#we need more Australian operators

[specter319]

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘿 — 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉 '𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙅𝘼' 𝙒𝙀𝙎𝙏 (𝙈𝙒𝙄𝙄 𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘿)

During my hiatus (which I know was very unexpected and I apologise for that) I did some very, very long cooking in the kitchen, which meant entire world building from the ground up. And figuring out who Damon was as an entire base character. And though I've done a good portion of this, I haven't entirely gotten to his backstory yet, though I have a few ideas here and there. He's not entirely done. So while I get some more renders done and some changes here and there done. Take this for the time being. if you have any questions about Damon, don't be afraid to send them to my ask box or leave them in the comments! Inspired by @shadow0-1's renders | Font | A track from Damon's playlist.

[edge-oftheworld]

actually. you know what. why can't artists tour more often from an australian base?? southeast asia is right there. huge populations. jakarta, singapore, ho chi minh city, manila, kuala lumpur, penang, then up the mekong (they should take a tour boat like it's a tour bus) to bangkok and whatever the capital of laos is called i'll look it up later. go visit the mountainous cities in viet nam not just the delta ones up to bangladesh and mumbai and whatever the other big city in india is called (i'll look it up and update this post). sri lanka. up to south korea and japan and hong kong and taiwan then shanghai and beijing are HUGE like as an aussie i can barely comprehend their population. could do some nice holiday shows in bali, fiji, heck, why not do one in port vila? honiara? both cairns and perth are really good bases if we just get in some infrastructure how hard is that? connectivity between the western and eastern worlds of music and australia is so well placed to do this. i would say darwin too but no one wants to live in darwin it's too hot

BUT I JUST DID AN ENVIRO SCI DEGREE IN WHICH THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT FEEDING THE WORLD FROM DARWIN AND YOU KNOW WHAT?? WHY NOT DO IT WITH MUSIC TOO

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 1

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: mentions of injury; Kyra is a pest and reader is grumpy

Word count: 3.5k

Masterlist

| PART 2 |

..

Y/n’s teammates said she didn’t scream when Millie Bright stepped on her tibia. Beth said she could hear the crack as Y/n’s bone broke in two. But again, Y/n didn’t scream.

Leah said Y/n didn’t cry when the medical staff took her to the infirmary when they touched her broken leg to see where it hurt.

Y/n didn’t show any emotion. It was as if she wasn’t there.

Y/n was unable to answer any of the doctors’ questions when the Arsenal staff went to check her in at Great Ormond Street Hospital. They gave Y/n’s personal information and explained what had happened during the match against Chelsea.

Y/n was now lying in a hospital bed, wearing an ugly hospital gown, as a series of different doctors tried to explain her condition to her.

“It seems like a transverse fracture, miss,” one of the doctors had told her.

“Surgical intervention will be necessary—” said another.

“At least 8 months to full recovery,”

That last voice echoed endlessly in/n’s mind and that’s when she cried for the first time.

..

Y/n’s has been at the hospital for two days now. Her operation was yesterday, and thankfully, she was able to go home, but there was one problem: Y/n had no one to go home to. She has lived on her own since moving to London years ago after she signed for Arsenal.

Y/n was sure she could look after herself. She had been injured before and had managed just fine on her own. She was very independent, self-reliant and—

“Stubborn,” Kyra told her. “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my entire life,” the Australian said. Standing in front of Y/n’s hospital bed with her jaw clenched.

“I am not stubborn. I have the legal system on my side, and I’m not letting you break into my house,” Y/n told Kyra, her long-time friend and teammates

Break in?” Kyra said exasperatedly, pressing her palms to her face and dragging them down in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I’m kicking you out of your own house so I can live in it alone.”

“That’s basically what’s happening,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m only moving in with you because you need someone to help you around until you are completely healed.” Kyra took a step closer to Y/n’s bed, softness on her face. “It will be just like when we have film nights, come on’.”

Y/n and Kyra had been friends since the U19 World Cup. When they met again as Arsenal’s teammates, their friendship just grew. They were always at each other’s houses and always found something fun to do after training alongside Alessia or any other girls. Y/n adored Kyra. How could she not? Kyra was sweet and funny, and yeah, sometimes a pest, but Y/n loved her anyway, she was her happiest self when Kyra was by her side. Unfortunately, Y/n wasn’t in a position to be just her usual self. She was injured and didn’t even know if she would be back on the pitch when her recovery was complete.

She was frustrated, and at the moment, Kyra was her punching bag.

“I’m not incapacitated, I can take care of myself, they gave me crutches and everything,” Y/n said, pointing to her new best friends for the rest of the year. The crutches were in the corner of the room, next to the hospital bag Leah packed for her after the team found out that Y/n would be in the hospital for a few days.

“And how will you drive? How will you do your groceries? How will you cook?” Kyra said, trying to make Y/n see the real situation they were in. She needed help, and Kyra was on a mission to be everything Y/n needed right now, even though she was being difficult about it.

“I can take a cab and order takeaway,” Y/n said persistently. “Besides, you can’t even cook! Last time Alessia tried teaching you how to make chicken pasta and you couldn’t even touch the chicken

“Okay, first of all, chicken is gross,” Kyra got up from Y/n’s bed and picked up Y/n’s bag from the floor, along with the girls’ crutches. “Second, I’ll try hard to cook us both good meals! I even bought a cookbook,” Kyra said proudly

“Oh God, you’ll poison me,” Y/n said dryly, pressing the bridge on her nose.

“I will if you don’t get out of this bed and let me take you home. The hospital needs its bed back,” Kyra handed Y/n her crutches and helped her to her feet. It wasn’t the first time the girl had stood up after the surgery, but she still wasn’t used to her new cast. She felt like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

The cast looked cute, though. The Arsenal girls had come by later that day, and everyone had written well wishes on it, Vic had even draw some flowers near Y/n’s ankle. Kyra also took a lot of time drawing small doodles all over it; the Australian had said it looked sad, ugly and boring before her special touch.

With a hand on Y/n’s back, Kyra slowly urged the girl to take a step in. “Does it feel all right? Do you think we should get a smaller crutch?” She asked, hovering over Y/n.

Y/n looked at the crutches in disgust. “No, their size is fine, I just— I hate this, and I hate this cast, and—” Y/n felt her eyes well up with tears.

Frustration.

Y/n’s body was filled with frustration and pain. Her leg hurt, even though she had been given strong painkillers, and now she was a mess, crying in an ugly hospital gown. Her hair was dirty because she hadn’t had a chance to wash it since the game. Her life was completely chaos. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Y/n was used to being independent. She had moved to London after her eighteenth birthday to play for Arsenal, her first professional club. For the first time in her life, she was without her parents and family, and she genuinely thrived on it. Y/n was pretty much a free bird, she didn’t need anyone, until now.

Y/n felt Kyra coming closer, friendly arms embracing her before she could resist the physical touch. “Shh, it’s okay,” Kyra said to Y/n, trying to comfort her. “You’re in a lot of pain right now, and the situation hasn’t really sunk in for you yet, but once it does, it’ll get easier.”

Kyra was the same age as Y/n, but she was definitely the most easy-going and good-humoured of them, although right now Kyra looked older. Y/n was usually the more mature one, but at the moment she wasn’t. So, she just let her friend comfort her.

“Steph told me that she cried for a whole week when she got injured during that Matilda’s match back in May,” Kyra said.

“Is that an attempt to soothe me?” Y/n asked playfully, lips still trembling.

“I’m trying my best,” Kyra admitted. “I’m better with jokes than support-giving.”

“I think you are pretty good at both,” Y/n replied. “But it’s all right now, no more affection,” Y/n mumbled, cleaning her cheeks away from the tears and pulling away from Kyra’s embrace

Damn, Y/n really needed that hug. Maybe the whole neuroscience community was right when they said that humans needed other humans. Oxytocin released all that.

“Oh, come on, you love my affection,” Kyra teased, a glimpse of her cheeky smile showing.

“No, I don’t.” Y/n huffed.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“Whatever.” Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. She took a deep breath and looked around the room she’d called hers for the past few days. “Can you get my things please?”

Kyra rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, asking for my help now, are you?”

Y/n crossed her arms. “If you keep being annoying, I’ll just ask Leah to come over and take care of me.”

Kyra picked up Y/n’s belongings from the hospital’s wardrobe, it wasn’t much, but other players had been kind enough to send gifts for Y/n. “Leah’s a tough love person; you guys wouldn’t last a day living together,” Kyra warned.

Y/n sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I always am,” Kyra said under her breath, taking one last look around the room “I think I have everything,” Kyra said, shifting a load of things in her arms. “I’ve got your bag, the flowers Millie sent as an apology, Beth and Viv’s plushie, Leah’s basket, Alessia’s ballons…”

Y/n bit back a laugh. Kyra wasn’t exactly short, but with all the things she was carrying, she looked like a child drowning in oversized toys and presents.

The two girls left the hospital, and for Yn’s misery, she had to use a wheelchair. Kyra teased her all the way out of the hospital to the car.

..

After a 20-minute drive, Kyra parked her car in Y/n’s garage. It was a sunny Tuesday, and the neighbourhood was quiet. Y/n neighbours were not around at this time of the day—they were busy at work and school— which Y/n was grateful about; she didn’t want any further attention on her injury.

It was already enough having a million texts from her family every 5 minutes asking how she was, she didn’t want her neighbour to worry too. Especially Mrs. Petunia, the old lady who lived across the road. Mrs. Petunia was a sweetheart, but she started to treat Y/n as a child once she found out the girl lived ‘all alone,’ during one of their quick conversations.

When Kyra turned off the car, Y/n was already on a mission to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, but Kyra was quicker.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Kyra said, helping Y/n to her crutches against her will. “I can’t have you falling face-flat on the pavement on my first day as your caretaker.”

“I can get out of the car on my own, Ky, thank you very much!” Y/n said grudgingly, trying to get keep her balance on the crutches, but failing miserably. “Okay, I may need your help,” Y/n admitted.

Kyra smiled as if she had won an argument. “See! That wasn’t so hard.” The other girl said, holding Y/n’s elbow, guiding her towards the front door.

Y/n didn’t answer, a forming on her face.

“Don’t start getting annoying now, we’ve barely made it to your house, we’ve got a long way to go,” Kyra said, unloading Y/n’s belongings from her car. “So just try to smile—like this.” She flashed an exaggerated grin at Y/n, showing off her pearly white teeth.

“I’m going to be annoying until this stupid bone grows back, which will take a long time, and that’s why you don’t need to move in with me,” Y/n said, still unwilling to accept the whole arrangement Kyra and the rest of the team had apparently plotted behind her back.

"Will you drop it?" Kyra asked, pulling a large teddy bear out of the car— the one with a ‘Get Better Soon’ t-shirt, courtesy of Katie and Caitlin. “It’s already been decided; I’m staying here until you are completely healed.”

“That’s the problem! Who decided it? It’s my house, it’s my life,” Y/n argued, if she wasn’t holding on to the crutches for dear life, Y/n would dramatically throw her arm into the air.

“Me and Leah decided it when you were—well, you know—catatonic,” Kyra replied, fishing a set of keys from her pocket.

“I was never catatonic! What are you going to say next? That I’m hysterical? Is this the early 20th century?” Y/n said, allowing herself to be melodramatic.

“You do look a bit crazy right now,” Kyra shot back, turning the key in the door.

Y/n wished Millie hadn’t broken her good leg, or else she’d have kicked Kyra right there. So much for five and a half years of friendship.

“Hand on, how did you get my keys?” Y/n asked when she noticed that Kyra was already unlocking the door.

“Leah took them from your locker at the stadium after you went to the hospital,” Kyra explained. “Just so you know, Leah came here yesterday to make sure the doors and windows were locked and to check if you had left the cooker on or not.”

“Leah was here? And she took my keys and gave them to you? And why would I even leave my cooker on anyway?”

“Yep. She was also kind enough to make up your guest room for me to sleep in while I stay here,” Kyra said with a grin, ignoring Y/n’s rhetorical question.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Good to know my house is not my house anymore.”

“It’s our house now,” Kyra teased as she let Y/n pass through the door first, following close behind. “We are roomies!”

“No, we are not,” Y/n muttered.

“Roomies!” Kyra repeated, more enthusiastically

Y/n tried to hold her laughter, but she failed. Kyra looked cute when she was excited. It was Y/n’s first real laugh she broke her leg on the pitch.

Maybe sharing a house with her best friend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

..

Y/n hated sharing a house with Kyra. She wasn’t sure is she could do it anymore.

“Wow, rude! I’m right here!” Kyra pouted.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Y/n asked, her voice dripping with false remorse.

Kyra rolled her eyes. “I’m just helping you get down the stairs. Can’t your brain tell the difference between receiving help from a gorgeous friend and feeling threatened?”

Now, it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “You are so dramatic, Kyra.”

“So are you!” Kyra replied, raising her eyebrows. “At least I got two working legs.”

“That’s low even for you,” Y/n said, elbowing Kyra in the stomach— not hard enough to hurt.

“And now you attack me, what’s next? Hit me with your crutches. Kick me…”

Kyra explained to Y/n all the ways she could hit her, given the circumstances, as they walked down the stairs. Y/n thought them but decided not to act on her deviant ideas—especially after Kyra made her popcorn like the sweetheart she was.

Y/n was stretched out on the couch, the popcorn bowl on her stomach, her bad leg propped up on a pillow in Kyra’s lap as they watched a ‘90s rom-com. Y/n couldn’t even remember the title. The plot was the same though—about a boy and a girl.

“God, I love popcorn,” Y/n said, “I could eat it all day.”

“I can see that,” Kyra smiled. “Just don’t choke on it, I don’t know how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. Kyra picked up some popcorn and threw it playfully at Y/n’s head.

Always the pest.

Kyra’s love language was an act of disturbance.

“I still don’t know why I put you as my emergency contact,” Y/n said, eating more popcorn and watching as the couple on the screen shared their first kiss.

“Because you love me,” Kyra said smugly without taking her eyes off the screen. “There is no way that was a technical kiss; I can literally see their tongues!”

Y/n squinted at the television. “Yeah, there was definitely tongue there.” Y/n agreed.

Damn, Y/n missed being kissed like that. It had been a long time since she’d been to a club and really seen other people. It was hard to combine a social life with football season. That was probably why most footballers dated within their own circle-- an athlete understood another athlete.

Maybe Y/n should stop looking for a girlfriend in London’s busy nightlife and start looking for one on the pitch.

Y/n stared at Kyra, but the girl was too caught up in the film. Y/n shook her head, trying to get rid of the very strange thought she’d just had.

..

During the first night, Y/n cried. “Stupid fucking leg”, she said through her tears as Kyra at her feet on the bathroom floor, a worried look on her face. Y/n hated crying in front of people, but in the last few days, it had been all she could do.

Y/n had convinced Kyra that she was more than capable of having a bath by herself, she only asked Kyra to get the bath ready for her. At first Kyra didn’t agree, but Y/n was very persistent, so Kyra made her warm bath and left Y/n alone.

Big mistake.

Five minutes after Kyra had closed the bathroom door, she heard a scream. Kyra was sitting out in the hallway like a lost puppy, so It didn’t take her long to get inside the bathroom again.

Unfortunately, the scene Kyra encountered was ugly. Y/n had a white towel wrapped around her body, but she was lying on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Kyra quickly picked Y/n up from the floor and sat her on the toilet. Checking for injuries. “What happened? Where does it hurt? Did you slip?”

Y/n just nodded through her sobs. “I should’ve had li—listened to you.”

She should, Kyra thought, but she wouldn’t say it.

Kyra didn’t want to leave Y/n alone, but she also didn’t want Y/n to feel that she had no privacy or control over her life, especially when Kyra knew Yn was private about her body.

Y/n was always the one to hide behind her lockers in the changing room when she was putting on or taking off her kit, even around their teammates, who were all more than used to seeing each other in underclothes. Kyra had asked Y/n at one of her girls’ nights why she was so shy about it. Y/n just explained that it was the way she was, and Kyra left it at that

Kyra didn’t know what to say, so she just let Y/n cry on her shoulder. She wasn’t used to seeing Y/n like that. They’d been best friends and teammates for five years now, they’d seen each other on their ups and downs, both on and off the pitch. but Kyra had never seen Y/n this frustrated and angry.

“How about we try again?” Kyra suggested, feeling her heart ache for the girl in front of her. “The water’s still warm; do you want to get in? Or we can wait till tomorrow— it’s your call.”

“I want to take a bath today,” Y/n said. “I still smell like the hospital.”

Kyra smile. “No, you don’t, you smell like buttered popcorn.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” Y/n murmured.

“It’s not,” Kyra teased. “So, this is my plan…” she continued, saying as if she was planning a football game strategy. “—I’m going to help you into the bath, then you’re going to sit down and I’m gonna lift your leg…you’re already wearing your cast cover, that’s good.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile, Kyra looked adorable with her furrowed browns and narrow eyes.

“That’s a good plan,” Y/n agreed. “Now help me, please.” Y/n lifted her arms so Kyra could help her off the toilet.

Kyra did so, her strong arms steadying Y/n until she was at the foot of the tub. “Close your eyes,” Y/n said, shyly

It was true she didn’t like being naked in front of people--some people were comfortable with it, but Y/n just wasn’t. It wasn’t rooted in insecurity or anything; it was just the way she was. But standing there with Kyra, Y/n realised she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she thought she'd be. But she wasn’t sure why.

Of course, they had been a friend for years, but she wouldn’t be okay if it was Alessia in the room with her right now. Kyra’s presence just felt different, but Y/n wasn’t sure why.

Maybe the painkiller was messing with the way her brain cells were wired. Which made sense because she was taking ibuprofen, naproxen and hydrocodone. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

Kyra held Y/n’s arm with one hand while dramatically covering her own eyes with the other. If Y/n had been paying attention, she might have noticed the way Kyra swallowed hard. “No need to tempt me,” Kyra teased.

Y/n let her towel drop to her feet, feeling secure in Kyra’s strong grip as she lowered herself into the warm bath.

As promised, Kyra carefully lifted Y/n’s injured leg, Kyra’s hand lingering on her cast for a moment too long before pulling away.

The bubbles in the bath concealed most of Y/n’s body, and the berry-like smell scent filled the bathroom. Y/n was sure her skin would be smelling of strawberries until morning.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyra asked, sitting beside the tub.

“Yes. Thank you for helping me—and sorry for all the crying I’ve been doing,” Y/n added sheepishly.

“I always knew you were a softie,” Kyra teased.

Without missing a beat, Y/n splashed water on Kyra’s face.

“Hey! I thought we were making some progress here!” Kyra pouted, glaring at the wet patch spreading across her grey sweater.

“You wish,” Y/n laughed.

..

| PART 2 |

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[javen-tiger]

The final findings of the “horrendous” eight-year long “massacre map”, tracing the violent history of the Australian colonial frontier have been released.

The Colonial Frontier Massacres digital map project, spearheaded by the late emerita professor of history at the University of Newcastle, Dr Lyndall Ryan, officially concluded in 2022.

Since then, researchers have reviewed every site on the map, with contributions from the general public, volunteers and peer reviewers. Much of the rest of the work on the map was completed by professional and academic staff without pay.

. . .

Guardian Australia collaborated with the university team to produce The Killing Times, a long-running series telling the stories of all sides of Australian frontier history.

The project found that:

At least 10,657 people were killed in at least 438 colonial frontier massacres.

10,374 of them were Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people killed by colonists.

Only 160 of those killed were non-Indigenous colonists.

There were 13 massacres of colonists by Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people.

The most intense period of massacres was from the late 1830s into 1840s, with a pivotal point being the Myall Creek massacre in 1838 – the first time any perpetrators had been punished.

After the Myall Creek convictions, the government could no longer involve the military and new “police” forces were created, which set a pattern for the rest of the conflict.

About half of all massacres of Aboriginal people were carried out by police and other government agents. Many others were perpetrated by settlers acting with tacit approval of the state.

Some perpetrators were involved in many massacres.

. . .

The project defined a colonial frontier massacre as the deliberate killing of six or more relatively undefended people in one operation. It did not include the many documented killings of fewer than six people in incidents on the frontier, so the numbers generated are very cautious lower estimates.

There were likely many more killed, Pascoe says, “but we had to limit ourselves or we would never have finished. It was a huge task. Finalising this work and making a stable version of the data available in an archive means other researchers can build on it and answer these and many other questions,” he says.

The work has changed our understanding of history in Australia, Pascoe says.

“Back in the 80s and 90s it was possible for people to argue that the frontier wasn’t so violent, and for them to be believed. Nobody can argue that point any more. Anybody can go and read the evidence for themselves. It’s time to move on to the next step – now that we know that these events happened, we need to understand more about them,” he says.

[pitchsidestories]

never judge a book by it's cover II Beth Mead x Vivianne Miedema x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1321

a/n: dear readers, this pairing was quite a requested one, so we hope we've met your expectations. 💗💗

warning: mentions of injuries, but despite that topic a whole lot of wholesomeness and fluff. <3

“Beth, Viv tried to call us.”, you noticed concerned after you looked at your phone. A few minutes ago, Renee ended the training, and the Arsenal team felt more optimistic than it had in recent times.

“She did? Weird, she knows we had training. And she hates calls.”, Beth frowned.

“Yes, it must be important.”, you replied before playing the voice mail your other girlfriend had left. Viviannes frustrated and sad voice filled the changing room. It was in stark contrast to the current joyful and happy atmosphere.

“Hi girls. I know you’re busy. Just wanted to let you know that the team doctor checked on my knee again and it doesn’t seem to get better. I’m off to do some more scans now but he said another surgery might be inevitable. They want to operate as soon as possible. No big deal, just wanted to let you know. Enjoy your training.”

“Oh no, poor Vivi. Love, you know what that means, right?”, the blonde sighed heavily.  

“Yes, of course.”, you told her. Clearing your throat, you turned around to face one of your Australian teammates. “Uhm Steph, sorry, we can’t go on our usual coffee walk with the dogs later. Beth and I need to drive to Manchester because Viv needs us right now.”

“Sure. Everything, okay?”, Steph asked alarmed.

“No, Viv puts her brave face on, but she likely has to go through a surgery again.”, you explained with a heavy heart.

“Tell her we’re all thinking of her.”, she responded empathetically.

“Okay, we’ll.”, you promised her.

“See you soon, Steph.”, Beth waved at one of her best friends.

“Bye girls, take care.”, Steph replied.

Your girlfriend and you didn’t waste time, you quickly got everything you needed for your lover and when drove all the way up to the North in a bit over four hours.

Both your hearts pounded hard against your chests, once you rang at Vivianne’s appartement door in Manchester and waited for her to open it. You couldn’t know in which state you’d find her.

“What are you two doing here?!”, the Dutch woman exclaimed surprised while kneeing down despite the pain to hug the dog who wiggled her tail excitedly, clearly thrilled to see her again.

“Looking after you!”, you answered patiently.

“I can handle that I did it before.”, Vivianne clarified as the brunette slowly stood up again.

“Yes, but you don’t have to handle it alone.”, Beth reminded her softly, wrapping her arms around the taller forward.

“Exactly, we’ll be there for you if you like it or not.”, you added, joining their hug, turning the Dutch’s footballer’s cheeks into a soft pink.

“You didn’t have to come.”, Vivianne stated seriously.

“But we wanted to, you stubborn woman.“, Beth huffed with annoyance but her eyes softened at the sight of her girlfriend.

Vivs eyebrows knotted together: “Who are you calling stubborn? You didn’t even call back to ask how the scans went. You just packed your stuff and drove here!“

You shrugged, trying to calm the situation with an innocent smile: “We just knew that we had to be here.“

With that, you marched past her into her living room that you had helped decorate a few months ago.

Vivianne shook her head: “You’re two idiots.“

“Yeah but we’re your idiots.“, Beth smiled and gently bumped shoulders with her as they followed you.

“Yeah, you are.“, Vivianne confirmed with the hint of a laugh in her voice.

You stopped in front of the sofa and started to unpack the bags you and Beth had packed earlier.

“Plus, we got Myle, your favourite snacks and the new book from that author you love. So basically everything you need to start your recovery.“, you told her.

A bit overwhelmed, Vivianne took in the pile of sweets you created on the coffee table. It took a few seconds until she spoke again: “That’s sweet of you.“

“You’re welcome, Viv. So, what’s next for you?“, you asked, sitting down on her sofa.

“For one, it’s surgery and then rehab again.“, she sighed as she sat down next to you.

Beth calmingly laid a hand on Vivs thigh: “When is the date for the surgery?“

“In a few days so you can’t stay here for that.“

As soon as she had finished, Beth and you looked at each other with silent understanding.

You frowned: “You don’t want us to be here for the surgery?“

“You have training.“, the dutch player replied like the answer should have been obvious. And maybe it should have been. But not when Beth and you were determined to be there for your girlfriend.

“Yes but Renee would understand if we would skip one.“, Beth argued which was met with a determined shake of Vivs head. “But I don’t want you to pause your lives for me.“

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at her typical stubbornness: “It’s not on pause because you are an important part of our lives.“

She considered you for a moment, silently.

“Yes, everyone would understand.“, Beth nodded to emphasize your point.

Another short break until Vivianne finally admitted: “To be honest, girls, I’m a little scared…“

Taken aback, you bit your lip. It wasn’t often that your girlfriend was open about her emotions.

Beths hand slipped into Vivs, her gaze softening: “You don’t have to be. We’ll be here for you and support you every step of the way.“

“What if I’m not coming back from this?“

“You’ll. You’re a fighter.”, the blonde said in a tone which left no room for doubt and was full of certainty.

“And you two will be there? I know I can get.”, the Dutch woman started.

Before she could add anything, you interrupted her gently. “Of course we’ll be.”

“Promise.”, Beth continued solemnly.

“Okay, thanks.”, Viv let out a relived sigh.

“Cuddles.”, you offered.

“Okay.”, she agreed with a half-crooked smile and opened her arms for you both to cuddle into one of her sides each.

“Do you feel better?”, the English player wanted to know.

“A lot. But still you shouldn’t have come.”, the Manchester city football player mumbled.

“We’re not starting with that again.”, you groaned.

“Yes, shut up and be happy!”, Beth demanded laughing.

“Let’s read out to each other with Viv’s new book. Beth could you..?”, you suggested.

“Make some special Meado hot chocolate? Absolutely.”, your girlfriend exclaimed thrilled.

“You guys know I hate the attention.”, the Dutch forward pouted.

“We do that’s why we’ll focus on fictional characters now. Can you already smell the hot drink?”, you tried your best to distract her.

“I hope Beth doesn’t burn the milk again.”, Viv looked worried into the direction where the scent of hot chocolate came from.

“Have a little faith in me!”, Beth yelled.

“I do. Usually.”, the forward assured the other striker quickly who returned with three cups of warm beverages.

“Okay, fine. I won’t argue with you.”, Viv laughed.

“The cover is really awful though.”, you commented while flipping through the pages of the newly acquired novel.

“You’re not supposed to read the cover.”, the dark-haired woman clicked her tongue.

“And not judge it by it’s looks?”, you raised an eyebrow at your lover, you knew exactly to what she was alluding to.

From the outside you looked very tough with your tattoos and muscular built. Because of your outward appearance people were quite intimidated by you until they got to know the human behind the looks. There was a soft and gentle side to you other persons were surprised to find.

“Of all people you must know that looks can be misleading.”, Beth reminded you with a wink.

“Can we read now?”, Viv threw in impatiently.

“Sure.”, you chuckled and began to read the first lines of the new book.  While you were aware that the best love story lay right next to you, listening to every word you said.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Pretzel Chocolate

Hi guys!

This is a request I add some days ago, I know it kind of the same background as @alessiasfreckles current story. But I asked her before and she kindly accepted it. So thanks to her too ♥ (Go check her work, it really is amazing)

It's a little less sweet that what I usually write with Wally, but I hope you will like it.

TW : Accident, Loss memory, Angst but happy ending

______________________________________________________________

Clearly, you didn’t expect that when you innocently get in your team’s bus back to London. Like your girlfriend Lia, you’re a footballer and that’s how you got to know each other. You quickly fell in love with the Swiss girl and after some very disturbing flirting attempts on your part, Lia saved you from humiliation by asking yourself for a date. You agreed and the rest is history.

You were sleeping peacefully in the front of the bus when the accident happened. Most of your teammates had gathered in the back for a wild game cards, allowing you to catch up on your sleep peacefully. Over time, you get used to falling asleep with Mackenzie’s Australian-sounding curses when she loses, Kristie’s happy exclamations, or Katrina’s laugh.

You have no memory of the accident, you don't know why and how the driver ran straight into a pole, throwing you out of your seat under the violence of the shock and putting you at the top of the list of wounded with a vital emergency when help arrived.

Lia was at a team bonding and will remember perfectly when Mackenzie called Caitlin shortly after the accident, in shock of what had just happened. She will remember the blood that suddenly left her ex-girlfriend’s face and the horrified look she gave her. She will also remember that she needed to be told things three times so that the information was anchored in her brain and that Leah was more reactive than her, taking her to the London hospital where you were having your operation at that moment.

She will also remember the relief of learning that you are alive, but the distress of not knowing when and if you will wake up. Nor in what state. But she will also remember the unfailing support of Leah and Lotte who kept her company in the waiting room for hours.

********

When you regain consciousness, the first thing you face is a blinding light that make you close your eyes again quickly. You hear different beeps around you, whispers of voices and the sound of a chair being dragged on the floor that makes you open your eyes instinctively.

You are this time facing the faces of several people, who look at you attentively. One of them is dressed all in white, a man of about fifty years certainly who slowly approaches you by looking at you carefully.

"Can you hear me?"

You nod, bitterly regretting your gesture when your vision is blurred and a pain awakens in your skull. You wince and moan in pain, your eyes flickering when one of the two women in the room takes your hand in hers. She seems to be on the verge of a panic attack or passing out.

"Where am I?" you ask, difficulty articulating.

"At the hospital in London. You had a traffic accident two weeks ago. Do you remember?"

"No…" you frown, searching your mind for any information.

"It’s normal" the doctor assures you with a smile, noting a few words on his notepad "Can you tell me today’s date?"

As he looks up at you, he must feel the fear that begins to take hold of you. The hand on yours tightens around yours, but you are quickly diverted from this by the professional who talks again.

"What year are we?"

This time, you're way more scared. You know nothing about it. You are unable to be even close to the reality.

"It doesn’t matter, everything is fine. Tell me the closest memory of today that you have.”

"I…"

It’s the nothingness in your memory. You turn your brain upside down, without being able to get anything out of it.

From the corner of your eye, you see the two women exchanging a look, without you being able to understand what it's about. And, when you realize that you cannot give your own identity, it's panic that takes hold of you.

A few hours later, you finally come to yourself again. After your panic attack, the doctor gave you a sedative that sent you into the clouds. You come back to yourself, but your memory is still lacking, despite all the different stimuli tried by the doctors. Aside from getting annoyed and tired, it doesn’t change anything. And it's finally when one of the two unknowns women asks them dryly to leave you alone that it stops. You are grateful to her, you hope that the look you cast at her speaks for you.

You have no memory of your love life, your past, your present or your family. The doctors warned your parents who came immediately, apparently not living very far from London. You learned in the meantime that the two young women in the room are respectively called Lia and Leah, the pronunciation being the same, it confused you a few seconds. But when the brunette mumbled that she was nicknamed Wally, you decided to go for it too. You found out you were friends, Leah showed you some pictures to prove it.

Other friends came to visit you, including Mackenzie who came with a photo album so you could list the people who mattered to you. Lia is very often at your side, discreet, almost mute. You’ve noticed that her eyes get wet sometimes and then she apologizes before leaving your room in hurry.

"She cares about you and is worried" Mackenzie answered kindly at your questions.

"I think I care about her too, even if I don't remember. Seeing her sad make me sad" you mumble.

Mackenzie smiles at you, squeezing your hand in hers. She was in the accident as well and only got out with a slight concussion. Most of the players (you learned that you were a professional footballer) got away without serious injuries. There's only you.

You learned that you play football, like most people who come to see you at the hospital. And you’re playing pretty well. You play for West Ham but also in the England national team and you even won the Euro in 2022. Unfortunately, you are without a screen for many more weeks. So, Lia came back to see you once with photos of the event. You pose there beside Leah and other people who also came to see you. Beth, Alessia, Lotte and many others.

But you don’t remember that either.

********

Staring at the clock on the walls of your room, you wait for time to pass. Leah and Wally are supposed to come see you and you can’t help but feel some excitement at the thought. You appreciate when Lia comes to see you, she is calm, gentle and always very attentive to your needs. You seemed close before your accident and it’s probably stupid since she’s in a relationship with Leah, but you want to find back the bond you had.

"Hi there!" cheers Leah, entering your room soon after.

She carries Swiss chocolate and some flowers. She put the old ones in the trash to put the new ones on the table. You look at her, lying in your bed, a little bit tired. You had exercises to try to have your memories back all the afternoon, but it didn't go well.

"Thank you, Leah" you answer, slightly smiling. "Are you alone? Where is your girlfriend?"

"My girlfriend?"

Leah frown, looking at you. You frown too, you know you have a bad memory, but you saw both interact together.

"Well... Wally?"

"Wally? She's not my girlfriend" Leah laughs. "She's one of my best friends though."

"Oh... I thought... You look close."

You shrug your shoulders and you see Leah sitting on the chair next to your bed, tilting her head on the side while looking at you.

"We are. But in a friendly way"

She smiles at you and you smile back. You feel like she want to ask you something but didn't. You don't have anything to remember, so you try to work on your intuition to guess things. And you usually are very good at this. But you didn't insist, something else coming in your head anyway.

"We... We only were friends, you and me right?"

"Yes" laughs Leah "Don't get me wrong, you're very cute but..."

There is no but, because Wally is entering the room at this moment. She looks at Leah with a special gaze, making the blonde looking a little bit uneasy.

"Hi" you say, trying to dismiss the tension you don't understand.

Lia's eyes are coming on you and her face softened, giving you a small smile.

"Hi Y/N"

Her accent is special, you asked her where she's from the other day and learn that she's from Switzerland. After that, you asked one nurse what Switzerland looks like and she came back with a travel-themed magazine, the principal subject being Switzerland this month. You didn't ask Lia if you already went there, sometimes she looks so sad about your situation that you want to cry too.

She comes to kiss your cheek, before giving you the chocolate Leah was caring.

"Swiss chocolate. It's your favorite."

You look at the package with curiosity, turning it in your hands. Milk chocolate with pretzel in it.

Your loved ones have been instructed to give you secondary information about your tastes, preferences or things you like. But they must not give you information that you have not looked for yourself before. That’s why you don’t know anything about your love life, some of your past too.

You remembered some things, like how you hate artichokes so much or what your bedroom looked like when you were a teenager. Maybe you should have left this information behind when you think about the number of posters of all kinds that covered your wallpaper.

After hesitating, you open the tablet to take a square and eat it. It's not surprising that it's your favorite, the flavor is exceptional. As you enjoy your chocolate, a picture dances before your eyes. A living room with a fireplace located right next to a TV. The wooden floor is light and there is a coffee table between the sofa and the TV.

"Do I have a fireplace in my house?"

Leah and Lia exchange a look, and it's finally Leah who answers you with a little sorry smile.

"No, you live in an apartment.”

"Oh…"

You sigh softly, a little disappointed. You don’t realize that in Lia’s eyes looking at you, there’s hope for the first time since your accident. You strive to engrave this vision in your mind to forget as little as possible.

Lia sitting next to you, you instinctively seek her hand, mixing your fingers with hers. You realized a few days ago that the feeling soothes you and since Lia doesn't seem disturbed by this kind of gestures, you don't deprive yourself of it.

********

"Did Lia come to see you?"

You look up at Alessia, who has come to keep you company for the day. Her eyes are placed on the chocolate bar opened on your bedside table and a smile decorates her lips. Apparently, your chocolate tastes seem to be known to everyone.

"Yeah, she was here earlier with Leah."

You repost the crossword book that Alessia brought you, as well as some Spanish specialties received by Lucy, with whom you also play in the national team. You are apparently close to her too, but since she plays in another country and you aren't allowed to use electronic devices now, you haven't been able to exchange much. She wrote you several letters though, telling you about her dog, her love life and her life in Barcelona. That’s probably what you’re talking about when you call. It took you several days to answer something in writing, your concentration being still difficult sometimes. But you managed to do it.

"I thought they were together. Lia and Leah"

Alessia looks at you with an expression that mixes surprise, tenderness and fun.

"Many fans thought they were together before they denied the rumors. You remembered Leah’s ACL, right?" asks Alessia before continuing when you answer positively "Lia was very present for Leah at that time. I guess it brought them closer."

You nod thoughtfully, playing mechanically with the pen you always have in your fingers. You did remember Leah’s injury, which kept her away from the World Cup you apparently competed in last summer. You have a few images in mind, like kangaroos you saw with Ella or a laugh when Mary showed you a video of Alessia traumatized by a turkey.

You miss those moments we stole from you, and you can’t remember them. It’s frustrating and it makes you very sad sometimes. You wish you could get your life back, but it’s not working right now. Your parents come to see you regularly and show you photo albums of you as a child, with your brother and cousins. You seem to be numerous and you seem to be in the youngest of this generation.

"You’ll remember, Y/N" Alessia says gently, putting a hand on your knee.

You give her a little smile before you nod. Yes, you will remember. You have no choice.

********

Several things have been put in place to help you regain your memory. You have a medical treatment to take every day, you have psychotherapy and hypnosis sessions and you also have a sports routine to respect. This last thing isn't a bad idea since you are a professional footballer and if you want to get your life back, you must stay fit enough.

Sometimes you are accompanied by one of your friends, and today it is Mackenzie who helps you to return to your room. No release date has been given to you, but according to your doctors it will not be long. You don't know where you will go however, it has been highly recommended to you not to live alone for the moment. You didn’t have the guts to ask anyone. You would like to ask Lia if she would accept to host you for a while, but for a reason that you cannot determine you retreat every time you are about to ask her the question. And it’s been a few days now.

So, you are fucked up when the doctor comes back to see you in the room after your shower while you and Mackenzie watch a game on television.

"Did you find someone to have you when you left the hospital?" asks the doctor.

You feel yourself blushed and you see Macca’s face turning in your direction.

"Um… Mackenzie, I haven’t asked you this yet, but if you’re okay, I thought about you?"

Just a beautiful liar.

"Oh… yes, of course. I thought… whatever. Of course, my guest room is at your disposal."

"Thank you" you answer with a slight smile.

The next day, when Lia comes to see you and you tell her that you are going to settle for a while with Mackenzie, it would be hard not to see her face fall. You don’t understand the pinch in the heart that it makes you, but she recovers quickly, making sure that she is very happy to learn that you are better.

"Will you keep coming to see me? At Macca's?" you ask, almost timidly.

A few seconds pass during which she looks at you intensely, before nodding.

"Of course. If you feel like it"

"It would make me very happy."

She smiles at you, but with that sad smile that doesn't reach her eyes, before diverting your attention to the newspaper she brought you. You listen to her read you the latest news and you decide to offer yourself a new square of chocolate that Lia brought you, that you save with precious care. Barely in your mouth, you feel a new image coming before your eyes, pushing Lia’s voice in the background.

You’re in the same living room with the fireplace and the TV is on this time. There is a presence beside you and you hear a laugh, a laugh that gives you a strange sensation in the hollow of your belly. When you open your eyes, Lia doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. But these images caused a question in your mind and you interrupt the reading of the Swiss.

"Lia?"

"Yes?"

The brunette raises the nose of the newspaper with a curious air, looking at you attentively.

"I just… don’t take this question for what it isn’t, but I’ve never heard you laugh since you came to see me."

"It’s not really a question" ended up answering Lia after long seconds of silence.

She’s not wrong and you bite your lip, looking for the best way to put your point of view in a better light.

"I just don’t want you to feel obligated to come here, if it weighs on you. I love your presence here, but if it’s too heavy for you…"

"No. It’s important for me to come and see you."

Your eyes cross for a few moments and you only see sincerity in the green eyes of your interlocutor. You end up smiling and holding out a hand that she doesn’t hesitate to grasp. Only then do you notice the ring she’s wearing on her finger. It’s not an engagement ring, but the kind of ring you get for duck fishing at the fair. You find it strange that Lia is wearing something that is quite suitable for children.

"What is this ring?" you ask curiously.

It reminds you something, but you feel like you’re looking for a needle in a fog. Lia seems to have understood, since she looks at you briefly before answering you.

"What do you think?"

You bite your lip, searching again and again. Lia gives you time and unlike the exercises you do for your memory, you feel no pressure. Lia exudes kindness and the way her thumb caresses the back of your hand helps you a lot.

"I gave it to you."

You leave the ring colored rainbow to focus your eyes on Lia whose face is suddenly radiant. You don’t remember all the details, but you do remember the decor around you when you take out this plastic ring from its paper packaging. And of your insistence on putting it on Lia’s finger, the latter accepting not without rolling her eyes.

"Yes, it’s you" confirms Lia in a soft voice despite the excitement that seems to have gripped her.

"I don’t remember when it was" you mumble in an apology tone.

Meanwhile, Lia got up from her chair to sit on the mattress of your bed, on which you are sitting too. She always have her smile, a real smile this time. And when she affectionately passes her hand through your hair, you feel like butterflies in the hollow of your belly.

"It doesn’t matter" Lia gently says "It will come back. I know it."

You want to kiss her suddenly. You wonder what sensations her lips might give you. But, before you can answer this urge, knocks are made at the door of your room, letting in Katrina, Clara and Harper.

"I’ll leave you with your new guests" decides Lia.

You’re having a hard time covering up your disappointment, even though you’re happy to see Harper.

"I’ll see you tomorrow before we leave for Manchester." Lia informs you before putting a kiss on your head.

********

"Why does Lia looked sad when I told her I was going to live with Mackenzie?"

You are walking Leah Mom's dog with Leah, during a rather cloudly afternoon. You doctor asked you to stay in shape and because you're not ready to go back to training, you do as much as you can to move. You go to the stores walking and your coach sent you bodybuilding and endurance exercises to do every day.

Leah looked at you for some seconds, before answering you. You know you were friends before your accident, but you don't know if you talked to the other a lot. Still, you feel safe with her. You know you can talk to her.

"I feel like you already know the answer for this question."

You bite your lip, looking at Bella running after ducks. And Leah running after Bella soon after, trying to protect those poor ducks. When the blonde come back next to you like nothing happened, she pats your arm.

"Talk to her. Wally really cares about you and I'm sure she misses you"

"She said she will still come to see me. But she never came" you mumble, without looking at Leah.

You don't understand. You thought you were close and Lia's absence made you realize that you maybe have like a crush on her. Which is stupid, why in the world would she have interest in someone broken like you are? But you still miss her.

"She's going to kill me for saying that" Leah sighs, pinching the base of her nose, before looking at you "She thinks you are developing feelings for Macca. Like romantic feelings"

"What?! That's the stupidest thing I ever heard since my accident."

Well of course Mackenzie is sweet and you understand why she was your best friend before and you really like the idea that you can still have that after all that. Of course, you don't know her like Caitlin or Alanna does, but of all your teammates, she's the one you’re closest to.

Leah shrugs and call Bella to going back home.

"Like I said, talk to her."

You hum for any answer, your hands stuck in the pockets of your jogging and the brain turning a thousand an hour. It’s only after saying goodbye to Leah on her doorstep that you realize that it doesn’t explain why Lia would stop seeing you if you were really in love with Mackenzie.

She’s watching a movie with her own girlfriend when you come back home. Since they have been waiting for you to eat, you sit at the table with them and try to stay focused on the discussion, but your mind is elsewhere. You are relieved to have the opportunity to find the calm of the guest room, in which you decide to offer yourself a new piece of chocolate offered by Lia.

You were disappointed to find that no other square allowed you to remember other things as the first two times. This is the last squares you have left; you will have at worst the excuse to want extra chocolateif you need excuse to contact Lia.

Lying on your back, on your bed, you swallow the last chocolate crumbs you have left, your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

But, while you don’t expected more, a new flash comes dancing before your eyes.

The same living room, the same television, the same fireplace and the same laugh. Except this time when you turn your head, Lia is sitting next to you. She looks much happier than you’ve seen her since you opened your eyes. And the way she looks at you… Like you’re the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

When the image dissipates, you blink several times.

You remember.

Not necessarily in every detail and in order, but you remember.

You remember Lia, how much you hate that nickname of Wally that others give her, your relationship, your first kiss and the long weekend she took you to Switzerland.

You remember.

Your hands shaking, you’re getting out of bed. You’re as wrinkled as if you’d been running a whole game. Other memories are jostling in your head, but the only thing you want now is to go see Lia.

"I’m going to Lia's!" you shout at Mackenzie down the stairs.

You barely take the time to throw your coat on your shoulders before going out and slamming the door. When you see the rain falling on London, you congratulate yourself.

********

It’s with frowns that Lia picks up her phone some time later. There’s basically no reason for Caitlin to call her so late.

"Hello?"

"Lia? It’s Caitlin… Listen, I’m calling you from Mackenzie, she doesn’t have your phone number and uh… Did Y/N make it to your house?"

"Y/N? No? Why would she be at my house?"

Other voices are audible behind Caitlin and there are different noises before Mackenzie’s voice sounds in the phone.

"She left my house almost two hours ago, without her phone, telling me she was coming to your house."

"She’s not here" Lia replies, standing abruptly on her couch, feeling panic take hold of her. "Why did you let her go by herself?"

"I thought she ordered an Uber or something. But without her phone…"

"Do we call the police?" asks Lia.

"They will laugh in our faces" replies Katie’s voice, which is apparently there too.

It’s not surprising if Mackenzie went to see Caitlin. But this is probably not the time to ask these questions.

"I’ll go get my car and do some research in the neighborhood" Lia decides.

After deciding to do the same and giving herself directions not to turn in the same places, Caitlin and Lia hang up their phones before starting to look for you.

For your part, it’s not very glorious. Persuaded to find the way back to Lia’s house now that your memory has returned, you have dug into the streets without thinking too much. Except that you suddenly had a hesitation, then another and a third, which eventually led you to no longer know where you are. Or where you’re from.

To top it off, it’s still raining and you haven’t taken your medication to fight your chronic headaches since the accident.

Long story short, you are now in tears, sitting on a sidewalk of an unknown street, in the rain.

Finally, while she had lost hope, Lia sees your silhouette sitting out in the light of a lamppost. Her cry asking Leah, who came to the rescue, to stop, gives her a start of cardiac arrest. But the blonde obeys and Lia hurries out of the car, running in your direction.

You jump suddenly when someone sits next to you, your first reaction being to get as far away from that person as possible. But you realize quite quickly that it’s Lia and anyway she doesn’t leave you much choice by squeezing you suddenly in her arms. Hard.

“God, are you ok? What happened?” Lia asks, taking your face between her hands to look at you.

“I thought I can remember where you live, I needed to see you but then I got lost and I didn’t have my phone with me.”

“Why didn’t you call me?!”

Lia raised her voice a little and you flinch, but the Swiss woman seems to regret it as soon as it happened. She takes you once again against her, her arms firmly tightened around your body. It makes you feel safe. You’re tired, exhausted to be honest. But you know you still owe her an explanation.

“I wasn’t sure you will take my call. You said you will come to see me, and you didn’t even if I’m at Macca’s since almost two weeks now, and…”

“I’m so sorry” Lia cut you, looking at you with tears in her eyes. “But I just… I couldn’t.”

“It’s ok” you breath before staring deep into her eyes “I remember.”

A silence passes. Lia is looking at you, too.

“What?”

“I remember. My past, my childhood memories. It’s you who have a fireplace in your living room. I remember you, mein Schatz. I remember us.”

After that, it went a little chaotic. When Lia starts to cry for good, Leah almost gets out of her car, but then she see you both kiss and she understands. She takes her phone to ring Caitlin and let you some minutes before taking you both back in her car. She drops you at Lia’s, giving you one big hug before leaving you.

********

Hours later, you’re in Lia’s bed after a good hot shower. Lia gave you some fresh clothes and you can’t stop smelling them. They smell like her, like your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who is actually looking at you like you will disappear at any moment. You can’t blame her though, so you just grab her hand and take her against you to kiss her.

“Why didn’t you tell me everything?” you mumble after the kiss.

“They didn’t want me to. They said it would be too much for you or that you won’t remember everything if we told you the truth. Your brother fights with the doctors against it, but he didn’t have the last word. I should have fight against it too, but I wanted what was the best for you, and they were the doctors, so…”

Lia shrugs, her head on the cushion, still looking at you. You can’t imagine what she went through.

“It must have been so hard for you” you whisper, stroking lightly at her face

“It was. But I knew I had to do if I wanted to have you back at some point. But then after you choose to go to Mackenzie’s and I kind of freak out. What if, even if you remember in some days, you realize that you’re in love with her and not me anymore?”

“I don’t. She always had been my friend, nothing more. It has always been you, since we crash your team” you add with a smirk.

You met Lia during a friendly game between Switzerland and England in 2022. Leah Williamson had made the presentation between you and since then you never stop talking. She asked you on a date after two weeks of texting, you said yes and everything went great since then. Even if you’re a West Ham player dating an Arsenal one.

“I thought you were with Leah, the first days after the accident” you confess at your girlfriend.

Lia frown, looking at you oddly.

“Why did you?”

“Dunno. You were like always together, but I understand now. I’m glad Leah was there for you.”

You are confident in your relationship. Even if the fans seems to like Lia and Leah together, you trust your girlfriend and your friend deeply. Plus, you’re kind of a fan of their friendship. Maybe people would find strange that your girlfriend went to live with another girl like Lia have done when Leah was injured, but you didn’t. You know how good Lia’s heart is.

“I love you” Lia whispers, before kissing you.

You smile against her lips and she doesn’t let you the time to answer before kissing you once again, hard this time. You let her. You still can tell her how much you love her later.

_________________________________________________

It’s way longer than I thought at first 😅

[honeydippedfiction]

Shadows Over Monaco

Prologue of The Game of Seduction

Navigation

Summary: In the glittering world of Monaco, Y/N targets the enigmatic Lando Norris, blending charm and strategy to navigate a high-stakes mission. But as the night unfolds, the line between player and played begins to blur, and Y/N realizes she may be in deeper than she anticipated.

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Violence, Crime, Manipulation, Dark Themes, Emotional Intensity, & Potential Power Imbalances

Taglists

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The blood-red sky over Monaco’s old city shimmered with fading light as the sun sank beneath the Mediterranean, casting long shadows over cobblestone streets. The dim glow of the setting sun seemed an apt metaphor for the fragile peace between the McLaren and Red Bull families—a peace that could shatter at the smallest provocation.

 

Inside the grand, fortified estate perched high above the city, Lando Norris, head of the McLaren mafia, leaned back in his leather chair. The room was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the final rays of sunlight. A glass of Scotch sat untouched on the mahogany desk in front of him, its amber hues reflecting in the gleam of his sharp, calculating eyes.

 

Lando was young for his role—too young, some said. But those who underestimated him never made the mistake twice. His rise had been swift, his enemies ruthless, but none as ruthless as Lando when provoked. His dark brown hair, tousled in a way that seemed effortless, framed a face that could deceive with boyish charm or command with a cold, steely gaze.

 

“Any news?” Lando’s voice was smooth but carried an undercurrent of authority that left no room for dissent.

 

Oscar Piastri, Lando’s most trusted lieutenant, stood near the window, his sharp suit immaculate despite the late hour. “The Red Bull family has been quiet since the Marseille shipment,” Oscar said, his Australian accent clipped. “Too quiet, if you ask me.”

 

Lando’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Christian Horner doesn’t do quiet. He does calculated. If he’s not making noise, it’s because he’s planning something.”

 

Christian Horner, patriarch of the Red Bull mafia, was known for his cunning strategies and his unrelenting ambition. The rivalry between their families was one written in blood, stretching back decades, and the uneasy truce brokered between them was nothing more than a temporary ceasefire.

 

Lando reached for the glass of Scotch, swirling the liquid absently. “What about Verstappen?”

 

Oscar stiffened at the mention of Max Verstappen, Christian’s right-hand man and enforcer. “Rumors say he’s consolidating their holdings in Vienna. But there’s talk of a new operation, something under the radar. We don’t have details yet.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken tension. Lando’s jaw tightened. “We need eyes inside their operation. Someone who can feed us the details before it’s too late.”

 

Oscar hesitated. “Christian’s not careless. He’ll protect his inner circle.”

 

Lando’s gaze turned ice-cold. “Everyone has a weakness. Even Horner.”

 

Across the city, in the heart of the Red Bull family’s luxurious estate, Christian Horner stood in his grand office, the room dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city lights.

 

He was flanked by Max Verstappen, his ever-loyal enforcer, and Y/N, a new face in the Red Bull inner circle. Y/N stood tall, her sharp eyes locked on Christian as he outlined his latest plan.

 

“This is no ordinary mission,” Christian said, his voice smooth but commanding. He paced the room, the sharp click of his polished shoes echoing. “We need someone who can get close to Norris. Someone who can gain his trust, extract his secrets, and leave him vulnerable.”

 

Y/N tilted her head, her confidence unshaken by the intensity of Christian’s gaze. “You want me to seduce him.”

 

Christian smirked. “You’re quick. That’s why I chose you. Lando is dangerous, yes, but he’s also a man. And men have their weaknesses.”

 

Y/N folded her arms, her dark eyes flashing. “If I do this, I want assurances. When I succeed, I want out of this life.”

 

Max snorted from his place by the window, his posture relaxed but his tone laced with skepticism. “You think it’s that easy? You think you can just walk away from this world?”

 

Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver. “I think if I’m going to risk my life, I get to decide what happens when it’s over.”

 

Christian studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Fair enough. But don’t underestimate Norris. He’s more than he appears.”

 

Y/N’s lips curled into a confident smirk. “So am I.”

 

The plan was set. Y/N would infiltrate Lando’s world, using her charm and intelligence to break through his defenses. But as she left the Red Bull estate that night, her mind churned with doubts.

 

She had trained for years in manipulation, espionage, and combat, but Lando Norris was an enigma. He was known for his charm and charisma, but beneath that lay a man who had outmaneuvered some of the most dangerous players in the game.

 

Y/N glanced down at the dossier Christian had handed her, her fingers brushing over the photo of Lando clipped to the top corner. His piercing gaze seemed to follow her, a silent reminder of the challenge ahead.

 

“Game on,” she murmured to herself, steeling her resolve.

 

What she didn’t know was that this game of seduction and deceit would soon spiral into something far more dangerous than she had ever anticipated.

 

The stage was set. The players were in place. And the seduction game was about to begin.

The Red Bull estate was a world of opulence layered over menace. Its sprawling marble halls gleamed under crystal chandeliers, a façade of elegance that belied the ruthless decisions made within. Y/N strode through one of its gilded corridors, heels clicking softly on the polished floor, the dossier on Lando Norris clutched tightly in her hand.

 

Her tailored black blazer fit snugly across her shoulders, paired with cigarette trousers and a crisp white blouse—professional, commanding, but with just enough edge to hint at the fire beneath. Her dark hair was swept into a sleek bun, revealing sharp cheekbones and eyes that seemed to see everything.

 

She entered the training room, a stark contrast to the rest of the estate. This space was raw and industrial, the scent of sweat and metal lingering in the air. Christian Horner stood in the corner, leaning casually against a table covered in weapons, tech gadgets, and surveillance photos.

 

“You’re late,” he said without looking up, flipping through a set of blueprints.

 

“I had to pack for Monaco,” Y/N replied coolly, setting the dossier down on the table. “What’s the plan?”

 

Christian gestured to a nearby chair. “Sit. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

 

Y/N slid into the chair, crossing her legs as Christian began to speak. His tone was sharp, precise, every word carrying the weight of their precarious mission.

 

“Lando Norris isn’t like the others you’ve dealt with,” he began, spreading out the documents in front of her. “He’s smart, unpredictable. He grew up in this life—he didn’t inherit power, he took it. And that makes him dangerous.”

 

Y/N studied the photos spread across the table: Lando at various events, flanked by his lieutenants; Lando at the wheel of a sleek black sports car; Lando seated in a darkened club, his face half-shadowed, a predatory smirk playing on his lips.

 

“What’s his weakness?” she asked, her voice steady.

 

Christian paused, leaning back in his chair. “If he has one, it’s his ego. He doesn’t trust easily, but he loves a challenge. If you can present yourself as someone intriguing, someone who isn’t intimidated by him, you might get close enough to earn his trust.”

 

Y/N leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “And then?”

 

“Then you’ll extract everything you can,” Christian said, his tone cold. “Names, locations, operations. Once we have what we need, we’ll move in to dismantle his empire.”

 

Y/N nodded, though a flicker of doubt passed through her. “And if I fail?”

 

Christian’s expression darkened. “Then don’t fail.”

 

•Later That Day•

 

The sparring ring in the estate’s gymnasium was dimly lit, the only sound the rhythmic thud of Y/N’s fists against the heavy bag. Her movements were precise, her muscles coiled and ready, each punch carrying the force of her determination.

 

But beneath her focus, her thoughts churned.

 

She’d spent years working for the Red Bull family, earning a reputation as one of their most capable operatives. She’d taken on dangerous assignments, infiltrated rival groups, and emerged unscathed. But this mission felt different.

 

It wasn’t just the danger—though Lando Norris was undoubtedly dangerous. It was the intimacy of the task, the requirement to weave herself into his life, his trust. Seduction wasn’t just about appearances; it was about vulnerability, about revealing just enough of herself to make him believe the lies.

 

And Y/N hated vulnerability.

 

“Your form’s sloppy,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

 

Y/N turned to see Max Verstappen leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes scrutinizing her every move.

 

“Care to step in and demonstrate, Max?” she shot back, smirking.

 

Max grinned, pushing off the wall and stepping into the ring. “I don’t need to. You’ve got this, don’t you?”

 

Their sparring was quick and brutal, each movement a test of skill and control. Max was relentless, but Y/N matched him blow for blow, her determination shining through.

 

As the session ended, Y/N wiped the sweat from her brow, breathing heavily.

 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

 

Max shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what Christian thinks. And you’re the best shot we’ve got.”

 

Y/N nodded, though her doubts remained.

 

•Nightfall•

 

In her room, Y/N sat at her desk, the dossier on Lando spread out before her. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across her features as she read through the pages, absorbing every detail of his life.

 

His rise to power was brutal: the calculated takedowns of rivals, the strategic alliances, the moments of ruthless efficiency that had cemented his place at the top. But there were hints of something deeper—a man who had suffered loss, who had built walls around himself to survive.

 

She stared at his photo, her finger tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

 

“What happened to you, Lando Norris?” she whispered to herself.

 

Her fingers brushed against the delicate chain of a necklace around her neck, a small, hidden reminder of why she’d agreed to this mission in the first place. Beneath her confident exterior, there was a vulnerability she rarely let anyone see—a past that still haunted her, a future she was desperate to claim.

 

For Y/N, this mission wasn’t just about loyalty to the Red Bull family. It was about survival, about finding a way out of the darkness that had consumed her life.

 

And if Lando Norris was the key to that escape, then so be it.

 

•The Final Briefing•

 

The next morning, Y/N stood in Christian’s office, her outfit immaculate: a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, paired with a pair of red-soled stilettos. She exuded confidence, every detail calculated to perfection.

 

Christian handed her a small earpiece, his expression stern. “This will keep you connected to us. Use it sparingly—Lando isn’t stupid. He’ll notice if you’re distracted.”

 

Y/N nodded, slipping the earpiece into her pocket.

 

“And remember,” Christian added, his tone sharp. “This isn’t just about seduction. It’s about control. Don’t let him turn the tables on you.”

 

Y/N smirked, her confidence returning. “Don’t worry, Christian. I’ve got this.”

 

But as she left the estate and stepped into the waiting car, her mind was a storm of emotions. The game was about to begin, and she knew the stakes couldn’t be higher.

 

Her mission was clear. But as the city lights blurred past her window, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this game would test her in ways she wasn’t prepared for.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar

[vague-humanoid]

A pro-Israel “surveillance network” that has offered bounties for information on pro-Palestinian protesters is establishing a foothold in Australia and claims to have secured meetings with key federal politicians, leaked messages show.

Shirion Collective, which has largely focused on the US and UK, boasts of its ability to scrape digital fingerprints to “aggressively track and expose antisemites”. It is one of a number of groups that have gained prominence on social media during the Israel-Gaza war, publicly naming individuals it accuses of being antisemitic.

Shirion Collective claims it has an AI tool called Maccabee which can identify and track targets.

In one post on X, Shirion outlines a scenario in which the tool creates and releases deepfake videos – falsified content that looks and sounds genuine – to embarrass individuals who take down posters picturing Israeli hostages.

On its X account, Shirion Collective has claimed to offer bounties of US$500 for information on people in videos. In a December post it claimed it would pay up to US$15,000 for “crucial insights” about politicians, US$7,500 for medical doctors and US$250 for students.

Leaked screenshots of Shirion’s Telegram channel, shared with Guardian Australia by the White Rose Society, an anti-fascist researchgroup, show Shirion has become active in Australia, with participants identifying potential targets and boasting of attempts to meet the home affairs minister, Clare O’Neil, and the shadow home affairs minister, James Paterson.

Anonymised Shirion members discussed presenting O’Neil and Paterson with a list of names to ensure they were “brought to justice according to the rule of law”.

“Need help. We managed to get into home affairs calendar, need to come prepared with people with hate speech and names that the government didn’t held [sic] accountable,” one anonymous user said.

“Meeting with Clair [sic] or her stuff [sic] … we also have a meeting with the shadow minister.”

Both O’Neil and Paterson’s offices said they had not met anyone who identified themselves as part of Shirion Collective.

The leaked texts show people on the Shirion channel discussed adding the names of individuals to a “watch list” and mass reporting posts on social media.

Some Australians whose social media accounts were linkedin the channel had shared antisemitic, racist and conspiracy theory content on social media. Others were pro-Palestinian activists who do not appear to have posted or shared antisemitic content.

When contacted via its social media accounts, a Shirion member describing themself as the “social media guy” said the “Ai is a quiet project with an internal team”.

The Shirion member said “bounties were for info and was in the USA not Australia”. The member said Shirion’s Telegram channel was open.

“The telegram [sic] is open and we do a soft verification that people are real. But freedom of speech is welcome there,” the Shirion member said.

The member said they would refer Guardian Australia’s questions to a “commander” but no further response was received.

Shirion Collective is one of several groups that say they track and fight antisemitism, largely through identifying individuals online.

Canary Mission, which has been operating since at least 2015, maintains lists of students, professors and other individuals on its website who it claims “promote hatred of the USA, Israel and Jews”. Another prominent account on X, StopAntisemitism, shares the names and employers or academic institutions of individuals, and often directs its more than 298,000 followers where to make complaints.

The leaked posts from the Shirion Collective Telegram channel point to some publicly available material its contributors regard as antisemitic, but also discuss creating “infiltrator” accounts to view and share material from private Instagram accounts.

In the leaked posts seen by Guardian Australia, contributors do not reveal personally identifiable information about any individual that is not publicly available.

The Shirion Collective account on X/Twitter has identified people it alleges have posted antisemitic material, or statements in support of Hamas, and tagged in their employer or academic institution in the case of students.

Naming someone online is not necessarily illegal, but Michael Bradley, a managing partner at Marque Lawyers, warned there were potential implications depending on the nature of the claims, such as harassment and intimidation or even racial vilification.

“Using social media as a mechanism for coalescing groups that want to engage in doxing activity, it’s obviously extremely powerful,” he said.

Last month, a Sydney resident named Theo had a picture of his house and his street address posted to a Facebook group.

Theo, who asked that his surname not be used, had raised a Palestinian flag and placed a blackboard with messages critical of Israel in front of his Botany home.

Less than two weeks later, a ​​jerry can with rags stuffed into it, a disposable lighter and large bolts were placed on the bonnet of his car with a message that read: “Enough! Take down flag! One chance!!!!”

The incident prompted the deployment of the bomb squad and local police.

The investigation has not been transferred to the counter-terror investigators and remains with local police.

also

@huzni @el-shab-hussein @dirhwangdaseul

[theunluckycanuck]

first & thirteenth (lessons in losing)

oscar piastri & carlos sainz jr - wc: 3518

tags: smut/pwp, post!shanghai gp, lingerie, collars, rivalry, dom/sub dynamic, bottom(sub)!carlos, top(dom)!oscar, dirty talk, degrading language, mean sex

a/n: i'm posting this with shame in my heart

achieve of our own link

The hotel in Shanghai was nice, Shanghai was always nice. So, Oscar didn't know why he had to compliment that accommodations for the weekend. The trophy was nice too, one of the better ones he had seen during his time in F1.

Even the drink in his hand was nice too, not too strong but also not watered down. His weekend prize made a good cocktail. He downed the rest of it and put it down on the table beside him. After a few moments he came to the conclusion, it was time for another drink.

"Amorcito." He called out towards the kitchenette of the hotel room. He didn't look over, but he could feel the other man's presence nearby. Made him lick his lips, the bitter taste of alcohol was still there.

Slowly padded over was none other than Williams newest driver, Carlos Sainz Jr. Oscar had to admit that the other man looked good in the deep blues of the team, especially when it was lace stretched across the other man's broad chest.

This was their little games - it was the only way they'd keep from killing each other. Maybe in another time, in another place, their relationship would be more civil. But this was what needed to happen.

Carlos looked down at Oscar on the couch, and Oscar gave a knowing gaze. The Spanish driver frowned and asked, "What can I do for you, Sir?" The term was stiff on the man's tongue.

"I think another drink is in order." Oscar beamed towards him as he picked up the empty glass, the ice already started to melted and handed towards Carlos, "You'll be a good boy for me, right?" And flashed that winner's smile.

The smile that had been plastered on every newspaper, the smile of the Grand Prix winner.

Oscar came in first that weekend, and Carlos sank to thirteenth. Hence why the driver was dressed in lacy little lingerie with a leather collar around his throat with a tag that said, "If lost please return to: Oscar Piastri". Even if it was a bitter pill to swallow, Oscar won the Grand Prix. The trophy was happily on display in the hotel bedroom, it felt like the Australian driver was rubbing it in when he made Carlos look at it while they fucked.

Carlos should have guessed a long time ago that Oscar had a sadistic streak in him. He remembered the bites on Lando's neck and the bruises on Max's wrists. Carlos tried to ignore it or excuse is away. But the little koala of the grid, the unassuming Oscar Piastri had a mean streak when it came to sex. And it was only aided by the weekend's wind.

And Carlos hated that it made him erect in the pretty blue panties he was forced to wear.

He took the glass and went to grab Oscar another drink. He could feel the other's gaze on his back and it made him shudder. He poured the drinks and he could still feel the lingering heat of Oscar's gaze.

There were safeguards, there always was. Didn't matter who won, even if they both were down each other's throats at times. There had to be, they weren't playing stupid. If they did, they wouldn't be playing. Safe signal, three taps on the shoulder. The safe word, Madrid.

He returned with the drink and set it down on the table beside Oscar. He could feel Oscar's lingering gaze on him, as if he waited for Carlos to address him. Dark eyes flickered to the Australian driver, "Your drink, Sir." Then pulled away, waiting for his next command like a dog.

Oscar reached out, those smooth hands went to grab Carlos by the wrist, "Come sit with me."

"I thought we were doign this so you could fuck me." Carlos replied as Oscar captured his wrist. This was prolonged foreplay until Oscar wanted to indulge himself in the sweet heat that was Carlos Sainz.

Mister Smooth Operator, didn't look so smooth when dolled up so pretty for his fellow driver. Calling him sir and waiting for commands. He did still look hot though.

"We'll get to that, Amorcito. Just come sit with me. We'll split the lovely drink you made me." Then held onto Carlos' wrist as he brought him onto the couch beside him. With the glass in one hand, he reached over and pushed back some of Carlos' dark hair and went in for a firm kiss.

It wasn't sloppy like when they were in the depths of each other's pleasure, nor was it sweet the way lovers were. Such fickle little games they played, it just happened that Oscar was the winner for the evening.

"You look good." Oscar remarked, "Really good. I was worried that you wouldn't fit in what I brought." He chuckled lowly as he spread a hand across Carlos' chest, "But I think it fits wonderfully." He licked his lips.

Carlos swallowed then replied, "I'm glad it fits too, sir." And watched as Oscar's hand spread down his chest towards his abdomen and then to his cock. He tensed up when Oscar's knuckles brushed against his hard cock.

The dark blue lace and silk did very little to prevent the full feeling of Oscar's hand on Carlos' cock, it made the driver let out a small pleasured noise. It escaped his lips before he couch force himself to hold it back.

Despite it all. Despite every snide comment, every moment they stood toe to toe, every round of their sick little sexual games. Oscar knew exactly how to make Carlos grow needy with sexual want.

It got to the point where Carlos spent a week of the off-season jerking off to photos of Oscar in near rage because no porn would satisfy him. It was like the fellow driver burrowed deep into his subconscious and lived there to torment Carlos until they could take it out on the track- and then each other.

"Look at you, Carlos. Fuck, look at you." He leaned in closely, "If only they knew. Maybe we could get Albon a matching pair and the two of you could have a new campaign for Williams." He leaned into the other's ear, "Might as well make an impact in another way, because you're not getting either prize at the end of the year."

Carlos swallowed, he felt the urge to say something. But then again, last time he won he had Oscar ride his thigh with his driver's suit still on while he told the other driver that he would always be a second rate driver. So maybe he deserved it.

Oscar noticed Carlo's reaction, could see the internal struggle in the other's dark eyes. He chuckled lowly and said, "Ferrari threw you out." He kissed the shell of Carlos' ear, "And when Williams throws you out soon after. I'll make you my WAG." he chuckled softly, "Got the brains to be an engineer, I know that. But, I think you'll look better on the sidelines. Back in McLaren orange and cheering for me."

Carlos hated how his body reacted. It wasn't loud, bombastic words, it wasn't sneering or anger. It was a slow crawl of poisonous words in his system. The flood in his brain, the ache in his cock. Sickening, and Carlos yearned for it.

"How does that sound?" Oscar chuckled as he teased Carlos' cock further, "Be the prettiest thing on my trophy shelf." Then kissed the other on the lips. The kiss was less firm, more sloppy.

They were both losing their edge. The game was devolving into sexual need for one another. Oscar grasped Carlos by the back of the head with one hand and got his cock out of the underwear with the other. As they sloppily made out, he stroked the other's cock with quick, hard jerks.

Carlos' resolve was in shambles, he felt the throb in his body. Fuck Oscar Piastri, he would win next time and get his revenge. He wanted to see the other driver's ass black and blue so he wouldn't be able to race for a good portion of the season.

The desires, the games, the consequences both pushed both men to their absolute limit on the track. It was sick, but it was only paired with a euphoria that they both painfully craved.

"Fuck." Oscar panted when he broke the kiss. He looked into Carlos' dark eyes, they were both flustered and heavily breathing. His grip on the other's cock was still tight as he continued to stroke it. Carlos bucked into the other's touch and Oscar went back to giving him heavy kisses.

Flickers of passion was burning down the whole house, Carlos took Oscar by the face and kept their lips together. Oscar hissed into the kiss as he felt his own cock hard from the experience. He had been hard since the moment Carlos put the slutty bralette on, but to kiss him. Taste him. Only fueled the pleasure more.

The prolonged foreplay, the mental games, came to an end. They both needed each other like they needed a seat on the grid. The kind of need that made them dig their fingers into one another. Oscar's mouth traveled further down, threatening to bite at Carlos' neck.

When they eventually broke away from one another. The cocktail was last behind on the table, and they were stumbling over themselves to get into the bedroom. Oscar ended up on the bed first, nearly tripped over himself as he tried to get his shirt off.

Articles of clothing and lingerie were stripped and tossed aside with slim promises of being found in the morning. Carlos left his collar on, couldn't forget who he belonged to.

"You should lose more often, Amorcito." Oscar said as he laid there naked on the bed, his cock stood hard and he admired Carlos' similarly nude body, "Let's see if we can get back-to-back unfinished races. Pushed that shit car a little too hard, and you simply can't finish. The things we'd get up to." He licked his lips. He reached for the bottle of lube that he had stuffed in the nightstand and flipped open the lid.

Carlos took the bottle from him and prepped himself, rubbed the lube against all the right places because he knew that Oscar was going to be lazy and have Carlos do all the work.

Oscar only looked at him with heat in his stare. He took in the sight of all of Carlos' form. The strength, the body hair, the size of his cock. Oscar had fucked himself dumb on it enough times when the tables were turned, but tonight, Carlos was going to do the same on Oscar's cock.

"I will win next time."

Oscar broke into a grin at his words, "I'm sure you will, Amorcito. I'm sure you'll win them all." He licked his lips, "Probably would have done it in a Ferrari. But, I guess you'll come in a solid fifth for the rest of the season. You lost to Stroll. Not a good look."

The words were biting, the insult stung. But it also made Carlos painfully erect. He tossed the bottle of lube to the side and wiped the remaining lube on his digits against the covers. Not his problem to wash.

He straddled Oscar's waist properly and placed his hands on either side on the man and loomed over him. Oscar's hand was around his own cock and helped ease it into Carlos, the only moment of tenderness this entire evening.

Once again, if they were going to play stupid. They weren't going to play at all.

Oscar dared to asked, "What is the capital of Spain?" A coded question to ask if the safe word needed to be used before they continued. Even though there was little tenderness in their activities; consent was important. Neither men were monsters.

"Barcelona." Carlos didn't need the tenderness, he didn't need the safe word. He needed the man who was fucking him. He needed Oscar.

Oscar held onto Carlos' hips and replied, "Good answer." Before the other man started to move up and down on him. His thrusts were quick, and Oscar swore under his breath at the feeling.

Pleasure shivered down his back as he laid out on the bed.

Carlos could see it in Oscar's eyes, the look in them as he pleasured him. He held onto the covers under them and moved against the other man. The sparks were flying in his brain as he rutted against him. His cock dribbled pre-cum with each heavy thrust of his hips.

Small noises were shared and Oscar dragged his blunt nails down the other's chest while only made Carlos' cock twitch from the sensation. He swore under his breath and Oscar moaned.

If anyone knew about this. It would be all over the press, bad enough they had been on a few blind item websites a few times. A stray inside source said that they were fucking behind the scenes. Carlos had feeling it was Lando who was leaking the information as revenge for the multiple times they had kept him up.

Neither cared, it was all speculation. Even though at that moment, it felt very real as Carlos continued his thrusts, moving his body up against the other man. Soon they were chest to chest as he gave Oscar another sloppy kiss.

Oscar held onto the collar and yanked on it which only made Carlos more aroused. The pleasure a live wire in his gut, shocks of want went through him. The grip that Oscar Piastri had on him was remarkable.

Maybe when Carlos wins the Driver's Championship and McLaren dumps Oscar for some younger driver, then maybe Carlos will show some mercy and make him a proper WAG. If Oscar played his cards right, and his racing style wrong, then Carlos would get him a proper diamond.

A man of class like Oscar deserved nice things. Especially if he handed over the world championship to Carlos, he'd be rewarded in spades.

The Spanish driver continued to move against Oscar, his cock fit just right in him. It excited him, aroused him down to his very fiber. They shared another sloppy kiss, Oscar trailed his tongue across the other's bottom lip and Carlos shuddered.

Oscar's heart raced, the feeling was intense. Even though he was being ridden by Carlos like his life depended on it, the feeling was tenfold in Oscar's brain. The fellow driver burned something fierce in Oscar's soul.

He licked his lips and held on tightly, he admired how Carlos looked riding his cock. It was a beautiful sight. He said to the driving fucking himself on his cock, "See you ride me better than that car. Any car you've driven. Meant to be on my cock and out of the driver's seat." He squeezed Carlos' hips tighter, "Give it up at Williams, give it to another driver who deserves it. I heard Lawson is out, give it to him. C'mon."

Carlos scratched his blunt nails down Oscar's chest and the Australian driver near laughed if he wasn't already in heightened pleasure. His nails across his nipples only made his cock twitch inside of Carlos. The driver panted, he felt hot and sweaty on top of Oscar, "No.. Never. I'm going to beat you, Oscar."

Oscar tugged on the collar so they were more eye-level with one another, "It's Sir tonight, Carlos. Don't make me punish you." He licked his lips, "If you do, you'll be out of commission all season."

Carlos went in for another heated kiss and groaned as Oscar tugged on the collar. It choked him slightly and it only fueled the heat in him. He knew his climax was near, he could feel it in his teeth.

Sex with Oscar was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. The feverish fucking, the additional gear, the creaking of the bed. It all aroused something deep within both men.

Flickers of flames burned between them, both as rivals and sexual partners.

Both matched each other's eagerness to play sick sexual games. To push each other on the track and dish our rewards and punishments off-the track. When the dust settled on the pavement and the trophy was given. All they had left was the piercing desire. Settle the score, engage in sexual acts that would make most blush.

They weren't the first and they wouldn't be the last pair to do so. But neither cared, not as the pleasure grew. Let them talk, let the fans and the haters stew in what went on when the cameras turned off.

Who cared.

Because at that moment, Carlos Sainz was riding Oscar Piastri's cock with a leather collar around his neck. His need for climax grew as he clutched onto the other's shoulders. What they couldn't say in front of the cameras was exposed in the privacy of a hotel room in another country, in another place.

"You drive me insane."

"You drive me to victory, Sainz." And Oscar gabbed Carlos by the back of the neck and pulled him into another searing kiss. He groaned as he came inside of Carlos. He tensed up, the pleasure its peak in his mind.

When he broke the kiss, he gasped for air. Only then could he relax while Carlos quickened his pace to chase his own climax. He needed it too while Oscar laid with his hands on the bed, trying to catch his breath.

Fuck.

Carlos shuddered on top of the other driver, he cursed under his breath. He could feel the orgasm in his gut. He continued to move, desperate for his release. It was finally granted to him and soon he finished all across himself and Oscar.

Streaks of cum down both of their chests as Carlos gasped for air. A small noise left his lips as he slowed his thrusts down to a stop. He swore under his breath as he tried to collect himself. He could feel the hammering his chest.

He hated to admit it, but Oscar was a good fuck. Even within their little sessions post-race. The strive to out do each other. He came harder than he had with anyone else, the magic that the other driver had.

And despite Carlos' deep resentment towards that, how Oscar made him feel. The final release was still worth it. It left him raw and breathless. His nerves felt alive as he went in for one final kiss.

"You drive me up the wall." Carlos said.

"Ah, ah, ah." Oscar said as he placed a finger over Carlos' soft lips, "What are you meant to call me tonight?" He shifted and Carlos ended up on his back, the two gazed at one another.

Carlos swallowed, this wasn't the end of their games tonight. Didn't help that he was getting aroused once more. He could have held his own, he could have said a biting remark.

But he didn't.

He swallowed and said, "You drive me up the wall, Sir." The word still heavy on his tongue, but it only made Oscar lick his lips.

The other driver patted him on the cheek, a little rougher than Carlos hoped for. And Oscar leaned in for another kiss as he then grabbed Carlos' legs around his waist. They were soon touching foreheads.

"I'm not done with you yet, Sainz. My victory was earned, and I need to remind you that I'll be bringing home most of the trophies this year. And you won't get in my way."

"Fuck you."

"No, no. But I'll fuck you." And then dove in for another heated kiss. It was going to be a long night. It wouldn't be a shock if there was damage done to the hotel room by sunrise.

But Oscar didn't care, it was a lovely accommodation. With a lovelier hole to fuck.

-

The next morning there was a knock on the door. Lando stood there with his hands at his hips, he adverted his gaze when the door was open. He didn't need to know what happened in Oscar's room last night.

He could fucking hear it.

The door opened and the British driver said, not even glancing to see who had opened the door. He was keenly fascinated with the slight discoloration of the wallpaper above the doorway, "Hey, uh. We're heading out soon… I don't know if Carlos is coming with you and Mark… But you should tell him. Preferable with clothes on."

Lando's eyes went wide, his gaze didn't relent when he heard Carlos' voice.

"Thanks, mate. I'll let Oscar know."

Lando eventually looked towards the doorway and saw a barely clothed Carlos heading back in the hotel room with a thick black leather collar around his throat and a limp in his walk.

The driver grimaced and turned back around. He wondered if for the Japanese Grand Prix he could stay in a room further away, or better yet, another hotel all together. ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

How's Rudy in the Teen and Adult AU? Does Wally eventually meet him?

Wally actually met Rudy when he was 6 years old, when they all went to Australia after Charlie's mother's passing. He was supposed to stay with Syd and his mother while she went to her family and took care of some stuff, but the kid wouldn't leave her side, so she took him along with her.

There, he met not only Rudy (whom he was really afraid of, for some reason) but also his grandfather (again, he didn't want to be around him) and Irwin, the only other adult he realized he could trust because he knew about Yipper Cards (which is all it takes to win Wally's heart at this time).

The visit was rather short, so Wally knows he has another uncle on his mother's side, but doesn't remember anything except for the fact that "he was an evil adult".

During the showtime, Rudy tries to bring Wally to his boarding school to make him "a perfect little lord", but Charlie manages to send him to other schools so Rudy won't have him. Yes, one time she sent him to an all-girl school but in her mind, it was still better than Rudy's (spoiler: it wasn't >>> operation: F.U.T.U.R.E.).

In the Teen AU, we don't have much info about him.

He lives in Sydney with his family. His wife is named [REDACTED], and he has one baby daughter named Irene and another 8-year-old son daughter child daughter Iris.

He still runs his boarding school and is a renowned Villain in the Australian KND space (known as "Mister No Smile"), able to take down two sectors (Sector PH and Sector VC) all alone, turning all 10 members into little perfect, educated lords and ladies. It is called the "smiling accident", because it's said they could see him smile before being taken down.

He could be considered the "Father" of Australia. Sector SY is always at war with him, and the only one specifically trained to go against him since the "smiling accident".

Wally has no contact with him at this moment.

In the Adult AU... oh boy... where to start?

Wally knows about him, and since he returned, he's even more afraid of him.

Rudy's also one of those villains trying to get Lou, and he knows Lou won't go hard on him because he's Charlie's little brother. Which gives him an advantage.

His family grew up to three daughters dolls. Iris is the older. She's 18 but still under his influence. Irene is 10 and the youngest one, Iresine, is 4.

Rudy has a strange fascination for dolls, especially vintage, porcelain ones, and creepily applied it on his daughters, who need to follow his rules. They don't talk, they don't smile, they sometimes just sit next to him as he works, doing nothing but... looking pretty.

The only time they are "alive", it's when he has them fight KND, every time those annoying kids try and attack his boarding school.

Their mother?

What's a "mother"?

In all reality, their mother Garbielle actually loves all of them a lot.

She managed to convince Rudy to let them attend public school, and that's when they are finally able to be themselves and enjoy life.

Iresine is very active, loves to run, jump, dance and play sports! She's actually very good at dancing!

Irene has a strong desire to join KND, not to fight them. She loves what the kids do, and knows her father is... not good. That's how Sector SY sometimes gets some infos about Mister No Smile's future plans...

As for Iris... Iris...

...

that's not her... his name. His name is Michael, and he is actually best friends with his cousin Joey. But there's NO WAY Joey will ever know about his real identity. He doesn't want to lose him or that fun side of his family. Even if... Irwin is a bit suspicious.

Also because he has too much fun with Joey!

Also, to clarify, Michael is not trans. He's a cis male. His father wanted all girls, so he's forcing him into being one. Which... is still not ok AT ALL.

[tallerthantale]

An open letter to Neil Gaiman regarding his post "Breaking the Silence."

@neil-gaiman In what way have you been a private person? What does that description mean to you? You have, rather notoriously, been prone to oversharing on tumblr for years. Your online activity drastically shifted after the allegations broke. The extreme change from baseline does not corroborate the idea that you are merely continuing to honor a consistently held value. You seem to like playing with definitions, so tell me, what definition of 'private' are you using? The one I can infer is that there are specific features of your life you would prefer people didn't know about, which is perhaps not the impression you are at this moment trying to give.

An odd mix of not private but also carefully curated expression is a position I found myself in for most of the past 8 years, and I can recognize some of those same patterns in your online presence. I am, as I write this, in the process of preparing to file for divorce. Australian law requires 1 year of separation first, and that benchmark has just recently passed.

My former spouse is a highly manipulative person who outright endorsed to me their intention to systematically exploit vulnerable traumatized neurodivergent youths, believing that if they sprinkled enough life advice platitudes on top of the exploitation, that made things morally balanced and therefore fine. Now, a certain amount of their latter statements to me were a variety of unconventionally expressed threats, so it's hard to know which things out of their mouth to take at face value, if any. However, their life choices did reflect a strong enthusiasm for exploitation, and a fondness for collecting exploitable people under their thumb, myself included.

Their behaviour also had quite a lot of trauma features. Those features were not the source of their exploitative inclinations, but had become a tool to enact them. It is easier to play the role of poor traumatized hapless person in need of endless support, special consideration, patience, and understanding when the trauma is real.

One of the most prominent features of their trauma was the capacity to selectively willfully forget. They would call it their 'woodchipper.' Memories and knowledge that weren't convenient to what they wanted to experience at that moment, other people's boundaries, other people's objections, other people's preferences, other people's needs, other people's rights, other people's autonomy, other people's pain, their own obligations, their own past assurances, they feed it all into the woodchipper. They knew they were doing it. They could observe their own mind do it mid process, or at least so they said.

When Good Omens 2 came out I was still in the relationship-turned-hostage-situation. We watched it together. One thread of the season spoke to them far more than any other. A part that for most people would barely register as interesting. A few times Crowley demands that Jim try to remember being Gabriel, and he variously responds with indications he "can't remember THOSE things" because "it HURTS too much to remember." Jim's descriptions of the experience of self-removed memories resonated hard with my ex. The final fifteen was meh. Jim's pain running from his own memories was the centerpiece of meaning for them. Perhaps a concept written by a person familiar with operating a woodchipper in their brain, picked up on by a person running a woodchipper in their brain? For the rest of this I will leave my ex out of it, the woodchipper is what matters.

Once it is clear that your mind can broadly erase vitally important information for being too emotionally challenging to deal with, an ethical person would seek therapy urgently, (with a real qualified therapist, not a fake one.) An ethical person would not interpret the ability of their mind to selectively know and not know important things based on emotional needs as a fun tool to brag about, nor as an ability they are happy with and want to keep. The liability that degree of selective forgetting presents is staggering.

One of the most obvious liabilities of running a woodchipper in your brain is that you cant really be sure that any particular thing you don't remember didn't happen. And if you start to not be able to cope with knowing you're running a woodchipper, it can achieve it's own separate sentience and woodchipper away your knowledge of the woodchipper itself. A particularly well honed woodchipper can precision edit awareness to create the basis for specific beliefs out of what knowledge remains. With that editing power over the perception of reality a person can believe very creatively, very temporarily, and very strategically.

If you don't care how your actions impact other people's internal experience, if you only care about how you will perceive your own actions, you might find yourself disregarding the liabilities of the woodchipper, and embracing the potential of the strategy. A strategic precision woodchipper is a very potent tool in a manipulator's arsenal. It lets a person fake sincerity in the most powerful way, by fully believing what they are saying in the moment that they say it. As your works have reiterated, "If you can fake sincerity, you've got it made."

In an old interview with the New Yorker you said:

“I’m terribly good at believing things, but I’m really good at believing things when I need them,”

“I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not.”

I am obviously not evaluating you in a clinical setting, but I can comment that this sounds like exactly the sort of thing a mental woodchipper produces, and that these statements seem to be from the perspective of a person who is remarkably unconcerned with the daunting ethical liability that sort of strategic belief system presents. Back to the response to the allegations:

"There are moments I half-recognise and moments I don't, descriptions of things that happened next to things that emphatically did not happen."

Which moments in the allegations do you recognize and which don't you? Do the moments stay in the same category each time you read them? How can you know they emphatically did not happen, when you know you can believe things that are false? What if you are just really good at believing they didn't happen because right now you need to believe that? What if you don't remember those things because it hurts too much to remember? What if all the memories you have of how totally fine everything went was a dream-world you made for yourself, built on other people's pain that you let the weakness in your mind erase from your perception and memory?

"I have never engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with anyone. Ever."

How do you know? Are you a mind reader? What is your basis for that claim? How are you defining "non-consensual sexual activity?" Is the internal experience the other person is having part of that definition? If so, you have no basis for judgement if they disagree. Do you struggle to accept that weather or not sexual activity was consensual depends on the judgments of everyone involved, not just your own? Do you struggle to respect the judgments that other people make about their own experience of a situation? If you and another person remember things differently, why is your memory the truth and theirs 'misinformation?'

"The messages read now as they did when I received them - of two people enjoying entirely consensual relationships and wanting to see one another again."

The allegations are that you manipulated the women into performing a pretense of consent for you through exploitative power dynamics. The existence of the messages does nothing to dispute those claims. The people who believe the allegations are aware of the messages. Responding this way gives the impression of not understanding that exploited people play the role they need to in order to survive. But I don't think that's you. You wrote very compelling depictions of characters playing along with their roles to survive exploitation. If you mean to claim you can't understand that someone would pretend to consent to survive while not consenting, I do not believe you. I could believe that at times you refuse to process how that knowledge could apply to your own behaviour. Into the woodchipper it goes.

"I'm far from a perfect person"

What are the specific faults you are claiming?

"I don't accept that there was any abuse"

Trial and error is how we learn. Fail again. Fail better. Learning is a process limited by our own fortitude. We can only learn and hold onto what we can emotionally tolerate understanding. We can only learn to do what we are willing to realize we have failed to do. That's why perfectionists procrastinate, you cant fail what you decide not to attempt. An unwillingness to accept the possibility of having failed is an unwillingness to learn.

We as a society have come around to being deeply skeptical of people who insist they have never failed, or are otherwise convinced of their own perfection. Such an attitude would itself be an imperfection. People know now to say they've made mistakes, to say they have room to improve, to ask for patience while they update the details of their word choices. It's often a script, wiggle room to believe they have room to learn, while still insisting they are not capable of doing something seriously bad. No, they would still never be capable of failing in a way that was important. What we are left with then, is a person who can only learn things when they aren't important. That misses the point, don't you think?

If you are not willing to believe that abuse could have happened, you are not capable of learning what abuse is. You may have your own private definition of what abuse is and isn't, and you will always have a way to convince yourself that you never did anything that meets those contrived criteria you picked out for yourself. No one else is obligated to take on your personal definitions. People can choose to stop joining you in your bubble universe where reality is subject to your personal approval under threat of woodchipper. If you systematically churn out people who experienced their time with you as abuse, your behaviour is abuse, weather or not you are willing to agree to see it that way. People can form opinions about your actions without your permission.

Claiming sexual relationships with desperately vulnerable people dependent on you for housing were consensual because they acted like they liked you is on par with going on twitter to argue you didn't commit rape because they were unconscious and it doesn't count as rape if they're unconscious. It's claiming 'I cant have abused them because it's only abuse if I perceive that what I did was wrong!' *The woodchipper runs in the background, eliminating all perceptions and memories that could become an emotional liability.* If there were indications your actions were abuse, would your mind let you be aware of that? Not if your brain makes you believe whatever it needs to in order to protect your feelings. People can twist themselves into all kinds of rationalizations to feel better about their actions. You wrote Aziraphale, it is clear you understand these dynamics well.

In cognitive psychology we often treat rationalizations as a 'black box.' People are terrible at accurately perceiving their own motivations, intentions, memories, reasoning, the works. When we study cognitive processes, what people tell us they believe can be a variable, but it isn't the 'what they believe' variable, it's the 'story they are telling themselves' variable. Given what you have written, you seem pretty familiar with the idea that people can create whole worlds out of the stories they tell themselves, separate from reality. Our cognitive psychology 'black box' is about having the tools to ignore those stories. We look at what outcomes people's behaviour produces. Information and situation in, behaviour and it's consequences out. From that we can infer the functional motivations, goals, and priorities without the distractions of the stories.

It is with that lens I can look at your title and say no, you are not breaking the silence, because a person who was breaking the silence would publicly void all the active NDAs protecting them. You are attempting to control the narrative. I can look at your claims to want to learn to do better, and say no, if you wanted to learn to do better, you would be open to the possibility that your behaviour had been abusive. You have to believe that it is possible that you could be wrong in order to learn new information. I can look at your claim to be taking responsibility for missteps made, and say no, if you wanted to take responsibility for missteps made you would be specific about the details of those missteps, the impact they had on others, the basis on which you should have known better at the time, and what you are doing to make sure they don't happen again. 'I was emotionally unavailable and I'm going to do better' doesn't begin to cover it. 'I'm not going to fuck my vulnerable employees or people who are dependent on me for housing anymore' would be a more serious start.

Which things do you claim happened and which things are you claiming are misinformation? Which things are you claiming are distortions, and why are you so confident it wasn't you who distorted them? You are the common denominator after all, and by your own words what you can believe is determined by what you need, not the actual truth. Being vague to avoid legal liabilities is not the behaviour of a person who is committed to taking responsibility. However many people you have hurt, that was the result of your behaviour. Your actions did that, consistently. Your choices, freely made from a position of power, produced those results over and over again. And from that I can infer that you wanted to do the things that would produce those results, undeterred by the outcomes, no matter what stories you told yourself, no matter what stories you tell others.

[reasonsforhope]

"A new community housing development in the Bronx will feature a cool piece of kit: an on-site aerobic digester that can turn 1,100 pounds of food scraps into 220 pounds of high-quality fertilizer every single day.

Built by Harp Renewables, it’s basically a big stomach filled with bacteria that breaks down food scraps and wasted food into their component parts, and in the future could be a standard part of all apartment units as the amount of food waste in American reaches 30% of the total mass of all trash collection.

The Peninsula, organized by Gilbane Development Company, will feature 740 units of affordable housing, 50,000 square-foot light industrial space and equal sized green space, and 15,000 feet of commercial space, all of which will send their castaway comestibles right into the digester...

Fast Company reports that Christina Grace, founder of a zero-waste food management company, helped plan the design and implementation of the digester into The Peninsula, and helped organize a 40% grant from the city to pay the $50,000 upfront cost.

“The goal is for this material to work its way into the community garden network in the Bronx,” [Christina Grace, who helped plan the design] told the magazine, adding that she expects it to pay for itself over just a few years. “We see this as highly replicable in both commercial and residential venues. We know there’s a need for fertilizer.”

Producing fertilizer right there in the city reduces the need for it to be trucked in from afar, chipping away, even if just a bit, at NYC traffic.

Big problem solver

Perhaps uniquely beneficial to New York City compared to other spots in the U.S. is that the digester will have a significant impact on the Bronx’s share of the city’s rodent problem.

Those who’ve watched the Morgan Spurlock documentary Rats will understand why that’s significant—while those that haven’t will have to imagine what living in a megacity where rats outnumber people by around 8 or 10 to 1 looks like.

Another big problem the bio-digesters could potentially help is pollution and greenhouse gas emissions. Fertilizer is a big emitter of all three of the most-targeted GHGs. Fertilizer, like quarry dust and ammonia is, like so many commodities, often imported from countries who specialize in its production, such as Norway, but also Russia and Ukraine, whose conflict has recently highlighted the fragility of the supply chain with sharp increases in prices...

Bio-digesters by design keep the CO2 and methane in the fertilizer produced, rather than it entering the atmosphere.

For these reasons and more, the aerobic bio-digester is slowly making its way into residential and industrial spaces around the country.

GNN reported on an enormous bio-digester at the heart of the D.C. advanced resource (sewage) recovery center outside the capital, and on the use of bio-digesters on Australian pig farms which are helping reduce the environmental and psychological impact of the effluent produced from such operations.

Harp Renewables tweeted how happy they were to have installed their bio-digester in the town of Cashel, Ireland.

Expect to see more stories like this pop up around the globe."

-via Good News Network, March 17, 2022

Note: Obviously gentrification bad and "affordable housing" is sometimes nowhere near as affordable as it should be, etc. etc. That said, this is such a fantastic use case that I felt I had to post it anyway.

[katiedido2]

Meet Cute

I'm in the final stages of an international move, but I didn't want to miss ThunderPride Month. I'm reposting the first chapter of my first foray into ThunderPride writing, Meet Cute.

It started as a simple one-shot and then grew into eleven chapters. I have been working on an epilogue, which might become a two-part epilogue (if Stephen remains cooperative).

I love the rare!pairing of Virgil Tracy & Stephen Furnier. I hope you do too.

Chapter One

“Virgil?”

The voice behind him in the Sydney coffee shop caught Virgil Tracy’s ear. He turned towards a familiar person.

“Dr Furnier?”

Stephen Furnier smiled. “Hello, Virgil.” 

“Hello, Dr Furnier.” Virgil smiled in return. 

The men shook hands.

“You saved my life. I think you should call me Stephen.” He remembered how nice Virgil Tracy smelled when the IR operative had carried him onto Thunderbird Two. His cologne scent was light but very appealing. Stephen hadn’t been able to get it out of his head for weeks afterwards. 

“Okay…Stephen.” The two men smiled. “You’re looking good.”

“So are you.”

Virgil chuckled. “I meant since the last time I saw you, but thank you.”

“Oh!” Stephen blushed and then, scratching the back of his neck, chuckled. “How embarrassing.

Stephen Furnier was just as Virgil remembered him. Attractive, trim, and neatly attired, with that full head of blond hair he wanted to run his fingers through. Virgil was a sucker for blonds. Not wanting to get distracted and keen to put the other man at ease, Virgil asked, “So, what brings you to the wilds of Sydney?”

“Ah. I’m in Sydney for work. I plan to be here roughly a year.”

“There are certainly enough spiders here to keep you busy.”

The line moved, and the two men moved forward. 

“There are!”

Virgil chuckled. “Deadly and otherwise.”

“Actually, Australia has more non-lethal spiders than people think.”

They moved forward with the line.

“Oh. It probably doesn’t help that we only hear about the deadly ones.”

Stephen chuckled. “No.”

“Are you looking for any spiders in particular?”

“Not this time. I’m doing work for the Australian government. They’ve asked a group of arachnologists and herpetologists to study the effect of climate change on the ecosystems of spiders, lizards and snakes.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It is!”

“Will you be working in Sydney?”

“Not the entire time. We’ll be going around the country. We’re trekking into Western Australia for a month in a couple of weeks.”

“What can I get for you two?”

Stephen and Virgil looked in surprise at the barista. They hadn’t noticed that the line had progressed so far. They looked at each other. 

Virgil tilted his head and held out his hand. “What do you say, doc? My treat.”

Stephen raised his hands in protest. “No, no. You saved my life. It’s my treat.”

“But you saved my life capturing the creepy spider.”

“Creeping banana spider.”

“Guys.”

The two men looked in the direction of the voice. The barista stood with their eyebrows raised. 

“Lumberjack, let the doc buy you coffee; you can buy him dinner, but let’s keep the line moving, okay?”

The two men blushed. “Um, sure.” “Yes, okay.”

“What’ll you have, Lumberjack?”

“I prefer Logistical Tree Feller.”

“Yeah, but it’s too wordy.”

Virgil shrugged. “Okay. Lumberjack it is. I’ll have a Long Black, please.”

“Okay.” The barista typed his order into the computer. They looked at Stephen. “And you, big spender?”

“Yes, um… may I please have a flat white?”

“Right-o.” The barista rang up their order. 

Stephen touched his thumb to the pay pad, causing a soft beep, indicating that he had paid. 

“We’ll call when your order is ready.”

Stephen stopped them. “Wait. Don’t you need our names?”

The barista cocked their head. “Do ya think there are more than one Doc and Lumberjack in here?”

Stephen frowned. “Umm…”

Virgil chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out…doc.”

Stephen blushed and chuckled. “Oh, yes. Of course.” 

They moved away from the counter and stood together. Virgil was enjoying talking to Stephen and wished to continue their conversation. He hoped Stephen felt the same. 

“Shall we find a table? We can keep talking…unless you have to go….”

“No!” Stephen blushed again. He glanced at Virgil from beneath his eyelashes. “No, my afternoon is free…and I want to continue our conversation.” He smiled when Virgil’s face lit up at his reply. 

“Okay.” 

They found a table near a window and sat. 

“I’ve been terribly rude. Virgil, I neglected to ask what you were doing in Sydney.” 

“That’s okay, doc-”

“Stephen, please, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded. “That’s okay, Stephen…I have a few days of R&R. I’m taking in a couple of museum exhibits, and I managed to get tickets for tomorrow to see Ming Ha at the Opera House.”

“Ming Ha? I’m not familiar with them.”

“She’s a classical pianist.”

“Oh. Classical music isn’t really my thing.” Stephen hesitated, wondering if he had said the wrong thing. He cleared his throat and spoke quickly. “Do you like classical music?”

“I do! I enjoy playing it on the piano, but I prefer jazz.”

Stephen’s face lit up. “I like jazz too!” 

The men smiled at each other. 

“Doc and Lumberjack!”

“I’ll get it.” Stephen rose and went to collect their coffees. 

Virgil looked out the window, watching passersby until his companion returned with the nectar of life coffee. An idea occurred to him, and he tapped a message into his phone. A moment later, his phone tinged. Reading the reply, he smiled and looked up in time to see Stephen returning with their coffees. 

“A tall black for the tall black-haired gentleman and a flat white for the spider guy.” Stephen grinned at Virgil while he set the cups on the table and retook his seat. “What are you grinning at?”

“I’m not grinning.”

“Virgil, you look like a cat who’s eaten a canary. What is it?”

“The coffee is called a long black, not tall black.”

“Oh.” The blond blushed. “Australian coffee rituals are very confusing.”

“They are if you aren’t familiar with them. You did okay ordering your coffee. Unless you didn’t actually want a flat white.”

Stephen sipped his coffee. “Mmm, this is exactly what I wanted.”

“Now you’re prepared for next time.”

“And I’ll try to remember it’s long black, not tall.” He sipped his coffee again and noticed Virgil grinning at him. “What? You’re grinning again…do I have foam on my lip?” He swiped his hand across his lips.

“No, you’re fine.” Virgil paused, staring at Stephen’s lips. “Um….” He shook himself. “I checked on Ms Ha’s program, and she’s performing works by Jean-Michel Blais.”

“I’m not familiar with him.”

“He’s a modern Canadian composer. I think he’s still alive. Philip Glass was one of his influences, and some of his works have a jazzy feel.”

Stephen made a face. “Jazzy?”

Virgil laughed. “Oh no, don’t make that face. Okay, jazzy is a bad description. But his work is interesting, and Ms Ha is a talented pianist.”

“You don’t have to sell me on your evening plans, Virgil.”

“Yeah, about that.” 

Stephen looked expectantly at him. 

“I was wondering if you might like to come with me tomorrow night.”

“To see Ms Ha perform?”

“Yes, I have an extra ticket…” Virgil briefly wondered if he had misread Stephen’s interest. “Unless you have other plans, or there’s someone you’re seeing, then….”

“No.”

“No?” Virgil wilted slightly in disappointment. 

Stephen’s eyes widened at his companion’s obvious disappointment. “No, that’s not what I meant. No, I don’t have plans…and there isn’t anyone at the moment….” 

The two men looked at each other; neither had misread anything. 

Stephen smiled shyly. “I’d love to join you.”

Virgil smiled. “Excellent.” He sipped his nectar of life coffee. It was very good. “So, Stephen, what are your plans for this afternoon?”

“I haven’t any.”

A black eyebrow rose at this information. “There’s an exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art I’ve been dying to see, and it’s leaving after this week. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me?”

“I’d like that very much, Virgil.”

They grinned at each other and sipped their coffees.

-fin-

[samueldays]

Life in the Provinces

I was passing through a Norwegian public transport station recently, and saw this ad on the screens:

Roughly translated: "His first 100 days threaten 100 years of advancement in children's rights. Donate by Vipps [payment app] 100 to 2230."

"Redd Barna" on the end literally translates as "Save the Children" but it's also the proper name of a Norwegian charity org. On their website is a bit more description.

Da den amerikanske presidenten tiltrådte, stanset han all amerikansk bistand – en beslutning som over natten frarøvet barn over hele verden livsviktig mat, medisiner og beskyttelse. Hans første 100 dager truer 100 års fremgang for barns rettigheter. Nå trenger barn over hele verden at du blir med å kjempe. Bistandskutt og bistandsfrys har satt barns liv i fare. Uten nødhjelp og bistand står millioner av barn overfor en usikker fremtid. Vi i Redd Barna nekter å la dette skje, og vil fortsette å kjempe for at alle barn skal overleve, lære og være trygge.

On one level this is just another begpost with crying children, by a more serious source (still not very serious, Redd Barna was also doing Greta Thunberg nonsense about climate change).

On another level I'm annoyed by the persistent low-level dishonesty and lawyer-speak. It's not enough to simply say that Trump has stopped funding and children are starving, no, Redd Barna feels the need to say there's some "children's rights" that were "advancing" or "developing" thanks to specific recent innovation, and Trump "threatens" these "rights".

On another level I once again get the feeling that Norway is an American province. (Most of the world is American provinces.) Here's a Norwegian organization writing in the Norwegian language inside Norwegian buildings to ask for more money to Pooristan, and it's framed around the American president, because it's so dependent on American money. Redd Barna says it will have to close operations in 40 countries, because of Donald Trump. Redd Barna says it will be unable to serve 8-12 million children, because of Donald Trump. Redd Barna has become an American appendage, which speaks Norwegian for legacy reasons.

Which brings me to another recent bit of Life in the Provinces.

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has faced calls to respond after the Trump administration cut funding to seven Australian universities. The administration's move came after US agencies asked Australian researchers to justify why they should continue receiving American research grants. The cut of funding could leave a $600 million hole in the efforts of Australian researchers, with the US the largest research partner of Australia.

That's a lot of money. This sort of thing keeps happening. Trump pulls some funding, and a foreign country scrambles to respond because apparently some sector of their industry was living off the American money hose.

Further down the article we have this talking head:

"The federal government must push back on the Trump administration's blatant foreign interference in our independent research in the strongest possible terms," NTEU president Alison Barnes said.

I do not think those words mean what you think they mean. Is this the Curse of Babel?

[chanrizard]

Hiiiii, your favourite Zoot Suit enthusiast here, and I have some discourse to bring forward.

I genuinely think part of why Kpop, generally, operates on this "burnt out then rest" model, is because of systematic racism and discrimination.

BIPOC people know that they can't afford to rest in the same way that they're white Western peers do, and I think that's what is central here and gets missed in the overall conversation and I get how, because it's an uncomfortable thing to have to meaningfully tackle.

I mean, how many Australian-Korean American-Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Chinese idols have moved to Korea, specifically to have a better shot at accessing a global audience? That's a systematic failing, and while there have been some strides to change that, it's really hard to dismantle that fear because even if you do prove to be profitable, it takes just one old, white asshole to fuck all of that up because they want to maintain an oppressive, parasitic hierarchy.

I absolutely agree that SKZ need to rest, and fuck the rest, but I do also see how that isn't happening, despite them proving themselves to be not only innovative but profitable as well.

sadly that's true and there's still a lot of prejudice against k-pop in general that's absolutely rooted in racism

on the other hand sometimes i think for many groups it's also a case of the company they're under simply being greedy and riding the wave of success for as long and as hard and as much as they can globally but also locally, they see their artist is gaining more and more recognition and influence and capitalize on that with a ton of schedules and new releases and programs etc etc that won't really give them a meaningful break that's so needed both mentally and physically 😭

as for skz i know they're all adults in their early to late 20s with agency over their actions who've probably agreed to these schedules months in advance, it's just that everything feels a little crammed and really hectic now you know? dropping a new album in the middle of a world tour is a little❓ to me because i know i won't be able to enjoy it as much since my attention will be split between the new songs and mostly the tour dates and they won't be able to promote it as much and it's a pity cause i love their music and i want to be able to really appreciate it with no rush, real or perceived

so what i hope for the future is having album releases that are slightly better paced and them having some downtime for themselves that feels like a real vacation too, no cameras no staff no obligation to film something that will later be revealed to the public, just rest&recharge for real like the few times they've gone on a trip with no cameras following them and we only found out months later because they told us through bubble :')

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

I would like to remind you that Trump is currently facing the death penalty in Yemen

Now that I have your attention:

So close...

So close to the goal…

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Hello, the fundraisers are up, at least reblog them or something