#ch: mickey

[nurturercelia]

When: late Friday evening Where: Celia's Bedroom With: @themickey

Celia was never a light packer, although it had been a while since she stayed at Woodrow House for an overnight trip. Mostly lunches and dinners. Easy day trips. She would stay longer, if asked, but she never was and so she made an excuse about having to get back while there was still daylight for the drive. Her room was the same as it always was. The lace curtains and quilted bedspread had been freshly cleaned. The house felt as quiet as it usually did when it was just her there for her dinners, but as soon as Mickey knocked on her door she realized there were other arrivals. Thank goodness she wasn't alone. She ran to the door and wrapped the younger girl in a hug. "Mickey, it's so good to see you again."

She left her suitcase to the side, plenty of time to unpack it later, and ushered Mickey to a bean bag chair that she begged Richard for, something she'd always wanted when she was little. "I'm surprised you beat me." Indeed she thought she hit the road fairly quickly, but had a few clients left for the day she couldn't reschedule last minute. "Are you the first one here?"

[latibvles]

something to write about.

we are back with another one of these!! yay!! this week's prompt is recuperation — and so we're tackling willie and some post-bremen dilemmas, featuring John Brady no this isn't just an excuse for me to write them who said that? anyways im fond of them and this and I hope you are too :) me? posting at a reasonable time? unheard of.

It was almost offputting, how a phrase could change meaning in a little over 72 hours. Nothing to write home about becomes nothing you can write home about. Willie always struggled with writing letters, and Viv often teased her about how she’s the only person in the Hundredth who could struggle with making piloting sound exciting. Of course, Willie didn’t want it to sound exciting, even if she could manage that. She didn’t need Otto getting any wise ideas to end up on the fast track for enlistment. But now, there was nothing she could write home about.

Thirty people, gone, just like that. It was hard to be optimistic when there were no chutes to give some scrap of hope — and Willie hated watching June wipe Carrie’s blood from her hands almost as much as she hated watching Carrie get carried away on a stretcher, her collarbone a bloody mess haphazardly subdued with the sulfa powder and rag June held to it until she had to drop their bombs in the channel. They only knew how upset she was about the whole thing after she kicked her footlocker like it’d personally wronged her after interrogation.

If this is what it feels like being the last man standing, Willie hates it most of all.

That was three days ago, and now most of Mouse Hole’s flak holes were all patched up, and Willie’s certain that if she hopped into it right now, there would be no blood on that bombsight, no remnant of the fact that Bremen, in plain terms, had been a failure.

But that was nothing she could write home about, now was it?

She couldn’t tell home about the dead or about the hole torn through a nineteen-year-old girl. She couldn’t tell them about the flak or watching three planes go down or the engine fire. She couldn’t tell them that ten women she’d considered friends were gone, just like that — no funeral, no fanfare. She just had to live with it, like they all did, even if she still couldn’t make sense of what she’d seen and much less make sense of the fact that she’d have to witness it again.

“Willie?”

The sound of her own name catches her offguard — she wants to kick herself for the reflexive jolt her body makes at being caught offguard. But she turns her head and there’s John Brady, looking apologetic for startling her.

And that fact really makes her want to kick herself.

“Hey,” she breathes out, then inwardly cringes at her own lackluster response. Real smooth, Willie.

“Hi,” That makes it better. He walks closer still, nods, and Willie looks over the details of his face quickly. Furrowed brows and a bit of a tight lip — he’d given them that same look when they came out of interrogation. 418th. The first group grounded, huh. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” She counters, brows raising. This, however, makes him nod, the frown cracking a little bit. Good enough.

“I asked you first.” Willie clicks her tongue in mock surrender, then gestures to Mouse Hole — the Mickey Mouse decal grinning down at the two of them like a flak-happy lunatic — then gives him a half-shrug.

“Came to check on my house,” she explains, a statement that chips away at the rest of that tight-lipped frown and makes him smile a little bit. Much better. “Thought I’d catch Swanson out here or something. Wanted to ask a couple questions but now I guess I’m just having a staring contest with Mickey Mouse.” His brows shoot up towards his hairline and he chuckles.

“Oh yeah? Who’s winning?”

“Me, obviously. I don’t lose,” He makes a noise that she’s pretty sure, or rather, hopes, is a laugh — based on how the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, how he ducks his head down for a moment to rub the nape of his neck with a quiet muttering of ‘of course.’ Then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tilts his head up to also, presumably, try his luck against the flak-happy mouse. He’s pretty bad at it though, because he glances at her again out of the corner of his eye.

“Where’s Viv?” Viv and Willie. Willie and Viv. Wherever one goes the other trails. Willie reaches up to rub at her earlobe a bit.

“Fifteen minutes behind me, probably. Or keeping the rest of them out of trouble,” Because that’s how it’s probably gonna be — she’s gonna make sure no girl walks home alone in the dark and I’m gonna sit and grumble until we make piss-poor jokes about it, just like we did over smaller things in Utah, Iowa, and Nebraska, too. “She’ll end up at the club one way or another.”

Brady nods, giving little more than an understanding ‘Ah’ and there’s a moment there where they lapse into something of a familiar quiet.

This, funnily enough, is the most normal she’s felt in days. She couldn’t really shake that restlessness that settled in after interrogation — a loud, harping feeling that she should be doing something. Which is at least half the reason that she came out here to begin with — to do something, maybe find something worth writing about on the hard-stands. I could tell them about Sandy Swanson and her crew of mechanics, or…

She looks Brady up and down for a moment. There was something assuring in knowing he didn’t seem off-put by her silence, that he was fine with sitting in it instead of prying words out of her that she couldn’t give. But words always came easier to her when she was comfortable anyway. And when it came to comfortable…

“You played well, last night,” Willie shoves her hands into her pockets. You always do. He raises a brow, his smile turning lopsided and boyish in a way Willie thinks she likes more than she reasonably so.

“You think so?”

“Well I’m no expert on the subject, but yeah,” Willie nods, affirming her own statement. “I do.”

There’s a look shared between them, and Willie feels that shyness starts to overtake her as it so often does when it comes to him. There’s the urge there, to say more: to show how much attention she pays to him when he picks up his instrument. There’s also the acute awareness that anything she says she’ll have to live with after saying it, and so she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something too bold.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’d quickly earned a soft spot with her, whether he meant to or not. Maybe that was something she could write about.

…Not the soft spot— the band. The music. She hadn’t really talked about that part much, beyond that there is a band, and there is music; jazz most nights, meant to provide them with some means of relaxation day in and out. There are words the more she thinks on it, waiting to be phrased in the right way to statiate the needs of both her worrying mother and her too-curious little brother. If there’s a few sentences in there about an unnamed saxophonist being, in her eyes, maybe a little bit better than the rest — then it’s a good thing she censors her own mail.

She reaches up to pat the body of her fort twice, takes a couple steps back and gives him a once over.

“I’m gonna head over now, I think. So I don’t make the missus wait on me,” there’s a snort there that’s so uncharacteristically Brady, and yet somehow he makes it work.

“Right, okay. I’ll walk you.”

“Think I can’t handle myself, Brady?” He clicks his tongue, turning as she walks past to keep step with her. He mutters something under his breath that she doesn’t quite catch, then continues to look at her as they walk.

“You caught me. I’m trying to keep you from dancing on tables.”

“Damn, there goes my weekend plans.”

Laughing is a shared sound, his deep chuckle overlapping with her breathy one, and she likes the combination. They lapse into that quiet again, the comfortable kind that feels normal when everything else doesn’t. Willie says nothing of the fact that their shoulders bump every now and again — if this is as much of a reprieve as she’s getting, then she’s more than happy. She’s never been a greedy type, but she could start to be if it meant there would be more of this. She steals a momentary glance at him, before committing wholly to it with a clearing of her throat as they get closer to the long rows of huts that line the path to the Officer’s Club.

“You never answered my question,” Willie points out, and Brady responds with little more than another ‘hm?’ “I asked what you were doing out there, you never answered.”

Brady’s brows raise to his hairline and he nods slowly before looking away from her, tongue poking out to run over his lips for what feels like a full minute before he looks back at her with that boyish smile of his again. There’s that brief, fleeting thought that recuperation looks less like the shine of brassy instruments and more like the warm, welcoming glint in those gray-blue eyes of his. If nothing else, he’s serving as a pretty great reminder that she is not, in fact, the last man standing.

“Heard there was a mouse running around by the hard stands, wanted to make sure she wasn’t scurrying into any of the forts and trying to take off,” The smile on his face gets a little wider with every word. Willie can’t help it — she laughs a little louder than before, shaking her head, half-disbelieving and yet surprised all the same that she couldn’t come to that conclusion on her own.

“Seriously? Did Viv put you up to that?” She asks, not upset at all, but Viv had a tendency to worry so Willie wouldn’t be especially surprised if she had.

It’s the barely there shake of his head, ‘no’ that almost knocks the wind from her lungs, and even if she doesn’t write this part down: Willie knows her mind will return to this fact often. And she won’t be able to hide her smile when it does.

[levithestripper]

mickey my love my light my beloved your insane s4 sidequests have bewitched me body and soul

[local-lamppost]

After the mission

Spoilers for the latest chapter

I’m not too sure how many people have had this thought, but I think Twilight will give up being a spy and embrace the identity of Loid Forger; and I’d like to thank the new chapter for supplying me with exactly I’d like Loid to be after he quits the spy game.

Twilight’s whole shtick is coming up with stories and making masks to fill the roles, so him becoming an animator/writer/comic would be a way to peacefully use those skills. I’m leaning more towards a comic writer/illustrator. 

Franky would be his PR/printer/editor etc. and go on to have their own studio. I’m imagining something like Mirage Comics, where it’s just the two spit balling ideas until an unanimous “THAT’s IT!” moment.

I’d just love to have Loid living a fulfilling and truthful life, where all the lies and deceptions aren’t ‘for the mission’ but for whatever he’s writing.

And of course Anya is his biggest critic and his biggest fan.

Also, this has got to be one of my favorite panels

[mossmurdock]

mosss!!!!! do you have any songs that remind you of knight!sugu??? or maybe just knights overall?? i'm so curious heheheh

- @softgirlgonehaywire

oh my god mickey the can of worms uve just opened,,,this is such a goood question!!! ive had knight suguru in mind specifically for these along with butcher!reader in mind

divine loser by clem turner

tongue & teeth by the crane wives

sane by haley heynderickx

weak for your love by thee sacred souls

how i get myself killed by indigo de souza

i now realize nearly all of these are very angsty songs but i promise the fic itself wont be so awful!! (so far...) this is a very short list atm, but i am for sure going to update it eventually this was so fun to think about i cannot believe i hadnt before!

i didnt just want to list these so here r some specific lyrics that particularly hit for me while thinking about the au. (its taking everything in me not to include all the lyrics rn LMAO)

first up is divine loser by clem turner!!

dear god this song guys. this song. it is so suguru geto, it has his name written all over it!! i really do overuse it in any writing i have for him because this guy is so truly a divine loser. a wet ball of eurgh but in an almost religious way i hate him (lie)

here are some of the lyrics:

My bad habits don't heal They wear a different dress I'm coming down with something I lost my own respect

I bit my fingernails Until I tasted bone So my body remains But my purpose just stopped

DEAR GOD DO YOU GUYS SEE THE VISION??? he's so..he's so....i cant anymore yall. (spolier!! this is also such an amazing song for preist!suguru I MEAN COME ONNNN)

anyway next is tongue & teeth by the crane wives!

this one is angsty<33

And I know that you mean so well But I am not a vessel for your good intent

You gotta know that this won't last Desperation will erase the fact

I will only wring you dry of everything But if you're fine with that If you're fine with that

there are so many more lyrics i have in mind here but these are the ones that make me go "HURRAY HUZAH!!" for this one specifically, im seeing it as from the pov of the reader and addressed to suguru (i hope this doesnt spoil much LMAO)

next is sane by haley heynderickx!

another one where i had the reader in mind, though it was a bit more difficult somehow. im not sure how to explain it, but the significance of this one is a little more complex? hopefully that makes sense

Why am I frightened if it's all just a game But the look in your eyes Oh the look in your eyes Oh the look in your eyes kept me sane

Why am I childish, oh why can't I make sense If everything's certain, well I'm certainly offended

(this lyric in particular has me thinking of both of them!! themes of struggling to understand the world around you. DO YALL GET IT!??!)

next is weak for your love by thee sacred souls!

oh this one is so sweet, it is wonderful and warm and i love the sound of it i highly recommend it. the repetitiveness of the lyrics really get to me here because repetition is such a love struck thing isn't it? and that's a huge part of the beginnings of their relationship (at least what i have in my head so far<3)

Pretty lady, you have me so weak Pretty lady, you have me so weak

You have my heart inside your hands (you have my heart) Baby, be careful what you do with me (be careful, baby) You have control of all the strings (ooh) Baby, be careful what you do with me, me (be careful)

Oh, baby, I go crazy for your love Oh, baby, I go crazy for your love

TEARS THIS SONG APART LOVINGLY RAGGGHHHHHHH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH CRUNCH SNAP TEAR

here comes the very last one!! how i get myself killed by indigo de souza

oh and we r back to angst :'0 ++also this is by one of my very favorite artists pls check them out!!

on another note! this is a song i also used for my fic "more than living" which again, seems very redundant, but i can't help myself. reduce, reuse, recycle is my very best motto.

This is probably how I get myself killed This is probably how I get myself killed This is probably how I get myself killed This is probably how I get myself killed (more important repetition are we seeing a pattern here? LOL)

Oh, come when you're called If this all we've got to work with, then it's all we've got to blame

I'm lovin' your skin darlin', I'm lovin' this hot morning I need to be kicked, maybe fucked, maybe told I'm in the way

the initial meaning of this song, if im correct, is based on a very toxic relationship. which still somewhat applies to this au, but ive sort of expanded on it another way. i had suguru's responsibilities and duties as a knight on the mind! the beckoning!! come dog, and heel while you're at it! <- that sort of thing if yall catch my draft and ofc the reader picks up on this,,,and is maybe a little mean about it :o

anyway WE ARE FINALLY AT THE END LETS GOOOO!!! this was soo much fun! thank you so much for the ask darling i loved it<33

BUT IM VERY CURIOUS NOW!! ur such an inspiration do have any fic playlists of your own, or any stray songs floating around reminding you of certain fics or characters or even interactions?? I WILL TAKE ANYTHING AND PLEASE DO TALK ABOUT IT (if u have the time ofc)

i unfortunately have yet to get through much of your longer writing but i would absolutely love to have something to listen to when i can!

[heymacy]

hi macy! just popping in to say i love your magical words and yqhbr is such a gem of a fic ✨

michelle my love!! thank you thank you 🥺💛 this genuinely made my day! i’ve been trying so hard to write and it hasn’t come easy these days but i’m so motivated to round out this story and give those lil guys everything they deserve 🥹 sending you ALL the love!!

[glorysings]

@fatalswans - ft. mikaela and laurent

"you've gotta be fucking kidding me." it's one thing to suspect laurent of cheating on her with other skanks behind her back. it's a whole other, to find one literally blowing up his phone at 2AM while they're both trying to sleep. suddenly, mikaela regrets ever coming over to his place in the first place. if the roles were reversed, laurent would've lost his damn mind. guess, it was mickey's turn as she cracked him once, really hard on the nose with the blunt end of his cellphone. if she broke it then, so be it. it would be well deserved. "wake up, you pig. who’s melanie?"

[takeyourpillsbitchh]

✨Story Update✨

Silent Pain in Emerald Eyes - Chapter 8 preview

***

The bedroom is bathed in a cool blue-grey when Ian’s eyes open. Mickey is still cuddled in his arms, back pressed against his chest. Ian can’t help but bury his face in that tattooed neck and breathe him in, run a hand down his side, squeeze his hip and cuddle closer. Mickey grumbles something Ian can’t quite make out before he settles back down. Ian smiles to himself, wanting nothing more than for this to be his morning every morning.

He lays there, no idea how long, nosing at Mickey’s skin, tracing over his tattoos with gentle fingers, and pressing soft barely there kisses to his skin. The need to empty his bladder is what brings his perfect morning to a temporary halt. He gently unwraps himself from Mickey, scoots out of the bed and goes to the bathroom.

After he pees he steps over to the mirror taking himself in and he smiles. Yeah, his hair is a mess and he still has puffy red scratches on his neck but he doesn’t look tired or run down, there were no bags under his eyes. His face clearly reflects his feelings. Happy. Content. Well fucking rested for once. After washing his hands he quickly brushes his teeth, goes to the kitchen to take his meds and practically rushes back to Mickey’s room, needing to cuddle his man more before they leave for their breakfast date.

When he walks in the room though he stops. Mickey is still there, he’s rolled to his opposite side, curled up in the spot Ian had previously been in and he looks so sweet and Ian of course wants to kiss him. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until blue eyes flutter open and meet his.

“What are you smiling about?” Mickey asked, voice sleepy and rough and Ian doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smile.

“I’m happy,” He signs, watches sleepy eyes light up and it melts his heart. Those blue eyes never leave Ian’s as he walks over to the bed and crawls back in, pulling Mickey close and kisses him…kisses him because he can, because he’s happy, because—well, just because. And Mickey kisses him back, smiles into it and Ian thinks his heart is going to explode with all of the happiness and he doesn’t even think he would be mad about it.

When he pulls away from the kiss he caresses Mickeys face and they just lay there, gazing at one another, touching, taking in every feature of the other. Mickey’s foot slides up Ian’s shin, and Ian’s hand wraps around his waist that’s beautifully bare from his tank top riding up as he slept.

Ian loves it. Loves the closeness, the calm, the relaxation, the soft intimacy of just laying there and letting another person take you in. He never thought he would have something like this, thought he was too fucked up, ruined, not good enough, even before he was taken. He was always used for someone else’s gain, only needed if he had something to offer. But it wasn’t like that now. Not with Mickey. Never with Mickey.

“What are you thinking about?” Mickey asks softly, his hand stroking over Ian’s chest.

“You,” Ian mouths, grabbing the hand on his chest, bringing it up to kiss it.

“Mm,” Mickey hums, giving Ian a questioning gaze.

“You make me happy,” He mouths, swears he feels his eyes water, he’s sure he sees Mickey’s eyes well up to but eyes are closed and lips are pressing firmly against his before he gets a good look.

[soemotional]

"What the fuck is wrong with you can't ya fuckin' see I was tryin' ta fuckin' sleep?" In a half awake stupor, Mickey groans at the other for barging into his room.

(Gimme any shameless boy ya want)

"but mick-- listen--" ian began, licking his lips in excitement as he held the leashes of about three stray dogs. without regard for mickey's annoyance, he launched into an explanation, "i figure, we put up adoption posters for all these guys on the north side and people will come running and we'll have some extra cash." ian spoke a mile a minute as he crouched down when one of the dogs barked. he scratched it behind the ear. "i need your help making the posters though." then as an after thought, "and a place for them to stay."

[devilsmenu]

@hiddenpxpercuts cont. from here because beta editor

"I wasn't expecting the jail part but you at least didn't got bored there and had things to do" Heiya replied with a shrug. "But you can always take a few minutes nap, though it's very good to sleep more longer, but if you want to nap then go ahead, no one will know".

[thvnkpink]

[ @percentstardust​ ] [ continued from X ]

"Hilarious" Annoyance laces her tone like arsenic. Their 'project' was the very last thing on her mind at present in spite of copying down notes from the textbook open in front of her. It was funny that on the page before that one were more notes she'd taken while stalking the victims she'd carefully chosen for Mickey to take care of. It was a such a shame that he was fucking insufferable because he really was devoted to the crusade her brother started. Sidney Prescott needed, no, deserved to die for what she’d done. Billy was nearly killed by Stu because she wouldn’t just fucking die and their mother abandoned them with the monster that called themselves their father all because of her. Vicki had suffered enough for three lifetimes all because of Sidney Prescott’s family and she was not going to allow her to just get away with all of it. But, if she was going to make a proper sequel then she couldn’t very well forsake her brother’s carefully crafted formula and do it alone. So -- as horridly as Mickey annoyed Vicki, he was a necessary part of all of this.

Granted, there were moments that she’d look at him when he wasn’t paying attention and he made her feel…something. It was a difficult feeling to describe and it frustrated her. Vicki had also felt it in the period of time that she’d safely watched him from a distance after discovering him on the forum and ensuring he was the real deal. He claimed to have killed people before and sometimes the temptation to ask him to show her the victims was there. She tried to tell herself it was just curiosity, something to tell if he was just bolstering or a fact. “I’m not the one who guts people for fun.” She does fantasize about it though.

[illisius]

INTRODUCING THE TOP GUN: MAVERICK ENSEMBLE...

oh, what a family.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Raven! Quick Question: do you have a picture or screenshot of the Blot monster from book 7 Ch. 3? The one that attacks Grim and MC in Mickey’s room? And what sets it apart from the other Blot Monsters (aside from the fact it looks different)? Thx! 😘

This? 👆 (From 7-43!)

It's actually not an OB monster like the ones we saw escape confinement in STYX HQ. In 7-51, Silver describes the creature pictured above as natural darkness that appears in people's dreams. He has met them countless times before when dream walking. Silver doesn't quite know what they are, but he does know that if they get to you then you will be dragged deeper into your slumber. And if that happens, well... it's implied to not be a good thing. You might just get trapped in the dream and never be able to leave it.

[levithestripper]

guys help im mirroring mickey’s facial expressions why did the autism pick him of all people to mirror

[37sommz]

✼. COME TO ITALY | 2015.

CH. 01. NOW PLAYING: dreams by the cranberries [fluff, angst]. ✼.⠀summary: prema saves michaela's career, 2.1k.

MICHAELA WAS NEVER GOOD AT SITTING STILL. Her mother used to scold her for the fidgety nature that seemed to plague the young girl when she would bounce around the doctor’s office or disrupt the teacher during storytime. Her father thought it was a good trait to have as a racer. He found it helpful that his daughter’s endless supply of energy allowed her the chance to spend many hours in their garage fixing up a broken kart or reviewing racing footage from that day. She would bounce around, spurting out corrections for her form, or her pace.

I’m breaking too late… 

too early… 

I’m much too wide…

that was a chance to overtake.

As hyperactive as she was, she was also incredibly self-critical. Her uncle always lamented she was much too focused on being perfect—in action, in talent, and in response—that she often missed her chances to celebrate. Her response was always the same, “For every single mistake I make, they give the same amount of grace to the boys on their 10th.” She reasoned that her perfection would eliminate any opportunity for the males in the sport to discredit her. 

Not that they needed much opportunity.

✼.⠀OCTOBER 20, 2015 — surrey, england

“WE CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU A SEAT FOR NEXT SEASON.” That was what the team principal told her after she fell short of the rookie cup. Second to il Predestinato and his shiny Dutch car. Though Michaela was rarely still, she stood still in that moment. Staring up at the older Englishman’s eyes as he continued on with some excuse she had no interest in hearing. 

It wasn’t until he delivered a short, “The team wishes you the best. We’re sure you’ll have your fair pick of teams to choose from next season.” 

Bullshit. 

She muttered to herself as she turned on her heels to leave without her famously permanent smile to comfort the older man. 

“I outperformed those jerkoffs in every single race,” The words stormed into the silent room as Travis, her uncle and manager, stood across from her.

Approaching her with caution, he gently reached to grab her shoulders, pulling her in for a gentle hug. Meant to calm her, but it did anything but. After a beat, Michaela tore herself away from her uncle, a sigh emitting from his chest signaling to her he was just as frustrated as she was. 

“Travis—” 

He cut her off before she could say what they were both thinking. His eyes slowly tracked her movements as she paced from one end of the room to the other. 

“Mickey, we both know that you outperformed Ryan and Gus. But let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here.” 

She scoffed at that, eyes rolling with angry disbelief as her arms found their way back into their pretzel over her chest. Travis, in his stubborn wisdom, continued speaking, “This is a test—”

“A test?” 

She exclaimed, arms thrown from their place on her chest. Her head shook from one side to the other as Travis watched on with a subtle sympathy for his ambitious niece. 

“They tested me all season.” 

The words peaked in tone, hitting Travis’ ear with a sense of pain he hadn’t seen in the 15-year-old since she was back in Australia breaking the news over the phone that her father had been laid off.

“They gave me the least reliable car, they refused to protect me from the pricks who terrorized me off the track. Then, when I get a win in Germany—” 

Her lips pursed together at the memory, stopping in the middle of her words to keep herself from crying. 

“The only win between the three of us—” 

Failure finds her, tears puddled in the corners of her eyes spill over. 

“The engineers abandon me on the podium to talk strategy with the other two.”

“How many times do I need to prove that I’m just as,” Stopped to correct her words her head shook again, “...better than the boys?”

It’s Travis’ turn to fold his arms over each other. His head fell back against the door that stood behind his frame, too pained to watch Michaela fight to hold back the tears that kept flowing down the sides of her face. Their lips equally pursed as the silence filled the room once again.

This was what most of their conversations ventured into. That question of being enough tortured both of them, for admittedly different reasons, but the toll of it weighed upon their shoulders the same. It had been a question Michaela frequently asked her uncle, usually in jest, though revealing the depth of her insecurities just the same. 

They both knew Travis would eventually have to offer her an answer. 

One definitive so she would stop asking. 

But Michaela would be lying if she tried to act as if she was naively unaware of the answer Travis fought back every time the question was posed. 

She knew the answer was never. 

She knew the answer would destroy her if confirmed by the one person who believed she was better than the boys. She knew the answer would tear down every step forward she took in the name of chasing the success she so desperately craved to taste. 

So Travis didn’t answer. Neither of them was sure he ever would.

Instead, with his head pressed against the hardwood behind him, he offered up a solution. As he always did.

“We’ll call around in the morning like we always do. We’ll use every trick, every piece of leverage we have. I’m going to get you that seat. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter how.”

When Michaela didn’t respond, his head broke away from its hold tipped back. His eyes met hers searching endlessly for a sliver of hope in her clouded brown eyes. The same eyes she shared with his older brother. 

“C’mon Mickey—” He coaxed in an attempt to draw an emotion out of the teenager who stood before him. Any emotion would do in that moment. “I’ll make it happen. You believe me? Right?”

It must have been nearly a minute before she broke the staring contest she held over him. She shrugged her shoulders, arms folded over to offer a sense of comfort to her pained self. 

“Yes?” Travis pushed once more, eyebrows raised in a way that reminded her of her father’s own instinctive heroism.

“Yeah.”

A nod was all he needed to cross the space over to her. With a shake of her shoulders, Michaela released the smallest of giggles. His paler hand ruffled at her curly hair, a move to diffuse the tension that hung between the two family members. 

“Right,” He exhaled as his hand retreated to its place. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

✼.⠀NOVEMBER 05, 2015 — london, england

“In a post to her blog, Susie Wolff has announced her formal retirement from Formula One.”

-

“The prospect of a female driver on the grid.”

-

“The events at the start of this year and the current environment in F1 the way it is, it isn't going to happen."

-

IN THE FEW WEEKS SINCE HER DROP FROM JAGONYA, MICHAELA HAD NOT LEFT HER RACING SIMULATOR IF NOT TO EAT OR SLEEP. The TV directly to her left was left on Sky Sports, news within the racing world kept her both alert and melancholy.

Paradoxically, it worried Travis, and his wife, just as much as it reassured them. The duality of the feeling pulled at their emotions as they witnessed the extent of Michaela’s worries that she wasn’t—and couldn’t be—as good as the boys. That’s what most of her hyperactivity came down to. At least in their eyes.

“Michaela, love.” 

Bea’s words were as gentle as ever given the depths of her concern for the teenager. Her eyes caught the end of Michaela’s racing journal as it perched on the edge of her desk. Battered from her obsessive writings, Bea picked it up carefully to place it down carefully. 

As she turned back to her niece, Michaela’s tired eyes stared up at her, hands still gripped at the wheel of her simulator with the screen paused in wait. 

“It’s been ages since you got up.”

With a softness, her eyes conveyed the true weight behind her words. Michaela was more than aware her obsession with perfection worried her aunt, though she was unwilling to give it up. A relaxed sigh left her mouth as she rose from her chair, the simulator shutting down as Bea observed from her stance just across the room.

“Come eat, Travis has news.”

The casual words stunned Michaela more than she would be willing to relate. A knowing smile pulled at the corners of Bea’s mouth before she shrugged calmly. 

“I’m not sure what it’s about, but he was quite insistent you come down.”

Those words were all it took before Michaela rushed down the stairs, her hair flying behind her in a messy haze of brown and blonde curls, bouncing against the gravity of her run.

“Mickey?”

Travis’ voice beamed with excitement as he caught the attention of his excited niece. 

“We have a guest,” His head shook with a laugh. “Best behavior?” His pinky finger reached for Michaela’s own, an ill-fated attempt to calm her down before the unnamed guest presumably seated in their living room. 

A clear of her throat and a twist of their pinkies and Travis led her to the living room.

A full head of dark hair turned to face the overzealous 15-year-old clothed in a raggedy Lightning McQueen t-shirt. With a laugh, he stood to attention, and a hand reached out to shake hers. 

“René Rosin,” She exhaled with a breathiness that conveyed her amazement. A smile graced his features at her recognition, sure his decision had been reassured in that moment.

“I heard the Brits left you without a seat for next year.”

“Can you imagine?” She muttered, her smile never faltered despite her uncle’s clearance of his throat as a reminder of her ‘best behavior’ promise from just moments before.

“Sorry, I’m really—” 

She cut herself off as René raised a hand to signal he graced the comment. 

“When I found out, I can admit I was shocked beyond belief.” 

The team principal’s Italian accent bled beautifully into his words. Michaela almost found herself distracted by the flourishes he added to the end of his sentences as she hung on to every word he expressed to her. 

“How has your break been?”

Caught off guard by the question, Michaela shrugged her shoulders. With a nervous bite of her lip—terrified and in awe of the principal’s appearance in her living room—she chose her words wisely. 

“Unfulfilling. I miss the track.”

With a nod of his head, René exchanged a knowing glance with Travis who gently chuckled at his niece’s criticalness. 

Michaela’s mind spun at a mile a minute, an infinite number of scenarios of René’s next words ran through her consciousness. Hope was tussled with paranoia at the back of her mind. Hoping that this would be her moment of redemption but paranoid she would be put in her place once more. 

They got someone to convince me to give up.

The thought displaced her for a moment before she snapped back into reality. Her teeth chewed at the inside of her mouth and her fingers pressed into her palms. Both were nervous habits that didn’t escape Travis and Bea’s attention though they exchanged subtle smiles that completely escaped Michaela. With a gentle tap on her shoulder, Travis coaxed Michaela to stop her movement. The action reminded her to exist in the moment before her.

“How soon would you like to be back? Racing?” 

Michaela didn’t need the clarification he offered before she burst with attention.

“Tomorrow—today—I… I don’t care when. Just as soon as possible.” 

René chuckled again at her eagerness. With a clap of his hands that startled Michaela as much as it excited her, René cleared his throat.

“Then tomorrow, I’ll see you in Veneto.”

Michaela tilted her head in confusion, feeling as if she had missed a few words before the statement. 

“Sorry,” She stammered, paranoia crept back into her. “What—what do you mean? V-Veneto?”

His smile did little to calm her until his response accomplished the mission instead.

“How would you like to race for Prema in GP2?”

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[marvelling-at-marvel-blog]

Today I have done a lot of thinking about fictional charachters because...well my day has beeen horrible and its been better than thinking about that.

I saw a clip of shameless S1 where Mickey is dirty and unclean and I remember how a lot of people have said maybe he didn't really care until Ian came along or started to try for Ian. And sure, that may be part of it, but in my experience, there are so many other reasons people are unclean for, and I think a few would apply to Mickey.

1. I think part of the reasons he is reguarly covered in dirt is that being dirty tends to hide or blend in bruises. It is not going to work completely but enough to make people wonder if that is dirt or a bruise, or if they are seeing it properly. I imagine Terry wasn't light handed in beatings, and the kids were expected to cover for it. While teenage Mickey could say he was in a fight younger Mickey would have easily used that just some days old dirt excuse.

2. Lack of hot water or just water in his house. I don't think paying the bills on time was high on Terry's list either, and we know the house was basically a dump. It wouldnt surprise me if they reguarly had no hot water or if they did it run out quickly with the old water heater and you did not want to be the one causing Terry to have a cold shower. Or he saved the hot water for Mandy because he knows she actually really cares about her appearance and being clean

3. As a reason not to have to be with girls. In his first episode, Karen mentions that maybe Mickey is coming to find her to ask her out again and then says basically says along the lines of "I wouldn't because he smells like shit.' Being unclean and dirty means girls are less likely to want to go out with him, so he can ask the girls who he knows will say no then have it be that they are a b***ch who said no, or she don't know what she missing. He comes out of looking like her really doesn't care he got turned down but still leaves the impression his into girls. It is like a protective layer

4. I think caring about your appearance and the way you're dressed is something Mickey's dad would find pansy. Which Ugh, Terry is the worst.

5. I don't think some people really understand how vulnerable being naked in a place you dont feel safe in is. I feel like if Terry is mad, drunk, or just desires it, he would be more than happy to come for you. Being naked and unprepared is not a fun thought. So Mickey saves his showers for when he is sure his alone becauze like hell he is trusting that flimsy lock on the door (if there even is one cause Svetlana just walks in with a hammer on Ian)

Sure maybe once Ian comes along that is more incentive to be clean and presentable but I think he really starts to be clean is season 4 onwards where he knows and admits how much Ian means to him and that he loves him, no longer has go pretend to be into girls (his out or he has the excuse of his married) but also when his dad is in jail and maybe the bills are getting paid, maybe he feels safer in the house.

I just hate the common thinking of, that person is unclean because they don't care. That is rarely the real reason in my experience.