming underneath him and his inner beast growled to take and take.

But the way your big, innocent eyes were still fidgeting, his heart felt full of love for you. you were quite literally his everything

"R u sure y/n? We don't have to do this right now, I promise" he kissed your cheek, even though you could feel his hard on pressing against your thighs. You shook your head and kissed him deeply

"I'm sure, I've never been so sure about anything before baby, please make me yours" You whined and jungwon almost came in his pants at the pornographic sounds u were letting out.

Jungwon wanted to eat you out, but the bulge in his pants was starting to hurt, he needed to be wrapped inside your soft and warm pussy folds soon. He lifted himself off of you and finally unbuckled his pants, running his hungry eyes all over your panting figure as he got rid of all his clothes. God he had imagined u like this, naked and pliant underneath him on his bed a lot of fucking times but the real deal was a thousand times better.

You gasped upon seeing his hardened cock and u unconsciously rubbed your thighs together

"That's so big" u moaned and jungwon nodded

"worried it isn't gonna fit sweetheart?"

seeing u nod in worry had him chuckling. He hovered back over your body and inserted his tongue in your mouth while his fingers finally slipped aside your panties and started rubbing your clit in the earnest, swallowing your sinful moans.

Your hands tangled themselves in his locks again and u tugged hard when he inserted a finger in you experimentally, moaning softly

"Fuck, you're fucking soaking baby, so fucking hot" He whispered in your mouth as u continued to squirm and take his fingers in you. One became two , two became three and soon enough you were a blabbering mess, your wet walls clenching around his fingers, making him curse. Jungwon's tongue was tangled with yours when he decided to pull his fingers out of you, bringing the slick coated hand in between your kissing mouths, making you suck and lick on your own wetness while he did the same. Exchanging saliva and your wetness while u both made out messily.

"Taste so good baby, u're driving me crazy" Jungwon groaned, pulling back from your mouth and finally tugging at his cock. Groaning at the momentary relief, precum oozing out of it's slit, just turned on beyond belief. He ran his cockhead over your pussy, bumping your clit with his dick, making u gasp and moan, your hands fisting the sheets as you prepared yourself for the intrusion

"Ready? " He asked, his eyes looked loving as they stared at you, asking for your consent again and it made u fall in love a little harder with him. You nodded with a faint smile and he smiled back at you, coming back to kiss u deeply and lovingly, intertwining his one hand with yours, holding it beside your head while with the other he guided his cock inside of you, finally breaching your entrance in one thrust, swallowing up your screams.

Your hands came up to dig your nails into his shoulders as jungwon pulled out and thrust right back in. snapping his hips against yours with passion. You both stared into each other's eyes, panting and moaning into each other's mouth as he made love to you, your bodies brimming with pleasure

"Feels good yeah?" He groaned, hitting your cervix head on, his cockhead reaching that spot inside of you which made your mouth fall open, too lost in the pleasurable stimulation. u could only nod, bringing him down to kiss you again. Your thighs were covered in your leaking juices, the squelching sounds making it impossible for u to hide your desire. u were impossibly wet

The room was quite except for the skin slapping noises that your lust filled bodies were making, your hips chasing his hips, trying to grind back and moaning out your ecstasy. The tight, wet grip of your pussy around his shaft was making jungwon hungry, hungry for more and he started going deeper in you,wrapping your thigh around his waist. His thrusts remained slow but deep, stroking your insides, making you throb and clench.

Groans and whimpers of pleasure filled the room, whispers of "baby more" and "so good" being exchanged between the passionate sex. This was heaven.

"I love you" u whimpered as you felt yourself unraveling on his cock, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, making him groan at how u deliciously clenched around him, pushing him closer to his own high

"I love u so much baby, your pussy feels so good" He moaned capturing your lips again, fucking you through your orgasm, his hips snapping faster and harder

Needles to say, jungwon took u slow and deep all night long, u both not getting enough of mating and grinding, using your hips to pleasure each other. He fucked u. No.

He made love to you.

He made love to you like u were something delicate, something precious that he needed to handle with care.

[chaosology]

benched

— Sam Kerr x reader

based off this request, i hope you like it :) masterlist, gimme feedback!!!

warnings: pregnancy? slight injury to reader

“She’s getting so big now,” Sam sighed, “What is it now, an avocado?”

Her fingers traced the swell of your stomach, lightly tapping the beat of whatever song was stuck in her head. You and Sam had gotten incredibly lucky, your first round of IVF being successful and resulting in one of the most beautiful celebrations of your life.

“Sami, they said it’s probably a girl, we can be sure!! What if he’s just sneaky?”

Sam just laughed, rolling over to pull herself out of bed. This game would determine if you made it into the quarter finals of the World Cup, and your entire team had been training rigorously for it. The pregnancy had remained under wraps until just after the first trimester, when Alanna had caught you puking in a bush for the third time that week.

The pregnancy had been a hot topic of discussion among you and the team officials. They weren’t allowed to decide when you would stop playing and take leave, but you and Sam had talked privately to decide that you’d rest when the World Cup ended. The rough nature of the game put you at a level of risk you and Sam weren’t willing to take; and if you were being honest, the break was well deserved. You’d given your all for so long and wanted nothing more than to lay in bed all day, watching Sam play and browsing whatever shit reality shows were currently trending.

The little bump just barely peaked through your jersey, a small reminder of your love always with you. Admittedly, the influx of hormones had knocked your emotions around a bit - much to Sam’s enjoyment. You cried at commercials and got snappy with her over small things like the smell of her coffee, and it was probably the most adorable thing she’d ever witnessed.

The stadium was alive with the thrill of the match. The girls battled fiercely, determination evident in every pass, every tackle, and every movement on the field. Your movements were quick and calculated, darting in between the opposition to pass the ball over to Hayley.

In an instant you were on the floor, too shocked to even comprehend what had happened. The medics were on you in an instant, Sam having let them know before the tournament that you were pregnant and took priority. The pain wasn’t unbearable, radiating down your back to your legs. The other girl that tumbled was checking on you, apologising over and over. It was a genuine mistake, and you didn’t hold any ill will towards her. Half time had just been called, and so the rest of the team had come make sure you were doing alright.

Sam was also by your side, triple checking you were ok. She was stressing beyond belief, not just for you but your baby.

“You need to come off, love.”

“Huh? No, I’m fine. I’m- We’re fine.”

“No, you’re done,” Sam’s voice was firm, laced with concern. “I know we talked about it, but we cant keep taking these risks. The way you went down… It could’ve been bad.”

You were starting to get annoyed now. Hormones were making you more fired up than normal, and you got defensive quick.

“No. No, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not made of glass-”

"No arguments," Sam's interruption was unwavering, her eyes locking onto yours with determined resolve. She knew you were annoyed, but she wasn’t willing to risk it anymore. She could also pull the Captain card if she wanted.

Your eyes were glazed over with a quick building fury. You were both too strong willed for your own good and it was quickly becoming tense.

“I’m your captain, Y/N. You’re done. I won't let anything happen to you or our baby."

You had only pushed her hand away and walked off, angry tears falling down your cheek as you sat down with a huff. Sam’s palm ran down her face as she sighed. She knew in her heart it was the right decision, but she couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her chest when she saw you cry.

You had spent the rest of the game in a mood, your head resting in your hands as you glared at Sam. You knew it was irrational, you knew she cared - but right now, it was just an overwhelming flood of emotions. The win and cheers that erupted as the penalty kick went through fell on deaf ears as you shrunk in on yourself, now nauseated too. Perhaps the baby was angry too. Fair enough.

Sam’s eyes met yours as she jogged over, leaving the celebration in the centre of the pitch. Still moody, you looked down at the ground and kicked your feet, twirling your wedding ring as you did so.

“I know you’re mad. I’m sorry.” her hushed voice let out. You offered only a scoff in response, becoming more and more engrossed in the ring by the second.

“Hey, look at me”, she reached out, her hand grabbing your chin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You let her move you like a doll, your chin tilted up as she hovered over you. If you weren’t still trying to be mad, you’d definitely tell her it was hot - time and place, unfortunately.

“I’m sorry I was strict. I’m your captain and your wife, I’m just looking out for you and our girl… I got scared, I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. But you’re my responsibility on this field, and I’ll make any move possible to stop you from getting hurt.”

You were embarrassed now. All she did was care while you were stubborn and proud.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled “I was so awful, I didn’t mean it. I know you’re doing what’s best”

“Hey, hey,” her fingers lightly tracing your jawline as your face “don’t say that about yourself. You’re making a person, Y/N. Our baby. Your body’s doing all these crazy things, it’s ok to let it get to you sometimes.”

Your eyes welled up again as she brought you in for a kiss. The stress left your body as you relaxed into her.

She stepped back, pulling you up to meet here eye. “Come celebrate with us, you got us here too.”

You giggled, letting her pull you back to the pitch with a skip in your step. The girls were hugging and crying, yelling all sorts of things at the top of their lungs. You and Sam made your way into the middle of the group, hand in hand with smiles as large as life.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you call baby a girl, Sam. You owe me fifty if it’s a boy!”

[steam-beasts]

This is not my body - short story

- Thomas -

Thomas never asked for this. He never wanted this. The day he got infected by that damn coal, he just wanted it to be a normal illness

Dear Lady above, why did it have to be like this??

As he rested in the Ffarqhuarr sheds, in his humanoid form, he curled up tighter and whimpered. He didn't blame the controller for this, he couldn't ever have known. He didn't blame Lady for this. He didn't really blame anyone for this. But he sometimes just hated it in secret. As he dug his nails into his biceps, still to this day, it felt unfamiliar.

No matter what, he was still a locomotive. A sentient machine, way down inside. But lingering, way down inside, this didn't feel like his body.

- Edward -

Edward was fine with this body.

He didn't mind it, really. When he first got it, he was admittedly quite stressed out about it. The itchy fur, the heavy cumbersome limbs. It was a nightmare. He had seen a lot of things through the years; engines being sent for scrap heap, intense, almost fatal crashes, and having to watch as humans he knew grow old and weak, and he would always outlive them.

It was mostly quite sad. But Edward learned to get over it. He had been humbled through his years, gaining wisdom and passing it down to the younger engines. He was always calm about it, calm and collected.

But the infection did something to him. Not just mentally, but physically.

Instead of sky blue wheels that rolled along the rails, he had thundering, monsterous paws. Claws that can tear through flesh with utter ease, and sharp teeth that can sink into prey. He, like the others, couldn't control himself.

He hurt people. Killed people. Ate people. Was he calm and collected after that? No. Admittedly, the fact he did and can do such things, the bloodlust, it made him a little bit looney. Edward found himself more pulled towards the horror genres. An effect of being a blood-hungry beast, the old engine had to guess. Edward was a machine deep inside. A product of Lady and mankind. Even with these new feelings, that's what he'd always be, no matter how much this damned curse warped his body.

Did he hate it? No.

...he just didn't like it.

- James -

James stared in the small window. He admired himself, with horror, fascination and a bit of sadness. He looked splendid! As splendid as ever! His fur was fluffy and perfect, his claws were lovely, perfectly sharpened and red. He was splendid...he HAD to be. Right?

It took a lot of work to get here: he had to get painfully sick and puke his boiler pipes out nearly every night, then came the horrid, agonising sensation of his chassis peeling off. Beautiful, beautiful red blood smothered the place around him. Yes, he was screaming to the high heavens, screaming his breath away as the rails were painted in many shades of red. But it was of happiness, totally happiness. He was even more amazing than ever.

At first, he absolutely hated it, when he came to his senses after a while, he would rip out the grey fur that covered most his body. He'd whine, he'd hurt himself, he'd cry and sob. He felt like a giant, ugly rat, parading as a steam engine. As he sat there, staring into the window, his eye shadow was running. He didn't even notice he was silently crying. He was splendid. He was a splendid engine.

But deep down inside, he knew he was a freak. He grew more obsessed with his looks, in order to not be seen as a freak, James would pamper himself, make himself as splendid as possible.

James wanted to love it. But way down inside...he hated it.

[verstappentime]

haven't shared anything new in a bit so here's the start of a maxiel bit where max was actually just hormonal in hungary and that's why he was cranky.

(tw: there's like a brief description of max puking here, apologies.)

max has to tell medical, because he’s afraid if something is really wrong, he might bleed out or something.

the medic says he’s fine, presses all over his abdomen and checks for tenderness and all that. they suggest he go to a real doctor, and tell him deciding to race was really stupid. he snaps something about how he knows that, thanks.

he’e still shaking when he walks back, has been since GP told him he crashed hard enough to alert medical.

he can’t pay attention to the debrief, can only think about the little app on his phone telling him the baby is the size of a tadpole or whatever. he thinks it would make him feel better to look at it, to remember how much cushioning they have in there, but he hasn’t got his phone back yet.

they keep asking him questions; he just nods or shakes his head, all of that simmering anger from before gone as fast as it came. just fucking hormones again, probably.

he has to leave the debrief to go throw up. he’s almost too late realizing the anxiety has turned into real illness.

he nearly knocks his chair over, pressing a hand to his chest like he can stem the burning as he fumbles to get out of the room. it always starts with a roll of nausea, then acid reflux, then. yeah.

he’s managed to go the whole day, the whole race, thank god, without this happening. he probably should have appreciated it more while he could, because he’s currently regurgitating all the water he had after the race and cold sweating and he might as well die here.

he’s embarrassed enough by the whole fucking day, by how mad he got at GP, at how the things he said must have cut hannah. and now he’s– now this is happening, and someone is probably going to come look for him, because he made it obvious what was happening. or, worse, tell daniel to look for him, and then he’ll have to make up some dumb story and get caught, because he’s an awful liar.

there’s a knock on the door. “max.” it’s brad, not daniel. at least he’s won something.

he coughs, chest heaving. the worst of it may be over. “present,” he says, voice scratchy. his throat is starting to get raw after the past week of what he is really trying not to let himself call morning sickness, because he’s in denial, which is fine as long as he’s self-aware about it, and also because it’s not just the morning, just whatever fucking time his body decides it will be.

“can i open the door? i have gatorade for you.”

“yeah, go ahead.” he really doesn’t want anyone to see him sitting on the fucking bathroom floor, but his head is throbbing now, and he’s really not trying to make anything worse.

brad doesn’t look phased, at least. he crouches down and hands max an orange gatorade. he’s got two more tucked under his arm. “you look rough, man.”

max a tiny sip. he’s glad it’s something with sugar. water tastes fucking awful the past few days. “thanks,” he mumbles.

“you looked bad yesterday, too,” brad says, conversational.

he knows he did. he was nauseous and moody and exhausted. he yelled at GP about the fucking rain. “thank you for the concern.”

brad rolls his eyes and points to the gatorade, “drink the rest of that. how dehydrated do you feel?”

“i’ll drink it.” max rubs his forehead. he doesn’t want an IV or anything. they made him do that last time he was sick after a race. he takes a long sip; it actually tastes alright. “see? i’m drinking it.”

brad gives him a look, like i’m watching you. “going to tell me what’s going on?”

max closes his eyes, letting the back of his head thunk against the wall. he doesn’t know why he can’t be one of those people with no symptoms. he hasn’t told anyone, didn’t want to until he made it through this weekend. he wanted to tell victoria first, cry down the phone and let her tell him what to do. fuck.

“what does it look like?” it doesn’t even sound mean. he’s too tired to make it mean, and his voice cracks, even though he really, really didn’t want it to. “could you just– can you get daniel, actually?”

[rottenpumpkin13]

So, you did sick Gen, but how does everyone else act while sick?

• Sephiroth has the immune system of an ox, and rarely—if ever—gets sick. So when he is hit with the flu or some other common illness, he acts as if he has the plague. But he's not overtly dramatic about it. For reasons likely linked to his childhood being cared for by Hojo, he often chooses to retreat somewhere and suffer alone instead of being taken care of. But if someone finds him they will think he's dying.

*Zack finds Sephiroth on the floor, in fetal position in a dark corner of the break room*

Zack: Sephiroth! What happened!?

Sephiroth: The illness has taken hold of me, Zack. I'm not sure how long I have left. I did not expect to perish pathetically this early, but I've made peace with my fate.

Zack: What do you have??

Sephiroth: A common cold.

Zack:

• In the same vein, Genesis has the immune system of a common medieval rat, but is vocal and loud about it. He wants everyone to know just how miserable he is so that they give him attention and sympathy. Genesis is so dramatic when he's sick, in fact, that if he ever contracted an illness with no cure, he'd abandon everything and start upon a war path until he found one. OH WAIT.

*Genesis is laying sick on the couch while Angeal and Sephiroth work*

Genesis: Sigh.

Angeal & Sephiroth:

Genesis: SIGH.

Angeal & Sephiroth:

Genesis: Oh for fucks sake. *Sets a couch cushion on fire*

Angeal & Sephiroth: GENESIS

Genesis: YES GIVE ME ATTENTION

• Angeal doesn't believe in sickness, so when he's not fussing over his sick friends and going "oh come on, it's not thaaaat bad, you're fine!" (<- something he once said to Genesis, who was puking up blood) He's refusing to acknowledge his own illness and "powering through it."

Sephiroth: Angeal, are you alright?

Angeal: Never felt better.

Sephiroth: Are you sure? You must be cold, you're trembling.

Angeal: I'm just excited to start the day.

Sephiroth: Your lips are blue. That's not normal.

Angeal: Men can wear lipstick too, Sephiroth, don't be toxic.

Sephiroth:

• As much as Zack would love to have Angeal's willpower, slay a horde of tonberries whilst simultaneously coughing up snot and continue to be a hero like it's no big deal, he can't. He tries, but the more he exerts himself, the more the illness soaks up his energy and he becomes weaker. Zack isn't used to not having energy and it bothers him. He becomes irritable, stressed and moody.

Sephiroth: Would you like some tea?

Zack: wOuLd yOu LiKe SoMe TeA?

Sephiroth:

Zack:

Sephiroth:

*Zack starts crying*

• Cloud is the only normal one here. He got sick? Bummer, he still has work and a mountain load of responsibilities that won't wait for him to get better, so he toughens up and takes his medicine at reasonable hours (he has a tendency to forget to take medicine when he's sick but shhhh), he drinks liquids, he sees the doctor, all is well.

Lazard: Strife, I hear you, Zack and the entire First Class caught the flu.

Cloud: We did.

Lazard: Where's Sephiroth?

Cloud: Sleeping in the cupboards in the break room.

Lazard: Angeal?

Cloud: They locked him in a closet to stop him from working.

Lazard: Zack?

Cloud: He cussed out Tseng in a fit of rage and I haven't seen him since.

Lazard: Genesis?

Cloud: He's out selecting a coffin for himself.

Lazard: And you? Why are you on duty instead at home, resting?

Cloud: Because I'm poor, director.

[mychlapci]

I wanna see ageswap Prowl go to his training despite feeling more and more nauseous. He doesnt want to dissappoint anyone, surely he can power through it, hes not a little mechling! Plus, he worked so hard for today— the twins are going to see if he can handle getting blown as a reward if he can get Sunny to cum quickly.

His tank churns as he keeps bouncing on Sunstreaker's spike. Luckily he pukes over the side of the berth, but bursts into tears immediately. He ruined their whole meeting! He's ruining Sunny's finish with his tears and the puke dripping from his chin! Theyre never going to see him as a full grown mech!

Is he pregnant, or just sick? Up to you.

ouhhh… That's kind of hot though, I love to imagine Prowl riding Sunstreaker's spike, being a good little mechling, his face twisting, coolant leaking down his cheeks as he starts to sweat with the effort it takes to ignore his churning tanks. He's been feeling so sick lately, the fuel's not sitting right with him these days, but he's just too ambitious for his own good, pretending he's fine because let's be honest, he has a little bit of a complex about acting like a big mech… And big mechs don't complain about getting sick like little sparklings… 

Sunstreaker doesn't even get to ask Prowl if he's okay before he leans off to the side and throws up all over the berth, his valve tightening around Sunny's spike as he retches… Prowl immediately starts crying. He feels so horrible, he's covered in his own filth and he ruined the mood for the night! But Sunny and Sides are gentle with him… of course, Sunstreaker does scramble off the berth and cleans himself first, but Prowl doesn't even notice as he's being soothed by Sideswipe. He tells him it's okay, he should have told them he's sick…

mhmmm If he is just ill, then Prowl should get ready for a week of mildly reluctant and awkward pampering from his mentors… They're good at aftercare and the like, but taking care of a sick Prowl is hard work, and these are not the kind of fluids they'd like to clean up… But they'd do anything for their little trainee. 

If he is pregnant, though,,.. They'd find out in the medbay after Ratchet checked him over, and it would be so obvious in hindsight… He has been gaining a little bit of weight lately, but they thought it was the milk-heavy diet he was on. As his pudgy little belly starts to dent further out, it's very clear he's pregnant… I wonder whose baby it is <3

[suguruslut]

Giving Birth/Them as a Father

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

<<< 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪🐉| 𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙖🐅| 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙖🐕 >>>

Gwen's Note: babies are only fun in fiction, lol

🐉𝒯𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊🍳

–he is so prepared! Even more prepared than you, honestly. He’s read every article and book there is with updated info about which positions to give birth in, how to naturally alleviate pain, the sterile process everyone must take to ensure no infections or illnesses are spread. He will be watching everyone like a hawk

–you go a week past your due date, which worries Tatsu, so he does some light exercises with you hoping to induce labor. Wouldn’t you know it, half an hour later your water breaks. Cue Tatsu grabbing the bag he packed six months ago and whipping out a wheelchair you didn’t know you guys had

–Tatsu is great during labor, though he’s secretly very nervous something will go horribly wrong. What will he do if he loses you? What if he loses you BOTH? He was a yakuza, though, so he manages to keep his cool on the outside, saying encouraging things to you the entire time, and lets you squeeze his hand as hard as you can

– “You can do this, {Y/N}! Focus! Push that little sucker out!”

– With your husband’s encouragement, your labor (mercifully) goes quickly, and within four pushes they’re out! Tatsu comforts you with kind words, shaking with anxiety and adrenaline as he sees your baby for the first time

– Tatsu stands over each medical personnel to make damn sure they’re being sanitary as they pass the baby around, finally handing them back to you. Tatsu allows himself to smile, seeing your happy tears and the cries of your child–he would have never in a million years expected this sweet scene to involve someone like him

– “Aww, Tatsu, you’re crying!”

– “No I ain’t! It’s just the lighting!”

–can you say GIRL DAD?!!! Tatsu sobbed when they said your baby was a girl. He’s so excited to do dress up and have tea parties and tutus and worry about her every second of every day…very excited. (Secretly, this is because he thinks a girl would be more like you than him. He’d rather have a mini you than a mini him)

–You wanted a pretty name, but not something overused; Tatsu said no daughter of yours was going to have a typical “scrub name,” so you go with the cute but not common Shiori. Tatsu nicknamed her his little dragon immediately

–When you go home with your little girl, Tatsu is fretting about EVERYTHING. The man has prepared for things you never would have thought of, but he knows that babies always surprise their parents, and that makes him nervous. He never takes his eyes off Shiori, overreading into every little thing she does as a possible sickness or issue

–Tatsu will absolutely wait on you hand and foot. He does that anyway, but now it’s x50. He will prepare bottles, get diapers ready, clean puke stains, and in between that, will give you massages, make your favorite foods, bring you snacks, tea. He will literally wash your hair for you if you ask.

–you need a break from breastfeeding and sitting in bed all day? Tatsu is already ready with a spa day coupon for you. He can’t imagine how hard it is on your body as well as your mind, being a new mother, and whatever you need to do to feel your best, Tatsu is your number one supporter

– “If my beautiful wife needs a break from nurturing our daughter, you bet yer ass she’s gonna get it! Here’s a 30% coupon. I got it from a tomato growing contest.”

–Endless picture taking! When he isn’t worrying or rushing around trying to make things easier for you and your little dragon, he is filling his camera roll with adorable pictures of Shiori. And his beautiful wife, ofc. The last 500 pics on his phone are of you, Shiori, and quite a bit of selfies with him and his little girl. And it’s only been one week

–Tatsu’s heart is overflowing with love upon becoming a dad, filling your head with deep appreciation and revere for allowing him to pass this milestone with you. He quickly becomes the most popular dad on the block, admired and respected by everyone for his loud, but gentle parenting

🐅𝒯𝑜𝓇𝒶𝒿𝒾𝓇𝑜🍰

–Tora is constantly checking his phone, always on edge that you might suddenly go into labor. One day when he’s at the crepe truck at three in the afternoon, he’s in the middle of whipping up a crepe when you text him SOS,BB OTW! He has never dropped a crepe so fast

–He meets you at the hospital, breathless and yelling for someone to tell him where his wife is. Tora sprints into your room all dramatic like, rushing to your side with immediate worries and demands to know what’s going on

–Tora hates seeing you in pain, which makes it hard for him to watch you in labor. He knows you’re doing it to bring life into the world, life he helped create, but it hurts him to see you yelling and crying in agony. He’ll do his best to encourage you, trying to hype you up for that last push

–He is more focused on you when the baby actually comes out, constantly asking if you’re okay, if you need anything, etc. Then when they push the baby at you guys he’s like “??? Oh, yeah!”

–Much like Tatsu, I think Tora is such a girl dad!!! She would be his angel from the first moment you place her in his big hands. He is her protector, her tiger. Speaking of tigers…

– “How bout we name her Tigress? You know, from Kung Fu Panda? What a boss!”

– “Tora…no.”

– Neither of you want a traditional Japanese name; you settle on Sakima, which means ‘warrior queen.’ Enough flare for Tora, enough uniqueness for you. Her nickname quickly becomes Kima the Killer, courtesy of her father

–Tora does not like random people handling his daughter, even if they are “medical personnel.” He glares at everyone, always asks questions on what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. You have to cool him off sometimes, reassuring your husband that they’re just making sure Sakima is healthy

–Back at home, Tora loosens up a bit. He smiles big smiles, slows himself down and really admires his little girl, staring at and watching her for hours on end. It’s a softer side to Tora no one else usually sees. Feels so relaxed around his little killer who loves tickles and kisses

–Absolutely sends a million pics of him and his daughter to Tatsu, bragging like you wouldn’t believe. Not that you can blame him, Kima is very cute, and already has her father’s intense gold eyes that demand respect

–Tora will take on any challenge brought to him, which includes dirty diapers, spit, puke, snot, spilled milk, anything, and he won’t complain at all, not even silently. Nothing compares to blood and guts anyway

– “It’s an honor to serve my family and get my hands dirty!”

–He is always the one to get up in the middle of the night if Kima cries. In his eyes, you’re already doing so much, have already DONE so much, giving birth and all, Tora won’t let you lift a finger. His wonderful wife is gonna get her beauty rest and not have to worry about a thing

-Tora loves being a bad ass dad and strolling around the neighborhood with his adorable little baby girl and his hot wife, whom he vows to protect with his life. Insert DILF era!

🐕ℳ𝒶𝓈𝒶🥡

–you go into labor in the middle of the night, and it takes you a good five minutes to wake Masa up. Dude can sleep forever, so you pinch his side hard to get him alert. When you do, he still needs to be told several times that you’re going into labor before his brain catches up

– “You’re…huh? Labor? You mean, like…the thing that…you know…really?!”

– Calls Tatsu on the way to the hospital in a panic, having forgotten everything he should do to ease your anxiety. Tatsu talks him through it, but it’s pretty clear that Masa is panicking just as much as you are. Luckily the nurses at the hospital know what they’re doing

–Masa tries to be brave and goes into the delivery room with you. He really doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but the boss said he’s gotta do it, so here he is. Poor boy tries hard to be supportive, but his ramblings only make you more anxious because you can tell HE’S nervous

–as soon as he sees the baby’s head popping out…yeah, he passes out cold, lol. Gory yakuza movies are great, but this kind of explicit imagery is too much for his manly brain to handle. Sorry, but you’re on your own now, kid, lmao

–Tatsu wakes Masa up and waits for everything to be cleaned up before bringing him back in. Masa is scared shitless, eyes wide, hands shaking as he approaches you and your newborn; but the second he sees your tearful smile at him, all his panic drifts away

– “Woah! We really made this thing? Dope! …Huh…it’s kinda ugly, isn’t it? Why does it look like that?”

– It takes some convincing, because Masa is afraid he’ll drop your baby, but you do get him to hold it, and a genuinely excited smile finally comes through. He’s in disbelief about being a dad until he holds the baby in his own arms, amazed at the lively little thing squirming about

–I can see Masa as being a boy dad. He’d be so stoked to have a mini man, would probably try to name it something like Kazuma, Yami, Link, anything from a video game he loves. You would compromise and go with Shinji, a nice name that can also be connected to several games and anime

–Masa feels clueless when you take your son home, anxious about everything you have to do right away…he spends most of his time just staring at the little guy, though, overwhelmed with awe that you two created this. It blows his mind, and he has no idea where to begin

– “So like, what do babies eat? I’ve got like, ten yen…maybe we can get them something small from the convenience store?”

– “Babies drink breast milk for the first year of their lives, Masa.”

– *Masa malfunction*

–For probably the first time in his life, Masa becomes focused, worried that he’s doing everything wrong when really, he’s doing a great job trying to keep up with your newborn. He’s doing his best, and that’s all you could ever ask for; the bags under his eyes prove it

–brags endlessly about his baby boy! He’s YouTube and Instagram famous already. Masa wants to set Shinji up for success and fame

–Although he might whine on the inside, he’ll clean diapers, wipe boogers, clean up puke, get up during the middle of the night, whatever! Masa wants to be as good a father as Tatsu says he can be. Whatever you ask him to do, he’ll do it, even if he feels like he isn’t doing things good enough

– Babies fascinate Masa, lol, and his son is especially interesting to him. He gets so excited whenever Shinji makes a new noise, or a new movement, or just does humanly things in general. He becomes convinced that Shinji’s quick fingers mean he’ll be a great video game player one day

– Speaking of video games, Masa sets his baby son down on the couch with him as he plays, explaining the lore in details a newborn could never understand. He claims Shinji is his good luck charm, and frequently casts a look down at his son to ensure he’s okay. You think it’s cute when you find Masa and Shinji asleep on the couch after completing a hard level together, your two silly boys the best of friends already

–Like Tora, Masa loves showing his baby off, feeling like a real adult when he whips out pictures of Shinji at his first photoshoot; really, it isn’t pride he’s feeling, but just pure, unfiltered happiness he wants to spread to everyone he meets. Masa might worry a lot about his parenting skills, but with you there to help, he thinks he might turn out to be a great dad

🐉 🐅 🐕

Househusband Headcanon Masterlist

[ninyard]

some hc about Aaron & Matt's friendship 🥹

i feel like when Aaron found out that Andrew drugged Matt for his sake he might've spoken to Matt, maybe to apologise, maybe not, but just to say something.

imagine feeling like your brother doesn't give a shit about you, thinking that you're not even on his radar of people worth caring about, and then you find out that he did that? that he did what he did to you, but so much worse, to someone you hardly even know? and not only that, but he did it for you?

picture Matt, in Abby's place, sick and pale, sleeping most of the time when he's not a crying, sweating mess. he apologises to Abby constantly, sorry for how he looks, how he smells, how violently ill he is because of Andrew. tensions are high everywhere, people are disappointed and angry, and nobody knows how to treat the situation. are we angry at Andrew? are we angry at Matt, for taking the drugs in the first place? are we disappointed that this even happened at all?

and Aaron knocks on the door, a shy and hesitant rap of his knuckles on wood, and when he steps in the room, it takes Matt a second to realise it's Aaron, not Andrew. he doesn't even know the twins well enough yet to tell the difference, but Aaron's wearing something that shows he's not wearing the arm bands. so he knows it's Aaron.

"you don't have to be here," Matt croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse, raw from the acid of his stomach that has stayed mostly empty over the last few days. "sign a get well soon card like the rest of them."

"you look rough." Aaron says, an observation that gets a weak laugh from Matt. "how do you feel?"

"about as good as you can imagine," Matt shuffles up in the bed, and covers his mouth to try and stop a wave of nausea that hits him as he moves. Aaron looks away, seeing himself in the bed, knowing how this feels. "let's skip this part, man. i'm too tired. what do you want?"

maybe Aaron can't say it, he doesn't know the right words, maybe he doesn't even know for certain that Andrew did it for him at all. but he knows, of course he does. why else would he? Aaron looks at him, he looks at the circles around his eyes, the sweat on his forehead, and the for-now empty puke bowl on the bedside table.

Aaron wasn't even sure why he came in the first place. Abby stopped him outside, just barely knowing his history with drugs, and told him that Matt was not a pretty sight - it was hard to see, hard to look at. she told him not to go in, to leave it another day or two, or even until Matt could bare to stand up to leave her apartment. does Matt know? was he told? is he going to hate Aaron now, more than he already does, if he tells him why he thinks Andrew has put him in this position? will Matt even believe him if he tells him that he gets it? is it even worth the breath it'd take to say i'm sorry?

maybe Aaron thinks about opting for something else - some support in the way of an i get it, or an it's going to be okay, while knowing that's the last thing he would've wanted to hear in Matt's position. Aaron knows he would've told anyone that offered their shitty, meaningless words of support to him in that position to fuck off and mind their own business, but instead Matt sits there, and he waits, and he listens.

"Andrew didn't do it to kill you," he says, not even the words that he meant to say at all. "he doesn't care about you enough to bother."

"i know." Matt says, and Aaron looks at him like he's not sure how he can be so certain. "but he didn't do it for himself, either, did he?"

does sorry even feel like enough? would Aaron's empathy and understanding be meaningful at all, as Matt lay there, his energy sapped and his brain not working as it should?

i think regardless of how that conversation goes, or where it happens, or how it happens, Matt and Aaron have some sort of understanding between them - Matt is angry that Andrew did this for Aaron, that it was Aaron's fault, in a way, that this happened to him, but he knows it wasn't Aaron's choice. he sees that guilty look in his eyes as he walks into that room, and knows that Aaron had nothing to do with what happened that night. Aaron knows that Matt doesn't blame him, and he gets it - maybe. maybe Matt sees how sick Aaron looks as he looks back at him, how his mouth is downturned in an uncomfortable frown that he poorly tries to hide. maybe if Aaron did apologise, on his own behalf, on Andrew's behalf, maybe Matt wouldn't even accept it anyway. because he knows what temptation can do, he knows what seeing an addict does to an addict. he knows why Andrew did it, if anything else, and he knows why Aaron needed him clean.

i don't know where this is going, really, but i just wonder if they ever spoke about it - if Aaron ever approached Matt in those early days, if they ever understood each other in such a way that knows why they both lay or stood in the positions that they did. just a thought.

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c'est? - part 4~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 1985

Lando bites at the skin around his thumb, his right leg bouncing up and down as he attempts to stay still in his seat. The heat outside is worse than expected, so he has the hem fireproof shirt hitched up to rest just over his nipples in order to cool down before the race. He has a fan on him and a water bottle in his hand- even then, it’s pretty unpleasant. 

Oscar is busy off somewhere skipping, as he usually is just before a race. His stomach is growling, desperate for some food. He doesn't risk it though- he knows eating anything will make him feel nauseous again and he’lll just need to violently throw up.

He’ll tough it out until he gets back to the hotel, then at least he’ll have Oscar by his side while he’s puking.

“Lando,” Jon’s hand plants on his shoulder, Lando moving his head at the interruption from his blank out. “We really need to do some stretches before you get in the car- I don’t want you making one bad turn and fucking up your neck,”

Lando bites harder, a faint metallic taste spreading over his tongue. “Yep,” He pops the p at the end, trying to sound enthusiastic. He stands up, wobbly and shaking knees and ties the sleeves of his race suit tighter around his waist.

He follows after Jon, akin to a small dog, Leo, for example, to behind the motor home. Oscar’s just finishing out his skipping- his cheeks rosy red and his hair standing tall. “Hey Lans,” He fist bumps him as they walk past each other. “Feeling any better?”

Both Kim and Jon know they’re dating, so it’s not as if they have to worry about showing affection to one another in front of their trainers. It’s more that even though they’re somewhat hidden by the motorhomes, they are still technically in the paddock and can be seen by guests at any given moment. 

They’d learnt to not take the risk of being outed to the world for a single kiss when someone had snapped a photo of Max and Daniel kissing after Daniel’s announced break of McLaren contract back in 2022. It was before Oscar had even properly entered the F1 scene, yet he knew better to never take that risk.

“Somewhat,” Lando shrugs, giving Oscar a toothy grin. He still really doesn’t feel good, but he wants to prove to Oscar that he’s safe to drive, that he’s ‘got this under control’. Oscar’s eyes flicker down to where Lando’s tanned stomach is fully on display and his lips quiver, holding back a smirk.

“That’s good,” Oscar smiles warmly, tugging his suit up higher from where it’s been gradually dropping from around his waist to just below his hips, “See you soon, mate,” Lando gets squirmy whenever Oscar calls him mate. It’s fine when they’re at home and just talking casually, but when it’s used in the place of ‘babe’ or ‘love’, it just feels cruel that it’s their reality.

Being gay is difficult enough as it is, being a gay athlete adds a different degree of difficulty. Dating your teammate, who is supposed to be your most similar rival is downright awkward and stupid. All of that while being forced to remain closeted, it’s pretty much a full time fucking job.

Lando shuffles his feet, tugging his shirt down to get ready for the stretches. Usually, he just lays in his driver room and naps- maybe listens to music if he’s in the mood- he’ll have time for that later. 

First up is skipping. Lando bites the inside of his cheeks to stop him from crying out in pain as his brain rattles around in his head. He’ll be done with it soon, he just needs to calm down.

Jon allows him to stop when he looks on the verge of passing out, “Lando? Are you feeling okay?” 

Lando shrugs, weakly passing him the skipping rope, “Let's just go for the massage now,” He’s not up for a talk and based on how much tension has built up in his body, a massage is about one of the only things that he thinks might make him feel better right now.

Lando hitches his shirt back up, enough that Jon will be able to ruin his back with his ‘magical hands’. It’s cringey to call them that, but it’s so true. In another universe, Jon is a professional masseuse. 

He lays down on the massage bed, his face smushed in the head hole. They both just stay silent for the most part, despite a few groans and hisses coming from an over-sensitive and tense Lando. “How’re you feeling about the race,” Jon finally breaks the silence, his thumbs pushing hard into Lando’s shoulder muscles.

“Fu- good, I’m excited,” It’s half a lie. He is obviously excited to race, racing is his biggest passion in life, but he would be enjoying it all so much more if he felt good. Feeling ill after a race and feeling ill before a race are two completely different things- because he knew he would only go downhill from where he was at.

“How’s Oscar feeling about it?” Jon, always the instigator.

“He’s probably more excited then I am- he’s starting pretty high up,” Lando mumbles, the slow unload of relief through his body making him feel better than he has in days.

Lando closes his eyes, studying the red that swirls around on the inside of his eyelids. He’s in the calm before the storm right now- he needs to shut his mind off. It’s a task easier said than done, especially when all his focus is grouped towards just how fucking bad his head hurts.

“Jon?” A knock rattles the door, a pair of shuffling feet in addition. “Is it alright if I just hang out here?” If it was anyone else asking to just hang out In Lando’s driver room, Lando would be telling them to piss off and go to their own room- for Oscar though, anything that is his own is also Oscar’s. 

“F’course Oscar,” Jon hums, not even asking for confirmation from Lando. He doesn’t need it, he knows that it’s a given that the answer would be yes.

Lando pries his eyes open, looking straight down at the ground in front of him. A pair of big brown eyes stare back up at him. What a weirdo Oscar is, getting down and laying on the ground just to be looking at lando.

Lando is so in  love with him.

“Please tell me you’re feeling better,” Oscar pushes himself up on his elbows, his core tensing at the 45 degree angle he’s keeping himself.

“Somewhat,”

“Somewhat my ass. Do you genuinely believe you’re up for this tonight?” Someone’s feisty tonight.

“Yes,” The lie feels almost like the truth by how many times he’s promised it. “I’ll just… I’ll take it easy in the lead up to COTA,”

Oscar puffs out cold air onto his top lip, a wrinkle of distrust forming between his scruffy brows. Lando is not one for taking it easy- ever. “We’ve got a month until then- you better keep that promise,”

“I will,” It’s veering off a lie, but it still is one. He knows just as well as Oscar that he’ll allow himself to get up to 75% good health and then wear himself back out again. It’s just what he does. 

Oscar doesn’t look convinced. “I promise Oscar- on my life,”

“Don’t do that,” Oscar snorts, “I don’t want you dying on me,”

“Oh shut it you mupp-'' Jon shuts him up with an elbow digging into his ass cheek and he yelps out in pain. Oscar looks satisfied by getting the last jeer in.

Lando carded his hands through his curls, pushing them off his forehead to put on his balaclava. Even from inside the garage he could hear the endless screams of the crowd. Fuck, this was gonna be a long race. He was starting in between Stroll behind and Ricciardo in front- a true recipe for disaster.

WIth that combo, he’d be more likely to be getting backshots from Lance than Oscar.

No, don’t think about that Oscar. Don’t think about getting crashed into.

He considers the other thing a positive thing to think about. It’s a pleasant distraction.

He stands still, his feet planted far apart enough to make his stance into an upside down V. He pushes his hips from side to side, limbering up that last bit before he gets into the car. 

He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, contemplating going and grabbing some painkillers last minute. He knows if he does, Oscar will see him and physically prohibit him from racing. Painkillers are pretty harmless, nothing to not race over, but to Oscar- it’s everything. If Lando feels the need to have painkillers to be able to race, Oscar doesn’t see him as fit to.

So he decides to go without. Clambers into his car, slides his feet in and lifts his hips up, trying to get comfortable. His helmet is put onto him by the help of two members of the McLaren pit crew, his steering wheel from another.

Hot streams of air push through his nostrils, trying to get himself to calm down. Holy fuck, clam down Lando. You’ve done this a hundred times before, you’ll do it a hundred more times- nothing is going to happen. 

It’s going to be a good race, he’s going to prove Oscar wrong. He’s gonna win, or he’ll get a podium.

When instructed to, he begins to drive up to his starting spot. There’s a buzz that starts in his head and travels down to his thumbs, one that isn’t from the rumble of the car. It’s another impending headache, one of the really bad ones. He’s had too many over the course of the past three days to the point that it’s expected- he just needs to remain collected.

First red light turns on.

Then the second.

Third, fourth, fifth.

Then they all go out and his foot stomps down on the pedal. It’s a good reaction, quick, he’s got Will in his ear telling him that. Around the first corner, he watches Daniel slow down, and he overtakes him. Hulkenberg was just in front of the older Australian, and now Lando feels himself just scraping past him. 

It’s off to a good start, and that’s expected. When Lando’s in the car, he’s no longer ‘Lando Norris’- he’s a Mclaren Formula 1 Driver. And that’s just what he does- drive.

By lap seven, he’s up four places, trying to get ahead of Alonso. Once that’s done, Russell is just in front with a quickly decreasing gap to Albon. He can easily take either of them once he’s at that point, both of their car’s pace look awful.

But by God, Alonso is proving difficult to get past. Lando swerves jerkily, trying to get on the inside of Alonso. As he does, it feels like he takes a knife to the head, a sharp pain shooting through the left side of his head. He loses the car, loses control, loses the race. He goes straight into a barrier, his back left wheel flying off. 

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

Like he’s tragic and can’t take care of himself. 

Like he’s just made a silly little mistake for the first time in his career.

Like he’s not just an absolute fuck up who can’t say when. 

His vision goes first, then his hearing, then his ability to move. Then he’s out- like a fucking nightlight.

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Hii!!! Can you do Jeff and Toby reacting to Y/N having an autistic related meltdown?

Male or gender neutral reader pls :]

I'm not autistic, nor have I ever witnessed an autistic meltdown, so I hope I did ok!

Also, apologies Jeff has more, but only because of the information about the "cool down room"

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeff

There are a number of creeos in the mansion, all with different disabilities, mental illnesses/disorders, etc

That being said, there are usually plenty of fidget toys, nice things for you to touch and feel with that aren't the worst textures in the world, and I also like to think that after a while, Slender had a "cool down" room put into the mansion

Said cool down room is a dark, quiet room for anyone to go when feeling overstimulated, feeling anxious, or just needs a break

It has plenty of cozy resting spots, pillows, a huge pillar designed to look like a lava lamp and you even have the option to play soft music if you would like

There is usually only 1 or 2 people in the room, so it's never too crowded

And tonight was one of those nights where you just needed to be in a quiet space

It was one of the mansions monthly get togethers, where everyone came into the dining room and feasted upon lots of delicious food

There was something there for everyone, and at first, you were really enjoying yourself!

But after you finished your food and had talked to a few of your friends, you kind of just mingled to yourself

And as time passed, you began to get more and more overwhelmed

There were so many people, and too many noises and the amount of smells wanted to make you puke

Eventually it began to feel like your clothes were too tight and you couldn't breathe

You began to stim as discretely as you could (whether it be quietly vocally stimming, or trying to slowly physically stim is up to you!)

You were certain that if anyone talked to you, you would end up either crying or snapping at them

Jeff noticed, and pulled you aside "hey, you ok? You look a little nervous"

You shook your head and tried to stop the tears from falling

"Is it ok if I touch your hand?" He asks

You nod

He holds your hand and begins to lead you to the cool down room

Once there he sits down on a bean bag and pats the spot next to him for you to do the same

You sit and stare at the floor, trying to calm yourself down

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Jeff says in a hushed tone

You shake your head and continue staring at the floor

He gets a blanket and wraps you in it, holding you close to him and sheilding your eyes from the outside world

His cool skin is nice on your warm eyes

Jeff is an asshole, but you were thankful he cared about you enough to do this

Toby

Like previously mentioned, there is a "cool down room" in the mansion (go read the first few bullets of Jeff's part if you would like more info)

It is one of your favorite rooms, so you find yourself in there quite often

Toby, also being on the autism spectrum, also stays in there from time to time

You've helped him through numerous meltdowns and panic attacks, and he is eternally greatful for you

So when he wondered into the room to you with a very frantic look on your face and constantly fidgeting, stimming, covering your ears, etc (up to you and your personal experiences!) he knew what was happening

Normally he doesn't like to be bothered when he's in this state, so he decides to ask you a few questions

"Are you ok?" "Do you want me to stay?" "Do you need me to do anything for you?"

After you answer all of these questions, he is either sitting next to you, trying to comfort you or he is sitting on the other end of the room comforting you from afar

If he is next to you, he is holding you in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth with you

If he is opposite to you, he is offering you water, snacks, and stim toys

Either way, you end up getting through it (as tough as it was) and thanking him for staying

He of course, is quick to tell you that you can always come hang out with him if you ever need or want to

You end up spending the rest of the day together, foraging in the woods, eating weird foods or just staying in the cool down room

You wrap up in nice blankets and falling asleep

Its just so cozy in there, you can't help it!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

can you please do prompt 2 and 4 with johnny cade?

Outsiders Prompt Fic #5- Why does it hurt so much?

Hi anon! I chose prompt 2 to write for this one. Enjoy!

******************

Johnny Cade is no stranger to pain.

When he was three mama had dropped him taking him out of the bath and he’d hit his head bad enough to give him a concussion. When he was six dad had broken his arm after he lost a little league game and cried about it. He’d survived more beatings than most kids could even dream of- even most east side kids. He’d been sworn at, screamed at, kicked, punched, slapped, and on one particularly memorable occasion when he was fourteen, walloped with a two by four when his old man had been laid off from his job at the lumberyard. He’d even been jumped, bad enough that that horrible white scar tore down his face would be a permanent fixture he was still trying to come to terms with. Over the years he’d come to learn how to grin and bear it. He took every beating in silence, because crying or begging or even screaming only ever made them worse. He’d laughed with broken ribs. Smiled through a puffy lip. Leaned against his friends even when it pressed against his bruises, until pain became first a constant and then an afterthought, simply another fact of his miserable life. You spend enough time in pain, he’d come to realize, then being in pain just becomes normal. 

Which is why it’s strange that the stomach flu of all things seems to be able to bring him to his knees- literally. He’s currently puking in the Curtis’ bathroom, unsure if the vomiting or the agony radiating from his stomach is what’s forcing tears from his eyes.

God, his stomach hurts. He can’t remember anything ever hurting this much. Not even that time mama pressed his palm against the stove when he was eight and accidentally spilled the dinner she made.

“Easy Johnny, you’re alright,” Pony is here, the quiet, supportive pillar he’s always been that makes him Johnny’s best friend in the whole world. Though a part of him is embarrassed that anyone is here to witness this, a much larger part of him, the part that is tired, sick and in pain, is infinitely glad that Ponyboy is here. Pony won’t judge him, never has, never will. Pony will take care of him, the way he has for the past three days, and not make him feel like a baby. Everyone else, whenever they’re around, has hovered and coddled. Pony is just present, his worry quieter, his care soft with love but not pity.

Even Dallas had been weird about this, the whole Johnny being sick thing. He’d acted like a spooked horse when he first got sick and not reappeared after he first came by to check on him two days ago. Maybe if Johnny wasn’t feeling so lousy, he’d care more about that, try and puzzle out why. As it is, it’s all he can do to make sure he makes it to the toilet every time he needs to puke.

It’s a strange illness, one Johnny is quite sure he never wants to experience again. Crashing waves of nausea and pain for hours, followed by brief reprieves where he believes he’s started to turn a corner before the nausea returns full force. It’s a vicious cycle. Johnny hates it.

He’s so tired. 

“It’s just the stomach flu,” he murmurs to Pony, slumping bonelessly against his friend’s side. The younger boy presses a glass of water into his hand, and Johnny lifts it to his lips, his hand shaking like a leaf, “why does it hurt so much?’

“That’s just the thing ain’t it Johnnycakes? I’m startin’ to think it isn’t just the stomach flu.”

Pony’s getting real worried now, Johnny can tell because his voice always gets a bit younger when he’s anxious and he starts immediately looking around for Darry. But Darry isn’t here right now, is at work for at least the next hour. Soda and Steve are both working close at the DX, Two-bit is nursing his own sick kid sister, and Dally is still wherever Dally is. If the chips turn down- and they will, because Johnny knows he must have been born under a bad star for all the times luck is never in his favour- Pony is all he’s got. The thought isn’t as daunting as perhaps it should be. Here he is, sick and not entirely conscious, and all he knows is he trusts Ponyboy Curtis with his life. For all Ponyboy is two years younger, for all he’s the baby of the gang, Johnny doesn’t know anyone he depends on as much as him.

“Probably not,” he admits. This isn’t right, he knows it, has known it since yesterday even. The stomach flu shouldn’t feel like there’s a hot iron stuck in his abdomen, shouldn’t make him half paralyzed with pain and unable to think properly. “Whatever it is, I think it might be bad.”

“Darry’ll be home in a hour,” Pony says decisively, and if Johnny wasn’t so sick he doesn’t think he’d be able to hide his grin at the fact that for all Pony complains about his eldest brother, he’s always the first person he goes to in a crisis, “I’ll give him a call, see if he can hurry along, and we’ll get him to take you to a clinic.”

“Don’t got insurance,” Johnny points out. If he went to the doctor, it wouldn’t matter if this illness didn’t kill him because his old man sure would, “can’t afford no hospital bills.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ponyboy waves his concern off, “Darry got Dal to get you a fake insurance card. It’s a real good forgery, looks as good as my real one. Far as the state’s concerned, you’re me when you’re sick.

“I ain’t passin’ those hospital bills to you guys!”

“Well we ain’t takin’ no for an answer. If you need a hospital, you’ll go.”

Johnny can tell he means it. He also knows Darry and Soda will back him. All the Curtis boys are as stubborn as they come, and selfless to boot.

He sighs, too tired to argue.

“Alright.”

“I’ll go give Darry a call,” Pony says, squeezing his shoulder gently before he leaves. 

Johnny counts the tiles on the bathroom floor as a fresh wave of agony rears it’s ugly head, causing sweat to bead on his brow and harsh breaths to force their way through his clenched teeth.

He’s only managed to count thirteen tiles by the time Ponyboy returns with a cool cloth and a relieved expression.

“Darry’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Pony tells him, pressing the cloth against his burning neck. He can’t help but sigh at the feeling. It does nothing to dull the pain but offer something else to focus on, but for Johnny that’s enough, “he was almost done anyway but his forman let him go early since it’s an emergency.”

He bites his lip, and Johnny can tell he’s trying very hard to decide whether he’s going to say whatever it is he’s thinking.

“Dar…darry says he thinks you might have appendicitis,” he says at last. Huh,Johnny thinks, that kind of makes sense. With his luck, it’s not surprising his own organs have decided to mutiny against him. “He says he was worried about it yesterday but now he’s pretty sure. You’ll definitely need the hospital.”

At this point, if a hospital can make the pain even lessen, it’ll be worth it.

“Thanks Pony,” he leans his head against his best friend’s shoulder, too tired and too sick to do anything else.

Pony rests his own head on Johnny’s, long hair tickling Johnny’s cheek, until Darry bursts in in all his superman glory and takes control of the situation the way he always does.

Johnny Cade is no stranger to pain, but with a friend like Ponyboy Curtis to help him through it he doesn’t really mind.

[jurassicsickfics]

Titanic Jack x Rose sickfic where Jack has stomach flu?

Sure thing! Enjoy!

Jack and Rose had been having such a lovely time last night...ah, last night. If we could all go back. Now it was 4 in the morning, and Rose was crouched beside him in the bathroom, patting his back as he heaved his guts out. At first, she thought the nausea was a result of a little too much alcohol, but 7 pukes later, she began to think otherwise.

Poor Jack was absolutely miserable. Every time he got comfortable in bed, or snuggled up in Rose's arms, his rolling stomach would send him rushing for the bathroom again. So, finally, Rose brought a pillow and a couple blankets into the first class cabin's lavish bathroom, and made her lover a makeshift nest on her lap. She placed a pillow on her lap, so his weight on her legs would be more comfortable for both of them. Then she wrapped the blankets around both of them, tucking Jack into a soft and warm little cocoon against her chest.

The two stayed like this for some time, Jack occasionally having to lean away and puke into the toilet, but mostly, he dozed in and out of sleep in Rose's arms. Despite his illness that woke them in the wee hours of the morning, it had been relatively peaceful and without major incident. That is..until now...

Rose was rocking gently back and forth on the bathroom floor, Jack still wrapped in a blanket burrito on her lap. Her eyes were heavy with sleepiness, and she began to doze as she leaned against the wall. She'd maybe been asleep for a minute or two, although it felt like much longer, when she felt Jack gently shaking her. Her big blue eyes fluttered open and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What's the matter, darling?" She asked.

Jack let out a little whimper and said, "I just threw up..."

Rose was about to nod, to tell him it was ok, when she suddenly registered the warm dampness on her chest. Her eyes lowered to her chest, and she saw that poor Jack had vomited all down her chest. "Aww...oh no, sweetie...it's alright...what happened?" She asked.

Jack couldn't help but softly cry. "I-I'm sorry...it came on so suddenly I...I couldn't move..." he blubbered.

Rose's gaze softened even more, and she planted a gentle kiss into his blonde hair. "Baby....that's alright, I understand. It's not your fault. You're sick, these things happen." She comforted him, drying his tears with her thumbs. Jack managed a nod and a shaky sigh, moving over to allow Rose to go clean herself up. She returned, and Jack greeted her with a tired smile.

"How are you feeling, love?" She asked. Jack shrugged. "You know? I think I'm feeling a little better...that last one really helped for some reason."

Rose smiled. "That's great, sweetie...c'mon, let's go to bed and try to get some sleep."

Jack readily agreed, standing up with her help, and the two walked back to bed, cuddling together and bundling up in blankets, only to fall fast asleep minutes later.

[l-0-s-t-at-s-3-a]

here's why purging sucks.

this is a reminder to myself first and foremost, but i'm posting it so people see it as well, because I think it's a good reminder. I've been purging (making myself vomit) consistently for more than eight months, but it's been off and on since i was around 15 (I'm 22).

this/my obsession with food has made my life immeasurably worse. Below are some symptoms that i have now that i purge consistently. these consequences are why i want to stop purging. i dont know how im going to stop, or when. i just want to stop, and heres why.

** TRIGGER WARNING- TALKING ABOUT BULIMIA IN DEPTH. Talking about dissociation, vomit, suicidal ideation, and various symptoms I've had. Take care of yourself. Don't read this if you think it'll be triggering. **

Physical Consequences

light headed/woozy

weak, sometimes not even wanting to move my arms, turn my head, or move my thumb to scroll on my phone because it's too much effort.

chest pain, sometimes cant breathe due to the sudden pain

tired, always wanting to lay/sit down

Sensitive teeth

hungry a lot- which usually leads to more bingeing, and then purging again

broken blood vessels on my face/temples. It's unnerving.

gaining and losing weight constantly

sudden rapid heart rate, like fluttering

nauseous a lot of the time

dry skin

calluses on the knuckles of my right hand

These are all awful, but as bad as the physical symptoms are, the mental aspect is much worse for me.

Mental Consequences

unmotivated to live life.

dissociating to the point i do not recognize my face in the mirror, my hands in front of me, or my name. also, the world often looks fake to me, like a painting or a movie- everything seems fogged over like i cant really see it, people all seem fake or like theyre reading a script, or like the world is a set on a tv show where the same things happen over and over.. coming in and out of this state is no less than the most terrifying thing ive ever experienced- so i dissociate more, and the cycle continues.

i isolate much more.

im incredibly quick to anger. i scream into a pillow, punch myself, hit my own head, just to stop myself from screaming at people , because my blood sugar is up and down constantly, and that heavily affects my emotions

forgetful- short term and long term memories are difficult to remember now

bad at explaining myself. bad at remembering the definition of words.

thinking far too much about food- when i can binge next, what i will eat, when i can purge.

im incredibly self conscious, more so now.

i think about vomit a lot. especially when i look at food. i think things like, i know what that'll look like coming back up, or that already looks like vomit, or oh, that'll taste exactly the same when i puke it up, or, that'll be easier/harder to puke up- the list goes on.

crying easily, but only for like less than a minute before my emotions shut down again?

chronically, suicidally depressed. obviously

on that note- i think about death a lot. a LOT. too much for a 22 year old. too much for anyone.

I keep trying to think of a good way to end this, to give a hopeful message, but honestly, my hands are shaking really bad, and I feel weak and I can't think anymore because it's taken almost an hour to type this out and that's too much effort and it's making me unbearably angry.

And I think that's pretty much the message I'm trying to tell you. This is what this illness does. So don't do this to yourself unless you want these consequences. Good luck

[tadalyme]

whumptober, day 2

There are many things Finnick Odair is good at. He's good at swimming, good at fighting, good at making knots. Good at baking decently tasty bread. He's also very good at pretending.

It's a skill he's honed throughout his whole life, ever since he was a little child. Pretending that he likes his mother's vegetable casserole. Pretending that he's completely fine when his father leads him to Mags’s house, his hand held in a forceful, painful grip, and proclaims in his booming voice that it would be the greatest honour for his son to train for the Games, right, boy? Pretending that he isn't scared to die and to kill.

Pretending that all the things that are done to his body on a regular basis aren't happening to him.

It’s somewhere past three at night and Finnick is sore and extremely dizzy and in the backseat of a car, coming back from his client. He’s in a car, because despite being just a District whore, he's an expensive one. President Snow doesn’t want anyone else to harm his investments. At least, not anyone not paying.

He’s just glad that it was the only appointment for today, because the guy, a flamboyant man in his thirties, a grandson or a nephew or a step-son of one of the influential Gamemakers, wanted to spice things up a bit in his sex life and made him swallow some colourful tablets before the act itself.

Well, it certainly spiced things up for Finnick, though probably not in a way the man intended to. He spent the whole time hearing the colours, and tasting the sounds, and seeing the images from his past and present all mixed up together.

The man was pounding into him and moaning and exclaiming something animated and probably over-the-top sexual in his shrill voice, but all Finnick could think about were the glistening in the sun tridents and spears and knives, and faces of the dead children, and his late father and ill mother and disappointed sister, and, for some reason, the Capitol's latest obnoxious vogue of inserting precious gemstones into their skin.

He desperately wanted to cry, so he laughed frantically, and he wanted to push the man away from him, too overstimulated, so he willed his muscles to relax.

The lights of the never-sleeping party area of Capitol fly by dizzyingly behind the window and Finnick has to lean onto it in an attempt not to puke. It's got a bit better in the past half hour, but the thoughts are still floating around his brain like dozens of little brightly-coloured butterflies. It’s hard to properly grasp any of them in a sticky daze of disorientation, though.

The car stops near the entrance to the Tribute Centre and he staggers out, swaying on his feet and almost ending up on the pavement. His limbs finally rearrange themselves in the correct order after a few moments and he musters a lazy salute with only some of his usual flourish to the back of the driving away car.

Still performing, even now. Gods, what a mess.

He doesn't know how exactly he reaches the elevator, but he does and the numbers swirl a bit in his eyes before settling down properly on the buttons.

He remembers well the first time he was here.

The thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to participate in the Hunger Games that year. That questionable honour was supposed to go to Jacob Maren, not yet eighteen, but the oldest among the trainees.

Instead, Dorothea, their escort, gracefully put her powdered hand with baby-blue nails, that matched her enormous wig, and pulled out his, Finnick's, name. There was a bit of a standstill after that - Jacob locking eyes with him across their separate pens. Should he volunteer, should he not. Finnick was too young yet but still a Career. In the end, Jacob stayed silent.

Just as well, thought Finnick, pushing through the crowds to the stage and already putting on a brilliant wide smile, I've trained for this, I can win, it'll be easy.

He knows now what his dumb, arrogant younger self didn’t understand back then - that even if you manage to become a victor, the only one who ever wins the Games is the Capitol.

Jacob did go the following year and died to a back-stabbing One girl. And Finnick has spent three years cursing that day and all that led to it.

Gods above, it has only been three years, hasn’t it? It feels much longer than that, so far away, so long ago. Almost like ancient history.

He did kind of make history with that one, didn’t he? The youngest Victor ever. A fat lot of good that did for him.

Fourth floor. He practically falls out of the elevator, only managing to catch onto the wall at the last moment.

Mags, curled up on the couch, perks up at the sound of sliding doors. In the dim lighting of the lounge her silver hair looks like a halo above her head. Ironic.

It makes him burst out in a fit of hysterical high-pitched laughter. One would have to completely lose their marbles to call the woman an angel. An angel of death, at best. Some forget it, but she also killed in her Games, the same as all of them. And she's led enough kids to their deaths in the following years. He loves Mags with his whole heart, but she's no saint.

Mags always waits for him on appointment nights. He wishes she didn't see him like this, wishes no-one saw him like this and often snaps at her, but she only tuts in disapproval and keeps doing it. Despite his temper tantrums, he's glad she does.

Mags looks him over and frowns and he's sent down the rabbit hole of memories again.

They approach him the next day after he turns sixteen. The two of them look grim and apologetic and he doesn't know what to make of it.

‘I’m sorry, Finnick, I’m so sorry about what's probably going to happen,’ Mags says and lets out a sigh, sorrowful and tired and world-weary, and he, in a rare moment, is reminded of how old Mags really is, ‘Just… Remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what.' She inclines her head a bit, gesturing at her companion, ‘Or to Delia, if you need someone who truly gets it.'

Delia, who is wringing her hands half a step behind Mags, and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, glances at him and gives him a bleak, perfunctory nod. He doesn’t know why he would need to or want to talk to her, but anyway it’s quite unlikely that he will take her up on this offer.

Finnick knows Delia, of course he does. Delia, a constantly nervous, twitchy Victor in her forties, teaches knife-throwing, and knife-stabbing, and other knife-related skills to the trainees and has never seemed to be a particular fan of long conversations. She's communicated with them mostly with sharp nods and half-aborted, jittery gestures, always looking on edge and shaky.

Her hands have never ever shaken with a blade in them, though.

Then, he gets the summons to the annual post-Victory tour party and President Snow asks to speak with him in his office after. He's told in detail what he's expected to do, now that he's finally sixteen, and what will happen if he doesn't.

Oh.

Oh.

That's what that meant.

His first appointment with a client is the next day and it's the beginning of the end.

His sister screams at him a few months later, when he returns from one of his trips to the Capitol, ‘They don’t care about you, you stupid boy! Why won’t you understand that! Why the Hell do you keep going there?’

But it’s her who doesn’t understand, who could never understand. He can’t tell Carolyn, he can’t, not just because he doesn’t want her to know what he does, but because he’s not allowed to.

President Snow was quite straightforward about what would happen to his ill mother and his sister with her husband and their baby twins, if he were to tell anyone, even them, anything. So he keeps quiet and let them think the worst of him. The same thing that everyone else does.

(Other than his fellow victors, who are all aware of the work he and the ones like him are made to do, the only person who doesn’t look at him with badly concealed disgust, or jealousy, or fake friendliness, or lust in Four is Annie Cresta. Her eyes (also sea-green, though a few tones lighter than his own) only ever look at him with sympathy and pity these days. He would have absolutely hated being looked at like that not long ago, but now it’s just so goddamn refreshing. He used to find her annoying with her righteousness and softness when they trained to be careers together, thought her weak and kind of cowardly, but maybe there is actually nothing wrong with gentleness and timidity, he ponders.

Of course, it’s hopeless, getting used to even such a small thing. Annie Cresta is a Career. She will go into the Games soon. In a couple of years she will likely be dead.)

Mags approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly, trying not to spook him. He must look bad, because she checks his temperature with a hand on his forehead. From her pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows he gathers that it’s not very good.

'What, doctor, am i dying yet?' he ironizes.

'Well, you certainly don't look too lively, boy,' she snaps back,'Sit down, I'll be right back.'

She lets him settle on the couch and leaves to fetch her first-aid kit. They’re not allowed to bring any pills to the Tribute centre, so as to not let tributes get anywhere near them, but she has some other basic supplies. Luckily, today they are no flesh wounds to patch up.

She comes back with a thermometer in her hand. And that’s what sends him over the edge and into hysterical tears, the goddamn thermometer. It’s an old-fashioned but trusty mercury thermometer, very common back in Four, but considered obsolete by Capitol standards.

Finnick, having been many times in the local medical over the past year and a half to get patched up after rough encounters with clients, is intimately familiar by now with Capitol’s high-tech, reliably produced in Three.

She waits a bit before his sobs and shaking subside, finally takes his temperature and asks,'You're burning up. What on earth happened to you?'

'He gave me something, I don't know what,' Finnick replies reluctantly and watches her face twist and her arms cross on her chest. She's staring at him pointedly.

'Do we really have to?' he groans,'I'm almost fine by now. You're only wobbling a bit in my eyes.'

'Come on, up you go,' she pulls him up, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old, and leads him to his room, to the bathroom. She walks out again and returns with a glass and a closed water bottle.

She fills the glass with tap water and makes him drink it again and again and then throw up, repeating and repeating it until there's nothing left in his stomach at all.

Then she hands him the water bottle, lightly shoves him in the direction of the needlessly overcomplicated shower and exits.

When he finally emerges into his room he's almost feeling like himself again. Mags is still there, leaning on the frame of his bed. He finds some clothes to sleep in and drops next to her. She hums softly and smooths his hair out, running her fingers through his wet curly locks.

She's been much gentler with him since his Games, but she's taken a fancy to him a long time ago.

He was a bit of a troublemaker as a child, like little boys so often are, always sneaking away to the creek to play on the wet rocky shores, or trying to catch fry with his bare hands, or diving from the pier to see how long he could hold his breath, generally making his mother exasperated. He showed up at home in the late afternoon tired but joyful after a day of exploring with a wide toothless grin, seaweed in his hair and damp dirty patches on his knees.

His father didn’t like that much. So at a ripe old age of seven he’s dumped on Mags’s doorstep, who looks at his father weirdly over Finnick’s head and then takes a look at him, slowly lowers down to his eye-level and grasps his tiny hand with her veiny, old-woman one.

‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, little one?’

She's never been cruel to any of the trainees, definitely not, but she wasn't particularly warm-hearted either. She was kind, but also stern and strict, like a proper trainer. He knows that it's because, despite all the preparations, most of them would die in their Games. She didn't really believe that he would win his Games either.

But he survived and she became more willing to show her affection for him after that. And to him, she, the person who practically raised him, instead of his distant mother and constantly angry father, has always felt the most like a real family, even when she acted all grumpy.

He drifts to sleep, relaxing under the silent watch of the only person in the world he fully trusts.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

seasick

prompt: motion sickness (alt no.7)

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house/slow horses

hii here's yet another sh fic for yall but this time with no spoilers for anything lmao. i saw the prompt and was like 'wouldn't it be so funny to do this to river considering his name' and so this was born. hope you enjoy!

This is one of the more bizarre assignments she’s been given in her tenure at Slough House. Go on a cruise down the Thames and look for “anything unusual” beneath the bridges. Totally normal thing to do. Definitely worth her time. 

Not that she’s complaining much. It gets her out of the office and there’s a bar on board. She’s sure there must be some way of getting a drink and snack paid for on the Park’s dime. 

She’s gone ahead and gotten them, in any case. She balances both items in one hand as she pushes out through a door onto the deck. The first bridge is coming up, and she supposes she’ll at least pay some attention to it. 

River is where she’d left him, having turned down the suggestion of both drink and snack. She’d assumed he’d been less assured of their ability to be reimbursed, and admittedly, the prices hadn’t been low. 

He’s leaning against the railing now, and he turns his head slowly towards her when she stops beside him. She offers up her bag of crisps and he turns away, swallows visibly. His skin has gone a funny shade, almost grey, and he’s sweaty although it’s rather cold and drizzly. 

“Are you ill?” Louisa asks, point-blank. He’d looked fine when she’d left him, and that had been all of ten minutes ago. 

River shakes his head, then stops very suddenly. He takes a deep breath which he aborts halfway through, and then leans over the railing and throws up. 

“Shit,” Louisa says, the pieces assembling themselves rapidly in her mind. She sets down her snack and drink, returns to River and puts a hand on his back. 

“Do you get motion sickness often?” She’s been in cars with him plenty of times, but, she supposes, cars and boats are quite different. “Or, seasickness, I guess?”

River shakes his head, vomits again. “I don’t—I don’t really go on boats.”

There’s something a little funny there, a jibe at his name she could make, but he looks all kinds of awful and she just feels sympathetic, more than anything else. 

He throws up again, coughs harshly, rubs a shaky hand across his face. “This fucking sucks.”

Louisa squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll get you some water. Why don’t you sit down?” There are empty benches behind them—in fact, the whole deck is empty, owing to the wet and the cold. Louisa’s suddenly incredibly glad for the weather. She knows how much worse River would feel if this was happening to him in front of a larger audience than just herself. 

River shakes his head. “I’m not—I might…”

Ah. Louisa’s not sure that she’d care all that much about the potential consequences of puking on the deck, their positions being reversed, but it feels very River, somehow, to not want to risk it. 

“Alright, just—hold on, then. I’ll be back soon.”

She heads once more into the covered portion of the boat and makes her way back to the bar, where she manages to procure a bottle of water, napkins, and some crackers. She’d been hoping for medicine or an offer to stop off at the next dock, but she’ll take what she can get. 

Louisa returns to the upper deck. River is still leaning over the railing and barely stirs at her arrival. He’s sort of crying, Louisa notices, which she supposes is down to the exertion of vomiting more than any truly severe distress. It makes her feel worse for him, all the same.

She wordlessly hands over the bottle of water, watches him struggle to open it with shaking hands for several seconds before doing it herself. 

He says, “thanks,” and his voice is noticeably rougher than it had been before. She decides she’ll hold off on handing over the crackers, not that she particularly expects him to want them, anyway. 

She watches with a critical eye as he rinses out his mouth and wipes his face with a proffered napkin. 

“How are you feeling?” Louisa chances to ask. 

“Shit,” River replies, not meeting her eyes. His sickly grey face has gone pink from what she guesses is a combination of embarrassment and strain. 

“You’re alright,” she offers. “You’ll feel so much better as soon as we get off this boat.”

“When’s—when’s that?”

She checks her watch. Fuck. “About an hour.”

“Fuck,” River echoes her thoughts exactly. He bends down, rests his head against the railing. He looks so fucking miserable and Louisa hates that there’s really nothing she can do. Unless—

“D’you think they’d stop the tour and let us off if I told them we were MI5?”

River shrugs. “Maybe.” He lifts his head briefly and gags harshly over the railing before promptly putting his head back down again. 

Yeah. She’ll go wave her ID in the face of whoever’s in charge here. 

Fifteen minutes later, the boat is pulling up to a dock somewhere beyond Tower Bridge. As they get off, both putting on their very best official-agent-on-official-business looks, River valiantly stopping himself from throwing up in front of the onlookers aboard, Louisa briefly remembers that they were supposed to be examining the bridges. Not that it matters much. She’ll just tell Lamb there was nothing of note—she’s sure there wouldn’t’ve been, anyway. 

The second they step onto the dock, River drops to his knees and throws up once more, unable to hold out any longer. Louisa stands behind him, doing her best to protect him from the suddenly very interested gazes of the people aboard the boat. 

When he’s done, she offers him a hand to his feet. He takes it, staggers upright, blinks hard, then breathes a sigh.  

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I—I feel fine now, actually.”

Based on the scratchiness of his voice, she knows he’s not entirely fine, but evidently the nausea has left as quickly as it’d come. 

She wraps him in a quick side-hug and he leans into her in a way that reassures her, somehow, of his being relatively unhurt by the whole ordeal. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t mention it. Speaking of not mentioning it, actually, we’ve still got like 45 minutes to kill before our tour is supposed to end. I’m hardly going back to Slough House until I’ve got to. Fancy a walk?”

River nods, “yeah, yeah, that’d be nice,” and the pair of them set off together, just like that. 

thanks for reading! hope you liked <333