#cannot believe how fast i finished this set

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[adrienneleclerc]

Prince of Ferrari

Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N meets F1 driver, Charles Leclerc, in a surprising and completely unexpected way.

Warning: THIS IS MY FIRST CHARLES LECLERC FANFIC, inaccurate F1 details (I’m a new fan, I’m learning) Grammatical and spelling errors

A/N: inspired by the way Ella of Frell met Prince Charmont in the movie Ella Enchanted. It is kinda a mix of Ella Enchanted and the DCOM Starstruck which really mad eme believe I'll have a Y/N moment, I really hope y’all like it!

Y/N was not a huge sports girl, but she LOVES Formula 1. Y/N started watching F1 with her dad when Checo Pérez joined in 2011 and now she’s living in Miami with the Grand Prix being only a few days away. Though everyone is a Ferrari fan according to Sebastian Vettel, Y/N was a total Red Bull fan.

That brings her to the Aventura Mall where Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz had an event with Ray-Ban.

"Do you know why there are so many people here?" Y/N asked her friend, trying to push through the crowd to get to Guess.

"Didn't you hear? The Ferrari boys are coming to the mall because of their Ray-Ban sponsorship/partnership, how did you not know this? I though you were a big F1 fan." Y/N's friend, Francesca, said.

"Exactly, I am an F1 fan, not a Ferrari fan. Isn't there are a Ferrari store here too? Why can't they do a Ferrari event?" Y/n asked.

"I think that is Sunday after the race." Francesca said, Y/N was going to say somwthing before she heard screaming. "Looks like the Ferrari boys are here. Can I meet them please?" Francesca asked Y/N with puppy dog eyes.

"Sure, I'll try to go to the Dolphin mall and see if I can get my mom a birthday gift without the crowd, let me know if you get a photo with them." Y/N said, she kissed Francesca goodbye and made it towards the exit.

Charles and Carlos were entering the mall, signing things as people were taking photos and videos of them.

"Remind me again why we are here?" Charles asked Fred.

"We need to maintain a good relationship with Ray-Ban." Fred said.

"It is completely fine, Lord Perceval, lighten up." Carlos said. They kept signing things until they made it to the stage set up in the center of the first floor.

"Welcome Formula 1 Ferrari drivers Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz!" Ray Ban employee said. The crowd cheered and got closer to the stage to see the Ferrari boys even closer as the boys walked on stage, shaking hands with the Ray-Ban employee before sitting down on the chair set up and with microphones in their hands. "Before we get this event started, we are raffling off 5 sunglasses with cases signed by the drivers themselves, if you haven't bought tickets, do so now. Carlos and Charles will be answering your questions." The employee said.

The event itself was going well for the first 10 minutes until..

"Charles, are you a fast runner?" A girl asked.

"Not particulary, no, why?" Charles asked.

"Get him!" That same girl said and Charles saw how there were many girls trying to get on stage so Charles did what any guy would do and thats run off the stage and through the exit, 13 girls chasing after him.

"This cannot be happening!" Charles exclaimed to himself. He ran to the parking garage and looked behind him and there were still girls chasing him. He tried to hide behind a car when he bumped into a girl.

"Puta madre, watch where.." Y/N didn't finish her sentence because Charles covered her mouth, pulled her close to him by her waist and slid down the car door, successfully hiding from the girls chasing him. Y/N psuhed his hand away from her mouth. "Huh, well if it isn't the prince of Ferrari."

"Please, call me.." Charles looked into her eyes. "Call me Charles. Sorry about that, occupational hazard." Charles said getting up, dusting himself off. "Allow me." Charles said, helping Y/N off the floor as she dusted herself off as well.

"Does this kind of thing happen often? Being chased by girls?" Y/N asked, looking around the parking garage.

"I don't get chased like this, thats for sure, its more the American fans. But i do get approached often when I am in Monaco." Charles said.

"Well yeah, you're not exactly subtle driving around the country in a fucking sports car that all your fans recognize." Y/N commented.

"So you know a lot about me?" Charles asked with his arms crossed and a stupid smirk on his face.

"Charming, such Libra behavior. Now as you are clearly not in danger from screaming fans and I am nothing but a humble American, I'll leave you to it." Y/N said, about to unlock her car when Charles put his hand over hers.

"Wait, what is your name?" Charles asked.

"Y/N." Y/N responded.

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" Charles asked.

"Well I'm shopping for my mom's birthday present. I couldn't really do the shopping in this mall." Y/N said.

"Maybe I can help you, as a thank you of course for not blowing my cover." Charles said.

"You gotta lose the Ferrari merch if you don't want to get chase again." Y/N said.

"Oh, of course." Charles said. He took off the Ferrari hoodie he had on and Y/N couldn't help but look when Charles's shirt started riding up when he did so. "Better?"

"I have a Disney baseball cap and sunglasses in my purse, just wear the 'Marvel disguise'." Y/N said laughing as she handed Charles the items and he puts them on.

"Do I look like a normal guy?" Charles asked posing.

"Sure, get in." Y/N said, unlocking her car to get into the driver's seat and Charles circled the car to get into the passenger seat. "Wouldn't your team principal freak out that you are missing?"

"I'll let him know I'm okay, It's only Wednesday, press is not until tomorrow, I think I can have a little fun." Charles said. Y/N started the car and left the parking garage when she got a call from Francesca.

"Digame Fran, como te fue?" Y/N asked her friend.

"Mal, no sabes lo que paso, some girl decided to fucking jump the stage, her and a group of girls chase Charles out of the mall, and now the event is canceled. Like what the fuck. How about you? Did you make it to the other mall?" Francesca asked.

"Actually Fran, you have no idea what happened." Y/N said.

"Hello Fran, how are you?" Charles spoke and Francesca went silent. "Are you alright?" Charles asked again and Francesca screamed.

"You bitch, you have Charles Leclerc in your car?!?" Francesca screamed.

"Relax, he's helping me with something and in turn, he plays hooky until this whole thing blows over." Y/N said. "I'll call you later, okay?" Y/N said, hanging up. "Sorry about her, she is a huge Ferrari fan."

"What about you? Ared you a Ferrari fan?" Charles asked curiously.

"Sorry, red is not my color, I'm a Red Bull fan." Y/N told him. Charles put his hand on his chest.

"Ouch, you hurt me." Charles said and Y/n laughed. "Its such a shame, you would look great in red."

"Charming." Y/N replied.

"So i have been told." Charles said. Y/N played music in the car until they made it to the Dolphin mall. "Miami has a lot of malls."

"Yes, yes it does." Y/N replied before getting out of the car and getting reusable bags from the trunk. "Lets pay for parking."

"You pay to park the car yourself?" Charles asked.

"oh you have so much to learn." Y/N walked to the meter at the entrance of the mall to pay before Y/N grabbed his hand to enter the mall.

"As my tour guide, where do we go first?" Charles asked.

"I wanted to go to Swarovski to get a necklace for my mom." Y/N said.

"Any stores you want to go to?" Charles asked.

"There is a Saks Off Fifth but I don't think I have enough money." Y/N said. Charles pulled out his wallet.

"I'll pay." Charles said but Y/N shook her head.

"There is no way I can let you do that." Y/N said.

"I insist. You are helping me a lot by treating me like a regular guy. Its the least I can do, you are babysitting me after all." Charles said.

"Well I can't argue with that." Y/N said.

That is exactly what happened, Charles helped Y/N pick out a necklace with matching earrings for Y/N's mom and paid for it. Charles was very insistent in Y/N trying on clothes from different stores she wanted to look at. When Charles saw Y/N's eyes light up in a certain item, he always said "Do not look at the price tag, do you like it? Do you want to get it? Then its done, I'll buy it for you." Charles ended up carrying Y/N's shopping bags after every trip. They went to the food court and Charles also paid for their lunch, they sat in a far away booth.

"So how did you get into F1?" Charles asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"Well my dad is a fan, we like Checo Perez because he is Mexican, Latino power and all that." Y/N said, eating her Chinese food.

"So that is why you are a Red Bull fan, good to know." Charles said.

"Yep, that's why. I hate to ruin the moment, but what happens after today?" Y/N asked.

"Well I wouldn't see you in person until the next Miami GP, but we could talk everyday if you give me your phone number, If you want fo course, I liked spending the day with you." Charles admitted.

"I liked spending the day with you too, I never had a guy friend before so this type of relationship is new to me, but i don't hate it." Y/N replied. Charles got out his phone.

"Here, put your contact in." Charles handed Y/N his phone. Y/N added her name and her photo, han ding it back to Charles. "'Y/N American', very cute." Charles said.

"why thank you." Y/N did the nose scrunch and Charles found it adorable. "Now do you want to buy anything sir or are you okay? It's almost 5 and tomorrow is your media day." Y/n said.

"yeah, we can go." Charles said, they finished their food, threw out their garbage, left the mall, and went to Y/N's car, she got in front of his hotel. "You should come over one day." Charles said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"If your team principal says its okay." Y/N said.

"I'll make sure he says its okay, see you around." Charles said, leaving the car. Y/N drove back to her house, her parents watching TV in the living room.

"Como te fue, mija?" Y/N's mom asked.

"Me fue bien, Mami, luego te cuento." Y/N said, dropping off her bags in her room. She closed her door and collapsed on her bed when she got a text.

Unknown number: Fred said its okay, whenever you want to come over, let me know.

Unknown number: It is Charles by the way.

Y/n laughed and replied to him.

You: Sounds like a plan, I'll let you know, Charlie.

Y/N saved Charles's number as Charlie and sighed. Today was a good day.

The End

Hope y'all liked it, if you did, maybe I can write more, I don't know, I need more Latina representation. Up to you if you want more or if i should just stick to reading F1 fanfics.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[lcriedlastnight]

hi, can i please request a little fic where the reader moves from australia (totally fine if you don’t wanna do aus, feel free to pick another country!) to the uk for karting. she meets lando at school and their friendship kicks off when he hears her accent and realises how gorgeous she is, and since then they have grown up together. even when she decided to give up racing while he continued to go into f1 she was there from the beginning. just something cute showing the timeline of their little relationship

hi! this is such a great idea anon, lovely. ur a genius and ily. big hugs. also i cannot believe the race today, lando should’ve won my man needs a little luck pls.

tw: fem!reader, swears, me not knowing karting lore, me also not knowing anything about australia, swears, lmk if you want me to add anything. p.s i am working throught all of my asks rn, there was quite a few so i am trying my best to get through them all before i open them again!

w/c: 1.7k

you first met lando at a karting competition when you were fourteen. you had just moved to the uk and you didn't have many friends, seeing as you were very introverted when it came to settings like this. even though karting was your entire world sometimes the nerves around other people would just grow to be too much.

lando was a little older than you, just shy of a year, meaning that you were in the same year at school. you noticed him in one of your classes and recognised him from your most recent race, the weekend before. his tanned skin and infectious smile was hard to miss. of course meeting lando had to come at a time where everyone around you was starting to figure out who and what they were attracted to and as much as it embarrassed you to say it, lando was who you were attracted to.

it started off as a little crush, it was harmless and he didn't even know who you were. you made it that way, not trying to make any friends in school - or karting for that matter. you were not sure when it turned into infatuation but if there was one thing you were good at it was hiding your feelings. so when lando himself came over to you to congratulate you on getting p2, you hide your nerves like a pro and only made it seem like you were shy.

that was the first time lando had seen you and honestly he could not believe it. he thought he recognised you when you had stepped onto the podium just after the race had finished, when it clicked that he knew you from school he felt a little guilty that he had never given you the time of day before. how could he have walked around the halls of the school, possibly even brushing shoulders with you, and not even know about it. the mere thought felt like a crime. in that moment lando knew he had to get to know you better.

"you were super fast on track today." lando's accent rings through your ears as you turn around after another race. you didn't get a podium finish this time. neither did he but you are gobsmacked that he is standing in front of you, complimenting you.

"thanks. you too. you were zoomin' around it." you say, australian accent heavy around your words. this is not the first time you have spoken to lando but it seems it is the first time he has actually listened because up until just now he had no clue that you were australian.

"you're from australia?" he asks, trying to play it cool as his eyes dart around your face, taking you in like he has never looked at another person before. you nod, going a little shy at his blatant staring.

"are all the australian girls this pretty, or is it just you?" lando smiles at you, you can't decide if it is a cheeky smile or if he genuinely means it. just like you can't tell if he is flirting with you or if he seriously wants to know how pretty the girls are back home. his words leave you speechless, not knowing how to answer his question. it is like lando challenges your silence with his own. you are both quiet for a while. lando just knows from there that he needs you with him, he feels the need to warm you up to him and erase your awkward nature around him.

lando sticks by your side until you have no choice but to warm up to him. you end up becoming best friends with the boy, pushing that lingering crush to the back of your mind any time the two of you are together, although you feel it grow the more he grows into his looks and the more he grows into his personality as a whole. you find that he just understands you like no one else has ever done before. sometimes you don't even have to tell him whats wrong, he just knows and he knows the exact way to comfort or distract you through it. the curly haired boy is by your side through every single decision you make and vice versa.

lando was the first person you told when you decided that you were going to quit racing. you were only eighteen, him nineteen, when you realised that as much as you loved racing, you were not so sure that it loved you back. lando being a prime example of this. he was already in f1 starting next season, his rookie season with mclaren, their first seat filled with big racing star carlos sainz. lando was making it big and as you had told him many times as he made his way through all the championships, you knew he was going to go far and do everyone he loved proud. you, on the other hand, well you had barely even made a podium in the past year and half, nevermind actually winning races. you knew you just didn't have what it took to make it to formula one, like lando did.

"i think i'm going to quit racing." you had confessed to your best friend while he was driving you both to the mclaren technology centre. he had promised you a tour of the place and you had been begging him until he eventually gave in. lando almost crashed the car in shock.

"you what, sorry?" lando asks, foot back on the accelerator again as the car jolts back into action. the boys head keeps snapping to you when he can, turning to make sure you were not in fact, kidding. "you're serious?" he asks again as you fail to answer his first question.

"i am. i'm deadly serious." you affirm. lando's mouth opens in shock. there was just no way. you were his racing girl.

"i'm super thankful for racing and where it got me and who it gave me," you thank god lando's eyes were on the road because it gives you time to shake off your look of longing as you trail off a little. you pick yourself back up when he coughs a little to bring you back to earth. "but i'm so tired of waking up on a race day and dreading it. i always told myself when i was younger that no matter what, no matter what anyone told me, if i was unhappy doing something, even if it was something i used to love, i'd give it up. i'm not going to beat a dead horse."

your best friend listens intently as he drives you both closer to the centre. once you have stopped talking it is a little quiet. you long to break it but you know you need to let lando process this. neither of you can even remember a time in racing without each other. it sounded like lando's own personal version of hell.

"well i'm proud of you for putting your happiness first." lando starts as the car pulls up in the parking space, dedicated to him. the thing was, you were not even jealous of lando already being in f1. that is when you knew that your love for taking part in the sport had died. you would never stop watching it though. lando made you promise you would try and watch every race you possibly could when he finally started his first offical season in f1.

you had kept your promise and followed him through to what would now be his fifth season. you were his biggest chearleader, constantly posting on your instagram and twitter about how unfair the stewards were bring to lando, and taking to your socials to celebrate the big wins. and when in his fourth season he was promoted to first seat and the second seat was given to a fellow australian you began to wonder the same thing as many of his fans. 'is lando collecting pretty australians like infinity stones or what?!'

the post race interview after lando gets his first win at miami is one you will never forget, especially because he confessed his feelings for you on live tv. you were absolutely gutted about not being able to make it to the race, even though you were never planning on going in the first place, it hurt more that you could not be there to celebrate his first formula one win, especially when it feels like you have been by his side forever. you shoot him a text saying he deserved it and to facetime you if he has time before he goes out and you know he will text you back when he sees it.

as you are back in australia for three weeks, you are sitting with your family as you watch and wait for the podium ceremony. all you wanted was to see your boy finally lift his trophy. every part of you knew that he was just glowing. you hadn't even seen his face from under his helmet yet.

as he conducts one last post-race interview before he has to get back for the trophy ceremony, you and the whole world stop spinning.

"yeah, i need to thank my girl. if you see this, baby. i love you, m'racer girl and i miss you. this is for you, it's all for you. i know you're watching. i'll call you before you sleep." lando speaks into the cameras like he is replying to your text message. you doubt at first that he was actually talking to you until he called you his racer. you cannot believe he just said he love you in front of millions of people. you missed him a lot.

lando ends up calling you and admits yet again that he loves you and this time you say it back. you tell him about the crush you have had since you were fourteen, and he tells you about how much he misses you and wishes you were just there with him. the kiss lando gives you at the airport when you are both reunited is caught by many paps but you stopped caring the second your legs left the ground, wrapping around his waist as his tongue met yours.

you constantly appear on the quadrant channel, showing up all his friends in karting races and every single time lando tried to convice you to get back out.

"i'll leave it to the formula one grand prix winner i think." you smile at him, those words always got to him. he can't believe he got the car and the career he had always wanted. it was finally a win-win for lando, for once in his life.

[achilles-rage]

NSFW Alphabet

evan buckley x plus size!reader

A/N: hi besties<333 this is my first time writing so pls don’t absolutely tear me to shreds (just a little bit is acceptable though). i’m planning on making a SFW alphabet for buck soon as well but some of the letters had me drawing a blank lol. also, although there’s not really much mention of it, this is with a plus size reader in mind. as a plus size girly myself, it sucks to read x reader stories and knowing in the back of your mind that it wasn’t written with your body type in mind (although there’s nothing wrong with writers that do that of course). i just thought i would add to the plus size reader community because there are barely any buck fics and i believe in my heart that he loves plus size women. anyway, enjoy <3

MDNI- 18+ Only

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When y’all finish he’ll wait a few minutes before pulling out, head buried in your neck as his breathing gets back to normal. He’ll kiss your neck and tell you how good you were for him, before finally getting up to clean you up. After that he wants to lay with you and talk, just enjoying each other’s company, maybe y’all will make some food if you feel like it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: Probably his arms. He’s worked hard to be as fit as he is and he enjoys using his arms to move you/lift you while you’re having sex. He takes pride in his appearance, he knows he’s hot, but it’s an added bonus that he can lift you up and do whatever he (or you) wants.

Yours: I am of the firm belief that Evan Buckley is a thigh man. He loves how they feel in his hands, he loves how they look when you straddle him, he can’t get enough. He loves to see them jiggle when you move, or when he playfully smacks them. He loves thick thighs and I will die on this hill

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man has a BREEDING KINK OKAY!!! He loves to cum inside you, fucking deep into you and feeling his cum fill you up. He loves watching it slowly dripping out, so he can finger it back in. If that’s not your thing I think the next best place would be on your stomach, watching your face as he lets go, seeing the way he marks you up. He loves your little tummy, how it moves as he ruts into you, so he loves it when you let him cum all over it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I only call this a dirty secret because he would never tell anyone about this after the last time it happened and he got fired. He wants to fuck you in the fire engine SO BAD. He can’t help but think of the way you would look as he fucked into you quickly, trying not to get caught with your dress up around your waist. He knows it’s not gonna happen, he’d never hear the end of it from anyone in his life if it did, but god he wants to so bad.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Girl have we watched the same show?? This man FUCKS!!! We all know (and love) Buck 1.0, and we know he knows what to do. Buck 3.0 might mean him changing into, well, not a sex addict, but that doesn’t mean he forgot his training (🫡). I think he understands that every woman is different, and while he might not get it exactly right the first time, he’s a fast and eager learner, watching what exactly makes you squirm and moan the most for him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Canonically, Buck LOVES when you ride him, and I agree. He loves to watch you move yourself on him, able to grab at your thighs, and your hips, and your chest. He also loves to move you on him, squeezing your hips tightly as he sets the pace if you start getting tired or if he just feels like it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I mean, he’s Buck, he’s truly a golden retriever of a man and cannot stay serious for long. I think he’s a bit of a mix, he can be serious in the moment, but at the end of the day, he’s still Buck, and Buck is silly goofy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it nicely trimmed, carpets match the drapes. In terms of his partner, he really doesn’t give a fuck. He’s seen it all and could not care less as long as he feels the way you wrap around him so perfectly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Buck 3.0 is a man of TASTE, but that being said, I think he only really pulls out the romance during special occasions. Most of the time this man wants to freak nasty, but sometimes when he’s tired, or just feels especially in cuddly/clingy, he’ll be more romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it pretty often, of course not when he has the option to fuck you instead (and you’re willing, of course), but if you’re not with him and he needs a quick release, he getting right to it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding: I will scream this till the day that I die, this man wants a family more than anything. Whenever he’s inside of you, he can’t help but think about how pretty you’d look with your belly all round with his babies.

Praise: Look at this pathetic little guy, he needs to be praised, he thrives on it. He loves to hear how good he feels, how good he’s making you feel. This goes both ways. He’s in your ear immediately telling you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him, how pretty you look.

Spanking: HEAR ME OUT!! While I’m not sure he would actually bend you over his knee (but honestly the more I think about it he might) he would LOVE to give your ass a nice little swat as you’re riding him. He loves the sound it makes, and the sound you make because you’re not expecting it. I don’t think he’d ever do it hard enough to hurt too much, but I think enough to make your ass a little red would definitely be something he could get behind (lol).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He doesn’t have a ring cutter in the kitchen for nothing<3

I think he likes to have sex at home the most, on the bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counter. You name it, he wants to fuck you there. His favourite is the counter because he loves seeing you being so domestic in the kitchen. Making dinner, cleaning up, whatever, he wants you right then and there and cannot wait. He’ll come up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses your neck before slowly turning you around to face him and lift you onto the counter to have his way with you.

While he’s moved on from having sex in public places that could (will) get him fired, he’s still into it, but in less obvious places. If y’all are in his car and you’re looking a little too good in his passenger seat, he loves an empty parking lot quickie. Front seat, back seat, whatever you want, he’d be pulling you onto him as soon as he puts the jeep in park.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Girl ANYTHING gets him going, it would take one look, one touch, one word and this man would be ready to go. I think what really gets him going though is seeing you with kids or getting along so well with the 118. This man truly just wants a silly little family and someone that can get along with the 118fam, so seeing you like that has him making up a stupid excuse to leave a little early so he can take you home and have his hands all over you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like I said before, I don’t think he would do anything to hurt you too much, other than the occasional light spanking or biting. He would also not be into any kind of age play or pet play, he’s pro kink but it’s just not for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man is a giver and I stand by this. Dear god he loves nothing more than having you spread open for him, hands tangled in his hair as he makes himself at home between your thighs. He loves having his hands gripping your thick thighs, feeling them on either side of his head. When you start to get squirmy from the overstimulation he’ll place a large hand over your lower stomach, holding you still as he pushes you over the edge again.

With all that said, he will definitely not say no to getting head. He loves seeing you look up at him while you’re on your knees, trying to take all of him. He’ll keep a hand in your hair, pulling it softly every now and then, and he can’t help but moan and whine as he gets closer and closer, eventually cumming down your throat as he squeezes his eyes shut.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the day, but most of the time he likes it rough and fast. He loves a good quickie, meaning it kinda has to be more fast paced and rough, and he’s pretty easy to get riled up, so when you drop any sort of hint, he’s on you immediately and ready. On other days where he’s feeling extra clingy and lovey, he’ll be more of a slow and sensual guy, but I think for the most part he loves to fuck you deep and rough.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I said, he loves a good quickie. A lot of the time he craves a quickie before work, needing to feel you before his long shift. I think they happen pretty often, but he’d much rather take his time with you, using his fingers and mouth before he fucks you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as there’s clear communication he’s down to try pretty much anything, he’ll do anything to make you happy (within reason). I think he’s also a risk taker (also within reason, he has to think about not getting fired again, of course). Buck 1.0 is still inside him somewhere when it comes to sex so he definitely loves a little risk, but he’s grown enough to know where the line is.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

While he would love to go as many rounds as possible, I think it would realistically be 2-3, lasting about 10-15 minutes each round. I think he would be the type to like having some time between rounds, tension still high as you talk and lay around before he's back on you again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Once again, he doesn’t have a ring cutter in his kitchen for nothing<3

He likes them, he definitely owns a few toys of his own. Vibrators, cock rings, some handcuffs or restraints, he’s very open to anything that increases y’alls pleasure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does it sometimes not really meaning to, like he does something and you’re like….dear god…and maybe he doesn’t notice the first time but the second time he does and WILL keep going until you snap. He loves the way you get all squirmy and whiny and desperate for him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

So vocal!!!! Literally that meme thats like “y’all afraid to make noise in the bedroom?? i be in my girls ear like…” He loves dirty talk (on both ends) and he can’t help but let out low moans when you’re clenching around him. He also loves hearing your breathless whimpers, making him feel like he’s doing a good job, and encouraging him to pull more sounds from your lips.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If he was in a relationship during the whole sperm donor thing, it would be the longest few weeks for both of y’all. I imagine the first time he has an appointment, you make sure you’re waiting for him in a cute little matching set, knowing how excited he was to finally be buried inside you again, hearing you whine as he fills you up. He’s so frustrated when his appointment doesn’t work out that he doesn’t let you know how it went, instead being unpleasantly surprised when he sees you sprawled out on his bed when you get home and unable to do anything about it. He wants nothing more than to rip your pretty little set off your body and run his hands up and down your soft curves, but he can’t, and it’s torture. You apologize (but he will hear none of it because it was a lovely surprise, just shitty circumstances), and instead you change into an oversized shirt and sweatpants to enjoy a completely normal (and not sexual at all) night on the couch.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8 inches, thick, no complaints <3

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH!!! This man is thinking about sex 24/7, and if he could, his hands would be on you at all times.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Most of the time I think he stays up for a while, just hanging out and talking to you. But if he comes home after a long shift he’s fucking GONE in 5 minutes tops.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[daydreaming-in-letters]

You

06/24/2024

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 421

Warnings: surprisingly none, just fluff

Summary: Andrew adoring his favourite person on a rainy day.

A/N: This is just a little something I drafted a long time ago and finished to entertain myself while waiting in line to see the man himself.

Picture by Xianyu hao via unsplash

If you enjoy my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Following your gaze, I stare into the rainy afternoon. The heavens have opened hours ago, and still there seems to be no end in sight. I know how much it fills your heart to watch the rain. Not the harsh, pouring kind, that stings when it finds bare skin, but the soft kind, a gentle spring shower, with drops pouring down like liquid pearls on invisible threads to provide the earth with some much needed refreshment. 

There is a murder of crows, now unusually quiet as they hide away in the crowns of the trees. Their image comes and goes, blurred by the rivulets cascading down the glass. Fresh leaves are set in motion, dancing upon the impact of drops, maybe the first drops they have ever felt in their short life. 

A blanket of clouds is hanging above, they look soft, yet heavy, like gloomy candy floss. And above it all, the heady scent of petrichor is lingering in the air. 

All of this beauty is waiting right outside my window, begging to be admired, and still everything I see is you. 

The gentleness in your fingers as they hold the empty cup of tea in your hands, clinging to the last bit of warmth it still holds. The even rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in the fresh spring air. Your attentive eyes, taking in every little detail of the world outside, so present in the moment, so alive. I can sense the very instant you finally realise my gaze on you, watch as your head slowly turns and your eyes lock with mine.

You smile, not even trying to hide that my attention flusters you, and I can’t help but smile back at you.

“What?” you ask as you begin to stir underneath the blanket that keeps us both warm and your bashful smile grows even wider before you repeat your question, “What?”

Nothing would be the customary answer, I believe. But it is not nothing. You are not nothing. You, honey, are everything.

“Come here.” My voice is hardly louder than a whisper, still it sounds hoarse, heavy with my longing for the taste of your lips and I cannot stop my hands from reaching for you, eager to pull you in. 

You taste like spring. Familiar, yet with a touch of renewal every time. Coming over me with the surety of the seasons. But as seasons change, you and I will not. A beautiful constant in a world so set on moving fast.

***

taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[teyums]

His Secret Admirer (Bonus Chapter) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part two | part three | part four

wc: 2.4k

a/n: i cannot thank you guys enough for 1k followers!! it means so much to me that y’all enjoy my writing enough to stick around. here’s a bonus chapter of his secret admirer for y’all, as promised 🫶🏽

summary: life after mating, how neteyam treats you now that you’re pregnant with his child

contains: fluff, mention of pregnancy, older neteyam and reader

It had been a little over two years now since you and Neteyam sealed the bond, deeming you mates for life. Your relationship was nothing but fruitful, the love you shared for each other growing more by the day— as well as the life in your stomach.

Your mother was over the moon when you broke the news to her, crumbling into a blubbering mess of happy tears and many “you’re growing up so fast”s and “my baby is having a baby”s. When she found out it was a boy, she prayed to the great mother and thanked her, telling you this was proof of your father watching over you.

Neytiri treated you like her own, always asking if you were hungry or wanted something to eat. Even when you’d say no, she’d place a bowl of steamed teylu in your lap, just in case. She constantly brought you back and forth to the healing hut so she could do checkups on the baby. She’d hover her hands over your belly, then smile wide at you when she got her answer. “The baby is strong.”

And as for Neteyam? He had been there every step of the way. He was overjoyed at the news, already coming up with baby names and fantasizing about the bundle of joy you were slowly developing. You could’ve sworn he shed a few tears when you told him it was a boy, elated to raise a little mighty warrior.

Though your pregnancy had been one of the best things to ever happen to you, the hormones coursing through your body threw your emotions way out of wack and they were completely unpredictable. How your mate responded to this? Absolutely better than you could’ve ever hoped for. Some days you were extremely irritable, snappy and filled with attitude at the most random things; to which he would massage your shoulders or feet while calmly asking you to explain what had set you off.

Other days you’d sob uncontrollably if he so much as kissed your cheek instead of your lips upon returning from a hunt, the imbalance of your emotions scaring you into believing he no longer desired you. He’d then spend the rest of the evening smothering you and your stomach in kisses, reiterating how beautiful you looked carrying his child and wiping your mind clean of your worries.

As the months went on you quickly started to show more, and as soon as your belly became big enough to require you to brace the small of your back with your hand, he was stuck to your side like glue. Everywhere you went, he went, insistent on protecting you and his unborn son.

“Neteyam, for the last time— I am pregnant. Not immobile.” You huffed, narrowing your eyes up at him. “Put me down, I want to walk.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled to himself at your sharp attitude, something that came with your pregnancy that he hadn’t minded at all. He obliged and gently set you down onto your slightly swollen feet, his hands remaining at your waist until you situated yourself.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, holding onto his bicep for balance and cradling your round bump with your free hand. “You know, there’s no need to follow me. I’m only going to grab some berries a little ways away, I won’t be long.”

“No, absolutely not.” He hurriedly shook his head before you could even finish your sentence, moving your arm to clasp around his and holding it there. “Where you go, I go. How can I protect my two babies if I am not with them?” He questioned with a tilted stare.

“If you insist.” You laughed softly, starting to walk towards the forest with him. Everything Neteyam did, he adapted to better suit you as your pregnancy went along. He kept his strides short, as his legs being longer than yours usually resulted in him walking faster than you. His eyes switched back and forth from the path ahead, then back down at you, prepared to scoop you back up into his arms if he caught the slightest hint of discomfort cross your face.

You took notice of this, and even though your feet were starting to ache you kept your calm expression. You loved how much he cared for you, really, but being pregnant already made you feel useless with the activities you could participate in now being limited; so getting out for a walk even for five minutes had become the highlight of your days.

~~

The two of you were back at your shared tent in about twenty minutes, and as you reached the doorway you felt your breathing become a bit weighted. Neteyam was surprised you hadn’t grown tired from all the walking. He asked you many times along the way if you needed a break or no longer wanted to be on your feet, to which you declined.

“Watch your step.” He guided you in slowly, helping you take a seat on the hammock before attending to anything else. “Are you hungry?” He smiled down at you, tucking a beaded braid behind your ear. Your face had become a bit fuller from the baby and your azure skin now had a soft, dewy glow to it. He couldn’t help but admire you, his eyes filled with undeniable love.

“Very.” You sighed, thanking Eywa you were off your feet after what seemed like hours. You rolled your neck in a clockwise motion to stretch your muscles, both hands placed behind you to prop yourself up.

He nodded and walked over to the other side of the room, crouching down and reaching into a basket to pull out a wrapped up banana leaf. He returned by your side, sitting down next to you on the hammock and unwrapping the leaf to reveal cut up sturmbeest meat he had roasted earlier.

You inhaled deeply, the mouthwatering aroma flooding your nostrils and causing you to lick your lips. Before your pregnancy, you absolutely hated sturmbeest meat, didn’t like the taste nor the texture of it. But now, it was all you craved and one of the only things you had an appetite for. Neteyam instantly took note of that, always making sure a sturmbeest was the first of his catches when hunting to ensure his mate and growing child wouldn’t go hungry.

“You weren’t lying when you said you were hungry, huh.” He chuckled at your nearly drooling state, picking up a piece and holding it in front of your lips. “Open.”

You pursed your lips at him with a deadpan look on your face. “I can feed myself, you know.” You scoffed.

He ignored your remark, instead sitting there and waiting for you to do as he said with an unfazed smile. You sighed and opened your mouth, closing it and chewing after he fed it to you. You hummed at the taste, your mood immediately improving.

“See, it’s nice isn’t it?” He teased, popping another into your mouth when you quickly opened it again as a non-verbal agreement.

You swallowed, suddenly pouting as you began to feel bad. He was so sweet to you no matter how you treated him, and you knew you couldn’t help it but you hated the way your hormones made you act towards him. “I’m sorry, Nete.” You sighed.

“What for?”

“For always being so grumpy.” You muttered, dropping your gaze from his.

“Oh baby, no. There’s no need to apologize. You weren’t grumpy, just hungry.” He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand and lifted your head up by your chin, his response coming just in time to stop your eyes from welling with tears. “Now, eat up. I need my son to be as big and strong as I am.” He flashed a toothy grin at the sound of your laugh, offering you another bite.

~~

It was well into the night now. The candles had long been blow out, only the moonlight leaking through the curtains served in illuminating your home with a sheer blue tint. You laid on your side, Neteyam tucked closely behind you and your body fitting into his like a puzzle piece. One arm folded under his head, the other lightly draped over your body to keep you close to him. His palm rested against the swell of your lower abdomen, fingers stretched protectively over your pregnant belly.

Your slumber had been relatively peaceful, until a kick against your stomach from a small foot sent a sharp pain through your back. Your eyes snapped open with a start, an exasperated but quiet sigh leaving your lips. Exhausted, your eyes slowly began to flutter back to a close when an even stronger kick jolted through you and succeeded in waking you up completely this time.

You peered down at your stomach to see Neteyam’s hand lightly resting against your skin like it was every night, gently picking up one of his fingers to lift his hand off your body. You used an elbow to push yourself up, wincing as the weight that had previously been evenly distributed was now resting all on your hips once you seated yourself with your legs criss-crossed.

You did a once over of the room and where the shadow of the moon’s luminescence fell informed you that it was indeed the middle of the night. Your back twinged painfully from the commotion in your stomach and you whimpered, quickly placing your hands behind your back and trying your best to stretch it out. It wasn’t working, it never did when you tried to do it yourself.

You looked back at Neteyam and chewed the inside of your lip. He was sleeping so soundly, his lips slightly parted with soft snores escaping here and there. You didn’t have the heart to wake him and hoped these aches would pass, facing forward once more.

Everything was sore, from your uncomfortably swollen breasts down to your numbed feet. Your back was strained in a place you couldn’t reach, and being woken up so abruptly from your sleep only aided in making you more agitated. You shut your eyes tightly to avoid your approaching tears, dropping your head forward in submission as you felt an inevitable lump forming in your throat.

Neteyam stirred in his sleep, smacking his lips and swallowing tiredly. He felt around in search of you, eyes flying open at the sound of your shuddering breaths. “[Y/n]?” He raised his head in a panic, blinking quickly to force his vision clear. He sat up in an instant when he saw your shoulders shaking and your head lowered, rubbing a hand over his face to wake himself up. “What is the matter? Why are you crying?” He questioned, his voice raspy, a clear indicator that his rest had been interrupted prematurely.

You whipped around at the sound of his voice, sighing shakily and wiping your tears. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You sniffed stuffily, tone laced with guilt.

He shook his head, he couldn’t care less about being woken up, all he was worried about was you. Fully awake at this point, he leaned his head down to get a look at your face and placed a hand on your shoulder. “What is wrong?” He repeated, eyebrows furrowed and eyes filled with concern.

You gasped for air, your chest now feeling just as constricted as the rest of your body. “He won’t stop kicking,” you cried out, not having to quiet your voice anymore as you broke down. “My back hurts, everything hurts and I can’t reach it.” You sobbed frustratedly, your voice splitting.

“Okay mama, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He cooed, quick to rush into action and get behind you. He smoothed his hands over your smaller frame, starting at your shoulders and ending near your tailbone. He pressed his thumbs into the dips in your back to alleviate the tension, looking up at you for feedback. “Where does it hurt, my love?”

“Everywhere.” You groaned while he massaged your tense muscles, mewling in pain when you felt another cramp surge through your body. The real issue was the restless child angrily stomping around in your womb. “Make him stop, Nete. Please.” You breathed out, your forehead starting to sweat.

He scooted forward so you were sat between his legs, one of his on either side of your own. Sliding his arms below yours, he placed his hands on your rounded abdomen and began to rub slow circles. “Lean back, try to relax and he will do the same. Okay?”

You nodded your head helplessly, willing to do whatever he suggested if it meant the pain would stop. You leaned back into him, feeling his warm chest press against your skin. Unknowingly holding your breath between each cramp, you panted and dropped your head back onto his shoulder.

“Breathe, mama. You need to breathe.” He instructed, cradling his hands under the curve of your stomach and lifting ever so slightly, holding to reduce the weight your hips were supporting. He hummed in approval when you let out a deep exhale of relief, your breathing gradually starting to steady and your eyes closing. “There you go.” With his chin rested on your shoulder, his lips placed a featherweight kiss on your jaw as he felt your body relax against his.

The pain finally began to subside, and after a minute or two the kicking had come to a full stop thanks to Neteyam’s touch. You quickly felt sleep overtaking you once more while he continued caressing your bump.

He waited until your moans of discomfort had ceased, eyeing the rising and falling of your chest that had now reached a leisure pace. You were asleep.

He carefully released his hold on you, slowly moving to lay you down on your side. Your eyebrows unknitted, the tense look you previously wore was gone.

He moved little by little so he wouldn’t wake you, laying down behind you and starting to scoot closer. You stirred in your sleep when you didn’t feel him immediately and he lightly draped an arm over you, pressing his body flush against yours. “Shhh, I’m right here, baby.” He whispered, his hand finding its resting place over your stomach again. He kissed your cheek, then nuzzled his face into the warmth of your neck to join you in slumber.

“Sleep well, my love.”

a/n: babydaddy of the year respectfully belongs to neteyam sully 🏆 thank you for reading this series and i hope you enjoyed! Likes + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

series tag list ⬇️

@eringaitskill @bwormie @fanboyluvr @ssc7514 @meivap @afro-hispwriter @hellok1ttycake @melsunshine @casuallydogobsessed @katsukiswrld @mcdonalds-playground @itscheybaby @neenieweenie @babyvinnie @laylasbunbunny @epicy0n @dreamersbelieveinus @elegantzippercashshoe @answer-the-sirens @arminsgfloll @jackiehollanderr @tejas-kris @neteyamoa @instabull @halibanana @uwu-i-purple-you @neteyamsgirll @kre3ce @philiasoul @obsessedwithlife @llearlert @extreamlycutecuban @awkward-halfhug @heaven1oo4 @raven-the-cryptid @gracefulbumblebee @sophiaj650 @jkeluv @szchaql @alexandra-001 @camcaminhogwarts @nanaitesully @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @heesoftiefreak @chasetsummer @elissanatok @inutheangel @kaealowri

[multific]

When Another Slasher Kidnaps You - Slashers Preferences

Warnings: Mention of murder, cannibalism, kidnapping

Asa Emory 

Asa would arrive home to an absolutely trashed house, his carefully collected and preserved insects were all on the floor, shattered, that alone could have made the man rage but then he saw the blood. 

This is when he noticed his lovely little butterfly was gone. And just where were you?

He looked around the house, trying to see if you were hiding but no, then arrived the police and told him their suspicion. 

He was told Michael Myers broke into his house and kidnapped you. The police promised to do everything in their power to get you back, but Asa had other ideas.

He started to look for you himself, because how dare anyone break into his home and take his most precious butterfly? And once he found you, he knew what he needed to do.

While Michael was strong and. very durable, he was not smart, Asa wanted to play on that and set as many traps for the man as possible.

Michael would fall into all of them, but never stop or die. But that wasn't the plan, the plan was to get you out of there while Michael is distracted.

Asa got to you, and he could tell you were in shock, he saw it in many of his victims and it broke his heart to see you like this.

He heard the sirens so he quickly got you out and home. Leaving Michael to the police, but making a promise that he would personally make sure Myers is dead for what he did to his favourite pet.

Jesse Cromeans

Jesse was just finishing up with a Piggy when he got the call that his man cannot locate his wife. 

Aparently, you went to the store and on your way back you decided to have a look at Crystal Lake and now no one could find you. Only the GPS in your car told them the location.

According to the people, there was a killer at Crystal Lake, so Jesse knew, he needed to act fast.

He drove to the location and without any hesitation started looking for you. He found your car first, thankfully, no blood.

Then, he moved more into the camp, he was still mindful of the traps and wires around the place. 

It was clear to him, someone was either hiding something or hiding in this camp.

When he saw the old wooden houses, he headed inside his trusty blade in his hands at all times.

The house was empty, except for the head he found in the bathroom wall.

But where could you be?

Didn't take long for Jesse to find the underground portion. He stopped in his tracks as he saw you with chains around your wrists, bound and crying.

"He will be back soon." you said and Jesse nodded. "He is not smart, but I don't want you to kill him, just get me and let's leave." you said as you tried to control your voice so Jason wouldn't hear you. Then both of you heard the door open and Jesse moved to hide. Jesse watched as a huge man appeared with a hockey mask on his face.

You knew that if Jesse tried to fight, he would lose, you saw what Jason is capable of. You needed to reason with your husband.

"J-Jason," you said and the huge man turned to look at you, "Hungry." you simply said and he nodded once before leaving upstairs again. 

"H-He would kill you, I saw it, he... he is not human. Just get me and let's run please." it was easy to sense the desperation in your voice, so Jesse didn't argue, instead he just got you out of the chains and took you with him.

Jason noticed you were gone a couple of minutes after, he ran after you but by the time he got to you, you were already leaving in Jesse's car. Jason's heart broke but at least you were back with your husband now.

"I'll send people in and kill him." said the voice from his phone but you took his hand into yours as he drove.

"Please, don't. He never hurt me. Let's just leave him okay? I promise I will not wander around anymore. No need to kill him."

"Did he touch you?"

"No," your answer was strong and immediate. It was the truth. "Jason is... a lost boy. He was protecting his land, he never hurt me."

Jesse believed you and decided to move on, having you back was all he needed now. He needed to calm you, give you a shower and spend time with you.

But Jesse was still curious how did you know so much about this Jason.

Jason Voorhees

Many years after the lady he liked so much escaped, Jason couldn't imagine finding someone much like her.

But he found you, his lovely, innocent, caring and beautiful wife.

He knew you would never run away. You proved that time and time again.

"If I ever disappear, I didn't run, I was taken." you would say jokingly but one day, that became reality.

The house he spent so much time building for you was broken into and things were thrown around. You were gone and he could tell it wasn't by your choice. 

Jason knew what he needed to do.

He headed into the big city to find his wife.

Meanwhile, you looked at the man in front of you. Patrick Bateman as he introduced himself and gave you his business card, was a very strange man.

He told you he saw you in the forest and knew he needed to have you.

The man was clearly not okay, he made you watch him work out, he would flex his muscles, and you just begged that somehow Jason would find you before it will be your head in his fridge.

Then you heard a loud bang coming from the entrance, the door was broken off.

"Run," you told Patrick just as Jason came into the room.

Seeing a man with a clear jacket and an axe in his hand while you were tied to a chair, Jason was quick to act.

You didn't watch but judging by the sounds, you heard a neck being broken and an axe being swung. 

You didn't watch when Jason released you and guided you out of the penthouse.

You had an idea that if this won't end with you being dead, it would end with Patrick's death.

But you tried not to think about it too much as you headed back home with Jason.

It was weird to be on the subway with him, but as his hand never let go of you, you knew he was very happy to have you back by his side.

Michael Myers

You promised to be back soon, so something had to have happened.

You were only supposed to go on errands. So, with his signature knife in hand, Michael headed out to find you.

Going through the neighbourhood, he left victims behind.

Just as he was about to enter a house, you came running into him. You hugged him, clearly out of breath as you were running for so long.

“Kill, him.” you said pointing at the man running after you, a man in a nice suit.

Michael didn’t need to be told twice, he immediately went in for it.

“You can’t kill me, I’m Patrick Bate-“ but the man couldn’t finish the sentence as Michael’s knife found its way into his skull.

After a couple minutes you calmed down. 

“I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me. He had an axe and wanted to kill me but I got away.”

You and Michael headed back home, after that day, he never let you out of his sight.

Yautja

Let's be honest only a Yautja would be silly enough to kidnap you from a Yautja.

Your mate is built for hunting so, to him, this is an easy mission.

That doesn't mean he would be reckless or underestimate his opponent.

It clearly had to be either a very brave or a very cocky Yautja that dared to take you from him.

Your Yautja was considered an Elder, someone with a high rank who should be respected. So, to have his little human taken from him was a clear attack on his status. 

But he was more worried about you than his status.

You were taken by another tribe, you recognized them from their last visit, you thought their leader had an eye on you, and you were right. 

But you still didn’t expect them to kidnap you.

Perhaps he did so he wouldn’t have to face your mate in combat, knowing he would lose against an Elder.

You knew your mate will come and get you.

You knew he won’t leave you behind.

And you were right. And again, you didn’t expect this new Yautja to use you as a shield in order to run away. His plan to get an Elder’s mate failed and now he needed to flee.

But he wasn’t so lucky.

Hunting him down was easy, you could tell from the movements of your mate and even his stance.

He stood like a proud Yautja as he reclaimed what is rightfully his.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick would fully not notice you were kidnapped. Then, one evening when he arrived home, it hit him like a train.

You were gone and he didn’t know where you were. He was very very angry, how dare anyone touch what is his?

Patrick was on a mission to find you and avenge you.

Meanwhile, you were kidnapped by a man who had some sort of silver skull mask and a video camera on his shoulder. 

It was clear the man wanted to kill you but. what a sadistic fucker, he even wanted to film it.

You could only hope Patrick would come to your rescue before this man can do anything at any second.

And surely enough, Patrick did show up.

Knocking the man out with an axe while laughing.

“Don’t touch what’s mine!” he yelled one last time before he freed you and off you went. After this incident, Patrick would put on the front door some extra locks.

Thomas Hewitt

Sweet Thomas was down in the basement when he heard a commotion. By the time he arrived upstairs, he saw a man in a mask and a suitcase. Tommy saw the suitcase move and judging by the noises, he knew you were in it.

Didn’t take long for the man to try his luck with a knife but Tommy was quicker.

You heard the two fight outside and all you could do is hope that your Tommy wouldn’t be too hurt or worse.

But soon, someone opened the suitcase and you saw Tommy standing in front of you, you quickly hugged him as he groaned in pain. The man did manage to get a couple hits and cuts in but Thomas was way too much for him. You watched the man’s body as Thomas made sure you were okay.

Besides some headache, you were alright.

“He wanted to take me, talked about his collection or something.” you told Tommy. But you knew you didn’t need to worry about the man anymore. He soon became small pieces and later, you made the perfect stew. As morbid as it might sound.

You were still grateful for your husband who saved you. So after patching him up, you made sure to stay by his side the entire day.

“I think, he thought I lived alone so that’s why he targeted me.” you said during dinner as Thomas ate. “He thought it would be an easy job, but he didn’t expect my brave and very sexy husband to turn up.”

Thomas blushed as he just continued to eat his food. Just how glad he was he heard the commotion and saved you from being taken.

Vincent Sinclair

Since Vincent lived so secluded from society, he never truly feared that you would get taken by anyone, that is until the Hewitt family came into the picture.

They were all cannibals as he learned from his brothers. He feared you were taken to be cooked, so he got his brothers and off they went to find you.

Bo being the loudest of the three would go up to the porch and ask questions about a lady and if they have seen anyone while Vincent and Lester looked around the house.

They found you in the basement with a man who was wearing a mask. 

“And I thought we were fucked up.” said Lester as he saw the body parts. But all Vincent saw was you.

He was relieved to find you were still alive and well. 

The plan was simple and easy, Bo distracts the family while Lester and Vincent rescue you.

It was easier said than done. 

When Bo made enough noise upstairs the man left you alone and it was their chance. They needed to be fast.

“Lester, gosh, they…Vincent, oh boys we have to be quick.” Lester quickly removed the ropes from around your legs and wrists while Vincent watched the door.

Soon you three were out as you could still hear Bo yelling with the Hewitt’s. You just hoped he wouldn’t do anything reckless. 

This is when you noticed Vincent staring at you as Lester drove his car back home. Vincent was running a finger along the bruises the rope left on your wrist.

“I’m fine, Honey. They didn’t do anything to me, really.” you smiled at him and this was the moment he realized, he will never ever let you out alone.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Ash & Shadows || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: The night is long and dreary. Does the future hold hope, or is there just pain left?

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Implications of major character death, grief, angst, Tommy being and asshole and then regretting it, set after s6e6 so I had to work around that hot mess. It has some Gothic and ghostly themes

Author’s note: A CALENDAR YEAR I PROCRASTINATED THIS but I HAD to finish it so, enjoy?

The tears have long dried in your cheeks, but their saltiness lingers in your tongue. Your throat feels parched, but you cannot find it in yourself to cross the few steps that separate you from the cup of stale tea in your nightstand, nor any of the dozen abandoned beverages that litter the master bedroom. There’s whiskey with water on the mantelpiece, sitting next to some plain water, and remnants of milk with honey and cinnamon, in which you suspect Frances mixed some drops of laudanum, for you felt strangely calm after drinking it, but not enough to find sleep. The bed is a mess, proof of your restlessness, the sheets and blankets hastily pulled from the corners and wrapped tightly around you like a protective cocoon, in hopes that the comforting swaddle will keep you whole for one more night. But they do little to placate the unforgiving cold spreading through your insides, a chill sprouting from within your very soul.

The ash and soot linger on your hands, caked under your ruined nails and smeared across your raw skin. Your clothes have not been changed in days, and they smell of burnt wood and petrol, mixed with something unspeakable and revolting. The stench is rooted in your nostrils, so pervasive you taste it in your mouth, in your throat, in the depths of your lungs. It spreads through your veins and seeps into your bones, consuming your spirit in waves of black and death. You are overcome by the vile venom, and even the mere evocation of it makes you choke and heave violently. A foulness you will never be able to forget, perennially engraved in the deepest corners of your memory, alongside other grim chapters of your past. But unlike others, this has changed your life, your self, the very course of your existence. You cannot fathom how the world continues to spin and the sun to rise in the horizon after such ground shattering devastation has occurred. 

Your husband is dead, that much you know. He is dead and you are still alive and in your heart, that goes against the laws of nature. You are not meant to exist without the other. You had swore to grow old together, how could he leave you thirty years before his time? How could he leave when your children had not even learned to tie their shoes themselves yet? He had not yet commissioned the treehouse he promised them, how could he abandon them halfway through?

You should have known something was amiss. You knew your husband, better than anyone could. You had a way to read his thoughts and forestall his actions that not even his late aunt could comprehend. Only you could dissipate the fog from his troubled mind and unravel the rigmarole which composed the very foundations of his existence. He had once said, late at night, with his arm around your waist while he believed you fast asleep, that he felt like a man standing alone under a wicked thunderstorm, and you were the only one brave enough to face the tempest and come to him with an umbrella, even at the risk of your own life. But he would forever take the umbrella from your hands. Your life before his, every single time.

How could you not foresee this?

Ever since the failed assassination on Mosley, Tommy had slowly but steadily gone down a steep slope, one not even you could rescue him from. Life had never shown him mercy; every time he reached the pinnacle, a new mountain blocked his way, mightier and deadlier than the last. He had surmounted them all, not without penalty, leaving blood bathed bullets and bodies in his wake. But at last, Tommy had found his Everest. The summit taunted him, unreachable; the death of his aunt clobbered him like an avalanche, and the man he became after that didn’t hold the slightest resemblance to the man you fell in love with. You were sure that if you sat the present day Tommy before the one he used to be in 1919, they would not recognise each other.

He tried to keep you shielded from his meetings with the fascists, the rallies, the gossip and scandal. Only he knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the garden while you sat before the fireplace reading stories with your children. And only he knew about the stacks of bills being passed from hand to hand, sealing deals and pacts that promised to change the course of history. Tommy only wanted you to worry about your charities, your horses and your pretty dresses, and leave the rest of the world upon his steady shoulders.

In his mind, oblivious meant safe. For you, it felt like a lack of trust in your person. And that soon morphed into bitter resentment, never shown openly but perpetually simmering just beneath the surface, ready to erupt. Lying had always come easy to him, but it became harder when his lies were unmasked in the morning paper. How could he pledge innocence when his face showed up on the front page next to the leader of the British Union of Fascists? How could he deny his guilt, with Diana Mitford right at his tail?

How could he pretend leaving you in the dark was for the greater good?

Everything came to a breaking point when he suddenly summoned you to his study to inform you he would be departing for Canada the following day, with no clear return date and refusing to elaborate on what called him so suddenly to cross the Atlantic. The more you pressed for answers, the more he manoeuvred around them with carefully premeditated replies of vague content, half finished sentences and loose words, so unlike him that the lies unravelled on their own before your eyes. His total carelessness over the situation and the dismissal of your worries became the drop that tipped the glass. Months of carefully concealed rancour came bursting to the surface like an erupting volcano. 

You called him every name in the book, reminding him of the things you had endured for his sake over the long course of your relationship, while he could not even allow you the decency of forewarning you of such a trip or offer an acceptable explanation for such haste in departure, the acrimony in your heart even making you ask if he had special company for the journey. His impassive silence only irked you further, and you told him he could get a one way ticket to hell for all you cared, before slamming the door to his office so violently you heard a painting fall and shatter on the ground. 

The day after, you rounded the kids in the foyer for the mandatory goodbyes. He hugged them all long and tight, a rarity in itself for a man who had become so cold and withdrawn he barely spared them a glance in the mornings over his newspaper. And then he kneeled before Charlie and placed a brand new gold pocket watch in the boy’s little hands. Your husband said men wore pocket watches and he would be the man of the house now. The boy only stared back, perplexed, and nodded once silently before pocketing the precious object with utmost care.

You remained irate, arms crossed over your chest, fingers drumming on your arm impatiently. It was hard to tell you apart from an enraged bull staring at a red cloth. A part of you felt like a petulant child, but after so many years of marriage and everything you had silently withstood for him, you could no longer hide the hurt and disappointment, feelings far too familiar that you had grown accustomed to conceal. You only allowed him a brief goodbye, turning your face away when he tried to kiss your lips, presenting your cheek instead. He didn’t protest, his lips lingering on your skin longer than they had done in years, his gloved hand cradling the back of your neck and playing with your hair. His free arm circled your waist and pulled you close, face moving to rest in the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply, as if committing the scent of your body to memory.

A strange sense of foreboding filled you, but you forced it out of your mind. 

If you had known what the future held ahead, you would have jumped into his arms, engraving in your memory every detail of himself; the feeling of his hands on your waist, the timbre of his voice. Traced every nook and cranny of his face with your fingertips, over and over until you could forever recall it. You would have kissed those lips until they bled, and with the same ferocity, you would have screamed and clawed and made the windows rattle and the ground shake, demanding an explanation. Demanding to know why.

The days passed, and the worry began to gnaw at your chest. The hotel address he gave you didn’t exist, nor did the phone number which he scribbled down hastily seconds before crossing the threshold, only after you demanded to have a way to contact him should an emergency arise with the kids. The kids. Not you. Over his shoulder, as if an afterthought, he said he would call. After the first week of silence you had a landline installed outside your bedroom, and you would stare incessantly at the apparatus, willing it to ring. One time you heard the faint ringing in the study from the entrance door, and you rushed to it with such haste you vaulted over a sofa and snapped your high heel off. But it only turned out to be Ada, checking in on you. Ever since that day, everyone seemed to grow suspiciously closer to you. Calls and visits and days out. Ada inviting you to London and looking after the kids to give you a day off. Curly and Charlie coming often to help the kids tame their new ponies. Arthur would come too, far too often to be normal, and he would sit across from you in the living room, nursing a whiskey in his hand and poorly attempting small talk, always looking ready to be sick and evading your gaze.

Their pitiful stares didn’t go unnoticed, nor did some carefully chosen words, such as how your kids would always be looked after and provided for in the family, how they would always be there for you and would support whatever you chose to do with your life. Praising your strength, offering their support, always looking away or changing the subject when you asked if your husband had called them. The thinly veiled edge of desperation in your voice seemed to stir something within them, and redoubled their efforts in consoling you for something you didn’t yet know.

The truth laid bare before your very eyes, just an inch out of reach, concealed just enough to keep you in the dark with confusing glimpses of the life ahead.

But the passive games and the uncertainty came to an abrupt halt one bright sunny morning, the skies blue and clear like Tommy’s eyes and a gentle breeze fanning over the gardens. You told the nannies to prepare the kids for a picnic in the meadow, and helped Frances set up a plentiful food basket. But just before you could set foot out, a car stopped in the driveway. The frantic knocking on the door and the slurred screaming had you fearfully peeking out through the draperies, your finger readied on the trigger of a gun, only to see Arthur slumped against one of the columns of the entrance, calling out your name. Before he could say another word, you knew he had relapsed back into the opium, acquired from who knows where. Even from afar, he reeked of alcohol and smoke, face bloated and eyes bloodshot and swollen. He staggered forward, nearly toppling over you before falling to his knees, his face distorted in anguish. You tried to pull him up, to coax some sort of explanation out of him, anything to placate the worry crawling up your chest.

A million possible scenarios played in your head, yet not even ten lives could have prepared you for the simple words that escaped his mouth.

“Tommy is dead”

From that point on, memories become elusive. Only fleeting moments remain. You recall your own hands, hands meant to nurture, caress and comfort; hands that wiped tears, stroked hairs and tickled bellies, your kind and gentle hands gripping Arthur’s coat lapels and pulling on him with such force he came back to his feet, startled. You remember shaking him violently, teeth gritted and vision blurred with hot tears, your mascara running down your cheeks. Your lips parted to scream, but you cannot recall what words came out of your mouth. Arthur tried to pry your hands open and take some distance, but then you slapped him across the face. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was a punch. Or maybe a detail that never happened, later added by your wrecked mind. Because you hoped that if you screamed and punched and tore the world to pieces you would awaken from that nightmare.

You saw the smoke long before the car reached the side road. The perfume of the blooming flowers could not mask the wafting aroma of charred wood, petrol and burnt fabrics, with something else you could not quite pinpoint, but smelled vile and pernicious. A cheerful meadow stretched out before you, bright green dotted with white and yellow spreading as far as the eye reached across gentle hills. And amidst all, a scorched patch of land, and a pile of still smouldering debris, wisps of acrid poison swirling in the docile spring breeze. 

You leapt towards the vardo’s remains, but Arthur restrained you, slender but firm arms circled tight around your waist as he attempted to comfort you; as if there could be any comfort for you in that moment and place. You fought him with tooth and nail, scratching and biting and kicking like a frenzied beast, cursing his name, his bloodline and his entire existence. All he did back was shush you, a hand pressed to your abdomen, his arm around your chest as your knees gave and you collapsed into him, agonising wails wracking your to your core.

You cried out for Tommy, but only death called back.

In time, the smoke cleared and the pyre cooled, allowing you a clear view of the massacre before your very eyes. Like the leftovers of a bonfire, wood so thoroughly charred it disintegrated on the hand, mixed with scalding pieces of metal and leftover rags that once were curtains and bedding. You fell to your knees, frantic fingers digging at the ash and earth bare handed, soot and dust clinging to your sweat doused skin, getting in your eyes, your nose, your mouth. Your fingers ached and your skin reddened and blistered in the heat, but you felt nothing, nothing but the overcoming grief coiling around your heart, constricting your throat and freezing the blood in your veins. Your tears sizzled as they fell on the ground. You dug and dug, panicked sobs reverberating in the emptiness of the meadow, your pain a sharp contrast with the chirping of the blackbirds on the branches. 

You could find but only a few scarce belongings that survived the conflagration. A couple of gold sleeve garters. His pocket watch, the mechanism somehow still working. The frames of his reading glasses, the crystals having been lost to the heat. No matter how deep you dug, his wedding ring was nowhere to be found. And everything else had turned to ash and dust.

Ashes of the vardo. 

Ashes of your memories together.

Ashes of the man.

The love of your life swept away by the wind.

~

You no longer know if it’s day or night. The heavy drapes are closed, and only a few dying embers remain in the hearth. The room is cold, more than usual, robbed from the warmth of fire and the warmth of love. Time passess differently when grief has its clutches around you. Every second is too slow, yet every day moves by too fast. Three days have swept by, maybe four, plus the month of faked departure in which he roamed the fields while you believed him across the pond. His scent is fading from the pillows, from his clothes, from your memory. You sprayed some of his cologne on your wrists but it's not the same because it is not on his skin. It is not mixed with leather, ink and gunpowder. It is not him.

You already fear you are forgetting the right colour of Tommy’s eyes, the various hues mixing in your mind but none seems quite right. Are they the colour of the sky on a bright summer day? The tranquil sea surrounding the ship that took you to your honeymoon on the continent? Do they match the aquamarines from the demi parure he gifted you on your birthday, just because he said their colour suited your skin?

No. No do. Did. Because his eyes are no more. His bright eyes, his rare smiles, his handsome face, his protective hands and everything in between are no more. They are just ash and dust, a pile abandoned in the middle of an open field being swept by the wind and rain.

Floorboards creak on the hallway, but it could be the scurrying maids as much as the wandering spirits that populate your home, souls rooted in the land due to unfinished businesses from their past lives, acting as owner and keepers of a place where you are but a temporary guest. A door slams shut somewhere in the house, and the windows creak and rattle under the assault of the brewing tempest. The room grows icier, if possible, your breath rising in puffs of white. Your fingers feel stiff, achingly clutching onto an old pocket watch. Even the rings in your hands have turned to ice.

You curl tighter into yourself, if possible, your palms pressed to your face to warm your freezing nose and lips. Sleep threatens to take you, but you fight it with all your might, for the only place worse than life right now, is inside your head. The nightmares have chased you ever since that day, each one more horrifying than the last. But the body beats the mind, and your eyelids, heavy as lead, fall shut, your consciousness slipping away in waves.

You cannot be sure how long you slept, or if you did at all, when something startles you into attention. You sit up abruptly, heart beating frenziedly in your chest. The room is pitch dark, and for a moment you are disoriented, unsure of where you are. It takes long seconds for you to notice there’s a body next to yours, and a heavy, warm hand is pressed against your back to support you.

When you turn your head, the scream falls from your lips involuntarily, and you are positive your heart stops briefly. He looks so well, so perfectly well and common, so alive. Your hands are on his face, on his neck, running down his chest and arms as your mind struggles to come to terms with the image in front of your eyes.

“Tommy?”

Shrouded in black, his hair damp and  tousled, and perfectly unharmed. As if he were just returning from a session in Parliament. His hand slides up your body, from your back to your shoulder, then your neck and up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your tear streaked cheek. You lean instinctively against his touch; the warmth from his palm spreads through your skin like a soothing balm. It feels safe; it feels like home, like the place where you belong. 

His free arms circles your waist and pulls you into him, your head tucked between his chin and shoulder and your body pulled onto his lap. Both of your arms wrap tightly around his middle, fearing that if you let go, he would disappear like smoke, forever this time.

“Tommy? Tommy, what happened? Where have you been?” Tears brim again in your eyes, and the coil tightens around your throat “I…I don’t understand. Arthur said that you were…that you were” The word, that word, cannot make it past the knot. The word you so dreaded to accept. “I saw the ashes in the meadow”

He says nothing, nothing besides a hum of acknowledgement at your words. His thumb brushes back and forth against your cheekbone, the other hand tracing lines up and down the length of your spine, causing your belly to flutter. You are confused, terribly so, your thoughts reeling with the need for answers. But Tommy, as usual, offers none, and you don’t really want to spoil the moment, not when your heart is finally at peace after the terrible weeks you’ve endured.

The embrace goes on forever, none of you making effort to move or speak. Every now and then you feel his lips brush against your forehead, or his nose bury in your hair and inhale deeply, drowning himself in your scent. The storm howls outside, windows rattling with the strength of the wind, the glasses mercilessly pelted by ferocious raindrops. By now, the children would usually be awake and crowding your bed, seeking safety under your blankets. But peacefulness reigns their slumber that night, and you are grateful for it. You desperately need this moment alone with your husband.

His head tilts suddenly, just enough to place a gentle kiss against your temple, then his lips brush against the shell of your ear

“I am sorry” His voice is raspy and worn, as if it has not been used in quite some time “For everything. For keeping you in the dark, for not trusting your strength. For everything I put you through” His embrace around you tightens into an almost painful grip, as if he wishes to fuse his body into yours “You are fierce. And strong. The strongest woman I know. You can overcome anything, nothing could tear you down”

For some reason, those words do not sit right with you. They feel ominous, almost like a forever goodbye. You try to crane your neck to get a better look at his face, to read his expression, but he resists, hidden in the curve of your neck. Your heartbeat quickens in panic.

“I am only strong when I have you by my side. I need you, Tommy. These past days have ruined me. I cannot tread upon an earth you do not exist in.” Your fingers dig on the fabric of his coat, and for the first time you notice his clothes are dampened and smell faintly of wet soil and smoke.

Tommy chuckles, the familiar sound reverberating inside your ribs. He shifts again and his lips are against your forehead, continuing to refuse you a clear glimpse of his face.

“You were strong when I met you. You were strong when I tried to push you away for your own safety. And I know you will continue to be. For the family, for our children. They need you. You are their whole world”

Again those words, those threats of a future in which he had no place. The tears come back with renewed strength, blurring your vision and choking the words in your mouth, but you manage to force them. You cannot leave anything unsaid, not if he’s planning to abandon you once more.

“They need their father too” You protest “Please, Tommy. You can’t walk away again. Not when you are back in my arms” Your grip tightened to accentuate your words “I lost you once, I cannot do this again. Please don’t make me do this again Tommy. If you leave, you might as well kill me now, and spare me such misery”

“I can’t stay” The words cut like blades through your heart and lungs, and for a moment, you can’t remember how to breathe “I’ve got to go, but I promise you, I will always be with you. I’ll never leave your side, whether you can see me or not. I will always be your husband, in this life and the next” You cannot be sure, but he seems to be holding back sobs as well “So many things went wrong. So many mistakes that cannot be fixed. What’s done cannot be undone” Those words do not seem directed to you, but rather thoughts spoken out loud, an airing of frustrations he’s kept bottled up.

You pull away from him, so fiercely not even his strength can keep you still. Your hands cup his cheeks and pull him down until his forehead is against yours. You can barely discern his features in the darkness of the bedroom, so you use your fingers to gently trace the slope of his nose, the sharpness of the jaw, the softness of his lips. His breath fans over your face; he smells all over of nature, of dirt, of open fields and pine woods. 

“There is nothing that cannot be undone. Do you hear me? Nothing. Nothing that we can’t work out together” You can barely contain your desperation “You are Thomas Shelby. You can pull down the moon if you desire; you could bend the King to your will. How can you not fix whatever troubles you?”

His hands envelop yours, fingers gently prying yours away; but instead of dropping them, he cradles them gently, bringing them up to his lips to press tender kisses against your knuckles. His lips linger against your wedding ring until the metal warms.

“Not everything is fixable, my love. There are things not even I can undo. Some mistakes are permanent. I tried, tried my whole life, but I am not God, not yet” He pulls you into his chest again, and pulls the blankets around you “But you don’t need to worry about that now. The hour is late and the sun will soon be up. You need to rest, my sweet dove. Sleep and dream; I will be with you”

You wanted to protest, to pull away, to not let him finish things like that. But you suddenly felt terribly exhausted, as if the last days had dropped on top of you with the weight of boulders, and his arms were so comforting. He gently rocked you both back and forth, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your back. The last thing you remember is Tommy murmuring sweet words of love in your ear. You cannot remember them exactly, but you fell asleep with a smile on your lips.

The next morning you awake tucked in bed, buried between pillows and blankets and wearing a clean nightgown. You sigh contently and stretch your arm to the side, towards Tommy’s side, but find it to be cold and empty, feeling something powdery between your fingers.

Your eyes shoot open, sitting so abruptly you see spots dancing in your vision. The room is bathed in sunlight, all the curtains drawn back. Outside there’s a perfect spring morning, and you hear the dogs barking and the gardeners going about their duties. Once your eyes adjust to the brightness, you discover that the powdery thing on the mattress appears to be ash, or dirt, you are not quite sure. The sheets are stained with it, and when you stand from the bed, you find a trail of residue all the way to the door. Upon inspection, you notice some of it has been left on the door handle, as if someone grabbed it with dirty hands.

The door nearly slams on your face as Frances pushes it open, carrying a breakfast tray. You both jump with a startle, but she manages to keep her wits enough to not drop the tray at your feet

“That was quite a scare you gave me there, Mrs. Shelby. But it’s wonderful to see you at last out of bed” Frances says, as she leaves the tray on a small table with two chairs “The nanny has taken the children to the stables, so you have a quiet morning ahead of you”

You reach out to pick your robe, your thoughts still filled with the encounter of the previous night. You want to ask Frances, but choose not to, not wishing to be taken as a madwoman. What would she say if you told her your dead husband had slept in your bed the previous night? So you play ignorance, and sit before the table, your stomach rumbling at the sight of buttered toast

“That’s good, but don’t let them out for too long. It ought to be quite muddy and damp outside from the storm, and I don’t want them getting sick”

Your fingers are curled around the steaming teacup when she speaks again.

“Storm? There was no storm, Mrs. Shelby. I was up quite late and the skies were clear, although it was a moonless night, so everything was quite dark”

The teacup stops midair, and a cold shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps covering your flesh. You had heard the wind, the rain, felt the rattling of the windowpanes and the water running down the pipes. Then, you notice a glint on your ring finger. A glint that was not there the night before.

You now wear two wedding bands. One the perfect size, one a few too big. And outside your window, the blackbirds begin to sing.

[bonefall]

I’m rereading Po3 and despite its flaws I really enjoyed the introduction to the three. Jaykit isn’t mentioned to be blind in the first few chapters and instead they chose to show how much MORE capable he is compared to his littermates; until at the end of chapter 3, he brings up his blindness on his own. It makes forcing him to be a medicine cat SO much more frustrating because it really feels like they’re setting him up to be a warrior and choose his own fate (note i haven’t finished the reread this is just my first impression)

I like how you seem to take that path in BB regardless! It makes his arc so much more enjoyable

His arc in canon is super frustrating because he's such an independent character who clearly wants to make his own decisions in life, but then he just gets shoved into the medcat den. I LIKE that he ultimately goes there and that he enjoys it; but it was still really fucked up that they stripped away his autonomy in the process.

Re: they are not real, they are writing choices. Taking away the choices a disabled character can make over their own life, forcing them into a celibate nun role, and then going "awwwww dont worry see? he likes it! This was the best thing for him :)" was fucked up.

And imo it didn't have to be that way! You wouldn't have to go the FULL route I did with big changes, he could just be more involved in the descision to stop being a warrior apprentice and it would be fine. Minor change that would make a world of difference.

I do also have to interject to say though... blindness should really not be an extremely severe impairment for a ThunderClan cat.

I'm dead serious.

Whiskers are built-in sensors that tell you the exact position of everything within several inches of your head, ears swerve to pick up sound, and the jacobson's organ provides a sense of smell so keen that I have an entire Clanmew expansion draft because I needed to make WORDS describing the power of this sense that humans do not have. I cannot stress enough how delicate their other senses are, felines do not rely on their sight like primates do

ThunderClan lives in a mixed-oak woodland, where sight is already often obscured by foliage, objects are close together (for whiskers to feel), and nearly every movement makes noise against the leaf litter. RiverClan and (moor-running) WindClan cats would have a harder time with this disability than Thunder or Shadow.

Cat sight SUCKS to begin with. It sucks BADDD. They don't have color vision, they're significantly nearsighted, and they can't track up-and-down movements well. WC doesn't write realistic cats (more like small fuzzy people really) and I also work with more humanesque eyesight, but the only thing Jay should really lose is an ability to rapidly track a small animal swerving fast. Blind cats are often still excellent hunters in spite of that!

So it's an extra big waste that they railroaded him into a position he didn't choose, saying he couldn't be a warrior. This is the perfect disability to write, if you want to explore how ableism can impact the characters in this society who ARE legitimately still capable of nearly full independence, but still need to find accommodations for what they can't do.

In the same arc they're doing the dumb Cinder Reincarnation Plotline, no less!! Where SHE is also feeling like she has no choice over her "destiny," and gets a conflict over a potentially disabling injury

"Oh nooo if cinderpaw breaks her leg she wont be a warrior!"

"What the f-- Im Jaypaw and im reporting live from the scene where a Category 1 Idiot Moment is taking place. Woman breaks leg, suddenly everyone believes she is a horse, more at 11."

One of these days I should really make "herb guides" just covering how various sensory disabilities impact the lives of Clan cats and some tips for writing them as warriors, especially between Clans. Stuff you wouldn't usually consider, like how much noise deaf cats tend to make, how RiverClan would get a ton of sinus infections and lose their sense of smell, being blind in Sky vs Thunder, etc.

[charles-leclerc-official]

2024 British Grand Prix Race Analysis

I am keeping this one short and to the point. This race appeared more complex than it was. For ease of reading I have combined Lando, Max and Lewis’ races into one section as there was a lot of comparison to do there and it didn’t make sense to split it up.

Table of Contents Ferrari - Car set ups - Race: Pit calls, radio analysis Top 3: Lewis, Max, Lando Mclaren - Lando - Oscar Other Moments of note Final Thoughts

Ferrari

Ferrari’s race was a mess. I have noted this multiple times this year, but rain seems to be a difficult factor for the team to deal with. It’s unclear why. I have my suspicions to explain some things. But we can look at results and see that the team(not the drivers) the team behind the pitwall has had a lot of problems when contending with rain and mixed conditions.

Unfortunately Britain was no different.

Car Setups

Ferrari have been struggling to understand the two upgrade packages. It seemed that with this weekend the team heavily sacrificed results to try to understand and test some things with how these two upgrade packages worked. From free practice one it was clear that they were doing some more extreme tests to try to get a handle on the car. Given how many changes were made, and the fact that Charles went into qualifying with a car spec he barely had any experience with it was clear they were sacrificing this weekend in the hopes that gathering data and understanding certain things about these packages would allow them to get better results in the future. 

After 3 races in a row of middling to bad results I don’t necessarily fault the team for doing this. Something had to be done, because at this point they said they didn’t have a clear understanding of where their problems were coming from. Sacrificing one weekend for the potential benefit of the remainder of the season was worth it (we will have to see if this turns out to be true) Obviously, in ideal circumstances no sacrifices would need to be made. However given where the team was going into the British GP something had to be done. They clearly needed data that would give them answers, and it meant the drivers were not able to really focus on maximizing any one setup.

You could point to Carlos and say he got good results. But did he? He finished P5 in a car that should be able to do better. In a car that has done better. Consistent P5 is not where we want either driver to be. Glad for the points. But as a benchmark for performance of the car it’s lacking. And to be clear I do not think this lack of result was Carlos’ fault. He may have been driving a setup a little more comfortable to him than Charles, but he was not in anything optimal either. 

At the moment it seems that the SF-24 with the upgrades is more track specific than previously believed. 

Both drivers were testing various setups and upgrade package specs during free practice to try to find what would work. Bouncing was the main issue. The suspension of the SF-24 is current;y unable to properly support the aero upgrades, which are working as expected, but the car just cannot offer the support for those gains to show. 

The team did find that the Imola spec was best to reduce the bouncing, however it wasn’t fast. They chose stability over speed, which was technically the right choice. It doesn’t matter if the car is fast if it’s impossible to drive. 

Charles was running various specs of the SF-24 all weekend up until qualifying. He had to go into qualifying with a version of the Imola spec he’d run once before the entire weekend. I said above that the team clearly sacrificed the weekend for data, and this was the result. Charles didn’t have the chance to fine tune any settings on the car to have a good chance at qualifying.

Carlos reportedly had a little more time with the Imola spec than Charles when it came to prepping for quali in FP3. Charles went with the same Imola spec as Carlos, however he reported that several settings were off, especially on the front tyres. 

Carlos also did not get as comfortable in the car as he would have liked. He’d had more time, but still qualifying P7 is not the starting position we want to see. He mentioned that the bouncing was still there and the lack of pace was tough to manage as well. These were things both drivers reported. 

Both specs of the Ferrari underperformed. The Imola spec was marginally better for this track, and after that it came down to scrambling to get the car setup correct. A track which the team was already wary of being good for the car at the time. They were correct in that assessment. 

The Race

Charles started the race in P11 and finished P14. Carlos started P7 and finished P5.

Now, I predicted that Charles would finish around P7 or P6 in the race. He had the race pace for it and his overtaking this year has been great. And if the team had managed his race as they should have I would have been correct. 

That wasn’t how things unfolded. 

Charles actually had the best start to the race of any driver in lap 1. He went from P11 to P8 in a single corner, passing 3 cars. After that he managed to climb up to P7 and was chasing P6 before track conditions changed. 

So while the qualifying performance wasn’t there the race pace was enough to keep the Ferrari closer to the front than the back of the points. 

Charles lost all the places he gained in the pits. 

The big factor this race was rain. How much rain and when would it arrive?

Charles pit for intermediate tyres on lap 20 after the pitwall told him heavy rain was expected in the coming laps. Using that info Charles boxed. However the rain didn’t come for another few laps. Charles was on inters, which lost considerable time as that compound is significantly slower if the track isn’t wet enough(and it wasn’t) He then had to pit an extra time for another set of interes when the rain did come, because by the time the track was actually wet his inters were already destroyed. 

The early pit combined with losing time because he was on the wrong compound, followed by an extra pit stop was what lost Charles his chance in the points. This lost so much time it was impossible to recover. 

The key problem was pitting too early for the inters. Why did that happen? And who is to blame?

There has been a lot of speculation about the statements the teams have made about the info the drivers were given, and a similar number of interpretations of the team radios of both drivers. 

Fred claimed that both drivers were given the same information. Many have claimed he is directly lying about this, because over the radio we heard very different things. However I think he is technically correct. I think the issue came down to different interpretations of the same information by Charles and Carlos’ side of the pitwall, and this is evidenced in the way Carlos and Charles were receiving info about the rain and the amount of rain.

I think that both sides of the pitwall were looking at the same weather radar, so the same information. However, Carlos spoke about how he worked out a new system with his race engineer to communicate the specifics of rain conditions. Using color codes to convey the specific amounts on the radar. Whereas with Charles it seems the system there was less specific. “Heavy rain” could mean a lot of things. Whereas “cyan” correlates to a specific measurement on the radar. 

Therefore I think this came down to the way the same info was communicated to Charles.

Here I want to present the radios side by side for the relevant laps. I have cut down some radios for simplicity, including the ones I think highlight the differences in communication and also show the relevant information about the rain as that is the main concern here. I encourage you to listen to full team radios if you want even more information. 

I think if you look at the radios side by side it is clear that the team was using the same info, and were conveying the same information. However the way it was told to the drivers was different, and that made the difference. 

Based on what both engineers were saying I think they were both looking at the same weather radar. However one was working with his driver more to confirm conditions. And I think that Charles' side also was not as nuanced in the reading of the weather radar.

The issue here was the way the information was conveyed. With Carlos the he was giving more feedback to confirm the information that was seen on the radar was accurate. 

I think that it came down to a difference in communication system between the drivers and their race engineers. The way things were phrased to Charles made it seem like inters would be necessary instead of a more mixed solution. Carlos was trying to see if he could stay out based on the info he had and what he was feeling, while Charles was expecting things to get worse than they were given the way things were presented to him. 

Carlos was thus able to play things more by feel. And Charles made the call to pit. 

I want to emphasize that this was not Charles' fault for the bad pit call. A driver can only do what they can with the information they have. The information he was given made it seem like he'd need intermediate tyres immediately. Yes he made the call, but the team led him to that call.

I think what this highlights is that these little differences in how the pitwall communicate changing information to drivers matters a lot. Saying “heavy rain” instead of the specific intensity at specific locations makes a difference. 

I do not believe that Ferrari intentionally gave Charles the wrong weather information. This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, there wasn’t any gain to it. He wasn’t even in direct competition to Carlos at this point, there wasn’t a risk of a double stack. The idea this was intentional sabotage doesn’t really hold up because there was no real gain made anywhere. Sabotage is something that needs to be done for the gain of someone else, no one gained from this. The team lost points, Carlos didn’t benefit in any way, so the idea of this being some sort of sabotage doesn’t really hold up. 

I think that the team statements following the race were aimed at covering for the issues in communication behind the pitwall. Not a good look and it did not help with convincing people who wanted to create conspiracies. But usually when things like this are said it’s to cover incompetence or embarrassing mistakes, not malice. 

I do think that Charles’ side of the garage can learn from the system Carlos has worked out with his engineer. It seems to be a better method of getting the most accurate info to the driver. 

This weekend was a sacrifice for Ferrari. The results were never going to be stellar. However more was lost due to the bad pit call with Charles. Hoping the data gathered from this weekend was worth the sacrifice.

Top 3

The race between the top 3 was a contest of speed, skill in mixed conditions, and pit timing. 

Lewis won from P2. This was his 104th career win, his ninth win at Silverstone, which broke the record for most wins at a single circuit. Impressive achievement from him, and winning his home race during his last year with Mercedes is as good of a sendoff fans could have hoped for. Very glad to see him get minimum 1 more win with the team before moving on to Ferrari(the season’s not over so there could be more)

Max started P4 and finished P2, Lando started P3 and finished P3. 

One thing to note is that I do believe George might have been in the mix had he not had to retire. He was not as fast as Lewis on pace but I think he would have had a shot against Max or either of the Mclaren’s for a place. 

So let’s just dive right into the data between these three. 

A lot happened this race, but it was decided on the final stint, and the final stint was decided on the tyre compound. Some teams made the right call, others did not. 

The final stint Lewis and Lando were on the softs, and Max was on the hards. The hards were the better performing compound for the conditions compared to the softs, that much was clear, and had the stint been longer Max would have been able to catch up with the difference between those two compounds. The more notable thing is the difference between Lewis and Lando on the softs, Lando is clearly the slowest on this stint, and the difference between performance on the tyres there comes down to Lewis’ better tyre management, and also the fact Lewis had clean air. I think Lando probably pushed too hard at the beginning and cost his potential to save the tyres for a few laps later in the stint. But the soft was also just the wrong compound to catch the cars ahead. Lewis had track position, he didn’t need them, Max and Lando needed to be on a compound to fight on. Softs were not that compound. And you can see the clear difference it made between Max and Lando's pace, which really highlights the difference in performance.

The start of the final stint in the pits was where the race was won and lost. Lewis and Mercedes successfully undercut Lando. Leaving Mclaren stuck having to figure out how to regain the position, and they failed to do so, as tyre compound selection was a significant factor.

Here is their full race pace including the full inter stints(F1 tempo treats most inter laps as outliers because they are much slower than on the slicks) 

The first stint Lewis is slightly faster, but they are all quite close. The mediums in the mixed conditions were slowest for Max, the Red Bull was struggling with the mixed rain and the plan was to just survive until it was time for inters. He did do that, but the performance difference between the cars is pretty clear there. On the inters all three were very close. The final stint was where the little gains Lewis made really came into play because all he had to do was maintain his lead after that. And he did. 

All three were close on pace, so the little details made the difference, and whichever team/driver managed the mixed conditions of the race won. 

And a look at Lando against Lewis’ pace. Lando wasn’t faster for long on any of the stints. Lewis really had the speed against him most of the race. The lap Lando was able to get past was the lap when the Mercedes tyres were starting to fall off. 

And Lando vs Max’s pace. They were closer. Max was losing more time in the mixed conditions, the tyre call on the final stint really made the difference. As well as Mclaren’s poor pit timing. But unless they got that tyre compound right on the final stint Max was always going to be ahead of Lando, even if Lando had been ahead he wouldn’t have been able to fight Max with that pace difference. 

I will also note that Lando lost a place to Max into turn 1 at the start of the race. The fact he didn’t have track position against Max when he qualified ahead was due to his own inability to defend his position at the race start.

Quick look at what Lewis’ vs George’s pace looked like.

They were extremely close. Almost identical on pace and speed. The race between them would have likely been very tight had George not had to retire. What this really shows is that the Mercedes was the clear fastest car at Silverstone.

Overall the top 3 were very close on pace. Which given the mixed conditions was impressive. Lewis was the driver who managed the changing conditions best, in concert with his team supporting him with the better strategy calls. Great drive from both Lewis and Max. Lando’s race was mixed, I have more about where he and Mclaren went wrong in the section below. 

Mclaren

Mclaren have shown all year that the only aspect of their team ready to compete at the front is their car. Their strategy calls have been consistently middling to bad. Ferrari have had some bad weekends, but they have also had more consistently good strategy calls than Mclaren. It’s the middle of the season and Mclaren has yet to make a solidly good strategy call when it comes to the pits/managing the drivers on track. The driver’s can only do so much, and the team’s inability to strategize competently at the front of the field has certainly cost both Oscar and Lando places this season. 

This race was no different. In fact it was probably the worst bit of race strategy from them yet. 

First completely fumbled Oscar’s pit strategy and cost him places. 

Second for Lando they made the same mistake they have made a few times, kept him out too long because they didn’t know how to time the pit when he was in the lead. They then also asked him and relied on him to make the call on the tyre compound for the final stint. That isn’t something the driver should be doing. The team should be putting them on the best compound based on the data they have. A driver doesn’t have the real time data for how a compound is performing, how was Lando supposed to know the softs would be worse if the team wasn’t relaying that info to him?

I have seen some people put the blame of the tyre selection on Lando, and this isn’t right. Lando actually brought up the idea of the medium tyre to the team after they asked him, then saying he didn’t mind. Again, it’s not something he should have had to do to begin with. 

The team were then the ones to choose the softs. 

Mclaren: “We can choose a medium to cover people like Verstappen or we choose a soft to cover people like Hamilton.”

Lando: “Hamilton. I think Hamilton or do you think medium? I don’t mind.”

Mclaren: “We are going soft. Box this lap please.”

But beyond this the reason they did put him on the softs was to cover Lewis. They were copying what his tyre strategy was, assuming that would pay off. They ignored data showing that might not be the best compound. Because they kind of let Mercedes and Lewis decide their strategy, but they aren’t Mercedes and they weren’t at the front anymore. Choosing the same tyre didn’t make much sense. So not only did they mess up the tyre selection they did it because they were reluctant to do something different to Lewis. Max and Red Bull did and look how it paid off for them.

They are still operating like a mid-field team while competing at the front, relying heavily on the skill of their drivers to carry them. However there is only so much the drivers can do, at the end of the day they can only be as good as the team backing them up, and the team backing them up doesn’t seem to be able to time pits to stay competitive. 

The team has been held back by this reluctance to give up places in the pits. They’d rather hold the places they have that are good, then shoot for the top. Their hesitance in this area is holding the entire team back. 

In any case, this race was another example of Mclaren defeating themselves. It’s been 12 rounds and they haven’t learned anything from previous mistakes. How many times will they keep leaving Lando out for too long before they have the confidence to give up the place temporarily to pit? 

Unclear, but at this point it’s become clear to me that the Mclaren pitwall does not really know how to compete at the front and it’s glaringly obvious. 

We may see them turn around after the summer break. But I am not holding my breath. 

Lando

Lando also played a role in his own loss as well. First he did not defend his position into the first corner to Max. Second he overshot the pit box when pitting on the final stint. I don’t fault him for the compound choice because at that point in the race his team should have been deciding who to cover and which compound to do it on instead of asking their driver who is trying to fight for a win what to do. You can hear his radio that it all sounded rushed from him, and he shouldn’t have had to waste mental energy on that. Things like overshooting the pit box matter a lot when it comes to fighting for a win. 

But the loss of time in the pit box on top of the bad compound selection was what ended his chance to actually fight for the win. Not only did it cost him the place to Lewis but to Max as well. 

Oscar

Oscar was somehow more grossly mismanaged by the team than Lando. 

Oscar was left out an extra lap before the final stint because the team wanted to avoid a double stack. His tyres had fallen off considerably and he didn’t have the grip, he slid and lost time, and then by the time he did pit he dropped from P2 to P6. 

At least they put him on the right compound to fight up a few places. 

Top teams can perform a double stack. It’s one of the reasons Red Bull has had some really successful strategies, because they are confident in their ability to perform the double stack if needed. Mclaren clearly aren’t. 

Oscar was also clearly sacrificed for Lando. Priority was given to Lando for the pit. Which made sense as Lando was ahead. And they’d already messed up the call on Lando’s pit, so it cost more places than they thought. 

I do think that the team were trying to avoid Lando and Oscar being put in a position where they would have to fight on track. After Austria I think they got a glimpse of what it would look like if things got really competitive and that wasn’t a risk they wanted to take. 

Mclaren have been their own worst enemies all season, and this race continued that pattern.

Other Moments and Drivers of Note:

George had to retire from the race on lap 34 due to a car malfunction, specifically a problem with the water system. 

Logan finished in P11, which is his best GP finish of the season.

Nico finished P6 again, matching his best result of the year once again. 

Final Thoughts

Really messy race for Mclaren and Ferrari. Mercedes obviously the biggest winner by getting the home race win with Lewis. Haas are continuing to look strong.

Hopefully this weekend was worth the sacrifices Ferrari clearly made.

See you in Hungary!

[kinzis-writing]

Christmas Surprises | Tee Higgins

Blogmas Day One: Tee Higgins x Reader

Summary: Y/N was hoping to spend Christmas with Tee, but he was flying to his hometown and she would be staying in Ohio. Unless her family had other plans.

Warning(s): mentions of big family, written in "your" context, tee x you.

This is short and I apologize, I have been busy with finals this week and next. I will try to make the next ones longer!

The snow fell down in the city of Cincinatti, the Christmas Eve dinner around the Y/L/N's house made the house smell of turkey and Ham. Originally, you had planned to cook dinner at your house so you could invite Tee's mother (and other family) and your family. It was easier to have dinner with everyone at Christmas time than traveling to many different locations. You and Tee were going to let his family crash with you all and celebrate in Ohio instead of flying down to Tennessee.

Unfortunately, Y/N was in Cincinatti with her family and Tee had flown down to Tennessee to spend it with his mother. She had hoped that they would spend Christmas together and in their shared home, but she knew that it was unlikely to be able to see him before the 27th of December.

"Y/N!" Your aunt called as she walked up to where you were helping your family member cook. "Where's that handsome man of yours?"

You gave her a smile, but the question still made you yearn for your man more. "He's spending Christmas in Tennessee this year, it's where his family is."

"I'm sorry, dear. He still treat you well though?" She asked.

You nodded with a soft smile, "Yes, he's perfect." you promised before excusing yourself to cool off on the back porch. All the family members in the medium sized house, cooking, and talk of your boyfriend made you feel closed in. It was clear to you and anyone that knew you, how much you loved him. You had never loved anyone the way or as much as you have loved him.

After taking some time to cool off and clear your head, you went back in to help finish the cooking. The faster the food got done, the faster everyone ate, and the night would carry on. Hopefully you could get your mind off of your boyfriend for a few hours and not think about how much you miss him.

"I think we're ready to eat." Your mother spoke as she laid her Christmas plates and silverware out. She was a very proper person, always have certain table sets for certain occasions. Right as the kids started getting their plates the doorbell rang, "Oh, honey!" your mother spoke as you were helping your niece/nephew get a plate of food. "Can you answer the door, I invited some friends over as well." your mother explained as she took the kids plate from you.

"Sure." you smiled softly as you made your way through the crowd of family and towards the front door. You pulled the door open, doing a double take as you opened the door. Your eyes widened as you felt your jaw drop and tears come to your eyes. "Oh, My." You started at a loss for words.

"As much as I would love to let you gawk at me, it's cold." Tee mumbled as he gently walked you backwards so him and his mother could enter your family's house. "Merry Christmas baby." he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and gave you a squeeze.

"You're here." You spoke in disbelief that your boyfriend had somehow pulled off bringing him mom to Ohio and surprising you. Your arms wrapped around him so fast once your shock wore off. "This is the best gift ever." You whispered to yourself as you refused to let him go for a moment.

"Your momma invited me." Tee's mother spoke up as you turned to face her. You gave her a warm smile before greeting her and moving away from Tee to give her a quick hug. "I figured you'd want my son on this holiday." she finished with a smile before walking towards the kitchen to go meet your mother and the rest of your family.

Nothing could wipe the grin from your face as you stayed in front of your long-term boyfriend. "I cannot believe that you did this." You spoke in honesty. Usually, Tee sucked at surprising you. So that was the main reason you were shocked.

"It was all your momma." Tee shrugged as he slung an arm over your shoulder and led you to the kitchen where the food was waiting for you two.

Dinner was great, with everyone getting to know Tee's mother and getting to know your boyfriend better. He got to bond even more with your nieces and nephews, which they loved to have another person interested in what they liked. After eating, you helped your mother clean the kitchen and do the dishes. During this time, you made sure that she knew how thankful you were for her inviting Tee and his mother, also the fact that you hoped she understood how much it truly meant to you.

Your family loved Tee and you thought and hoped that his family loved you as well. Because you would do anything for that boy, even up and moving if something happened and he did not stay in Cincinatti. After helping the house get cleaned and calming the kids down, it was time for presents.

"I'm sorry that I left yours at our home." You told him full of remorse, you hated that Tee didn't have your gift for him to open right now. "I thought you were in Tennessee, and I didn't want to see it under the tree, so..." you trailed off so he would know how sorry you were and the reason why you did not bring the gift with you.

"It's fine." Tee shrugged it off before placing a kiss on your forehead and helping your mother hand out the presents that was under the tree. The kids had more than everyone else, but it was always how your mother had done Christmas. "Here babe." he got your attention and handed you two presents, which you sat down knowing that they were from your family.

Your mother ended up handing Tee's mother three presents just for her and three for Tee. It was common for your mom to buy everyone joining three gifts a piece and then give the kids at least five a piece. It was how your family had always done Christmas and it was a tradition that they wouldn't change unless they absolutely had too.

It didn't take the kids long to tear into their presents and start playing with whatever they had gotten. The rest of your family was exchanging thanks, your mother and Tee's conversing over who knows what, and just overall having a good night. It was just the way you thought it should be. Of course, some of Tee's family was missing but it was as perfect as it could be.

"What's this?" You questioned when Tee handed you a small wrapped box. You looked at him, not knowing if you should open it or not. Simply because you had forgotten his gift.

"Part of your gift." Tee shrugged as he kept a smile on his face. "Open it." he urged.

You hesitated for a moment before carefully opening the wrapping paper and then opening the box. The box contained an ornament that read, "Tee and Y/N, engaged 12-24-23" Your eyes widen a bit at the ring in a box ornament and looked up from the box to notice Tee on one knee in front of you. All the eyes of your family were on the two of you.

"Y/N, since I have known you, I have known that you were a special piece of me. You complete me and I hope that you will agree to marry me. I love you so much and there is no one else that I would rather have by my side. No matter where the coming minutes, days, months, years, and football seasons take me. I know that you'll be a constant in my life. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me and becoming Mrs. Higgins?"

"Yes, of course." You whispered as you started nodding your head because of the tears that spilled down your cheeks. Tee slipped the beautiful ring on your finger before standing up and pulling you into a hug. "I love you so much, I cannot wait to spend forever with you."

It was safe to say that this year's Christmas was full of surprises and you were ending the year the happiest you have ever been.

[spankingwishes2]

Covering for Sophie

After my first year of junior college, I’m checking out universities I might attend at the end of this year - and Sophie is travelling with me.  Some town I’m likely never to return to is the perfect place for fun!  At the same time, Sophie has been telling me that getting a good spanking ‘would be good for my soul’ (our mom spanks her, it seems like all the time!) and when we stay with someone who might be ‘suitable’ (I’ve ruled out Mom and Grandma), I consider getting one.

Mrs. B is, of course, a friend of Mom’s from way back - not someone I know personally, I’d say.  So when we stayed with her I thought she might be a good choice.

“We’ll do what we want, and I’ll get caught, and we’ll both say you had nothing to do with it,” I suggested.  “God knows you’ve been spanked plenty of times when I should have been right there with you.”

“I can do that,” Sophie agreed.  “Plus, it’ll be for something minor, right?”  I have a lot of major misbehaviors that I am hesitant to just toss out there and get punished for.

“Flashing?” I suggested.  Sophie can never resist flashing.  “You can get spanked later, after we’ve done some more.”  We had lots of places we planned to visit before I made a choice - and after a certain amount of ‘misbehavior’, Sophie always wants to be brought back down to earth.

“Okay - what, with pictures?”

“You can keep mine on your phone and then show Mrs. B some of the campus… and ‘accidentally’ scroll too far.  I’ll put yours on the cloud.”

Sophie giggled.  This was a go.

***

“What in the world were you thinking, Lauren?” Mrs. B thundered at me.

“I don’t know… just… fun…” I said, trying to sound contrite, my heart beating a mile a minute.

“Mom would take a hairbrush to her,” Sophie volunteered for me!

“Please don’t tell her…” I whined.

“And why did you take the picture, Sophie?”

“I asked her to,” I claimed - which I suppose was true.  “You know, part of the… fun.”

“Your mom is right - you need a dose of the hairbrush!”

“Please don’t tell her!  I don’t deserve two!” I said bravely, basically asking her to do it.  It was exciting - but scary!

“I guess…” Mrs. B said dubiously.  “Get in here - both of you!” she told us, pointing to the bedroom.  “Sophie, just in case you were thinking this was a good idea… well, just watch.

“And Lauren, get out of that dress!”

A second later her mouth dropped as I threw the dress over my head - I had nothing underneath. 

Whatever hesitation or sympathy she had for me vaporized and I couldn’t believe how fast she moved!  In seconds she had a big heavy hairbrush in hand, chair set, dragging me in and leg-locked over one knee!

“You - young lady - are going to find out - that just because you’re away from home - you cannot do - whatever you please!” she lectured as she walloped my bottom!  She had nothing in mind apart from hard fast swats to the lower part of my bottom, start, to (apparently) finish!

“You will - still - act like - the proper - young lady - your mother raised!”  God, that hairbrush hurt!  And if I didn’t keep my arms straight, she spanked even lower - which was worse!

I think poor Sophie was in tears almost before I was!

“I - won’t tell - your mother - but - I will - see that - you get - every spank you - have coming to you!”

I could tell she was breathing hard but she wasn’t letting up.  She just stopped scolding to focus on spanking - and ‘focus’ she did!

***

That very night Sophie asked if I thought the spanking had done me good.

“Ask me in a week,” I said.  But even at bedtime, lying on my stomach (and my hand (blush)) I thought about the whole idea of being spanked like that by some omniscient ‘watched’ who knew when I’d done wrong!  (No, not Santa Claus… or, not necessarily Santa Claus.)  Do wrong - spanking.  Do wrong when I know it’s wrong - double spanking!  Yikes!

I didn’t have the privacy that night to enjoy myself properly, but I knew that once I was home I’d look back on this with intense excitement - and time, so far, has proven me right!

Sophie and I have dozens of campuses to visit - she may be thinking about grad school - and while I don’t know how often we’ll have someone to stay with - or how often it could go as seamlessly as this time - it could just happen again!  And next time I’ll see that Sophie gets spanked as well!

[thatstonedwriter]

Epic Gamer Moment

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/n- Hope y'all enjoy these. I included what I think Millie, Loona and Fizz's animal crossing island themes would be.

Contents; swearing, romantic relationships, some gamer slang (?), gender neutral reader

feat; Millie, Fizzarolli, Loona

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gaming can be a great way to relax and spend time with your partner(s) and spark some playful competition...

Millie would love action/adventure and FPS/RPG games. I think she would generally go for faster paced games with lots of action and teamwork like Fortnite or Overwatch. If Millie is going to play a slower game, it either has to have an interesting story or cool visuals. That's where games like Legend of Zelda, Undertale, and Flinthook come in. (And, of course, Animal Crossing). If Millie is gaming with her partner(s), she'll probably want to party up in Overwatch so everyone can play together (and have a coordination advantage). Absolutely cusses out toxic players, omg. Especially if someone harasses her partner(s). Whoever messes with y'all gets verbally destroyed, then blocked and reported by Millie. I think she'd be a fast fucking typer, ngl. She's also a super supportive teammate. No matter how bad the game is going, she's always cheering everyone on. I'd like to think she'd wear those headphones with the light-up cat ears because that shit is so cute. Millie is also a big fan of having matching/complimentary aesthetics for your animal crossing islands. Millie's is a western theme with communal vegetable gardens and lots of black roses everywhere. Visits her partner(s)' islands regularly and chats with all the villagers.

Fizzarolli cannot handle online/team games. They're too fast and overstimulating, and I don't think he'd enjoy trying to keep up. However, get him on Harvest Moon, Animal Crossing or Stardew Valley and he's obsessed. I also think he'd love some of the old school Pokémon games. When Fizz is playing on his switch, he loves to broadcast whatever game he's playing onto the TV and sit on the couch and cuddle his partner(s). He's another who would wear cute gamer shit, like the headphones with ears, and little face stickers! Fizz gets super invested in the storylines of whatever game he's playing, and is determined to finish every task and request from villagers or in-game love interests. He'd work so fucking hard on getting a five star island in animal crossing or completing farming tasks in Harvest Moon. Also really enjoys in-game collectibles. Fizz appreciates aesthetics, and would go all-out with the cute gamer look. That would include getting LED lights and projectors to decorate the walls, light up keyboards, those really cute headphone stands, and a cute switch accessory case. Fizzarolli's Animal Crossing island has a circus theme with lots of stages/performing areas and outdoor cafes with open mic stands.

Other than Millie, Loona is probably the most competitive gamer out of their whole group. She also enjoys online competitive games, such as Valorant and Overwatch. just don't let her connect to VC; she's got some serious gamer rage. Loona generally isn't horrible about it, but toxic players and enemy teams can be frustrating, so occasionally, she goes off in /team chat. Like Millie, Loona will cuss out toxic players. Loona gets super invested in the games, so even if she's gaming with her partner(s), she'll have a hard time "just relaxing." She generally doesn't like slower paced games, but I think everyone would have a soft spot for Animal Crossing. (And I wanna believe everyone would visit each other's islands). For Loona's island, I think she would either have a gothic or city theme goin on. Lots of trees and sitting areas with tarot card sets and flowers scattered around. I think Loona would have a lot of fun with battle passes and seasonal events. It really helps her with having fun with competition, rather than getting hyper-aggressive. Loona also has some gamer set-up type things; Comfortable gaming chair, LED lights, and she probably uses a mic stand instead of headphones.

[forabeatofadrum]

It's Wednesday My Dudes! Thank you @that-disabled-princess, @nausikaaa and @cutestkilla tagging me. Time is an illusion.

I was out and about, not doing much, since it was my birthday. I watched the digital ticket of Starkid's new musical Cinderella's Castle, and I enjoyed it, and I played some viddy games, namely Cult of the Lamb and Splatoon 3. Splatoon 3's come to an end with the great Grand Festival. I hope Kurt and Blaine are bopping to ANOTHER version of Ebb & Flow. Off the Hook keeps releasing new versions of that song and it still slaps.

And after last week's poll, I started The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker. So far, it's not going well for me, up to the point I'm looking into cheats. I can't believe I am unbelievably stuck on the first dungeon.

But because of Wind Waker, I have returneth to writing with the thing no one asked for, me included, namely a Zelda fic!

A little background, but back in 2021, I wrote Any way the wind blows, a fic that's set in Breath of the Wild and it's about Link reuniting with his sister after a hundred years. Then, fast forward to 2023: Tears of the Kingdom came out and the character of Purah has been doing scientific fuckery with her age. Maybe some of you remember this, but after that game came out I spent some of these SSS/WW posts talking about a possible sequel for Any way the wind blows. Welp, seeing the Link and Aryll of Wind Waker interact brought all of those thoughts back and last night, underneath my blanky, my mind started writing it. So under the cut there's some words of Easy come, easy go, will you let me go, because yes, I even came up with a title.

Kiana knows Aryll is old. Everyone in Lurelin knows Aryll is old. She's called the village elder for a reason. She'll be turning a hundred and twelve. If she manages to make it. Everyone's noticed that Aryll's grown even more tired than before. She spents most of her days inside, even though the villagers have made the outside more accessible. A few weeks ago, she only went outside when her brother came to visit. The two of them would sit by the ocean. But now, that's also stopped. To be fair, now that the Calamity is over, Link spends more time at Lurelin. Before, he would only visit once a week. After, he practically moved here. But Link and Aryll spend most of their time inside Aryll's hut and Link's also started roaming around Lurelin without her, because she's often asleep when he's around. Kiana knows Aryll's lived a good life without regrets. If it hadn't been for Link returning, she'd be at peace with Aryll slowly fading away, but Aryll's had to miss her brother for almost a hundred years and it feels cruel to have it end. Sebasto argues that maybe this is the way it is. The Goddesses have kept Aryll alive so that she could be reunited, but now that's happened, and it's time to move on, but Kiana cannot accept that. Kiana knows she can't stop death. No one can, not even the most advanced scientists in Hyrule, but when she overhears Zelda and Link discuss the aging experiments of one of their friends, Kiana starts to think.

I'd like to write this fic in the same style as the first one, which alternated between the present and Aryll's stories about the past, but I have no clue how to do that. Ah. We'll see. I gotta finish it first.

And now, the weather: @quizasvivamos @coffeegleek @caramelcoffeeaddict @raenestee @tectonicduck 

@nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer

@special-bc-ur-part-of-it @larkral

@artsyunderstudy​ @facewithoutheart​ @shrekgogurt @rockitmans @bitbybitwrites 

@whatevertheweather @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @esilher @kurtsascot @blackberrysummerblog 

@nightimedreamersghost @ivelovedhimthroughworse @thnxforknowingme @martsonmars

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

I LOVE NICO SO MUCH 🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠 THEY GROW UP SO FAST

THANK YOU! HE IS FOURTEEN HERE BELIEVE IT OR NOT!

75 for Nico and Chris!

---

“I want to go to Grandpa’s,” Nico tries. “Or Aunt Maddie’s.”

“Do I have to repeat what I literally just said?”

And once again, Chris could drop him off at Maddie’s or Bobby’s. The offer stands. He has an out. He would prefer not to deal with this, on this of all weekends. But something in his gut says he needs to be the one to do this, right now. He needs to be the one to watch his brother, when his parents cannot. 

“Then can’t we just go home?” Nico pleads. “Where all my stuff is?”

“All my stuff is at my home,” Christopher explains. “Including the big project I have due by the end of the month.”

“Yeah, but dads left your room set up,” Nico points out. “We can go there.”

“No,” Chris says. His work desk cannot be easily packed and relocated. Though, depending on how this weekend goes… Is that what’s going to need to happen? Will they need him to come back home? 

Chris tries not to think about it. 

Nico groans and slumps back, head banging off the car headrest a bit. They don’t speak again  for the remainder of the drive. 

🎆🎆🎆

His brother lives in a small, kind of dim first floor apartment across the city. He used to have a nicer place, but that hadn’t worked out. This one is fine. It’s close to his work, but not close to them. Better than when he lived in the northern part of the state, though. Or maybe not. Maybe, after today, it would have been better if Chris took the fancy job he’d been offered in Connecticut after he finished his Master’s. Then someone who isn’t a total jerk could have picked him up. 

The moment they get into the apartment, Nico drops his backpack on the couch and storms off to the bathroom. He makes sure to shut the door loudly, just to be a pain. He wants Chris to feel his frustration. Get sick of him. Send him to Grandpa’s or Aunt Maddie’s. You know, people who actually like him. 

Apparently unbothered by Nico’s attempt at shutting him out, Christopher pretty much immediately starts making a phone call. The apartment is small and the walls are thin. It’s easy for Nico to eavesdrop. He sits on the bathroom floor and presses his ear to the door.

“Yeah, he’s at my place,” Christopher says right away. Not even a greeting. It must be Dad, and Dad must have answered the phone, worried.

Nico feels a flash of guilt. He hadn’t wanted to scare him. He really didn’t.

“...okay?” He hears Dad’s voice through the crackly, distant phone speaker. Chris always keeps the volume on his phone up really high. 

“I mean, he’s sullen and refuses to talk or explain why he did what he did.”

Ugh. Chris can be such an ass sometimes. Why does he want Nico to be in trouble? Like what does he get out of that? 

“...easy on… please, Chris…”

Chris laughs bitterly. “Easy on him? Where’s the lesson in that?”

“...doesn’t need a lesson… just scared…” 

“Yeah, well he’s not the only one and not everyone gets to act like that.”

“...favor to me… be nice.” 

“Fine,” Chris sighs. 

“...talk to him?” 

Nico stands up and backs away from the door. 

“Yeah, one second.” Chris walks over and knocks on the bathroom door. “Nico, phone.”

Nico opens the door and extends his hand to take the phone. Chris rolls his eyes and hands it to him. 

“Hi, Dad,” Nico says sheepishly, holding the phone to his ear and shutting the bathroom door again. He hears Chris huff. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”