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viennakarma · 1 year ago

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My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips.

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head.

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed.

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you.

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party.

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered,

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

��No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you.

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

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techav · 1 month ago

Text

On Celebrating Errors

Isn't it beautiful? The lovely formatted tables of register and stack contents, the trace of function addresses and parameters, the error message ... it's the most beautiful kernel panic I have ever seen.

Why on earth would I be so excited to see a computer crash? What could possibly be beautiful about a kernel panic?

This kernel panic is well-earned. I fought hard to get it.

This kernel panic came from a current NetBSD kernel, freshly compiled and running on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. It is the result of hours upon hours of work reading through existing code, scattered documentation and notes, writing and rewriting, and endless compiling.

And it's just the start.

As I've said before, a goal of this project has always been to build something capable of running some kind of Unix-like operating system. Now that I finally have all the necessary pieces of hardware, plus a good bootloader in ROM, it's time to give it a shot. I'm not that great with this type of programming, but I have been getting better. I might just be able to brute force my way through hacking together something functional.

It is hard.

There is some documentation available. The man(9) pages are useful, and NetBSD has a great guide to setting up the build environment for cross-compiling the kernel. There are some published papers on what some people went through to port NetBSD to this system or that. But there's nothing that really explains what all these source code files are, and which parts really need to be modified to run on a different system.

I had a few false starts, but ultimately found an existing 68k architecture, cesfic, which was a bare minimum configuration that could serve well as a foundation for my purposes. I copied the cesfic source directory, changed all instances of the name to wrap030, made sure it still compiled, then set about removing everything that I didn't need. It still compiled, so now it's was time to add in what I did need.

... how ... do I ... ?

This is where things get overwhelming very quickly. There is documentation on the core functions required for a new driver, there's documentation on the autoconf system that attaches drivers to devices in the tree, and there's plenty of drivers already to reference. But where to start?

I started by trying to add the com driver for the 16550 UARTs I'm using. It doesn't compile because I'm missing dependencies. The missing functions are missing because of a breaking change to bus.h at some point; the com driver expects the new format but the cesfic port still uses the old. So I needed to pull in the missing functions from another m68k arch. Which then required more missing functions and headers to be pulled in. Eventually it compiled without error again, but that doesn't mean it will actually run. I still needed to add support for my new programmable timer, customize the startup process, update hardware addresses, make sure it was targeting 68030 instead of 68040 ...

So many parts and pieces that need to be updated. Each one requiring searching for the original function or variable declaration to confirm expected types or implementation, then searching for existing usages to figure out what it needs ... which then requires searching for more functions and variable types.

But I got something that at least appeared to have all the right parts and compiled without error. It was time to throw it on a disk, load it up, and see what happened.

Nothing happened, of course. It crashed immediately.

I have no debugging workflow I can rely on here, and at this stage there isn't even a kernel console yet. All I could do was add little print macros to the locore startup code and see where it failed. Guess, test, and revise.

I spent a week debugging the MMU initialization. If the MMU isn't properly configured, everything comes to an abrupt halt. Ultimately, I replaced the cesfic machine-specific initialization code and pmap bootstrapping code with functions from yet another m68k arch. And spent another day debugging before realizing I had missed a section that had comments suggesting it wasn't for the 68030 CPU, but turned out to be critical for operation of kernel memory allocation.

Until this point, I was able to rely on the low-level exception handling built into my bootloader if my code caused a CPU exception. But with the MMU working, that code was no longer mapped.

So then came another few hours learning how to create a minimal early console driver. An early console is used by the kernel prior to the real console getting initialized. In this case, I'm using the MC6850 on my mainboard for the early console, since that's what my bootloader uses. And finally the kernel was able to speak for itself.

It printed its own panic.

The first thing the kernel does is initialize the console. Which requires that com driver and all the machine-specific code I had to write. The kernel is failing at its step #1.

But at least it can tell me that now. And given all the work necessary to get to this point, that kernel panic data printing to the terminal is absolutely beautiful.

#troubleshooting #coding #os development #netbsd #homebrew computer #homebrew computing #mc68030 #motorola 68k #motorola 68030 #debugging #wrap030 #retro computing

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literaryvein-reblogs · 10 months ago

Text

Some Science Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Word — Science Meaning; Public Meaning

Bank - land alongside a river/lake; a place where people store money

Bar - unit of measure of atmospheric pressure; place to drink alcoholic beverages

Belt - collection of asteroids in a disc shape; materials worn around waist to support clothes

Bonding - electrostatic attraction between atoms; making an emotional connection

Charge - force experienced by matter when in an electromagnetic field; demand a price for rendered goods/services

Code - software/computer language; encrypted message

Crust - outermost layer of planet; edge of pizza/pie

Current - water or air moving in a direction; belonging to the present time

Cycling - flow of nutrients or elements; riding a bicycle

Dating - determining age of site/artifact; initial stage of romantic relationship

Driver - influential factor; someone who drives a vehicle

Dwarf - celestial body resembling small planet; characters from Snow White

Fault - fracture in a rock with movement; responsible for accident/misfortune

Fetch - distance traveled by wind/waves over water; go far and then bring back something/someone

Force - strength/energy of action/movement; make someone do something against their will

Grade - gradient/slope; level of proficiency

Hertz - the SI unit of frequency; rental car company

Jet - gas stream ejected from an accretion disk surrounding star; an aircraft powered by jet engines

Mantle - planet layer between crust and core; important role passed from person to person

Matter - physical substance in general; be of importance, have significance

Model - computer simulation; promotes fashion/product

Mole - SI unit used to measure amount of something; small rodent-like mammal

Plastic - substance that is easily shaped/molded; synthetic material

Pressure - force per unit area that gas/liquid/solid exerts on another; use of persuasion to make someone do something

Productive - creating organic matter through photo/chemosynthesis; busy and efficient

Sample - to take a sample for analysis; a small part of something

Scale - system of marks used for measuring; device used for measuring weight

Shear - difference in wind speed/direction; cut wool off of

Shelf - a submarine bank; a surface for displaying/storing objects

Stress - pressure/tension exerted on a material object; mental/emotional strain

Submarine - existing/occurring under the sea surface; a ship that stays submerged under water for extended periods

Surf - line of foam on seashore from breaking waves; riding a surfboard

Swell - sea movement in rolling waves that do not break; to become larger in size (e.g. a body part)

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists

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kkeidawrites · 8 months ago

Text

The Teacher

Part 3: Friendly Outing

A week goes by without a hitch and the preschool had more parent events than before, somehow or someone endorsed the school and now all of a sudden the school is able to do more events than it could in the last three years.

Y/n couldn’t really tell or minded why there was so many events back to back within the last week, she was just happy that her class was able to interact more with their parents and more importantly become more engaged in class.

As she cleaned up her classroom that Friday, she picked up the scattered papers littering the floor and piled them up in her hand, looking over them. Some were painted handprints that were from today’s earlier activity and others just painted pictures of scribbles.

Placing them on her desk, she made a note to hang them up around the room next week for the children to see. Every week, Y/n would decorate the walls with the children’s art, to show their progress of what color they know and utilizing that color in any way they want on paper.

She uses Clorox wipes to clean up the tables and chairs, then flipped the chairs over on top of the tables. She felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket and threw away the dirty wipes away in the trash bin, placing it outside her classroom for the custodian to take out later.

Pulling out the device, Y/n unlocked it and a smile stretches across her face.

Picking up her purse, Y/n makes her way out of her classroom and walks down the stairwell that leads to the front entrance of the school. Changing out her shoes, she slips on her tennis shoes that was in her locker and finally leaves the school.

Walking to the bus stop, Y/n checks the time on her phone and notices that the next bus to take her home would be here in about seven minutes, plenty of time for her to go home, get dressed and attend her plans with Toji.

As soon as her bus arrived, Y/n steps on and pays with her bus pass then finds an empty seat in the middle. Clutching her purse close to her chest, Y/n returns to her messages, wanting to talk more with Toji.

She was all smiles when the bus arrived at her stop, the driver giving her a strange look as she stepped off pulling away to attend to the other scheduled stops.

Y/n walked up to her apartment building and pressed the button in the elevator to take her up two stories, her eyes not one time ever looking up to see where she was going. It would seem that her body was functioning on autopilot as she walked left, passing by four doors until she was finally in front of hers.

A giggle leaves her lips the moment she was able to unlock her door with the door code and takes off her shoes at the threshold. Y/n walked to her bedroom, setting her purse on the dresser and raiding her closet for a casual outfit. Her phone vibrated again and Y/n eagerly came out the closet to read the new message from Toji.

Finally putting down her phone, she placed the device on her bed while Y/n changes out her clothes for the day and into a towel.

As she showered, her thoughts kept flowing through her about Toji, it wasn’t against the rules to have a relationship with any of the parents of their students it was against the rules to have a relationship with other teachers. But, now she had to think about it, would he want to have a relationship with her after this get together?

She would have to find out once the outing was over. Stepping out the shower, Y/n coats her body in her favorite lotion and body oils then sits down at her small vanity and begins on her hair and makeup.

Once she was done, her eyes look over to the clock on the wall and saw that it was 5:45PM, if she wanted to make it on time she would need to be at the bus stop in five minutes.

Grabbing her shoes out the closet she grabs her purse, keys and phone rushes to the door. She slips on her shoes and bolts out the front door, holding the button on the locking mechanism to lock the door behind her.

As soon as the elevator doors open, Y/n is speed walking to the bus stop and just in the nick of time the bus is approaching the designated stop. Stepping on the bus, she uses her bus pass to allow her access and finds a seat just two rows behind the driver.

The bus made its long route through central Kyoto and Y/n busied herself with texting Toji that she was approaching his location, she would arrive soon.

The bus stopped at the most known area of sightseeing in Kyoto and Y/n had to quickly get off the bus before the crowds of tourists would bombard the bus. Securing her purse on her arm, she made the short walk uphill to the restaurant that Toji was meeting her at.

As she approached the restaurant, the smell of fried noodles and dumplings reached her nostrils, a smile coming to her face at the heavenly smell.

At the top of the hill was the man of the hour, waiting for her with his hands in his pockets and a small grin on his lips. Y/n waves at him and the tall man does the same although feeling a bit awkward when doing so.

“Hi, Toji-san. This is a nice restaurant, it gives off a historical vibe.” Y/n says and Toji hums in agreement.

“Yeah, this place is actually one of the oldest restaurants here in Kyoto. Heard they have been in business and serving food to emperors and other monarchs for centuries.” He added and Y/n gapes in shock.

“No they haven’t, that’s crazy.”

“Yep, look.” He points to the pictures that are scattered across the front entrance and a photo showing a man who was dressed in fine Japanese robes and a crown on his head eating soba. It looked dated and Y/n gasped at the picture.

She used her phone to take a photo and looked it over once again on her device.

“That is insane to be in business for so long.” Y/n says and Toji opens the slide door leading inside, motioning for her to walk in first. Y/n thanks him and steps into the restaurant with him following behind her.

A waitress wearing a black and grey kimono is quick to come up to greet them. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and a smile on her lips.

“Welcome! Just two tonight?” She asks and they nod. Using her hand to guide them to their table, she escorts the two to a table in the corner of the restaurant, a secluded section of the building.

Y/n thanks the woman when she hands them both a menu and asks if they would like to start off with drinks.

“Just a water please.”

“And you sir?” The woman asks as she writes down on her notepad.

“Green tea and if possible can you bring the pot over to our table?” She nods and writes down the order.

Leaving, the two look over the menu to see what they would like and Y/n’s eyes roamed over the different meals that they had. She couldn’t decide what she wanted and looked up at Toji who had already put down his menu, a brow is raised at him.

“You already know what you want?”

“Yeah, I usually eat the same thing every time I go to a yakisoba restaurant so, I don’t necessarily get anything new.”

“Oh boo, I was going to see what you recommend but you’ve already made up your mind.” Y/n sets down her menu on the table as well.

“Well, how about I get the same thing that you’re ordering?”

“Eh? Why?”

“Because, everything on here has made me indecisive and whatever you’re ordering seems like it will be good. I’ll try it.” Y/n shrugs and Toji smiles.

“Alright, but fair warning, I eat a lot of food in one go so, if you’re not prepared to eat a lot of food then I would suggest you find something light.” He warned.

Y/n smirks and places her hands under chin, eyes challenging him.

“You have no idea how much I can eat Fushiguro, you’d be amazed that I can out eat all four of my brothers at home.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Really.”

Toji smirks and matched her energy.

“Fine, then let’s make a bet.” He pulls out his wallet and shows off a stack of yen to her.

“If you can out eat me then I’ll pay you 15,200 yen. If I out eat you, then you owe me 15,200 yen.” He watches her raise a brow but, her smirk still confident.

(Note: 15,200 yen Converted from Japanese currency to the United States dollar that is equivalent to $100)

“Let’s make this more interesting. If I out eat you, then you owe me both the money and another outing, this time a date. And if you out eat me, I’ll pay you the money and owe you a favor next time we get together. How’s that?” She asked.

Toji’s smirk grows wickedly and then he nods putting the money back in his wallet.

“You have yourself a deal, Miss. L/n.” He challenged her and Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine at how he lowered his voice.

The waitress comes back with their drinks and asks if they were ready to order as she pours Toji’s tea in a ceramic cup.

“Why yes we are,” his eyes flicker to Y/n then back to the waitress who has her pen and notepad ready.

“We will have your best assorted meats to grill, some offal, takoyaki, yakisoba, chicken wings HOT,” his eyes look at Y/n again and her eyes are still challenging him, her smile still shining bright and continues the order.

“Two orders of salmon rice balls, nikudango, curry and a parfait. Just to cool down all that stuff we’ll be eating.” He gives the waitress a secret smile and she nods, reading back everything to them and Toji nods.

“Alright, I will be right back with you with your food.” She takes up their menus and leaves the two. Y/n watches Toji lean back in his chair smugly, and laughed.

“Why are you so smug?”

“I do not believe you are going to eat all that food, no way.” He jeers.

“Oh yeah? We’ve already placed a bet Fushiguro, don’t make me break your bank even more.” She says and a hearty laugh leaves him.

“We’ll see.” He says.

“How is Megumi?” Y/n plays with her napkin as she watches him smile softly at the mention of his son.

“He’s doing well. He’s spending time with his cousins for the night and I think he was more than happy to go and stay with them instead of being with me. He’s such a traitor.” He jokes and Y/n gasps dramatically.

“Leave that baby alone, he wanted to be with his cousins and not his dad, I smell jealousy.” Y/n laughs.

“You’re dreaming.”

“Jealousy.” Y/n sings and Toji laughs.

They talked for a little longer as they waited for their food and noticed that the restaurant was slowly filling up with more patrons.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Y/n laughs at what Toji just said and placed a hand over her heart to calm herself.

“No you did not!”

“I swear, I was down bad when I was a teenager and I had to find some way to make money.”

“But working with a broke magician as his assistant? You should have known better. As soon as he said he could make money appear in his hand and not a single crowd interacted with you the entire day, you should have left.” Y/n laughs.

“I was 15 Y/n, what more do you want from me?” Toji shrugs, Y/n reaches over and pats his hand in comfort.

“You made it out from working with a broke magician and that’s all that matters.” She says with a smile and Toji nods smiling as well.

Hearing plates clinking, they look up to see their food finally coming, their waitress and four men followed behind her with their plates in hand and stopped at the table, carefully placing all their food on the table, and turning on the burner of the grill that sat in the middle of the table.

Y/n’s mouth salivated in anticipation and rubbed her hands under the table. Once everything was placed on the table, their waitress bows and so does the men as they leave.

Toji begins grilling the meats as Y/n eats away at the rice balls and curry. For the next 30 minutes, Y/n had already finished eating her plate of rice balls, takoyaki, curry and yakisoba, Toji was busy eating the grilled meats, his plate of offal, hot wings as he was offering meat to Y/n who ate along with her nikudango.

What was left on Y/n’s side was the parfait, offal and hot wings. Pushing away her now empty plate of nikudango, Y/n is quick to move onto her hot wings. She could smell the spice of the sauce on the wings and moaned in delight.

Toji watched the woman eat with a newfound interest and eats the last of the grilled meat, laughing quietly when he sees her start dancing in her seat.

“Good?” He asks and Y/n moans in response.

“So good.” Y/n bites into another wing, quick to finish eating the meat off the bone and place it back on her plate. She takes a napkin and wipes the sauce from her mouth and hands.

Toji offers to grill her offal for her and Y/n nods in thanks watching as he takes her plate and start cooking again.

“You’re very good at cooking.” Toji shakes his head with a shrug.

“Not really. I just like grilling that’s all.”

“Well you’re really good at grilling then.” She corrects and Toji smiles, thanking her.

When her offal was done, he hands back her plate full of grilled offal and Y/n goes to town again on the meat, dipping it in miso sauce and moaning in delight after each bite.

Finally finished on both sides, their dessert was left and it would seem that neither were ready to stop eating. Y/n looked over her parfait, it was so pretty she didn’t know if she should eat it but, she had a challenge to win and she didn’t like losing.

Picking up her spoon, she scooped up the ice cream and takes a big bite, the taste of the whip cream making it taste even better. Y/n moans in delight and closed her eyes in happiness.

“Delicious!” She squeals and Toji laughs quietly as he eats his.

Once everything was eaten, Y/n and Toji stacked up their plates and utensils to the edge of the table and sat back in their chairs, both full and satisfied with their meal. Their waitress comes by again and happily takes their plates away, promising to return quickly.

“That was delicious. Everything was full of flavor and spices that I want to try again.” Y/n sighs happily.

“I’m impressed. That was more than 400 calories and the fact that you kept up with me and ate all that food I guess you win.” Y/n frowns at him in confusion.

“What do you mean? Didn’t you finish all your food?” She asked. Toji shook his head and points to his parfait glass that was still half filled of the sweet.

Y/n raised a brow and looks at his suspiciously.

“I hope you didn’t finish eating your sweet just to let me win.”

“No, I wasn’t in the mood to keep eating my parfait. Megumi wanted taiyaki earlier and I had three of them so, my intake of sweets is at its limit for the night.” He said and Y/n watches him to see if he was telling a story or not. Assuming that he wasn’t, Y/n hums and leans forward.

“So, as your prize,” he pulls out his wallet and hands over the promised amount to her. Y/n takes it and counts the money before putting it in her purse.

“And I owe you a date next time.” Toji says and Y/n smiles.

“We don’t have to call it a date, it can be another outing if you wish.”

“What if I want it to be a date next time?” He tilts his head with a smile.

“Then it’s a date.” Y/n says, smiling back.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Later, both Toji and Y/n pay for their food and are walking through downtown Kyoto taking in the sights and looking through the stores. They enjoyed themselves for the next three hours and once the clock reached midnight they decided it was time to go home.

Thankfully the buses that they needed to take were not here yet and Toji decided to stay with Y/n at the bus station until it arrived. He held her hand as they waited and Y/n felt her cheeks warm at the sweet gesture.

Her bus approached the station and Toji turns her to him to give her a hug, Y/n returns the hug and as soon as the bus opened the door, she stepped on waving at him.

Toji does the same and watches as she found a window seat and watched him stand and look right at her. As the bus pulls away, Y/n waves again and Toji smiles his eyes following the bus until it made a right turn out of his line of sight.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Arriving home, Y/n made her way into her apartment building and to her apartment. She pushed open her door and slipped off her shoes, sighing in bliss at the night she just had, a smile on her face. She was looking forward to their next outing, this time a date.

She made a decision, this night in her opinion was indeed a nice date, whether it was named that or not.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

All pictures are from prankshit and Pinterest! If you don’t like the fits then imagine them in your own style. Thanks for reading and like, comment, and reblog!

Also be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 below! They are in order so if you get confused then they are labeled!

Work outfit: above

Date outfit: below

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

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These days, when Nicole Yelland receives a meeting request from someone she doesn’t already know, she conducts a multi-step background check before deciding whether to accept. Yelland, who works in public relations for a Detroit-based non-profit, says she’ll run the person’s information through Spokeo, a personal data aggregator that she pays a monthly subscription fee to use. If the contact claims to speak Spanish, Yelland says, she will casually test their ability to understand and translate trickier phrases. If something doesn’t quite seem right, she’ll ask the person to join a Microsoft Teams call—with their camera on.

If Yelland sounds paranoid, that’s because she is. In January, before she started her current non-profit role, Yelland says she got roped into an elaborate scam targeting job seekers. “Now, I do the whole verification rigamarole any time someone reaches out to me,” she tells WIRED.

Digital imposter scams aren’t new; messaging platforms, social media sites, and dating apps have long been rife with fakery. In a time when remote work and distributed teams have become commonplace, professional communications channels are no longer safe, either. The same artificial intelligence tools that tech companies promise will boost worker productivity are also making it easier for criminals and fraudsters to construct fake personas in seconds.

On LinkedIn, it can be hard to distinguish a slightly touched-up headshot of a real person from a too-polished, AI-generated facsimile. Deepfake videos are getting so good that longtime email scammers are pivoting to impersonating people on live video calls. According to the US Federal Trade Commission, reports of job and employment related scams nearly tripled from 2020 to 2024, and actual losses from those scams have increased from $90 million to $500 million.

Yelland says the scammers that approached her back in January were impersonating a real company, one with a legitimate product. The “hiring manager” she corresponded with over email also seemed legit, even sharing a slide deck outlining the responsibilities of the role they were advertising. But during the first video interview, Yelland says, the scammers refused to turn their cameras on during a Microsoft Teams meeting and made unusual requests for detailed personal information, including her driver’s license number. Realizing she’d been duped, Yelland slammed her laptop shut.

These kinds of schemes have become so widespread that AI startups have emerged promising to detect other AI-enabled deepfakes, including GetReal Labs, and Reality Defender. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman also runs an identity-verification startup called Tools for Humanity, which makes eye-scanning devices that capture a person’s biometric data, create a unique identifier for their identity, and store that information on the blockchain. The whole idea behind it is proving “personhood,” or that someone is a real human. (Lots of people working on blockchain technology say that blockchain is the solution for identity verification.)

But some corporate professionals are turning instead to old-fashioned social engineering techniques to verify every fishy-seeming interaction they have. Welcome to the Age of Paranoia, when someone might ask you to send them an email while you’re mid-conversation on the phone, slide into your Instagram DMs to ensure the LinkedIn message you sent was really from you, or request you text a selfie with a timestamp, proving you are who you claim to be. Some colleagues say they even share code words with each other, so they have a way to ensure they’re not being misled if an encounter feels off.

“What’s funny is, the low-fi approach works,” says Daniel Goldman, a blockchain software engineer and former startup founder. Goldman says he began changing his own behavior after he heard a prominent figure in the crypto world had been convincingly deepfaked on a video call. “It put the fear of god in me,” he says. Afterwards, he warned his family and friends that even if they hear what they believe is his voice or see him on a video call asking for something concrete—like money or an internet password—they should hang up and email him first before doing anything.

Ken Schumacher, founder of the recruitment verification service Ropes, says he’s worked with hiring managers who ask job candidates rapid-fire questions about the city where they claim to live on their resume, such as their favorite coffee shops and places to hang out. If the applicant is actually based in that geographic region, Schumacher says, they should be able to respond quickly with accurate details.

Another verification tactic some people use, Schumacher says, is what he calls the “phone camera trick.” If someone suspects the person they’re talking to over video chat is being deceitful, they can ask them to hold up their phone camera to their laptop. The idea is to verify whether the individual may be running deepfake technology on their computer, obscuring their true identity or surroundings. But it’s safe to say this approach can also be off-putting: Honest job candidates may be hesitant to show off the inside of their homes or offices, or worry a hiring manager is trying to learn details about their personal lives.

“Everyone is on edge and wary of each other now,” Schumacher says.

While turning yourself into a human captcha may be a fairly effective approach to operational security, even the most paranoid admit these checks create an atmosphere of distrust before two parties have even had the chance to really connect. They can also be a huge time suck. “I feel like something’s gotta give,” Yelland says. “I’m wasting so much time at work just trying to figure out if people are real.”

Jessica Eise, an assistant professor studying climate change and social behavior at Indiana University-Bloomington, says that her research team has been forced to essentially become digital forensics experts, due to the amount of fraudsters who respond to ads for paid virtual surveys. (Scammers aren’t as interested in the unpaid surveys, unsurprisingly.) If the research project is federally funded, all of the online participants have to be over the age of 18 and living in the US.

“My team would check time stamps for when participants answered emails, and if the timing was suspicious, we could guess they might be in a different time zone,” Eise says. “Then we’d look for other clues we came to recognize, like certain formats of email address or incoherent demographic data.”

Eise says the amount of time her team spent screening people was “exorbitant,” and that they’ve now shrunk the size of the cohort for each study and have turned to “snowball sampling” or having recruiting people they know personally to join their studies. The researchers are also handing out more physical flyers to solicit participants in person. “We care a lot about making sure that our data has integrity, that we’re studying who we say we’re trying to study,” she says. “I don’t think there’s an easy solution to this.”

Barring any widespread technical solution, a little common sense can go a long way in spotting bad actors. Yelland shared with me the slide deck that she received as part of the fake job pitch. At first glance, it seemed like legit pitch, but when she looked at it again, a few details stood out. The job promised to pay substantially more than the average salary for a similar role in her location, and offered unlimited vacation time, generous paid parental leave, and fully-covered health care benefits. In today’s job environment, that might have been the biggest tipoff of all that it was a scam.

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emblogicsblog · 6 months ago

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Character Device Driver Training

Character Device Driver Training - Dive into the fascinating world of Linux kernel programming with our Linux Character Device Driver Development Course. Designed for embedded systems engineers, aspiring kernel developers, and advanced computing students, this course provides an in-depth understanding of creating, managing, and debugging character device drivers.

Character device drivers are a vital component in Linux systems, facilitating seamless communication between hardware and software. Through this course, you’ll learn how to write efficient device drivers from scratch, manage hardware resources, and ensure smooth interaction between kernel space and user space.

With a mix of theory and practical labs, we’ll cover key topics such as file operations, memory management, interrupt handling, and synchronization techniques. Whether you’re new to device driver development or looking to enhance your skills, this course offers valuable hands-on experience. You’ll work on real-world projects, exploring how drivers integrate with user applications and interact with the hardware in real-time.

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#Linux Device Driver Development #Character Device Driver Course #Linux Kernel Programming Training #Embedded Systems Driver Development #Linux Kernel Driver Tutorial #Device Driver Coding Workshop

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its-all-papaya · 11 months ago

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landoscar + 41? 🧡 maybe fake/pr-dating-turned-real-dating coded, so maybe even + 56? like, they realize the fake wasn't that fake anymore 🙈 (insert i am in love are you in love audio here)

they are both in love, anon.

(because i found it kind of impossible to explain without adding sooo much exposition... oscar is not a driver. he's just... a guy. that mclaren found. to date lando. suspend your disbelief, idk)

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

41. to pretend (or is it?) | landoscar | 1.2k

Lando is in over his head. His aching, pounding, hurts-so-bad-it’s-making-him nauseous head. If he’d known one throw-away trip to the club in Miami was going to complicate his life so irreparably, he would have tucked his P1 trophy into bed next to him and gone straight to sleep like a good, boring boy. Instead, he’d gotten catastrophically fucked-up on any number of things he doesn’t remember and tossed himself dick-first into an entire publicity nightmare. That’s the worst part, probably: Lando doesn’t even remember. He remembers taking shots with Max and Danny and he remembers – barely – stumbling to the bathroom, and the next discernable point on that mental timeline comes at approximately 6:45 a.m., when he’d woken up to go vomit and found his lock screen so full of notifications that it’d made him forget to wonder where the man he’d gone to bed next to had pissed off to so early.

Since then, every minute of Lando’s life not spent in the car has felt full wall-to-wall with interviews, and meetings with crisis management, and saying “I’d prefer not to comment on that” so many times he hears it on repeat like an ear worm when he’s falling asleep at night. And also Oscar. There’s been a lot of Oscar.

He’s waiting in the lobby of McLaren’s hospitality when Lando arrives down from his driver’s room after qualifying in Brazil. Lando wonders how he got in, if their bosses have finally decided he’s trustworthy enough to walk around unchaperoned. It’s funny that he ever didn’t have a pass, actually; he is technically a McLaren employee. Probably. Lando thinks he gets paid. They’ve never talked about the specifics.

Either way, however he got there, Oscar is by himself in the lobby, leaned back in a chair, thumbing at his phone. He looks up when he senses Lando’s arrival, and Lando must look even more pathetic than he even thought, because Oscar’s face immediately goes soft with concern and he leaps up to take Lando’s bag off his hands.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. He slides the backpack onto his own shoulders and then steadies a hand in the middle of Lando’s back, thumb tracing comforting little circles near his spine.

Lando could lie, but there’s not really any point to that, so he lets his face fold into the grimace it wants to be in and presses his thumb between his eyebrows.

“Head’s killing me,” he says. It comes out weak.

Oscar makes a sad little sound in sympathy, and the palm on Lando’s back shifts to his side so Oscar can tug him closer. Lando doesn’t have the energy to fight Oscar on these things at the best of times lately, so he’s definitely not going to when he’s exhausted and sick with the pain behind his eyes. Even though there’s really nobody around to see them.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, then,” Oscar says, and Lando has never agreed to anything faster.

Oscar leads the way out of hospitality and through the paddock, fingers linked securely between Lando’s own. It’s baffling that he’s already been around this circus long enough to know the way without help. Nice, though, because Lando’s not really in a state to be of any.

They run into a few people along the way – fans or sponsors or employees. Lando doesn’t get the chance to tell which are which, because every time somebody new greets them, Oscar’s fingers tighten around his own and he talks the both of them cleverly out of the conversation before Lando can even consider what he would say if he was left to his own devices. It feels nearly impossible that less than six months ago, Oscar could barely say two words to Lando without being directly asked to.

“Oscar!” he hears as they’re nearing the exit, and they’re so close to relative quiet that Lando can’t help but groan about it. Oscar squeezes his hand again like an apology as he turns to address whoever it is.

"What’s up?” Oscar asks. When Lando lifts his eyes from the pavement, it’s Max stood before them. Both of his hands are hooked in the straps of his backpack and his chest is heaving just a little, like he’d jogged to catch them up.

“You’ll of course be at the race tomorrow?” Max asks. Lando’s not sure where this conversation is going, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have to happen right now. He hopes the look he’s giving Max is sufficiently irritated.

It must do the job, because Max’s eyes brighten and he says “Not pleased about that, Lando?”

Oscar’s hand goes from Lando’s palm to his back again, quick, and before Lando can open his mouth, Oscar’s saying, “He doesn’t feel good.”

“Ah,” Max says. Lando can’t figure out the look he’s being given.

“The race tomorrow?” Lando presses. If they’re going to chat about whatever it was right now, they could at least get to the point.

Max nods, shifting his gaze back to Oscar, “You are staying, yeah?”

“Yeah," Oscar says, "Why?”

It’s taking too long. Lando squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder, hoping the counterpressure might do anything at all for the hot ache in his brain. Oscar’s hand goes immediately to the back of Lando’s neck, like it’s habit, and his thumb starts drawing firm lines down the muscle there, hairline to nape. It feels…really, really nice, actually.

“You’ll fly back with us after,” he can make out Max saying, “to Monaco. Lando and I and a few others.”

That doesn’t really make sense. Oscar’s been planning to go home for a bit over the mini break, Lando knows, they talked about it nearly right away when the agreement was drawn up. Far be it from him to argue that point, though, not when Oscar’s saying “Yeah, thanks, mate,” and his thumb’s still easing the pain in Lando’s skull. Lando would blame it on the headache, but it’s not like he’ll mind the extra time with Oscar, either. Which Max knows.

Lando cracks his eyes open and shifts enough to squint suspiciously at his friend, but Max is just grinning happily at the pair of them.

“Very good,” Max says. Sure.

“That’s all?” Oscar asks. His thumb finally stills. Lando does not whine about it, but it’s a close thing.

“Yes,” Max says, “you can take grumpy home now.”

Then, before Lando can decide whether that’s worth getting upset over, Oscar squeezes the back of his neck and nudges him up off his shoulder. His eyes are apologetic when Lando meets them, and he kisses Lando once on the forehead as he slides their palms back together.

It’s nice. Domestic. Very convincing, probably. Oscar’s gotten really good at his job.

“We’ll see you, mate,” Oscar says.

Max clasps Oscar’s hand for a second, then squeezes Lando’s shoulder on his way by.

When he's a few steps off, Oscar says, “Ready?” like Lando hasn’t been begging to go this whole time.

Lando says yes, please and he can tell it's a little whiny, because Oscar says "Hey, okay love, I'm sorry" and brushes a gentle kiss against his lips. Lando thinks Max is probably too far away to see it, but Oscar would know better.

It’s not until they’re finally settled into the back of the car, sides pressed together, that Lando remembers:

“Max knows about everything. You didn’t have to… he knows.”

Oscar’s gaze is soft and maybe a little sad, for some reason, but he smiles past it and combs his fingers through Lando’s hair until he settles.

“Yeah,” Oscar says as Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder, “He does.”

#answered #ask game #kiss prompts #soph writes #ficlet #landoscar #my landoscar #lando x oscar #landoscar fic #landoscar fanfic #does this even make sense #i can't tell if it's actually kind of bad... who's to say #“write fake dating without 2k of background and stakes” challenge level: impossible #i wrote this instead of sleeping or working or packing for my holiday

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probablyfunrpgideas · 1 year ago

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Modern Fantasy Spells

QR Code of Warding - if someone scans it without speaking the password aloud, their device and potentially their body is pulled into a digital space.

Helda’s Impersonating Wheel - a circular array of accounts, personas, and characters appears, orbiting the target’s head. Each one you can grab is now inaccessible to them and available to you.

Lightning Lift - reduces the travel time of objects you order or drivers you hire temporarily. Some drivers will ward their vehicle against this magic, claiming that the increased efficiency isn’t worth the static charge that lingers for an hour afterward.

Threefold Banishment of Colorado Technical University (copyright 1987) - violently exorcizes an area of any supernatural entities, and erases harmful recordings of such creatures. A photo of a werewolf is probably fine, but the DVD you filmed the Lloigor on is going to be melted.

#idea #tabletop rpgs #d&d #d&d 5e #worldbuilding #pathfinder #shadowrun

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viennakarma · 1 year ago

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My dearest friend and enemy (2)

PART 2 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.1k

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I was wondering doing a bonus part about Fernando POV throughout everything (to show he was ALSO miserable), but I don't know if i have the time and energy for it. Let me know if you guys would be interested in it and I'll do it in headcanons/topics.

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was taking way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

Find me on Twitter!

PART 1 | FERNANDO'S HEADCANONS

You were moping and crying in the living room when the phone started ringing. Looking at the little screen that showed the number that was calling, you knew it was Fernando. You had memorized his number at some point in your lifetime. Your parents weren’t home, so you hesitated. You took so long that his call went to voicemail.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice sounding tired, low and inpatient, “please pick up the-”

You pulled the phone cable, unplugging the call and silencing him. Wiping your tears, you stared at the unplugged phone on the little side table for what felt like hours, until your parents returned from work, when you got up to plug the phone back and pretend like you didn’t spend the whole day mourning a friendship you always thought would last forever.

After two days ignoring all calls, even Flavio’s, you decided that you’d shield yourself from now on, and you wouldn’t give Fernando any more ammo to hurt you. You met with Flavio at the next race, face heavy with makeup to cover up the sleepless nights you had gone through. You put your bag down and stared at Flavio across the table.

“Good morning. Let’s go back to work,” you said, gently pulling the stack of papers from his grasp. He called your name in that tone, of someone wanting a heart to heart.

“We should talk about the f-” He started but you cut him off.

“No, I don’t want to talk about that,” you said.

“I talked to Fernando and he-”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s dead to me.” You repeated slowly, finally looking up at him. Flavio must’ve seen something in your eyes because he let the topic go.

You didn’t see Fernando for two more days, and when the weekend officially started, you avoided him like the plague. Even when you two were in the same place with other drivers, you’d ignore his existence for the most part. Whenever you were in a little circle chatting with other drivers and he arrived, you’d leave immediately. Press conference, you convinced Jenson to switch places with you so you could be as far from Fernando as possible. Even with team debriefs, with Flavio trying to make you talk to Fernando, you refused.

The rest of the season was insane, during team meetings and debriefs you were cold and barely talked to him. He didn’t try to talk to you either, and the silent distance only grew.

You were head to head in a race, you were P2 and Fernando P3 right behind you.

“Switch with Fernando,” your engineer said on the radio.

“He won’t fucking pass me,” you said into the radio, holding your position and pace. He was less than a second behind, and you refused to let him pass.

“I repeat, let him pass,” That was Flavio.

“If he manages to overtake me, he can go.”

He didn’t. You knew you had more pace, but still he insisted, and through the mirrors, you could see him closing in behind you. He tried to overtake but you pushed the car fast, and when he couldn’t anymore, he turned into you, touching his front right tyre to your rear left tyre. You were too fast. The mere touch of his tyre bursted yours. You couldn’t even get angry as you lost control of the car in a millisecond, the speed making your car fly into the air as it hit the gravel. With your car overturning a few times in the air, you watched your sight going ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky.

Then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you were on a stretcher being placed carefully inside the ambulance, you tried to get up, dizzy and someone handed you a bag where you threw up inside.

You had an insane headache as they took you to the medical center. Apparently, everything else was alright as you checked your own body for any injuries or problems. The doctor checked you but still made you through a round of tests and injected saline solution diluted with pain medicine in an IV drip. They also decided you’d stay overnight to make sure nothing was wrong.

Your dad, who was watching from the garage, was the first to find you in the medical center, visibly worried and crying. He hugged you for a whole minute, before taking a step back and touching your face to make sure you were really alright.

“I’m ok, Papá. Just passed out when the car was spinning in the air,” You smiled softly, wanting to dissipate his worry.

“When you didn’t answer the radio-” He choked back tears.

“It’s ok, I’m ok now.”

“What are you feeling, darling?” He pressed, holding your hands to look for injuries in your arms.

“I’m all in one piece, Papá. Just a little sore, but that’s normal whenever a racing driver crashes,” you let him know, and he nodded.

“Let me just call your mother. She was so worried she wanted to get into the first flight here,” He told you.

“Tell her I’m alright and I love her,” you whispered and he nodded, going outside.

You sighed as you were left alone, trying to find a comfortable position where you didn’t have to move too much, since your whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The door opened and you thought it was Flavio, but you were faced with Fernando, still sweaty and in his overalls. He looked disheveled, but he was full of worry, even his eyes looked a little misty as he stood there a few meters from you.

But you couldn’t look past the anger when the memory of him diving into your car came back. He had gambled with your life, out of pettiness, out of envy, he couldn’t pass you, so he decided the next best thing was to take you out, not even caring about the danger he was putting you through.

“Leave.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Please,” he begged with his voice softer than you had heard for almost a year, “let me just-”

“Leave! You could’ve gotten me killed, Fernando. Get out!” You said, louder. “Do you have any idea that you could have ruined my life in a moment of anger?! That you could have gotten me seriously injured or worse?! I would have never done that to you!” You pressed your index finger to the nurse button repeatedly, and a few seconds later, a nurse came in, “Ma’am can you escort him out please?”

You could see in his eyes that he was hurt by your words, but in that moment, all you felt was blind rage, for what he did the last time you spoke and because he crashed into you on purpose. You didn’t want to hear any excuses now that he realized he put your life in danger just because his ego couldn’t take a hit.

The next day, after you were discharged, you traveled for a meeting with Flavio at Renault’s headquarters. He met you alone in the meeting room, talking to you about the accident, and after making sure you were physically fine, he went off.

“What you did yesterday was reckless and you went against express orders from the team and from me. This is not happening again, or you will be risking your seat at Renault,” He said, his voice never leaving room for debate, you swallowed and nodded, “When the team orders you to do something, you do. No questioning, and no going against it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fernando was really worried about you yes-”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” You cut Flavio off.

“You two are best friends, it’s really sad to see you lose all that because of Formula 1” Flavio said, gently.

“He put my life at risk, Flavio. This is not something a friend would do,” you stood up, walking away but you stopped by the door, “Kinda curious how motorsports, the very thing that brought us together, is the same that tore us apart.”

Then you went to meet the engineers for the next race strategies.

That night as you laid down at home, you thought that you’d never compete with Fernando solely because he was Flavio’s favorite. If it ever came to Flavio to decide whether you would win or Fernando would win, he’d always pick Fernando. You could’ve been fighting for the championship this year, he had promised you, instead you were being used as a step in Fernando’s path of glory, when you could be fairly racing him for the championship. You’d always come second to him there. That was also the moment you stopped seeing Flavio as a friend, and confined him back to a position of Team Principal.

You reread the Sauber proposal that came to you that year to start racing for them the next season, tempted to just go and make your name somewhere else. Somewhere where you’d be put first.

But deep down, a sense of indebtedness had rooted into your heart ever since the day Fernando told you the truth. You had to pay Flavio back for his trust and for his money, and the only way you thought you could do it was by becoming world champion under his team.

There was still a little kid inside you, a little kid who aspired to prove Fernando wrong, to become a champion and prove to yourself you’re more than him. More than who he wanted you to be, more than a loser.

You turned down the offer from Sauber.

The rest of the season you went almost robotically. You still gave your all every race, but your mood would always damper when you had to follow team orders.

“Ask if me and Fernando can switch, I’m faster!” You said on the radio. You kept driving, Fernando a little less than two seconds in front of you, but you were getting closer and would catch up to him in two laps.

“Negative, protect his position.”

“There’s a McLaren right behind me! They’ll pass us both!”

“Negative, team orders.”

You swallowed and held your position, trying to maintain your P2 and Fernando P1. But when the McLaren got close to you, they managed to pass you after a brief battle, going for Fernando a couple of laps later.

Later, you stood on the podium, looking ahead knowing that P3 could’ve been a P1 if they had let you fight for it. You didn’t look at Fernando on the other side of the podium, you just stood there, eyes watery. You pretended to take part throwing champagne for a few seconds, forcing a smile knowing that it would look bad not to.

The post race interviews were torture, and you wanted to go home and vent to your parents.

“How has it been to manage your friendship with Fernando outside the track?” A reporter asked, and your smile disappeared from your face.

“We were never really friends,” you shrugged, annoyed, you added “Are there any questions about racing instead of my personal life?” The reporter was silent, visibly taken aback by your responses, you had rarely been hostile toward a journalist before, you knew he would have a field day with just those replies, especially when your PR manager gave you a hard stare, “No? Thank you, see you around.”

You finished P2 in the race Fernando became champion for the second time. When you got out of the car, you watched as Flavio and Fernando hugged, jumping from the ground and celebrating. The number one and your team principal. After the podium ceremony, you didn’t bother to stay to spray champagne, just leaving and going straight out.

You got a couple more proposals from other teams, and you were tempted, until Flavio told you Fernando was leaving for McLaren the next year and offered you an extension. You took it under the condition to become the number one driver now that Fernando was out of the picture.

A part of you mourned the death of the dream, the one you had at fourteen to become teammates with your best friend. So many things had happened in between everything, now you would miss it. Only the good, not the bad and ugly. You wish you could go back in time, redo everything, and never allow yourself to lose your best friend on the way.

The next year you ended up striking an unexpected friendship with Jenson Button, Nico Rosberg and eventually the two rookies Lewis and Sebastian, who had been very vocal about being fans of yours.

You didn’t go back to talking with Fernando. You didn’t try and he didn’t either. It felt like the bridges were too far burned to recover.

One day as you walked out of the garage, you saw Fernando with a girl on the opposite side. She was clinging to his side, whispering. You knew he had his fair share of fun with grid girls but he never invited them to watch the race from his garage. You wondered if he was dating again, after a couple of years being nothing more than a player. You also wonder why it made a pang of pain flare through your chest.

You don’t linger too much. He had no reason to tell you. You weren’t even friends anymore.

You moved on, as much as you could. And eventually, you met Kaka, or Ricardo, as you preferred calling him. He was a footballer, a big name in the sport, playing for a big team in Italy. You actually met him at a gala party, the both of you being silly introverts, bumping into each other when trying to find a way out. You two ended up talking for hours on the balcony, watching the city lights.

He reminded you of Nano before Formula 1.

And you actually wanted to smash your own head against the handrail as you thought that.

After exchanging numbers and calling a couple of times, you managed to convince Ricardo to come to a Grand Prix. His presence was calm, funny without being mean, and so gentle. It was actually the calm between the storm your life and job was.

You were pacing around outside the motorhomes to try and see if he had arrived yet, since the last you had talked to him was when he was on his way. While waiting, your eyes found Fernando’s on the opposite side in front of McLaren, he was sitting down with his girlfriend telling him something. You stared at him for a whole minute, and for a brief moment, the anger left his eyes for something softer, something like-

“Hi, minha linda!” Ricardo showed up out of nowhere, and he hugged you so tight he actually swiped you off your feet.

Once the surprise passed, you hugged him back, your fingers finding their way through his hair. And he laughed, spinning you before putting you down. You talked for a bit, your face lit up as he told you about his day.

Your eyes unconsciously turned to Fernando, because you could feel that he had been staring at you for as long as Ricardo was there. His face was back to anger.

“You want me to give you the grand tour?” You offered, just so you could escape the weight of Fernando’s glare.

You took Ricardo by the hand and showed him all around, even introducing him to part of your team. After that race when you placed third, Ricardo invited you to a date, the first official one. After a couple of months and a few kisses, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You only hesitated for a second before smiling and squealing a yes.

Being the main driver of your team allowed you to live an entirely different season as a racer. You didn’t want to be arrogant, but you had it in the bag. You had the best car, the best engines, and just the perfect amount of boldness. Add insane strategies, and you were unstoppable.

Despite Fernando being your close rival on track, he was way too busy beefing with Lewis, his surprisingly great rookie teammate.

During summer break that year, you were on a trip to Brazil with Ricardo, but still, the night of July 29th, you got up at two a.m., slowly went to the fridge, where you got an ice cream pint. With a spoon, you sat on the handrail in the balcony, and watched the waves breaking on the beach a few meters away.

It was weird keeping the ice cream tradition alone, but you supposed it was even weirder not keeping the tradition. Staring at the stars, you wondered if Fernando had any ice cream to celebrate his birthday that day.

“Hi,” you heard Ricardo behind you, his hands sneaking around your middle and he hugged you from behind, laying his head against your shoulder, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, just wanted a little treat,” you mumbled, closing the lid on the ice cream, because a selfish part of you didn’t want to share the tradition with anyone other than Fernando. It was silly and stupid, and still… you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You put the ice cream back in the freezer and smiled at Ricardo as he pulled you into his arms and carried you back to bed.

You came back from summer break with a renewed sense of focus. Deep down you knew that was your season. Your season to become world champion, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. As you won the first two races after summer, you became first in the standings, this sense of purpose being the one thing motivating you every weekend to give your best.

It was Interlagos that year when you needed only a podium to become World Champion, pretty much the same as Fernando two years before. The race was tough, and it felt like Fernando was out to get you, especially in a moment right in the middle of the race, when you were behind him in P3 and he tried to brake test you again, but this time you were quick to react, avoiding his rear and using his own dirty trick against him, turning sharply to overtake him from outer side, moving past him fast enough to gain some precious couple of seconds.

After that, you managed to smoothly overtake the P1 with a carefully planned pit stop that allowed you to come out first. Later on, you saw a crash, nothing too bad, but you found out it was Fernando and Webber.

“Are they ok?” You asked via radio to your engineer.

“Yes, they are already back on the pitlane.”

You sighed and focused back to your race, keeping your P1 safe, and going smoothly to take the checkered flag.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You’re a Formula One World Champion!”

You felt the tears coming down and dampening your balaclava, as you took one last lap to parc ferme, waving at the crowd that went insane.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from your chest. Because you were now world champion. You were there, and you deserved to be there, among the best. You didn’t need to prove yourself anymore, and you had finally paid Flavio back.

You jumped out of the car straight into your team, jumping with them, and Flavio ran up to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Jenson also found you and hugged you firmly, patting your back and Nico also hugged you, both of them were on the podium with you.

As you looked down from the podium, with a watery, emotional smile, you saw your dad crying like a baby and clapping his hands. Unconsciously, your eyes looked for Fernando, silly hoping it mattered something to him, that at least in the name of your former friendship, he would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen, and you felt like that was another nail in the coffin of your friendship.

Deciding to forget it, you drank champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as both Nico and Jenson paired up to drown you in champagne, looking happy for you.

After talking to your mom on the phone, you stood up, taking your bag and going out to look for your dad. You didn’t make it very far, as you came out in the hallway, you found Fernando, leaning against the wall. You paused, looking up to him while your heartbeat went up.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered. And you wanted to believe it really badly, but thinking about him brake testing you during the race, trying to take you out, made you roll your eyes at him.

“Sure, you are,” you said sarcastically. He shook his head and clicked his tongue, like he was disappointed you didn’t believe him, “my debt is over now.”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“I just paid Flavio for his investment,” you explained, “I’m not just here because you asked him to support me, I’m a damn great driver. I’m here because I deserve it, not because you took me out of pity.”

Fernando stared at you completely shocked at your words, something painful stabbing at his chest. He never thought you’d think like that over disgusting words he said in a moment of anger. Words that never meant anything to him, that he didn’t even believe in himself. The hurt in your eyes was the same from the day he said the words, when you cried looking into his eyes and telling him he was dead to you.

You walked past him and away. He wanted to shout that he never meant those words, that you were so much more, so much better. But you just left. Fernando followed you outside, trying to catch you and explain himself, maybe fix things between you, making peace.

But as he got outside, he paused, seeing you jumping in your boyfriend’s arms, laughing at something he whispered to you. Fernando swallowed, closing his fist and jealousy burned through his limbs, with such force that it felt like a fever.

Right after the Brazilian Grand Prix, Ferrari got in touch with you, offering a two year contract to become teammates with Kimi Raikkonen and drive for what was one of, if not the most classic team in Formula 1. After negotiations, it was a no brainer. You didn’t owe Renault anything any more. And that’s what propelled you to meet with Flavio that winter break in a cafeteria in Monaco. When you had called, he said he wanted to talk to you about something, which was convenient.

After pleasantries and small talk, you were ready to start, but Flavio cut you off without noticing.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, carefully, “Fernando is coming back to Renault next year.”

You froze for a second, not wanting to think too much about the implications of that. The fact that Flavio was willing to force you and Fernando to be teammates again even after the catastrophic ending you had before. Sighing, you covered your face for a second.

“I know you have reservations, but I’ve talked with Fernando and he’s willing to-”

“I’m going to Ferrari.”

And Flavio understood, after talking for a while. He knew Ferrari was most drivers' ultimate dream, and you weren’t immune to that either. Unfortunately for you, Fernando released the news he was going back to Renault a week before Ferrari announced you, and the media had a field day with that, tabloids and media outlets doing numbers of articles about you avoiding being teammates with Fernando again, since he was coming back and you were conveniently leaving almost at the same time.

Your races with Fernando kept being dangerous, one always trying to one up the other, dangerous moves and overtakes, close calls of crashing into each other, and more and more jabs publicly. The attacks at each other never stopped, and the media seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it ever so often.

One occasion, you were going for a win, and the only thing between you and that damn P1 was Fernando Alonso. So you kept your P2, biding your time as you tried to close the gap, leaving your chance at overtaking for the last few laps. When a fast turn came, you advanced, overtaking him, Fernando tried to defend his position, but you were getting the lead, and both of you were in high speed. Someone had to back out, otherwise you two would crash. But you were feeding off of anger and hurt, and you didn’t back down well into the turn, but suddenly, Fernando slowed down, giving up defending. You took the P1 and after a few laps, the checkered flag. You knew on the podium that Fernando was seething, his face didn’t hide that. Later, at an interview, someone brought up the dirty move.

“So, a very dangerous move at turn 2 during lap 47, no?” The reporter asked, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I thought it was a pretty common battle, no?” You said, a condescending tone imitating him.

“Well, it could’ve caused you both to crash.”

“I took a risk, either I would pass and win, or we would both crash and DNF. Alonso was wise and went for the safest option.” I gave the reporter a fake smile.

You knew that answer would piss Fernando off, and a part of you knew he deserved it. Sometimes you acted on pure rage and pettiness, feral and way more aggressive against Fernando on track than you really needed to be. But he just pissed you off. Walking around with his model girlfriend, his attacks at your racing abilities, his pretty eyes that always seemed to find yours at the most inconvenient times.

Then, the race weekend would end, and everything that was left was shame. Your burning shame every time your mom’s eyes shone when she asked about Fernando, hoping you two would have made peace. You, looking away from her face every time you told her you knew nothing about Alonso because you didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

Later that year, after your two year anniversary with Ricardo, you accidentally found a ring box in his suitcase. A proposal ring, a beautiful big diamond ring, probably worth a small fortune. And you tried to feel happy about it, but you could only find dread in your heart. Despite loving Ricardo, you knew you didn’t love him as much as you could. And certainly not as much as she loved you. You didn’t love him as much as you loved-

Closing your eyes, you also closed your heart, and after that just like the coward you were, you broke up with Ricardo the kindest way you could. He was confused, because your relationship was tranquil, without many problems. It broke your heart to break his heart, but you couldn’t lead him on, you knew Ricardo was husband material, and the earlier you let him go, the earlier he would find his true happiness.

Ultimately, you decided to only pursue love after your Formula One career. Having a bit of fun here and there, and a couple of casual relationships even with other drivers, but nothing serious or public. When you found out Fernando was single again, a flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but when you saw him go back to his playboy ways… It died down.

Sometimes you would dream of a different life, of one you never lost your best friend… or even better, one that you never had to suppress the love you felt for him. And sometimes it felt too much, like all this love was just filling up your hollow heart, filling up until it overflowed, until you felt like you were drowning in it, because there was nowhere for this love to go. And you wondered, what do I do with this love, there's no one to give it to, there's no recipient to put it. So you would just ground your teeth and bear it, holding onto anger because that much love, that much longing did nothing but cause you pain.

Every time someone mentioned him outside race weeks, you felt ashamed.

Despite being in a top team like Ferrari, you’d only get a few wins, and some podiums here and there, so it wasn’t like you didn’t achieve anything. But you were a woman so it was obviously not enough, and the media started questioning your career and your place in Formula One.

After two years of you driving for Ferrari, Domenicalli, your team principal, sat you down to let you know Fernando Alonso would be joining the team the next year, and you bit the inside of your cheek, considering just retiring. The criticism was getting to you, and the perspective of living hell with Fernando as your teammate was a broken heart all over again.

When an opportunity arose to drive for Red Bull Racing, with a two year contract, you didn’t think twice before accepting. It would be your chance to turn the tide in your career.

It sent the motorsport world into a frenzy when your new team announced you and a week later Ferrari announced Fernando as their future driver. The same narrative of you running away from him was passed ahead. And of course, it got to the paddock. Most drivers that were close to you actually congratulated you, but of course, nothing was ever good for Fernando. And despite not fully talking to him, he was always willing to throw a mean comment at you any given day.

“And people said you’re washed” Fernando said right after the news broke, the second to last race of that season, his voice dripping with venom. You knew it was a backhanded compliment, he always did that when he wanted to get a rise out of you. He smirked, waiting for your feral clapback, as you always had one on the tip of your tongue.

But when he looked back at you, your face was stony, and you were looking ahead with your chin raised. You didn’t even look at Fernando, nor answered his taunting. You pretended he wasn’t there but he noticed your eyes were misty.

That had been a low blow, even for him. He didn’t know shit about your feelings regarding your career, but he knew exactly how the world had been treating it, and it made you burn with shame that he could add insult to injury this easily. You wondered why he would say something like that if, just like you, it had been years since the last time he was champion of the world. Two years pushing yourself to the maximum so you could achieve your second championship.

Fernando had been your best friend for so long, he knew exactly what buttons to push when he wanted to hurt you.

When someone else arrived, greeting you, you cleared your throat briefly before answering and plastering a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Are you running away from me?” Fernando cornered you later that same day.

“What?” You paused.

“I went back to Renault and you left, now I’m going to Ferrari and you’re leaving,” he shrugged. You scoffed.

“I’m not sure if you know, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Fernando.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Fernando paused for a second, his eyes searching yours, he looked vulnerable, open like he hadn’t been in so long. He looked every bit your best friend from years before.

“I miss you, I-” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I miss the old you,” You swallowed a whole bunch of your pride just to be able to say those words.

“Things are different now…” Fernando started, his eyes full of hoping, of longing, “We could- maybe we could-”

“Fernando, we’re too far gone, what we said- what we did…” You muttered, feeling a lump in your throat, “how do one come back from that?”

“We could restart. Try again-”

“You lost me forever that day, Fernando.” You muttered, the tears holding on to your eyelashes. You didn’t need to specify the day, he knew, he had seen in your eyes the moment he lost you, “I spent so long hearing your voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t good enough, I shouldn’t be here, and I- I hated you that day. And I had to hold onto this hate, because the alternative was overwhelming sadness.”

There was a numbing silence for a couple of minutes, as you stared down at your own feet, trying to stop all the feelings you spent years carefully locking away from breaking free. So much had happened, you believed you and Fernando were too far to recover now.

“I’m a woman here, the first and only woman in so long, and the whole world was against me. You have no idea how it felt that my best friend, the person I trusted the most, was also against me,” You shook your head, feeling the tears drop.

“I’m sorry, Nena… I’ve never- I’ve never meant any of that.” He muttered, and you didn’t look at him to see if he was being genuine. You had formed walls around your heart to protect yourself from heartbreak, and you now had a hard time believing him.

“There are some things… that are not meant to be.” You didn’t look back at Fernando after you said that, choosing to walk away with this broken heart feeling ever present.

It was hard to keep going everyday. You had always faced backlash for being a woman in Formula 1, and you were used to it. But the media took a turn over the next few years. When you didn’t win more championships, when years passed and you were still there, along with other champions and future champions. They started to call you old, washed, telling you to retire and placing bets on when you’d lose your seat. It was baffling because it had been six years since your championship, but it had been seven years since Fernando’s, but still, you were the only one whose spot was questioned all the time. It was unfair, and whenever they came up to you talking about it, you’d ask them if they’d ask the same to older drivers or other champions. They would leave you alone for a week and then come back stronger, ready to throw your whole career under the bus.

Finally, you got another chance at the championship in 2013, after an unbelievable start of the season with five consecutive wins. That had put you first in the standings for the championship, and from there on, your team molded the season around you. Smooth sailing through the season, you became world champion in Suzuka, way too far ahead in the championship to anyone be able to catch up to you.

When you stood on the podium that night, you cried happy tears. You had once again proved wrong years of demerit from the world. As you looked down to search for your family, your eyes found Fernando right beside them, a proud, emotional look on his face as he kept a hand over his heart, listening to your national anthem.

He nodded at you with a small smile, and a part of you healed a little bit.

You enjoyed a couple of days of pure bliss after becoming world champion. Parties, celebrations and trips, they were all you did for the next few weeks.

When the FIA Prize Giving ceremony came, you had another bombshell to drop at the world. You were the most stunning you ever felt that year when you arrived at the ceremony, in a beautiful dark blue dress with little crystals all over the bodice, a beautiful hairstyle and even more beautiful makeup. Never in your entire career in Formula 1, you had felt so fulfilled, so happy.

Hearing your name being called as the winner, the number one, was different this time, and had much more weight, and it made your heart burst with happiness. As you walked up the stairs to the stage, receiving your trophy, you stopped by the mic.

“Thank you so much. I’d like to thank my family for supporting me from the beginning, my team for making the perfect season, and the perfect car for me to be able to achieve this. I’d like to thank all my teammates that, in one way or another, taught me some valuable lessons as a racer. Thanks to Flavio for taking a chance on my career when probably no one else would.” You said, with a smile. You took a good look around, all the people in this sport who made Formula 1 the most important category of motorsport, all your peers, all the teams. “I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1, as of right now.”

There was a wave of shock and loud gasps in the whole room, flashes and flashes bulbing harder than before, journalists scrambling to take notes… But you kept smiling, hand firm around your trophy as you let the news settle down before speaking again.

“In 2007 I wanted to pay Flavio back for giving me the opportunity to be here today. That debt was paid that same year. After that year I wanted to win for myself, to write my name in the history books, and my dream is now realized. I feel like I should move on and make space for new upcoming talents.” Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, but you smiled, the first genuine smile in a few years.

Fernando felt his heart drop at your words. Things weren’t supposed to go like this, you two should be best friends, drive together, retire together. Go down in history together.

“I’m grateful for everything this sport provided me, the adventures, traveling around the world, the people I met and the people I lost,” there was a calm pause, and Fernando wondered if you were talking about him too, “Now it’s time to go and achieve new dreams. Thank you very much.”

You turned around and walked away under the applause.

Later, after the ceremony was done, you were getting ready to leave when Fernando came to find you. He was dressed in a beautiful suit, looking like a million dollar man.

“Nena…”

It made you pause. It had been a while since he called you like that with that specific tone.

“What? Came here to gloat?” You couldn’t help but be defensive, worried.

“What?”

“I knew you’d be one of the happiest when I retired.”

“No, I would not-”

“You would, Fernando. You did. Many times you said I was done, that my prime was over, that I should retire…”

“I never thought you’d easily give up!” He shouted at you, “Like you did in 2006, not competing against me.”

“That’s because they didn’t let me compete! Do you think I couldn’t have competed with you back in ‘06? I could, but every time, they would tell me to back off, to let you pass, to not fight you, to not overtake you-” You threw at his face, because you wouldn’t stand there and let him look down on you like that. You refused to back down now that you were finally free. “Pat threatened my seat if disobeyed team orders.”

“What?! Why did you never tell me that?” Fernando looked shocked. His fighting stance was completely gone now.

“You were going to be World Champion again. I would never take that from you,” You whispered, voice failing.

“Nena…” He said, like he wanted to drop everything. “Please, don’t leave. If Red Bull don’t want you, you can find another spot with another team, we can think of something.”

“Fernando, I’m not leaving because the team doesn't want me. In fact, they offered me a 3 year extension.”

“That’s not how it was supposed to go, remember? We planned that-” His voice was kinder than it had been to you in many years, “We would go down in history together. Win together, retire together.”

“When push comes to shove, only one wins… We learned that the hard way.” I say, with a sad smile, “Life doesn’t always go as planned. And I got everything I could ever want from Formula 1. Now it’s time for new stuff.”

“What new stuff?”

“I want to have a family, Fernando. People don’t stick around long for this lifestyle, you know that-” You shook your head.

With one last look at Fernando, your eyes watered, and you walked away.

Sitting on the porch, you looked up at the sky, thinking of what’s next for you. It had been months since you announced your retirement from Formula 1. The new season had already begun. It was your birthday, a refreshing new one.

You heard steps coming closer and your heartbeat sped up as you saw Fernando walking up to you. He sat down by your side, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He handed one to you and in silence, you started eating ice cream.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Was it hard to find me?” You asked, with a tentative smile.

“It only took me my whole life to find you again…” He said, wistfully, his eyes shining under moonlight and you didn’t know if those were unshed tears or not, “my best friend, my nena, my girl…”

“I’ve always been here. Right here.” You said, eyes watering. You weren’t sure you could explain what that here meant, but somehow you knew he would understand.

Fernando took your hand, gently placing it on his chest, right above his heart.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing his hand above yours, over his beating heart, “you were always here.”

Then, he kissed you. For the first time in more than a decade, for what felt like the first time for both of you. As his other hand pulled you closer, the kiss deepened, like a prayer and a promise. Both of you knew there was a lot of resentment to navigate through, and a lot of feelings you’d both have to unravel and understand. But there was one thing that was always there, through hate, anger and hurt… And it was love, unshaken, steadfast love.

As you broke apart, Fernando pulled you into him, hugging you tight for a few minutes, before pulling away to hold your face with both hands, his eyes looking into yours with so much devotion it melted everything away.

“We will be alright.”

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lordmartiya · 6 months ago

Text

Unexpected Guest

Hi, @professorducc, I'm your Secret Santa for @mlsecretsanta. Here's my gift to you, the story Unexpected Guest.

Marinette didn’t understand what was happening, and most importantly why. It wasn’t unusual when Lila was involved, but this time it was far more than usual. “Why?” she asked to the brunette now helping her pack. “You’re going to be a guest, and that means for the time being you’re basically family I can have dirty thoughts about.” Lila replied. “Simple as that.” “Yes, but-dirty thoughts?!” “In case nobody told you, you’re hot. An annoying santarellina that doesn’t know how to pick her battles, but a hot one.” “If that’s your idea of flirting, it’s not working.” Marinette replied, telling herself the heat she was feeling in her cheeks was from embarrassment. “And I mean why you’re taking me in while-while…” “That’s my mother’s idea. I guess it paints the embassy better, the consul helping the granddaughter of an Italian citizen in her time of need. And for what is worth, I hope your parents recover and someone finds that driver and feeds them their own license.” That was the problem. Her parents had been hospitalized after being hit by a car, and with Nonna Gina being around the world and her grandfather legally inelegible due what he called “the stupidest thing I ever did” Lila’s mother, the consul and acting head of the Italian embassy until Papillon was dealt with and the French government came back with the ambassadors and the nuclear codes, had stepped in, taken over guardianship for the time being, and was having her move at her home on the other side of Place des Vosges.

“This is the guest room, and here the current Wi-Fi codes and how to get through the security jamming. Once you’ve used them throw the paper in the incinerator chute.” Lila said after showing the rest of the apartment to her new roommate and handing her the passwords for the week. “If you need any help, you only have to ask.” “The what chute?” Marinette asked. Of course, she had no idea how diplomats’ family lived. “Welcome to the world of diplomacy, full of secrets to be kept through lies, deception, and even destruction at times. It’s one absurd world, to the point I have no idea if my mother was joking when she told me of the Japanese “troubleshooter”, if you get what I mean, that poses as a diplomat and always wears a plushie rabbit mask – though if I actually see him, I’m leaving before he starts weaponizing macarons and firing lasers from the eyes.” Marinette was bewildered. Good, the phantomatic Usagi-sensei would keep her mind off the event long enough to get Alya her security clearance and get inspected to visit her friend.

“You had to get a security clearance?!” Marinette asked her best friend once she arrived. “Yeah… Fingerprints, a background check… And then they checked me and the package as if we were suspicious at an American airport, only they didn’t assume I was guilty until proven otherwise.” Alya confirmed. “They even complimented me for the brand of bug detector.” “Just… Let’s use it, I’m not trusting Lila until I verified she hasn’t bugged the room.” Turned out Lila had bugged the room. As in she had put a single bedbug-shaped listening device on the desk, near its receiver and a note saying “Satisfied?”. “What is she planning?” Marinette wondered. “Maybe nothing? I mean, she’s actually doing what she said she’d do.” Alya pointed out. “And if she had bad intentions, she’d have already stolen the Box. Marinette had no counter to that. Maybe she was actually being sincere. She could even ask her what her grandfather’s problem was, if the security was like that then it was likely on file.

“Sorry, what?” “Your grandfather got arrested with a fascist group that was preparing a coup over EU membership.” Lila explained, having seen too much weird stuff like that to bat an eye at what she had just read. “Apparently it was more a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time so he got a suspended sentence, but he still followed a friend there and thought what they said made sense to him until they started talking of armed action and it made rethink his life. Still better than my great-granduncle.” Lila didn’t really want to share that, but Marinette was a guest and someone she admired and she wasn’t letting her in the dumps for her grandfather having been an idiot. “What did he do?” Marinette asked, taking the bait. “Officially? Nothing, he was just the podestà of Brescello until 1945. But if you read between the lines, you’ll get why right after the war the town’s archpriest and the local Communist leader ran him out of town. But I hope you aren’t assuming that person’s actions decide who I am, just like Roland Dupain’s idiocy doesn’t decide who you are.” Marinette could read between the lines. Her expressions made clear she didn’t know what a podestà was in context, but an archpriest and a Communist leader running someone out of town back then said more than enough. And her guest got the message. That was enough for Lila, who grabbed her copy of one of the old spirit cultivation texts Chloè found, hoping that her study would help her in her attempt to settle the score with Ladybug.

Marinette had thought to stalk Lila. She had been acting weird, and with everything that had happened in their past she decided to find what her cute host was up to. She had not been expecting to track her and Chloè to a catacomb right on the city’s Dragon Vein (or ley line, as they were called by Western mysticists) – and tapping into it with a Wellspring. A place perfect for all types of Spirit Cultivation, to the point that if she had access to this “La Plage”, as they had named the catacomb, she’d have broken through and obtained unrestricted use of a Miraculous months ago. Still, she first had to ask one thing: “Where’s Sabrina?” “Certainly not in a section of the Catacombs closed to the public.” replied Chloè. “You think I’d bring the daughter of an archer here?” Right, stupid question. “What does archery have to do with this?” Lila asked. “That’s what we call our cops.” Chloè answered before turning to Marinette. “As for you, what are you doing here?” “I… I was just curious, Lila acted so weird and-” “Ugh! Don’t tell me that Andrè’s orange and green ice cream was actually a sign!” “No!” came the denial, with Marinette wondering why she felt her cheeks heating up just as she looked for something, ANYTHING to distract the blonde and the (pleased?! Seriously?!) Italian. Wait. The Wellspring! “By the way-“ “Don’t change topic.” Lila interrupted. “I’ve heard about the ice cream, but it seems there’s more about it than I thought.” “That can wait, Dupain-Cheng’s distractions are always useful.” Chloè pointed out. “I take you were talking of the Odic Magnet?” Marinette would later learn her scream of horror started a new legend about the Catacombs. “You went by a biomagnetism design?!” she whispered in horror. “So?” Marinette didn’t answer. She just pulled her phone (somehow that area had excellent reception) and called Big Sister Fei. She was the single best Cultivation expert Marinette knew of, and she wasn’t going to let the two accidentally give themselves the same kind of imbalanced qi-induced insanity that by now Paris’ favorite terrorist had to be in the grip of.

Lila didn’t like being in debt. That was why she had resolved to find a way to repay Marinette for saving her sanity and possibly soul. And while normally she’d be happy for a chance, this was just too weird. “Ch’hai detto?” Lila asked, slipping in her native Romanesco dialect from the surprise. Luckily, it was very close to standard Italian and her interlocutor was fluent in that. “I said, this is the perfect chance to deal with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Gabriel repeated. “She’s weak and vulnerable, and you are in the perfect position to insure she won’t recover.” “With all due respect” that is none at all “she’s become inoffensive. Wouldn’t be more practical to make her an ally?” “I’m not taking risks. Finish her off. Frame her for theft, or something. Make sure she won’t have the ability to corrupt Adrien, your job depends on it.” “Very well. I know what to do.”

Marinette couldn’t believe what she was hearing in Lila’s recording. Neither could Adrien. “How did you record this? Father has a jammer in his atelier.” he pointed out. “Tape recorder, too primitive to be affected.” Lila replied. Her recorder did look weird… But if Gabriel was doing this – “And before you ask, he’s got nothing to do with the crash, mom checked.” “Now what?!” Marinette shouted. “If he hates me, he will-“ “He will un cazzo.” Lila hissed as she put her hand on Marinette’s. Something she found oddly comforting. “This isn’t about planning a counterattack, it’s about planning how to deal with the aftermath once the Caramba have Carambed him.” “What?” Adrien asked. Marinette, on the other hand, understood Italian slang enough to realize what would happen. Though she wondered if it was legal. Then Lila’s phone signaled it had received something. And once she looked it, she laughed Volpina’s laugh. “Well, they Carambed him faster than expected.” she said as she forwarded the message. “Did you know I have Ladybug’s number?” Marinette knew, she had given it right after Chamele-oh. Oh, no. “Marinette, why are your earrings flashing?” Lila asked.

“So, let’s resume everything.” Lila said once the consequences of the Carabinieri detachment of the embassy putting Agreste Manor under full surveillance and catching a charged Akuma coming out had unfolded. “Gabby was Le Papillon, his minion Mayura, and they started hunting the Miraculous down to revive Adrien’s mom after she got nearly killed by a broken Miraculous and it didn’t dawn on them they could just Akumatize Adrien, who’s also Chat Noir and a Sentimonster because in his own words “adoption is for peasants”, with the right powers to do the job rather than alter the fabric of the universe. Something we’ve proven is possible by giving the Butterfly Miraculous to this Socqueline so that she could have you heal your parents and then have Adrien heal the minion and his mom – who the police are currently holding for questioning about a few weird incidents.” “Yes.” Marinette confirmed, her face indecifrable. “You are also Ladybug, and the whole reason of the initial accident is that back then Adrien’s involvement in anything made you lose more braincells than Alya did back then when Ladybug was involved.” “Yes.” “You have some explaining to do. Seriously, why did YOU wear such a plain” and sexy “costume?! I thought you couldn’t possibly be Ladybug because you have a fashion sense, and she obviously didn’t!” Marinette’s face showed her relief. The fool. She had only a few days before she got back home, and Lila was going to tease the everliving everything out of her new romantic target friend while she could. She didn’t know what the future held, but it was clearly brighter than either of them expected.

Author notes

There’s an Easter egg in this story. Yes, I did what I did. No, I’m not telling you what I did. But if you got it you’re probably laughing your ass off. Lately I got interested in the Spirit Cultivation genre, that draws heavily on Daoism… And as it happens, the show in general and the Chinese Miraculous Box in particular are easily tied to it, allowing me to actually fill the gigantic plot holes of Lila and Chloè’s character arcs: in the effort to get the power to survive the perceived threats they Cultivated themselves into villainy, with Chloè becoming more selfish and Lila getting so engrossed in her lies she thought it was a good idea to create multiple fake identities (and achieving the magical bullshitting power to convince two women she’s their daughter). I also had fun getting in some Vitalist idea to connect.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #lilanette #lila rossi #miraculous lb #marinette dupain-cheng #ladybug #tales of ladybug and chat noir #lilarossi #ml secret santa #mlss2k24 #professorducc

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techav · 20 days ago

Text

On Major Milestones

I left off previously with init immediately crashing when trying to run NetBSD on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. I was completely lost and didn't know where to start looking. The error code it gave, 11, didn't tell me much.

Until now, most error codes I've gotten have been defined in kernel errno.h, which has 11 defined as:

EDEADLK 11 /* Resource deadlock avoided */

That … also isn't helpful. I'm still not entirely sure what that means, but since this is process 1 we're dealing with, I didn't think it was relevant.

Finally, I was able to find someone who had encountered the same error six years ago. Helpful soul [Martin] explained the exact cause of the error, how to fix it, and why the kernel errno didn't line up:

I'm running a NetBSD live disk on a laptop as a test host, so I mounted my disk on it and spent some time with mknod adding the essential device nodes, referencing the "majors" file for my arch. Sure enough, on next boot it skipped right past the point it had been panicking. It worked for a bit then finally printed on the console:

Enter pathname o

Enter pathname of what? The machine appeared frozen. Nothing further printed, and it responded to no input.

I was afraid this would happen. That string is 16 characters. The 16C55x UART chips I'm using have a 16-byte buffer. The system is hung up waiting for the UART to interrupt to indicate it has finished transmitting everything in its buffer.

There's just one problem — I don't have any serial interrupts wired.

I have a confession to make. Until a few weeks ago when I got my timer working, I hadn't really worked with hardware interrupts before. So between a limited understanding of how to use them effectively and limited board space, I had omitted the interrupt signals from my 8-port serial card. This was now a Problem, and I was going to have to find a solution.

I had a few options:

Force the com driver to 8250 mode so it doesn't try to use the buffers

Use my timer interrupt to check status bits on the UARTs and fake the interrupts

Deadbug an interrupt handler onto my serial card

Respin the serial card

Option 4 would've been expensive and risked passing my deadline. I wasn't sure option 1 would even help. And option 3 would have been difficult and error-prone. I decided option 2 would be the way to go so I set about researching how to accomplish it

I spent a few hours digging through the com driver. In the process I found softintr(9), a native NetBSD software interrupt process that looked like just the thing I needed. Digging in a little deeper, I realized that the com driver was already using softintr. And then I realized all it needed to do polled mode serial ports instead of interrupt-driven was to set a single variable, sc_poll_ticks, before initializing the driver. It's such a simple thing, but it's not really documented anywhere I could find, so the only way to know it was even an option was to spend hours studying the code.

With that in place, I recompiled my kernel and tried again.

It was asking for a shell. This is promising. I accepted the default shell, /bin/sh, and waited a moment. It printed a single #.

I had a shell prompt.

I typed in the first thing that came to mind, echo "hellorld" (thanks, [Usagi]). It responded:

hellorld

and printed another # prompt.

I had a working shell.

This is a major milestone. I have a modern operating system kernel loaded and running on my homebrew computer, and I have a functional root shell. I can navigate disk directories and run commands and programs.

But only as root, and only on this one console. I have seven other serial ports I want terminals on, and I certainly don't want them all running as root.

What it's running here is single-user mode. It is just the kernel and a few core services, somewhat analogous to Safe Mode in Windows. It's a fall-back for setting up or repairing a system. It's not quite the full operating system just yet.

Getting the rest of the operating system up and running is going to be a significant task, on par with getting just the kernel running. Setting up a working Unix system from scratch is not easy. It requires a lot of detailed knowledge of the various programs and libraries and config files scattered across the disk. For a sense of scale, the AT&T Unix System V manual was over 1100 pages, plus an 800 page programmer's guide and a handful of other manuals … and that was 40 years ago. That's a lot of specialized knowledge that I don't really have.

But still, this is something I've wanted to do for years and after countless hours of work, I finally have a glimpse of what it can look like. I have a lot to learn and a lot of work to do yet, but I'm certain I can figure it out.

I'm still hoping I can get this running multi-user on all those terminals in time for VCF Southwest in June. The show is just a few weeks away and I have a lot of work to do.

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crazycurly-77 · 3 months ago

Text

Deadly Countdown - Chapter 7

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, some violence

This is written in the style of the Series 24.

Everything you read occurs in real time.

What happened in the last chapter:

The kidnapper carried out his threat and hit Gibbs at his most vulnerable point: he injured Palmer and you were not only seriously injured, but also kidnapped.

Hour 7 of 12: 02:00 pm - 03:00 pm

02:04:10 pm

NCIS HQ, Washington DC:

After visiting Ducky, Gibbs and a crestfallen Palmer returned to the bullpen. Jimmy had some work to do at the autopsy, but Jethro needed to know everything. Every little detail that could lead him to Abby and to you, which is why he was so keen to question the young doctor.

But as soon as they reached the third floor, Gibbs' cell phone rang. Your name was on the display, and a brief glimmer of hope rose in him, but it was quickly and mercilessly destroyed by the caller.

"Gibbs," he answered briefly.

A short, mocking laugh followed. Then a male voice spoke: "Still haven't learned any manners, I hear. But okay, I can do that too. My name is Galileo, and yes, that's not my real name. I just have a quick message for you: Your little girlfriend is now in my care. She's a little bruised, but I'll nurse her back to health if she's nice to me."

"Don't you dare..." Gibbs yelled into the phone, but the kidnapper couldn't hear him anymore, as he had already hung up and turned off the device.

The sound of an engine could be heard in the background. That meant they were still on their way. Gibbs requested that the call be traced in the hope that the cell towers could be used to determine where the call came from.

But unfortunately, the location of the call couldn't be narrowed down any further than the harbor.

The poor technician had done his best, but he received the full wrath of the boss, who lost his temper and yelled at him: "Do you even know what you're doing? Are you even capable of doing your job or are you simply incompetent?!"

"Uhm..." The poor fellow shrank more and more under Gibbs's fury, who was capable of anything in this state.

"Boss...it's not his fault," Tony said gently, trying to calm him down.

None of his colleagues had ever seen Gibbs so emotional and lose his composure. But DiNozzo reached him, so Jethro let the poor man off the hook and went to get a coffee.

The coffee helped him think, but it also gave Gibbs a chance to regain control.

Tony watched him go and spoke quietly and thoughtfully to Palmer: "By kidnapping Y/N, the criminal signed his death warrant."

Jimmy looked at him, shocked, but after what he'd just observed, he agreed.

When Gibbs returned with a coffee mug, he'd gotten himself under control again, but his mood was terrible and his nerves were frayed.

But he had a few ideas. With a short "DiNozzo," he turned to him: "Get me the surveillance videos of the crossing."

"Yes, boss."

"Did anyone see anything?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"No, boss," came the prompt reply. "The pedestrians were distracted by an acrobat juggling at the crossing."

"I just thought of something and I'm sorry I didn't think of it before," Palmer said hesitantly.

Gibbs just looked at him sternly and waited for the medic to continue.

When he remained silent, the boss demanded: "What?"

"Oh, yeah, right. I heard a name. I heard the driver yelled at: "Step on it, Da Vinci!"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes in thoughtfully...another great explorer as a code name...that couldn't be a coincidence.

His gut feeling told him that the mastermind behind the whole thing was an admirer of these personalities, or at least of great explorers in world history.

02:40:07 pm

At the hideout:

Satisfied with their raid, Galileo and Da Vinci arrived at their hideout with their loot.

"Take her to Ms. Sciuto and tie and gag her if she wakes up," Galileo instructed his assistant. Da Vinci nodded, lifted you out of the van, and took you to the back room where Abby was sitting tied to a chair.

He had growing concerns about his boss's sanity and motives, but it was already too late to back out.

With a thoughtful sigh, he sat you on the chair next to Abby. He bound and gagged you and carefully tended to your head wound. This blow was way too much for him, and he hoped you'd only suffer a bump and a headache.

Abby was still too dazed to really notice anything, but she could vaguely see a figure sitting next to her. Who could that be?

...02:56:12 pm...5 hours until the explosion…

-----------------------------------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story.

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

Back to the alternative Masterlist

-----------------------------------------

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

-----------------------------------------

#ncis #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs #jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis fanfiction #gibbs fanfiction #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs fanfiction #ncis x you #ncis x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x you #leroy jethro gibbs fanfiction #gibbs x you #jethro gibbs x you

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 1 year ago

Text

The Sticks

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 2015

Summary: Wanda needs a favor

A/N: I've been reading too many books about the mafia

Warnings: angst, fluff, minimal violence

You were surprised when Wanda called you only an hour after she left for work. You had been under the impression that she would be too busy to think, let alone take the time to reach out. She’d been working on something big recently, and despite not knowing details, you’d been able to see how it was taking a toll on Wanda.

Whenever she got the chance to lie down for more than a few minutes, she was hardly sleeping. She was drinking more, and not just caffeine either. You were certain that if whatever she was working on didn’t wrap up soon, there would be long term consequences.

You weren’t working because it was Sunday, so when your phone rings only a few minutes after you sit down in front of the television with Boone curled up near your feet, you frown. You stretch over your dog to grab the device and your eyes widen when you see your wife calling. You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Wanda? What’s up?”

You listen carefully as Wanda tells you why she’s calling. Something’s gone wrong and when you can hear the frustration in her voice, you can’t help but wonder who’s going to be fired, or worse, for this.

“I have an extra copy in the large safe. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

You know for a fact that this is the truth. Wanda’s never asked you to help her with her work before. Even if it was something as insignificant as fetching some documents and delivering them to her, she prefers to have you as far away from her job as possible. You frown at the idea of having to do something like this, but Wanda seems to hear your reluctance through the phone.

“I have someone coming to pick you up, and then someone else will bring the folder to me.”

You wonder why your presence is even necessary. Why can’t you just give the driver the papers and have them deliver them to Wanda? You can’t help but ask this and you hear Wanda begin to sigh before she catches herself. She knows that she’s asking a huge favor and that she needs to be patient. She also needs to convince you that you won’t have to do anything other than play courier.

“No one can see what’s in there. I trust you, Y/n.”

Any hope you had of denying Wanda disappears with her confession and you hold back a sigh as you stand up and roll your shoulders.

“Okay, I need to change, but then I’ll be ready.”

You look down at your dog as you step over him to head to the stairs. Wanda’s thanking you and promising that your ride will be there soon before she hangs up to leave you both to fret about what you’ve just agreed to do. You aren’t surprised that Boone follows you upstairs as you stare at the closet and try to figure out what to wear. You’re not getting out of the car, but you figure you need to look a little more put together than you currently do. Even if it’s just for your driver’s sake.

You throw on a long sleeve shirt and a jacket since it’s fairly cold out. You’re zipping up your jeans when you hear Boone run back downstairs. You figure your ride is here, and you hurry to the spare bedroom that has the ‘large safe’ where you’re hoping you’ll be able to find this supposed red file folder easily.

You hear Boone bark downstairs and you curse as you open the closet and push aside the clothes that hang in front of you. You search for the back wall, and carefully push it to the side to reveal the safe room that Wanda had put in when you were out of town one weekend. She tries to never mention that you have one of these at home because she’s paranoid and doesn’t want anyone to go looking for it. As soon as she said ‘large safe’, you knew what she was referring to. You have one safe in the bedroom and then another on the third floor that you don’t use at all. You’re not even sure if you know the codes, but you honestly don’t mind.

You search your memory for the code to open the room, and get it wrong once before you hear the heavy door unlock. You step back out of habit before the door opens wide enough for you to sneak through. You look around for a moment before you figure out where Wanda keeps some of her secrets. You ignore the many weapons that are at least behind another lock before you set your sights on the desk tucked away in the corner. You’re grateful that the folder is exactly where Wanda said it would be, and you quickly pick it up before heading back toward the door. This room always gives you the creeps, and the less time you spend in it the better.

When you arrive downstairs, you find your dog exactly where you expected him to be. He’s standing at the front door staring out the window at the black SUV that’s waiting in the drive way. You take a deep breath before reaching out for him.

“Do you want to go for a ride, Boone?”

His bark in response is enough to make you smile, and you feel some of your nerves melt away.

Wanda’s stalled for as long as she can. She could only buy so much time by claiming that they’d run over a nail and blew out a tire. It’s not like there were a lot of delays out in the middle of nowhere.

She arrived about half an hour after calling you, and she’s just hoping that she can steer the meeting away from the missing information until you get here. She’s furious that the original courier decided to take another job first and threaten to put her nearly 2 hours behind. She won’t be hiring them again, and as soon as she makes sure her package is secure, she’ll be sending someone to deliver their notice. She hasn’t decided how violent that would be yet.

Steve and Bucky are already here since they helped coordinate the location as well as security for today’s meeting. Everyone else was either working on different deals, or here in a different capacity, so you really were her only hope. She hated to ask favors like this of you, and she knew that she was going to have to make this up to you. She doubted you wanted to spend your Sunday driving to the sticks.

You feel ridiculous sitting in the middle seat in the back with Boone on one side of you, and the folder sitting in a seat of its own. You had ignored the absurd impulse to buckle it in beside you, and merely set it down and tried to ignore it. You weren’t going to look in it if you could help it, but you had to make sure that it didn’t disappear from your sight.

You weren’t surprised that your driver, a man of few words, was driving a little over the speed limit to get to wherever Wanda was. She really must be on a deadline. You try not to think about this too much as you focus your energy on petting your dog whose head is in your lap. You’re glad that you decided to bring him. Even if you wouldn’t be doing anything particularly intimidating, it was nice to have your dog by your side.

When you arrive almost an hour later, Wanda sees those standing guard shift and their gazes become pensive. She speaks up before anyone has a chance to get too nervous.

“Perfect timing. I believe the last bit of convincing you’ll need has arrived.”

It’s impossible for you to not be intimidated by the sight of three armed guards standing outside a rather small, unassuming building. You hold your breath as one approaches the car, and you reach out to scratch Boone when he starts to growl.

“It’s okay, bud.”

You hope this is the case as your driver lowers the window and you see a pair of dark eyes flit to you and then back to the driver.

“I assume you’re the delivery driver?”

When the man in the front seat nods, the guard offers a wide smile that causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.

“Great, well let’s get going.”

When the driver starts to unbuckle his seatbelt the guard frowns and shakes his head before looking back at you. You immediately realize what he’s about to say.

“No, no. Not you. Her. You can bring your mutt.”

The driver’s protests are ignored, and you only have a few seconds before someone’s opening the back door. You take a deep breath and hold up your hand when Boone tries to get past you. You tell him to calm down before you get unbuckled and grab the folder that better be worth at least a few million before you step out into the light.

Boone’s right behind you, and you’re glad that he stays close to you as the man in front of you looks at you curiously. You tighten your hold on the folder as he smiles at you, and you’re wishing that you’d packed Boone’s harness with at least one weapon.

“Let’s not keep the bosses waiting any longer.”

You only nod in response before following his lead. You sincerely hope you’re not being tricked.

The sound of the door opening has everyone turning to the tall brunette who’d left to greet their visitor. Wanda stiffens, and all eyes fall on you and your dog when you walk further into the room, a red folder held in a death grip.

Wanda’s about to stand up and rush over to you when the man across from her smiles widely and waves you over. Steve and Bucky barely resist the urge to draw their weapons, and move toward you when they see how nervous you are.

“Bring that over here, doll.”

You hide your irritation well, but everyone in the room that knows you, sees the way your lips twitch from the conscious effort to keep the grimace off your face. Nevertheless, you walk toward the table where your wife is sitting with a heavyset man who’s wearing an obnoxious amount of gold.

You set the folder down in front of your wife without a word, and she just nods at you before shooting you an apologetic look. You just turn to leave and you miss whatever Wanda says next. Your pulse is pounding in your ears and you just head straight for the exit as fast as you can without looking suspicious or too scared.

You are almost there when you feel someone move behind you and put a hand on your waist. It’s honestly lower than that, and you stiffen before your neutral expression turns to one of disgust.

“-does that sound?”

“Ow, fuck!”

Once again, all eyes are on you as you grab the offending hand and yank it toward you. This causes the man to stumble, but he’s reeling backwards only moments later when your fist collides with his nose. You ignore the pain in your hand and focus on the satisfying crunch and the spurt of blood that accompanies the pained curse.

You watch as the blonde stumbles back and clutches his nose while shooting you a watery glare. You don’t hear Boone growling, or anything else until a loud laugh startles you enough that you return to your senses. You turn to see that Wanda’s glaring at the injured blonde, but your focus quickly shifts to the person who’s laughing at you. Your face flushes until you realize who he’s really laughing at, and you have to stop yourself from smiling smugly as you finally make your exit.

“Alright. You’ve convinced me, Mrs. Maximoff. Where do I sign?”

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #silver springs #silver springs drabble #mob au #don't be surprised if more like this come your way

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