#special effects engineer

[sollucets]

@userdramas event 15: something new

something old: ramking, who i've loved for a while something new: ayluna, who i love now something borrowed: layout inspiration and something (cyan) blue! 🩵💚

[a-typical]

In some respects, one can think of a quantum computer today as being analogous to an analog computer from years ago. The cooling is key to reduce energy and thus vibration in the system. If a quantum computer is run for too long the processor heats up and the noise in the results increases. So sensitive is the computer to heat or vibration that at the $150 million Nanoscience Hub at Sydney University, scientists have to use stairs rather than the lifts because the quantum computer would feel the vibration of the lifts in the building and produce meaningless results. Thus in Devs, the quantum computer main lab space is depicted as a suspended hovering isolated block, inside a bunker style building. This art directed visual feature, like so many in Devs, had one foot in reality and another in fiction.

[sakurastarkey]

Spirit Tracks 🛤️

[death-rebirth-senshi]

*Ezra voice* it's not enough that I need to keep up with tech advancements and security hacks mostly on my own through the space dark extranet because I can't trust Alliance R&D to keep up, it's not enough that I'm the best at fine-tuning the mako and fixing or hacking any tech we come across whether I was trained for it or not, it's not enough that I have a million programs on my omni-tool some of which I created myself to hack and disable weaponry more efficiently, no I also had to take bonus medic training because I'm one the only one actually expected to properly maintain their omni-tool so it can actually deploy medigel quickly and interface with hardsuit diagnostics. All Ashley has to do is shoot her damn guns like I can't do all that and shoot a gun too.

[fire-fira]

Blue Devil #10

Dan: I'm NOT a superhero!

Also Dan:

-keeps saving people-

-keeps getting caught up in situations with supervillains-

-keeps winding up in situations involving demons and magic-

-keeps bumping into superheroes and occasionally working with them-

-keeps saving people-

-keeps saving people-

-keeps saving people-

Dan: ...I. Am Not. A Superhero. I just have a really big protective streak! Okay?!

[iri-scrublord]

Chill Season! 2!! Weapon Review!!!

Alright so I'm going to put my faith in the fact that this god-forsaken site is going to put most of my shit under a cut so your dash isn't inundated with my stuff, so here we go. I'll put my overall thoughts in the tags in case you can't be assed to read what's probably going to be a hell of a post.

I'm going to ramble for a bit about accessibility here so if you don't give a shit about that look for the next big heading.

If you know me at all, you know that I'm a weapons guy. I'm disabled, I've got dwarfism, which means I'm way shorter than the average inkling at 3' even. I've got shorter limbs and (importantly) smaller hands/shorter fingers than the average squid does.

Now anyone who knows Squidforce knows that at the best of times they can be kinda fuckin' ableist. Remember the fiasco with Kraken Poisoning seven years ago? Or, hell, to foreshadow my thoughts on the weapons now, the Splattercolor Screen?

I mod weapons. I do them in my garage, Mr. Grizz is my hero and role model. But unlike him, who just takes the safety off of literally anything he gets his hands on, I mod my weapons to be usable by squids with different body types (sometimes I also take the safety off for fun). And before the De-Recall era, where the pro leagues moved to Splatsville (represent), what I do was considered illegal for tournament rules.

And people are going to tell me that we have the Extra Leagues, and sure. I've participated in those. And honestly they're really cool, especially because all things considered I'm one of the lucky ones who has a splat's chance in hell to participate in Turf and Anarchy. Some squids and octos have ailments that make that literally impossible, but still want to compete. I'm not knocking the Extra Leagues here. Hell I make weapons for the damn things.

What I am saying is that I know modding weapons. I know how it works, I know how much of a pain in the fuckin' ass it is to get synergies to work right, and I lose my fucking MIND every time some drooling idiot goes "This weapon needs a Burst Bomb"

BITCH EVERY WEAPON NEEDS A BURST BOMB, YOU THINK EVERY WEAPON'S GOING TO TAKE ONE? SOME KITS ARE GARBAGE FOR A REASON

Anyway, accessibility and modification possibility are things that I rank pretty highly in weapons, and while SF's been cleaning up their act since the De-Recall FOR THE MOST PART, there's still a few stinkers in here I'm going to be docking points from.

Okay that shit's out of the way here we go.

Foil Squeezer (w/ Autobomb and Splattercolor Screen)

Right out the gate I alluded to something that I'm going to need to talk about right away. The special of this thing terrifies me. The hell was Squidforce thinking?? Sure, the structure of the thing's impressive. Throw a sippy cup and you've suddenly got a huge strangely shaped wall of liquid.

What's that liquid do? It gives you goddamn achromatopsia. Who thought this was okay??? Who the hell looked at something like that and said it was fine?? There's already been several complaints I've heard about it around my circles, and I wouldn't be surprised if this thing got banned or reworked in the coming months.

Anyway this is supposed to be about the Foil Squeezer not the Screen so.

The Squeezer is already a pretty solid weapon, two firing modes, hell of a mechanism in the thing to have two separate compartments for the different pressurization levels of the ink inside. Pain in the ass to mod. As far as kits go, we don't know how much it sucks to get the Splashdown or Screen onto them yet (haven't got my hands on a devkit yet) but autobombs are pretty reliable. In terms of synergy? You can throw the bitches through the screen to put pressure, so that's good. Pretty costly for an already ink-hungry weap, but I'll say it's decent, if with a scary scary scary special.

Nouveau's Snipewriter 5B (w/ Splash Wall and Ink Storm)

Remember when Snipewriter first came out and we thought it sucked

hahahaha

This thing's synergistic as all hell. A wall to protect it. A Storm for chip damage which Snipewriter thrives off of. And to top it off a nice red finish. I think they used a different type of wood for it too, which I can appreciate it. Softer.

Fun fact: the origin of the 5H and 5B for the Snipewriters are from the ancient rating system the humans used to use on pencils way back when. 5B uses a much softer graphite for the pencils than the 5H does - art more than writing. I'm not a huge history buff compared to some of my friends but I thought that was neat.

Anyway this weapon's horrifying but I still respect it more than the E-Liter.

Enperry Splat Dualies (w/ Curling Bomb and Triple Splashdown)

You're as beautiful as the day I left you.

In all seriousness I've got a soft spot for curling bombs. And like, not as a traversal tool which like yes it's very useful in that. I like killing with it it's fun

For Triple Splashdown...it's public knowledge that its daddy sucked. That it's one of the worst specials in history, rivalled only by the Reef Slider. So how is the Triple version? It's...

good I guess. I mean like, it's hard to shoot the guy down and not die yourself. So like that's cool. With the Enperries they've got okay synergy? I mean it's no Inkjet, but it's fun to roll in and then pop the special if you've got someone pinned up against a wall.

So like...passable! Which is good!

Undercover Sorella Brella (w/ Torpedo and Splattercolor Screen)

Alright, I'm going to address the mormyridae in the room and talk about the basic Undercover Brella kit. It's awful. Of course it's awful. But nobody really talks about why because nobody talks about the actual logistics for kits.

I kind of alluded to this earlier but one of my pet peeves is like when someone goes "bluuuh why don't they just give this burst bomb" "weh weh Inkstrike would be way better" "why don't you give this thing a wall why does it have a mineeeee"

Giving a weapon a kit isn't as simple as 'This weapon would be good with this sub and this special'. A weapon's infrastructure has to support the sub and special. Think of them like puzzle pieces - the more you try and shove the Suction Bomb piece into a Bamboozler, the more you're going to have to mod it to make it fit.

And as we've been over, Squidforce fucking hates modding.

Put more seriously, tournament regs say that for a weapon alt to be legal, the base weapon itself's gotta perform exactly like the vanilla variant. No differences in ink efficiency, accuracy, spread, ink calibre, nothing like that. So the more you mod a weapon to fit a heavy sub like a Suction Bomb, the less likely you'll get it to work exactly like the base weapon.

That being said: the reason the vanilla Undercover's kit sucks is because it's literally just an umbrella. It's not even a heavy duty one it's one you can pick up at the dollar store for 500G. Weighs five pounds at most, and they shoved an ink chamber into the shaft. Ink Mine and Reef Slider are light as hell additions, and frankly out of the ones that we've got tournament standard are the only ones I would bet you could actually be fitted onto the weapon to begin with.

Which makes the Undercover Sorella an engineering miracle. A middling, mediocre engineering miracle.

Custom Blaster (w/ Point Sensor and Triple Splashdown)

Keeping it short and simple, don't have a lot to say about this one. The Point Sensor's a good support weapon for a blaster, but makes it lack a good poking tool to make people move once they're marked, meaning you're more reliant on your team to poke for you by basically saying 'over there!' Not necessarily a bad thing, but makes it hurt for inking power.

Triple Splashdown....I dunno. I don't see anything for it? It's alright as a panic button, I guess, but the Blaster doesn't have the tools to corner someone, which is where the Splashdown excels.

Special ain't great for it, but the sub changes the weapon's role in an interesting way.

Nintendo's S-BLAST '91 (w/ Burst Bomb and Booyah Bomb)

I went off on how amazing the base weapon is on this a while ago, before I forgot to review the Dread Wringer and the Heavy Edit. I'm not reviewing those until/unless they get alt kits. Fuck you.

I went off on how tough Burst Bombs are to get onto kits a while ago, which...I mean if you asked me before this season I would have told you you were INSANE for saying that something as complex as the S-Blast would get a Burst. But here we are. Some-fucking-how Nintendo worked a goddamn miracle.

Is it effective?

...kinda? Kinda.

Booyah's Booyah, not much to say about it. It's decent on basically everything that gets it as far as I'm concerned.

Painbrush Nouveau (w/ Point Sensor and Tenta Missiles)

Painbrush is another weapon I never really got around to reviewing the base of. It's a scary thing. The Dynamo of brushes except it's actually pretty effective because it only takes a week to come out swinging instead of seven happy years of marriage. I can't imagine a time you'd actually be skating with the thing unless you're in a bad spot, and if you're in a bad spot you're dead anyway.

Unlike with the Custom Blaster, I really like the Point Sensor on this thing. Brushes are meant to be annoying little bastards, and constantly marking people with a weapon that has three times as much range as you think it does makes you the biggest little bastard on the map at any given time.

And if it wasn't bastard enough, you have Missiles for extra bastard.

Painbrush Nouveau - a weapon for the bastard in you.

REEF-LUX 450 Deco (w/ Splash Wall and Reef Slider)

*fucking chokes and dies*

Nouveau's Neo Splatana Stamper (w/ Toxic Mist and Crab Tank)

Probably one of the more interesting kits we got. The original Stamper's got the Burst Bomb and Zipcaster. And as everyone knows before the Burst got its infamous capacity nerf, this thing is FEARSOME with the damn things. So when we saw the new kit with Toxic Mist all the Burst Chuds lost their goddamn minds.

What are they going to do, give it Burst Bomb again? Get over yourself.

This version of the weapon's definitely more support based - sensing a theme with a few of the kits this season honestly - but not as much as you might think. Toxic Mist is important soft area denial, but more than that, it makes landing your Vert-Hori combo a LOT easier, because anyone moving through it will be moving slower than your vertical slash, which is saying something because that thing's nearly as bad as the Grizzco Slosher.

This leads the weapon to a much more thoughtful, methodical style compared to its hopped up brother, which I ended up really liking while testing the weapon out. You're not going to be getting quad after quad like Pro Bigboy Chara or something, but with Mist and Crab you're going to be doing your team a service by playing this weapon well.

And that's it. This is the first time I've actually done a real-ass weapon review on tumblr, so...if anyone other than Astral sees this I'll be happy.

Maybe I'll do another one next season? Who knows.

Feel free to shoot me asks or reply in the comments if you've got any questions or dissenting opinions. I love talking shop about weapon shit with anyone who isn't Astral because her opinions fucking suck.

Please someone give me other opinions to go off of I only have hers someone help

[reasonsforhope]

Pictured: Luis Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat. He's photographed at his house, which has a green roof.

Article

"Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat without overloading electrical grids or spending money on fans and air conditioners. He came across the concept over a decade ago while researching how to make his own home bearable during a particularly scorching summer in Rio.

A method that's been around for thousands of years and that was perfected in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s, green roofs weren't uncommon in more affluent neighborhoods when Cassiano first heard about them. But in Rio's more than 1,000 low-income favelas, their high cost and heavy weight meant they weren't even considered a possibility.

That is, until Cassiano decided to team up with a civil engineer who was looking at green roofs as part of his doctoral thesis to figure out a way to make them both safe and affordable for favela residents. Over the next 10 years, his nonprofit was born and green roofs started popping up around the Parque Arará community, on everything from homes and day care centers, to bus stops and food trucks.

When Gomes da Silva heard the story of Teto Verde Favela, he decided then and there that he wanted his home to be the group's next project, not just to cool his own home, but to spread the word to his neighbors about how green roofs could benefit their community and others like it.

Pictured: Jessica Tapre repairs a green roof in a bus stop in Benfica, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Relief for a heat island

Like many low-income urban communities, Parque Arará is considered a heat island, an area without greenery that is more likely to suffer from extreme heat. A 2015 study from the Federal Rural University of Rio de Janeiro showed a 36-degree difference in land surface temperatures between the city's warmest neighborhoods and nearby vegetated areas. It also found that land surface temperatures in Rio's heat islands had increased by 3 degrees over the previous decade.

That kind of extreme heat can weigh heavily on human health, causing increased rates of dehydration and heat stroke; exacerbating chronic health conditions, like respiratory disorders; impacting brain function; and, ultimately, leading to death.

But with green roofs, less heat is absorbed than with other low-cost roofing materials common in favelas, such as asbestos tiles and corrugated steel sheets, which conduct extreme heat. The sustainable infrastructure also allows for evapotranspiration, a process in which plant roots absorb water and release it as vapor through their leaves, cooling the air in a similar way as sweating does for humans.

The plant-covered roofs can also dampen noise pollution, improve building energy efficiency, prevent flooding by reducing storm water runoff and ease anxiety.

"Just being able to see the greenery is good for mental health," says Marcelo Kozmhinsky, an agronomic engineer in Recife who specializes in sustainable landscaping. "Green roofs have so many positive effects on overall well-being and can be built to so many different specifications. There really are endless possibilities.""

Pictured: Summer heat has been known to melt water tanks during the summer in Rio, which runs from December to March. Pictured is the water tank at Luis Cassiano's house. He covered the tank with bidim, a lightweight material conducive for plantings that will keep things cool.

A lightweight solution

But the several layers required for traditional green roofs — each with its own purpose, like insulation or drainage — can make them quite heavy.

For favelas like Parque Arará, that can be a problem.

"When the elite build, they plan," says Cassiano. "They already consider putting green roofs on new buildings, and old buildings are built to code. But not in the favela. Everything here is low-cost and goes up any way it can."

Without the oversight of engineers or architects, and made with everything from wood scraps and daub, to bricks and cinder blocks, construction in favelas can't necessarily bear the weight of all the layers of a conventional green roof.

That's where the bidim comes in. Lightweight and conducive to plant growth — the roofs are hydroponic, so no soil is needed — it was the perfect material to make green roofs possible in Parque Arará. (Cassiano reiterates that safety comes first with any green roof he helps build. An engineer or architect is always consulted before Teto Verde Favela starts a project.)

And it was cheap. Because of the bidim and the vinyl sheets used as waterproof screening (as opposed to the traditional asphalt blanket), Cassiano's green roofs cost just 5 Brazilian reais, or $1, per square foot. A conventional green roof can cost as much as 53 Brazilian reais, or $11, for the same amount of space.

"It's about making something that has such important health and social benefits possible for everyone," says Ananda Stroke, an environmental engineering student at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro who volunteers with Teto Verde Favela. "Everyone deserves to have access to green roofs, especially people who live in heat islands. They're the ones who need them the most." ...

It hasn't been long since Cassiano and the volunteers helped put the green roof on his house, but he can already feel the difference. It's similar, says Gomes da Silva, to the green roof-covered moto-taxi stand where he sometimes waits for a ride.

"It used to be unbearable when it was really hot out," he says. "But now it's cool enough that I can relax. Now I can breathe again."

-via NPR, January 25, 2025

[etakeh]

[kotharipolymers]

Masterbatches are essential additives used in the plastic industry to enhance color, strength, and other properties, facilitating innovation and progress in various sectors.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Need Saving

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

��Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

[a-typical]

In Devs, the onset golden quantum computer prop was a practical build and quite substantial, weighing approximately half a ton. The onset design referenced real Quantum computer systems from companies such as IBM, and Google, except in the real world, the ‘chandelier’ would be encased in a cooling box since most of the gold apparatus one sees is related to cooling the quantum computer not any actual computation. “It was massive, but all of that quantum computer is practical. That prop should now be in an art gallery. It was stunning,” says Whitehurst.

The majority of the visual effects were created by DNEG in London which has a long history in dealing with Sc-Fi content with respect and tremendous visual fidelity. Films such as Inception and Interstellar have gained the company both Oscars and genuine respect from the science community.

[doujindungeon]

summary: Your housewarming party with practically half the season’s lineup gets downright scorching. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/12 (twelve) f1 drivers [daniel r, lando n, pierre g, lance s, carlos s, alex a, george r, esteban o, charles l, max v, fernando a, lewis h content warnings: gangbang, blowjobs, double penetration (vaginal and anal), use of aphrodisiacs if you really squint word count: 3.0k

Between the Monte Carlo summer air or this particular glass of Enchanté wine, you weren’t sure what had your body sweltering with heat.

As you had fully planned for today to host your special housewarming party, you didn’t anticipate feeling this flushed and hot of all times, of all days.

Especially when you had welcomed a majority of F1’s current drivers over to your far from humble abode–a luxurious penthouse right along the coast of Monte Carlo.

The occasion was simple but the reason was grand: in light of your ascent to team principal for Honda’s formal entry as a contender next season, you had finally taken the plunge to acquire a new home, basking in the abundant opulence that Monaco had to offer as you became neighbors with a majority of the paddock.

While you had full intention of inviting as many people out throughout your planned week of celebrations–whether engineers and other staff from your team, other key executives and leaders from the likes of Honda and the GPDA, and more–you were particularly selective on your guests for today’s housewarming party: excluding the rookies and then some, about most of the drivers for this year’s season were in attendance, including the very man who cheerfully poured and served your glass of Enchanté:

Your first seat, Daniel Ricciardo himself.

With Honda’s highly anticipated entry and with all eyes on you for being the only current female team principal, you knew you needed to make some bold and effective plays. While you were looking to utilize the promising potential within Leone Sasselli–a young, bright-eyed Swiss newcomer who excelled with top marks at Honda’s driving academy–, bringing back one of the most desired veteran drivers in the sport was among your top priority.

Though there was certainly value in the headlines that his comeback would create, you saw this ravening hunger to take to the wheel once again in his eyes when you initially met with him to discuss his desire to join the team.

And with subsequent negotiations going along smoothly without issue, you simply never caught on to the fact that the look of burning, longing desire in his gaze wasn’t reserved to only making his comeback.

From admiring the way your legs crossed as you sat across from him for his initial recruitment, how gorgeous you looked regardless of whether it was a formal press conference or an afterparty at the club, to just loving how your lips said his name while making him feel so wanted and needed back in the sport, Daniel longed and thirsted for you like nothing else.

Perhaps it was fitting that your current predicament started after drinking from the glass of wine that he handed you.

Dinner had long since been served and enjoyed, refreshments–courtesy of Daniel–free for anyone to take while basking in the elegant decor and luxurious amenities of your penthouse suite.

Aside from some help here and there by your first seat, you were playing solo as host for tonight, your body adorned in a breezy strapless summer gown as you mingled among your handsome guests. Eagerly listening in on Lewis’s and Carlos’s recent brush with Hollywood at the likes of The Met Gala and Cannes Film Festival, comparing the conversations between the chatty chaos of Alex, George and Lando to the tranquil talks of Max and Charles, taking in the tales of starring in a Netflix movie with Esteban and filming for commercials for Givenchy with Pierre, to beckoning over Lance and Fernando out forth from whichever wall they had rooted themselves against.

As for Daniel, he was making sure there was a drink in hand for everyone.

Alcohol flowed–for Lewis, a bottle of Almave was specifically prepared by your first seat–and lips loosened just before, in your case, balance tumbled.

Plus, with a brand new pair of heels that you had yet to break in, it was inevitable that you would fall forward after a drunken misstep.

Thankfully Daniel was ready to catch you, sparing you from an embarrassing plummet down to the sleek marble floor of your living room.

You parted your lips, smiling at him with inebriated reverie as you prepared to praise him as your savior.

Yet as his eyes sniped down to your chest while his hand ghosted along your hip through your dress as he steadied you up, the words he then exclaimed were nothing short of villainous.

“Boss, don’t tell me you’re already getting pay cuts in your first year that you can’t even afford a pair of bra and panties!”

You sobered up quick.

Almost shattering the glass in your hand.

And by the way that the room suddenly fell silent upon Daniel’s words, you were sure that everyone could hear the slight pressure you imposed on your cup.

Aghast, your eyes popped wide open while the heat on your cheeks deepened intensified from its drunken origins to sheer embarrassment as you squealed, “Daniel, what are you–?!”

Laughing jovially, he only proceeded to turn you around so you were facing the other drivers in the room, keeping one arm firmly around your waist while the other hand suspiciously rested upon the top of your dress.

“I’m just helping you break the ice, boss. Talking to every single guy here while I see you fidgeting with your dress, hoping for somebody to notice that you’re commando.” Letting out a sigh, he remarked, “I can’t stand seeing you pussyfoot around all night when I know what you really want.” 

As a grin that stretched from ear to ear cracked on his lips, he leaned forward to leave an affectionate kiss on your cheek while he retrieved your wine glass to set it aside upon a nearby shelf. “And that’s having every single man in this room absolutely devastate your pus–”

You instantly shrieked out loud with a squirm. “Daniel!”

“I get it, I get it,” he repeated with a click of his tongue. “Can’t be a groundbreaking female icon and a greedy needy slut at the same time.” Shaking his head with disdain, he continued, “Time Magazine wouldn’t wanna cover that.”

Daniel turned his head towards one side of the room, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Lewis, back me up here, man.”

Your attention immediately followed the direction of his gaze in hopes of salvation from this situation.

Instead, Lewis merely raised his glass of Almave towards you as he sheepishly smiled. “Gonna have to unfortunately agree with him, lovely.”

The co-sign from Sir Hamilton himself in front of his fellow drivers had you feeling even more exposed and flustered than before.

If he was in agreement, then who else–

Both of Daniel’s arms proceeded to fully embrace you, shifting you from side to side as he cheerfully proclaimed, “So yeah, it’s okay that you wanna smash the glass ceiling and get smashed by almost over half the grid at the same time, it’s okay! No judgement here!” He gazed out across the living room, smiling at every man in attendance as he pointed at each and every one of them, “Ain’t that right fellas? I know you’ve been eyeing her all night–can’t hide that shit from me!”

“Daniel Joseph Ricciardo, I swear–” The hiss you let out was interrupted by a snicker from Alex.

“Full name, huh? So those rumors of you two being especially close are true then.”

You shook your head vehemently amidst some of the shared laughter among the other drivers that soon followed. “That’s not–”

Stubbled chin resting on your bare shoulder, Daniel was all smiles as he affirmed, “Damn right. And it’s for this reason that I wanna do something nice for the lady who signs my check. So without further ado…”

Panic spiked through your nerves once as you felt his fingers ghost along the top of your dress, a squeak escaping you instantly as you could tell that the rest of the men in your living room were looking on with keen interest and growing desire.

Another kiss to your cheek before one was planted at the base of your neck. His voice lowering to a sultry coo, Daniel remarked, “Don’t be shy, boss. I knew the moment that I heard that all the youngins didn’t get an invite tonight that you were looking to have your fill of a more mature palate.”

A laugh escaping him, he continued, “I don’t see that darling lad Leone around but I sure as hell see Fernando.”

An amused snort escaped the aforementioned driver. “Ehh you’ll be seeing what I’ll do to your boss sooner than later.”

“Jesus Fernando,” was Lance’s immediate reaction amidst his laughter.

First Lewis, now Fernando.

With the exemplary example that the two oldest drivers in the room were setting, your stomach twisted but your heart fluttered as to what influence this would impose.

“All this talk about pussytoeing or whatever but no action, Daniel,” came about Max’s huffed sigh. “Are we going to keep discussing or are we going to actually get to do something, you horny bastard?”

There was your answer. 

And with more yearning stares trained your way, your knees were buckling as your thighs pressed together while you failed to resist against the growing ache between your legs.

“God I forgot how impatient you can be, Maxwell,” Daniel tsked with faux-admonishment before his attention redirected itself back towards you, his other hand proceeding to paw at your breasts as he hummed, “So how do you wanna go about this, boss? One by one, luck of the draw, some gentlemanly lovemaking or star in your own hardcore gangbang porno?”

The first action.

Not rough, but far from delicate. With Daniel’s hand groping you with such firm precision, you only shivered and fell further back against him as you savored his touch with a mewl, the answer of “anything” stuck in the back of your throat.

Daniel was laughing out loud with amusement while some of the other guys jeered with delight, even while the sensation of your nipples hardening through your dress beneath his palm was already making him eager to fuck you right then and there. “This is like the one time I’ve ever seen you so indecisive. No worries–I’ll go first then.”

Turning his attention back to everyone else, he declared with a smirk, “You fellas can join whenever.” As he shifted his gaze towards a familiar pair of green eyes however, he taunted, “You’re last though, Lando.”

“Oh fuck off, Daniel,” Lando snorted with a roll of his eyes, downing the last of his drink before slapping his glass down on your coffee table as he rose up in defiance. “I’m gonna devastate that pretty boss of yours until she’s preparing a contract for me.”

And so it began.

Just barely an hour before, you were having quaint conversations with your guests, graciously basking in their praise and wishes of goodwill to you and your team for the next season, to your career as you sought to help continue the momentum in bringing more women to the forefront of the sport.

Now you were quickly left debauched while subjected to their whims.

At first, it started off manageable, your lips left to be possessed by either Daniel’s or Lando’s while their hands joined in ripping off your dress before their fingers sought to explore and expose your body in full to the voyeuring eyes of the other drivers, whether toying with your nipples or delving into your cunt.

It only took the way you sighed and whined out both of their names while you melted beneath their touch that the rest of your guests either took initiative to make their way over to you or patiently enjoyed more wine until you were eventually passed along to their side of the room, all while clothes were soon discarded and dropped to the floor.

Earlier, when you were anticipating the arrival of the drivers, your decision to forgo any undergarments left you feeling giddy and on edge, your mind flashing to fantasies of being used as their personal toy just before you snorted and waved off the thought even as you doubled down on your decision to skip out on any bra or panties for the evening.

You genuinely couldn’t have imagined that your party would transpire like this.

Positioned on your knees, your eyes obscured by Daniel’s hands as he had you guess which man was currently fucking your mouth or having your hands stroke them off.

Every correct guess guaranteed that you would be fucked well to orgasm. Every error made was a guaranteed photo taken on someone else’s phone–a memento of such an esteemed female trailblazer at her naughtiest.

You were set to fail.

Already overwhelmed by being at the center of such an outrageous fantasy turned reality, with over 10 candidates to guess from, as you were made to adjust your jaw to accommodate the girth of whichever cock was stuffing your mouth while you had one leaky tip smear your cheek with precum as another stained your hand, there was no way you would be able to guess properly.

In this case, it was Pierre, Lance, and Lando who claimed victory, prideful satisfaction evident on their faces with the shuttering flash of their phone cameras as they beheld the sight of your pretty face painted with their cum as you gulped down their respective orgasms.

The next instance drew inspiration from your housewarming party itself, with both Daniel and Lewis hosting a special taste test: a pour of Enchanté and Almave right upon your breasts for anyone to come and compare.

Ever in the spirit of teamwork, it was Alex and Carlos who rose up to the challenge, their lips latching onto your nipples for earnest suckles, mouths and tongues hungry to kiss and lick away any trace of wine from your breasts until they were clean.

Afterwards, your physical endurance was put to the test as you found yourself hanging onto the likes of Esteban and George as you were passed between the two, both taking turns lifting you up into their arms as they hammered their cocks into your cunt, enjoying the way your legs hugged their waists.

Of course, while there was harmony and cooperation, you couldn’t have a gathering of these drivers without competition flaring.

After all, being made to latch onto Charles’s shoulders with a squeal as he plunged his cock into your cunt from beneath you while Max was stuffing your ass full with his dick had you truly feeling the brunt of their rivalry.

And given that this whole situation spiraled further given the respective co-sign from two of the oldest men in attendance, you were left in a pleasured heap on your floor while you were mounted by either Fernando or Lewis, both plowing away until the amount of times your core and ass were leaking messily with their cum surpassed that of anyone else who had a turn with you thus far. 

You couldn’t be happier.

From having once waved off the idea of getting to indulge in such lasciviousness as mere foolishness, you were used to having so much attention on you for your ability to lead.

Now, after the sheer debauchery you were treated to all night long, it was utterly satisfying to have all eyes on you for your ability to please a man.

At this moment, it was Daniel.

Seated on his lap as you obediently bounced away on his cock, your legs parted wide while he groped your breast from behind as he worked his fingers over your clit, you were happy to show gratitude for the initiative he displayed on your behalf.

While his lips kissed and bit at your neck, he rasped out, “Come on, boss. I gotta show why you signed me in the first place, right?”

The sudden snap of his hips and the careful press of his fingertips upon your clit was all it took for you to orgasm messily with a sharp cry at that instant, the gush of your release flooding forth much to the amusement of your party guests, all with phones out at the ready for photos and videos.

As you fell back against his chest in dazed bliss, your body was at conflict between wanting to bask in the afterglow and craving for even more pleasure.

A decision would have to wait however, given the sudden ring at your front door that had you startled while your guests looked at one another in confusion.

Even Daniel didn’t seem to anticipate sudden presence. “Yo Lando, did you invite Oscar or something?”

“The hell, I’m not his keeper–”

An index finger popped up. 

“Ahh I can answer that,” George suddenly chimed with a laugh. His twinkling blue eyes gazing at yours, he then winked while reaching for his dress shirt to hand towards you. “Though I believe it’s best if you go, beautiful.”

Though confused as ever, you did as told as you stood up from Daniel’s lap to slip on George’s shirt, doing your best to cover yourself up while you stepped over towards the entrance to your home.

Upon opening the front door, you were immediately face-to-face with a simple yet outrageously expensive yet simple pale blue button-up shirt.

Your eyes proceeded to trail up.

And up.

All towards the shadow that loomed above.

Your jaw went slack as your eyes widened with shock.

“To–”

A thick, calloused finger hushed your lips as an accented baritone voice greeted,

“I was planning on visiting another day but I got a text from George that this was a party not to be missed.”

Of all times to suddenly have team principal solidarity with–

You were met with light laughter as your disheveled state was inspected. “I can definitely see he is right.”

Big hands rested on your shoulders before you were turned around with ease, guiding you on ahead to rejoin the others once more while a pair of lips fell by your ear in a husky murmur.

“Please allow me to join the others in welcoming you to the circuit further, schatzi.”

————————-

this was supposed to be about lonely mrs wolff housewife saucy shenanigans but ALAS 😭

also to gently address the australian elephant in the paddock i got nothing against oscar but my rpf cutoff is up to the birth year of 1999 🙇‍♀️

thank you for reading!!! i may be opening requests in sometime esp since it’s summer so it’s time to 💦

[writingwithcolor]

Is my Character a Latino Mechanic Stereotype?

@engineering-a-better-world asks:

I often see media of Hispanic people being mechanics and am wondering if I am playing into this stereotype with one of my secondary characters. I did not find anything on your blog about this particular trope and do not know how harmful it is/why. The main five characters are all scientists specializing in different fields. My mc’s best friend is mostly Argentinian with some Nicaraguan ancestry. She is a mechanical engineer with a specialty in prosthetics and makes her own above knee prosthetic legs. There is a Mexican character shown later who is a captain of the city guard and very much a leader and not handy. Are there pitfalls to avoid in this representation? Does her specialty fit negative stereotypes and why?

Hi, thanks for asking. #rubber stamp approved (per Masterpost rules, I cannot give these out any more. This is sort of a joke, but really, this is a great ask to explore ideas of Latino-Americans and Labor stereotypes.) 

It sounds like you have a variety of Latino representation planned for your story. That’s fantastic (and the make or break for me.) You plan to showcase Latinos in different professionalized fields, which is positive. The “ethnic menial labor” trope or “Latino mechanic” trope become problematic when it’s the only representation given for Latino characters, or they’re showcased as one dimensional side-notes to non-Latino MCs. Having variety will offset the heavy (and often negative) overuse of Menial Labor and Hard Labor jobs.

I’m also not trying to reinvent the wheel, so you can check out more about the trope on this TVTropes page on “Ethnic Menial Labor”, and more about Latino representation in media in this Writeinclusion.org factsheet.

Important Note On Latinos and Menial Labor

Many of my Latino family members and friends are trades workers or do ‘hard-labor’ or ‘menial-labor’ jobs. My father was a roofer before he changed careers. My grandfather worked the racetracks. My best friend’s dad managed a restaurant. These jobs, whether ‘hard-labor’ or ‘menial,’ put food on the table and are not indigent. They take care of our families.

As long as Latinos in these jobs are not framed as less-than, I have no problem with the range of experiences being displayed. The fact that your characters fit into jobs across the socioeconomic spectrum mitigates your concern about stereotyping.

Seeing more professionalized Latino characters is great, and I can’t wait to read it.

Melanie 🌻

Notes:

Meet Melanie, our newest WWC mod (as of this post)!

[this rubber stamp ask was submitted before the Masterpost rules took effect in 2023. We have chosen to publish it to prime our readers on Latine topics and tropes.]

[fire-fira]

Blue Devil #15

Dan... Sir... I get that a BIG part of your movie work has been on special effects engineering and the like,

but a giant animatronic gorilla? REALLY?

Granted, he says here that he had a hand in helping design it, so that implies he didn't actually build it, but STILL.

I suspect before you got fused to your suit you had WAY too much time on your hands, Dan.

[ashlovesfood]

Do You Like The Way I Flick My Tongue Or Nah?

Tags: Ovulation, sex deal, hornyyy feelings, teasing, waterpark, aphrodisiacs, revealing clothes, pet names, kissing, sex meme (if ykykyk) pounding, milking, multiple orgasms, pregnancy mention

Position? ôヮô

Alright, maybe this deal shouldn’t have been made, due to the fact you're getting pounded over and over without a break! Wait a minute what.

The date on your calendar read 31, you were ovulating and it felt like hell. Your pussy was leaking discharge so much it was a waterpark in your panties, the increased effect of your boobs was sensitive, and you had a higher libido. Jeez, you felt like a damn succubus trying to find a way to pass the feeling of wanting to be fucked down every single second, when a suggestion came to mind.

This called for a deal between you and Bruce, ‘First one to cum loses’ It was brilliant. Basically, if he came first, Bruce would tell you what you win. On the other hand, if you cum first, Bruce can do whatever he wants to you. You reached down into your purse, grabbing your phone to message Bruce. ‘Hey handsome. Wanna make a deal? Whoever cums first gets to do whatever the other person tells them, and if we both come at the same time we fuck all over again. Are you in baby?’ The text was sent, you could feel an explosion of butterflies erupt in your stomach, and your panties were drenched with discharge so much it felt like you came all over. ‘Oh sweetie, I’m in. Watch out when I come home..’

It took everything in you to not practically run to his workplace and fuck him right there infront of his workers, you were definitely gushing even more from what he said.

Your work was finished around 5:30 P.M. An intense craving nagged you, chocolate covered strawberries at your local bakery. It was a few blocks away from your workplace, so you said your goodbyes and walked down the street. The door opened with a jingle, the employee greeting you with a smile. “Hi! Can I buy a box of your special chocolate covered strawberries please?” The employee nodded their head, engaging in light conversation while they wrapped your box up. It came up to $15.55 for a dozen, and you happily swiped the card that Bruce gave you, his limitless credit card that he insisted you used. “Thank you.” Your hands grabbed the box as you walked out of the place, you wondered why these were so special , they look like regular strawberries? But it didn’t matter, you got your craving!

The sunset was blending in with the sky, Gothams weather being off and on with clouds or clear skies. You drove home in your car, jamming to ‘Someone To Call My Lover’ by Janet Jackson. Bruce’s manor was greeted with your car, parking in the garage and turning off the engine, grabbing the box of strawberries. You placed your keys into the bowl on the table, kicking off your boots near the entrance making yourself at home. As soon as you got into the master bedroom, your clothes were thrown into the laundry hamper and you wore a pink cami with booty shorts, the fabric doing an ok job of covering your ass.

Maybe it would make Bruce cum first…

The TV was playing your favorite show while you ate the chocolate strawberries, a bottle of chocolate syrup on the coffee table to help your cravings. “Mmph.. sooo good!” You were in heaven, the taste of the strawberries in your mouth making you feel so warm and tingly all over, you were on cloud nine. You focused all your attention on the food and show that you didn’t notice Bruce coming home. “Bunny? Bunnyyy .” His voice startled you, your head jolting towards the front entrance seeing him lean against the wall. You were in the middle of eating a strawberry, the chocolate smeared on the corner of your lips. “Brucey!” He chuckled as he saw you fumble to get up, practically running towards him for a hug. His strong forearms encircled the small of your back as you hugged him, your perky tits squished against his front. Bruce could tell the difference in your behavior, you were ovulating. Bruce’s lips connected with yours, the clash of tongue and teeth spurred him on, a semi boner growing.

The aphrodisiacs took a toll on your mind, you were needy for him, grinding against his dick for friction. He broke the kiss to look at your face, a string of saliva between your lips. “Dolly, are you horny f’me?.. So hot and eager for my cock aren’t ya..” You moaned quietly, his words going straight to your pussy. He bounced your legs up, clenching the underside of your thighs while he sucked on your collarbone. Bruce walked towards the couch, placing your soft delicate body on the plush cushions. He looked at you, a deep desire in his eyes sending signals through your mind. Bruce lifted your cami, the fabric making your perky breasts bounce, cute hard nipples that turned him on even more. You were clenching around nothing, the booty shorts you wore were adhesive with the slick between your thighs, what a fucking sight for Bruce.

“Bruce.. Need you so bad, daddy..” He smirked, fondling your boobs with his large hands, rubbing the tips of your nipples sending shivers down your core. Bruce grabbed the chocolate syrup from the table, flipping the cap open to drizzle chocolate on your body. You gasped at the cold sensation, Bruce made your breast covered in the sticky syrup, the air filled with arousal. He licked the substance off your body, his taste buds being blessed with the taste of sweetness. “Nngh..! T-too much B..” You writhed under his body, the weight of him pressing down on your lower making you unable to move. He was a beast unleashed, and you were prey to him, displayed on a platter right in front of him.

Your hands connected with his shoulders, trying to pry him off using your strength making him growl. “You're mine now baby.. Gonna make you cum first and breed you so full .” The whole point was to make Bruce lose, but who cares at this point… You mewled feeling his hands all over your body, his thick fingers sliding down towards your pussy. His fingers slid your booty shorts down, revealing the cute sight of your drenched panties . Bruce was rock hard by now because of you, his dick begging for attention. He dove in face first, nose buried in your panties making you even wetter. “Nooo! Take them off pleaseee!..” Bruce laughed, you were so desperate for his touch that the deal you made was completely erased from your brain, too horny to think. He pulled your panties off in one swift motion, the slick between your thighs glistening under the dim light, his hands pocketing the fabric into his pants for later.

His face connected with your clit, sucking and nibbling at the tiny little bud, making you shudder with pleasure. The wet sounds of your pussy and his tongue seemed to echo around the interior, his mouth trying to work you to an orgasm. A small part in your mind was nagging you to try and not cum, you tried your hardest not to. “Bunny.. not gonna cum so easily, huh?.. Guess I’ll just have to fuck you over and over again. .”

Bruce moved your body everywhere, fucking you on the kitchen counter, to the drawing room, on the dining table. You were two bunnies in heat. No protection, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally. It ended up in the bedroom, your poor body hunched over on the mattress, ass up face down into the pillows.

“Please Bruceee! I’m not going to cum unless you first!..” He was pounding you into the bed, his main goal of trying to make you cum was hard. Your body was really trying to not cum, from the feeling of his dick and his fingers rubbing your clit? You better win a prize for holding out so long. Bruce was faltering, it was late at night and you guys have been fucking for hours. His dick was ready for this challenge and he would NEVER give up . “C'mon baby? Wanna cum for daddy? I’ll give you the best orgasm ever.”

The relentless pace of his snapping hips against yours was insane, you were cockdrunk from his dick. You were cross eyed, drooling all over the sheets while he fucked you dumb. His fingers rubbed tight circles on your little clit, sending your body head first into pleasure.

“ Mhnooooooo !” You came all over his base, the slick making everything stickier and slippery. Your body was twitching, and Bruce was laughing behind you. “Finally came for daddy, huh? Guess I win bunny. I’m gonna breed you full of my cum and knock you up baby.. Wanna see your pretty little tits swell up with milk, and your belly will be all round and glowing for me ..” Bruce left your pussy for a split second, flipping you onto your back to fold you into a mating press. His thick thighs slapped against yours, the plap plap sound bouncing off the walls.

It smelt like straight up pussy, the air was warm from the two of you. Bruce sped up his pace, his large breeder balls twitching with the need to knock you up . “Gonna cum into this sweet pussy, ‘kay pretty girl?..” He was thrusting into your hole, his length throbbing, his tip repeatedly kissing your cervix. “Oh Bruceyy!!” You came with him, his hot seed buried to the brim in your pussy, the combination of fluids creating a milky white ring around his base. Bruce groaned, he got off your body and laid on the side, snuggling your body into his. “Did so good for me darling. Hope you get pregnant..”

─ -ˋ °. • ⚘ •. ° ˊ- ─ ─ -ˋ °. • ⚘ •. ° ˊ- ─

A/N Guys i posted my intro and i thought it would get more likes help… but hope u guys know what and where my links are ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ