#margin of error updates

[stygiansauce]

Margin of Error Chapter Four: Fire Line

Margin of Error - Chapter 4 - stygian_sauce - 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series [Archive of Our Own]

Chapters: 4/?

Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series

Rating: M

Warnings: No Archive warnings apply

Relationships: Jimmy | Solidarity/TangoTek, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Jimmy | Solidairy, TangoTek (Video Blogging RPF), Hermitcraft Ensemble, Emires SMP Ensemble, EthosLab (Video Blogging RPF), JoelSmallishbeans, Lizzie LDShadowlady, Mentioned Zedaph, Grian, GoodTimeWithScar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe- College/Univseristy, Slow Burn but not really, Southern TangoTek, Inappropriate use of Southern accent, Swearing, Jimmy says fuck :)

Chapter Summary:

“A mirage if I’ve ever seen one.” The reel whips against the current and Tango is tugged into place. There’s nothing more natural than flirting with Jimmy. It comes easier than breathing on most days. Anything to see a blush creep down his neck from just a compliment.

“What’s a drink like you doin’ out in this desert?” 

Jimmy snorts, “Is that supposed to be foreplay?” 

Tango grins, “Only if you want it to be.”

[physical-manifestation-of-spite]

POSTCARD UPDATE: Proofs came in and I have to make some adjustments to a couple of them, so shipping will be delayed another week! I apologize for the inconvenience; I want to make sure these products are right before I ship them out. Thank you for your patience!

[communistkenobi]

A newborn baby girl will have to go through life with the wrong sex on her birth certificate after a registrar’s error, which her parents have been told they cannot change. Grace Bingham and her partner, Ewan Murray, were excited to register their first child at the Sutton-in-Ashfield Registration Office in Nottinghamshire last week. But, after nights of broken sleep, they failed to notice the registrar had written the wrong sex on the birth certificate until after it had been submitted. “We were horrified but assumed that, as we saw the mistake just a few seconds after it had happened, correcting it would be an easy matter,” said Murray. “But although the registrar apologised for her mistake – and the area manager also apologised – it turns out that birth certificates can’t be changed.”

this article is interesting because it demonstrates that cis people can very easily apply structural thinking to sex assignment - this couple immediately identifies that their daughter, having mistakenly been assigned male at birth by the registrar, will have administrative problems in employment, education, travel, and so on. they pretty adeptly identify the foundational role that sex assignment plays in the administrative and civil functions of a state, and how incorrect sex markers effectively produce a ‘rational’ reason for discrimination within these administrative and civil arenas:

The General Register Office (GRO), which is responsible for administering all civil registration in England and Wales, and the Home Office have both confirmed that Lilah’s birth certificate cannot be reissued, although an amendment can be made in the margin of the original document. But Bingham said this is not enough. “People reading a birth certificate might easily miss a tiny note in the margin – which means that Lilah could be regarded as male when she applies for school, her passport, for jobs – for everything that she needs a full birth certificate for.”

And given that this was published in The Guardian, this article makes zero mention as to why it’s impossible for this couple to receive an updated birth certificate with correct information (something the author notes was possible to do a year ago), but the reason is obviously transphobia. 

Now one might ask why there’s no exception for cis people whose birth certificates were recorded incorrectly at birth, but this reveals the instability of cissexualism. How would you determine who is a cis person with a mistaken birth certificate, versus a trans person who wants to change their mistaken sex assignment record? Sure, you could say well, this is an infant, of course she’s “really” “biologically” female (something the parents argue in the article as grounds for having their child’s birth certificate re-issued), but 1) that certainly can’t be argued for in all cases, 2) 'biological sex' is understood by medical doctors as alterable through hormones and surgery, which trans people are often required to undergo in order to change their records, and 3) binary sex assignment is already imprecise and discretionary, particularly if infants have sex characteristics that don’t conform to binary F/M assignment standards (which is part of how the category of intersex emerges, framing this failure to conform to state census categories as a biological defect - and in fact, many intersex people do not discover they are intersex until the onset of puberty or later, at which point they are even less in luck if they want to change their sex assignment - and if they don’t, if they are cis but have sex characteristics that do not conform to cis standards, they will be discriminated against anyway). 

Even setting aside the issue of transgender and intersex people for a moment, states fuck up all the time in administration! you've probably either experienced this directly or know someone who's had some kind of record fucked up by the government at some point in their life. If you get married they could fuck up changing your last name, fuck up your disability status, record your social insurance number wrong, print the wrong address on your driver’s license, fail to acknowledge you as a dependent when filing taxes, incorrectly mark you as having graduated when you’re still a student, fuck up your immigration paperwork, record your name wrong during immigration, etc etc into infinity, and this is not even getting into errors that occur when different levels of government pass information between one another. This level of administrative rigidity is purely to punish people who fail to perform cissexualism correctly, and in the case of this couple's child, the administrative error of the state is imputed to them as a personal failure that she and her parents will now have to deal with for the rest of their lives. 

I think the ultimate analysis is not that transphobia will become less precise and hit more "wrong" targets as it expands its reach, but that this is the exact same operational logic as all other liberal state measures - if you encounter a systemic issue, it’s your fault for not avoiding it, fuck you, go away. You’re poor because you’re lazy, you’re unhoused because you’re lazy, you’re disabled because you’re lazy, and your daughter is now administratively transsexual because you’re lazy. In this case, we don’t even need to assume the intentions of the state - they outright say it:

The family complained to the GRO but was told the mistake was their responsibility and could not be fully rectified. “The duty to ensure that information recorded in any particular entry is true is the responsibility of the person providing the information and not of the registrar general or the registrar recording the birth,” the GRO said.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (24 - The Last Day)

Chapter Summary: “Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, smut

A/N: Infinity War > Endgame, honestly. There won't be an update next Wednesday as it's already finals week for me :) // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wakanda was a fortress. 

From where you stood, gazing at the seemingly endless plains and lush forests that cloaked the hidden nation, you could almost believe you were safe. The sight of the golden African sun spilling over the landscape had a sort of hypnotic effect—like it was trying to convince you there was no danger beyond these borders. 

Of course, you knew better. Nowhere was safe with Thanos out there, collecting the Infinity Stones one by one. 

You tore your gaze away from the sweeping view, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to Wanda. She stood beside you on the balcony, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face etched with quiet worry as she stared into the distance. With Vision gravely wounded and the impossible task of removing the Mind Stone without ending his life looming over everyone, she’d been on edge. You didn’t blame her. Vision was her friend and she cared about him. 

You slid closer, pressing a comforting hand to her back. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded, though she didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “I will be,” she murmured, her Sokovian accent thickening with anxiety. You didn’t even realize it was still there. “It’s just… I hate waiting like this.”

You remembered the feeling of helplessness in Scotland: Vision had been pinned down, helpless, and you and Wanda had been forced to watch as he was nearly killed for the stone in his head. You closed your eyes, shoved the memory down, deep into that place where unwelcome things go to rot. You were both seconds away from the same fate—until Steve and Natasha arrived, pulling you all back from the brink. Just in time. Always just in time.

“They’re good people here,” you assured her. “They’ll find a way.”

“I know. I just…” Wanda swallowed thickly, her words catching in the process. “I… we were naive to think this was just another assignment. We’ve lost so much already.”

She didn’t have to say who else she was referring to. You knew about her parents, her brother, everything she had endured. And now, this war was threatening to take more. You gently pulled her into a side embrace, resting your forehead against hers for a moment.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” you promised, and you meant it.

—

You left Wanda alone with her thoughts and headed to the lab. It was a pressure cooker—hissing, ready to blow—filled with people moving like they were on rails, locked into some critical task. Everyone had a job, a purpose and no task felt too small when the goal was stopping Thanos. 

You came here because you needed to know your place in all of this—what you could do, how you could help. You couldn’t stand the idea of just waiting around while everyone else carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Bruce Banner stood at a console, studying Vision’s neural scans. He didn’t look happy. You worried he’d start turning green from all the stress of figuring out the impossible task of separating the Mind Stone from Vision without reducing him to something less of a being and more like his former iteration. 

“How’s he doing?” you asked.

Bruce didn’t glance up. “Stable, for now,” he said. “Shuri’s stasis is the only thing keeping him that way.” He finally met your eyes. “If we remove the stone and botch it, we lose him completely. We don’t have a margin for error.”

Shuri spun around, sweeping a hologram to the side. “Banner, look here,” she said, pointing to a tangle of code. “If we sever this pathway first, we won’t risk a chain reaction in the cerebral cortex.”

Bruce studied it. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Shuri replied, not missing a beat. “But I’ll need time to reroute all these connections.” Her face tightened. “If Thanos shows up in the middle of that, or if anyone so much as unplugs the wrong cable, Vision’s done.”

Across the lab, T’Challa and Okoye conferred with Natasha Romanoff over a holographic map showing Wakanda’s borders. Multiple defensive lines lit up around the perimeter, funneling any possible attackers into one choke point.

Okoye pointed at the display. “We force them here,” she said. “We strike from both sides, and the rest of our forces remain mobile—ready to reinforce wherever the line thins.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the map. “Works for me. If Thanos wants what’s in Vision’s head, he’ll have to go through an army of Wakandans first.”

You caught T’Challa’s eye. “Where do you need me?”

T’Challa broke away from the map and leveled his gaze on you. “I need you with Shuri,” he said, “I hear you’ve been trained by Barton and Romanoff—made a habit of picking up new skills fast. My sister needs the best at her side.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. You understood what he meant without him spelling it out. If Shuri’s lab got breached, there wouldn’t be much left to protect outside.

“Tell Wanda I want to speak with her.” T’Challa added.

It wasn’t your place to ask, but you needed to know. “Where do you need her?”

He let his gaze drift to the massive layout of Wakanda’s borders. “The front lines.”

You’d been afraid he’d say that. You knew Wanda could handle herself, but the thought of her out there—exposed to whatever Thanos threw their way—turned your blood cold. Still, there was only one answer to give.

“Understood,” you said.

—

You stepped out of the lab, feeling a strain behind your eyes you couldn’t shake. Down the hall’s half-light, you spotted Steve and Natasha talking in low voices. Whatever it was, you could tell right away it wasn’t a happy conversation—probably the number of casualties from other places, other worlds, an entire universe. 

Steve caught sight of you first. His eyes dipped to your hand. “That a ring?” he asked. Then, without waiting for your answer, he offered a soft smile. “Congratulations. And… I’m sorry.” You understood exactly what he meant—sorry that a moment like marriage had to happen with a crisis looming.

“Thanks,” you said, offering him a timid smile. “For that and for coming to help me and Wanda in Scotland. I owe you.”

Steve shook his head. “No debts among friends.”

You cleared your throat again, forcing your nerves down. “Mind if I talk to Natasha alone?”

He glanced at her, then nodded. “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “I’ll go see how Shuri’s doing.”

With that, Steve gave you a pat on the shoulder and slipped away, leaving you alone with Nat.

Natasha folded her arms across her chest and gave you a once-over. Her eyes landed on the ring before she spoke. “So,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You got married, and I didn’t even get an invite?”

You fumbled for a response. “It wasn’t exactly a ceremony—”

She waved you off. “Relax, I know the details. Wanda and I caught up already.”

“Oh.”

Natasha’ss lips twitched into a half-smile. “So you married your assignment. I guess you really like to go above and beyond.”

A laugh escaped you, along with some relief. “We both know you only gave me that job so I’d have a valid excuse to chase after her.”

Natasha merely smiled, letting you know she was waiting for what you really came here for.

“Listen, Natasha. About the messages you sent…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Things… they got complicated, and I just—” You trailed off, not sure how to put it all into words.

Natasha gave a slight shrug, like she’d seen all this coming. “I get it now,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. If I thought we couldn’t do without you, trust me, I’d have found a way to drag you back.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t need me, then?”

“Of course we do,” she shot back, “but it also means if you’d walked away, I’d understand.”

You exhaled slowly, guilt chewing at you. “I walked out on Steve, you know.”

A corner of Natasha’s mouth tugged up. “Steve told me he couldn’t find you.”

You looked down, your foot scraping the floor. Natasha took a step closer to you, her entire posture becoming a little rigid.

“This Thanos thing isn’t just another mission. It’s everything—our lives, the lives of everyone in this universe. Mine, yours, Wanda’s. I promise I’ll fight to the end for all of us. For this team. And I hope you’ll do the same,” she said.

You felt an odd calm settle over you. “I promise. For Wanda, for you, for all of them.”

Natasha’s face softened, and she clapped you gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad to have you back, Y/N.”

—

You found her in the small quarters Wakanda had assigned the two of you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing pajamas you recognized from your old drawer in Scotland. The cotton was a bit wrinkled—made sense, given you’d both only had ten minutes to pack what you could before leaving the life you’d built together.

Wanda looked up when you entered, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey,” she said.

You set your jacket on a nearby chair, letting out a long breath. “Hey yourself.”

You crossed to the bed, and for a moment, all you wanted was to sink into her warmth, forget the day, and pretend tomorrow didn’t exist. But the world wouldn’t let you off that easily.

“Natasha filled me in,” you said. “I’ll be posted in the lab with Shuri. Make sure no one interferes with her while she works on Vision.”

Wanda’s eyes lit up in quiet relief. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Someone has to watch out for him.” She set aside whatever she had been distracting herself with. “You’re the best person for that job.”

You blew out a breath. “Doesn’t mean I’m thrilled you’ll be out there on the front lines, Maximoff.”

Wanda giggled and tapped the spot beside her. With an exaggerated sigh, you flopped onto it, resting your head comfortably in her lap. “You worry about me?”

You closed your eyes and she started massaging your scalp, making you mewl in appreciation. “Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Wanda laughed. “Wife,” she repeated fondly. Then she sighed and said, “I need to be where the fight is. All this power… what good is it if I’m not going to use it to protect the people I love?”

You opened your mouth, but no argument came out. You wanted to tell her to stay safe, to keep her away from Thanos’s reach, but you knew there was no talking her out of a fight she believed in. She had never backed down.

“Just… be careful,” you whispered, voicing the same plea you’d made countless times, even though you both knew Wanda could handle herself as well as anyone.

Wanda huffed softly, her hand smoothing over your hair. “I’m always careful,” she murmured, eyes softening with concern. “But I also have to do what I can out there. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, shifting so you could look up at her. 

The bed dipped as she scooted beside you, the cotton of her pajamas brushing your arm. Wanda leaned down, her hand settling at the side of your face. Your hand slid around Wanda’s waist, pulling her closer until she was nearly on top of you, your lips parting against hers in a  tentative kiss.

“Wanda…” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of desperation.  You had missed her. It felt like an eternity had passed in the single day you couldn’t be alone together. She didn’t answer, only kissed you deeper, pouring a day’s worth of tension into the press of her body against yours.

You rose from your position and tugged her with you onto the bed fully, your fingers curling into her shirt. She helped you yank it off, and then she was pulling at yours, too, the scent of her hair flooding your senses. You helped each other strip away clothes that felt suddenly cumbersome, until there was nothing left but skin on skin. You found yourself pressed into the bed, Wanda’s body above yours, her hair falling like a curtain around your face.

In that moment, you could no longer stop yourself from being selfish.

“Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

She froze, her mouth curved into that coy smile at hearing your repetitive plea. You could see the flicker of mild annoyance at your overprotectiveness—like she thought you were being adorably childish. But then you felt your throat tighten, tears suddenly burning in your eyes at the thought of losing her.

“Please,” you choked out, a tear slipping free. “Please, Wanda… I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

The teasing smile she wore vanished instantly. “Oh, love,” she whispered, pulling you into her arms. You let yourself cry silently into her shoulder for a few moments, feeling a little pathetic for breaking down like this. You knew asking Wanda to run was an absurd request, but you had to say it. Deep down, you knew it would absolutely destroy you to lose her in any way.

Wanda’s own voice cracked as she cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. “I’ll come back to you,” she promised. “I promise—if there’s nowhere else to go, I’ll run. I’ll run straight to you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, brushing away your tears with the back of your hand.

Wanda kissed you again, and this time, her hands slid lower, her hips shifting against yours. You surged up to meet her, your palms sliding over her ribs as she gasped into your mouth. The slow, careful strokes turned into something more insistent: hungry, messy, a collision of lips and muffled pleas.

“Y/N, please…” Wanda mumbled almost incoherently as she moved down your jaw. The huskiness in her voice sent a thrill through you, and you pecked her inviting mouth one more time before moving behind her and circling your arm around her waist, as she braced herself on all fours. Her skin was warm under your touch, her back arching instinctively as she pressed her hips back against you.

Leaning forward, you pressed a line of kisses down her spine, your lips lingering at the base where her back dipped. She shivered, her breath hitching as your other hand trailed down her side, fingertips grazing her hip before settling between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” you murmured roughly as you watched her body respond to your touch.

Her only response was a soft moan, her hands gripping the sheets as your fingers found her wetness. You teased her entrance, sliding two fingers slowly inside, feeling her walls tighten around you as you filled her. Wanda gasped, her head dropping forward as her thighs trembled, trying to adjust to the sensation.

“God, you’re always so tight,” you groaned, curling your fingers slightly to press against her sweet spot. “And so fucking wet for me…”

She whimpered, her hips instinctively rocking back against your hand. You set a slow rhythm, pulling your fingers out before pushing them back in, deeper each time. The sound of her arousal, slick and wet, only made your hand work harder, your body pressed closer, your clit brushing against the soft curve of her buttocks. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan. You adjusted slightly, angling your hips so your clit slid more deliberately against her with each thrust of your fingers.

Wanda’s moans grew louder, and with every motion of your hand, you felt her body tense, her back arching against you. She pushed her hips back more insistently, searching for the friction she needed. “Y/N… I’m so close,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling under your hands, her walls fluttering around your fingers.

But you weren’t ready to let her go over that edge yet. You slowed your pace deliberately, still lazily pressing your clit against her slippery skin. “Not yet, baby,” you murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just hold out a little longer for me…”

A frustrated moan escaped her lips, and she tilted her hips back more aggressively, trying to coax you into giving her the release she craved. But you held your pace, savoring the way her body trembled under your control.

“I want to come,” she whimpered, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Patience, baby,” you said, dragging your fingers almost completely out of her before easing them back in, slow and deliberate.

The friction of her skin against your clit, her soft gasps, the way she was so pliant beneath you—it was all driving you dangerously close to the edge. But you held back, biting your lip as you drew out the moment, not wanting it to end too quickly.

Your free hand, which had been holding her steadily against you, slid lower, fingers brushing over her swollen clit. The second you started rubbing her there, your own body jolted with need. Your hips snapped forward, rubbing yourself against her shamelessly.

“I’m close,” you ground out, fingers working Wanda’s slick flesh at a fast, demanding pace. “C-Come with me…”

Her body tensed, her walls clenching around your fingers as a broken sob of your name fell from her lips. You didn’t stop, didn’t ease up as your own orgasm hit, your hips grinding harder against her as you rode the waves of pleasure together.

Wanda’s cries blended with your moans, the two of you lost in each other as you shuddered and gasped. Your hand stayed on her clit, guiding her through every aftershock until her body went limp beneath you, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to her shoulder as you both came down, your bodies still trembling. “You’re so perfect,” you murmured softly, kissing the damp skin of her neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Wanda let out a soft, tired laugh, her hand reaching back to thread through your hair. You collapsed beside your wife, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. A shaky breath left your lips as you rolled onto your back, exhaustion settling into your bones like a warm, heavy blanket.

Wanda was quick to shift position, sliding over to curl around you. She coaxed you onto your side, gathering you in her arms as though you weighed nothing. 

“Come here,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. You sighed contentedly, letting yourself sink into her embrace. It felt so safe—like no matter what happened outside this room, no matter what the world threw your way, you could face anything.

“You love me,” you murmured, already drifting toward sleep. You felt her smile against your skin—amused by this little ritual of yours, saying the other’s love out loud first.

“You love me too,” she whispered back.

Wanda’s fingers moved in slow, soothing patterns across your back—until they stopped. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “For making you cry earlier. For—”

You cut her off with a soft shake of your head, your arms tightening around her waist. “Just promise me,” you said.

“I promise,” she whispered, her own eyes shining. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

—

It’s twenty-three days later, and Wanda’s promise never came true.

People wandered around in dazed confusion, half of them gone, the other half trying to make sense of what remained. You barely recognized the place. You barely recognized what was left of your team—or even yourself.

You had no idea where the motivation to wake up each morning came from. Maybe it was the faint ember of hope burning inside you, the belief that whatever the stones had done could somehow be undone. That if Thanos had caused this, he could reverse it. You just had to find him. As long as he was out there, there was a chance to bring everyone—and Wanda—back.

It tore at you to see Wanda’s location still pinned on your phone, only to realize it led to the bedroom you had shared in Wakanda. She had left it there that morning, tucked under her pillow on her side of the bed before joining Natasha on the frontlines. It killed you to know her true location was nowhere. And yet, in moments of weakness, you found yourself checking her GPS as if it would somehow change. Old habits die hard—and you couldn’t seem to escape this one no matter how much it amplified the Wanda-shaped hole in your heart. 

This morning, you found yourself at the old Avengers compound. The halls felt cavernous and too quiet. You checked in, as usual, with Natasha, Bruce, Steve—whoever was around. Most folks you ran into had that same thousand-yard stare, the same one that greeted you in the mirror every time you looked.

You spent hours in front of the massive digital map that dwarfed the main operations room, searching for any scrap that might lead you to Thanos. Where’d he gone? How had he disappeared so thoroughly? You chewed on the question day after day, ignoring exhaustion, heartbreak, and even hunger. If there was a lead, you’d chase it. If there was a whisper of information, you’d hunt it down.

Steve approached as you stood at the console, looking weary in a way you had never seen before. He was usually so determined and motivated, but now, for once, he seemed human—no longer everyone’s constant beacon of hope. He rested a hand on your shoulder, a gesture he’d been making with everyone lately. You figured it was his way of reassuring himself that you were still there, after watching the people he cared about turn to nothing but particles in the air.

“You’ve gotta give yourself a break,” he murmured. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

You pulled away gently, shrugging him off. “I can rest after we find him,” you said, voice clipped. You tried to keep the desperation under control, and so far, it was working. 

Steve exhaled, resting his hands on his hips. “We’re working on it,” he said. “As soon as we locate Tony—”

“That’s one of my concerns, actually,” you cut him off, rounding the center table to put distance between you. “We don’t know if he’s even still alive, Steve. It’s been three weeks since—”

Steve’s posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Finding Tony is the top priority,” he said, voice low and taut, like he’d repeated it a hundred times already. “If Banner’s right—if the people we lost can be brought back somehow—anyone we lose now might be gone for good.”

You let out a scoff and almost regretted it immediately, knowing how apathetic it must have sounded. “It’s been three weeks, Steve. If he’s out there, do you honestly believe he’s got enough air, water, or food to survive? We’re gambling on a possibility that shrinks every day.”

“Those are the orders,” Steve fired back, his jaw set. “We focus on finding Tony.”

“Orders?” Your laugh came out harsh. “Whose orders, exactly?”

“Mine,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. “And I’m not asking.”

You felt your pulse surge. “So that’s it? We chase a ghost ship with no sign of life, no backup plan—while the rest of the universe dangles by a thread?”

Steve’s hand slammed down on the table. “We don’t abandon our own!”

You closed the distance between you, anger flaring. “Don’t talk to me about abandoning anyone! I’m trying to be realistic—”

“That’s enough.” His voice was ice. “You’re out of line.”

“Am I?” You leaned in, practically nose-to-nose. “We all want Tony back, but it’s time we—”

Natasha, who had just arrived, slipped between you. She pressed a firm hand against your chest. “Both of you, stop. We don’t have time for this.”

Steve backed off first, turning away with a muttered oath. You stayed put, adrenaline coursing, hands balled into fists.

Natasha grabbed your arm and steered you out of the room. Once in the hall, she spun you around, eyes blazing. “Hit me.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

She dropped into a ready stance. “I said hit me. Clearly you need to let it out.”

You didn’t move. “No.”

She shook her head. “If you don’t acknowledge what you’ve lost, it’s gonna eat you alive.”

“There’s nothing to grieve,” you said evenly, willing yourself to believe your own words with every fiber of your being.  By now, Natasha understood that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t get through to you. She knew Wanda meant the world to you, and you were driven by a personal mission. In her opinion, you were still handling it better than Clint, who had lost his entire family.

“Look, Steve needs you,” she said after a moment. “And I—”

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden commotion from outside. You both froze, exchanged a quick glance, and then ran for the exit. 

People were already gathered on the makeshift runway by the compound’s wide hangar doors. You elbowed your way through the small crowd—Bruce, Rhodey, Steve, and a handful of others—until you reached the front.

And there, at the heart of it all, Carol Danvers was bringing Tony Stark home.

—

It figured that the missing piece to finding Thanos was his own daughter, Nebula.  A snap-like energy signature had been detected across the galaxy just two days earlier, and with the new information she provided, Steve gave the team only a few hours to prepare before setting a course for Planet 0259-S.

If you had been a little apprehensive about the plan to find Thanos, the actual act of locating him—now the biggest hurdle solved—allowed you to fully lean into the expectation that it was only a matter of time before everyone was back, and everything returned to how it was supposed to be. The Avengers had never lost to anyone, not even gods. There was no doubt in your mind that you could all overcome a mere Titan.

So you and the remaining team boarded the modified Benatar—Nebula insisted it was the only ship fast enough to reach the planet in time. You still remembered the moment the engines roared to life, and you caught yourself thinking about Wanda. She would’ve stood at the viewport, eyes wide, taking in the stars with that sense of wonder she always had. But you also reminded yourself that you wouldn’t even be here if Wanda—and trillions of others—hadn’t vanished into dust. 

It was your first trip beyond Earth’s orbit, but it felt like mere minutes before Nebula’s voice crackled through the comms: “Entering the atmosphere now. We’ll touch down in thirty seconds.” Below stretched a battered field of half-dead crops under a sky like stale ash. You and the others fanned out once the ramp lowered—Steve, Banner, Rhodes, Thor, Carol, Natasha, Rocket, and Nebula. Even with the thinning hope in your veins, you still felt a faint thrill of certainty that you’d see that monster face to face and force him to undo this nightmare.

Thanos appeared in your line of sight, sitting on a makeshift stoop in front of a tumbledown shack, his left arm twisted and scarred from the energy of the Gauntlet. He looked worn, as if using the Stones had left him a husk of what he’d been. 

From this point on, it was an ambush—the most ruthless attack Steve had ever sanctioned for the team. You were surprised to see he had it in him. You wanted to strike Thanos yourself, but Natasha held you back, letting the superpowered members and those equipped with advanced suits handle the dirty work. Thor didn’t hesitate to hack off the Titan’s hand, and you actually smiled at Thanos’s screams as you, Natasha, and Steve closed in on the shack.

Rocket rolled over Thanos’s severed hand, the gauntlet still attached. What you all saw next pushed you further into madness:

Every single stone was missing.

Blood had rushed to your head, but you could still hear Steve very calmly inquire where the stones were, despite the ringing that had started in your ears. 

“...after that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation…” Thanos uttered.

“Where are the stones?” Natasha repeated, her patience slipping in a rare moment of unease in front of an enemy.

“Gone,” Thanos uttered. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Banner yelled.

“I destroyed the stones… using the stones.”

Everything turned to static the moment you heard the word destroyed. You’d pinned your hope on the Stones—on using them to bring her back. Now there was nothing. It was like the ground gave out beneath you, your entire center of gravity tilting around one brutal truth: Thanos hadn’t just wiped out half the universe—he’d taken your only way of undoing it.

The blood pounding in your ears muffled the exchanges. You saw Nebula’s lips move. You heard Thanos’ bullshit about realizing too late how he mistreated his own daughter. But it was like you were trapped in an echo chamber, drowning out the present.

Gone. Reduced to atoms.

He’d destroyed the Stones. You would never see Wanda again.

It was over.

You were quick to draw your pistols and fire a shot straight into his eye, but Thor was quicker—his axe already swinging, aimed directly for the head.

There should have been relief, or maybe some triumph in exacting revenge on the monster who’d purged half the universe. But there wasn’t. Only emptiness. The final blow had landed, and it changed nothing. Wanda was still gone, along with the rest.

A sick sense of finality wrapped around you, the suffocating knowledge that the Snap was permanent.

A few seconds later, Natasha laid a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t bother looking at her. You could feel her gaze, searching your face for any sign of composure. She’d find none. Nebula stood at a distance, staring at the father who had never been a father.

Someone—Carol maybe—muttered, “Let’s go.” And so you did. You stumbled away, feet dragging as if the scorched earth itself was holding you back.

It wasn't a victory. Not by a long shot. It was just the end of one more impossible avenue, closing shut.

The crushing grief welled up inside you, too much to contain. Finally, a scream ripped free from your throat, raw and guttural. It didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

But for a fleeting moment, it was all you could do to keep from drowning.

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Eight

CW: Drinking (ish)

WC: 7k

Notes: 29383828 hours of studying later and here we are. Please leave thoughts/reactions I live for them

They left Colorado on a private flight as the sun was barely stretching over the mountains, soft morning light spilling through the clouds like it didn’t know what kind of weight the next few weeks would carry.

Azzi didn’t sleep much on the plane. Paige did. Or pretended to. Hood up, headphones in, her long legs stretched out with that practiced ease only athletes carried — like she knew her body was a machine and she knew when to shut it down. Azzi didn’t bother pretending. Her mind was too loud.

By the time they touched down in the Netherlands, Paige had reassembled herself.

It was kind of incredible, honestly. Less than twelve hours ago, Azzi had her hands tangled in Paige’s sweatshirt and her name caught in Paige’s throat, all softness and low gasps in the dark. And now here Paige was — hair tied up, sunglasses on, gear bag slung over her shoulder like she was walking into war — completely locked in. A full reset. Like she’d flipped a switch somewhere over the Atlantic and become Ferrari’s golden girl again.

Part of Azzi admired it. The other part… well. The other part watched too closely, wondering if maybe Paige flipped that switch a little too easily sometimes.

They didn’t talk much once they got to the paddock. They didn’t really need to. It was Thursday — track walk, media, data briefings, and updates from the engineers. Azzi dove into her own schedule without hesitation, greeting a few familiar faces, nodding at the camera crew hovering around the hospitality building.

Ferrari’s garage was already humming with activity by the time she stepped in. Mechanics hunched over laptops, engineers wheeling tires into place. She could smell brake dust and rubber. It felt good — sharp and focused — even if the air was heavier than Colorado’s. More humid. The track at Zandvoort was tight and technical, the banks more old-school than she preferred, but she didn’t mind the challenge. She never had.

Mateo found her near the back of the garage, arms folded, eyes scanning the rear wing on the new spec. His ever-present clipboard in hand.

“Welcome back, Champion,” he greeted, voice dry but fond. “How’s the altitude detox?”

Azzi gave him a look, one brow raised. “We were in the mountains, not Mars.”

“Still,” he shrugged, scribbling something onto a tablet. “Glad you survived.”

He said it casually, but his eyes flicked up just a beat slower than usual. The not-so-subtle question was there, right beneath the surface: How was your break? Who were you with?

Azzi didn’t bite. She just lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug and turned back to the car. “Didn’t forget how to drive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Mateo smirked. “Wouldn’t dare suggest it.”

They walked through the changes together — revised floor, some rear suspension tweaks, and updates to the diffuser they’d been testing in the sim. Small gains, mostly. They weren’t expecting to dominate this weekend, not with Red Bull’s pace at this circuit. Zandvoort had always been their guy’s playground. The orange-clad home crowd would make sure of that.

Ferrari’s real target was Monza. That much was clear from the way everything was framed — “data for next week,” “building confidence in the new package,” “testing race pace over quali speed.”

Fine. Azzi could play the long game. She always had.

She was mid-way through some telemetry comparisons with Mateo when she caught the tail end of movement across the garage — just enough to draw her attention.

Paige.

Standing in the opposite corner, talking to Luka, her posture easy but attentive, one hand gesturing slightly while the other held her drink bottle. The headphones she always wore before debriefs sat loose around her neck, and the red of her Ferrari polo hugged her biceps in that stupid, unfair way that made Azzi glance too long.

There was a faint sheen of heat in the air — maybe from the track, maybe from jet lag — but Azzi felt it anyway. A flicker low in her spine.

She looked good. That was the problem.

Azzi looked away before her stare could become obvious.

Mateo was still talking, oblivious. “We’ll get the baseline this afternoon, and I’ll push the long-run setup to the sim files tonight.”

Azzi nodded, lips pressed together.

And then — because of course — she caught movement again.

Dirk.

Dirk van der Meer — with his annoyingly symmetrical face and stupidly strong jawline and that half-foreign, half-familiar charm that always made the media swoon. He was lingering just outside the Red Bull hospitality tent, talking to someone from Alpine but looking way too comfortable doing it. He spotted her, of course. He always did. Gave her that little two-fingered salute like he thought he was clever.

She didn’t return it.

Instead, she turned back to the car and focused on what actually mattered — the downforce data, the tires they’d be testing in practice, the mounting pressure of being Ferrari’s two-time champion while still having to chase Red Bull every other weekend.

But it still gnawed at her.

Dirk. Paige — with her jaw set like she hadn’t just spent a week letting Azzi drag her back to bed every morning.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. Paige wasn’t her girlfriend. Dirk wasn’t Paige’s boyfriend. None of it meant anything. They were all just doing their jobs.

But Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under her skin — the tightness in her chest, the flare of something ugly and sharp every time Dirk smiled at Paige like that, every time she caught him looking over with that faint, knowing smirk.

They hadn’t even been back a full day and the game face was already back on. Paige was composed, professional, unreadable. Azzi couldn’t decide if it was impressive or just… a little sad.

And maybe that was the thing that bothered her most.

Because under all of it — the jealousy, the tension, the stupid tightness in her jaw — was the knowledge that if Paige looked at her right now, Azzi wouldn’t be able to hide a damn thing.

–

Friday at Zandvoort was unremarkable, which, in Formula One, was almost worse than a disaster.

Practice One and Two came and went in a blur of engine notes, tire graining, and the occasional puff of beachside sand swirling into the corners. The Ferrari was… fine. Balanced enough to keep the rear from sliding, but not punchy. Not aggressive. Not what they’d need to really fight at the front.

It was clear from the first stint that this wasn’t their weekend. At least not yet.

Azzi felt it in every corner — the way she had to fight for grip, the way the rear end drifted just slightly out of sync with her hands. She didn’t complain. Mateo knew. Everyone did. This wasn’t a race car built for Zandvoort. It was a placeholder — a test bed. All eyes were already on Monza.

Which meant this weekend was about staying clean. Stay sharp. Collect data. Don’t crash. She could do that. She had done that, season after season. But it didn’t mean she liked it.

Paige, naturally, said nothing. Not to her, anyway. They’d exchanged a few clipped words in the garage between runs — tire temps, brake feedback, pressure settings. All technical. All safe. Nothing that touched anything real.

Azzi didn’t know if it was the car or the heat or the jet lag, but something felt off in the garage. Disconnected.

Even when Paige was only a few meters away, helmet under one arm, hair damp with sweat at her temples — she still felt too far.

And Azzi didn’t like that.

She didn’t say anything, of course. Not with the team crowding around, not with engineers sticking mics into their faces and media staff ushering them toward interviews. So she kept her head down. She signed the papers. She gave the sound bites. And when it was finally over — when the day had burned itself out and the sun dipped low behind the dunes — Dr. Liao’s assistant found them in the paddock.

Just a routine check. A post-break wellness evaluation. For both of them.

Which was fine. Boring, even. Azzi had nothing to report. She’d gotten sleep, eaten well, even managed a few hikes in Colorado that didn’t leave her knees screaming. Her vitals were perfect. No issues, no fatigue. Dr. Liao nodded, pleased, and made a note on her tablet.

And then it was Paige’s turn.

Dr. Liao was gentle, but thorough. There was history to consider — Paige’s crash before the summer break had almost been enough to warrant concussion protocol (It should have. Paige just ignored the doctors). She’d been cleared for this race, obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t be in the car. But Liao still asked the questions.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Paige said, without hesitation.

“Any nausea? Sensitivity to light?”

“No.”

“Sleep disruptions?”

“No.”

“Memory issues?”

“No.”

Dr. Liao studied her for a second. Paige’s expression didn’t move.

Azzi did her best not to roll her eyes.

Because Paige was lying. Not about everything — but enough. Enough for Azzi to know she was brushing symptoms under the rug. She’d seen the way Paige blinked harder under the bright lights in the garage. The way she’d rubbed the bridge of her nose after second practice. The tightness in her jaw when she thought no one was looking.

Azzi knew Paige. Knew how good she was at convincing people she was fine even when she wasn’t.

And it pissed her off. Just a little.

But she stayed quiet.

Eventually, Dr. Liao cleared her, if only with a subtle note to monitor and check again after Quali. And just like that, the session was over.

They walked out into the narrow hallway between medical and hospitality, neither of them saying much. The sun was setting fast now, slanting gold through the paddock windows.

Azzi was halfway through reaching for her phone when Paige said quietly, “Can we get food?”

Azzi blinked, a little surprised. Paige didn’t look at her — not directly. Just kept walking, slowly, voice a notch lower than usual.

It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t even really a suggestion. More like a reach.

Azzi studied her for a beat. Paige was tired — she could see it now, beneath the bravado and the sunglasses and the pressed polo. Her shoulders were still tense from the car, and her eyes had that faint glaze that came from staring at telemetry for hours.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the hotel.”

“Okay,” Paige said, and something about the way her voice dropped again — quiet, like relief — made Azzi’s chest go warm and tight at the same time.

They didn’t talk as they made their way to the car. They didn’t need to.

But something had shifted — small, subtle. Like a gear had finally clicked back into place.

Azzi didn’t know what Paige would say over dinner. If she’d finally open up. If she’d deflect and pretend like always.

But for the first time all day, she didn’t feel like she was driving alone.

–

They ended up not bothering with the restaurant.

Paige had looked at the elevator buttons like they were a puzzle she didn’t have the energy to solve, and Azzi didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy lukewarm hotel pasta while surrounded by stiff-backed diners and wandering photographers.

Instead, they took the quiet route: room service menus tossed onto the bed, shoes kicked off in opposite corners, and phones left somewhere between the floor and the windowsill.

Azzi’s room was on the twelfth floor. Not penthouse, but close. High enough to see the curve of the sea on clear days. Tonight it was dark, low clouds rolling in over the dunes. The sky looked heavy.

Their food came in less than twenty minutes, wheeled in by a teenager who looked like he was trying not to trip over his own feet at the sight of two Ferrari drivers sharing a hotel room. Paige tipped him before Azzi could move. She didn’t say anything about it.

Dinner was unremarkable — a grilled chicken sandwich for Paige, a salad bowl for Azzi that she only ate half of. Neither of them was particularly hungry. Not really. It was just a thing to do with their hands. Something to fill the space.

Azzi didn’t ask until Paige had finished most of her sandwich. Her head was leaned back against the headboard, one leg bent, hotel slippers on. The sleeves of her polo were rolled just slightly up her arms. It looked natural. Comfortable.

Azzi set her fork down.

“So,” she said, quiet, careful. “Headaches are better, huh?”

Paige blinked. Her jaw shifted like she was debating whether to lie again.

“They’re not gone,” she said finally. “But yeah. A lot better.”

Azzi watched her. “And the light stuff?”

Paige hesitated. “Still happens sometimes.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. That one lingers.”

She wasn’t saying it just to say it. She’d had a concussion once — Suzuka, her first year in F1. A tire wall, a misjudged braking point, and three days of brutal nausea and floating vision. She hadn’t admitted it at the time, of course. But she’d remembered the way it felt. The way it stayed.

Paige didn’t say much else. She just pushed her plate a few inches away and leaned back again, letting her phone rest flat on her stomach.

Azzi didn’t push. She could tell Paige was spent — not in the physical way, but that mental burnt-out silence she slipped into when her brain had been on fire all day and needed something stupid to cool it off.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Paige was on TikTok. Earbuds in. One in, one out. Azzi didn’t even notice at first, until Paige snorted — an actual laugh, low and surprised — and nudged her foot.

Azzi looked over.

“What?”

Paige turned the phone toward her, grinning faintly. “Someone made an edit.”

Azzi squinted at the screen. It was an F1 fancam — clips of the two of them stitched together to some overdramatic song about tension and unsaid feelings. Garage glances. Post-race hugs. Press conference smirks. All edited in glossy, high-contrast color correction and captioned in shaky all-caps.

Azzi leaned closer, chewing the inside of her cheek as she read.

Paige tapped the caption. “Read it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but obliged, deadpan: “they hate each other so bad that it’s sexy as hell.”

Paige broke into a full laugh then — not loud, but real. Her head tilted back against the headboard, and she smiled like it wasn’t something she had to think about.

Azzi didn’t laugh, but she smiled too.

She didn’t know what this was — them, like this. Quiet. Not fighting. Not faking. Just… here.

It wasn’t complicated. But maybe it was something.

She didn’t need a caption to tell her that.

–

Race day at Zandvoort was uneventful, which, in Formula One terms, was nearly a gift.

No crashes. No surprise rain. No pit stop disasters or last-lap tire blowouts. Just a clean, controlled 72 laps around a twisty Dutch circuit with more orange smoke than actual drama.

Paige finished fourth. Azzi, fifth.

It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t bad either.

The team radios had been calm, almost boring. Fred had come over the line once — just once — with an even-toned directive: Hold positions. No fighting.

Paige had been ahead by a few seconds at that point. Azzi could’ve pushed. Would’ve, maybe, on a different weekend. But her tires weren’t fresh and her car wasn’t magic and she knew when to live to fight another day. So she sat behind her teammate and took the points.

22 total for Ferrari. Solid haul.

But now? Now they were back in the paddock, the post-race haze still clinging to their skin and hair like sweat and champagne residue, and the meeting room smelled like engine oil and air conditioning.

Azzi sat in the middle of a long glass table, hair still damp from her driver’s room shower, Mateo on one side of her, Fred on the other. Across the table sat Paige, elbow on the armrest, eyes half-lidded like she was bored already. Luka leaned in to speak to her every so often, murmuring something Azzi couldn’t hear.

Fred cleared his throat.

“Monza,” he said, which was the only word necessary to command the room’s attention. “We’ve got the car. And we’ve got the drivers.”

The weight of that hung for a second.

Azzi knew what it meant. So did Paige. They’d been in this position before, only not quite like this. Not with the standings as tight as they were. Not with Ferrari actually expecting them to win, not hoping.

Paige had scored more points in the Netherlands. Which meant that now — after months of clawing her way up — she was one single championship point behind Azzi.

One.

Azzi should’ve felt threatened, probably. But she didn’t. Not really. If anything, she felt… awake. Like the season was finally breathing down their necks for real.

Fred continued. “You know how important Monza is. You know what it means to this team. This car was built for the straights — we’ve been saying it all year. You two kept it clean today, and that’s good. But Monza’s not about clean. It’s about finishing first.”

He paused. “And second.”

Azzi felt the burn of it — that Ferrari expectation. It wasn’t new. But it was heavy in a way that always seemed heavier here, in red, under the weight of a tifosi-filled grandstand and every Italian sponsor who fancied themselves a team principal for the weekend.

“There are going to be eyes on us,” Fred said. “From inside and out. We need results.”

Mateo nodded beside her, sliding his tablet around to show some figures — wind tunnel improvements, tweaks to the rear wing, the new engine mapping that would open them up on the DRS straights. Azzi took it in, quiet but sharp-eyed.

Paige didn’t ask questions, but Azzi could see her tapping a pattern against her thigh — a tiny rhythm she only did when she was deep in her own head.

Fred looked at them both now.

“You two have gotten good at toeing the line,” he said. “But Monza’s not about points anymore. Not about strategy. Not this year.”

He looked at Paige. “If you’re ahead, finish ahead.”

Then to Azzi. “If you’re ahead, stay ahead.”

Azzi just nodded. There wasn’t much to say.

When the meeting wrapped, the engineers peeled off first, muttering to each other about sim time and cooling ducts. Fred stood, gave them a final nod, and left without ceremony — the kind of exit that told you he expected them to deliver without needing a damn pep talk.

It was just the two of them now. Azzi and Paige. Left behind in a room that had gone quiet too fast.

Paige pushed her chair back and stood, arms crossed, still looking every bit like the girl who’d just driven an entire race without breaking a sweat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Fourth place,” she said.

Paige smirked. “You’re welcome for the points.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I could’ve taken you.”

“Yeah?” Paige tilted her head. “Guess we’ll never know.”

The thing was — Azzi knew she was right.

But Monza was coming. Home turf. Flat-out speed. And only one point between them now.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

–

The air in Monza buzzed different.

Not louder. Not even heavier. Just… sharper. Finer. Like the entire track had been scrubbed down to the grain and polished in Ferrari red, every sound bouncing twice off the barriers and settling in the bones. This wasn’t just another Grand Prix. This was the Grand Prix.

Home race. Temple of Speed. The place where miracles happened and legends were made or broken at the apex of Parabolica.

Azzi knew the pressure before she even landed. Knew it in the pit of her stomach, the way she always knew things she didn’t need to be told. The whispers. The media tension. The sponsors with private suites and fake smiles. The team principals who circled like hawks around each garage.

She handled it. She always did.

So did Paige.

That was the thing — whatever they’d done in the break, whatever they’d said or hadn’t said, they were back to being what they’d always been on track. Razor-edged and separate. Focused. Locked in. Like nothing else existed the second the helmet went on.

And the helmets — God, the helmets. Ferrari had let them pick the colors this weekend, in honor of the near-all-white car that paid tribute to the Scuderia’s earliest years. A throwback. An homage. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Azzi’s helmet was soft pink with white accents, clean and subtle, sharp where it needed to be. She hadn’t told anyone why she’d chosen pink. She didn’t need to.

Paige’s was lilac — almost silver under the Monza sun. Not loud. Just… unexpected. Understated. Cool. Very Paige.

Together, in their white fireproofs and red accents, they looked like two halves of something calculated.

Qualifying day brought with it a heat that shimmered off the asphalt like a dare. Azzi stood at the edge of the garage, engine rumble in her chest, helmet under one arm, watching the clouds hover behind the paddock. They weren’t going to interfere. They were just there to spectate, like everyone else.

The Ferrari was fast.

Shockingly fast.

They’d expected improvements — Monza was the race the car had been built for — but this? This was something else. This was a weapon on wheels. The straight-line speed alone was enough to punch a hole in the air and never look back.

Azzi felt it in Free Practice. So did Paige. The lap times were low. The tire wear was minimal. They weren’t fighting the track — they were floating over it, slicing through turns 6 and 7 like they had grip written into their blood.

But qualifying was a different beast.

First run went well. Clean. Azzi went fastest initially, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Paige hadn’t even gone out yet. Luka always held her back for traffic. Mateo glanced at Azzi after her run and gave her the familiar, unreadable engineer nod. The one that said, “Good, but don’t get comfortable.”

Second run, Q2, they were within two-tenths of each other. Azzi was smoother through turn 10. Paige was faster on the straight. They both knew it, even if no one said anything.

Then came Q3.

The big show.

Azzi went out first, nailed every sector, and took provisional pole.

The lap had felt like silk. Perfect entry into Turn One. No wobble through turns 4 or 5. The rear stuck like glue into turn 7 and opened up like a dream into the straight. It was the kind of lap that made you believe in the car, in the team, in yourself.

She parked it in the pit box and took off her gloves, eyes flicking to the screen.

Purple, purple, purple.

For now.

Then Paige went out.

Azzi didn’t need the timing monitor to know it was a good lap. She could feel it — from the sound of the throttle, the way the garage fell silent, every mechanic and engineer listening with the kind of reverence they usually saved for podiums.

Then the board lit up.

Purple, purple, purple.

Final sector: fastest of anyone. By two-hundredths.

Pole position: Paige Bueckers.

Azzi let out a breath. Didn’t even realize she’d been holding it.

On the other side of the garage, Paige pulled in, visor still down, engine ticking as it cooled. Luka came over the radio and said something only she could hear, but whatever it was made her laugh — quick and short and low.

She climbed out of the car like she’d just walked off a street corner. Calm. Loose. The purple helmet under one arm like it belonged there.

Azzi watched her from the monitor wall. Just for a second.

She wasn’t angry. Not exactly. Pole was pole. It could’ve been either of them. But the way Paige looked right now — like she expected it — made something churn low in her stomach.

Confidence was dangerous.

Paige had it in spades.

And tomorrow, they’d both have clean air.

Front row, Ferrari one-two.

Monza.

Game on.

–

The Monza crowd was electric, and the Ferraris lit the fuse.

It had started clean. Paige on pole. Azzi beside her. Front row. Home race. Red everywhere. Real red — the kind that lived in flags and banners, not just sponsorship decals. The kind of red that vibrated when the engines started and roared like a religion when the lights went out.

The first corner was textbook. Azzi tucked in right behind Paige, both Ferraris making it through the chicane without drama, the McLarens too far back to threaten. From there, it was clear: this wasn’t going to be a race for position. This was a race for pride. For the championship lead. For each other.

Lap after lap, they pushed. Hard. The kind of hard that made your hands sweat inside your gloves. That made your neck ache in the third stint. That made the team radios go quieter, not louder, because the engineers knew they couldn’t really manage them right now. They could only monitor.

“Paige’s pace looks like a one-stop,” Mateo said into Azzi’s ear around lap twelve. “She’s starting to lift through turn 10.”

Azzi didn’t answer at first. She was adjusting a brake bias setting with one hand and flicking her DRS closed with the other. Her eyes were locked on the faint shimmer of red in the distance — Paige, just outside the DRS window. She had been there for five laps. No closer. No farther.

“Copy,” Azzi said eventually. “Tell me when she boxes. I’ll follow.”

A beat. Then Mateo, dry: “You two should probably just get married.”

Azzi snorted. “I’ll propose if I pass her in pit lane.”

They went with the one-stop.

It wasn’t strategic genius — just a necessity. The car was quick on mediums, and track position mattered here more than almost anywhere. The McLarens were falling behind. Ten seconds. Then fifteen. This race was theirs alone.

Azzi finally got close again on lap twenty-four, just before the stops. Paige had been backing her up subtly, taking the corners wider, slowing entry speed to ruin her air. But Azzi knew the tricks. She’d done the same to Paige in Austria.

She ducked around the outside in turn 7 and nearly made it stick. The rear of the car twitched just slightly, the gravel taunting her, and Paige closed the door — not aggressively, just enough to remind Azzi who had track position.

They pitted one lap apart. Paige first. Azzi right after.

The outlaps were chaos — warm tires, heavy fuel still, and just enough wind picking up at Turn Three to make the front wing feel loose.

Azzi came out behind again. Just behind.

And then the race became something else.

It was the kind of fight they hadn’t had in months. Since Miami, before the break. Before hotel rooms and private flights and secrets. Before TikToks made them go viral for sharing water bottles and brushing shoulders in the garage. Before the way Azzi looked at Paige had changed from rivalry to… whatever this was.

They raced clean, but hard. There were no team orders. None would’ve been followed anyway.

Paige left space. Azzi took it. Azzi attacked through turn four and Paige held her off in turn ten. Then Paige defended into Turn One and Azzi nearly dove on her. Inches apart, no contact. Pure trust. Or something close to it.

They swapped positions twice more — once through sheer ERS timing, and once because Azzi went purple in sector two and Mateo told her to “stop playing nice.”

But Paige was holding something back. Always, always holding something back. She’d been nursing her tires for twenty laps and it showed in the final five. Her car came alive again just as Azzi’s started to slip.

The last lap came fast. Too fast.

Azzi was in DRS range but only just. She caught the rear wing coming out of the second Lesmo and knew that if she didn’t go for it in turn 11, she wasn’t going to get the chance again.

She lined it up. Wide entry. Early throttle.

But Paige had launched earlier. Perfect exit. Enough to keep her ahead.

Azzi crossed the finish line three-tenths behind her.

Three-tenths.

Close enough to taste the carbon dust from Paige’s rear wing. Close enough to count the track marbles dotting her diffuser. But not close enough.

Still, the fans loved it.

The whole straight erupted in applause. For Ferrari. For both of them.

And Azzi, hands on the wheel, staring at the cool-down screen in front of her, finally exhaled. The kind of breath you didn’t know you were holding until the checkered flag waved.

Mateo came over the radio.

“2nd. Amazing drive, Az. You gave her hell.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just let the silence fill the cockpit.

Then: “She’s the leader now, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mateo said. “We’ll think about that next week.”

Azzi nodded once, not that anyone could see it. “Alright. Next week.”

–

The post-race media was exhausting. It always was at Monza. Flashbulbs, press pens, microphones shoved in every direction. Paige handled it like she always did — calm, smiling, hands on hips in her race suit with the light purple helmet at her feet. She didn’t gloat. Didn’t need to.

Azzi kept it tight. Professional. Said all the right things.

“We raced hard. That’s what people want to see.”

“Yes, I think we can bounce back.”

“I’m proud of the team. The car was incredible.”

And then finally, they were done.

The sun was starting to dip behind the paddock towers when Luka found them in the debrief room and tossed a folded piece of paper onto the table. “There’s a party tonight,” he said. “Private one. Team only. Some important sponsors are coming. You two are expected.”

Paige looked up from her water bottle. “Expected?”

“Celebration,” Luka said, shrugging. “It’s Monza. We won.”

Azzi met Paige’s eyes across the table.

It wasn’t about the race anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

A party, then.

Jew a few points between them.

One week off.

And a long season left to go.

–

The Monza night was warm, the kind that clung to your skin even after the sun had gone down. Somewhere beyond the Ferrari hospitality suite, fans still lined the fences, hoping for one last glimpse of the red suits, the miracle lap, the miracle finish. But inside the party, it was just team now — team and sponsors, catered food and strong drinks, and a playlist that hadn’t been updated since the 2010s.

Azzi stood near the long bar, sleeves of her Ferrari sweatshirt shoved halfway up her forearms, a pair of black shorts stopping just above her mid thigh. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower she’d taken post-race, and there was something about the hum of the celebration that didn’t quite touch her.

Paige was close. As she always was lately.

Not in a clingy way. Not in a way that screamed anything specific. Just… close enough that Azzi noticed when she stepped away to grab another drink, and close enough that she noticed when Paige came back without one.

Paige didn’t party with coworkers. That was something Azzi was learning. Oh, she could party — she’d seen it firsthand in Colorado. Paige had game when she wanted it. But this? With engineers in polos and sponsors in button-downs and camera phones sneaking in between fake toasts? Paige wasn’t at home here.

So she stayed close.

They made their rounds — smiled for a few pictures, shook hands with people who pretended to know what “tire deg” meant, accepted compliments from VIPs who asked the same questions in slightly different accents. Azzi took a few sips of a spritz she didn’t really want. Paige nursed a bottle of water like she was keeping score.

Their PR director eventually approached, all efficient smiles and phone in hand. “Can I borrow you both for just a minute?” she said, motioning toward a side area where a few higher-ups had gathered.

Azzi knew what that meant.

She didn’t expect Dirk van Asshole to be standing there when they arrived.

But of course he was. Hair pushed back like a 90s teen idol, linen shirt unbuttoned to an offensive degree, watch too big and too gold. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something that definitely wasn’t water. He smiled too easily, like he thought they were all in on a joke that didn’t exist.

“Azzi,” he said, stepping in with the kind of friendliness that made her want to physically recoil. “What a race.”

“Thanks,” she said, too flat to hide it.

“And Paige,” he added, like he was just remembering her name. “What a finish. I mean — we all thought Azzi had it in the bag.”

Paige’s smile didn’t move. “Guess not.”

Dirk laughed, too loud. “Well. She’s still the people’s champion, yeah? Always a favorite.”

Azzi felt Paige glance her way. One of those side glances that wasn’t really a glance at all. More like a signal.

Get me out of here.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She blinked slowly, dropped her gaze to the floor like she was trying to focus, then lifted a hand to her forehead.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “Headache. I think… I think I need to sit down.”

Dirk’s eyes widened — just enough to confirm the trick worked. “Totally fine. You’ve had a long day. I’ll grab you some water.”

“No need,” Paige said quickly, hand already grazing Azzi’s elbow. “I’ll take her to the bathroom. She just needs air.”

Dirk blinked. “I could—”

“You couldn’t,” Paige muttered under her breath, just loud enough that Azzi caught it.

They left the circle with enough polite nods to make it believable, slipping through a small hallway toward the guest bathrooms.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Paige leaned against the marble counter, exhaled hard, and said, “I’m so done with that man.”

Azzi laughed softly. “No, he sucks.”

“He talks like he’s in a reality show,” Paige muttered, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “And not a good one. One of those ones where everyone ends up engaged after four episodes.”

“He’s not even a sponsor or a driver,” Azzi added. “He’s just, like… related to someone important.”

“So was Napoleon.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Exactly.”

They didn’t get much further. The door creaked open and in stumbled a girl who couldn’t have been older than nineteen, wearing a mini dress that looked stolen from an influencer’s closet and a pair of heels that were definitely not made for standing. She squinted at them, half-recognizing, then muttered something about champagne and disappeared into a stall.

Paige raised her brows.

Azzi nodded once.

Time to go.

They slipped out of the bathroom like nothing had happened, back through the suite with practiced smiles and quiet waves. The party was still going strong, but they walked out unbothered, not making a scene. Just two drivers leaving a team function, still in uniform, still technically on the clock.

They were halfway down the corridor back to the elevators when Azzi’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, thumbed open her notifications, and froze.

“What?” Paige asked.

Azzi turned the screen so Paige could see.

A photo.

A little grainy, but clear enough. Paige, slightly turned toward Azzi at the bar. Azzi leaning in to say something. Both smiling. Both unguarded. The caption was dumb — something about chemistry and Ferrari fire — but the tweet had gone viral in under ten minutes. Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets.

Paige blinked. “Already?”

“We didn’t even make it to the elevator.”

They stared at it for a second longer.

Then Azzi hit the side button, locking her phone.

Paige didn’t say anything else, but she smiled. Real this time.

And Azzi, without realizing, smiled back.

–

It was almost midnight when they finally made it back to Azzi’s room. Her hair was up now, loosely twisted into a bun that had started falling apart the second they left the party. She’d kicked off her sneakers near the hotel door, and now her sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, oversized and a little too warm for the air conditioning she’d turned up as high as it could go.

The TV was on, volume low — something stupid in Italian she wasn’t even pretending to follow. Paige was stretched out on the bed, half under the covers and still in her Ferrari shorts. Her legs were bare and tanned and pulled up at the knee, phone balanced on her stomach, one earbud in, the other dangling.

Azzi flopped down beside her, not quite on top of her, but close. Her legs slid under Paige’s, her bare foot brushing the side of Paige’s calf as she tugged a blanket over them. The room smelled like clean skin and leftover hair product. Not unpleasant. Just lived-in.

She unlocked her phone without thinking. Scrolled to TikTok.

And immediately choked on a laugh.

“Oh my God.”

Paige glanced over with one eye still on her own screen. “What.”

“We have ship edits.”

That got her attention.

Paige lifted her head slightly, frowning, until Azzi turned her phone toward her. Onscreen, the now-viral party photo zoomed slowly toward them with the dramatic flair only TikTok could summon. Some soft indie track played in the background — something with too much reverb and lyrics about fate and stars and “the way she looks at her.” Then came the slow dissolve into clips from the paddock, podium glances, moments where they brushed shoulders walking to the media pen.

The caption read:

“She looks at her like she’s the checkered flag.”

With a string of red heart emojis and a #F1Lesbians tag thrown in for good measure.

Azzi blinked. “I—okay, the effort is wild.”

“There’s music,” Paige said, dry as hell.

Azzi laughed, scrolling to another. This one had a heavier beat, more edits cut to radio calls — Mateo’s voice shouting “Paige is right behind you!” followed by a slow-mo of them walking through the tunnel in Miami. A pause, then a hard cut to the photo from tonight again. It was the final frame.

Azzi snorted. “That one’s a little dramatic.”

“They’re all dramatic,” Paige said, leaning her chin lightly on Azzi’s shoulder now. “We drive cars in circles. This is what people do to make it seem deep.”

Azzi kept scrolling, letting the edits autoplay. They were everywhere. Some were sweet. Others full-on romantic. A few were just reaction videos — fans freaking out, screaming into cameras, holding up their phones with wide eyes. One girl was fully crying. Actual tears. The caption just read: “I KNEW THEY WERE ENDGAME.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Endgame?”

Paige shrugged. “Bold of them to assume I make it to the end.”

Azzi tilted her head toward her. “You planning to DNF this storyline or…?”

Paige made a low sound in her throat. “I don’t know. I think I might be in a multi-season arc.”

Azzi smirked, but the words made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way.

They kept watching, switching between TikTok and Twitter now. The comments were a trip. Half were cute — people talking about how they always knew, how the looks in their eyes were “different.” Others were strange. Intense. Too much. A few men had decided to throw in their opinions, which, unsurprisingly, made the vibe go downhill fast.

“Why are there always men in the lesbian edits?” Azzi muttered, flicking past a comment that started with “this is why girls are single these days…”

Paige didn’t respond right away.

Her hand, warm and absent-minded, was tracing circles near Azzi’s knee under the blanket. Nothing too serious. Just… casual. Thoughtless, but not cold. Familiar. Her other hand came up to tug lightly at a piece of Azzi’s hair that had fallen from her bun.

Azzi paused.

Paige wasn’t like this all the time. Not even most of the time. But when she was — when she let her guard drop for even half a night — it felt like gravity shifted. Like Paige wasn’t just near her, but orbiting her. A little too close. A little too much.

But it didn’t feel bad.

Just confusing. In that warm, electric way that made Azzi forget what she was even watching.

“Don’t let Fred see these,” Paige murmured suddenly.

Azzi laughed. “Because?”

Paige sat up a little, propping her head on her fist. Her face was blank, but her eyes weren’t.

“Because he’ll ask if we’re ‘managing our brand well enough,’” she said, but her tone was light — like a joke.

Only it wasn’t really a joke.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a second. She just watched Paige, her face half-lit by the blue glow of the screen, the corner of her mouth turned in that almost-smile that meant she was pretending something wasn’t bothering her.

Azzi broke the silence. “He’d survive.”

Paige didn’t look up. “Would he, though?”

Azzi closed the app.

“Okay. Then we don’t let Fred see them.”

Paige met her eyes finally. Something in her gaze softened — not exactly gratitude, but something close to it. Relief maybe. Or something she wasn’t ready to name.

Azzi pulled the blanket tighter around both of them, settled back into the pillows. Paige adjusted too, falling in line like she always did, head dropping next to hers, arm brushing hers, breath slowing down with the quiet.

The room was still now. The edits were gone. The fans, the tweets, the noise — all of it faded into the low hum of hotel air and the gentle weight of Paige’s arm resting against her own.

Azzi stared at the ceiling for a long time before turning off the lamp.

Whatever they were — whatever people wanted to call it — she didn’t know. But she knew this: Paige had stayed.

And that mattered more than anything the internet could say.

[cityof2morrow]

3t2: DIY Elevator Kit

Published: 8-15-2024 | Updated: 8-16-2024 SUMMARY “The Teleportation Pad reduces your transportation costs by 100%... within a reasonable margin of error” “Elevators are terribly crude if you think about it. Moving a whole room from one floor to another? Barbaric! It's much more efficient to move single Sims with anti-gravity tech.” This DIY elevator set is a combination of the Teleportation Pad from Sims 3 (EA/Maxis, 2009) and the Tube Elevator from Sims 3: Into the Future (EA/Maxis, 2013). Use them to create your own retro-futuristic elevator. The DIY elevator is much faster than the default elevator, making it especially convenient on busy lots or very tall buildings. There are multiple recolors for the teleportation pad. There are TWO versions of the elevator repo’d to the Plain (V1) and Graphic Glass (V2) TXTR Repository meshes respectively. Get them from my Repo Pack��(Simmons, 2022) for the glass recolors to show properly. You can have both in-game at the same time.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §200 | Build > Stairs/Columns

Turn on “moveobjects on/off” and place one teleportation pad to create a travel point between two floors. You do NOT need to place a pad on the top-most floor. Like the “Ascensions Elevator Stairs (Targa, 2005), sims can enter/exit the teleportation pad from all four sides, and will be instantly transported without breaking stride. Fence off/block the sides you don’t want to be accessible but leave at least one side open. The glass tube elevators function like columns. ITEMS Teleportation Pad (1005 poly) Tube Elevator by Corebital Designs (1161 poly) Tube Elevator Top by Corebital Designs (783 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA CREDITS Thanks: Sims2/Simming communities. Sources: Ascensions Elevator Stairs (Targa, 2005), Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik).

[emperorundying]

TLT Dashboard Simulator- Pt 5

💀 drearybruh Follow

10,000 y/o lyctor gf who exclusively calls me 'lovey': Ugh they're still debating the ethics of using cavaliers as a resource to suck dry, I can't deal with this empire today.

me [heard 'suck dry cavaliers' and got so hard i got nauseous]: I think I hauve devils in me

(2,710 notes)

🫁 soulosexualll

omg guys im so sorry ive been MIA!!! the alexandrite id been talking about won custody over our baby so i had a bit of a crisis about my future on the fifth house alone and loved only by the spirits. and then of course i visit the third over vacation and get roped into a multi-week bender [have u ever snorted dried marrow? life changing] and then i was lost on the third for likeeeee four days and had to find my way back through hitchhiking and bartering with my own blood.

but i promise ill update my Joy/Patience/Duty threesome fic soon :333

#rpf #munposting #EEEEEEE GET EXCITED GUYS #joy strap time? joy strap time.... #i see ur messages in the askbox and i super appreciate them btw but i cant justify answering all of them #BUT I SEE U AND I LOVE U <33

(42 notes)

🦴 skeletal-system-bracket

SKELETAL SYSTEM BRACKET ROUND 3 GROUP A

We had two ties last round [within a margin of error of .1%!!] , so we decided it would make the most sense to make this a four-way poll. Propaganda:

Occipital Bone: do you want an unprotected cerebellum??? the infernal surface is groovy af, and all the nuchal lines are actually goated. are u seriously going to look me in the eyes and tell me the three-part bone of all time [father son and holy spirit, anyone?] can even be stepped to by some normie basic bone shit???????? cmon..... [via. @skullfuckbonegod]

Fibula: VOTE FIBULA!!!! bone with a best friend <3 Tibia already got out round 1 so its ur legal duty to stand up for its legbestie... also my hounds r named Fibula and Tibia and theyre adorbsies [via. @sodiumradiation]

Thoracic Vertibrae: twelve bones. twelve bones, one combined goal: fuck shit up, take names, keep that back backing. least commonly injured part of the spine for a reason. its built different. this shit protects ur spinal cord, provides attachments to your ribs, supports your chest and abdomen, and literally lets yr body move. objective best bones. [via. @ithinkthereforisam]

Scalpula: Scapula sweep!! Those are your angel wings. Watching your Cavs shoulder blades move under their skin while they carry a big sword is the best part of being a necro. They're also just such a good plane of bone they're perfect for breaking up into little pieces for bone adepts to store in their pockets. Also the attachment point for a bunch of muscles!!and the yummy little joint cavity… [via. @kavkisser]

#polls #tumblr polls #skeletal system #tibia #fibula #vertebrae #scalpula

(450 notes)

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE EMPEROR HASN'T COMMENTED ON HIS FIRST AND SECOND'S SAINTS DISAPPEARANCES

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

For my Edenite followers this is like if gun disappeared

#ARE THEY DEAD??? #Bro r we upping the fascism factor #STAFF THAT TAG IS A JOKE. I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF INSURGENCY

12,345 notes

🫀 gorewanker Follow

I swear they're like the septum piercing havers of cavaliering 😭😭😭

🦀 xx-0ct0g0ne-xx Follow

Ah. So you're unable to handle the pressures which are expected of the average Eighth House devotee, and as such, fall back upon insecure insults. Get a life + Praying for you + L.

(923 notes)

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

holy shit tower prince announcement this is crazy. liveblog time

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

TRANSMASC AWE??????????

(3,891 notes)

🦷 bitingyoubitingyoubitingyoubitingyoux3 Follow

(14,088 notes)

☠️ is-the-emperor-undying-d34d-yet Follow

NOT YET BUT WE ALWAYS COME BACK

[genshin-impact-updates]

Web Event "Starlight Reverie" Now Online: Take part to obtain Primogems and other rewards!

Reminisce about the starlit journey together, and enjoy the beautiful sights of Teyvat~!

>>Click to Take Part in Event<<

〓Event Duration〓

September 28, 2024 – October 12, 2024 23:59 (UTC+8)

*Rewards cannot be claimed after the event ends. Please claim them in time.

〓Eligibility〓

Travelers who have reached Adventure Rank 10 or above can participate in this event.

*The data for the "Starlight Reverie" event will be collected up to September 25, 2024 00:00 (UTC+8) (there may be a margin of error of about 30 minutes) and is valid only for Travelers who have reached Adventure Rank 10 or above before the cut-off time.

〓Event Description〓

During the event, click to enter the data books of different regions and view your travel memories. Finish viewing them to obtain Primogems and other in-game rewards.

You can also share the event and take part in the "Journey in the Akasha" to obtain in-game rewards.

〓Share Memories〓

After viewing all data sections, you will be able to click the "Annual Summary" button in the bottom-right corner of the event homepage to generate your own annual data summary page.

The Stellar Highlights in the annual data summary page will be generated based on your personalized data. You can freely select what content is displayed on your summary page, and can also edit your personalized decorations.

In the regional data books, you can download a long image containing your data from the current region as a memento, and can also share your travel memories with others through links or images.

By inviting friends through a special sharing link, you can connect and share data with them to view the similarities and differences in your annual data summaries.

〓Journey in the Akasha〓

After viewing all data sections, you will be able to click the "Journey in the Akasha" button in the bottom-right corner of the event homepage to enter the Journey in the Akasha page.

After selecting a map, you can start matching and join a "Journey in the Akasha" lobby. Once in the lobby, you can interact and communicate with other Travelers.

Travelers can also invite friends to join the current lobby by sharing the invitation link from within the lobby, or enter the lobby number to join a specific lobby.

Each lobby will have 1 visiting companion, and you might encounter different companions within the same type of map.

Perform interactions in various scenes to complete the "Journey in the Akasha" Check-In and earn rewards such as Primogems.

〓Personalized Decorations〓

You can complete various missions within the event to earn personalized decorations for this event. Some decorations can only be obtained through Recall Rewards. These decorations can only be used during this event.

There are four types of decorations: Hairstyles, Expressions, Outfits, and Accessories. Travelers can also choose their preferred skin tone.

When you edit your decorations on the Journey in the Akasha or Annual Summary pages, changes will be applied to all locations where your decorations are displayed. Your avatar in your friend sharing records will also be updated accordingly.

〓Recall Rewards〓

Returning Travelers must meet the following requirements: Reach Adventure Rank 10 or above, must not have logged into the game within 14 days prior to the start of the event, and must not have an ongoing Stellar Reunion mission, or returned to the game recently. Users who trigger Stellar Reunion during the event are also considered returning users.

Return statistics are based on the server time from 00:00 to 23:59. Users who first trigger Stellar Reunion after 04:00 on a given day will be eligible to participate in the event the following day.

The duration of this event is relatively long, so some users may fall outside the return criteria within the event period. Please use the return label updated after 04:00 on the day as the standard for determination.

Each Traveler can only link 1 returning Traveler. Successfully linking a returning Traveler will earn you Primogems ×60. Once the linked returning Traveler completes the specified missions, you will accumulate a total of Primogems ×100 in rewards!

Each returning Traveler can only be linked by one person. Returning Travelers who have been linked can still invite other returnees and link with them to obtain rewards.

〓Event Rewards〓

=Rewards for Viewing All Regional Data Books=

Travelers can claim corresponding rewards by viewing different data sections in full. You can obtain a total of Primogems ×120.

=Participating in the Journey in the Akasha=

You'll be able to claim the corresponding rewards after you complete interactions in different Journey in the Akasha scenes.

You can obtain a total of Primogems ×60, Hero's Wit ×3, Sanctifying Unction ×5, as well as various materials from Teyvat.

=Sharing Rewards=

Share from anywhere within this web event to claim the corresponding rewards. You can obtain a total of Mora ×20,000.

*The in-game rewards will be distributed via in-game mail. The mail will expire after 30 days, so don't forget to claim the rewards in time.

*This web event is provided purely for entertainment. It is not indicative of any related gameplay features in Genshin Impact.

[sparklecarehospital]

an overview of my progress on the new site over the past 5 months of building

i decided i would put together a big post compiling all of the things i have currently implemented to the new site since at the moment it's scattered amongst a million small update posts. i feel like this will be good reference for anyone who has ideas that aren't included yet

the comic reader

you can now change the placement of the comic pagination arrows to be above, below, or on both the top and bottom of the comic page.

you can search for individual page numbers via a search bar (and also search 'cover' 'back cover' etc)

you can bookmark pages and save your place at any time in any series, and the home landing page will give you a link to your saved page when you revisit the site so you dont have to go all the way to the read section just to access your place. saving your bookmark tells you what page you're saving (or clearing if you're removing it)

you can now select individual scenes in the volume that have non-spoiler names but proper associations to the content for returning readers to quickly find specific scenes

on desktop you can change the size of the page on your screen

on desktop you can hide the site header (this is not necessary on mobile)

there is a legend explaining what each button does

new comment service that does not have ads

transcripts now come from the sides of the screens and do not require scrolling down to read them, and they are correct and no longer inaccurate on certain pages

tooltips that explain what each navigation arrow button is for

content warnings

you can select individual categories of content you do or don't want to see via switches

you have the ability to disable warnings entirely if you wish, just turn all of them off

you can choose between verbal warnings (stuff in dialogue) or visual warnings (things seen on-screen)

you can suggest adding content warnings to specific pages if there are errors OR if there is something major i overlooked

there is a page that lists every content warning in a volume with contexts for each individual warning, whether it's verbal or visual, and links to the pages

there is a pre-moderated comment section that allows anyone to ask questions about content warnings (for example, asking if something will ever be in the comic or asking what category something specific would be listed under).

there is a list of things that do not get warnings and a list of things that will never be depicted in the comic

scenes that did not have content warnings before now have them to match the proper category system

archives

volume archives are now images instead of links, and they are displayed in a grid format which is mobile-responsive so it doesn't take absolutely forever to scroll through an entire volumes archive

volume summaries are more easily accessible

the new transcript archive which is a text-only version of the entire comic, including a clean version in case you need things in dialogue filtered out

mobile devices/tablets

the website is now properly mobile responsive and designed to function like a regular mobile website and is not unbearable to use anymore. it just feels and looks like any other mobile site!

comic pages now touch the edge of the screen and do not always require zooming in to read dialogue

transcripts are now more device-friendly and do not appear broken on small screen devices anymore

all comic reader features work on mobile (except the 2 desktop-only features)

content warnings do not take up too much space or overflow the comic page box

margins are improved to make basically everything more mobile friendly

you can still see page backgrounds faintly on mobile, but they have an overlay to make reading the comic page contents easier. this was not originally planned but i made it happen! yippie!

display

the site now has a built-in dark mode that works for every site theme, however, keep in mind that due to the nature of dark themes they are obviously not as colorful as the main site themes

there is now a saturation slider which changes the saturation of the site to whatever percentage you wish

saturation affects the background and does not ignore it

the screen does not flash as new elements load in, however, images specifically may take a moment to load depending on your internet speed. this is something i'm trying to fix but i can't guarantee it because it's not entirely in my control how websites load images depending on your internet speed

secrets!

cast page

cast page for each series is divided by individual character type (main patients, side patients, main staff, side staff, family, outsiders etc)

cast profiles are mobile responsive in an easy-to-use way and do not take forever to scroll through on mobile devices, instead they are collapsible and you only have one open at a time.

desktop has anchor links to specific profiles using my cute emoji edits :]

search bar on the main cast directory page that takes you to specific characters by entering their name (or variations of it)

profiles include allotpuns, genders, pronouns, nouns, sexuality, species, age, hatchday, height, and a list of all of their afflictions

there are popups that explain the meanings of certain phrases or words (like specific sexualities) and neopronoun usage explanations and examples

cast page profiles for all of the currently public cast members

biographies that contain character history (or at least the currently public history) and a detailed explanation of their personality that replaces the trait system for simplicity's sake

secrets!

comic itself

pages with errors have been corrected

pages with improper characterization/retconned information have been updated and replaced with new dialogue

character card intros now contain pronouns and retconned pronouns have been corrected

uni is no longer referred to with exclusively he/him anywhere except in the comic itself to avoid confusing new readers/people who do not look at other areas of the site

scenes that did not previously have site themes now have them, for fun!

secrets!

FAQ

the FAQ is no longer a million miles long despite containing all of the questions it originally had. it is now collapsible sections that make accessing certain question types easier

pre-moderated comment section that allows anyone to ask questions about the comic, even if they do not have a tumblr account. these questions are directly on the FAQ itself. it is pre-moderated to keep things on-topic.

bug report page where you can describe problems you're having if the site isn't working right for you. this is also pre-moderated. common/important issues will be pinned

navigation bar

there will be links to all of the ask blogs on the navigation bar, including the AUs

there is a link to the spinch lore page directly at the top. no more digging through the FAQ!

navigation bar has dropdowns to specific types of pages to increase the link count without cluttering/taking up too much space

the links are no longer poorly sized images, instead they are actually made with html

landing page

when you first open the site, you will be linked to a settings page that allows you to set your display settings and content warnings in advance

you can set saturation and select dark mode if you want

this landing page is not bright and has an overlay to prevent it from immediately forcing you to see bright colors

this is everything that is currently implemented. there may be things added in the future, this is just all of my current progress.

what do i have to finish?

uploading the comic. i currently have volumes 1-2 fully uploaded and transcribed, v3 is fully uploaded, and v4 is undergoing the upload process.

finish the archive pages to include all of the volumes

finish the cast profiles

work on the spinch lore page

do proper beta testing with the crew to make sure everything works on as many devices as i can possibly test it on

thank you to everyone for being patient with me over the past few months as i work hard on this. i feel really good actually writing out everything i've done overall because i have more progress than i actually realized!!! i hope everyone is excited to see all of this in action because i can't wait for you to see it either!

[witchygagirlwrites]

Cricket-Part 6 (Final)

Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x Reader (nicknamed Cricket)

You and Mouse finally talk

Warnings: mention of violence, passing mention of sex

This damn car jacking string was amping up even more it seemed. There had been two more and so far no freaking leads. Voight was trying to get a feel on where to stick some UCs for bait to maybe see if they would get targeted. You and Lindsay were the best candidates for the job. Two five foot something females were a lot more likely to get hit over any of the men in the unit and uniforms were out of the question on something this dangerous.

If it could just be narrowed down to a neighborhood, the unit would get divided. Half on you, half on her and patrol covering the middle. The job was now narrowing it down to where they could possibly be hitting next. 

You sat at your desk, going over the previous hits again. Everyone was trying to find any sort of pattern, anything to give you a clue as to where they could be targeting next. What type of vehicle could be their target. 

The solid click clack of Mouse’s keyboard was constantly drawing your eyes to him. So far you’d used this case as an excuse to side step talking to him about everything that had occurred between the two of you. You fucking hated it because any other time? You would be perched on the side of his desk, watching as he worked. Now? You were forced to stick to your own desk because no matter how bad you wanted to be close to him, you couldn’t allow yourself the casual intimacy when you wanted so damn much more.

“Cricket, Erin..my office!” Voight called out. You looked up at her and raised an eyebrow before standing to walk across the floor. “Yes sir?” you asked once the two of you were in his office. He nodded to the bullpen “There’s two cars in impound. A mercedes and a lexus. Both are barely a year old. They’ll be the bait cars. Both of you will need to be dressed like you’re harmless rich girls just in town for fun because they’ll have out of state plates”  

“What’s the plan here?” Erin asked and he sighed “If they’ll take it without trying to hurt either of you, we let em. We’ll have trackers on the cars that will lead us back to wherever they’re held up”  “And if they won’t?” you asked and he shrugged “We move in, take em down as quietly as possible and hope we can flip em” you nodded “Ok then”

Mouse was down in the tech room, double checking the trackers to make sure they were working to give up to the second updates on where you and Erin would be. There was no margin for error here. You and her were finishing up getting ready to roll out.  The plan was Jay, Hank and Kim would cover Erin while Antonio, Adam and Kevin covered you. Patrolmen would be sprinkled between the two locations Voight would have you and Erin rolling through.

The two of you were supposed to stop at a few different shops, just let the cars be seen. Draw out the perps and hopefully pop them. He fucking hated this part.  “Um Greg?” he turned around and you were standing at the door. You quite literally looked like you just stepped off the cover of Forbes. He couldn’t stop the smile that slipped onto his face, the outfit somehow suited you, “Where have you been hiding that?” you looked down at yourself and shrugged “Platt suggested a while ago to invest in one good outfit for court. This is it” he laughed “You look good Cricket” you nodded “But do I look like a rich girl from out of state that would be completely harmless to car jack? That’s the question” 

He nodded “If I didn’t know you, yeah” and you smiled slightly “Good, um I need my com” “Oh yeah” why had he thought you’d come down here just to talk? Maybe because this was the longest you’d spoken to him since he left your place that Sunday? 

He picked up your com and held them out but you grimaced “I hate to ask with how strained things have been but is there any way you can help me get it in place? I’m afraid I won’t get it in just right and it’’ll be visible”

He swallowed hard and nodded “Of course, no matter how things have been I’m going to help you” you smiled and stepped closer to him then sat down on the chair. He stepped to your left side and gently moved your hair back, you squirmed slightly and he smirked “You good?” you cut your eyes up at him “Just put my damn com in please” he nodded “Yes ma’am” and placed the com in your ear, shifting it so it would be comfortable and not be visible. “There ya go”

He took a step back and nodded “Can’t see it” you stood up and smiled “Thanks” he stared at you for a moment before saying “Be careful” “Always” you replied and he felt his heart flip as you turned to walk out.

You could still feel Mouse’s fingers on your neck from where he placed your com. The truth was you could’ve probably got it in place and you knew Kim or Erin either one would’ve helped you place it but his touch was comforting and you couldn’t very well ask for it any other way.

You grabbed the keys for the Mercedes from Voight and headed down to it. The thing was a deep blue and absolutely gorgeous if you were being honest. You preferred your truck any day but it was a pretty car. 

“Cricket, we’ll be a few cars behind. You won’t see us but we will see you” Antonio’s voice came through your com as you climbed behind the wheel. “Copy that” you replied as you peeled off from the curb. If Voight wanted you to get attention to this damn car, you were going to get attention to it.

_____________________

You could hear the chatter from your end of the com that so far Erin had stopped where she was supposed to and hadn’t gotten any attention besides a couple guys and handful of women asking for her number. Hell you’d had three women offer their number to you and two men. You had politely turned them down by saying you were in Chicago for the weekend while your uncle did business. 

_____________________

“What do we do if me and Erin are just out here turning corners all day and no one bites?” you asked about the two you spotted two suvs fall in line with the mercedes “Never mind” “We’re one car back, let it happen unless they get violent. Do not engage Cricket unless they get violent. Understood?”

“Copy that” you replied and kept driving until one of the SUVs turned sideways in front of you then you slammed on brakes and unlocked the door so it would be easier for them to snatch it open. You saw them coming up next to the car and held your hands up when you saw the guns. “GET OUT THE CAR BITCH” they had masks on so that was a good sign they weren’t going to get too violent. 

You nodded “Ok, ok” and slowly climbed out with your hands up “I don’t want no problems. My purse is in there too, you’re welcome to it all just don’t hurt me” the tallest of the three eyed you and even through the mask you felt your stomach churn. He didn’t have anything near good intentions. “Maybe we should take her for a spin” one of the other men luckily yelled at him “GET THE DAMN TRUCK AND LETS GO”

You stood in the middle of the street and watched them take off and spin around the corner. A few moments later Antonio’s suv pulled up and Adam grinned “I’ll be damned Cricket, you actually sounded harmless”  you winked at him “It’s called acting dear” and climbed in the car as Antonio was on the phone with Voight for everyone to circle up at the precinct.

You got changed back into your jeans and t-shirt first thing, Erin too. She laughed as the two of you were tugging your boots on “How many numbers were you offered?” you counted in your head “Five?” she whistled “Not bad, I had seven” you grinned “You’re cuter than me” and she laughed “Not true, you just have resting I’ll kill you face” 

The two of you headed out of the locker room as everyone was gathered around Mouse’s computer where he was already tracking the crew. “We got an address” Jay told you both and you grinned “Damn, that was fast. We got a warrant?" Antonio nodded “Got one, all we gotta do is gear up” you nodded then looked at Erin and Kim “The tallest of the crew, avoid him if you get cornered alone. He gives off those vibes”

They both nodded so everyone stood to head down to roll up. You stopped and grabbed Mouse’s arm on the way by. He raised an eyebrow at you actually initiating physical contact “What’s wrong?” you handed him the com and saw his shoulders fall so you said “And I want to talk tonight, if you’re free” he smiled “I’m always free for you”  that made your heart flip a little but you just replied “Ok” then hurried to catch up with everyone else.

You stood next to Adam as Voight gave everyone a final once over of the pre-raid plan. It was fairly routine, get in, get the perps and don’t get shot. 

“Halstead, Dawson and Lindsay take the front, Ruzek and Cricket take the back. Burgess and Atwater be ready for runners” He gave the order and everyone nodded, falling into place on where you needed to be. 

You followed Adam around to the back of the house, staying low and keeping your left hand on his shoulder. Once the two of you were there you spoke over the coms “In place” and heard everyone else reply in turn. After a breath Voight gave the order “Take it”

You and Adam kicked the back door in about the same time you heard Jay kick the front door in “CHICAGO PD, GET ON THE DAMN FLOOR” you saw the big guy aim for Erin and hollered “Drop it” he didn’t so you fired two into his neck and he dropped to the floor. Adam kicked his gun away as everyone moved further into the house. 

_____________________

Everyone stood outside the house as the bodies were taken away and the still breathing perps were loaded into squad cars to be dragged back to the precinct. “Well, that was fun” you laughed and Adam shook his head “Can I get a new partner? This one’s broken” Kim laughed “Nope, I like this one” you winked at her “Thank you ma’am” and nudged Adam with your shoulder “See? Your girl likes me”

He turned to look at you “She likes me! She doesn’t have good taste” you busted out laughing “Ok, you’ve got me there Ruz” and Kim started laughing too. Voight walked over and just shook his head “Head back to the precinct. We gotta get these assholes booked in, evidence cataloged and reports done” you groaned “The real fun part huh” and grinned when Voight shot you a look “I mean yes sir, we’re on it” and grabbed Adam to drag him towards his car.

Mouse was stuck cataloging most of the evidence alone because everyone else had to finish their reports, you and Erin had double due to having to be under for the bust. He heard boots coming down behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Jay. “What’s up man?”

Jay nodded towards the pile that hadn’t been done yet “Figured I’d give you a hand. I already did my reports” Mouse nodded “I appreciate it” 

____________________

The two worked in silence for a while until Jay cleared his throat “Do you love Cricket?” and Mouse nearly dropped the car radio in his hand  “What?” Jay shrugged “It’s an honest question. I mean you and her have been pretty fucking inseparable since you started here. Now you’re telling me you spent a weekend wrapped around her and don’t want anyone else. It’s an honest question. Do you love her?”

Mouse fidgeted with the radio, mainly because he knew the answer. He’d long since known the answer. Of course he loved you, he was in love with you. Jay cut his eyes at him and smirked “That’s what I figured. You gonna tell her?” Mouse shrugged “She wants to talk tonight so I guess it depends on what she tells me” Jay nodded “Good luck?” and took the radio from his hand. 

You and Erin were finishing up your reports and she slid over to your desk “Can I ask something?” she whispered and you shrugged “Go ahead”  “So are you falling or already fell?”  you did the horror movie turn at that moment praying no one would figure out what she meant. She shrugged “Well with what you said and everything” you shrugged “I um…I”’ because if you were honest with yourself? Yeah you had already fell, probably before you ever slept with him.

She started laughing “You gonna say it to him?” you cut your eyes at her “We’re talking tonight” she grinned “Wear that green number I got you” and then scooted back over to her desk, you stared after her and shook your head slowly. Lord your friends.

You were headed out to your truck and heard Mouse call your name. You turned to face him and he smiled “Damn, she can actually hear me talking outside of the precinct” you rolled your eyes “What do you want Mousey?” he groaned so you grinned “Sorry, what do you need Greg?”

“Can I come over?” he asked and you nodded “Grab food” he smiled “Yes ma’am” he started to walk off but you knew you had to know so you called his name and he stopped and looked back at you “Yeah?” you looked around and took a deep breath “Before you come over..I need to know..” “I haven’t fucked Gia since we were deployed together” he replied and you hadn’t realized how much that had been weighing on you until you got confirmation he hadn’t been with her.

“Ok then I’ll see you in a little while?” he nodded “See you in a little while” you smiled and finished walking to your truck, that was when you noticed Jay and Erin standing together, obviously having watched you and Mouse interact. You stuck your hand up at them and they both waved with a laugh.

Mouse parked next to your truck and climbed out to walk up to your door. When he knocked you opened it and he felt his heart damn near stop. You were wearing that damn blackhawks jersey he’d gotten you and a short pair of sleep shorts. He didn’t realize you’d change. “Hey” he greeted and you stepped back “Hey”

He walked the food into the kitchen and turned to face you “Can we talk, before we eat?” you nodded “Yeah” so he grabbed your hand and walked over to the couch, pulling you with him. You sat down next to him and he smiled, bringing one hand up to cup the side of your face “I never should’ve slept with you under the pretense nothing would change because I’ve had feelings for you for a while but I buried them because you are my best friend and I didn’t want that to change and that’s one thing that I know now hasn’t. I love you and you’re still my best friend”

Your eyes widened “Greg, when you say you love me?” he smiled “I mean I’m in love with you Cricket” you laughed and  covered the space between you, crashing your lips against his. The shock quickly wore off and he pulled you into his lap, your hips shifting down where he could feel the heat from your core even through his jeans. When the need for air forced the two of you apart you pressed another kiss to his lips then one to his jaw “I love you too Greg”

__________________________

The moment you told him you loved him too Mouse got the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face “You love me too?” you laughed “Yes you idiot, I am in love with you Greg Gerwitz. That’s why I acted like that when Gia was at the precinct. After feeling the way you touch me, the way you kiss me..how it feels to wake up in your arms? I’m not sure I could take a ranger in a fight but I’m pretty fucking sure I could shoot her” 

He laughed “Baby, you don’t have to worry about anyone. You own every bit of my heart” you pressed another kiss to his lips then leaned back far enough to pull the jersey over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes widened when he saw the dark green lingerie set gracing your body “When did you get this?” “Erin brought it, apparently she’s known something we didn’t” he laughed “We’ll have to thank her..tomorrow"  and pulled you into a kiss. 

@elvenpirate51

@forensicgirl99

[stygiansauce]

We are officially blocked out to chapter 16 :D

[boxboxblog]

Driver Profiles: Lance Stroll

Updated December 2024

Name: Lance Strulovitch

Age: 26

Nationality: Canadian

Years in F1: 8 (Williams 2017-2018, Racing Point/Aston Martin 2019-Present)

Number: 18

WDCs: N/A

Driving Style: Stroll is know to have a rather reactive and sensitive driving style. This sensitivity means that he his highly tuned in to his car, and can easily analyze if anything is wrong with the setup, which is very helpful for his team. He is also a driver who takes corners at high speeds, allowing himself to gain seconds where other driver lose them. In general he pushes to the limits, and so this paired with his sensitivity makes him a great driver to develop a car around. He tends to take much more risks than other drivers do, which has led to some stand out performances. The negative side of his style is that his aggression in turns can sometimes be sacrificed for precision, meaning he is prone to crashing in tough battles around corners. He has also been criticized as being over eager in overtaking situations and pushing the card too hard, leading to contact or lost positions.

History:

Stroll is the son of Canadian Billionaire Lawrence Stroll, and started karting at the age of 10 in 2008. He would win multiple races and championships in North America, and won rookie of the year in 2008. That same year, Stroll won the Italian Open Masters 60cc category, showcasing his natural talent and determination. 2 years later, he became the youngest champion in the Florida Winter Tour - Rotax Max Junior category, impressing the racing community and garnering European attention. He would become a Ferrari Academy Driver in 2010. In 2013 he had a breakthrough year, winning the CIK-FIA European Championship - KF category, his first real foray into intense European competition.

(Stroll in his karting days)

In 2014 he debuted in car racing, at the Florida Winter Racing Series. he would have positive results, achieving multiple podiums and pole positions. Stroll took part in the 2014 Italian F4 Championship, and despite missing the final round due to injury, Stroll emerged as series champion, taking seven race wins, thirteen podium finishes, and five pole positions.

(Stroll on top step after winning the 2014 Italian F4 title)

At the beginning of 2015, Stroll won the New Zealand-based Toyota Racing series, earning ten podiums and four wins. In the same year, he also drove in the FIA Formula 3 European Championship. He won one race and achieved six total podium finishes, coming in 5th in the standings. 2015 was also the year Stroll left the Ferrari Drivers Academy and joined Williams as a test driver.

In 2016 Stroll competed yet again in the F3 championship, and dominated the season, clinching his win before the last race 187 points above his nearest competitor. He earned 14 wins and 20 podiums throughout the year, in the process gaining more attention from F1 teams. In late 2016 it was announced he would be driving for Williams in the 2017 season.

(Stroll after winning the F3 title)

His first year with Williams was a very positive ones. His early races saw a few retirements due to crashes and mechanical errors, but he achieved his first podium and became the second youngest driver after Max Verstappen to finish on the podium in F1, at the age of 18 years and 239 days. He also broke a record at the 2017 Italian GP, when he became the youngest F1 driver to start on the front row at the age of 18 years and 310 days. He ended the season 12th in the championship and winning half of his teams points. Furthermore, he gained more positions on opening lap than any other driver that year.

(Stroll on the podium with Williams)

2018 he remained with Williams and had a much more negative year, mostly due to the Williams car being the slowest car on the field by a wide margin. He finished 18th in the championship that year. This led Stroll to sign with another team for the 2019 season.

2019 was when his saga with Racing Point (later renamed Aston Martin) started and he still remains with the team today. He replaced Esteban Ocon to team Sergio Perez after his father led a consortium to purchasing the dying Force India team. This move gained him a lot of criticism, as many detractors stated he bought his seat. His first year with Racing Point was not particularly good. He only finished in the points a few times and was outpaced by his teammate on multiple occasions. 2020 was a better year for Stroll. He regularly found himself in high points positions, and earned his 2nd career podium at the Italian GP and his 3rd at the Sakhir GP. He was on his way to earning 4th in the championship, until a series of mechanical failures and a stint of illness dropped him down to finish in 10th.

(Stroll's second podium)

2021 saw the team become renamed Aston Martin and his new teammate was 4x WDC Sebastian Vettel. This year was less positive than 2021, and his highest finish was 6th at the Qatar GP. 2022 was an even more negative year, and he only was able to earn points a handful of times. In 2023 Vettel retired and Stroll's new teammate was 2x WDC Fernando Alonso. This year was a mixed bag for Stroll. While he had some of his highest finishes since 2020, he also was heavily out paced by his teammate, and scored 74 points to Alonso's 206. Again he was criticized by the public, and Aston Martin had to publicly defend his seat against critics.

(Stroll with teammate Fernando Alonso)

2024 so far has been another mixed bag year for Stroll. While he still was outpaced by his teammate, he had some high points finishes. At the Australian GP he finished 6th and achieved 7th at his home race in Canada. The latter half of the year was worse for Stroll (and Aston Martin ion general), and he ended the season 13th in the standings.

He is set to remain with Aston Martin for the 2025 season.

(Stroll in his 2024 Aston Martin)

Major Races:

2017 Canadian GP - Stroll's first points, he picked his way up the field to 9th place after qualifying 17th. A fantastic race where he showed how his aggression can help with overtakes.

2017 Baku GP - Stroll's first podium in his rookie year with Williams. The race was a chaotic one, filled with multiple crashes. Stroll managed to maneuver around the drama, climbing his way from 8th to 2nd. He held off much faster cars for the majority of the race, and would have finished 2nd until Valtteri Bottas passed him in the last lap.

2020 Turkish GP - In one of the biggest surprised ever, Stroll took his first pole position after a wet quali session. He demonstrated his skill in difficult conditions and his ability to push the car to its limits. Though he did not finish on the podium due to strategic errors, his qualifying showed he was a capable driver.

2020 Italian GP - Another podium finish for Stroll, he drove a consistent race and managed once again to avoid any on track drama from crashes. He showed his shrewd driving style by taking advantage of other drivers mistakes.

2023 Bahrain GP - When Stroll broke both wrists and his toe, and had to get surgery pre-season, most assumed he would not drive in the season opener. Even though he was still not healed properly, showing grit and massive mental strength, Stroll raced in Bahrain and was able to score high points, finishing in 6th position.

Cheers,

-B

[cerinslair]

Heart Heist: The Zine Update 1.1 Out Now!

While work on the Complete Edition continues, Heart Heist: The Zine has also received its first major update!

Now that I understand itch's platform a bit better - as well as the scope of this project - it no longer seems correct to update the zine itself directly into the Complete Edition. I think it makes more sense to split Heart Heist into two bespoke editions: the cheap, easy to distribute, lowest-possible-barrier-of-entry Zine Edition; and a Complete Edition that is free to grow into whatever it ends up becoming. I don't want anyone who supported this project already to feel cheated out of the Complete Edition, which is why anyone who purchased (or purchases) the Zine Edition on itch will get $5 (the full price of the zine) off of the Complete Edition when it releases.

This does not mean that the zine is an unfinished version of a full game. Now it is quite the opposite - it is its own, complete thing (and has had its release stats on itch updated accordingly). It has everything you need to play, and can stand on its own. Some might come to call it a "rules-lite" version, and while I don't want to fall into the rabbit hole of definitions, it is looking very likely that the Complete Edition will have at least three more mechanics than its zine counterpart. Some players might even come to prefer one version over the other - relative simplicity and ease of use vs. mechanical depth and additional useful tools. Only time and continued development will tell.

While the Zine Edition obviously won't have everything the Complete Edition will have in it, it will still benefit from some of the updates work on the Complete Edition produces - such as the changes that released today!

Thank you for continuing to support Heart Heist!

Changelog:

Created a Google Sheet that helps automate calculating each Thief's Favor at the end of the game if you don't feel like doing math

Updated estimated play time based on additional playtesting with more groups of different players - down from 5 or 6 to 4 hours!

Added expectation of an additional 30 to 60 minutes if the entire group is new to playing Heart Heist

Added section strongly encouraging players to read their intel before meeting up to save time at the table. This section also explains that heists cannot be "spoiled," and are reusable!

The Evocative Language Update

"Stats" → "Vibes"

"Game Master" → "The Guy in the Van" (GV)

Removed unnecessary references to upcoming material meant for the Complete Edition

Rephrased explanation of "Fake It 'til you Make It" for clarity

Fixed unspecified print error on page 5

Added missing paragraph break on page 9

Fixed various typos

Removed grey sketch line from corner of Bingo.png

Fixed missing Alt Text for Bingo.png

Clarified that armor counts as a set of clothes

Specified how long it takes for a glass cutter to cut holes of various sizes

Reduced cost of the Aptitude spell from 3 to 2 Favor

Added advice for players to - at minimum - figure out how they will get in, how they will acquire the target, and how they will get back out again within their planning time limit. You'd be surprised how many groups forget one of those three things!

Added reminder for the Guy in the Van to award bonus Favor for the Dragon's Patron effect at the end of Phase 2: The Plan

Various tweaks to The Princess in the Box example heist based on continued playtesting

Added a timeline overview of the heist to The Princess in the Box

Increased margin size of The Princess in the Box intel handout for easier note taking

Updated the titles of some of the art pieces in the credits

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Six

CW: Language

WC: 5.5k

Notes: Paige and Azzi 🤝 racing when they really shouldn’t. Anywayyy lmk what yall think. Like fr send thoughts plz. Also there fr might be some typos in here so my bad

The Belgian Grand Prix always felt different.

Longer track. Longer days. Longer everything.

Azzi adjusted her gloves as she sat in the cockpit, feeling the rumble of the Ferrari underneath her like a second heartbeat.

Outside, the clouds were heavy — Spa was always threatening rain — but right now, it was just cool and gray.

Perfect for fast laps.

“Radio check, Azzi,” Mateo’s voice buzzed into her ear.

“Yeah, loud and clear,” Azzi replied, rolling onto the track exit and easing onto the throttle.

Spa was brutal in how spread out it was.

Everything felt distant. Every sector was a journey.

“First timed lap. Let’s stay clean through turns 2, 3, and 4, see how she feels.”

Azzi took the corner flat, climbing the hill with the precision of someone who didn’t fear physics anymore.

“How’s the balance?” Mateo asked.

Azzi gave a tight shrug even though he couldn’t see it. “Good. A little light at the front.”

Then — almost without thinking — she asked:

“Is Paige on track yet?”

There was a beat of silence, like Mateo almost smirked over the radio.

But when he spoke, he was professional as ever:

“Yep. She’s about halfway through her flyer. Sector two just came through — she’s down three-tenths off you.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek.

She told herself it was a racing thing — knowing where your competitors were.

Right. Competitors.

But no matter how many times she repeated that in her head, it didn’t explain the little spark in her chest when she heard Paige’s name.

Or the ache when she remembered last week — Paige in her lap, Paige tangled up with her in bed, Paige saying Azzi’s name like it meant something.

Azzi took another lap, the track sprawling out endlessly in front of her.

God, Belgium was long.

And Paige hated it.

Azzi shouldn’t know that. She shouldn’t know that Paige thought Spa was too stretched out, too hard to find rhythm at.

She shouldn’t know that Paige preferred tighter, technical circuits — Monaco, Singapore, Hungary.

But now she knew a lot of things she shouldn’t.

Like the smell of Paige’s perfume when she leaned in close — something expensive and clean.

Or the way Paige’s body fit against hers — soft, perfect.

Or that Paige’s middle name was Madison — something Azzi had teased her about mercilessly after discovering it.

They hadn’t known each other like this back in F3.

Back then it had been easier — teammates for half a season, both still reckless kids.

Azzi had thought Paige was cool, a little bit cocky, insanely fast in the wet.

Nothing more.

Now?

Now it was so much more it scared the shit out of her.

“Sector times coming through — you’re purple in one and three. 2nd overall for now, behind Red Bull,” Mateo updated casually.

Azzi wiped her sweaty palm against her race suit.

“Copy,” she muttered, half-listening.

The car roared through turns 16 and 17, and she could hear Mateo flipping through data in the background.

“Paige improved, by the way. Only two-tenths off now.”

Azzi’s stomach twisted again, but she just gripped the wheel tighter.

Focus.

It was just racing. Just Paige.

Except it wasn’t just Paige anymore, and they both knew it.

And with every lap around this endless, endless circuit, Azzi felt that truth getting harder to ignore.

–

The debrief room was freezing, the kind of cold that cut straight through Azzi’s race suit and made her wrap her arms around herself without thinking.

She sat next to Mateo, laptops open, sector maps and tire graphs blinking on screens in front of them. Azzi stared at her lap data, half-listening to Mateo talk about telemetry spikes and brake balance, nodding when appropriate.

Her mind was still stuck on the track.

No, not the track.

On Paige.

“You’re being weird quiet,” Mateo said lightly, clicking through to another graph. “Not like you.”

Azzi flicked her eyes over at him but didn’t bite.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his thigh.

“Hey, random, but—” he flipped a tab open on his laptop, scrolling, “Paige posted something during break. New York. Did you guys, like… run into each other?”

His voice was casual. Almost too casual.

Azzi kept her face neutral.

She was good at that. Had been for years.

“Yeah,” she said, short. “We had drinks.”

That was all.

No extra words. No stupid smile, no fucking heart in her throat.

But Mateo clocked the hell out of her anyway.

His eyes flickered — a quick, knowing look — before he leaned forward again like he hadn’t noticed anything at all.

“Cool, cool,” he said, flipping to another page of data. “Same city and all. Makes sense.”

Azzi nodded stiffly, focusing hard on the tire degradation charts.

Her hands were a little too tight around her water bottle.

They wrapped up another ten minutes later. Mateo didn’t push. He never did.

He just handed her a printout of race sims, gave a quick grin, and said, “Go shower, Fudd. Take a break.”

She wandered through the paddock toward the team motorhome, boots heavy, race suit still half unzipped around her waist.

Her head buzzed, not from the laps, but from Paige.

The constant undercurrent of her.

Azzi stepped into the small private bathroom near her room, turned the water on scorching, and stripped down automatically.

Steam rose around her, thick and blinding.

She stepped under the spray, letting it hit her full force.

Finally — finally — she could think.

Paige.

Paige, looking a little awkward this morning. Paige’s voice over the radio. Paige’s fucking middle name.

Azzi leaned her forehead against the wall.

She was comfortable being out — she really was.

Her parents knew. Her brothers knew. Her close friends.

It wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t shame.

But this world…

F1 wasn’t exactly known for making things easy.

Cameras everywhere. Millions of eyes. Endless judgment.

It wasn’t fear, exactly.

It was exhaustion.

And somewhere in that fog of exhaustion, Azzi found herself giving Paige a little bit of grace.

Paige, who wasn’t just dealing with the weight of the grid, but the weight of herself too.

Paige, who probably hadn’t told anyone either.

Paige, who smiled like hell but pulled back the second anyone got too close.

Azzi closed her eyes.

Sometimes she forgot — just because they were the same age didn’t mean they were the same.

Azzi had been in F1 three seasons longer. She knew the rhythms. The grind. The loneliness.

Paige was still new. Still raw.

Still learning how brutal it could all be.

Azzi let the water beat against her skin until she felt wrung out.

She didn’t know what they were doing.

She didn’t know what it meant.

But she knew this:

When Paige leaned into her in the middle of the night — when Paige trusted her enough to stay — Azzi wasn’t going to pull away.

Not now.

Not when it felt like maybe, maybe, they were both reaching for the same thing.

–

It was lap six of the race, and everything felt…wrong.

Not in the car — Azzi’s Ferrari was moving well, nimble on mediums, grip solid in the cool Belgian air.

Not in the strategy — tire life looked good, energy deployment was fine.

It was the pack.

Too tight.

Too crowded.

Like no one was willing to let go.

Azzi gritted her teeth and focused ahead. The front group — her, a Red Bull, both Mercedes, both Ferraris — were jostling for the same slice of track.

Way too close for the early laps of a race this long.

“Car behind two-tenths,” Mateo’s voice came through her radio, cool and clipped. “ERS mode four. Watch turn nine, dirty air.”

Azzi adjusted her settings, leaned into the corner.

She trusted Mateo. Trusted herself.

Still — the air was wrong.

Nervous.

And then—

Yellow flags.

Sector two.

Static cracked through the radio.

Azzi heard shouting. Caught the tail end of someone screaming “incident!”

Then a blur of white and red, off track, smoke trailing.

Azzi’s stomach dropped straight to the floor.

Paige’s Ferrari was nose-deep into the barriers at 150 miles per hour.

Azzi was already pressing the radio button before her brain caught up.

“Is she okay? What happened?”

Static. More static.

Mateo didn’t answer immediately.

Azzi downshifted instinctively, glancing at the crash site as she passed under double yellows.

The car was wrecked.

Front wing destroyed.

Tires twisted wrong against carbon fiber.

Azzi’s hands tightened around the wheel.

Is Paige okay?” she demanded, sharper now, heart hammering.

Mateo’s voice finally cut back in, frazzled: “She was bumped. McLaren behind got too aggressive. McLaren spun too. Medical car’s rolling.”

That was not an answer.

Azzi flexed her fingers on the wheel, forcing herself to breathe.

Focus.

Focus.

She remembered her first crash. Rookie year. Barcelona. All she could think afterward was how much it shook you — not just your body, but your head. The noise. The force. The way the world tipped sideways and didn’t right itself for days.

And this — this was Paige’s first crash. Paige, who had never so much as brushed a wall in her entire career.

“Mateo,” she said again, voice low, “I need to know if she’s okay.”

“Still waiting,” Mateo answered. “We’ll tell you the second we know.”

Azzi nodded to herself. Professional. She had to stay professional.

But the worry scratched under her skin, itching, pulling, refusing to be ignored.

They sent the safety car out. Azzi slotted behind it, controlling her tire temps, flicking through settings like she was supposed to.

But her mind stayed on sector two.

On the wreck.

On Paige.

It didn’t matter that they were awkward still. It didn’t matter that Azzi hadn’t been able to look her in the eye in the driver’s room all weekend without remembering skin and mouths and Paige’s stupid, beautiful laugh at 2am.

None of that mattered.

What mattered was that Paige was lying somewhere behind the barriers, maybe hurt, maybe worse, and Azzi couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Driver extraction complete,” race control finally announced over the airwaves.

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, unseen inside the helmet.

“She’s walking,” Mateo added quickly, relief clear in his voice. “Medical checks pending, but she’s out of the car.”

Azzi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A deep, shuddery thing that rattled through her chest.

Good.

She was okay.

The race would go on. Azzi would keep driving. Keep fighting. But under the steel nerves and the race-honed focus, something inside her stayed knotted tight. Because that was the thing about caring about someone you shouldn’t.

It didn’t turn off just because the lights went out and the visor came down. It didn’t turn off when the cameras rolled, when the whole world watched. It didn’t even turn off when you needed it to the most. It just sat there, stubborn and aching and alive.

–

5th.

It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t what Azzi wanted.

Especially not when the car had felt good in the first stint. But somewhere after the safety car, the Ferrari started behaving…wrong. Weird loss of power on straights. Something in the deployment.

Mateo was already talking about engine mapping errors before she even peeled her gloves off.

Azzi climbed out of the car in the garage, jaw tight. The first thing she did — before debrief, before interviews, before even pulling off her helmet — was ask Mateo:

“Paige?”

Mateo caught her meaning instantly.

“They sent her to a local hospital,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just precautionary. More thorough scans.”

Azzi nodded. It made sense. Belgium was brutal — the track long, the barriers close, medical protocol strict.

Still.

Still, something twisted in her gut.

Mateo lingered a little too long as she pulled her fireproof face covering off.

“You and Paige,” he said, voice casual, but not really casual at all. “You two good?”

Azzi kept her face neutral. Professional.

“We’re friends,” she said simply. “Teammates.”

Mateo didn’t push it. Just clapped her lightly on the shoulder and muttered something about checking telemetry later.

Azzi barely heard him.

She just wanted —

God, she didn’t even know what she wanted.

To see Paige.

To hear Paige.

Something to prove she was fine.

–

Her hotel room felt cold when she got there. Cold and too quiet, even with the windows cracked open to the late-summer air.

Azzi sat on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the blank wall.

Finally, she picked up her phone.

Thumb hovered.

Paige’s name blinked up at her.

She hadn’t texted.

Hadn’t called.

Azzi hesitated — then hit the button anyway.

The line rang twice before it picked up.

“Hey,” Paige said.

Her voice was…off.

Small. Tired. Guarded.

Azzi’s heart twisted again, but she kept it steady.

“Hey,” she said back, soft. “You okay?”

A beat.

Two.

“Doctors said I’m fine,” Paige muttered eventually. “X-rays clean. Just bruised up. Said I could go home tonight.”

Relief slammed into Azzi so hard she nearly closed her eyes.

“Good,” she breathed. “That’s good, P.”

Another long pause.

“You didn’t have to call,” Paige said finally.

Not angry — just…tired.

Azzi’s chest tightened.

“I wanted to,” she said simply.

Paige didn’t say anything for a second.

Then:

“You don’t have to babysit me, Azzi. I’m not a fucking rookie.”

The words came out sharper than either of them intended.

Azzi flinched like she’d been slapped.

Fought to keep her voice calm.

“I never said you were.”

“No, but you think it,” Paige shot back.

Azzi sat up straighter.

“Jesus, Paige, I don’t—”

“You do!” Paige snapped. “You think just ’cause you’ve been here longer, you know everything and I’m some dumbass kid who needs her hand held—”

“Paige,” Azzi cut in, sharp now. “That’s not fair.”

Another beat.

Breathless silence between them.

Paige’s voice cracked when she spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I just—”

Azzi closed her eyes.

“I know.”

Soft. Real.

“I know, P.”

She didn’t take it personally.

Not really.

Not when she could hear it — the crash still rattling in Paige’s bones, still spinning her brain sideways.

Azzi leaned back against the headboard, pressing the phone closer to her ear.

“I know you’re upset,” she said quietly. “It’s your first crash, Paige. It messes with you.”

Another long silence.

Then Paige, so small she was barely there:

“Don’t worry about me Azzi. I’m fine.”

Azzi swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You’re not,” she said gently. “Not right now. And that’s fine. Just rest for a bit, okay?”

No answer —

but Azzi could hear Paige breathing.

Alive.

Still fighting.

And maybe that was enough for tonight.

–

Paige had texted when she made it back to the hotel.

Azzi knocked once before letting herself in.

The door wasn’t locked anyway.

Paige was curled up on the far side of the hotel bed, looking rumpled and exhausted and irritated in the low light. She barely looked up when Azzi entered, just muttered something under her breath that Azzi didn’t quite catch.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Azzi said, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“I’m fine,” Paige said immediately, the words too sharp.

Azzi ignored the tone. She crossed the room anyway, dropping her backpack onto a chair, keeping her voice low and careful. “You don’t look fine.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Azzi.”

The way she said her name — like it was something dirty — set Azzi’s teeth on edge. She sat on the edge of the opposite bed, facing her, keeping a little distance, even though all she wanted to do was reach out.

“You almost ended up in a hospital overnight.”

“I didn’t, though.” Paige shifted, pushing herself up onto her elbows, wincing slightly when she moved too fast. “I’m not a child.”

“You got bumped into a wall at 150 miles an hour, Paige,” Azzi said, sharper than she meant to. “Forgive me if I’m a little—”

“What?” Paige snapped. “A little what? Concerned? Worried? Acting like you have some right to—?”

Azzi clenched her jaw. “You’re my teammate.”

That hung there, ugly and thin between them.

Teammate.

Like that explained everything.

Like it erased everything else.

Paige laughed under her breath, bitter. “Right. That’s all we are, isn’t it?”

Azzi felt heat crawl up the back of her neck.

“This isn’t the time,” she said tightly. “You’re not even—you’re not thinking straight.”

“You mean because I’m pissed off?” Paige bit back. “Or because I’m sick of pretending like none of it matters?”

Azzi froze.

There it was.

All of it.

Every unspoken thing between them, cracking loose under the weight of exhaustion and fear and whatever the hell today had been.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Paige said, softer now, her voice catching somewhere in her chest. “You didn’t either. We were supposed to be friends, Azzi. Teammates. Nothing else. But then you—” She broke off, shaking her head like she couldn’t say it out loud.

Azzi breathed in slowly through her nose, trying to keep calm. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

“I know,” Paige said, closing her eyes briefly. “I know.”

Azzi didn’t know what to say to that.

The silence spun out, heavy and suffocating, until Paige let out a rough, frustrated sigh and pressed her fingers to her temples.

Azzi’s instincts kicked in immediately.

“Your head?” she asked, voice sharp with concern.

“I’m fine,” Paige muttered, but her hand stayed there, rubbing slow circles against her forehead like she could scrub the pain out of it.

Azzi stood up without another word. She crossed the room, dimmed the lights even further until only a soft golden glow was left, and slipped into the bathroom to dig out the Tylenol and a bottle of water from the hotel’s amenities.

When she came back, Paige was still rubbing at her head, her body coiled tight like a wire ready to snap.

Azzi set the water down on the bedside table, then sat again, closer this time.

“You need to take something,” she said gently. “You hit the wall hard, Paige. You have a concussion.”

“I’m fine.”

Azzi gave her a look that said don’t lie to me.

Paige stared at her a long second, something raw and pained flickering in her eyes — and then, wordlessly, she took the Tylenol from Azzi’s outstretched hand and swallowed it down with a gulp of water.

Azzi watched her the whole time, making sure.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension from earlier still simmered under the surface, but the edge was blunted now, dulled by exhaustion and something dangerously close to tenderness.

“You’re stubborn,” Azzi said eventually, voice low.

Paige gave a breathless laugh that didn’t sound happy. “Takes one to know one.”

Azzi huffed softly, reaching out to brush a piece of hair off Paige’s forehead without really thinking. Paige didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” Azzi said, quieter now. “You don’t have to… fight everything by yourself.”

Paige’s mouth twisted like she wanted to argue — but then she just looked down at her lap, saying nothing.

Azzi leaned back slightly, giving her space.

Outside, the lights of the city flickered in the dark, and somewhere deep in Azzi’s chest, something hurt.

They weren’t just teammates.

They never had been.

And they both knew it — even if the world wasn’t ready to know it too.

Azzi stayed sitting at the edge of the bed for a long time, watching Paige fight the pull of sleep like it was a battle she couldn’t afford to lose.

Paige’s head kept tilting forward, jerking up again each time, stubborn to the bitter end. Azzi didn’t say anything. She just shifted up onto the mattress properly, leaning against the headboard, close enough that Paige could feel her there without either of them having to say it out loud.

After a while, Paige gave up.

She shifted over almost unconsciously, head finding Azzi’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi froze, then forced herself to relax. She carefully tilted her head back against the wall, careful not to move too much. Paige’s breathing evened out slowly, the tension in her shoulders finally giving way to something softer, heavier.

Azzi stayed.

She stayed even when her arm went numb.

Stayed even when her own body begged her to move.

She stayed because this was Paige.

Because for once, Paige let her.

The city lights eventually dimmed to nothing, and morning started to bleed into the sky outside the window.

–

Azzi woke with a start when she felt Paige stir beside her. She glanced down to find Paige blinking sleepily, clearly disoriented.

“Hey,” Azzi said softly.

Paige grunted in response, still half-asleep. She pulled away slowly, sitting up with a groan and rubbing her hands over her face.

Azzi swung her legs off the bed, stretching her back out with a grimace. “We should get moving. We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Paige nodded, looking wrecked.

Azzi wanted to say something — anything — about how bad Paige still looked. But she bit her tongue. She could push, or she could stay close. Today, staying close seemed smarter.

They packed quickly and quietly. Azzi had already arranged for her private jet to be ready at the small airfield just outside town. One benefit of her success — and the Ferrari paycheck — was not having to wait around in airports anymore.

They barely spoke on the drive to the airfield. Paige leaned her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, her whole body drawn tight with something Azzi couldn’t name.

She knew she should say something.

Press harder.

Force Paige to admit what was obvious to everyone with eyes — that she wasn’t okay.

But Azzi had known Paige too long. Pushing would only make her dig in harder.

They boarded quietly, the engines already humming low and steady. Azzi dropped into a seat and buckled in. Paige took the one opposite her, slouching low.

Once they were in the air, Azzi finally broke the silence.

“You still look off,” she said, trying for light but coming off more worried than she wanted.

Paige shrugged without opening her eyes. “Just tired.”

“You’re sitting out in practice one.”

It wasn’t a question.

Paige cracked one eye open, giving her a crooked half-smile. “Yeah. They’re gonna let one of the F2 kids have a go. Learning experience, right?”

“You need more than one session off,” Azzi said, voice low.

Paige shrugged again, which Azzi hated even more than an outright argument.

“I have to race,” Paige said after a minute. “Hungary’s a good track for us. The car should be better there than it was at Spa.”

Azzi rubbed her hands over her face, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with racing.

“I know. But we’re miles ahead. Constructors’ points aren’t gonna vanish overnight.”

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi looked out the window, watching clouds roll by beneath them. She wanted to reach across the small aisle between their seats, grab Paige’s hand, tell her it was okay to take a break, to take care of herself. That no one would think less of her for it. That Azzi — of all people — sure as hell wouldn’t.

But Azzi stayed where she was.

Because that’s what Paige needed right now.

Not pressure. Not even kindness that felt like pressure.

Just someone sitting across from her, not pushing.

They landed in Budapest in the soft light of late morning. The heat pressed down immediately, sticky and heavy. It was going to be a brutal race weekend, physically and mentally.

Azzi caught a glimpse of Paige’s profile as they climbed into the car waiting for them on the tarmac.

The stubborn set of her jaw.

The way she moved just a fraction too slow, like her brain and body weren’t quite lining up.

Concussion, Azzi thought again with a sick twist in her stomach.

But Paige didn’t say anything.

And Azzi — against every screaming instinct — didn’t either.

They had a job to do.

Two more days, Azzi told herself.

Just get through Hungary.

Then the summer break.

Three blessed weeks where maybe, maybe, they could finally figure out what the hell they were doing.

If Paige was still in one piece by then.

Azzi wasn’t sure if that was hope or fear threading itself through her ribs as they drove away from the airport and into another waiting weekend.

–

It was Practice Two.

Hot, heavy air clung to the circuit at the Hungaroring, making everything feel just a little slower, a little stickier than usual.

Azzi clipped into her gloves, slid her helmet on, and jogged out to the car. She had a job to do — scrub some tires, run some quali sims, feel out the long run balance. Nothing crazy. Just sharpness. Precision. The usual.

Still, even as she fired up the car and pulled away from the garage, her eyes flicked toward the other side of the pitlane, searching for a flash of red and white.

Searching for Paige.

It was the first time Paige had gotten back in the car since Spa.

Since the crash.

Since the moment Azzi’s heart had slammed into her throat when she saw Paige’s car buried in the barrier.

She tried not to think about that now.

Tried.

The laps blurred past — smooth, professional, careful. Azzi was ticking off her list, hitting her marks. It was good. It was fine. But something still nagged at her.

“How’s Paige?” Azzi asked over the radio, casual enough that maybe it wouldn’t sound weird.

There was a pause before Mateo answered.

“Taking it easy today,” he said. “Or at least that’s what Luca said.”

Azzi pressed her lips together inside the helmet, glancing at the sector times lighting up her dash.

Slow.

Paige was slow.

Fine, Azzi told herself. It was fine. Paige deserved to take it easy. She deserved to get her feet back under her without everyone breathing down her neck.

“Copy,” Azzi said shortly, and threw herself back into the lap.

–

The next day, Practice Three, Paige looked different.

Sharper.

Faster.

Azzi watched from her own cockpit, tucked into the garage between runs, as Paige’s name kept popping up higher and higher on the timesheets.

She didn’t know if she should be proud or furious.

Because as much as she wanted to wrap Paige in bubble wrap and lock her away somewhere safe, she knew — God, she knew — that Paige was right.

She had to race.

By the time qualifying rolled around, the tension in the paddock was a living thing. Hot, vibrating, electric.

Azzi climbed into her car, clipped her belts tight, and tried to drown it all out.

Focus.

Precision.

Speed.

Nothing else mattered.

–

Qualifying was brutal.

Hungary always was.

Hot tires, hotter track, little mistakes costing tenths that you couldn’t afford.

One corner slightly wide, and you were done.

Margins razor-thin.

Azzi went fastest early in Q1, then again in Q2.

In Q3, she wrung the car’s neck, every millimeter of track used, every ounce of herself left on the circuit.

She crossed the line, heart in her mouth, and saw her name flash to the top of the board.

Pole.

For about fifteen seconds.

Then another time blinked onto the screens.

Paige Bueckers — 1.

Azzi just sat there for a second, her hands still tight around the wheel, staring at the timing screen like it had personally betrayed her.

Then she laughed, the sound raw and sharp in her own helmet.

Because of course Paige had done it.

Of course she had.

Paige fucking Bueckers — stubborn, brilliant, impossible Paige — was back.

Azzi coasted back into the pits, pulling into the garage with her jaw tight, trying to keep everything professional. Everything controlled.

The car was wheeled back into the Ferrari bay. Mechanics flooded around her. Someone was shouting numbers into a headset. The whole garage buzzed like a struck wire.

Azzi climbed out of the car, pulling her helmet off in one smooth motion, shaking her damp hair free.

Across the garage, she saw her.

Paige stood just inside the barrier, helmet under one arm, suit half-unzipped to the waist, chest rising and falling fast.

Dr. Liao hovered at her side, clipboard in hand.

“Do you have water?” Paige asked, her voice raw and tired.

Dr. Liao smiled patiently. “Yes, Paige. Let’s get you some water, alright?”

Azzi stayed where she was, watching.

Paige didn’t even seem to see her.

She just nodded stiffly, letting herself be steered toward the back of the garage, toward the quiet little alcove where the team doctors set up shop on race weekends.

Azzi peeled off her gloves, slow and deliberate, trying to keep her face blank.

She should feel relieved.

Paige was fine.

More than fine.

She was fast.

But something still pulled at the back of Azzi’s mind — the way Paige swayed slightly when she moved, the way her hands trembled just a little when she handed off her helmet to a mechanic.

Azzi turned away, forcing herself to focus on the debrief, the data, the job.

Because this was F1.

Because feelings didn’t win races.

Because even when it was Paige — even when it was everything — Azzi still had to keep her head.

For now.

–

Race day in Hungary was so hot it shimmered.

Even in the garage, under shade, Azzi could feel the thick weight of it pressing down.

But for once, everything worked.

The cooling systems inside the cockpit. The drink system. The radio. All of it humming along without a hiccup.

It was like the world was finally giving them a break.

Azzi settled into her seat, belts strapped tight, gloves tugged into place. Her visor clicked down.

Focus.

One more race.

Then the break.

Lights out — and it was a dream start.

Paige nailed it off the line. Azzi tucked in right behind her, slingshotting forward, clear of the pack.

It was obvious within the first few laps — Ferrari was just better today.

Faster, cleaner, untouchable.

Azzi heard Mateo’s voice in her ear, smooth and almost relaxed. “2nd, Azzi. Five seconds off Paige. McLaren’s about seven behind you. Just manage tires, yeah?”

Azzi clicked her radio once.

“Copy.”

She settled into the rhythm, letting the track come to her.

Hot wind screaming past the car, tires digging in through the corners, engine singing behind her.

Perfect.

Out of the corner of her eye, once in a while on the straights, she caught a flash of papaya orange — the McLaren behind them. It was one of the new guys. Some kid who was just happy to be here, racing like it was Christmas morning. Every time Azzi saw him in her mirrors, she felt the same tiny, almost reluctant smile tug at her mouth.

Good vibes all around today.

No chaos.

No failures.

No disasters.

Just pure racing.

By the time they crossed the finish line — Paige first, Azzi second — the pit wall exploded.

Cheers, fists in the air, Mateo’s voice breaking into a shout over the radio.

“Yes, Azzi! Beautiful drive! Double podium for us! Let’s go!”

Azzi coasted into the cool-down lap, letting herself grin, exhaustion finally bleeding into something lighter.

God, she needed this.

They both did.

–

After the champagne, the interviews, the endless photos — they finally peeled themselves out of their suits and helmets and made it back to Azzi’s jet.

Still buzzing, but quieter now.

Sleepier.

Heavy-limbed with satisfaction.

Paige sprawled into a seat near the back of the cabin, head tipped against the wall, hair a mess from her helmet.

Azzi dropped into the seat across from her, kicking off her sneakers and grabbing a water bottle.

“Got summer break plans?” she asked, cracking the cap.

Paige peeled one eye open. “Yeah. Heading to Colorado for a while. Some cabin up in the mountains. Good weather. No people. Just chill.”

Azzi tipped her head back, whistling low. “Damn. That’s a good idea.”

She hadn’t made any real plans.

Maybe catch up with some friends. Wander around New York. Sleep too much.

Nothing like what Paige was describing — clear air, quiet, a full step away from the noise and the grind.

Paige stretched, arching her back slightly before slumping again, lazy. “You could come, if you wanted,” she said, almost offhand. “Cabin’s got extra rooms.”

Azzi blinked at her.

It was nothing.

Just a casual offer.

Still, her brain scrambled for a second, words tangling.

“For the cooler weather,” she said, aiming for easy, casual, totally normal. “Not for you or anything.”

Paige’s mouth twitched, the tiniest smile.

“Right,” she said, and let her eyes close again, as if she hadn’t just thrown Azzi’s heart into an Olympic-level gymnastics routine.

Azzi leaned back into her seat, letting the hum of the engines fill the cabin, letting herself breathe.

The summer break stretched ahead of them now.

For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel heavy.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Judd Legum at Popular Information:

In an effort to overturn the results of November's election, Jefferson Griffin, a Republican candidate for the North Carolina Supreme Court, is asking state election officials to throw out more than 60,000 ballots. Among the voters being targeted by Griffin's protest are the parents of his Democratic opponent, Allison Riggs.

The contest between Griffin and Riggs was very close. The initial count showed Riggs with a lead of 734 votes out of 5.5 million cast. Griffin then exercised his legal right to request a machine recount of all ballots. After that recount, Riggs was still ahead by the same margin. Griffin has now requested a second recount of the ballots, this time by hand. Under North Carolina's procedures, there will first be a hand recount of 3% of the ballots cast. If the North Carolina Election Board determines that the partial hand recount revealed a sufficient number of discrepancies to suggest the outcome could change, a full hand recount will take place. There is nothing particularly unusual about requesting recounts in close elections. But Griffin is also taking a page out of President-elect Donald Trump's playbook and claiming that tens of thousands of votes were cast illegally. Griffin's campaign sent postcards to the voters whose ballots it is seeking to invalidate, alerting them of the protest. [...]

Riggs' campaign says the "postcards have sowed confusion, anger, and frustration among voters who cast their ballots in good faith to make their voices heard." Among those receiving a postcard notifying them that their vote was under protest were Riggs' parents. Most of the challenges, including the challenges to the votes cast by Riggs' parents, are related to claims that voter registrations are invalid because they do not contain a driver's license or partial Social Security number. A federal law enacted in 2002 required this information to be collected on voter registration forms. But some North Carolina voters may have registered before the law went into effect. The lack of that information in a North Carolina voter database does not invalidate a ballot.

There are many other reasons a North Carolina voter's record may lack this information, including "clerical error from a county election official who did not enter that information in the system even though it was included on the physical form." Further, one form used in the state, which has since been updated, did not make it clear that voters should provide the information when registering. Regardless, registered voters in North Carolina were required to provide identification before voting. A federal judge appointed by Trump rejected a similar effort to kick these voters off the rolls before Election Day. Now, Griffin's campaign is recycling these arguments after the election is complete to overturn the results. Many eligible North Carolina voters have been caught in Griffin's dragnet and had their votes questioned. 

This is just a pathetic Republican effort to invalidate a Democrat who won her race fair and square.

[covid-safer-hotties]

More Americans embrace COVID vax untruths: Poll - Published Aug 29, 2024

This is why vax and relax was a mistake: Without other mitigation, the vaccine has failed to stop the spread of covid, leading people to doubt vaccination rather than the public health officials and politicians who promised more than they could fulfil. This covid vaccine hesitancy/refusal spreads to other immunizations, meaning children aren't getting their MMR and other necessary shots, fueling outbreaks and deaths of diseases once considered extinct in my lifetime.

Growing numbers of Americans are buying into misinformation about COVID-19 vaccines, according to a new national survey, with more than one in five believing it's safer to get the virus than to get a shot.

Why it matters: Belief in misconceptions is stoking vaccine hesitancy with the nation facing a summer surge of infections, more COVID-related hospitalizations, and updated shots now reaching pharmacy shelves.

The big picture: The findings from the University of Pennsylvania's Annenberg Public Policy Center are further evidence of how intense backlash to the government's at times muddled COVID response eroded trust in public health, jeopardizing preparedness efforts to address future crises.

The proliferation of vaccine misinformation on social media has also outpaced efforts to counter it, Columbia University researchers found earlier this year. What they found: 28% of respondents to Annenberg's survey incorrectly believe that COVID-19 vaccines have been responsible for thousands of deaths, up from 22% in June 2021. The percentage who know this is false declined to 55% from 66%.

22% believe the false idea that it's safer to get a COVID infection than to get the vaccine, up from 10% in April 2021, months after the shots were rolled out. The percent of those incorrectly believing that the COVID-19 vaccine changes people's DNA nearly doubled to 15% from 8% in April 2021. Yes, but: Two-thirds of Americans still say the benefits of taking COVID-19 vaccines outweigh the risks. But that's a lower percentage than those who said the same for the mpox vaccine (70%), RSV shots for adults 60 and older (74% when asked in October 2023), and the childhood measles, mumps, rubella vaccine (89% in August 2023).

Just under half of those surveyed said they'd likely take a combined mRNA vaccine to protect against flu, RSV, and COVID-19 if one were offered and the Centers for Disease Control recommended it. 27% say they would be "not at all likely" to take such a single-shot vaccine. Between the lines: Previous polling has shown sizable numbers of Americans who believe COVID vaccine misinformation know they're at odds with scientists and medical experts, suggesting that educating people on the science behind vaccines won't change many minds.

"A belief that persists across waves of a survey is probably less subject to change than a recently acquired one," said Annenberg Center director Kathleen Hall Jamieson. The current wave also isn't heightening concern about the virus itself, the survey found. Only one in five said they're somewhat or very worried that they or someone in their family will contract COVID, down from 25% in February and 35% in October 2023. The survey of 1,496 adults was conducted July 11-18 and has a margin of sampling error ± 3.6% at the 95% confidence level.