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dreammfyre · 11 months ago

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targaryen dynasty ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of Daemon and Laena Velaryon, betrothed to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon whom you have known since childhood. Queen Rhaenyra personally asked you to seek out knights and ladies with Targaryen blood to try and get them to claim a dragon to join the cause. You, always so attached to reading and the most studious and intelligent, did not hesitate to obey your queen, however, it was proving to be more difficult than you imagined. Luckily, Jacaerys knows how to help you.

WARNIGS. (+18) Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest. Smut, oral (fem receiving).

NOTE. The thuth is that I don't know how thid got 5000 words, but here we are!!!

If anyone asked you, you had no idea how long you had been locked in the castle library. The queen had left you the task of researching in depth about the Targaryen lineage with valyrian blood and the right to claim a dragon, you did not refuse to comply with her orders, you were known for your intellect and interest about history, always with a different book under your arm, you handled data that the others did not, so you were in your comfort zone. However, you did not imagine it was going to be so complicated, you had had breakfast and lunch in the library in solitude, which meant that you had been locked up all day among papyrus, books written in the language of your family, you had read about the dragons still alive, especially Vermithor and Silverwing, but you found more than you needed and your attention jumped from subject to subject, you had never access to such a place and did it hold information on Targaryen history from the time of the conquerors to the reign of Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

"My lady." Elinda's voice, so soft and gentle as she addressed you, dissipated your attention causing you to turn your head up from your reading. The maid was standing in the doorway and you behind the wooden desk in the midst of your own chaos, you had ordered not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. "Why don't you go upstairs to dine with the queen in parlor?"

"I'm fine, thank you." You smiled trying to put on your best face, the truth was you didn't want to appear before Rhaenyra without any advances.

Elinda sighed knowing she wasn't going to be able to convince you to come out for fresh air, she wasn't surprised at your response, always so stubborn and driven to your ideas.

"It's okay, I know you, so I went ahead and brought dinner up here." She said walking over with the silver tray holding a steaming plate and a cup. "Eat before rest, you've spent a lot of time in this place, you haven't been eating well and we don't want your body to weaken."

You nodded and thanked her before she left. You watched the food from afar without appetite, so went back to reading, the Targaryen bloodline had expanded to different places, moving out of King's Landing and Dragonstone to other lands. You were writing down the possible names of knights and ladies with what needed to claim a dragon, so far there weren't many options, but you didn't want to be left in doubt you looked everywhere. You stood up to look for another book that you had not yet read, this time from the houses to the north, you had a mess everywhere and on every table, open books, scattered papyrus, the shelves almost empty. Your notes on the other hand, Valyrian texts that read without problems, as if a hurricane had swept away the order.

You took from the cup that Elinda had brought with sweet wine to which you gave a generous gulp. You paced back and forth reading and reviewing the history, trying to find useful connections to the present, back and forth, flipping through the pages and drinking. When you started to get dizzy from the spinning you found no better idea than to sit on the table crossing your legs no matter how uncomfortable your clothes were, on your thighs opened the heavy book so you could hold the glass in your hands.

"Are you still here?" Jacaerys had entered the library, taking you by surprise. The heir found you in the middle of the mess, surrounded by papers, sitting on the table which was frowned upon for a lady. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I think I hate the Targaryen." Sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking up. Jacaerys smiled coming closer, watching the mess around you out of the corner of his eye, but he was sure you were the one to find what Rhaenyra was looking for. "Is that wine?" he pointed to your goblet raising his eyebrows.

"Elinda feeds me like an imprisoned animal."

"I doubt an imprisoned animal would be fed lamb and wine." This time it was you who smiled. "How are you doing with your mission?"

"I found some names that might be of use, let's hope they are still alive." You replied setting the cup aside, on top of other papers that were of no use to you at the moment. "The children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane were a great starting point that I cannot yet move on from."

"My mother asked about your absence at the table. I told her you needed time, and that I was going to keep an eye on you." You nodded, a little flushed at the last part, but you knew how to hide it.

"That's Visenya Targaryen?" Jace asked excitedly as he looked at the draw in the book open on your legs, moving closer to you to get a better look, invading your space.

"Queen Visenya," you corrected him causing him to apologize. "Vhagar's first rider." You looked at the image closely admiring her beauty, trying to take in the closeness of Jacaerys. "And the first in her name."

Jacaerys watched you from the corner of his eye biting the inside of his cheek, he liked the way you corrected him, even on some occasions when you chatted privately he would purposely get it wrong to make you angry. You just looked up meeting your fiancé's gaze, which made him realize he had gone silent.

"This place is…" the heir looked around you carefully analyzing the room, he didn't know how to continue the sentence without offending you.

"Say it, a complete mess." You sighed exhaustedly.

The prince nodded with concern for your well being, you are his fiancée and he had to take care of you, he looked at you noticing your tired eyes, your hair a bit messy falling a few unruly strands down your face, the dress disarranged on your shoulders. And somehow, through his eyes, even though it sounded bad and he didn't have the courage to admit it out loud, that was attractive.

He took a lock of your hair and tidied it behind your ear, it was a gesture he repeated and you liked it.

"Do you need help?" you denied immediately, you didn't want to look pitiful or desperate. "Don't be proud, I know you."

"Apparently it's not as simple as I imagined." You said discouraged, looking at the papers scattered around you. You closed the book putting it aside, you couldn't think anymore, you were blocked, tired and your body was asking you to eat and rest, maybe not in that order. You stretched your legs, still sitting on the table with Jacaerys watching you. "Targaryen dynasty is vast and diffuse, complex to trace, now I understand why several names are missing. I don't want Rhaenyra to be disappointed, I'm trying my best."

Hearing you, Jacaerys quickly interrupted placing his hand on your thigh unknowingly unleashing a shiver down your back. "The queen could not have chosen anyone better than you, you are the smartest lady I know." He said sincerely, positioning his other hand on your shoulder. "Go to sleep, you need it."

Tired, you rested your forehead on his shoulder resting on it. Jacaerys stroked your loose hair without removing his hand on your leg. The physical contact comforted you, but you didn't accept it often, so it was a surprise for the prince to have you so close.

"I'll dream of dragons." You joked with eyes closed, Jace's scent intoxicating you immediately. "I'll stay a while longer, I think I know where to find a thread to pull on."

"Eat something first." He added as he noticed the tray with the untouched plate. His caresses relaxed you, feeling his fingers tangle in your hair made you feel a delicious shiver, so you let him repeat it, even his tone of voice relaxed your muscles.

"I'm not hungry yet."

Jacaerys swallowed hard as your warm breath hit his neck, bristling his skin. He didn't know how the hell she was managing to control himself like that, when she held you close his thoughts were easily confused and the heart was about to burst out of his chest. In a moment of weakness, the prince closed his eyes in order to intensify the sensations, in the middle of the silence and taking advantage of the hidden place where they were, he squeezed thigh on the fabric of the dress, it was not strong, just enough to steal a sigh and that now the tachycardia clouded your reason. You didn't know at what moment that comforting embrace turned into a boundary of something else, Jacaerys Velaryon stirred as he felt the tip of your nose brush against his exposed neck before you, a slow, torturous contact.

The heir's hands were too still, he was controlling himself as much as his duty allowed him. While you had little interest in complying with the damned traditions, they were teenagers, you couldn't ask much of them in that regard.

The tension of their bodies rubbing against each other grew with each movement in a pleasant and affectionate rhythm, but you urgently needed it to increase, so opened your legs to surround his body with your thighs, the prince did not think a second to position himself between them taking advantage to squeeze your ass tearing you a sigh that vanished in his mouth. You brought your lips to his neck leaving kisses all over, Jacaerys did not want to stop you, he had fallen too easily into the game. The prince's hands were eager to touch as much as possible went up from your waist to your breasts, you had never seen him like that, then your fiancé sought your mouth before you kissed his bristling skin again.

"Jace…" you whispered against his lips touching slowly with yours, your warm breath hitting his face, he could hear the desperation in your call looking into your eyes, but his gaze was focused on your wet lips.

Shit. His name sounded so different when you said it.

It was he who had the courage - or the impulse - to make the move to close the distance between you, an accurate approach to trap your lips between his, his hand took your jaw and prey to desires you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter your cavity, sticky, wet noises echoed off the stone walls as Jacaerys brushed his tongue along yours. The taste of sweet wine ended up intoxicating him as well. His slow movement caused a wave of heat to grow in the underside of your belly, you rested a hand behind the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his wavy hair.

Your heart could not calm down, on the contrary, it begged for more. The crown prince began to lift your red dress, a messy piece of infinite fabric, so you clumsily helped him by crumpling it until he slipped his hand underneath it, running his fingers over your bare skin playing with your sanity by how slowly he explored.

"Someone could see us at any moment." You reminded him that they weren't in the privacy of your quarters or his, trying to gesture because your labored breathing was making it hard to think.

"They can listen to whatever they want." He responde kissing your neck moving down to your collarbones, the heat of his mouth on your skin felt like the most exciting thing you had ever tasted. The intense grip on your legs didn't bother you at all because it was him, his deep voice made you bristle complete when he whispered too intoxicated in the moment to be his usual proper prince self. "I said I would take care of you."

You laughed at how little importance he gave to your innocent concerns, too sure that nothing was going to happen, but maybe it was just adrenaline and desire clouding his rational thoughts. Jacaerys kept going down, kissing between your breasts on the fabric, until he knelt before you, you held your breath when you understood his intentions, he raised his gaze towards you, an intense silence where your nobility was at stake for falling into carnal temptation, it was a few seconds until you decided to lift the skirt of your dress so he could have the access he desired.

Your fiancé began to kiss the inside of your thighs gently, just that minimal contact made you tremble on the table. "Don't close the legs." He ordered.

Your cheeks flared in heat as a reminder of the sin they were committing, yes, it was your fiancé who was between your legs unabashedly, but it was still Jace, whom you had known all your life and had grown up together, the most proper prince Westeros had ever seen, so devoted to duty that no one would imagine he would be able to steal your innocence out of wedlock, but there he was, he was the same, kneeling before you like a believer, kissing your thighs feeling his hot breath approaching your cunt exposed to his delight. The sighs coming out of your mouth were intensifying as Jacaerys swollen lips approached your most sensitive area making him beg, you felt he was toying with your sanity but he only wanted to extend your pleasure as long as you would hold out. Your hands clutched at the fabric of your dress, his wet tongue flicked across your cunt, he didn't quite finish his journey when your knees had the urgent urge to close like a natural spasm, but Jacaerys prevented it by holding your legs tightly apart for him, continuing his work of giving you the pleasure you deserved.

"Oh, Jace, gods." You said with bated breath, an emotional torture of not knowing how far you could go before you screamed. His tongue kept licking like candy, unabashedly tasting knowing what he was doing, moving up and down listening to your moans that excited him as much as it did you to feel his mouth on your center, the heir seemed to be having fun taking his time under your dress, reveling in your desperation. The warm wet sensation on your folds sliding down began to make you desperate, in an attempt to quiet your moans so as not to draw attention to yourself you bit your tongue so hard that the moan was one of pain rather than pleasure. You crumpled some papers in search of what to hold on to, you closed your eyes intensifying the spasms even more. "Jacaer…"

Saying his name seemed the most difficult task.

You managed to feel the crown prince's long fingers opening your pussy slippery with his saliva and your transparent wetness dripping. Again he ventured in with his mouth, this time with more euphoria and hunger, making little circles with his tongue, drowning himself in you tasting your cunt as he had never done to any of the whores on the island, with you he took great pains to get it right. Agitated, chest rising and falling from your erratic breathing the prince placed one of his hands on your belly as if he knew you were looking for him, intertwining his fingers you squeezed as his tongue pushed into your entrance. Curiosity as to how he learned to do that had to wait because your legs began to tremble and you began to move struggling against the strength of Jacaerys who wasn't going to stop servicing you until you were done.

"Please… Jace."

"You are so wet." Said the prince as an accomplishment, but you were embarrassed to know how vulnerable you were before him. The sound of his mouth playing with your clit, so wet and wrong, similar to a kiss where Jace was just doing all y he work. You searched for his head with your hand which was complicated by being hidden under your skirt, the damn dress prevented you from looking into his eyes, you wanted to look at him and beg his face not to stop now that you were so close to touching the best orgasm of your life. Jacaerys was struggling with your legs, so he put your thigh over his shoulder without letting go of your hand. "You have to hold on a little longer. I promise you'll like it."

"I c-can't." You cried trembling.

Between your legs, Prince Velaryon was reveling in your pleasure with a painful erection trapped in his pants that only hardened against the fabric with every high-pitched moan coming from your throat. He had to be strong to hold back the urge to take advantage of your wetness and penetrate you right then and there, that wasn't the first time he thought of you that way nor was it going to be the last after tonight, he would go to his quarters overwhelmed to attend to himself just thinking of you for another night. You were so open that with a little strength you could take it, but you were not ready for the moment and deep down, Jacaerys felt just as guilty for giving in to temptation by breaking traditions, disrespecting you to a lady of nobility.

"Jace, oh, like that." You moaned wiggling your hips.

But shit, he couldn't take one more moon without claiming that belongs to him. Your whole body, your every desperate moan and plea. It was an addictive melody that he didn't want it to end.

You reached for his head with your hand under the cloth that was being Jacaerys' salvation because if he saw your sweaty face, pink cheeks and pleading gestures he wasn't going to be able to hold back the urge, fucking you right there on that table. Merciful to your clumsiness, Jace took your hand turning it towards the back of his neck, you tangled his wavy hair between your fingers, bringing it closer to your center than it already was which only encouraged your fiancé to lose control by gently biting your cunt and with his finger caressing your exposed clit like a throbbing button.

"Gods!" You exclaimed so loudly that Jace feared for both of your lives. You covered your mouth yourself, waiting for someone to walk in and find them you sitting at the table with the heir kneeling between your legs under your dress. "I-I'm sorry." You whispered in exasperation.

"Scream whatever you want." It was a command rather than a comfort.

And you listened to him. Your body couldn't resist any longer, the spasms were getting stronger and Jacaerys knew you were close to orgasm, your legs faltered and couldn't hold still. You pulled your fiancé's hair, which instead of annoying him, he liked to feel. You mumbled incoherently, cursing everything, your hips couldn't stay still and Jacaerys' tongue wasn't making it any easier. You let go of the heir's hand on your belly to cover your mouth, however, Jace grabbed your wrist preventing that from happening. The rule had been clear, he wanted to hear you screaming his name to burn it into his memory, he wanted to hear your whimpers and pleas not to stop, your choked moans, the curses and incoherent ramblings.

"Jace!" your chest was rising and falling so fast you felt short of breath. The pressure between your legs was increasing, you closed your eyes tightly trying to hold on a second longer, but it was impossible. "Oh, shit!"

Your orgasm came as a spasm that controlled your whole body, from your hair to your legs. Jacaerys knew it when the tension in your muscles disappeared and he didn't have to exert any more force to hold you back. His pace slowed considerably, he didn't hold back from licking one last time.

Your body was wracked, aroused to return to normal. Your chest was expanding and contracting fast, the sweaty skin made it look shiny. Your body had peaked, and now, you missed Jacaerys' tongue between your legs. The heir stepped out from under your skirt, his mouth wet from his own saliva and your wetness in a mixture that soaked into his pink, swollen lips. The prince was red in the face, his hair falling down his face in the most exciting mess, he looked so good. He wiped his mouth with his clothes and fixed his hair behind his ears without taking eyes off you.

"You were very good lady." He stroked his thumb across your red cheek, you closed your eyes at his gentle, almost brotherly caress, a well-deserved congratulations. You were still weak and rambunctious with ragged breathing and a high pulse, your body wasn't going to withstand another orgasm, not for tonight. Jace moved closer to your face, he wanted to admire you up close, your exposed neck was the target of a kiss. "Did you like it?" he whispered so slowly against your ear that a shiver brought you back to reality. His breath beating against your damp skin was a reminder that you were completely crazy about him, no one in all of Westeros could service you so well.

You nodded in shame and innocence. You couldn't hear him, but you knew he was smiling.

"Y-yes." You replied looking into his eyes. Your innocent look reignited the fire in Jacaerys, who was still holding back the urge to fuck you.

The prince closed his eyes and swallowed saliva in frustration. He had to be aware that no matter how good it felt, it wasn't right.

"We can't do it here again." He took your face in his hands caressing your skin with his fingers. You nodded again, seeing you so obediently at his mercy only triggered his excitement, fighting until the last second. Jacaerys moved closer to your face, you closed your eyes expecting him to kiss you, but you only felt the brush of his lips against yours and his breath against your mouth. "Next time I'll rip that fucking dress off you myself with my bare hands."

⊹ ࣪ ˖ MASTERLIST

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tanadrin · 6 months ago

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Can you explain in what what you think eugenics doesn't work? Does this basically boil down to skepticism about the accuracy of GWAS studies? My understanding is that academic consensus is "G probably exists, disentangling direct genetic inheritance vs genetic cultural inheritance is complicated but possible, we can identify a number of alleles which we're reasonably confident are directly causally involved in having a higher G factor"

when it comes to intelligence, its heritability, and its variation at the population level, my understanding of the science is:

highly adaptive traits don't, in fact, vary much at the genetic level between populations of a species because they are strongly selected for. in an environment where a trait is being strongly selected for, a population that failed to express that trait strongly will be rapidly outcompeted.

intelligence is probably the quintessential such trait for humans. we have sacrificed a great deal of other kinds of specialization in favor of our big brains. we spend an enormous amount of calories supporting those brains. tool use, the ability to plan for the future, the ability to navigate complex social situations and hierarchies in order to secure status, the ability to model the minds of others for the purposes of cooperation and deception means that we should expect intelligence to be strongly selected for for as long as our lineage has been social and tool-using, which is at least the last three million years or so.

so, at least as a matter of a priori assumptions, we should expect human populations not to vary greatly in their genetic predisposition to intelligence. it may nonetheless, but we'd need pretty strong evidence. i think i read this argument on PZ Myers' blog a million years ago, so credit where that's due.

complicating the picture is that we just don't have good evidence for how IQ does vary across populations, even before we get into the question of "how much of this variation is genetic and how much of it is not." the cross-national data on which a lot of IQ arguments have been based is really bad. and that would be assuming IQ tests are in fact good at capturing a notion of IQ that is independent of cultural context, which historically they're pretty bad at

this screed by nassim nicholas taleb (not a diss; AFAICT the guy only writes in screeds) makes a number of arguments, but one argument I find persuasive is that IQ is really only predictive of achievement in the sense that it does usefully discriminate between people with obvious intellectual disabilities and those without--but you do not actually need an IQ test for that sort of thing, any more than you need to use a height chart to figure out who is missing both their legs. in that sense, sure, IQ is predictive of a lot of things. but once you remove this group, the much-vaunted correlations between IQ and stuff like wealth just straight-up vanishes

heritability studies are a useful tool, but a tool which must be wielded carefully; they were developed for studying traits which were relatively easy to isolate in very specific populations, like a crop under study at an agricultural research site, and are more precarious when applied to, e.g., human populations

my understanding based on jonathan kaplan articles like this one is that twin studies are not actually that good at distinguishing heritable factors from environmental ones--they have serious limitations compared to heritability studies where you actually can rigorously control for environmental effects, like you can with plants or livestock.

as this post also points out, heritability studies also only examine heritability within groups, and are not really suited to examining large-scale population differences, *especially* in the realm of intelligence where there is a huge raft of confounding factors, and a lack of a really robust measurement tool.

(if we are worried about intelligence at the population level, it seems to me there are interventions we know are going to be effective and do not rely on deeply dubious scientific speculation, e.g., around nutrition and healthcare and serious wealth inequality and ofc education; and if what people actually want is to raise the average intelligence of the population rather than justify discrimination against minorities, then they might focus on those much more empirically grounded interventions. even if population differences in IQ are real and significant and point to big differences in intelligence, we know those things are worth a fair few IQ points. but most people who are or historically have been the biggest advocates for eugenics are, in my estimation, mostly interested in justifying discrimination.)

i think the claims/application of eugenics extend well beyond just intelligence, ftr. eugenics as an ideology is complex and historically pretty interesting, and many eugenicists have made much broader claims than just "population-level differences in intelligence exist due to genetic factors, and we should try to influence them with policy," but that is a useful point for them to fall back onto when pressed on those other claims. but i don't think even that claim is at all well-supported.

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markscherz · 1 year ago

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I'm sorry... snake paper? Are things heating up in the snake researcher fandom?

16 February 2024: A team of researchers (including a generally well-respected anaconda expert) found minimal and partly contradictory genetic differences in green anacondas over an enormous area, summarily dismissed all previous work on the taxonomy of green anacondas, and gave the mitochondrial lineage concerned a new name, along the way making some huge fumbles that show plainly that they have no idea how taxonomy works or what certain technical terms mean. They published the work in a journal from a suspect publishing house that is known to rush, skip, or ignore peer review as and when it suits them. And apparently there was some suspicious funding involved, though I don’t know much about that. They made a media storm with ‘a new anaconda!’ but within minutes there were people raising huge red flags about the paper, for the reasons enumerated above and others.

The response from ‘the community’ has been swift and harsh, but mostly fair, in my view. The discussion on ResearchGate reflects this pretty well. There are some bad takes about keeping ‘wokism’ out of science; I would argue that it remains critical to incorporate native peoples, knowledge, and languages into taxonomic work—just not the way this was done, in flagrant and intentional conflict with the established methods and protocols. There are also responses in the discussion by the lead author that show that he is evidently impervious to all of this criticism, and stands by the belief that the work and taxonomic reasoning is sound.

19 March 2024: two papers were published simultaneously in Bionomia, that both enumerate and rebut the problems of the original paper. And I know there are more on the way, though I don’t know if they are all going to be completed now that two responses have already been published.

The one thing I would weigh in on from my perspective is that it is the *taxonomy*, and not necessarily the evidence presented in the paper, that is the biggest problem. Species are described based on mitochondrial data alone all the time. Some of the results are quite interesting. But the taxonomy of the paper is a mess, full of contradictions, cherry-picking, and terminological errors. In the hands of competent taxonomists, the work might have been much more difficult to dispute. But also, no competent taxonomist would have assigned a new name to this lineage; there are too many existing names that would have priority, if it is worth recognising.

Undoing public perception of there being a new anaconda species will take years, if it can ever really be achieved. Always easier for media stories to go around than corrections.

TL;DR big snake paper made big mistakes, and within a month was dismissed. It has probably done lasting damage to perception of anaconda diversity.

#anaconda #snake #snake paper #Rivas et al. 2024 #taxonomy #answers by Mark #jadeitepandaproductions

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sindhu-jayaraman · 23 days ago

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#data lineage #data governance

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marsprincess889 · 8 months ago

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Ketu in the houses

Doing smaller(in this case not so much, but it's still more elementary and formulaic) posts before dropping the big ones. I know you all are going to love this (my blog has become a ketu information hub for a lot of you 😅🙃)

As always, keep in mind: ketu is very internal and personal. I can give you basic descriptions and observations but to connect with your ketu, due to its essence and nature, I think you'll have to shut out a lot of the noise and just listen to yourself. That concerns everything. So, if your truth is telling you that I or someone's description is incorrect, then trust it. Be careful while examining that.

Ketu in the 1st house:

Automatic and natural possession of the physical body. Comfortable in their own skin, sometimes too comfortable. Have an appearance that suits natural adornment. Quality pieces look extra good on them, but even they wear/carry something "cheap", it still somehow works. They don't have to really think about their appearance, but if they do start to, it might have enormous impact on others. They're not really fans of trendy looks of the moment as I've observed, they have the power to set the trends themselves but I'd say most of them are not aware of that. Might be loud while talking and have a sort of unrestrained/unfazed demeanor. On ther hand, they might also be really quiet.

When all else fails, just focus on yourself. Keep coming back to yourself in times of crisis. You have good health but don't ignore it, this placement might not even give you the permission to. You have enormous privilege of having amazing power, don't waste it.

Ketu in the 2nd house:

Hoarders, collectors, but not intentionally. Possessions have meanings attached to them. Intuitively have a knowing of what should go into their body and follow it, even if others disagree. Good at measuring the worth of things or people. Relaxed face. Sort of disconnected from their family or lineage, or seem that way. Family support was convenient in childhood but might have been taken for granted. Deeper voice(?), slightly intimidating way of speaking. Great singers(?).

You can always ground yourself, no matter how strongly it seems otherwise. The support and the family can be all around you if you find it inside yourself first.

Ketu in the 3rd house:

This is my placement, so it's gonna be longer(cause I have more info, not cause I'm arrogant😭) so bear with me.

Aware and alert but ironically might not be aware of this at first. Great instincts, naturally skilled. The information field is constantly on their radar. A lot of what they observe is boring to them, and they absorb everything. Movements are natural/effortless. Might look clumsy or careless with movements or speaking sometimes but they have it together, more than others and more than it shows. Have the ability to skillfully get out of sticky situations. Survivors. They have creative ways of managing tasks. Great with details but confused with too much data, they consider it pointless. Can get to the bottom of things. Can play devil's advocate but they often don't want to. Can argue but it's mainly to increase a sense of self-possession. Their "trivial" words have more meaning than they or others assume at first. Don't say a lot of what they know. Might be surprised that things that are obvious to them elude others. More shrewd than they look, but they themselves consider a lot of "shrewd" and "cunning" strategies dumb and superficial. WILL NOT trust others before analyzing them in their head. Quick, kind of messy minds but still somehow organized and sensible. Love to dig and investigate. Trust themselves before anyone else. Know that they know stuff but can't show the whole truth of it easily. Use confusion as a weapon. Relationships with siblings, cousins and childhood friends are nuanced, interesting and kind of cimplicated. Town/neighborhood black sheep but still fit there the best.

Ehh, what can I say, you're doing amazing keep going. 😭 The truth will come, don't worry, boredom is not forever and sometimes it's better than anything. Anxiety is a warning, get that b*tch out of your system, connect to what makes you calm. Look around you and get rooted to your life, like you know how to do.

Ketu in the 4th house:

Strongly tied to their home/family, whether they want/like it or not. Private about family life. Need their space a lot. Sort of clingy to their family and home but at the same time want to break out of it. Get defensive if you get too close or vulnerable. Have a natural ability to nurture but always nurture themselves first. Familial responsibility is embedded in them. May have been spoiled with attention, especially in childhood but have hated it, or have come to hate it. On the other hand, might have felt very ignored by their family memebers. Might have a very traditional family that values culture, upholding to moralities, and appearance.

Family is not the worst thing in the world and I know the ties might hurt, but there is truth and stability there for you. Find peace there and the rest will fall in place.

Ketu in the 5th house:

Fun, creativity, art has deep meaning to them. Life is built on entertainment for them. Their life is a soap opera. Dramatic and expressive. Art is their religion. Can be ignorant of other's preferences and naturally assert dominance when the situation concerns creativity, entertainment and art, even remotely. Only know what they like and don't seek to be trendy in their preferences, it's very personal to these natives. Can be selfish and get lost in hedonism. Don't discriminate between pop and indie, or discriminate harshly. Not easily infulenced in general but easily persuaded if you know their "weak points"/preferences. Generous with their attention if others can pay even more attention to them.

Yeah, life is art, but it's not for profit and not always for show. Learn to be humble when life demands it. It IS your life, but before you get lost in the art, make sure you're rooted in the truth of it.

Ketu in the 6th house:

Resilient, distrustful but relaxed. Healthy and helpful, very practical and balanced. Might have had health struggles that have shaped them and made them stronger. Natural medicine>chemicals. Will take chemicals if they consider it correct and see no other way. Expert at making the best out of the worst situations. Not confrontational but can put people in their place. On the other hand, might not hesitate one bit and be direct in times of tension. Know how to look after themselves and hate it when others interfere. Won't take advice even from close people, have a very unique and personalised way of looking after themselves, as well as a unique/personalised routine. Obstacles might persist but they can't to much to these people. Skillful and quietly cunning but it's not much work.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and squeeze them in other people's eyes if needed. You gotta be selfish sometimes, what can you do. Every day is a gift and the routine is a privilge. Don't be mean about it.

Ketu in the 7th house:

Lovers and supporters. Recognize other people easily and connect to them deeply and effortlessly. Charming and genuine. Recogize the truth behind connections and human behavior, sensitive to one-on-one dynamics. Good listeners, excellent company, giving and humble but know how they gain from relationships and connections. Value harmony and conflict resolution. Naturally attune to others and find their sense of self through them. Know how and what to sacrifice for others but have strong and specific boundaries. Love has a deep meaning to them, any kind of love. Important relationships are full of intricacy and are laced with destiny.

We are parts of something bigger than us, and we all have stories to tell. Keep finding yourself through other people and keep helping others find themselves. "Karmic" ties are not punishment, they're the simple truth.

Ketu in the 8th house:

Complicted internally, don't make much of it. Each crisis is an opportunity to gain. Survival IS life. Never reveal too much of themselves and easily read others, but can be stubborn about seeings things in only their way. Incorrect judgement costs them a lot, correct judgement gives them enormous power. Struggle anyways. Casually intense. Se×ual and private. Privacy is a must. Go through a lot of pain and become savage if their privacy is invaded. Know that selfishness is very selfless. Quietly independent, confidently dependant, carefully engaging. Adaptible but out of necessity. Hide their intensity, along with other things, very well.

The complications are alright, don't be afraid of the unknown, or fear itself. It's okay to go deep, it's okay to not, it's ok to survive however it is possible for you.

Ketu in the 9th house:

Philosophy is natural. They find truth everywhere if only they detach. They seem "higher" than others, and seem to be enjoying it. Truth is simple and exhilirating for them. They need their freedom. They exude a sense of wander and assuredness. Don't really care about conventional morals as most people see them and have a hightly personal sense of right and wrong. Religion is very familiar to them, whatever it has been. Talk to "god" and "the divine" to feel comfort, might not realize it fully. Their faith has been tested and strengthened, and they themselves might have tested their own others' faith. Might feel like nobody will understand their exact beliefs, but understand others' beliefs. Even if they feel lonely sometimes, places of worship feel weirdly reasuring. Can become a little arrogant.

Your ideals are not too high and mighty. You know what you know, and you should know that you do. Not everyone can ground themselves in a grand and utopian place. Don't let possible arrogance blur or exaggerate it.

Ketu in the 10th house:

Legacy is inherited. The world can feel like their oyster. Even if not much is going well, they might feel supported by people in power, and usually, they are, even though they never really asked for it. Older people and those with more experience bring out their natural competence and maturity. Might come from a line of influence, usually from father's side. Easily gain aqcuaintances but feel like they have to work hard to gain and keep friends. Might feel like they have much to lose but don't worry about it. Family prince/princess, or people's prince/princess, but in a quiet way. Naturally self-possessed. Might feel chained by obligations.

There are those who will stand by you as you pull back and detach. When you go into the world, people see you, and you know how to act. You don't really care about your reputation, but it cares about you. Don't lose a good thing, embrace and enjoy it, because in that, you will find your truth and your power. That stability that is too familiar to you, it's a huge privilege.

Ketu in the 11th house:

Everyone's friend, everyone's confidante, one of the girls/boys. The gang is what they trust, but they don't look for the gang. The gang is just there. Friends flock to them and they welcome all, but friendships are private and their business. The kind of people that don't have to do anything for friends to find them. Might feel like they act like a constant chameleon to everyone but feel comfortable in that place. Can be too neutral to strangers, but become proud activists for causes that are close to their heart. Strongly unbiased and multi-faceted. Others feel relieved when they're around at gatherings. Can be very uncaring and dismissive, unless you are one of their people.

You're lucky with support. Even if friends have dissapointed you, you have gotten something valuable and worthy out if it. There are those that are your people, and those that aren't. Don't lose sight of that, but be honest with discerning who is who.

Ketu in the 12th house:

What really lights them is hidden and reserved only for them. Selfless like it's nothing. Deep and understanding, floating through life like a fish following their own current. They can gently hold your hand through harshest times but it's so subtle you'll barely realize you've been affected by them by the time it's almost done. When they get lost, they really get lost, and that's when and where find themselves. Hate to force things and know how to be humble. Private like no one else. If life gets too hollow they become a recluse. Nobody sees what depths they carry within at first, but some might suspect, by their restrained behavior, or by an innocent yet wise look in their eyes. They're not mad when they go into themselves, and no matter how much you try to get to them, if they can't, they won't hear you. But it does not matter. In their own way, they hear and see everyone, and through them, they see and hear themselves.

Oh, yes, confusion is huge and it seems overwhelming. You know how to find comfort in that. So many sides to life, so many truths. If others tell you you're deluded, do not forget that everyone is. When your sacrifice and martyrdom becomes too much, stay only with yourself once more.

#vedic astrology #astrology #nakshatras #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astro notes #astrology tumblr #ketu #ketu in houses #south node

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garymdm · 2 years ago

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What is the importance of data lineage in certifying a report?

Introduction In a world inundated with information, report certification serves as a beacon of reliability. It empowers decision-makers, builds trust among stakeholders, and elevates the quality and credibility of information. Its importance cannot be overlooked in the pursuit of accuracy, transparency, and trust in today’s data-driven landscape. What is the process to certify a…

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#data governance #data lineage #data transparency #report certification

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some-israeli-guy · 11 months ago

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I want to take a few minutes to talk about my connection to Israel, as a Jew. I want to do that because some people desperately need to understand this, and also I'm procrastinating on uni homework.

Some years ago there were calls to return artifacts from the British Museum to the countries they're from. I know Britain pretty much went anywhere and took anything they wanted, but it got me thinking about cultural identities and their connection over time.

The middle east was home to some of the world's most ancient civilizations, and I'm sure most people living there could trace their lineage back to those civilizations (theoretically of course, we don't have data going that far). But how are they related to them? Do modern day Iraqis have any connection to Babylonians? They don't have a common language, religion, holidays, costumes… there is no cultural connection there. Babylonians happened to live in the same place, but other than that…

But this is not the case for Jews. Wherever Jewish people ended up throughout time, we kept a direct connection to ancient Israelites. I speak the same language they did thousands of years ago, I celebrate the holidays they celebrated. Our holy book is localized to Israel. We have holidays where we use local flora as decorations. We remembered our home, wherever we were, and waited to return.

The city I grew up in has flooding every winter. The whole area does (the Sharon region). It's because it used to be a swamp. There are 3 limestone ridges blocking the rivers from getting to the ocean, and when the early Zionist pioneers bought lands in this area (which were uninhabited swampland at the time) they had to open up tunnels through the limestone and drain the swamps before people could live here.

Why am I telling you this? Because we already did it before. Ancient Israelites already dug tunnels and drained swamps and lived here. There was a prayer during Yom Kippur specifically for the safety of people living here. All of the towns in the Sharon were razed by the Mamluks in the 13th century, and it became a swamp again. Until we returned.

To anyone who call us "colonizers": These "ancient" Israelites don't just share a religion with us, they ARE us. We were expelled from our homeland, but we kept our identity, we refused to let go, we kept wishing to come back home. We were always indigenous to Israel. We don't belong anywhere but here.

And now they're are trying to tell us that some people with a name invented by Rome to erase Judea and Israel, with a religion and language from Arabia, who didn't have a distinct cultural identity other than "Arab" until a few decades ago, belong here more than we do? I don't think so.

#jumblr #israel #ישראבלר #israblr #עם ישראל חי

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littjara-mirrorlake · 9 months ago

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Principles of Asexual Heredity in the Phyrexian Organism

We know these things for sure about Phyrexian reproductive biology:

Phyrexians reproduce asexually; it is well known that one drop of oil, from one individual, is enough to birth a population of offspring (such as all of New Phyrexia) or convert a non-Phyrexian organism.

Phyrexians natively born of the oil ("core-born") inherit mnemonic and phenotypic (appearance) information from the oil that created them. For example, core-born Phyrexians of the Orthodoxy naturally develop porcelain metal; it is an inherited, lineage-specific trait. The oil also carries ancestral knowledge such as the Phyrexian language and echoes of history.

The five suns of Mirrodin somehow caused the originally mono-black lineage of Phyrexian oil to splinter into five colored lineages. They may have all arisen from one drop of oil, but they are phenotypically diverse.

(Little canon data is given about the genealogies of core-born newts, but it would most logically follow that Phyrexians descend from single-parent lines, a family tree with continually forking branches and no unions of mating as with sexually reproducing organisms.)

The mechanism I propose for the diversification of Phyrexians on Mirrodin is mana-induced mutagenesis. As a deeply magical material, it follows that Phyrexian oil is prone to being influenced by concentrated sources of mana, such as the suns of Mirrodin (which were trapped in the core, in close proximity to the progenitor oil, during the birth of New Phyrexia). Exposure to mana can thus cause de novo mutation in glistening oil that manifests as novel phenotypic traits in resulting Phyrexians. These mutations are not random, guiding phenotypes to align with the color causing the mutation.

Then there is the issue of inheritance via phyresis, or compleating another organism which was not originally Phyrexian by introducing Phyrexian genetic material into its body. To keep it simple I will begin with mono-color infections: an organism is infected with oil from a Phyrexian whose lineage traits (i.e. white-aligned Orthodoxy lineage, porcelain) may not match their own color identity.

Hypothesis: Phenotype (what color/type of Phyrexian an infected individual becomes) is determined solely by the color of infection, not the subject's own colors. Crucially this isn't the same as color identity; i.e. one can be a porcelain Phyrexian and still have a Boros identity by gaining red-aligned values or retaining them from a pre-compleation life, even though their phenotype is white only. (Much like how elves are associated with green mana, but Simic-identity elves exist.) This phenotype color, in turn, is also what would be passed down to any newts the turned individual creates, or subjects they themselves infect.

MOM corroborates this hypothesis. A mono-black-aligned human, upon exposure to Progress Engine oil, becomes a Phyrexian with a pure blue-aligned phenotype. The changes to their color identity are additive--they retain black alignment--but their phenotype is blue only. All the transforming creatures of MOM follow this pattern.

However, Planeswalkers in ONE did not. For example, Jace was infected by Vraska, who had both black color identity and a black/Thanes-aligned phenotype, but spontaneously developed eyestalks and other traits characteristic of blue Phyrexians from the Progress Engine.

New hypothesis: Individuals with a strong enough internal concentration of mana, i.e. Planeswalkers, cause oil to mutate in vivo to align with their own color, much like how the suns mutated oil in Mirrodin's core. This further shows that mana-induced mutagenesis is color-specific. This should however create a new blue lineage, independent of the Progress Engine, also spawned of blue mana but not necessarily identical. I do not have an explanation for Jace's resemblance to the Progress Engine besides convergent "evolution."

Proposed further study (not ethics-approved): Infect a colorless Planeswalker, i.e. Ugin, with colored oil to test whether a null color identity still has mutagenic effects.

To complicate this, though, we also have examples of Phyrexians who are chimeras of multiple colors, combining traits of different lineages. Vishgraz was assembled with material (genetic and otherwise) from a white, a green, and a black Phyrexian. It makes sense that Phyrexians put together in this patchwork way could have a combination phenotype. Atraxa was not assembled from scratch, but infected with four separate colors at once. Maybe there are just four types of oil circulating in her body?

I am, of course, interested in inheritance. If these Phyrexians show combined phenotypes, what colored trait(s) do they actually pass down? Do they have individual "cells" that are still only white, only green, only black, etc., or did the colors somehow combine on the most basic hereditary unit level? Thankfully, we actually do have an example of a "chimera" Phyrexian asexually producing core-born offspring: Ixhel.

Ixhel shares multiple colors with Atraxa, not only in her color identity but also apparent phenotype (she has both Orthodoxy porcelain and Swarm copper). Two possibilities here: 1) She truly inherited both genetically; Atraxa passes down multiple colors when she reproduces. 2) Her "core" physiology is still rooted in one color, i.e. white porcelain, and the green parts were added after the fact. I don't have an answer for this, but it's intriguing to consider.

Proposed further study: Attempt to isolate the smallest "unit" of Phyrexian heredity (one single nanobot of the oil) and test if it can only store information about one color, or multiple. See if a germ is formed from only one of these units, as with eukaryotic zygotes, or from multiple.

My theories of Phyrexian reproductive biology remain highly speculative, but every new piece of data adds fuel to this fire, and I have plenty to elaborate on in later posts. If only the interplanar ethics committee would stop delaying my research.

#here from VERY POPULAR DEMAND #mtg #magic the gathering #phyrexian #new phyrexia #speculative biology #atraxa #ixhel #vishgraz #jace beleren #vraska #phyrexia all will be one #march of the machine #xenobiology

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hamilton-here · 26 days ago

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Hiiii! What do you think about a secret romance with Wolff! Reader? Could be angst with happy ending. Thank you & love ur writing 🫶🏽

𝒰𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝐵𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here’s another request, I hope you enjoy. Lots of love xx

Summary: Toto Wolff’s daughter and Lewis immerse themselves in a secret relationship

Warnings: angst

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Monaco 2018

The paddock was a chaotic symphony of sound and motion, a constant pulse that raced through every corner of the Formula 1 world. Engines rumbled deeply like distant thunder, their vibrations humming through the concrete underfoot. Mechanics shouted urgent instructions to one another, their voices cutting through the thick air, while engineers leaned over laptops, faces tight with concentration. Tires hissed as they warmed on the grids, punctuating the atmosphere with bursts of sharp energy. Cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every glance, every movement from countless angles, as journalists and photographers jockeyed for the perfect shot. Amid it all was the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber, gasoline, and the cold, clean breeze of an early race morning - a smell Lewis had come to know as the intoxicating signature of race weekend.

Lewis stepped out of the Mercedes motorhome, the familiar weight of his team jacket settling comfortably on his shoulders. The cool breeze lifted the hem briefly, a fleeting contrast to the heat simmering inside him from adrenaline and anticipation. His gaze swept across the hectic scene: crew members bustling, pit wall strategists speaking in clipped tones, the team principal Toto Wolff standing with quiet authority near the garage entrance, eyes scanning the data on his tablet. Lewis’s mind was already moving forward, calculating, preparing, his heart beating in sync with the rhythm of the weekend.

But then, as if the world slowed for a heartbeat, his attention was caught by something or rather someone unexpected.

You stood near the entrance to the garage, and you didn’t belong to the usual whirlwind of team staff, media personnel, or corporate guests. You seemed slightly apart, an island of calm amid the constant storm of activity. You leaned effortlessly against the barrier, arms folded lightly over your chest, your posture relaxed but deliberate, like a practiced dancer poised before a performance. Your presence was understated but magnetic. The sharpness of your gaze was fixed unwaveringly on your father, Toto Wolff, watching him with a quiet intensity that drew Lewis’s gaze like a magnet.

He knew exactly who you were Toto’s daughter a fact Lewis had always been aware of but had only ever acknowledged in passing, exchanging polite nods during team events or brief greetings at rare family occasions. Your worlds had always existed side by side, touching but never truly merging beyond the obvious familial link. And yet, now, seeing you there in the bright morning light, something about your presence unsettled him.

What struck Lewis most was not just your lineage, but the way you carried yourself the calm determination in your eyes that mirrored the focus he himself wore like a second skin every time he climbed into his car. But beneath that resolve was a softer warmth, a subtle glow that softened your edges and made you seem almost untouchable. There was something profoundly human and yet almost ethereal about you, an alluring blend of strength and vulnerability that tugged at something deep inside him.

Toto’s head turned slightly, his eyes catching Lewis’s as if sensing the distraction. A slight smile played at the corner of his mouth, and with a subtle nod toward you, he gestured Lewis over. His voice was low, familiar, blending the warmth of friendship with the authority of a team principal who was also a father.

“Lewis, come meet someone,” Toto said, his tone quietly inviting but edged with pride.

Lewis’s heart gave a quick, unfamiliar flutter as he stepped toward you. The ambient noise of the paddock seemed to soften at the edges, the distant hum and chatter fading into a background murmur as his focus narrowed. His eyes met Toto’s for a brief moment steady, reassuring before sliding over to you.

“This is my daughter,” Toto said simply, his voice carrying the subtle weight of a man introducing someone important. “She’s been around Formula 1 her whole life, but today she’s here just to watch.”

You turned slowly toward Lewis. The sunlight caught strands of your hair, turning them to a soft, radiant halo. Your eyes locked onto his with a steadiness so intense it made the world around you both blur and quiet. Time seemed to stretch for a moment, suspended in that shared gaze.

“Hi,” you said, your voice calm and measured, resonant with quiet strength and an unspoken certainty. It was a simple greeting, but it landed deep in Lewis’s chest grounding him but also exposing a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface in public.

Lewis blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the honesty behind your tone. His reply was softer than he expected whsiper. “Hi.”

Toto chuckled softly, shaking his head with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry, she won’t bite,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “She’s more interested in the strategy side of things anyway—the chess behind the race.”

You smiled then a small, knowing curve of your lips that suggested you were both challenging and inviting Lewis to see beyond the polished, carefully constructed public persona he wore like armour. The way you folded your arms, relaxed but purposeful, hinted at a quiet confidence a sense that you understood the pressures and sacrifices of this world in a way few could.

For a suspended moment, none of you spoke. The chaotic soundtrack of the paddock buzzed relentlessly around you, but inside this bubble of time, the boundary between professional duty and personal connection blurred, thinned almost vanished. Something passed between you and Lewis something fragile, electric, and utterly unspoken.

Lewis found his eyes drifting back to you again and again before he finally tore himself away to look at Toto. His normally guarded mind was spinning with thoughts and feelings he hadn’t anticipated. That small spark subtle, yet undeniable settled deep in his chest, marking the beginning of something neither of you yet dared to name, but both would carry with you in the quiet spaces to come.

The brief introduction lingered like an echo, clinging to Lewis’s thoughts even after Toto had turned back toward the garage. Conversations with team engineers picked up again, radios crackled to life, and someone wheeled past with a front wing precariously balanced on one shoulder but Lewis remained where he stood, momentarily unmoored. Something about you had disrupted the usual rhythm of his race day mind.

He turned to go, reflex guiding him back toward the motorhome, but a few steps later, your quiet voice cut through the ambient chaos like a note of clarity.

“Lewis.”

He turned at once.

You were walking toward him, hands tucked into the pockets of your blazer, your stride purposeful yet relaxed like you didn’t second-guess your place in the paddock, even if you weren’t wearing a team uniform. When you stopped beside him, there was a brief flicker of hesitation in your eyes just enough to soften your poised exterior.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” you said, lifting a shoulder slightly. “I know everyone’s in full-on race mode.”

Lewis offered a small smile, and for the first time in hours, it felt genuine. “You’re not. It’s nice to have a conversation where no one’s talking about tire degradation or track temperatures.”

That pulled a laugh from you low, melodic and utterly unforced. “You mean you don’t want to talk about brake balance and wind direction?”

Lewis chuckled. “I’ll leave that to Bono.”

You leaned a little closer, your voice dipping conspiratorially. “Smart move.”

There was a pause not an awkward one, but the kind that feels like both people are deciding whether to let their guards drop further. The wind tugged lightly at your hair, and you brushed it behind your ear with an ease that told him you’d grown up in this world but never let it define you entirely.

“I’ve always been drawn to the strategy side of things,” you said, arms crossing again as you glanced toward the garage. “The races are thrilling, sure. But I like the quiet parts the moments no one sees. The numbers, the risk assessments, the calm before the storm.”

Lewis tilted his head, studying you. “That’s rare. Most people only care about the overtakes and the champagne.”

“I like knowing what made those things possible,” you replied. “What went unsaid on the radio. Who played the long game.”

Lewis’s expression warmed, his eyes scanning yours for that elusive quality he rarely found in people outside his inner circle genuine curiosity, without an agenda.

“You’ve definitely inherited Toto’s brain,” he said with a smirk.

You grinned. “I’m still hoping I didn’t inherit his height, though.”

He laughed, the sound bubbling up more easily than he expected. “I wouldn’t worry. You wear your confidence better.”

Your smile lingered, and for a moment, there was a hum of shared understanding between you like two people who'd lived parallel lives under vastly different spotlights, now finally acknowledging the invisible thread tying them together.

“What’s it like?” you asked after a moment. “Not just the driving, I mean the rest of it. Living under this much attention all the time?”

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to answer, but because it wasn’t a question he got often. Not from people who actually cared about the answer.

“It’s strange,” Lewis said finally. “You learn to build walls. Smile when you’re supposed to. Keep some part of yourself locked away because the world doesn’t always deserve to see it.”

You nodded slowly. “That must be exhausting.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But the racing makes it worth it.”

Your eyes met, and the world seemed to blur around the edges again - mechanics shouting, cameras snapping, the harsh scent of fuel in the air, all of it faded to background noise.

“And when the helmet comes off?” you asked, your voice softer now.

Lewis gave a small shrug. “That’s when you hope there’s someone who sees you, not just the driver.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in your eyes. Then you look away with a quiet breath, as though that thought had struck a little too close to home.

He clears his throat gently. “What about you? You could be working for any team here. But it seems like you’re choosing not to.”

“I’ve spent my whole life near this world,” you say, thoughtful now. “But I never wanted to be part of it just because I could be. I want to earn my place, if I choose it. Or maybe I’ll do something completely different. Something mine.”

He respects that more than you know.

Before he can say anything else, your father’s voice rings out from across the paddock. “We’re counting on you, strategist!”

You turn, roll your eyes playfully. “He says that even when I’m just here for the hospitality lounge.”

Lewis smiles, watching the way you carry yourself as you wave your father off with a mock salute.

“I’m glad you came today,” he says, voice lower now, just for you.

You look back at him, eyes bright. “Me too.”

And then you’re walking away, the noise folding back over you both, but Lewis feels different. Lighter. Energised in a way that has nothing to do with track position or pole starts.

You’re not just Toto’s daughter anymore.

You’re a question he suddenly finds himself wanting to answer slowly, carefully, and with the kind of attention he rarely gives anyone outside the car.

And he has a feeling this won’t be the last time you call his name across a crowded paddock.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Monaco harbour. The yachts gleamed like polished jewels in the marina, and the gentle hum of evening life rose from the cobblestone streets of music, laughter, clinking glasses. The chaos of media day was behind you both, and for once, Lewis wasn’t in a rush to retreat to solitude.

Instead, he found himself walking up a quiet set of stairs at the back of the paddock hospitality building, a place tucked away from the usual bustle. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going not his engineers, not the press team. Only you knew.

You were already there.

Leaning against the balcony railing, you turned slightly at the sound of his footsteps, your features illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern above the doorway. Your expression was calm, unreadable at first then it melted into a quiet smile.

“You made it,” you said, as though you hadn’t doubted it for a second.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” he replied, his voice low, something in it gentler than usual.

There was no pretence between you tonight. No cameras. No curious glances or whispers. Just the hush of twilight and the faint scent of sea air and jasmine.

You’d seen each other a handful of times since that first conversation brief, stolen moments between meetings and strategy briefings. But this was the first time it felt intentional. Private. The beginning of something unspoken.

He joined you by the railing, your shoulders almost touching. Below, the harbour twinkled with light, the water rippling in soft waves.

“How do you do it?” you asked after a pause. “Go from all that noise to this?”

Lewis glanced sideways at you. “I don’t always. That’s the problem.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And now?”

“I’m trying.”

There was a vulnerability in the words that surprised even him. He’d spent years keeping everything locked behind layers of discipline race focus, media polish, expectations. But with you, it was different. He didn’t feel the need to perform.

You turned toward him, resting your forearms on the railing. “It’s strange. I’ve been around this sport my whole life, but I’ve never really...been in it. Not like you.”

“That might be a good thing,” Lewis said with a small smile. “It’s easy to lose yourself in it.”

You studied him for a moment. “But you’ve found yourself in it too, haven’t you?”

That caught him off guard. He looked down at the water, letting the silence stretch, thoughtful.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “In some ways. But I think I’m still figuring it out. Who I am outside the car. Away from the wins and the noise.”

You nodded slowly, understanding in your gaze. “That version of you I think that’s the one worth getting to know.”

He looked at you. Your eyes didn’t flinch from his. No idolisation, no expectation. Just quiet interest. Presence. It made something in his chest ache the kind of ache that signals a softness beginning to grow in a place he thought was too guarded.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I don’t let many people in.”

“I know,” you replied gently. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up tonight.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “But I wanted to.”

Your eyes lingered again, that subtle pull between you tightening just slightly. Still unspoken. Still tentative. But real.

You reached for the bottle of water beside you and handed it to him. No champagne. No theatrics. Just a quiet moment shared between two people learning each other’s rhythms.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice low.

Lewis leaned on the railing again, brushing the back of his hand lightly against yours an accidental touch that neither of you pulled away from.

“Now?” he echoed. “We keep showing up. Quietly. Just like this.”

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about qualifying or tire compounds or lap deltas.

He was thinking about the way your voice had dropped when you said his name. The way you didn’t ask for anything more than presence. The way, even in silence, he felt seen.

The soft buzz of his phone lit up the dark hotel suite, cutting through the silence like a whisper. Lewis blinked up from the edge of sleep, rubbing his face before reaching for it.

Your name. No message. Just calling.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice rough with sleep.

You exhaled a quiet laugh on the other end. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

Lewis sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. It’s late. You’re racing this weekend.”

He paused, smiling to himself in the dark. “I’d still rather hear your voice than be asleep right now.”

There was a beat of silence, and when you spoke again, it was slower. Quieter. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?”

You hesitated. “Everything and nothing. Sometimes the quiet makes it harder, you know? Like all the thoughts just... pile up.”

He leaned back into the pillows, holding the phone tighter. “Yeah. I know that feeling better than I’d like to admit.”

“I think I’ve spent most of my life trying to be composed. Collected. My dad always expected that from me. People assume I’m like him, but sometimes I just feel invisible. Like I’m always watching the world from the edge of the room.”

Lewis’s heart tugged at the edges. “You’re not invisible.”

You let out a breath, like you’d been holding it in for hours. “You make me feel like I’m not.”

There it was the honesty that comes easier in the dark, when there are no eyes to see it. No pressure to hold it together.

Lewis sat up straighter. “I know what it’s like to live under someone’s expectations. To be told who you are before you’ve even figured it out yourself.”

You were quiet for a long moment. “Is that why you don’t let people get too close?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” he admitted eventually. “Part of it. It’s easier to keep things controlled. But it’s also lonely as hell.”

Your voice softened even more. “You don’t seem lonely when you’re with me.”

Lewis swallowed hard. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that feels like a turning point.

“You don’t have to be perfect with me,” you said. “I just want real.”

That hit him deeper than he expected. Because it had been so long since someone wanted the flawed parts, the tired parts, the parts not dressed up for a podium.

“I don’t think I’ve had many people say that to me,” he murmured.

“Well,” you said gently, “maybe that’s because most people don’t know how to sit in the quiet without needing to fill it.”

He smiled faintly. “You do.”

“I’d stay in the quiet with you any night.”

And just like that, the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. It was a shared space safe, warm, and fragile.

You kept talking until the sky began to lighten over the horizon.

Not about racing. Not about expectations. Just music. Childhood memories. Favourite books. Regret. Hope.

Every minute, every word, peeling back another layer neither of you realised you’d been hiding behind.

By the time you finally said goodnight, Lewis felt something he hadn’t in years.

Peace.

The sun had dipped behind the cliffside, casting long shadows over the paddock as the day wound down. Most of the teams were packing up, mechanics still in grease-stained uniforms shouting across the garage, but the frenzy had softened into a rhythm one that meant the end of the day was near.

Lewis had finished media rounds and skipped the team dinner, claiming fatigue. In truth, he just needed space. And maybe a certain presence that hadn’t left his thoughts since that 2 a.m. call.

You’d texted hours ago, casually:

“If you’re around tonight, I’ll be walking the marina.”

That was all.

And yet here he was now, hands shoved in his pockets, hoodie pulled up, watching the reflection of yachts glitter across the dark water. It wasn’t long before he spotted you sitting alone on one of the benches near the edge of the pier, the kind usually reserved for private conversations and quiet people.

You looked up as he approached, your expression softening immediately.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I told you I would,” he said, settling beside you. The bench creaked slightly beneath your combined weight.

“And I wanted to.”

Your eyes met, and that familiar quiet returned not awkward, but heavy with meaning. It was the kind of silence where things lived: feelings not yet named, truths not yet spoken.

“I didn’t sleep much after we talked,” you admitted.

Lewis glanced at you sideways.

“Me neither. Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated. Then:

“You. That conversation. What you said about feeling invisible. I think I’ve been standing in front of cameras for fifteen years trying not to feel the same way.”

You turned toward him, the wind lightly moving strands of your hair.

“You hide it well.”

“That’s the problem,” he said quietly.

“I’m tired of hiding.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you reached out gently, cautiously and laid your hand over his. It was a simple touch, but it might as well have been lightning.

Lewis looked down at where your fingers rested against his. No rings. No polish. Just skin and warmth and something startlingly real.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he turned his palm upward, lacing your fingers slowly with his.

Your breath caught. And when you met his eyes again, they were shining with what you weren’t sure. But it wasn’t fear.

“You make it feel okay to be off-guard,” you said.

He leaned in slightly, the distance between you disappearing inch by inch.

“You do that to me too.”

The world around you blurred. Distant laughter from docked yachts. The occasional clink of metal on pavement. But here, here in this quiet space between you it all vanished.

Lewis’s free hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek, gentle but purposeful.

“I keep trying to tell myself this shouldn’t happen,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly; your gaze locked on his.

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“Because you’re Toto’s daughter. Because I’ve spent so long keeping my walls up, I don’t know how to let them down without breaking something.”

“Then let it break,” you whispered.

“We’ll pick up the pieces together.”

He didn’t answer with words.

Just a kiss.

Soft. Careful at first. Like testing the edge of something fragile. Then deeper, steady, full of everything you hadn’t dared say aloud.

When you finally broke apart, breath mingling between you, your hand still in his, Lewis rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“This isn’t going to be simple,” he whispered.

“I don’t need simple,” you replied.

“I just need honest.”

And somehow, in that moment tangled fingers, briny night air, and hearts laid bare the impossible didn’t feel quite so impossible anymore. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Four weeks later.

The meetings began as small things.

A walk after curfew. A quick coffee brought to Lewis’s hotel suite under the guise of dropping something off for your dad. A shared glance across the paddock that lasted a second too long. Each stolen moment stitched a quiet tension between you - taut, humming, and increasingly impossible to ignore.

You never said it aloud what you were doing, or what it meant but the way Lewis looked at you now was different. The walls he kept around everyone else were just gone when you were near. And you felt it too the way the space beside him always felt like it was waiting for you to fill it.

One night in Barcelona, just before lights out, you slipped into the service elevator of the hotel where the team stayed. Lewis had texted only once:

Room 910. Door’s open.

You hesitated outside the door for a beat, heart racing not because of what you thought would happen, but because of what already was. This wasn’t casual. Not anymore. Not with the way he made you feel seen.

When you stepped inside, the room was dim, lit only by the soft gold from a bedside lamp. Lewis was sitting on the edge of the bed in sweats and a hoodie, phone in one hand, a book in the other. He looked up and smiled a real one, soft and unguarded.

“You made it.”

“I almost didn’t,” you said, shutting the door gently behind you.

“Dad wanted to grab drinks with Susie downstairs. I had to pretend I had an early call with my flatmate in Vienna.”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You walked toward him, shrugging off your jacket.

“And yet here I am.”

He caught your wrist gently as you passed, pulling you between his legs, his hands sliding around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your foreheads touched.

“I’ve missed you all day,” he murmured.

“I saw you three hours ago.”

“Still.”

That was the thing it didn’t matter how many hours or minutes you had between. The ache stayed until you were close again.

You leaned down and kissed him a slow, searching kiss that melted the stress of the weekend off his shoulders. Lewis deepened it, arms tightening around your waist, and for a while, you both forgot everything else.

Afterward, you lay side by side on top of the covers, fully clothed but tangled up in each other, speaking in whispers like the walls might hear you.

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“Do you think he suspects anything?”

Lewis turned to you, brow furrowed slightly.

“Toto?”

You nodded.

“He’s not stupid,” Lewis said after a moment.

“But I think he trusts both of us enough not to believe we’d risk something like this.”

“Would you?” you asked quietly.

“Risk it?”

You nodded again, the question lingering in the air.

Lewis looked at you before brushing his thumb against your cheek, caressing it gently.

“I already am,” he said softly.

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

Your breath caught, and you leaned into his touch.

“Then I guess we’re both in too deep.”

He smiled, a little wistfully.

“Yeah. But I don’t want out.”

Neither of you moved after that, letting the silence stretch the kind that held safety, not fear. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and thought for the first time that maybe this wasn’t just a secret.

Maybe it was the start of something neither of you could keep hidden much longer.

Later that afternoon, in the Mercedes hospitality suite, Toto sat at a small table going over a strategy briefing when Pete leaned in to speak low.

“Quick thing,” Pete said. “Not sure if it matters, but your daughter she was up early this morning. Coming from upstairs.”

Toto looked up from his notes, expression unreadable. “From upstairs?”

Pete shrugged, trying not to overstep. “Just saw her near 910. Same floor as Lewis.”

Toto’s eyes flicked toward the paddock, where Lewis was talking to Angela.

A beat passed.

“Thanks,” Toto said, voice cool. “That’ll be all.”

And just like that, the ground under them began to shift.

The both of you kept your distance at the track.

No glances across the garage. No secret smiles in briefings. No lingering pauses near hospitality.

But behind hotel doors, the world softened again.

The night after the Monaco race, you stood barefoot in Lewis’s suite, hair damp from a rushed shower, his hoodie hanging off one shoulder. You leaned against the edge of the bed as he watched, legs stretched out, remote in hand, pretending to be more focused on a documentary than the way you looked in his clothes.

“I think Pete figured it out,” you said quietly.

Lewis muted the TV. “You think, or you know?”

You turned to him, serious now. “He saw me again. This morning. I tried to play it off, said I was meeting someone from comms. But I think he’s watching.”

Lewis ran a hand over his jaw, tension tightening his features. “I’ll talk to him. Or get Angela to, she’s good at diffusing.”

You crossed the room, sitting beside him. “If we have to sneak around like this much longer, I’m going to start forgetting who I am outside of your hotel room.”

Lewis turned toward you, catching her hand. “You’re the one person I don’t want to hide,” he said. “But we’re not ready yet. Not with everything.”

“My father, you mean.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence was heavy enough.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s getting harder to pretend this isn’t real.”

Lewis kissed the top of your head. “That’s because it is.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

A week later, the pressure tightened again.

Angela caught you in the paddock, subtly steering you behind one of the team trucks. She looked over her shoulder before speaking.

“Toto’s been asking questions,” Angela said, voice low. “About you. About Lewis.”

Your heart skipped. “What did you say?”

“I said you’ve been around more, getting curious about the technical side. That it’s good for morale.” Angela gave you a pointed look. “But you two need to be more careful. Especially now.”

You swallowed. “He’s going to find out eventually.”

Angela nodded. “Just be ready for the fallout. Because when Toto Wolff gets blindsided… it’s never quiet.”

It happened in Montreal.

The weekend had started off with the usual buzz: track walks, simulator runs, media interviews. You were supposed to blend into the background just Toto’s daughter, a familiar face who kept to hospitality and politely declined interviews.

But something had shifted.

The Mercedes staff had noticed how often Lewis’s eyes sought you in a room. Angela was quieter than usual. And Pete - Pete was watching everything. Watching them.

The breaking point came on Saturday evening, after qualifying.

You were standing at the edge of the Mercedes garage, arms crossed, pretending to scroll through her phone while half-listening to the engineers debrief. Lewis had just come back from media duties, still in his fireproofs, hair damp with sweat and the faint sheen of adrenaline.

Your eyes met.

A look. A flicker too long. Too familiar.

It should’ve been nothing.

But it wasn’t.

Toto was watching from behind the timing screens and in that exact moment, something in his expression changed. Something hard and cold and unmistakably paternal. The realisation sliced through the air like a wire pulled taut.

He didn’t say anything. Not right away.

But you felt it.

You found him in his office twenty minutes later.

The door was ajar which somehow made it worse. Like he wanted you to walk in and face it.

You stepped inside, heart thudding. The soft click of the door behind was deafening.

“Sit,” Toto said, not looking up from the tablet in his hands.

You sat.

The silence was suffocating.

“I told myself I was imagining it,” he said eventually, setting the tablet down. “The glances. The late arrivals. The sudden interest in pit strategy meetings.”

His eyes lifted to hers ice-cold, sharp. “But I’m not imagining it, am I?”

You opened your mouth. Your voice barely made it out. “It’s not what you think.”

“You’re not seeing Lewis?”

A pause.

“I am.”

The words landed like a slap.

Toto’s expression cracked, jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful. He stood abruptly, pacing behind the desk, as if trying to outrun the admission.

“For how long?”

“Since Monaco.”

He stopped.

“That was four months ago.”

“I know—”

“Four months?” he exploded. “Four months you’ve been sneaking around with my driver — under my roof, in my paddock like I wouldn’t notice?”

“We weren’t trying to hide—”

“Then why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

His voice rang out down the corridor. The walls vibrated with it.

You stood too, face flushed. “Because we didn’t know what it was yet. We weren’t sure.”

“And now?” His eyes blazed. “Now you’re sure enough to throw everything away?”

“No one’s throwing anything away.”

“You think the media won’t sink their teeth into this the second it gets out? You think rival teams won’t use it? You think I won’t be accused of favouritism if he gets so much as a single upgraded part ahead of George?”

Your body was trembling. “We’re not asking for anything. We’ve been careful.”

“Careful?” Toto scoffed. “You’ve been selfish. You both knew exactly what was at stake.”

Your voice cracked. “He loves me.”

That stopped him.

The fury simmered but didn’t leave. “And you? Do you love him?”

You nodded, jaw clenched against the weight of it. “I do.”

His silence was worse than yelling.

The door opened again.

Lewis.

He walked in, face unreadable, his gaze immediately locking on you.

Toto turned away for a moment, hands gripping the edge of his desk like he needed to steady himself.

“When your mother left,” he said suddenly, low and bitter, “you were too young to understand the mess it left behind. The press. The insinuations. The damage to reputation, to trust. I built everything back from that with my own hands. And now I find out my daughter is the spark that could burn it all down again?”

Your breath hitched.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Life isn’t fair!” Toto bellowed, rounding back on you. “And you don’t get to hide behind love when it’s my name, my team, my legacy on the line!”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Lewis looked like he wanted to fight, to throw something, to punch the wall but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at you.

...A tense silence settled between them.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Toto’s fists clenched at his sides. His jaw ticked, eyes glassy with rage.

“You think this is some kind of fairy tale?” he thundered, voice slicing through the tension like a whip. “You think love is enough to survive this circus? This sport? Do you even know what the hell you’re risking?”

“We’re not—”

“No!” he shouted, pointing at Lewis with such venom it made her flinch. “You don’t get to talk right now. You lied to my face for months. You used my trust. You - both of you - you betrayed me!”

Lewis’s voice was low, steady. “Toto—”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”

He turned to you then, and the disappointment in his eyes made your insides twist.

“I brought you into this world,” he said, voice cracking under the weight of it. “And I protected you from it. Every step. I gave you access, I gave you freedom and this is what you do with it? You fall in love with the one person who knows better?”

“I didn’t plan this,” she whispered.

“Of course you didn’t. No one plans a scandal.” He took a step closer, breath ragged. “Do you know what it’ll look like if this gets out? What it’ll do to Lewis? To this team? They’ll eat you alive. Headlines. Speculation. You think they’ll care how pure your intentions were?”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“Well, I do!” he exploded. “I’ve worked my whole goddamn life to build this team to protect it, to fight for every inch on and off the track and now you’re both jeopardising that because you feel something?”

Lewis’s hands curled into fists. “It’s not a feeling, Toto. It’s love.”

Toto’s face twisted. “And love doesn’t win championships.”

He turned away, running a hand over his face, trying and failing to breathe through the fury.

“I trusted you,” he said to Lewis, quieter now, but somehow sharper. “You were more than just a driver. You were family. And you couldn’t even look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

Lewis looked devastated. “I didn’t want to lose her.”

“Well, you’re going to.”

Those words struck like a blow.

The breath left your lungs. “No.”

Toto looked at you, expression carved from stone. “It’s over. This can’t go on. Not under my roof. Not under this badge.”

You took a shaky step forward, toward Lewis. “Please…”

Lewis didn’t move.

His eyes were locked on Toto’s a silent war of loyalty and pain and fury.

But then…he turned to you.

And the fight in him cracked.

His voice was hoarse. “Maybe he’s right.”

“No.” Your head shook instantly, violently. “Don’t say that.”

“They’ll twist it,” he said, barely able to look at you. “Everything we’ve built everything we are they’ll tear it apart.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

His voice broke.

“I care, because you deserve more than headlines. You deserve more than hiding in hotel rooms and dodging cameras. You deserve a world that doesn’t make you choose.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I choose you,” you said, fierce and aching. “I choose you.”

Lewis reached for your hand. Held it like it was the last safe thing in the world.

“I’ll never stop,” he said. “Loving you. But I can’t be the reason your father hates you. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”

“You won’t.”

“I already am.”

You turned to Toto, desperate. “Please. I’ll walk away from the paddock. From the garage. I won’t come back. Just don’t make us—”

“You don’t get to bargain your way out of this,” he cut in. “This isn’t exile. This is consequence.”

Lewis took a deep breath. And then he let go of your hand.

It felt like dying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping back.

“No,” you said again, choked and raw. “No please, Lewis—”

But he was already walking out the door.

You stood frozen, shattered.

And when the door clicked shut behind him, it felt like the end of everything.

Toto sat back down, eyes hollow.

“Thank you,” he said, but there was no victory in it. Only loss.

You didn’t answer.

You just stood there, breaking, in the silence he’d left you in.

You didn’t remember how you got outside.

The air was cold. Bitter with Montreal’s late-night wind. Your legs carried you blindly past the paddock, past the motorhomes, until you found yourself behind the Mercedes hospitality unit, shielded from the world by the shadows and the hum of generator fans.

And there he was.

Lewis.

Leaning against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed. Like he was holding himself together with the last threads of control.

You stopped a few feet away. Breath caught.

He didn’t open his eyes when he spoke.

“I didn’t want to leave like that.”

“Then don’t.”

His eyes met yours. Shiny. Devastated.

“I had to.”

You stepped closer. Voice breaking around the words. “No one’s watching now. We don’t have to pretend.”

He swallowed hard, chest rising with a sharp inhale.

“I wanted more for us,” he said quietly. “Not hiding. Not heartbreak. Just mornings and laughter. Your hand in mine in the daylight.”

“You still have me,” you whispered. “You always will.”

Lewis shook his head, blinking fast. “But not like before. Not the way we were.”

Silence stretched between the two of you, cruel and heavy.

You reached out, cupping his face. His hands immediately found your waist, grounding himself like he couldn’t breathe without the touch.

“I thought we had more time,” you whispered.

“We never did,” he said, voice like gravel. “Not in this world. Not with him watching.”

Your fingers traced the curve of his jaw, memorising the feel of him. “This isn’t goodbye forever.”

He leaned his forehead to yours. “No. Just goodbye for now.”

A breath. A beat.

Then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not slowly. But with all the desperation and grief he couldn’t say out loud. Like he was trying to remember every second of what it felt like to love you before it was gone His lips crashed against yours. His fingers find their way to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer as he gets lost in the intensity of your kisses. He gently nips her lip before pulling away.

Your hands clutched his suit, fingers trembling.

His lips pressed into your hairline. “I’ll wait,” he whispered.

“I’ll find my way back to you,” you promised.

And then like it hurt to breathe he let go.

Stepped back.

And walked away without looking.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The heat presses down like a weight.

Everything about Yas Marina feels surreal too bright, too loud, too steeped in tension. The kind that settles in your bones and refuses to let go. You hadn’t planned to be there. Hadn’t even packed with intention. Your suitcase holds three crumpled outfits and a sense of unfinished business. You haven’t stepped foot in a paddock since Montreal, and that day had broken you more than you like to admit.

But a last-minute invitation from a colleague at Sky had landed in your inbox two days ago. “We’ve got a pass if you want it. No pressure.” It came with a neutral lanyard, your last name deliberately omitted. No ties to Mercedes. No ties to anyone, officially.

And maybe, selfishly, you wanted to see him.

Or maybe you just needed to say: I’m still here. I never left. Not really.

The crowd buzzes like electricity. The entire circuit feels coiled, bracing for history. The air pulses with the weight of it a final act, a legacy on the line. Lewis stands on the edge of immortality. Title number eight. The one that would crown it all.

You stay far from the garages, nestled in the quietest corner of the guest stands above the pit lane. Just high enough to see him. Just far enough not to risk being seen.

And there he is.

Helmet in hand. Face set like stone. Poised in that uniquely Lewis way the kind of composure that isn’t calm so much as controlled fire. He looks untouched by the noise, like the storm can’t reach him. And God, he looks the same. Maybe leaner. A little older. A little harder in the eyes. But still him.

Still the man you loved.

Your chest tightens, ribs locking around a heart that has never truly moved on.

The lights go out.

And for fifty-odd laps, the world watches a masterclass.

You hold your breath through every corner, every overtake, every perfectly judged defence. It’s unfolding like a dream. Like destiny has decided to do the right thing.

Until it doesn’t.

Until the chaos unravels in the final minutes like a cruel joke radio calls shrouded in silence, race control twisting the rules into something unrecognisable, and then—

The checkered flag.

Max.

And it’s over.

Lewis lost.

Not just a championship. Not just a season. But something more fundamental. The fairytale. The justice. The ending he’d fought every damn day for.

You don’t realise you’re crying until your vision blurs. Until your fingers tremble against the guardrail. Around you, people erupt cheers, gasps, confusion, outrage. But all you can see is him, still in the car. Still strapped in. Motionless. Staring straight ahead.

A man shattered in plain sight.

You don’t leave. You can’t.

Not until you see him. Not until you know he isn’t completely alone.

You wait.

Long after the fireworks fade and the broadcasters pack up. Long after the podium ceremony a twisted, hollow celebration—and the champagne has gone flat on the tarmac. The paddock empties slowly, echoing with leftover tension and the quiet shuffle of cleanup crews.

You slip past security with practiced ease. A quiet nod. A flash of the pass. No one questions you.

He’s exactly where you expect him to be tucked into the farthest shadow of the Mercedes garage, half-hidden behind a stack of flight cases. Still in his race suit. Still in his gloves. Like if he moves, it’ll all become real.

You approach slowly. Each step feels like stepping back into a life you’re not sure you’re still allowed to want.

And then he looks up.

And freezes.

His eyes go wide not angry, not even surprised. Just unsteady. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

“…You came.”

Your voice is quiet. “I wasn’t sure I should.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he says after a moment. But he doesn’t look away.

You inch closer. “I saw what they did.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does to me.”

That silences him.

The air between you thickens. Heavy with things unsaid. With years of what-ifs. Montreal still echoes between you like an old bruise.

“You look good,” he says eventually. But the words are worn at the edges.

“You don’t,” you whisper.

His breath catches. Then he lets out a laugh, low and bitter. “Lost the championship of my life and you’re still the only one who says what she means.”

You step into his space slowly, like testing if the ground will hold. Close enough to see the pain in his eyes. Close enough to touch him.

“I never stopped,” you say. “Not really.”

He swallows hard. “Me neither.”

For a second, the world narrows. Montreal blurs. Abu Dhabi blurs. Time rewinds to quiet hotel rooms, half-asleep confessions, whispered I love yous under a different kind of pressure.

But then he breaks the moment.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says hoarsely. “Not with everything falling apart.”

You nod, though your heart cracks. Because you understand. Because you feel it too.

“I just needed to see you,” you whisper.

And then, without a word, he pulls you into his arms.

It’s instant. Bone-deep.

His grip tightens like he’s scared you’ll vanish. Your hands find the curve of his back, the tension in his shoulders. He’s trembling.

You hadn’t expected that.

Lewis Hamiltoncalm under chaos, still when the world spins - shaking.

You bury your face against his chest, his heartbeat thudding under your cheek. No podium. No cameras. Just him. Just you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “You deserved better.”

His voice cracks. “They took it. Took it right out from under me.”

“I know.” You thread your hand behind his neck, grounding him. “I know, baby.”

And then he breaks.

No tears. Not at first. Just the collapse of his weight into you. His forehead pressed to your shoulder. His arms wrapped around you like armour failing.

A sob escapes. Raw and muffled.

You hold him.

Not as a fan. Not as a bystander. But as the only person who ever saw the man behind the machine.

“You did everything right,” you murmur, lips against his temple. “You didn’t lose. They cheated you.”

He pulls back, just enough to see your face. His eyes are red-rimmed. Haunted. The kind of look that takes years to wear off.

“I kept thinking…” he begins, voice thin, “if you’d been here maybe something would’ve felt different.”

“I’m here now.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s not a reunion.

It’s a reclamation.

Your lips collide in a storm of everything you’ve both held back. Desperation. Rage. Love. Years of distance burn away in seconds. His hands cradle your face, your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit. It’s messy and breathless and utterly real.

You don’t hear the shutters at first.

Or the footsteps.

Or the murmurs of stunned reporters suddenly whipped into a frenzy.

But one person sees it all.

Toto.

He stands at the garage entrance like a statue. Stone-faced. Not angry not yet. But gutted. Witnessing the very thing he’d worked so hard to avoid.

Lewis breaks the kiss first but doesn’t let go.

“I don’t care who sees,” he says, voice still rough. “Not anymore.”

You feel the eyes on you. The judgment. The headlines already being drafted.

Your gaze flicks toward the entrance. “Even if he’s watching?”

Lewis turns.

Sees him.

Toto stands rigid. Pale under the artificial lights, lips drawn tight. Emotion unreadable.

Lewis doesn’t flinch.

“I gave everything,” he says, voice rising now, steady and sharp. “To this team. To this sport. And tonight, they gave me nothing.”

You slip your hand into his. Grip it like an anchor.

“I won’t lose you again,” he says, looking only at you now.

Toto steps forward. One step. Then another.

“You knew what this would do,” he says quietly. “To him. To you. And still—”

“She’s not just your daughter,” Lewis cuts in. “She’s the love of my life.”

The silence that follows is absolute.

You can hear the cameras.

The breaths held.

But Lewis doesn’t back down. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in a world turned upside down.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, voice dropping to something intimate.

You nod, tears welling. “Always.”

And together, hand in hand, you turn.

You walk straight past the stunned silence. Past the headlines. Past the man who once stood between you.

Lewis doesn’t look back.

He’s lost everything.

But not you.

Not this time.

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