#Crowd Control Strategies

[ravindersingal]

Discover how effective crowd management prevents disasters. Explore key strategies, planning, and real-world examples for ensuring safety and public order.

Do Visit: https://ravindersingal.com/chaos-to-order-effective-crowd-management/

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that “we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[norristrii]

LOVING YOU THE LOUDEST (or the quietest).

IN WHICH… who’s the yapper and who’s the listener in your relationship.

featuring. Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Charles Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton.

warnings. established relationship, fluff, 1k words.

LANDO NORRIS: yapper! bf x yapper! gf

You and Lando are so loud—like, Zak can hear you two entering the paddock from inside the McLaren garage. There’s never a quiet moment; you’re always yelling, play fighting, making sure the whole world knows you’ve arrived. Whether it's racing each other to the hospitality suite or cracking jokes that only the two of you find funny, the energy is always off the charts.

The paddock has learned that silence, when it comes to you two, is a rare and deeply suspicious. If you ever stop yelling, teasing, or causing a general ruckus for more than a few minutes, panic spreads. Engineers glance at each other nervously. The media starts speculating. Mechanics whisper, “Something's off. They’re too quiet.”

You two are incapable of behaving normally. The moment your eyes meet, it’s instant mischief—grinning like you’re plotting something, pulling faces, throwing middle fingers at each other like it’s a competition. There’s never a dull moment.

And then there’s Lando, who has absolutely no volume control. One second, he’s shouting across the paddock, “THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND!!” like he’s narrating a rom-com, making everyone turn their heads in confusion. The next, he’s randomly singing, mumbling nonsense, or repeating the same word over and over just because the silence between you two felt too unnatural.

There is no peace. There is no quiet. Just pure, uncontrollable chaos.

MAX VERSTAPPEN: yapper! gf x listener! bf

Max is an exceptional listener. No matter how much you talk, ramble, or go off on tangents, there’s never a moment where he makes you feel like it’s too much. He listens—fully present, fully engaged, as if every word genuinely matters to him.

But when it comes to racing, his team, his car, and strategy? That’s when the roles reverse. Suddenly, he’s the one talking nonstop—analyzing every detail, breaking down scenarios, venting frustrations, sharing insights that only someone who lives and breathes racing would notice. And sometimes, out of nowhere, he’ll drop some random fact, something entirely unrelated—just because he thought you’d find it interesting.

And then, there’s the real sign—the way he talks to you. It’s in the way his voice softens just slightly when he’s telling you something important, the way his tone shifts when the conversation is just between the two of you. It’s not loud, or dramatic—it’s quiet, effortless, genuine.

And the most telling part? He remembers everything. If someone casually asks, “Hey Max, what allergies does she have?” he answers immediately, without hesitation. Because he’s the kind of person who doesn’t just listen—he keeps everything, as if every detail about you is worth remembering.

OSCAR PIASTRI: yapper! gf x listener! bf

Oscar being the best listener? Obviously. It’s almost a personality trait at this point. He’s calm—sometimes too calm.

Like when you see a spider in the bathroom. You scream, panic, throw yourself into his arms like it’s a life-or-death situation. And him? Completely unfazed. Just a shrug, a sigh, and a casual walk toward the spider like it’s his daily routine. One swift motion, problem solved, no reaction. Meanwhile, you’re still recovering from the emotional rollercoaster.

But beyond the calm, beyond the spider-killing efficiency, there’s the real Oscar—the one who remembers everything. Your favorite color? Locked in. The exact way you like your coffee? Stored in the database. The specific meal you order at McDonald’s, every single time? He could recite it by heart.

And then, there’s racing—the one place where you’re the loudest voice in the room, the one he always hears. Your cheers cut through everything—through the noise, the crowd, the chaos—and he loves it. Loves how you talk his ear off about things, loves that you fill the silence in his head with you.

He might be quiet. He might not always say much. But if there’s one thing you can count on—he’s always listening.

CARLOS SAINZ: listener! gf x listener/yapper! bf

Carlos is the perfect balance—the rare type who can sit back and absorb everything or take charge of a conversation when needed. Some people are either talkers or listeners, stuck on one side of the spectrum. Not him. He can listen to you for hours, days even, never making you feel like you’re saying too much. He’s the kind of person who actually hears what you’re saying—not just nodding along, but really listening, remembering, understanding.

But flip the switch, and suddenly, he’s the yapper—especially when he’s passionate about something. He can break down races, debate strategies, or go on a tangent about a completely random topic, and you’d sit there listening just as easily. The flow of conversation with him never feels forced—it just happens naturally, like a perfect back-and-forth rhythm where neither of you ever feel the need to hold back.

And that’s the magic of Carlos Sainz. He listens when you need him to, and talks when it’s his turn—effortless, balanced, and always present.

CHARLES LECLERC: listener! gf x yapper! bf

Charles is such a yapper—but in the best way possible. He can jump from deep, philosophical conversations to completely random thoughts like, “Why is the sky blue instead of green?” And somehow, both feel equally important when he’s talking.

And the best part? You love listening to him. Whether he’s ranting about something serious, sharing his dreams, or just going off on one of his endless thought spirals, his energy makes every conversation captivating.

And then, there’s the fact that he talks about you—to Lewis, to the team, probably to anyone who will listen. Your date? He gives Lewis the full breakdown. Something funny you did? He’s sharing it like it’s the highlight of his week. He just loves talking about you, like every little thing is worth mentioning.

He’s the kind of person who could talk forever, and you’d never want him to stop.

LEWIS HAMILTON: listener! gf x yapper! bf

Lewis is one of those undercover yappers—people assume he’s more reserved, but once he gets going, he does not stop. He’s got opinions, insights, stories, and he’s not afraid to share them.

Silence? Not really his thing. He fills every gap with conversation—whether it’s about sports, fashion, music, racing, life, or even deep philosophical thoughts. He thrives on discussion, on exchanging ideas, on turning even the smallest detail into an interesting conversation.

And with you? Oh, he talks even more. He knows you’ll listen, knows he can tell you anything—whether it’s breaking down a race weekend, analyzing the latest streetwear trends, or just casually debating something completely random. He’s effortlessly engaging, effortlessly present, always keeping the conversation flowing.

So yes, Lewis is a yapper. Not the loudest in the room, not the most obvious—but the kind who, once he starts, pulls you into his world, word by word, thought by thought, until you never want him to stop.

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! My first fic that includes grid…quick headcanons as I’m trying to finish fuckboy! lando… I love doing these short headcanons, and there’s definitely coming in the futuree!! I’ll do separated masterlist for the grid<33

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[mishappeningss]

Could we please see some protective Toto with driver!y/n please x

ohhhh girl, he doesn’t play when it comes to yn. do NOTTTT mess w her. that man would burn down the paddock for her if it meant that she’ll be in peace

more about driver!yn

Monza, Italy

YN was walking back to the paddock, helmet in hand, suit still half-zipped down. Her jaw was clenched. She’d just been shoved into P11 in the final seconds of Q2—blocked on her last flyer by a driver who very much should’ve moved.

And the media? Already swarming.

“YN, do you think your lack of pace in Sector 2 is the reason—”

“Was that final lap failure a driver error—?”

“Do you think maybe the pressure’s getting to you—?”

Her eyes were flat. She hadn’t said a word. Her PR manager tried to cut in, but the crowd was pressing forward, cameras flashing in her face. One reporter’s mic nearly touched her shoulder.

And then—

“Enough.”

One word. Calm. Deep.

The crowd parted. Toto Wolff stepped through them like he was entering war. Tall, suited, no sunglasses, and done with the noise.

“You think shouting at a young woman after a session like that is journalism?” he said sharply, voice low but cutting.

“She was blocked in a live lap, and you know it. So unless you want to talk about actual data, back up.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. Just one step forward and the press was scattering like birds.

Toto turned to her, tone shifting immediately.

“You alright?”

She nodded, stiffly. Still swallowing back the anger.

He gently took her helmet from her, hand resting on her back, and guided her away like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times.

“You don’t answer when people try to reduce you,” he said, quietly, once they were alone in the corridor. “You are not their story to twist.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“They’re just gonna say I’m being dramatic.”

Toto smiled, soft but fierce.

“Let them. They’ll still speak your name right when you’re on the podium next week.”

user: TOTO WOLFF SAID “ENOUGH” AND THE MEDIA PACK FROZE 😭😭😭

user: “you are not their story to twist” he’s not her boss he’s her father figure i’m sobbing

user: i need toto wolff to gently take my helmet and ask me if im okay

user: someone give toto a “girl dad” mug right now. RIGHT. NOW.

user: she looked tired, he stepped in. no questions asked. real leadership. real care.

Zandvoort, Netherlands

She had made it to the finish, somehow, after an early incident left her front wing scraped and her strategy absolutely ruined.

P14. No points. And worse—some comments flying around that it was “clumsy driving.” From him.

That driver.

The one who closed the door on her mid-corner like she didn’t exist. The one who’d already tried it twice this season.

She didn’t go to the hospitality. Just sat on the back steps of the motorhome still in her race suit, elbows on her knees, trying to breathe through the simmering anger.

Not because of the finish—but because everyone was acting like she was overreacting. Again.

Until a shadow fell over her.

Toto. No clipboard. No data sheets. Just him, looking down at her like he already knew everything without needing to be told.

“Talk to me.”

She didn’t look up.

“They’re gonna say I was reckless again,” she muttered. “And I didn’t even touch him. He just slammed it shut and—God, I’m so tired of defending myself for existing on track.”

Toto knelt. Knelt. In his white shirt and radio still clipped to his belt.

“You don’t owe them silence just because they’re louder,” he said. “And if they think they can bully you into shrinking, they’ve forgotten who you race for.”

She glanced up. His voice wasn’t angry—it was controlled. But his eyes? That glint? That was fury.

“I’ll be in the stewards’ office in ten minutes,” he said. “If they don’t review his mirrors, I’ll review them for him.”

“Toto—”

“No. You raced fair. You always race fair. And I won’t let them rewrite your races like they rewrite your quotes.”

He stood, extended a hand. “Come on, liebling. Let’s remind them who raised hell first.”

Later, in the post-race interview, one reporter poked. Too bold.

“Do you think YN needs to mature a bit more when it comes to racecraft?”

Toto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re talking about a driver who held P6 for twenty laps on worn hards, defended cleanly, and drove home a damaged car like it was still brand new.” He leaned in, voice slow. Measured. Dangerous.

“If that’s immaturity, then I suggest you re-learn what greatness looks like.”

The room went silent. No one asked about her again.

user: he knelt down. TOTO WOLFF KNEELED FOR HER like she was royalty. i’m unwell.

user: no because the way he said “she’ll shake the sport and they’ll hate her for it” ??? he’s SEEN HER DESTINY

user: “if they don’t review his mirrors, i’ll review them for him” TOTO YOU’RE INSANE IN THE BEST WAY

user. he didn’t just stand up for her. he stood with her. every step. every camera. every doubt. that’s a real one.

user. toto is the only team principal who’d bring you soup, hold your earrings during a fight, and then dismantle your enemies.

Suzuka Circuit – FIA Driver Meeting

She had barely sat down when it began.

A comment. Low blow. One of the more senior drivers made a snide remark about her “emotional overreactions” on team radio.

Laughter followed. Not from everyone—but enough. Enough to sting.

She stayed quiet. Tensed jaw. One hand squeezing her water bottle like it was the only thing anchoring her.

Then the door opened.

Toto. Not scheduled to be in the room. Not supposed to be there. But he walked in with the kind of energy that made people shut up without knowing why.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said coolly, scanning the room. “Please, do go on. I’d love to hear more of these insightful critiques.”

The driver who made the joke sank a little lower in his seat.

Toto turned to the FIA rep.

“If this is what a ‘professional environment’ looks like, I have some concerns about how you define safety—because hostile isn’t safe. Humiliation isn’t safe. And if you let this continue, you’ll be seeing lawyers, not lap times.”

Dead silence. Every head down.

“Let me be very clear. If one more driver, team, or official undermines her professionalism, we will escalate it. You will not break what we’ve built because her confidence makes you uncomfortable.”

He turned, met her eyes. Said nothing else.

Didn’t need to.

Later That Night, Mercedes Hospitality Unit

She was sitting alone. Hoodie over her head, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. Still a little shell-shocked.

Not from the jokes—but from how easy it was for people to dismiss her. How quickly they turned.

Toto sat down across from her, quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to make a scene,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

“It’s just… sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever take me seriously.”

Toto tilted his head. Eyes kind.

“You think respect is something you wait to be handed?”

She didn’t answer.

“No,” he said firmly. “You take it. And you’ve earned it every time you’ve stepped into that car. Every lap. Every debrief.”

He leaned in slightly.

“Let me worry about everything else. You just keep driving like they can’t catch you.”

user. toto wolff said “you will not break what we’ve built” i’m CRYING he’s such a paddock dad it’s insane

user: not toto crashing the driver meeting like a protective mom who got the email 😭😭😭

user: “you think respect is something you wait to be handed?” I need this engraved on my soul

user: the way he sees through her silence??? he doesn’t just protect her career he protects her confidence

user: lawyer up. he literally said he’d take the fia to court. a MAN.

user: you know what? i want toto wolff to be disappointed in me. i want to be coached. i want to be protected.

[uniquecutie-puffs]

Heartstring & Hellfire: Chapter 02

Fanart of Heartstring & Hellfire by @lazyemmy

G O L D E N

In the underworld, all demons had gathered, making way for the trembling, lone surviving female demon flight attendant. Her legs shook beneath her as she walked toward a towering platform, throne of the King of Demons. Whimpers escaped her lips, echoing in the eerie silence, as thousands of demonic eyes followed her.

She halted at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne. Frozen in fear, she hesitated.

A deafening growl erupted.

Her demonic markings flared red. An invisible force seized her, lifting her off the ground and slamming her down before the throne of Gwi-Ma—the King of Demons. Weakened from lack of soul consumption, he appeared as a massive inferno, only his gaping, flaming mouth visible.

"Let me guess. They got away again?" he asked, eerily calm.

"The Hunters... they're too strong," she whimpered.

"I understand."

"You... you do?" she blinked, surprised by his compassion.

"I understand you're WEAK!" Gwi-Ma roared, launching hellfire at her. Her screams pierced the air as she burned alive.

"Pathetic! Useless! All of you!" he bellowed. The demons trembled, terrified of becoming his next victim.

"Don't you idiots understand? Once the Hunters turn the Honmoon gold, it's over for us!" he snapped. Above them, the Honmoon, a celestial phenomenon had pulsed, glowing gold, expanding steadily.

A soft, melodic pluck of a bipa echoed.

"There once was a mighty demon king," a lyrical voice chimed. The demons turned toward the sound. A male demon in a black hanbok stood atop a hongsalmun gate. "Stop me if you've heard this one."

"He was in total control. He feasted on souls. The world trembled when he roared."

The demon floated down, a massive demon tiger trailing behind him. The crowd parted, not in reverence, but in fear.

"But then some Hunters sang a song. Now he just starves all day long. Can't touch a soul, his fire's gone cold. Just a whisper in the dark."

~"Will he let the fire go out?” “Is this the end of him now?” “Dying king with a crumbling crown?” “Will he let the fire go out?"~

The singer reached the foot of the throne. Gwi-Ma’s mouth smoldered. "I let you keep that voice, Jinu. And you dare mock me with it?" Four more demons materialized behind Jinu.

"I’m not mocking you. I’m here to help," Jinu said. "It’s time for a new strategy. We fight the Hunters where they least expect it."

He gestured dramatically. The five of them hovered up to the throne platform.

"Go after the source of their power. The fans."

The five struck a pose.

"A demon boy band?" Gwi-Ma blinked. Then laughed, a massive roar of flame and noise. The crowd forced laughter. "What makes you think that will work?"

With a snap, Jinu transformed his crew into stunning, charismatic idols. The demons gasped in awe.

“Yeah. That's totally gonna work.” “Yeah. 100%.” All other demons below agree with the transformation, others are even astonished with their new look. 

"Okay. I know you, Jinu. In 400 years, you've never done anything that didn’t serve yourself. What do you want?" Jinu’s smirk faded. A flash of painful memory, a woman and a child. Gone in an instant. "The memories. I want them erased."

The concert ended. Fans exited the arena, buzzing about the gold shimmer on the Honmoon. In the underground lift, the three Hunters and (Y/n) celebrated.

"Did we just see gold?!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we're doing it."

"It's so exciting!"

"Okay. You know what this means boys. It’s time to release that song."

“Yes! It's finally time!”

“We're gonna turn it gold. Yay!”

“The moment we waited for.”

“Yes!”

But Rumi coughed unexpectedly. (Y/n) swayed.

"Whoa. That was weird." Rumi had coughed unexpectedly in front of them. 

“Whoa!” (Y/n) exclaimed as she suddenly felt woozy, as all the boys held her steady. 

"Good thing we're taking a break."

"Yeah. Sounds like you both need the rest."

"Yeah. Just need a little water."

"Did someone say water?"

“Hi, Bobby.”

The lift doors opened. Staff swarmed in, led by Bobby. Meeting the proud smiles of their manager, Bobby.

"Water! Now! What a show! That guy in the demon suit exploding into confetti? Amazing!"

"Yeah... ‘special effects,’" Miro said, sharing a look with (Y/n).

"Social numbers are off the charts! (Y/n), since your manager's on vacation, I’ll cover you," Bobby said.

(Y/N) walks beside the boys and has someone adjust her robes and take off some of her accessories.

(Y/n) smiled kindly. "Thanks, Bobby, but you don't have to—"

“You really are an angel, (Y/N). But I promise you that everything is fine and I can manage it well. As long as you are with the boys.” Bobby said, reassuring the worried girl of his capabilities. 

“So, to celebrate, I booked you all a week-long staycation at the fanciest, most exclusive relaxation resort in Korea.” As a reward for the success and topping the charts yet again, Bobby organised a staycation at a fancy resort for them. But they promptly denied it.  

The boys exchanged glances.

"Sorry, Bobby. We’ve already got the hottest ticket in town."

"What?"

"To our couch! Couch! Couch!"

“Bobby, you should go enjoy the resort. This tour has been grueling for everyone.” Rumi said to their manager. 

“Yeah. You deserve it.” (Y/N) Continues as she agrees with what Rumi said to Bobby. 

“Me? Ah, no. I couldn't possibly.” He tried to deny it at first but accepted it in the end. “Just kidding. Robe me. I'm a 34 short. See you in a couple weeks, boys and (Y/N)!” Since the resort is now available, Rumi states that he should go to the resort instead. Bobby promptly got a robe and face mask on.

“Bye, Bobby!” All four of them greet the manager with farewells. 

As he left, he paused. "(Y/n), you okay? You look pale." Bobby questions, pausing her exit to follow the boys. Granted she didn't feel all that fine the past few days but since she didn't want any to worry about it due to it may have been over work and the stress for the concert. 

“Yeah, I feel fine, it may have just been the over workload and the stress. But I promise to get some rest.” (Y/N)  smiled brightly in order to assure Bobby and the other staff members behind him. (Y/N) then caught up with the boys on their way out. 

The group left, excited for two weeks off. “All right. Two weeks of vacation.”  

“Yes. Vacations.” Rumi said while smiling deceptively like he was up to something the others didn't know about. 

In the middle of Seoul Korea is a building owned by Hunrix themselves. If it was not obvious to the giant Huntrix logo brightly lit on top of the tower. This was the home of the members of the Huntrix but what the public doesn't know is that this was also the home of (Y/n), who just lived below the top penthouse. 

The elevator opened to show all three boys still in their robes arriving home. While (Y/n) went home first to change clothing. 

“Mmm! I can't wait to eat kimbap and stare at the ceiling.” Miro said dreamily at the prospects of rest and food. 

“I already picked a movie for us. It's actually a list of 700 two-second videos to watch, all about turtles.” Zane said fast, while in the background Rumi can be seen hyperfocusing on his phone about something.  “Mm-hm.”

“Sounds super boring. But (Y/n) loves turtles, I'm so down to watch with her here.”

“Let’s do this.” Rumi said gleefully as he pressed the button that said ‘launch’ on his phone screen, where a new album cover of all three members of the Huntrix wearing black armor with golden chain accessories. While (Y/n) was positioned besides Rumi on the cover was dressed in an all white tube top and high waisted skirt with a gold jacket that resembles the jacket worn by the boys but only it was cropped and it also features her signature wings behind her ears and the tips of the wings were colored blue, purple, and pink to represent the three boys in her life. A new single by Huntrix featuring (Y/n) was released to the public, a new song entitled ‘Golden’.

Rumi then went to their vast giant walk-in closet where all their previous concert and hunting outfits were all stored. He stops in front of four specific outfits that were worn by the four in the cover of the song. “It's time.” He said, smirking to himself. 

“Couch! Couch! Couch!” Chanted by both Miro and Zane while holding various foods towards their couch in front of a floor to ceiling window overlooking the city. As they plop down on the most comfortable couch they have. Both sighed in relief as the tiresome weight already had been lifted from their shoulders. “Couch!”

“Ah, yeah. That’s the stuff.”

“So relaxing.”

“Yeah.”

Rumi's head was then seen lifting behind the couch with a giant smile on his face. “Hey. Have a good break?”

“Huh?” Both boys relaxing on the couch were baffled by what Rumi just asked them.

“What? No. We literally just sat down!” Miro declared. 

As Rumi then further stood up on his two feet making his costume more visible to the other two boys and even smiled wider. “Why are you in your new costume?”

“Rumi, you didn't.” The two tried to convince Rumi but in reality they were convincing themselves that their rest was not interrupted. 

“Did you announce the new single?” Miro had this annoyed look on his face.

“The promo starts tomorrow - - tonight?” While Zane looked like he was about to cry.

“Tonight?”

As Rumi showed the boys their own costumes to wear, both tried to convince Rumi to let them have their break. 

“Rumi, no!”

“No!”

“But the pajamas! Time alone with (Y/n). But no! No!.”

Both boys were now sobbing and crying out ‘No’ but knowing their leader it was already too late and they could kiss their vacation time bye bye. The elevator doors open only for (Y/n) to come in her white nightgown as she was looking at her phone, her angel wings on the sides of her head were visible since it indicates comfortability with the boys. 

“Hey! Ugh, guys did you know someone had leaked the promotion and the song for Golden on social media?” She query the boys only to meet all three dressed in their ‘Golden’ outfits, with both Miro and Zane slumped down and crying behind a smiling Rumi, who was also holding up (Y/n)’s own ‘Golden’ jacket, tube top and skirt. 

“(Y/n) help us.”

“(Y/n) save yourself.”

“Well, I'm out. I seem to forget that I left the stove on. I should probably go home.” (Y/n) tried to run out back to the elevator, but a hand on her left shoulder stopped her. She slowly turns her head left to see Rumi's face as chills run down her spine by his unnerving smile towards her. 

“Where do you think you're going, (Y/n)?” Rumi demanded from her while he kept on smiling. The silence that followed was frightening to both (Y/n) and the other two boys. 

The elevator doors opened once again showing Bobby walking towards the group. Both Miro and Zane were still sobbing while (Y/n) was hugging herself beside Rumi looking traumatized as her wings were still visible, making it so that Bobby will assume it’s part of the look. 

“Boys, oh! and (Y/n), you won't believe this!”

“Bobby!” Miro uttered dejectedly.

“No more relaxy time!” Zane voiced out down heartedly. While Rumi was standing confidently and smiling, as (Y/n) was quietly standing beside him, traumatized by what just happened. 

“Your new single is on fire! Everyone's listening to it.” Bobby said frantically happily to the four in front of him. Which caught the attention of the three.

“Yay!” All four of them cheered together. 

“So let's go promo!” Bobby then changed into his own version of the 'Golden’ outfit consisting of a black blazer with gold design with black slacks.

HUNTRIX: GOLDEN

C O M I N G  S O O N

A countdown is promoted in every phone of fans waiting for it to reach zero. In the background of the countdown was a gold light surrounding the upper bodies of both Rumi and (Y/n).

“New single?”

“New single?” Everyone in the streets can be seen excited for the new single to be released. 

“New Huntrix with (Y/n)?”

In a giant screen in the middle of the street the music video starts to play. The lyrics song of redemption, friendship, and rising from the dark. All four ran into the light together.

Rumi, laying down on a bed with a golden streak from a semi opened door hitting his face. Miro, seated in a window seal as golden light comes from the sky. Zane, leaning against school lockers as golden light shines from the windows. 

(Y/n), curled up in a corner in a room filled with nothing but darkness, with her head hiding in her lap hugging her knees, as a golden light comes from above.

All four of them, with the golden light from the sun shines on them as they freely drive, with Miro as the driver, Zane in the passenger seat, and both Rumi and (Y/n) seated in the back seat. 

As fans eagerly wait for the start of the music video, the whole crowd counts down in Korean from 5… 

4… 

3… 

2… 

1… 

~”I was a ghost, I was alone (hah)

어두워진 (Eoduwojin) (hah), 압길 속에 (apgil soge) (ah)”~

~”Given the throne, I didn't know how to believe

I was the queen that I'm meant to be (oh)”~

~”I lived two lives, tried to play both sides

But I couldn't find my own place (oh, oh)”~

“~Called a problem child, 'cause I got too wild

But now that's how I'm gettin' paid, 끝없이 (kkeuteopsi) on stage”~

~”I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'

Like I'm born to be”~

~”We dreamin' hard, we came so far

Now I believe”~

As the video shows each of the boys having a door opened to them as they are guided by the golden light. While (Y/n) was shown that golden light fills the empty space but then the light was blocked by three figures, she lifts her head up to see all the boys with their hands reaching out to her. Blinded by the golden light behind the boys, she could still see them smiling down at her, renewed by this she took the hand in the middle while the other two helped her stand. As all four of them ran into the light Together as one. 

~”We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment

You know together we're glowin'

Gonna be, gonna be golden”~

Multiple tweets are then shown talking about how amazing the new single, how amazing Huntriz is, how unbelievable it is to feature (Y/n) in a different light with her angel wings looking more realistic on her, and then fans debating whose hand (Y/n) took. “You see my head bobbing?”

~”Oh, up, up, up with our voices

영원히 깨질 수 없는 (Yeongwonhi kkaejil su eomneun)

Gonna be, gonna be golden”~

“Tell us about that new single?” A live interview set up in public where both the Huntrix and (Y/n) talks about their new collaboration song.

“Golden. It's the story of us.” Miro started

“It's a song about who we are, and where we're going next.” “As well as how our friendship will continue to stay strong.” Both Rumi and (Y/n) continued.

“And the first live performance is tonight!” Zane said excitedly as a presentation behind them emphasized the first live performance of Golden. 

“It's the beginning of a new chapter for us.”

~”Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'

Like I'm born to be

Oh, our time, no fears, no lies

That's who we're born to be”~

Thousands of fans chanted and cheered in front of the building of World Cable News for the upcoming performance.  

“For the whole world. We're so excited to show you what's next.”

Bobby double checked everything with the staff so that the live performance will be perfect. 

Miro and Zane in their shared dressing room can be seen laughing and taking selfies with each other.

But with (Y/n) and Rumi in two seperate dressing rooms. Can be seen upset about something. 

~”Waited so long to break these walls down

To wake up and feel like me”~

(Y/n) hunched over the table sadly looking into the mirror in front of her and lifting one her feathers to see some already turned black, as Rumi leaned against the wall between him and the other boys wearing a robe looking dejected. As he walked towards the mirror letting go of the robe his demonic purple patterns showed around his arms and chest, (Y/n) slowly pulling down her skirt to show her lower neval a different kind of red demonic patterns can be shown. 

~”Put these patterns all in the past now

And finally live like the boy they all see”~

~”No more hidin', I'll be shinin'

Like I'm born to be”~

With a deep breath from the both of them and renewed strength, fixing their appearances. Both went out of their dressing room to see each other and (Y/n) holding her hand out to Rumi. Which he took and faced her while lovinly looking her in the eye, silently communicating to one another and smiling together. 

~”'Cause we are hunters, voices strong

And I know I believe”~

~”We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment

You know together we're glowin'

Gonna be, gonna be golden

Oh, up, up, up with our voices

영원히 깨질 수 없는 (Yeongwonhi kkaejil su eomneun)

Gonna be, gonna be golden”~

All four of them can be seen practising their live performance as fans continue to cheer from outside the station. 

“(Y/n) and Rumi's voice!”

“I can't wait to hear them both live!”

Bobby with the camera crew and the other staff can be seen also dancing to the new song. Because of that he also accidentally hit a nearby camera man. “Ah, sorry.”

~”Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'

Like I'm born to be —”

Rumi was surprised to choke during his singing so he tried to clear his throat. As for (Y/n), she suddenly felt a burst of pain in her abdominal area and put an arm around it but stopped as she covered her pain, so that no one from the boys would be worried. 

“Huh?”

“You okay?” Miro asked in concern for Rumi, as Zane looked worried also with Rumi none of them saw (Y/n) quickly holding abdomen in pain. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Let's take it again. From the top.” Rumi tried to convince everyone that he was okay.   

~”Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'

Like I'm born to be —”

All four of them started the practice from the top to perfect the performance for the fans with Bobby still dancing in front of them. Rumi once again coughed out of nowhere as the music stopped. 

“Um, Rumi, are you okay? Do you need some water?” Bobby asked out of concern to one of the boys he considers as one of his own. 

Rumi, still shocked about his voice choking, can't accept it until he remembers about his patterns. “I just need five. I'm gonna take five.” He said before walking out of the stage. 

“Five minutes? We go live in ten!” A concerned female station staff said. 

“Um…”

Both Miro and Zane looked at one another in worry but (Y/n) was already looking in worry to the direction Rumi went.

“I'll go with him, Bobby, just to check on him.” (Y/n) announced as she ran after Rumi before anyone could say something, she was already gone. 

“Okay, I can handle this. I'm not having a nervous breakdown. Visualized there's not 10,000 fans at the door screaming and sounding scary.” Bobby trying to convince himself while smiling nervously.

“Mayday! There's 10,000 fans at the door screaming and sounding scary!” Two security guards, afraid for their lives, said into their walkie talkies as fans surrounding them kept on screaming and wanting to go inside of the station. Both guards were hugging each other for protection against the fans, one of them even took a picture for evidence for hazard pay. 

Rumi ran back to his dressing room removing the harness between his jacket, as he slowly walked to the mirror pulling down the zipper in his tight white shirt. Rumi was shocked to see that the patterns increased, growing towards his throat.

“My voice? Ah, no. No.” Breathing heavily he couldn't accept with what's happening. 

A knock was heard from his door. “Rumi, is everything okay? Is it about that?” (Y/n) asked genuinely concerned since she knew about his patterns.

Rumi looked back at himself in the mirror and hastily fixed his outfit back. “I'm okay, (Y/n). I promise, I just need time for myself.”

“Oh, okay. I'll tell Bobby and the others then.” She said hesitantly, putting her hands and forehead on the door that separates her and Rumi. “Rumi, you know that I'm always here for you about anything. I'll always be here for you.” She said before walking away to inform the others that the live performance needs to be cancelled and rescheduled.

Unknown to (Y/n) and the others, Rumi had left the station by the emergency exit, conveniently avoiding the eyes of the crowd of fans. As Rumi began to run away from everyone, from the pain, from the loneliness, and from everything. 

He began to remember a memory from his childhood that he tried to repress. A song he was thought to sing whenever he felt like he was letting everyone down and that his fears and weaknesses are showing. He could hear his younger self sing echoing in his ear.

~”We are Hunters, voices strong.”~

~”Slaying demons with our song.”~ 

A young Rumi singing in front of a grave while Celine made braids around his hair. 

~”Fix the world and make it right.”~

~”When darkness finally meets the light.”~

“Celine, do Hunters kill all demons?” A young Rumi asked as his little mind contemplated the meaning and words of the song. 

“Yes.”

“So everything that has patterns?” He asked as he lifted up his sleeve to show two purple patterns on his right arm. 

“Cover those up. You only have those because–” She said while fixing young Rumi's sleeve to hide the patterns. 

“My dad was a demon?”

“You're not one of them, Rumi. You're a Hunter, like your mother was.” Both of them looked to the grave stone in front of them. “When the Honmoon is sealed, all demons will be gone from this world. And so will your patterns.”

“So these will be gone?”

“Yes. Those will be gone. Rumi… tomorrow there's someone I want you to meet, my daughter. She will be living with us starting tomorrow and I want you to be kind to her.”

A young Rumi naively believed in what she said, now is more determined to seal up the Honmoon. While excited to meet someone that can be potentially a friend. 

THE NEXT DAY…

“Rumi, this is (Y/n). She's an angel, protector of the Hunters and the world. Angels have existed even before Hunters were known. She will be living with us from now on.” Celine explained as she had her hands on the shoulder of a 10 year old (Y/n).

Rumi was in aw when he saw (Y/n) with wings on her head while dressed in a cute floral white dress. “Hi, I'm (Y/n). It's very nice to meet you Rumi. I… I hope we can be the best of friends.” She said while holding her little hands out to Rumi for a handshake which he was hesitant to take since he was flustered with how cute (Y/n) was. 

“Me… Me too. Let's be best friends.” He said as (Y/n) smiled and giggled at him.  

Rumi kept on running and running even passing by the arena where their last concert was held. 

Rumi as a teenage boy leaning against his bedroom door covering his growing patterns. Behind the door was Miro and Zane asking him to accompany them to the bath house. 

“You always say no, Rumi.” Zane complained

“You're so modest. It's just the bathhouse. (Y/n), I can understand since she's a girl but...”  Miro was his usual sarcastic self.

“Maybe some other time. You guys go ahead.”

“Everytime.” “Mm-hm.” Both Miro and Zane sighed but went to the bath house anyway.

Celine was seated on the kitchen island reading the newspaper in the Huntrix home. Rumi, knowing that the boys were now gone, wanted to ask her something that was weighing on his mind.

“Maybe they'll understand. Like (Y/n) did.“ He inquired about telling the boys. 

“No, Rumi. Nothing can change until your patterns are gone. And (Y/n) she's different from the boys.” She firmly said looking him in the eyes. 

As Rumi reached the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings in korea. Breathing heavily and feeling restrictive by his jacket, taking it off and dropping it behind him. As he walked towards the edge of the building overlooking the city of Seoul. He tried to sing again. 

~“No more hiding, I'll be shining.”~

~”Like I'm born to be!”~ 

He was trying so hard to sing out his heart.

~”Cause we are Hunters, voices strong.”~

~”And I know I believe!”~

But try as he may, his voice just kept on breaking into coughs. He couldn't help but cry out his heart. As he dropped into his knees triggering the Honmoon to shine.

“How am i supposed to fix the world, fix me, protect (Y/n), when I don't have my voice?” He tried to ask someone for an answer to his questions. 

“Why now, when (Y/n) and me are so close?” As the Honmoon continue to shine in it's bright blue hue. Rumi can feel the rising frustrations building inside of him. 

“Why?” He asks, feeling helpless. Which didn't feel right for him.

“WHY?!” Rumi's voice turned for the first time demonic as he punched into the ground in anger as a red streak began to flow around the Honmoon. Shocked by what he saw he couldn't breathe normally afraid of what may come as the Honmoon returned back to its normal colors. But the hunting voice of his child self began to sing reminding him of his duty. 

~”We are Hunters, voices strong.”~

Rumi covered himself back with his jacket due to the cold temperature as the elevator doors to their home opened. Where he was greeted with Miro and Zane waiting for him. Words didn't need to be said as the both of them comforted Rumi, who let out a sigh of relief. But then, noticed someone was missing. 

“Where's (Y/n)?” He asked the other two.

“She's not with you?” Miro asked Rumi in concern.

“She went after you, after she informed everyone that the live performance needed to be rescheduled.” Zane informed Rumi as the familiar ding from the elevator doors shows a concerned (Y/n) hugging herself. 

“Guys, did Rumi come hom– Rumi!” (Y/n) sighed in relief and hugged Rumi. As he hugged back, Rumi couldn't help but hugged her tighter and inhaled her comforting scent, which caused the other two boys feeling left out and jealous joined in the hugging session. But what the boys didn't notice was how uncomfortable and in pain she was.

Previously back to the station…

As (Y/n) walked back to the stage area and went towards where Bobby was. 

“Bobby, we need to reschedule the live performance. Rumi isn't feeling well and I don't think it’s best  for him to push himself right now.” She said firmly to Bobby and to nearby station staff.

“But… But. No. You are right (Y/n). My boy's health comes first.” Bobby was surprised at first at what she said but knowing that the boys and (Y/n) are his top priority agreed with her. But then one of the male staff came running in and stopped in front of Bobby and (Y/n), as he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Rumi is gone. It seems like he went out of the emergency exit.”

“What?” Both Zane and Miro said as they walked near to Bobby and (Y/n) as they heard what the male staff said.

“Rumi is gone? Then what about the live performance?” Zane asked.

“It's going to be rescheduled. Bobby, I trust that you can handle things here?  Miro and Zane, both of you go back to the tower and wait for Rumi there if he comes home.” (Y/n) gave them tasks as she tried to walk towards a different exit only to be stopped by a hand grabbing her wrist, and it was Miro.

“Wait. What about you (Y/n)? What are you going to do?” He asked in concern for her well being. 

“I'm going to look for him. I have been with him since we were kids, I know him better than anyone else.” She said to Miro as she put her hands on his to let him know that she will be fine on her own. 

“I promise that if I don't find him within the hour. I’ll come back home.” She assured him and her smile. As Miro let her go he couldn't help but felt something would go wrong but trusted her too much to stop her. 

As (Y/n) ran around nearby places where Rumi could have gone. Minutes had already passed as she stopped to rest in a deserted park and sat on a bench. She couldn't help but think back to her and Celine have a serious talk about Rumi's patterns.

Years before...

As Rumi walked back to his room and locked himself there for the rest of the evening until the boys returned back from their trip to the bathhouse. (Y/n) showed herself to Celine who was still reading the newspaper. 

“You know Celine, if you could give the boys a chance. I believe they would still accept Rumi for who he is.”

“We already discussed this (Y/n). When Rumi was born with the patterns I made a promise to her that I would love and protect Rumi. You would know that since you were there.” A memory flashed of Celine holding the hands of Rumi's mother, the woman she loved and took her last breath. While an older (Y/n) who silently cried over the loss of one of her friends, was sitting at the side of the bed lovingly holding a baby Rumi in her arms. 

“I know that very well. But you could never know how deep a friendship like theirs could overcome.”

“Then what about you? When are you going to open up that an Angel like yourself has lived for over a thousand years. And when one Hunter die's it's time for you to be reborn as an infant.” Celine countered back to what (Y/n) just said. As silence fills the place, Celine already knows the answer to her question.

“Rumi's patterns must be hidden from the boys and your secret must be kept only between us for your safety. You and I both know the value of your soul.” Celine said as she left the Hunrix tower to go back home. 

And (Y/n) couldn't help but lay down on the couch, thinking about what Celine just said and she rested her right hand on her navel.

As (Y/n) stood up from the bench thinking of going back to the tower and waiting for Rumi there with the others. A sudden burst of pain made her kneel to the ground and wrap her right arm around her abdomen and her left hand dig into the ground. Suddenly the pain vanished but with shaky hands (Y/n) reached into the left pocket of her skirt to retrieve her compact mirror, only to see some of her feathers from her wings were turning black. 

“No. No. No. No” (Y/n) was starting to panic as she tried to block out the noise.

“Please, no. I thought I was free from him. Please.” (Y/n) couldn't take it anymore.

“NO!” Just like Rumi, (Y/n) pounded both her hands onto the ground. A powerful surge of red streak flowed throughout the Honmoon before it returned back to its normal color.

(Y/n) Still shocked by what happened just let it go and dusted herself off and went to the direction of the Huntrix tower to go back home. 

As the elevator zoomed up to the highest floor, (Y/n) couldn't help but felt cold and hugged herself. When the doors opened she was surprised to see Rumi already there. (Y/n) sighed in relief and hugged Rumi, as the other two boys joined in for the hug she suddenly felt the pain resurfaced once again but hid it from the boys. 

After the hugging session between the boys and (Y/n), Miro and Zane had let Rumi and (Y/n) change their Golden outfit to comfort wear, where Miro lent her one of his shirts since the boys didn't want to part yet with (Y/n). All of them are now seated in the dining room eating homemade garak-guksu, a thick noodle soup made by (Y/n) herself. 

“I… I'm sorry about the show.” Rumi didn't have any appetite despite his favorite being anything that (Y/n) cooks for him. 

“Rumi, it’s okay. I'm sure everything will be fine. Bobby can handle it” Zane being the ever positive one in the group, comforted Rumi knowing that they all put each other first before anything else. Until his phone rang with Bobby calling him. 

“Hi, Bobby!”

“Boys, I can't handle this!” Bobby expressed his concerns and stress in a very unfortunate time. 

“There's thousands of disappointed fans, and the network is losing their minds.” Because of what Bobby just said to the phone, it made Rumi even more guilty for causing unnecessary trouble for their manager. (Y/n) seeing this reached out and held his left hand to show him comfort. 

“Okay, this is why you pay me 3% and I got commissions for representing (Y/n). Okay, back off! My boys and (Y/n) will sing when they're ready.” Bobby finds courage to fight back at what is presumed to be staff from the network. Miro having enough of it ended the call seeing that it only hurts Rumi more. 

“It's okay. We can reschedule another live show within days.”

“I… I don't know if that's going to be possible. My voice, it's in trouble.” Rumi hated having to say that knowing that Hunters are supposed to never show their weakness. 

“Wait, in trouble? Then why did you push the ‘Golden’ release?” Miro genuinely asked Rumi for the reason for their vacation to be cancelled. 

“Because we're so close, and it's so important.” Giving out his reason for releasing it early despite promising the boys their well deserved break. 

“But not as important as your health, Rumi. You… All three of you are important to me… To each other. So we shouldn't prioritise our duty over wellbeing.” (Y/n) Said firmly to each boy but mostly especially to Rumi as she squeezed the hand she was holding. 

“Okay, how do we handle this?” Zane wanted eagerly to help Rumi both out of care but also of concern that without Rumi's voice the Honmoon could be in danger and how it is important to Rumi as well. 

“What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Celine?” Zane suggested. 

“We know what she'd say, Zane.” Miro rolling his eyes at the memory.

“Oh, right.” Clearing his throat. 

“We are hunters. Voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen.” Both boys imitated the way Celine repeatedly said to them during their training days. Laughing at the absurdity of how many times they heard that line. 

“Whoa. You sound exactly like her.” Miro complemented Zane for his imitations. 

“Yeah, that's how she says it."

“No. We gotta hide it and fix it.” Miro suddenly said to Rumi in seriousness.

“For sure. We have to hide it. Mm-hm.” Zane totally agreed with what Miro said. Rumi thinks about what they can do as he looked at (Y/n) eating peacefully and was there as a calming presence for each of them. 

“Rumi, why don't we take a break? We'll skip the Idol Awards this year and–” Zane suggested knowing that the stress and over work is maybe getting to Rumi. Who then cut him off. “No. No way.”  

“It's our most important show. It's when we strengthen the Honmoon for the entire year. And where (Y/n) will be able to ward off all demons with her light. We can't skip it. we just can't.” Rumi is resolute and will not waver on it. Due to the significance of the Idol Awards to the Honmoon. 

“Not when I'm so close.” Miro and Zane shared a look then looked at (Y/n) who was looking at Rumi with sadness in her eyes, also looked at both boys and gave them a nod with a small smile. 

“Hey, we'll get through this. We can get through anything. Together.” Zane said, putting a comforting hand on Rumi's right shoulder. 

“Okay. We have two weeks to fix Rumi's voice. Any ideas?” Miro voiced out while looking at Zane knowing that the youngest male had already thought of something. 

“I do have one idea.”

“Just one?”

“Actually, 57, but let's start with my favorite. Don't worry. It's totally legit.” With that final declaration of Zane. Dinner turned lighter, filled with laughter and warm conversation. Afterward, they cleaned up and parted ways for bed.

As each of them departed towards their respective rooms, (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder how to talk with Rumi about his patterns and maybe it was time for her to open up to the boy's but before (Y/n) would even think of it more. 

But before she could dwell on it, a ripple of energy pulsed through the Honmoon. The elevator dinged. She ran to the window. No visible cracks or rifts.

“Must be fatigue,” she whispered and went to bed, knowing she’d be joining the boys trip tomorrow before her scheduled variety show that Bobby reminded her.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping Hunters and the lone Angel, red cracks silently formed in the Honmoon and through the gap stepped five demons, cloaked in black hanbok and wide-brimmed gat, resembling ancient jeoseung saja, grim reapers of legend.

For them to enter into the human world to fulfill their evil plan to dominate the world. 

But perhaps the world wasn’t their true target…

Author's Note:

Hello! Everyone, I hope chapter 02 has exceeded your expectations. :) I was supposed to post this yesterday but I was busy with my little sister's college graduation for the whole day.

I hope you loved it, so don't forget to like, reblog, and comment down anything including any critics if you have any.

Thank you all for the continued support for Heartstring & Hellfire.

T A G L I S T

@gremlinartstudio @enerofairy @zoeyella1-4 @daisy56789 @0eye0 @sirenetheblogger @akariis4snowball @crescent-z @any-maybe @shoopershtar @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @foxinspace @selenescribes @onebraincellsaday @hoo-hoo @kitsune-05 @princessbonniebubblegumsblog @scarletsssarchive @bugworldsworld @redrage71890 @kashasenpai @hisashifrey @akiqvq @aespaminjeong @greensunflowerjuna @eyesdontread @eliengoddes @fandomgoddes05 @yirengbam7089 @themostdelusionalgirl @baby-bread-in @graceluvseilish @lynvriee @zomqiez @strayharmony943 @nevermorekisses @hikari-michiko @lizzymizzy-blogg @lovingyeet @chibiduck @hisashifrey @reni502 @queenofviolenceandnerds @gasoline-eater @tagmepls @gl00muraaii @prettylittlelavvy

[thealchemyofgamecreation]

Inside Hakan's War Manager: Design Log – Ranged Units (I)

🎮 Here's another design log for our game! 📜 This time, we're exploring ranged units. Are they really as annoying as they seem? 🏹 Check out the log to find out. #GameDesign #HakanWarManager #IndieGameDev #ObaGames

Greetings, fellow Khans and strategy enthusiasts! This time, I’m excited to delve into the realm of ranged units in “Hakan’s War Manager.” These skilled archers play a vital role in battles, and I’m here to share my thoughts on their design and implementation in the game. A Historical Glimpse When exploring the landscape of ancient warfare, we encounter a variety of ranged units or mixed units.…

[astroxrion]

Your Hidden Abilities based on your 10th House:

(Status,Legacy,Reputation,People Presenting)

Aries in the 10th

You were built to dominate but your hidden skill is resilience under pressure. When shit falls apart you get sharper. You lead when everyone else freezes. You’re the one that makes chaos follow your direction. Authority isn’t optional. It’s who you are under fire.

Taurus in the 10th

Your power is in consistency but your hidden edge is silence. You build behind the scenes so steady no one sees it coming. By the time they notice you it’s too late to catch up. You win by outlasting everyone who moved faster but meant less.

Gemini in the 10th

You sound like chatter but your real power is information warfare. You know what to say how to say it and when to make it land. You can talk anyone into a yes and outthink any room. Influence is your baseline. Mind games are your specialty.

Cancer in the 10th

They see nurture but miss the strategy. You read people and predict moves like a psychic in a suit. Your ability to lead with emotion is your weapon. You make people trust you then take the throne while they’re still thanking you for caring.

Leo in the 10th

Your shine is loud but your hidden power is loyalty. When you commit to the vision nothing can move you. People think you want the attention but what you want is legacy. You’re building something that outlives applause. That’s what scares them.

Virgo in the 10th

You look quiet but you control everything. Your hidden skill is precision under pressure. You see mistakes before they form and solve problems before others notice. You lead through detail. Your perfection isn’t pretty. It’s surgical.

Libra in the 10th

You look soft but you move like a diplomat with a knife behind your back. Your hidden power is negotiation. You know how to get what you want without ever raising your voice. People follow you because they think it’s their idea. That’s the trap.

Scorpio in the 10th

Your presence alone shifts the room but your true power is control. You see what’s not being said. You play long games. You don’t move often but when you do it’s permanent. You’re feared for a reason. You never lose. You just wait.

Sagittarius in the 10th

You joke and charm but your hidden weapon is vision. You see beyond the moment. You map futures. You know how to move a crowd and shape culture. You teach what frees people and make it profitable. You make expansion look easy.

Capricorn in the 10th

Everyone sees the grind but your hidden power is discipline so ruthless it scares people. You will outwork outplan outlast without flinching. Your name becomes law because you built the system that runs it. You’re already in control.

Aquarius in the 10th

You look detached but your mind is five steps ahead. You invent systems before the world knows they need them. Your hidden skill is innovation that can’t be copied. You don’t lead the room. You rewire it. The future answers to you.

Pisces in the 10th

They underestimate you because you’re soft spoken. But you move through intuition like a ghost. Your hidden power is influence through energy. You can read a room and bend it. You lead without force. You make people follow what they feel.

Get an Astrology Reading With me : https://www.tumblr.com/astroxrion/784631769533136896/o-my-readings-the-rion-code-o?source=share

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[001] [003]

HOLY BALLS! where did you guys come from- I literally woke up this morning and got jumpscared by the amount of votes😭

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE 🤺- anyways, here's another chapter I guess? Enjoy your dang food.

I'm gonna warn y'all early on, My Y/n is very... Yeah, you'll understand sooner or later. Just keep reading💋

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

"Pathetic!"

"Useless!"

The voice shouted, echoing through the realm as the demons who were gathered couldn't help but flinch back, cowering in fear at his voice alone.

His Flames seemingly grew bigger, the more his frustrations worsened.

He was weakening.

He needed souls.

But how could he achieve such power, when those fools couldn't even Defeat three mortals, those hunters.

"Don't you idiots know, that once those hunters turn the Honmoon gold, it's over for us!"

He reminded, his Flames growing brighter as he increased his influence, his voice in their heads growing louder, each of which revealing each insecurity, each failure, shame and regret.

Bringing them pain as punishment.

One of the demons burst into tears, trying to quiet down their sobs as the voices only grew stronger.

The tension broke by the sounds of Bipa string, breaking through the air.

Everyone grew silent, heads turning back to look at the person who would dare interrupt.

"There once was a Demon king"

A familiar figure started, plucking a few strings on his Bipa, looking amongst the crowd, satisfied when he got their attention.

"Stop me, if you heard this one before"

He teased, letting his body float down until his feet softly planted on the ground.

"He was in total control, he feasted on souls, the world trembled when he roared."

He continued.

The others were hesitant if they should intervene, or stay quiet. Not wanting to trigger the Demon Lords Anger further.

"But then some hunters, sang some songs, now all he does is starve."

Yet the figure continued, stepping through the crowd, who parted and created a path for him to walk through, eyes focusing on him and his fate.

"Can't get at the souls, and his Flames grow cold."

A soft growl followed, the tiger slowly trialing after it's Master, to act as protection if anyone dares interrupt.

"Just a whisper in the dark."

He smirked slightly, moving his fingers along the strings, creating a simple yet soft ballad.

"And will he let the fire go out?"

"Is this the end of him now?"

"Dying king with a crumbling crown?"

He stopped right below the steps that lead to the Kings throne.

"Will he let the fire go out."

He finished, as His Tiger bumped against his side before walking back to the crowd.

"I let you keep that voice, Jinu"

The voice echoes, the Flames dimming down as the Tension grew amongst them.

"And you dare to mock me with it?"

He muttered, his patience nearly snapping if it weren't for Jinu peaking his interest.

"I'm not here to mock you."

He said calmly, as four more figures slowly appeared at his side.

"I'm here to help you"

He clarified, the Bipa disappearing in his hands as he took a step closer.

"It's time for a new strategy."

The group slowly descends closer to the throne, The crowd of demons waited with bated breath at what's about to happen.

"We fight the hunters, where they least expect it"

Either they'll get killed

"Go after the very thing, that Powers the Honmoon"

Or a new beginning will occur amongst this realm of sin.

Their feet softly planted on the ground below, standing before the wall of Flames.

Jinu's golden eyes Shined as he gazed at the eternal Flames, the very thing that Haunted him for 400 years.

"The Fans."

As if on cue, they all instinctively struck a pose, causing silence to befall on them.

Gwi-ma took a minute to process what he was witnessing before deciding to reply, his voice clearly doubtful yet they had managed to catch him off guard, by such a.. Peculiar suggestion.

"A demon... Boyband?"

The Flames questioned, albeit silently judging the idea.

Before the fire suddenly grew larger, as he let out a mocking laugh. The Idea was simply ridiculous, yet utterly amusing.

"What makes you think that could work?"

He questioned.

Jinu smirked, snapping his fingers as his members instantly transformed their appearance to fit the Human standards for beauty.

Each holding a unique charm within them, their demonic features carefully hidden away.

Their horns and grotesque teeth disappeared

Now replaced by colored hair and ear piercings.

Gwi-ma fell silent, as the crowd of demons talked amongst each other, truly believing that the ridiculous plan might actually have a chance of working.

"That Aura seems.. Familiar"

Gwi-ma muttered, focusing more on the hidden energy that surrounded the group.

It has been centuries since she last made an appearance.

Tucked away in an eternal slumber.

Isolated in the very depths of this realm.

Where no soul, would be foolish enough to wake her.

Yet apparently one did, and survived to tell the tale.

Why would she aid these fallen souls?

His voice never truly reached her, but her soul was his to use.

One simple call was all it took for her to make an appearance.

"Y/n."

The name rang through the realm, as the Atmosphere grew heavy with tension, A large mist slowly casted upon them all, swallowing them in its eerie embrace.

The fog moved closer to the throne, shifting into a silhouette of a beautiful woman, hair moving like that of clouds, having the fluidity of water.

Eyes a blinding white as she carefully descended, her feet never once touching the ground.

Half of her body being made out of a pink cloud like mist.

"You called?"

She said, her voice holding a mocking tone, almost with disinterest as she spoke to the King of Demons.

"Was this your doing?"

Gwi-ma accuses, displeased by her interference, the Flames burning brighter in a slight warning for her to watch her tone.

"Some of it is"

She smirked, her body floating closer to her new object of interest, pressing herself against his back as she snaked her arms around his neck.

"Though, I must give credit where credit is due"

She hummed, her lips moving closer towards his ear.

"Isn't that right, song bird?"

She coos, her fingers gently playing with the strings of his Gat, as he stood still, as if he was unaffected by her close proximity.

"And your goal?"

Gwi-ma questioned, his Flames burning brighter until the heat nicked at their undead skin.

She growled, gritting her teeth as she felt the weight of her chain clasps around her neck, now being visible, tightening around her skin, nearly suffocating her in the process.

Being a painful reminder of her eternal damnation.

She forced a smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of pissing her off, as she let go of Jinu and floated closer to the other members.

"For Entertainment, I've been asleep for far too long"

She said, her expression calm and relaxed as she moved closer to one of them, grabbing and lifting up one of his arms.

"Is it wrong of me to take on a.."

Her fingers carefully graze at the fabric of his sleeve, feeling the muscles that were hidden within, The man couldn't help but smirk and flexed at his biceps a little.

"New project"

She finished, gazing at his golden eyes for a moment before moving away.

Letting out a soft sigh, her hand reached out to another member of the group, gently reaching out for his hair but stopped when he let out a growl.

She only chuckled in response, redirecting her hand below his chin and began to playfully scratch the area.

He felt himself slowly melt at her touch, subtly leaning against her palm.

"I for one, think I did a good job"

She smiled, treating the little demon like some sort of pet, he didn't seem to mind the scratches.

"Okay.."

Gwi-ma redirected his attention back to Jinu, trying his best to ignore whatever that was.

"I know you Jinu, in 400 years"

Jinu's smile slowly fell, getting yet another reminder of his Shame and regret.

"You've never done a single thing, that didn't serve yourself"

The voice grew louder in his head as the memories flashed before his eyes, the familiar pain swelling up inside him.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Cunty.

She's very cunty. She's a warning in herself, that's why I said this Fic is a bit 🌶. I'm not sure if I'm gonna write anything too graphic in the future.

It really depends on my mood and how confident I am of my writing skills 🫣

I'm quite Positive y'all are gonna love her though, if I'm wrong then just scroll away 🏃‍♀️💨

[ruinix]

can you do one where reader goes to one of his games and shows up on the big screen then it switches to quinn and him smiling looking up 🙇‍♀️ i fear this would kill me

( i love all ur writes they fuel me throughout the day esp w the cannuck season over )

Hello, lovely. This is such a cute prompt for a lil fluffy thought.🥺Thank you for reading, lovely, sweetie. I am sending you lots of forehead kisses, mwamwa. Apologies for only getting to your ask. Hope you're still there! (Game photo from Pinterest.)

A Surprise

18+. Fluff thoughts. No warnings except it might not be realistic. (Optional) Bonus content on your POV included!

Quinn would always want you to attend his games. He knew you would sometimes prefer sitting with the crowd, sometimes the family box. Depending on your decision, he would try to get you the seats you wanted, always eager to ask whether you would be going or not, especially for home games. Except for tonight, you told him that you had plans.

He was dejected. Of course, he was. He only wanted you to see the brief intermission featuring Fin—you've always loved Fin—and perhaps even get the chance to interact with Fin when the mascot roamed the crowd during the game. He would even make that happen, perhaps drop hints to the mascot wearer where you would be, but you would not be attending tonight.

However, instead of telling you that to entice you to cancel your plans, he didn't, fearing you would cancel your plans. He didn't like interfering with your plans no matter how much he craved your very presence in the arena. You were his good luck charm, but that included your presence wherever you were. As long as he had you.

Currently, Quinn was fucking thankful you weren't in the crowd. He was playing like shit. The Canucks were down a goal in a 2-1 game with no change in the score since the first. It was more than halfway through the last period. He tried to make plays but the puck was getting swiped away. It didn't help that he could feel his fatigue, his heart pumping hard, his nearly cramping.

Yet he pushed himself. He knew you would be watching, even by checking the NHL app for the score or play-by-plays. He had to do you right, especially when you gave him actual good luck kisses before he went out. He just—

A whistle was blown for a stoppage. Quinn swerved behind the other team's goal line, taking deep and regulated breaths, taking full control of himself, skating towards the bench when the coach called for timeout. He sighed, taking sips of water, listening to the strategy while he rested himself.

At that point, he was starting to get overwhelmed. From countless plays to be done, to the slight cramped spaces next to his teammates. Until he heard the crowd cheer, he dared to look up the jumbotron, seeing Fin holding a messily done sign.

In broad black markers, in fucking glitters, it said, "GO CANUCKS. GO QUINNY, MY LOVE!"

He nearly frowned until he saw you, jumping and cheering despite the frustrating score, wearing the signed home jersey and red-black-yellow outfit. He could read your lips, shouting "Go, Quinn! I love you!" before you spun to show off his number on your back.

Quinn laughed, earning looks from his teammates and the coaching staff, but he didn't fucking care, because you spun again, grabbing your sign from Fin and waved it in full avid fan energy. Nothing could ever bring him down, not even at the sight of his game-exhausted yet grinning face being blasted on the Jumbotron for at least a second before it flipped over to you cheering harder. So, this was your plan. Fuck, he loved this. So much.

"Huggy, do you hear me?" The couch called. "You either get back to the bench or—"

"I'm rested. I'll play," he said just as the whistle was blown, signaling the end of their timeout. He nodded at his teammates on the ice. Feeling renewed, feeling the burn of your kisses earlier, wishing that you were still on the jumbotron, he adjusted his helmet one last time. "Let's do this."

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

They won. The Canucks actually won 4-2 with Quinn having the game-winning goal. Three goals on the last 5 minutes.

With glitter under your nails, on your jersey that you purchased in arena store, on your seat, on the floor, you screamed with the crowd, waving your crumpled sign. Even more when Quinn got the first star.

You were shaking all over the place from the adrenaline, zooming onto Quinn when he went back on the ice to give out his Canucks hockey stick. You felt so proud of him. He played so amazingly, so breathtaking, especially after their timeout.

Your heart did backflips when you noticed him turning to your general direction before he skated away for an interview. Then there he was again on the jumbotron, his voice raspy, his hand running through his hair to keep it away from his face, yet a few wet strands fell on his temples. It should be a crime to be that handsome, no?

After Quinn disappeared, everything felt like a blur. You walked with the crowd, determined to go to a specific place in Rogers Arena to wait for him.

Your phone pinged with a message, "Don't leave. Wait on our spot."

Our spot, he said. You let out a giggle, ignoring the concerned looks you received. You called him and he instantly answered.

"My Love...hi." He sounded like he was breathless.

"It's our spot now, huh, Mr. Game Winner?"

There was a pause on the other line. "What else is it then?" You could hear the smile on his voice, could see the blush blooming on his face. Quinn has always been so simple. Shy but so eager to brag in his own way.

"Our spot," you echoed, giggling so much that you heard him chuckle. "Don't take long."

"See you in fifteen."

"Make sure to shower!" You whisper-yelled.

That made him laugh. The loud and cute laugh of his. The exact laugh you wish you had heard when he was on the ice after your quick five-second-jumbotron fame. You felt so soft all over, like you were swimming on the clouds with Quinn's laugh on repeat in your head.

"Longer then? Thirty?"

"Thirty. I'll wait for you, Quinny. I love you."

"I love you more."

You both spent a whole minute just listening to each other's silence before you ended the call with a soft kissing noise which made him laugh again, leaving you so happy as if you won the world when it was Quinn who won the game.

I tried my best. This was written with me who doesn't attend hockey games face-to-face (or any sports) as an avid TV watcher (i fear the crowds).

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Traitor (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Female Webber! Reader

(reader is Mark Webber's daughter)

Part Two!

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

Basically it’s very quick Drabble I wrote to get it off my brain. Reader is Webbers daughter and moving to Aston Martin to study under Adrian Newey. Oscar and reader pining over each other and Oscar saving the day?

After a shock contract with Aston Martin, y/n Webber attends one last McLaren gala before the start of her dream career. The recent PHD graduate in aerodynamics saying goodbye to her friends and family to study under Andrian Newey.” Oscar hadn’t spoken to you since the announcement, but when you need him most he always shows up.

Warnings:

Mentions of drugs/reader getting spiked, mentions of smut

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

The gala was extravagant, bold, and expensive.

You attended as a honoured guest of McLaren. Y/n Webber, Mark Webber's daughter. Recent graduate of her PhD in aerodynamics and soon to be mentee of Andrew Newey in a shock contract with Aston Martin for 2026.

Yeah, you had become talk of the paddock. Your dad was proud of course (if not just a little betrayed), but the opportunity to work alongside and learn from the man was too good of one to pass up, and everyone knew it.

Everyone, except Oscar Piastri.

Who; ever since the news dropped, had refused to acknowledge your very existence.

The cold shoulders and silent glares sent your way burning deep under your skin. Never admitting the man’s recent demeanor change was affecting you. You just shrugged it off in front of your dad, acting like all those years of friendship meant nothing.

Like the nights you spent studying while he slept in your lap- your finding running absentmindedly through his hair- meant nothing.

Like the way he pushed you against the counter of your parents kitchen as he kissed you, -deep and desperate, hips grinding as he trapped you between the wooden counter and his towering frame- meant nothing.

Like the stolen kisses and sweet words whispers closely in your ear, meant nothing.

You swallowed it down, pushing any invading thoughts of the brown haired Aussie driver deep down into the pit of your stomach, letting it twist and turn as nerves wrecked your body.

As you walk into the gala, sleek sparking gown of deep cherry red illuminating the room, the whole crowd seems to quiet in awe.

Oscar leans casually on the bar, a scoff escaping his pink lips as he downs another swallow of his awful martini. An eyes roll following the action as he places the glass rather haphazardly onto the bar, lip tucking between his teeth as he allows himself to gaze upon you once more. Your hair flowing effortlessly down your shoulder, the small chuckle escaping your dark lips swaying the dazzling stoned earring dangling from your ears.

Oscar couldn’t help his hand twitching, the burning sting in his fingers like glass, a desperate sign to run them through your soft hair. To curl them around the back of your neck and pull you close to his chest. He couldn’t help the tightening in his stomach and the chill that runs down his spine as he pictures his large hand tracing over your jaw. A pointed finger under your chin raising your gaze to his, eyes burning as he leans down to place a scorching kiss to the vanilla scented skin of your neck.

Oscar coughed as your striking eyes met his, a wicked smile forming on your lips. A shock ran through the man like lightning, awakening his every nerve. He swallowed harshly as he scrunched his face in a desperate attempt to control his cock straining against the lush material of his perfectly tailored dress pants. Smoothing over the material on his thighs as he tore his gaze from yours, eyes the room around him for the best possible exit strategy.

All night, it seemed wherever he looked, there you were.

Talking with Zac. Dancing rather embarrassingly with a very drunk Lando. Perched so gracefully up at the bar, legs crossed as you leaned forward slightly, breasts squeezing in your tight dress. Practically begging to be freed of their encapsulating confines, and worshipped by only those devoted enough to be blessed by the sight of them.

You see Oscar didn’t just see you as his manager's daughter, or as that weird friend he picked up in life. He didn’t even think of you as a traitor.

No. He saw you as a goddess.

A woman worth worshipping. A woman he would get on his knees for if you so beckoned. You had him wrapped around your finger, and you were complete and utterly clueless. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him could have the man burning down cities if that’s what you wished.

He saw your mind, your humour, your strengths and weaknesses. And he so desperately wanted to be the one to bring you pleasure, to be the one to hold you while you were in pain, to laugh with you and cry with you.

The way you occupy his brain, his every thought consumed by you. It was obsessive, borderline creepy the way you possess him. The tightness in his chest when he sees you with other men, the bruins hot rage that threatens to spill over when they so much as breathe in your direction.

It wasn’t healthy, so he had to let you go.

At least, he had to try. That’s what he told himself.

You smile at him from the bar, a shy wave of your hand as you order your drink. A small smile perched on your lips as you stepped towards him.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Oscar basically run away from you. Your face burned red hot in shame as the man practically jumped over the bar to avoid your conversation. You walk away, shoulders slumped in defeat, a slight sniffle as you collect your pride and ego off the floor. The task wasn’t easy, as you get shoulder checked by a man on the dance floor, your drink spilling slightly on your dress as you swear.

Fuck Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t need him, didn’t need his sweet words of encouragement, or his soft shy chuckles at your lame jokes. You didn’t need his soft touches as he passed you in the McLaren garage. You didn’t need his soft lips or his strong arms, you didn’t.

So you drank, and danced, laughed with strangers as you let the party consume you.

That was until you made your way to the bathroom, you mind fading away from you as the loud music thumped in the distance, every beat of the rhythm reverberating in your bones. You stumble, mind numbing as the room shifts. A wave of nausea burns through your chest, acidic bile rising in your throat as you swallow down a choked sob. Tears staining your eyes as you desperately reach out, hands crumpling into the cold wall, your body soon following as your arms fold under the weight. Your hip hit the wall first with a loud thud, a purple bruise sure to blossom at the sight of the impact. Your shoulder is next, a burning pain rippling through you, a small cry escaping your dry and burning lips.

With a graceless thud you yield as gravity pulls you down, back sliding down the cold tiled wall.

You sit.

Alone.

Mind racing as time blurs, a chill taking hold of you. Skin pricking as a shiver runs down your spine.

Your head lulls to the side as you fight the heavy weight in your eyes, jerking you upright from your now slumped position.

You reach for your phone, calling the first person who floods your mind in any sense of danger.

He picked up on the first ring. Oscars voice gruff and firm as he spat out; “what do you want?”

You bottom lip quivers at his harsh tone, a small whimper leaving your lips as the tears welling in your eyes fall. Your words escaping in a hushed whisper

“Osc-“ the nickname hit the man hard, his chest tightening with worry at the sound of your strung out and frightened whisper. “-I need your help. I’m scared.”

You sob down the line as your hand clutches the phone, knuckles turning white as your body shakes, a hiccup bubbling from your chest.

It wasn’t just alcohol, you knew that for sure, whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t anything you had ever experienced. Your mind raced as your body began to numb, eyes rolling back slightly as you speak again

“I’m so tired Osc, jus wanna sle-“

Oscar interrupts you with a frantic yelp, questions firing through the phone at you as he desperately begins to search for you. Your half conscious mumbles leading him to the woman’s bathroom, his mind not registering the room as he hurried inside.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Your body lay slumped on the cold tile floor, phone discarded beside you, call still running. You looked like a doll left forgotten in the corner of a toy store, legs and arms astray and your head slumped unnaturally over.

He quickly skidded to his knees, sliding off the slick floors. His arm winding themselves around your frail frame and his hand comes up to cup your cheek.

Oscar hadn’t released he was shaking, hot breath escaping in puffs as his chest heaved. He scanned your face, calling your name in a desperate plea to wake you.

“Please baby-“ he croaked out in a desperate plea.

His voice echoed in your skull as your body gave in, dead weight pushing into Oscars arms as you allowed the darkness to take hold. No energy left in you to fight any longer.

You knew you were safe now, because Oscar was here.

Let me know if y’all want a part 2?? 👀👀

[ravindersingal]

From Chaos to Order: How Effective Crowd Management Prevents Disasters

The Art and Science of Crowd Management

Crowds are a part of our daily lives, whether at grand festivals, electrifying concerts, intense cricket matches, sacred religious gatherings, or high-stakes sports events. While these gatherings bring people together in celebration, they also carry significant risks if not managed effectively. The sheer energy of a packed stadium during a high-pressure cricket match, for example, can quickly turn into a dangerous situation if crowd movement, exits, and emergency protocols are not strategically planned.

Effective crowd management is not just about maintaining order but about ensuring safety through meticulous planning, strategic execution, and proactive disaster prevention. History has shown that negligence in managing large crowds can lead to stampedes, structural collapses, riots, or mass panic, making crowd safety a critical responsibility for event organizers, law enforcement, and policymakers alike.

In this comprehensive guide, I will share key insights into crowd management principles, examining how the right strategies can prevent disasters before they unfold. From managing a stadium packed with thousands of cricket fans to ensuring safety at religious processions, I will provide real-world case studies, key safety protocols, and practical solutions that can transform unpredictable situations into well-controlled environments.

Understanding and implementing crowd management strategies is not just a responsibility-it’s a necessity. Whether it’s the roar of a cricket crowd celebrating a last-ball six or the fervor of a devotional pilgrimage, the right measures can turn potential chaos into a safe and seamless experience for all.

Understanding Crowd Management

Crowd management involves planning and implementing strategies to control, guide, and protect large gatherings. Event safety, risk assessment, and emergency preparedness are crucial in managing any mass event.

Understanding crowd behavior is the key to effective crowd management. By analyzing how people move, react, and behave in different situations, authorities can develop better crowd control strategies to prevent disasters.

The Role of Crowd Management in Disaster Prevention

1. Risk Assessment: Identifying Potential Hazards

Every large gathering poses a risk. A risk assessment before an event helps identify potential hazards, such as overcrowding, fire hazards, or lack of proper exits. Underestimating crowd density can lead to chaos and potential stampedes.

Example: The 2015 Mina Stampede in Saudi Arabia during the Hajj pilgrimage resulted in over 2,000 deaths due to overcrowding and poor crowd control. A proper risk assessment and crowd flow strategy could have minimized casualties.

2. Crowd Psychology: Understanding Human Behavior in Large Gatherings

Crowds tend to move in waves, often leading to panic situations when something goes wrong. Understanding crowd psychology helps security personnel anticipate behaviors and respond proactively.

Mass panic can be controlled through strategic messaging and effective communication tools. Authorities must keep the crowd informed with clear instructions and guidance.

Example: At the 2010 Love Parade in Germany, a poorly managed entrance led to a stampede, killing 21 people. Had authorities implemented better communication and exit planning, the tragedy could have been prevented.

Continue Reading: https://ravindersingal.com/chaos-to-order-effective-crowd-management/

[eveninggstar]

victory lap ⊹ ࣪ ˖

lando norris x rival!Mercedes!reader

26.08.24

୨ৎLando proposes a bet that if he gets pole and wins from pole in Zandvoort then he gets to not use a condom next time you and him have sex.

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

smut

unprotected p in v sex, kinda bratty reader, lando smacks readers ass twice, sex on the floor, lando is controlling but in a good way, probs more

ngl this is prob the best smut ive ever written so far lol kinda like this one bc i love lando two wins!!! Also this is pretty long i dont know how many words

The tension between you and Lando had been building up for years. The two of you were rivals on the track, always pushing each other to the limit, but beneath that fierce competition lay something neither of you could ignore—an undeniable sexual tension that everyone seemed to notice. The paddock was rife with rumours, and even your respective teams had exchanged knowing glances whenever the two of you were around each other.

It all came to a head one balmy summer evening at Zandvoort. The Dutch Grand Prix was notorious for its challenging circuit and passionate fans, and both of you were ready to put on a show.

You were lounging in your driver room, going over your strategy for the weekend when Lando sauntered in, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his McLaren race suit unzipped just enough to give a glimpse of his undershirt. He was clearly up to something.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice dripping with that signature mix of charm and mischief. “How confident are you feeling about this weekend?”

You looked up from your notes, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Confident enough to wipe that smug look off your face, Norris. Why do you ask?”

Lando chuckled, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking over to you. “Well, I was thinking... How about we make things a little more interesting this weekend?”

Your curiosity was piqued. “Oh? And what exactly did you have in mind?”

He leaned in close, his arms draped around your shoulder and his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s make a bet. If I get pole position and win from pole, then the next time we have sex i don't wear a condom." He stayed silent for a few seconds, then leaning his face closer to your ear so his nose flattened, "Let me finish inside of you, baby."

A shiver ran down your spine at his bold proposition. You knew Lando liked to push boundaries, but this was a whole new level. Still, you weren’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not from him.

“And what do I get if you don’t?” you asked, your voice steady despite the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“If I don’t win from pole, you get to call the shots next time,” Lando replied, his eyes darkening with the unspoken promises laced in his words.

You leaned back in your chair, pretending to consider it, even though you already knew your answer. “Alright, Norris. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Saturday came around, and the atmosphere at Zandvoort was electric. The roar of the crowd, the smell of burning rubber, and the thrill of competition all combined to create an intoxicating environment. Qualifying was intense, with both you and Lando pushing your cars to the absolute limit.

“Lando Norris takes pole position!” the announcer’s voice boomed across the circuit.

You clenched your fists, a mix of frustration and anticipation bubbling within you. Lando had done it—step one of the bet was complete. But there was still the race to come, and you were determined to give him a run for his money.

Race day dawned bright and clear, the sun shining down on the packed grandstands. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you strapped into your Mercedes, your focus narrowing down to the task at hand. The lights went out, and the race began with a flurry of motion.

Lando held his position at the front, but you were right on his tail, refusing to give him an inch. Lap after lap, you pressed him, looking for any opportunity to overtake, but he defended fiercely, his car perfectly placed at every turn. The tension between you both was palpable, each of you pushing the other to the brink.

As the race neared its conclusion, you realized that Lando was going to pull it off. He had driven impeccably, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t find a way past him. At this point you were nowhere near him. He had a 20 second lead and had lapped over half the grid.

Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Lando had won the bet. As you pulled into the pit lane, you saw him celebrating with his team, his face lit up with triumph. But when he caught your eye, his smile turned into something more—something darker, filled with desire.

Later that evening, after all the interviews and celebrations, you found yourself in Lando’s motorhome. The air between you crackled with anticipation as he closed the door behind him, shutting out the world.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and rough, “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed winning a race this much.”

You swallowed hard, your body already responding to the heat in his gaze. “You got lucky, Norris.”

He smirked, stepping closer until you were backed up against the wall. “I think we both know it wasn’t just luck, Y/N. Now, are you ready to pay up?”

Your breath hitched as he pressed his body against yours, his hands sliding up your sides. You could feel his heart pounding in time with your own, the intensity between you both reaching a fever pitch.

“You won fair and square,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Lando’s eyes darkened, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It was fierce, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been simmering between you for so long. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Lando didn't waste anytime before he urged you backwards towards the sofa. Your mouths slotted together and his hands groped and explored your body, going from your chest to your thighs. His hands manoeuvred the remains of your race suit to the floor, only leaving you in your fireproofs. With the reduced barrier, he could easily press against you causing you to let out many gasps and a few tugs to his hair.

Pulling away slightly, you mumbled into his mouth, “Lan, hurry up.”

He paused, eyes scattering over your features. His face was no longer the happy winner everyone outside saw. He was now drunk with a lust filled haze. He lifted himself up off of you slightly, bringing a hand to your face and caressing it with the utmost care. His breath felt warm against your face, causing your eyes to flutter shut. The calmness you were experiencing was cut short by the strong grip Lando had on your face, squeezing your cheeks and puckering your lips.

"You're the one needing to be faster." He practically growled, looking deep into your eyes. "Remind me who came first." He paused, awaiting your answer. "Who won the bet?" His voice sent shivers down your spine.

"You," you mumbled, then began to smile as his hand drifted to your neck. He returned the smile and slowly moved his face to the underside on your jaw. He kissed it sweetly, then tightened his grip.

"Louder, baby." He commanded, his words dark but mixed with the feather light kisses sent your head into another dimension.

"You!" You spoke up, earning a nip to your neck. He then came back to your face to then deepen the kiss you had earlier.

He moved your lower body so he could fit more comfortably between your legs. Your hands desperately gripped at his damp hair, needing to hold anything to ground yourself.

You felt the hand around your neck slowly trail down the length of your body before settling at your groin. Your legs attempted to close shut, although his waist was preventing you from doing that. He began to work at your clothed clit, his thumb easily circling over the smooth fabric.

"Uh-" your voice cut off as he pressed on the dampening fabric harder.

"There you go, you're speeding up. Getting wet so quickly," He spoke condescendingly as he nuzzled his nose in your cheek. "Why cant you be like this on track?" He began to mouth at your neck, causing you to let out a breathy moan. As much as you hated Lando's cockiness, god was it hot.

“Shush.” You moaned, an audible show of your composure.

You could barely speak, Lando's thumb never faltering on your soaking clit. His body was overwhelming you, and you started to squirm. However, that same thumb stopped giving pleasure. Before you could protest, he was hastily ripping your fireproofs off. This left you bare and flushed below him. Your chest heaving up and down as his eyes scanned over our body.

He leaned up to nip at your ear, surely leaving a mark this time, as you expelled a breath of pleasure as his fingers worked their way into your slit.

Your words were lost on you, wanting to ask when he was going to get to the real reason of your bet. But in all honestly, you didn't care if he would carry on pleasuring you. However, you did want his fingers to enter you, to leave you wanting more of a stretch for days after.

His fingers left your aching cunt, leaving it to pulsate rhythmically. You reached out to hold his hand, an iron bruising grip you're sure of it. His race suit clad crotch bumped against your bare one, giving a shock of unexpected pleasure.

"Lan!" you practically yelled, your squeal bouncing off of the surrounding walls.

He shushed you, then ordered you to not touch yourself. He slowly slinked up off of the sofa, eyes solely focused of your slightly twitching body. The rest of his race suit joined yours on the floor, in addition to his fireproofs.

His cock sprung free, the tip beat red and dripping at the sight of you. Lando stood proud for what felt like forever. His left thumb was stroking his lip as he shook his head in the opposite direction. That's when he uttered-

"Get on the floor."

You submissive sex haze briefly broke, thinking you heard him wrong.

"The floor?" You pushed your body up, looking at him like he just asked you to get on the floor like an animal. Oh wait-

"I won the bet, baby." He smirked, eyes still raking over your nude body. "Floor, there's not enough space on the sofa for us."

With a sigh and a reluctant nod, you melted your way off of the sofa. You knew the position he wanted you in, he rarely fucked you when not in it. You laid on the floor for a few seconds, collecting yourself. Lando saw you laying there, not having you be a pillow princess he ordered you to-

"Flip around, ass up. I know!" You rolled your eyes, then did it. What you didn't expect was a harsh smack to your ass. You let out a mixture of a moan and a sound on pain.

"Enough of the bratty attitude," He smacked your ass lighter this time then gripping the plump, reddening flesh.

Finally, you thought, the head of his cock began to notch at your entrance. His fingers had intertwined with the nodded strands of your hair and he pulled up as his dick pushed into your cunt in a swift motion.

You both let out a groan of pleasure. Lando held himself there, letting you and himself adjust to the jaw dropping pleasure. This was the first time the pair of you were having sex without a condom, and god did it already feel a million times better. The pair of you had to focus to not cum straight away.

No words were needed between the four walls of you sex filled haven, as Lando thrusted into you. His palms splayed on your hips controlled your movements as his relentlessly bullied his cock further and further into you. You hands struggled to hold onto something, eventually finding solace in Lando's fireproofs.

His name was chanted like a prayer from you, in return you got delicious sounding moans and groans from behind you. You were sure his face didn't look all that different to yours in the moment. Pleasure filled, and only focused on the other.

His repetitive ruts and the bruising grip on your hips rendered you speechless. You wanted to say keep going, feels so good. But that was the problem, since the pleasure was that unbelievable you couldn't say. The loud sounds of sex echoed as your skin slapped in a fast tempo, each smack more pleasureful than the last.

Lando leaned closer to you, chest flat of you back. At every thrust you could feel the tense of his abs and the perspiration drip onto your equally sweaty skin. He began to mouth at your neck, settling for small thrusts whilst he was buried at the hilt. One on his hands slithered away from your hips and found solace on your breast.

His hot breath spread across your neck and down your spine as you shivered. His moans had turned to grunts and pants.

"Like it when you can feel me this good?" He grinned into your hair, leaving small kisses in his wake. "Like it when your this full?"

You wanted to nod, only giving a weak, stuttered head movement. The remaining hand on your hip drifted to your swollen clit. He helped ease you to completion.

"Aren't you glad I got pole." He teased you. "That I won. You wouldn't feel this good if I didn't."

You whimpered at his words, too turned on to be annoyed that he won and you didn't. But yeah, you were happy he won. He doesn't have to know that though.

You wanted to tease him, give him payback to what you were feeling, what you always felt with him, however none of that would be happening. He knew you like he knew the tracks the pair of you frequented, and knew that you were actual putty in his hands this very moment.

He picked up his pace, resulting you to let out loud moans and sexual noises of the like. The speed of his thrusts felt as if his dick was going to come out, luckily it didn't and you got the full pleasure.

His fingers at your clit sped up, he sensed how close you were solely on how your body tensed up.

"Come on, you can cum for me. I know you can-"

His hand came up as fast as his reflexes allowed, as you came. He slowly reduced the pleasure he was giving to your clit and eventually reached his own high. Your neck vibrated at the animalistic groan he let out into it.

Needless to say, the pair of you would be having more bets like this.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

taglist: (comment if you wanna be added)

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown- The Lunar Nodes in The Signs

The North Node is a whisper from the future, a gravitational pull toward the life you were meant to step into. It is not a place of comfort, but of growth. It calls you to release what is familiar, abandon the well-worn patterns of your past, and surrender to a version of yourself that has not yet fully emerged. The South Node, where you have been, is instinctive, ingrained, effortless. But to stay there is to remain unfinished.

The path ahead is not one of comfort, but of purpose. You are being called toward something greater. Will you answer?

North Node in Aries / South Node in Libra You have spent lifetimes tending to others, smoothing conflicts, making yourself smaller for the sake of peace. You have mastered the art of compromise, but at what cost? The North Node in Aries calls you to step forward alone, to lead without waiting for permission, to trust in your own fire. You must break the habit of molding yourself to fit others and dare to be fully seen, even when it makes others uncomfortable. Your journey is one of radical independence. Your voice matters. Use it.

North Node in Taurus / South Node in Scorpio You have danced with darkness, been baptized in crisis, and made a home in the fire of transformation. You know how to survive, but do you know how to simply exist? This lifetime calls you to peace, to build something steady rather than always bracing for collapse. The North Node in Taurus asks you to slow down, touch the earth, trust that love does not always come with suffering. Your healing is found in simplicity. Let life be gentle.

North Node in Gemini / South Node in Sagittarius You have been the wanderer, the philosopher, the one who sought meaning in distant lands and ancient texts. But wisdom is not only found in grand truths, it is found in the voices of those around you, in the rhythm of everyday conversations. This lifetime asks you to listen as much as you speak, to ask questions rather than assume answers, to find the sacred in the small things. You are not meant to teach from a mountaintop; you are meant to sit among the people and tell their stories.

North Node in Cancer / South Node in Capricorn You have built walls high enough to touch the sky, worn responsibility like armor, and measured your worth by what you can accomplish. But life is not a ledger to balance. The North Node in Cancer asks you to step away from the boardroom, the strategy, the control, and soften into feeling. You are here to experience love, vulnerability, and the strength that comes from allowing yourself to need others. Not everything must be earned, some things are simply meant to be felt.

North Node in Leo / South Node in Aquarius You have stood on the edge of the crowd, observing, analyzing, belonging to everyone and no one. You have fought for the collective, but what about you? The North Node in Leo calls you to step into the light, not as a reflection of a cause, but as your own radiant, creative force. This life is not about blending in, it is about daring to shine. Your heart is your compass. Follow where it leads.

North Node in Virgo / South Node in Pisces You have spent lifetimes floating in the waters of the unseen, surrendering to fate, dissolving into the currents of something greater. But now, you are meant to build, to shape, to make the intangible real. The North Node in Virgo calls you to bring structure to your dreams, to craft with precision, to serve in a way that is grounded and tangible. This is not about losing your magic, it is about turning it into something that lasts.

North Node in Libra / South Node in Aries You have always been the warrior, the lone wolf, the one who charged ahead with fire in your veins. But now, you must learn to stand beside another, not just as an individual, but as an equal. The North Node in Libra asks you to listen, to compromise, to see strength not as independence, but as connection. Your greatest victories will not be won alone.

North Node in Scorpio / South Node in Taurus You have known safety, comfort, and the slow, steady rhythm of a well-planned life. But security is not the same as growth. This lifetime calls you to dive into the depths, to surrender the illusion of control, to face what lies beneath the surface. The North Node in Scorpio asks you to let go, to embrace the mystery, to let yourself be transformed. You are meant to rise from your own ashes. Trust the fire.

North Node in Sagittarius / South Node in Gemini You have lived among the details, learned to navigate the chatter of the mind, but now you are called to something greater. The North Node in Sagittarius asks you to stop seeking answers in fragments and embrace the whole story. Let go of distractions, of hesitation, of overthinking. This is your time to leap, to explore, to believe in something bigger than yourself. The world is waiting. Go.

North Node in Capricorn / South Node in Cancer You have been held, nurtured, protected, but you cannot stay in the cradle forever. The North Node in Capricorn calls you to step into your own authority, to build something lasting, to claim your place in the world with discipline and determination. You are not here to be carried. You are here to lead.

North Node in Aquarius / South Node in Leo You have been the center of attention, the artist, the performer, the one who thrived on recognition. But this life asks you to turn your gaze outward, to use your gifts for something greater than personal glory. The North Node in Aquarius calls you to innovate, to revolutionize, to break free from ego and create for the collective. This is not about you alone, this is about all of us.

North Node in Pisces / South Node in Virgo You have spent lifetimes measuring, perfecting, fixing. But the North Node in Pisces asks you to let go of control, to surrender to the mystery, to trust in something beyond logic. This is your time to step into the divine flow, to dissolve into the vastness of possibility, to know that not everything needs to be planned, some things are meant to be felt. You are the dreamer, the poet, the mystic. Let yourself drift. Let yourself believe.

[psychemochanight]

Dick being neurodivergent, because why not? (Am I projecting myself onto my hyperfixation character of the moment? Absolutely).

Dick finds the weirdest possible positions to be absolutely comfortable. We already talked about how he likes to hang upside down, but besides that, he's always sitting in a strange way.

Bruce doesn't have any opinion on any of this, but sometimes wonders if Dick is trying to give himself some kind of cramp. The others just wonder if the boy has actual bones.

Bruce thought Dick couldn't be a picky eater, but he's totally wrong. Alfred taught Dick to cook because he knows that if he depended solely on food prepared by other people, the boy would starve. (Worse is when they discover that if they don't remind him, this guy won't eat at all. He just totally forgets that humans need food).

He also taught him other things for sensory issues that he doesn't want to acknowledge. (Yes, there are ways to keep his sheets soft enough, to prevent his shirts from getting lint, even cleaning the slab so it doesn't have weird textures).

Bruce always purposely gave him more work than he needed to do, otherwise he would never get the boy to concentrate. Nothing too difficult, he didn't want to overburden him yet, but seriously, even if he liked math, he would never sit down for more than 10 minutes to do his homework. Organizing his tasks didn't always work, but a deadline? It was his best strategy. Even out of ten minutes, eight were just him thinking about something else and only two to complete the job, he would complete it anyway.

(He never gives him the same task twice in a row. God knows that will never be complete. Have you seen how many jobs this man has? He can't stay in one place for more than a few months).

His thoughts also jump from one situation to another as much as he jumps on rooftops when he is on patrol. Bruce never understands his line of thinking, but it is extremely helpful in solving cases.

Despite appearing extroverted, Dick was still more of an ambivert, sometimes even seeming more introverted, he's just not that shy. His social battery runs out pretty quickly, even if he pretends it doesn't. He still needs time to himself in order to move on, and as a child his best way of pointing this out to Bruce was by hiding under tables in a dark place, or instead, climb to the highest places, farthest from people. Bruce learned that although Dick was used to the noise of people, he was used to seeing it from above, not in the middle of the crowd.

It's not that he's non-verbal, but there are still days where just talking is a no-no. As a child he had better control, but as an adult he just doesn't want to talk, and he's not going to talk.

Weighted blankets? Yes please. Noise cancelling headphones? He would love to, but he is too paranoid to completely isolate himself from his surroundings. (If his friends notice that his leg is bouncing more than usual, they assure him that they will keep watch and ask him to wear his headphones for a while, if they need to talk to him they use sign language).

He also has blackout curtains. And we all know his comfort object is a stuffed elephant, come on. (I love the fandom for this idea. Give the guy his stuffed elephant, give him Zitka.)

Yes, Dick, people have hobbies, but normal people don't change hobbies after mastering them once, much less change them every three days. No, gymnastics is no longer your hobby at this point, it's literally your life.

A special interest falls short when you spent a week without sleep to continue researching your new hyperfixation.

[uniquexusposts]

First place. Personal best. World Champion. | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles' girlfriend Y/n is about to win her first world championship title in speed skating. While Charles is preparing for his first race of the season at the other side of the world, the supportive boyfriend he is, he will be watching Y/n's race. And who knows what happens...

It was raining in The Netherlands, the weather was grey and depressing. Inside the speed skating arena, however, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their cheers echoing off the cavernous walls, creating a symphony of excitement and nerves. Y/n took a deep breath as she glided onto the ice, the smooth surface reflecting the bright arena lights. This wasn’t just another race; this was the race. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. Her last chance to claim the coveted all-around title of this year, the year before the Olympics - a prize she never got before by just a few points. 

She skated around the oval stadium, each warm-up lap a battle to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Her breath came in controlled bursts, visible in the cool air, as she moved with practiced grace. Her mind cycled through every strategy, every training session, every ounce of advice her coaches had given her. Stopping near the start line, she shrugged off her jacket, exposing the sleek Norwegian team suit beneath. The red and blue colours clung to her like a second skin, a symbol of the weight she carried; not just her own dreams but the hopes of her country.

Her teammates, already finished with their events, were doing an out lap. A couple of Norwegian flags waved fervently in the sea of spectators, a visual reminder of the expectations she had to meet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her focus.

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away in Bahrain, the roar of engines filled the Ferrari garage. Mechanics darted around, checking tire pressures, tweaking wing angles, and adjusting suspension settings. The first Formula 1 race of the season was hours away, but for Charles Leclerc, time felt like it was standing still. Amid the organised chaos, his attention was locked on a tablet screen perched precariously on a counter. The live stream of Y/n’s race played on the monitor, an unusual sight among the telemetry data and glossy feeds of the Bahrain International Circuit.

Charles tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking between the screen and the bustling garage. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, as though the force of his will could carry her across the finish line.

“Charles,” Andrea called, nudging his shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate. Should we tell the team to set up a fan zone for you?”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She’s got a real shot at this,” he said, his voice tinged with both pride and anxiety. “I’m not missing this for anything. Not even qualifying.”

Andrea shook his head, his grin widening. “Just don’t let Fred catch you slacking. He’ll have you polishing the car with a toothbrush.”

Charles waved him off dismissively, his focus unshakable. On the screen, Y/n moved toward the start line, her every movement purposeful and elegant. Seeing her in that moment, framed by a couple of Norwegian flags waving in the background - but mostly the orange colour by the Dutch, who once again dominated a sport, sent a rush of adrenaline through him. She was breathtaking, not just in her beauty but in the sheer determination radiating from her.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, signalling the imminent start of the race. Y/n crouched low at the line, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to release. Charles leaned forward, his hand gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. The gunshot rang out, and she launched forward, her blades cutting into the ice with surgical precision.

Lap after lap, Y/n found her rhythm, her movements a harmonious blend of power and grace. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each stride, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. One thing that was so different between speed skating and F1 was that during speed skating, everybody cheered for anyone - no matter the country. Y/n received almost as much cheers as the Dutch at this point. Charles’s heart raced in tandem with her, his pulse quickening as the live splits appeared on the screen. The numbers were good - very good - but the competition was fierce.

“Come on, Y/n,” Charles whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of the garage. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the counter as he watched her push herself to the limit.

By the halfway mark, the strain began to show. Her form wavered ever so slightly, the tiniest falter in her otherwise flawless stride. The 5.000 meters wasn’t just a test of speed; it was a brutal battle of endurance, a gruelling test of both mental and physical fortitude. Charles’s jaw clenched as he saw her dig deep, her determination etched into every muscle of her body.

“She’s improving her laps,” Charles muttered, running his hands through his hair. His voice grew louder, filled with a mixture of disbelief and awe. “She’s above her schedule. 32,3 per lap. What the hell?”

Andrea glanced at the screen, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “She’s flying. She has the green times.”

“She is literally pushing out every bit of strength she has left.”

The crowd in the arena roared louder with every passing lap, their energy palpable even through the screen. Charles’s fingers drummed faster, mirroring the rising tension. As Y/n crossed the finish line, the scoreboard lit up with her time: the fastest so far. Charles leapt to his feet, a triumphant shout escaping his lips.

“Yes! That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the garage.

The Ferrari crew paused their work, momentarily caught up in the infectious excitement. Laughter and scattered applause broke out, a rare lighthearted moment in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

Andrea clapped him on the back, a teasing grin on his face. “She’s not done yet, mate. Two more pairs to go.”

“I know,” Charles said, his grin unwavering. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But she’s incredible. No matter what happens, I’m proud of her.” He shook his head in disbelief. “6.50,81. Wow.”

Just over seven minutes later, the final pair took to the ice, their presence a reminder that the battle wasn’t over. The Dutch were strong and a favourite. Charles’s chest tightened as he watched them glide effortlessly through their opening laps. They were fast, too fast. The live splits showed them ahead of Y/n’s time, and for a moment, doubt crept in.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hold on.”

The skaters rounded the halfway mark, their initial burst of speed beginning to wane. Fatigue crept into their movements, their strides losing the precision that had carried them so far. Charles leaned forward, his breath hitching as he willed the seconds to slow.

The arena fell into a tense hush as the final skaters approached the finish line. The crowd’s collective gasp was audible as the scoreboard flashed their time: third place. Y/n had done it. She was the all-around champion.

Charles let out a triumphant yell, throwing his arms into the air. “She did it! She won!”

The garage erupted into cheers, the crew swept up in his infectious joy. Charles’s face was alight with pride and happiness, his grin so wide it hurt.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

His colleagues congratulated and hugged him like he won the race. 

Andrea smirked, shaking his head. “You’re going to be impossible to deal with for the rest of the day, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Charles replied, laughing. His heart felt full to bursting as he imagined the look on Y/n’s face, the moment she realised what she had accomplished.

Back in the Netherlands, Y/n sat in the middle of the oval track, still in disbelief. Tears blurred her vision, but they couldn’t hide the overwhelming sight of the scoreboard. Her name flashed boldly at the top, accompanied by the words she had dreamed of seeing her entire career: World Champion.

Her coaches rushed to her side, their voices a mix of congratulations and excitement, but their words were lost beneath the deafening roar of the crowd. The arena was alive with celebration.

Y/n pressed her hands to her face, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached out instinctively, pulling her head coach into an embrace, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “I actually did it.”

Her assistant coach joined in; the three people were jumping around, turning it into an euphoric moment. 

“You’ve done it, Y/n!” her head coach shouted over the roar of the crowd. “The all-around title is yours!”

Still clutching onto her coaches, Y/n’s gaze drifted upward to the scoreboard once more, as if she needed to see it again to believe it. First place. Personal best. World Champion. A new World Champion.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she began to fully grasp the magnitude of her achievement.

As she stood there, absorbing the cheers of the crowd and the joy of her team, one of her assistant coaches jogged up to her with a phone in hand.

“Y/n! Charles is calling!”

The sound of his name made her heart leap. She whipped her head around, taking the phone with trembling hands. When the screen lit up, Charles’s face appeared, his grin so wide it practically stretched off the screen.

“Y/n!” Charles cheered, his voice carrying a joy that matched her own.

“Charles!” Y/n screamed, laughing as her emotions spilled over. She couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks, her voice cracking with excitement. “I did it!”

“I saw!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to make the team around him chuckle. “You were incredible! I can’t believe it - no, wait, I can believe it because you’re amazing!”

Y/n’s cheeks burned as she laughed, her joy mirrored in his expression. Around her, the arena seemed to fade away, the roaring crowd becoming a distant hum. In that moment, it was just her and Charles, their connection bridging the thousands of kilometres between them.

“You were watching?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with disbelief.

“Of course I was!” Charles replied, his tone almost offended at the notion he wouldn’t be. “I had the entire Ferrari garage watching. They’re all clapping for you, by the way.”

Y/n’s hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a breathless laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Charles said, leaning closer to the screen. “Y/n, everyone here is in awe of you. I’m so proud I could burst. You deserve every second of this moment.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just tears of victory. They were tears of gratitude, of love. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve someone who believed in her this deeply, but she was endlessly thankful.

“I wish you were here,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“I do too,” he said, his tone softening, a hint of longing slipping through. “But I’ll see you soon. We’ll celebrate properly, I promise.”

“You would better keep that promise, Leclerc,” she teased, a smile breaking through her tears. “And you better win today!”

“I wouldn’t dare break it,” he replied with a laugh, his eyes warm. “I will do my best.”

She dried her eyes and laughed. “I have to go to the ceremony, Charles. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I will be watching.”

Y/n nodded, but she didn’t end the call right away. She held the phone a moment longer, committing the sight of his proud smile to memory.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris