#stop travelling to dubai

[intersectionalpraxis]

"UAE Kills Sudanese people. Boycott the UAE. No more vacations to Dubai while Sudanese blood spills."

[melting-clouds]

If I had a 3 wishes I would use one of them to punch every single linkedin "influencer" in the face

[norrisleclercf1]

Santa's Little Helper

Pairing: Dad!Lando Norris x F!Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: Pregnancy, other than that none just fluff

Requested: Yes/No

Synopsis: Lando is finally coming home for the holidays and decides to play elf

A/N: Yes I broke my hiatus, don't judge me

"Ready to be home?" 

Lando lifts his head from the window of his seat and looks at Oscar. They weren't the young kids they were once, long gone the season of '23. Oscar was married with two adorable little girls, Lando having married you years ago. 

"Of course, I miss them." He whispers. The season was finally over, and Lando could eventually join his family back home. You, of course, called him and kept in touch, but it was also hard to travel with a toddler and you being pregnant. 

"Yeah, I'm flying home soon too. Have to finish up here first." Oscar nods towards the McLaren factory. Groaning, they both climb out of the car, stretching. "Just need to get through this and then can be home," Lando mumbles as the two trudge through the harsh Woking winter. Oscar sighs when the intense heat of the building hits their faces, which makes Lando melt. 

"Hurry up, I've got to get back to London before Y/n and Theodore get home." Oscar rolls his eyes as he follows Lando through the factory to the meeting room. 

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

Zak knew it was useless to get Lando to focus on the meeting. The older driver needed to be more focused on checking his phone every once in a while. Everyone knew you were out of town and still believed that Lando was in Dubai instead of home in England. Zak could tell that Lando was losing his patience as his knee tapping got quicker and louder. Yep, Zak was ending this now. 

"Alright," The CEO claps his hands and stands up, patting Andrea on the back and letting him stop talking. "I think we've had a very long season and year with that," Lando didn't wait as he grabbed his stuff and rushed out of the room. "Have a wonderful holiday." Zak sighs, Oscar chuckling, holding his own phone and leaving. But Zak can hear his voice pick up and the screams of delight from the speaker. 

"Well, see you in January." Andrea laughs and pats Zak on the back, walking out. 

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

" Just, can you please try and delay them?" Lando begs into the phone. Your mother laughs as Lando frantically rushes around your home in London. He only had enough time to sort this out and needed you to be stalled. "Lando, darling, only so much I can do." Your mother chuckled, but her voice grew quiet when you passed by. 

"Mom? Who are you talking to?" Lando stills, holding his breathing, thinking that you'd be able to tell it was him through that. "Your aunt sugar plum, want to talk to her?" Lando can practically see your nose scrunching up as you quickly say no and walk away. Sighing in relief, Lando rushes, looking for the rest of the Christmas decorations and the new ones he's bought. 

"Really? Calling me the Aunt, that's your sister Ma." Lando teases, and your mother snorts. "That old bat will talk Y/n, poor ear off. So, why should I help you?" Lando rolls his eyes. Your mother and he constantly pick on one another, but it is filled with love. "How about I'll let you hold the baby after Y/n and I?" "Deal, I'll hide the car keys." She hangs up, which has Lando cheering. 

Stopping, he looks down at his feet and smiles, dropping to his knees. "Well, buddy, we better get started." Your English Cocker Spaniel, named Cookie. Cookie barks loudly and licks Lando's hand. "Good girl," Lando stands and looks around. "First, let's set the mood." Walking over, he hooks his phone up to the speakers and smiles as Frank Sinatra's voice fills the house. 

Lando doesn't start decorating right away. Instead, he starts cleaning the house. You were about 7 months pregnant, and it was hard to do some house chores. He wanted to show you how much he loves you. Lando wasn't one with words; more actions and giving. Moving through the house, he pushes open his son's room and smiles. 

Theodore loved Formula 1 and Marvel. His room was nothing but decked out in its merchandise. A picture of you and Lando holding him in front of his McLaren and then one giant group, one with all his uncles. Theodore's room was covered in his toys, and Lando gets to work. Putting up the toys and grabbing one of his shopping bags, he strips the bed of its sheets. He got these cute little snowmen for the sheets. Theodore matched the sheets with the identical snowmen for the comforter he got. 

He grabs another bag and takes out mini decorations. A little fake tree with Marvel and f1 ornaments. He gets to work setting it up. He hums along to the song with Cookie at the foot of the bed, watching Lando. A mini navy blue tree skirt covers the bottom of the tree and places fake gifts there. Next, Lando hands up some little fairy lights on the wall behind the bed. He puts a moose, snowman, elf, and Santa stuffies on the corner and then two red and green pillows on the bed. 

Lando finishes it by hanging up a little zipline with an Elf on it and flying over the bed with a remote. "Alright, time for the main room." Cookie whines but happily follows Lando through the house. 

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

"Momma, hungry," Theodore whines as you pull up the driveway. "I know, babes, we'll eat when we get inside. It's been a long day. The baby was kicking your bladder. Theodore wanted nothing more than his Daddy. Lando wasn't answering his phone, and then your mother hid your fucking keys. "Hungry," Theodore whines, helping him out of the car; you just nod. 

"Come on, I'll make you some nuggies." Theodore smiles at you as you open the front door and freeze. There greeting you was your Christmas tree covered in soft lights, ornaments, and gifts already wrapped and under the tree. "Wha," "Hey, dinner is ready." You turn your head to see your husband wearing a Mrs. Clause apron. "Lando?" Your husband smiles, and Theodore gasps. 

"Mommy, Santa was here." Theo giggles and points at the gifts. "Um, excuse me, little man? Aren't you happy to see me?" Theo squeals louder, running toward his father and swinging him up Theodore, babbling happily. You clear your throat, trying to gain control of your emotions, but you can't notice that the house is also clean. "Lando," You whisper, hand cradling your belly. 

He gets that tooth-goofy smile of his and walks over and hugs you. "Mommy, Daddy is home," Theodore whispers, which makes you laugh through your tears. "Yes, buddy. Daddy is home." Lando snorts, wanting to make a joke but doesn't. "Alright, there are nuggies and some mac and cheese that's getting cold." Theodore wiggles out of his father's hold and zooms into the kitchen. Lando chuckles but stops when you pull him down, kissing him deeply. 

Lando moans as he pulls you in and dips you slightly before pulling you back up. "Well, hello to you too." He grumbles, blinking his eyes open as you push back his unruly curls. "I'm guessing that wasn't my aunt talking to my mother earlier?" Lando blushes and looks away. "No idea what you're talking about." You giggle and kiss him on his cheeks, smiling. 

"Why'd you do all this?" Lando pulls back, needing clarification on your question. "Baby, you're growing our baby, and besides, I love you and wanted to make things easier for you. I'm your husband. This is the bare fucking minimum. The dishes are done, the laundry is folded, the sheets are all clean, and dinner is cooked. Now, let's eat our nuggets before Theo, the little gremlin, eats them all." Nodding, you head into the kitchen, seeing Theo stare hard at his plate. 

"Theo, you could've started." You push back his hair, and he shakes his head no. "Daddy is home, but the elves still might be here. Have to be good." Lando snorts and plates your food, and your mouth waters and sit down. "That's right, Theo, better be good, or I'll bring back the elves." Rolling your eyes, you knew the elves were no more than Carlos, Charles, Max V, Max F, Oscar, and Daniel. 

"Yeah, the elves." You remark, and Lando cuts you a glare, but it is playful. "Hey, the elves are the ones who got all the gifts. Don't be mean to the elves." "Yes, and you were all wonderful little helpers." You smile, and Lando slowly pushes back the evidence of the others helping him. 

[wileys-russo]

ausenal ‘can you just not sit still?’ travelling to London

steph catley, caitlin foord, kyra cooney-cross

"one two three four, i declare a thumb war!" you chanted, hand locked with kyras as the two of you grunted and struggled. "oh my god." steph mumbled, massaging her temples as the four of you sat in dubai airport for your layover.

"how the fuck are the two of you not tired? you did not shut up or sleep that entire flight!" caitlin groaned from beside her, head resting on her fist as you and kyra ignored them.

"winner!" you screamed happily, jumping on top of the brunette. "ow! steph." you scowled as the defender harshly smacked the back of your calf. "its four thirty in the morning here and people are clearly trying to rest. shut up!" the girl warned sternly nodding to a few other passengers curled up in chairs not far from you.

"that doesn't count we're on aussie time!" kyra slung her arm around you with a scoff. "yeah! and on aussie times its...eleven thirty seven in the morning." you checked your phone and grinned, steph only letting out a deep sigh.

"how much longer till we board?" she mumbled to caitlin. "four and a half hours." the striker answered with a sigh of her own. "we could always drug them, i'm sure theres a pharmacy somewhere in here." steph muttered, both girls seeming to contemplate the idea for a moment before abandoning it with a shake of their heads.

"oh i have cards! lets play." you remembered, swinging your backpack off and rummaging through before you found them, kyra sitting cross legged on the floor beside you.

"come on!" you pinched stephs ankle as she jolted awake and shot you a glare. "works best with four people." you shook the packet at her as kyra had successfully harassed caitlin into playing.

"one game, thats it."

though with all four of your competitive tendencies kicking in, one game quickly became five, and then ten. steph tapping out as they announced your connecting flight was delayed a further three and a half hours due to an engine issue.

"oh you've gotta be fucking kidding." caitlin groaned, you and kyra quite unbothered as you packed away the cards. "ky and i are gonna go find food." you dropped your backpack on top of steph who grunted and pushed it off with an annoyed huff, the two of you racing off before she could say another word.

"do you reckon they accept aussie dollars?" kyra realised as the two of you stood in front of a vending machine, all of the food kiosks closed for another hour due to the time. "no but they should accept this." you grinned plucking your debit card out of your pocket.

"what! i thought steph took yours? caitlins got mine." kyra groaned, the two of you having had your 'pocket money' privileges revoked after you'd decided to buy out basically the entire vending machine at camp, most of which was shared with harper and harley and caused a sugar high chaos.

"sticky fingers ky, sticky fingers." you smirked, having swiped it out of stephs wallet when she was distracted. "oh like in home alone! the sticky bandits." kyra beamed, having admitted to never having seen the movie you'd forced her to watch a whole stack of christmas films over camp.

"see! and you thought you didn't need a christmas movie education."

"jesus christ we're here for a few more hours not a few days!" caitlin shook her head as you and kyra returned, arms laden with all sorts of treats both sweet and savory. "you are not eating anything that has sugar in it before the flight, over my dead body." steph warned sternly, making quick work to try and snatch everything she deemed a danger.

little did they know you and kyra had assumed this would be the case, the majority of the sweet treats hidden away in pockets, kyras bum bag or on your persons.

"do we stop them?" caitlin sighed, wedged into the chair beside steph as you and kyra took off again to explore. "no, if they run off their energy now maybe they'll actually sleep this next flight." steph pointed out, hopeful but realistic that likely wouldn't happen.

so they left the two of you to it, grateful you'd finally left them be much as they worried what the two of you were up to, the last thing they needed was to have to bail you out of trouble with security in another country let alone in dubai.

"where the hell are they? the flight boards in five minutes!" steph stressed, trying both of your phones again which rang out. those five minutes passed, then another ten, and with seconds to spare before they considered just leaving the two of you behind suddenly you and kyra skidded around the corner into view.

"sorry! we got lost and then kyra-" you started to explain but with a murderous look from both your older team mates you fell silent, accepting your bag which was shoved into your chest and silently filing onto the plane after them.

"no! you two are being separated." steph warned as you tried to sit beside kyra, frowning and moving the seat behind so you were next to steph instead.

getting through takeoff both you and kyra were quiet, steph and caitlin both praying that meant you had indeed tired yourselves out. but as the seatbelt sign went off and steph had just started to doze off she heard you moving about, tossing and turning and huffing.

"can you just not sit still?" the defender groaned tiredly, head turning to shoot you a look as you sent her a sheepish smile. "i'm not tired!" you shrugged honestly. "watch a movie or something then, just be quiet. please!" the older girl sighed deeply as you nodded.

it seemed to have worked as steph began to doze off, but the very obvious opening of a packet of something caused her to shoot back up, catching you in the act of shoving a chocolate bar in your mouth.

"give it." steph warned, holding her hand out as you sighed and handed it over. "all of them." the girl shot you a firm look as you deflated and grabbed out the bag, watching with a broken heart as steph hid them away in her own luggage.

"you know steffy you are the worst travel buddy ever." "funny, could say the exact same about you kid. now be quiet, please!"

[heliza24]

I want to talk a little bit about Daniel in the Interview with the Vampire show, because the new trailer material has me stuck thinking about him, and also I’ve never written about how meaningful he is as disabled character to me before.

I don’t see many people thinking about show!Daniel in these terms, but he’s a canon disabled character. And I think the way he is written is just SO good. The acerbic wit, his relationship to doctors and his medication, his rueful acceptance of the way his disability has changed him. It is all so correct!! It’s really incredibly rare to have not only a disabled character written this well but specifically a chronically ill character written this well. His illness is always present; it doesn’t get forgotten about by the story. It gives Daniel insight into the vampires (more on this in a min), but it also gives Louis and Armand leverage over him. When Louis triggers his Parkinson’s symptoms? Deeply not ok. But that’s what made it such a great scene, and really made Louis feel dangerous and threateningin that moment. Armand and Louis arranging Daniel’s meds is a sign of great care and also great power over Daniel. It’s the perfect way to communicate the complicated power dynamic in their relationship.

I also just fucking love that this show takes place in 2022 and doesn’t erase the pandemic. Covid is a very present concern for Daniel and I cannot describe how validating that is for me as someone who is clinically vulnerable to Covid and who has had to really limit my life and take a lot of precautions because everyone else has decided to stop caring whether they pass on Covid or not. The fact that Daniel gets on a plane to Dubai is a BIG DEAL. He’s risking his life to talk to Louis and Armand before he’s even in the room with them. He really wants to be there. I have to make a similar calculation every time I travel, and trust me, getting on that plane knowing getting sick could spiral you into even worse health or kill you is really hard.

I think making Daniel disabled and including the pandemic is kind of a genius level decision on a thematic level. Of course Daniel is now facing down his mortality, which gives him a whole new lens on the vampires and the fact that he once asked them to turn him. And the pandemic further highlights his fragility, and is also possibly being used as a cover for drama that’s happening in the vampire world. But I think it also really sets Daniel up as a foil to Louis.

There’s a lot of analysis of the vampire chronicles that reads vampirism as a metaphor for queerness. But I would actually propose that it’s a much neater parallel for disability and illness in a lot of ways. So many of Louis’s initial experiences after being turned resonated with me, as someone who became chronically ill in my 20s. My appetite and relationship to food completely changed, much like Louis. My relationship with the outdoors and the sun changed, because of dysautonomia and allergy reasons. I was very mad, and very depressed, and I too have missed out on birthday parties and big life events like Louis did because I was too sick to go. Hell, you can even say that the way that Louis is treated as evil by his family, that the way vampires literally can’t be a part of society during the day, is reminiscent of ableist exclusion and ugly laws. (Ugly laws were laws that forbid disabled people, especially those with visible differences, from being out in public, and they were on the books in many American municipalities until the 1970s.) You can look at Lestat being an out and proud vampire in the first few episodes on the season and imploring Louis to leave his shame behind as a queer thing, but you can also view it as a disabled thing. Disabled people are portrayed as monstrous so often (and in a way that has gone relatively unexamined compared to say, the queer coded villain trope) that sometimes it’s just easier to embrace that label: I’m the monstrous Crip, but at least I’m not ashamed of or disgusted by who I am anymore.

I do think the real strength of this adaptation is that while you can find parallels between queerness or disability or other forms of marginalization with vampirism, ultimately it’s not a one-to-one parallel. It speaks to the real world but ultimately it is a gothic horror story about supernatural monsters. So I don’t mean to say that vampirism directly equals disability, because it does not. But I do think that making Daniel disabled was an intentional choice to help draw out some of those parallels, and I think the text is richer for it.

So Louis and Daniel have had these kind of parallel experiences of uncontrollable and difficult things happening to their bodies. It sets them up perfectly as foils, and even, I would argue, as the A plot and B Plot protagonists. This is one of my favorite ways of kind of examining the structure of a TV show (or maybe it’s that most of my favorite shows seem to be structured this way?). When TV was all episodic, it would be common to refer to the A plot (mystery of the week), B plot (interpersonal drama happening as the mystery gets solved) and C plot (any overarching plot tying the season together) in an episode. Now that stuff is serialized, there’s often a main protagonist, who has the main dramatic question and the most agency, and then there is often a secondary B plot that explores similar themes and mirrors the A plot, or presents a second main character who is the ldifferent side of the same coin” to the main protagonist. (My favorite example of this is Flint and Max in Black Sails, and I’ve also made the argument that Wilhelm and Sara fit this pattern in Young Royals.) In IwtV, Louis is obviously the main protagonist of the show, especially in the A Plot, which is the stuff taking place in New Orleans/Paris. But I would argue that Daniel is the protagonist of the B Plot set in Dubai. At the very least they’re intentionally set up as mirrors of each other:

They are both unreliable narrators, who are struggling with the way memory contorts (through memory erasure, illness, deliberate obfuscations, and just the passage of time). The most recent teaser trailer, where we hear Louis saying “I don’t remember that”, with panic in his voice, further underlined this similarity between Louis and Daniel to me. I don’t know if it means that Louis has also had his memory tampered with, as I’m assuming Daniel has, but I do think it means that Louis is going to be struggling with feeling out of control of his own narrative more in season 2, a thing that was already starting for Daniel in season 1.

They are also both locked into power struggles with people more powerful than they are. The fact that Louis is under Lestat in the flashbacks and above Daniel in the Dubai scenes in terms of power/status makes it all the more interesting. And, if we want to go ahead and assume that the Devils Minion’s years have happened in the past by the time we get to Dubai— it’s possible that both Daniel and Louis are united in being the less powerful partner in their own respective fucked up gothic romances.

They’re also both the audience’s entry point into their respective stories. Louis’s narration guides us into the world of vampires. Daniel’s questioning satisfies our human curiosity in Dubai.

I think one of the things that makes the show so special is the way that these two protagonists interact. In a lot of shows the a plot and the b plot stay pretty separate. I love talking about Black Sails for this because I think it’s such a good example; Flint and Max never exchange dialogue the entire show, even though they’re so clearly affecting each other the whole time. But the way that Louis and Daniel clash in Dubai is so exciting. We see them both wrestling for control of the narrative. It’s thrilling to watch and it just hammers home the theme of how complicated and changeable stories can be.

I am SO excited to see how the Dubai scenes play out in season 2 because of it. I really can’t wait. I’m really hoping we’ll see Daniel and Louis’s relationship evolve in surprising ways, and I’m holding my breath that we’ll get a lot of Armandaniel material to work with. (I have a whole other post drafted that’s much less smart than this one and is just me waxing poetic about Devil Minion’s theories which I may post at some point. You have been warned.)

I do have two wishes for Daniel in the new season, and they’re 1: that he gets to have romance/sex, because disabled (and older!) characters are so often seen as unworthy of being desired, and I would like to see that challenged and 2: that he continues to refuse to be turned/is not offered a vampiric cure for Parkinson’s. The magic cure for a disability or chronic illness is probably my least favorite disability trope, because it serves to erase disabled characters and representation from the narrative, and I want to see my experiences continue to be reflected in Daniel’s. That means that whatever ending Daniel’s story has will probably have at least a bit of tragedy baked into it, but I’m ok with that.

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Gojo Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

SFW

Has modeled a few times just for fun, definitely a Paparazzi-Darling.

Has a major sweet tooth. Will accept any snack if it's high in sugar. He keeps snack cakes and candies in his pockets at all times. He sulks when you make him eat a meal before dessert when the two of you are out, almost like a petulant child. "I'm eating this Spinach because I want to, not because you told me to- and definitely not because it's so fucking good..." He cheers up again the moment you cave and let him run to the chocolate fountain.

Loves traveling. He can't stay in one place long before getting angsty. He'll hop on the nearest train or plane the moment he sees photos of an area, not bothering to pack a bag- he'll just buy whatever he needs while he's there. "Let's go to Morocco tomorrow. Or would you prefer Dubai?"

Black card holder. He's got a couple of them. He leaves most of them laying around the house and has left them in public on occasion. Worst case scenario, he just has to get a new card. Perks of being wealthy.

Shopping sprees! Gojo loves going shopping, so the moment you ask he grabs his keys and runs to the door. Even though shopping was your idea, you end up regretting it. He drags you to every store he sees, making you wait as he changes in the dressing room. He always ends up with hands full of bags, mostly things he brought for you when you weren't looking. He surprises you with gifts as thanks for tagging along.

He has a skincare routine. Toner? Got it. Moisturizer? Got it. You actually use his products because hello- they're clearly working. He also gets his nails and toes done regularly and the two of you often have spa days together. You'll sip and sit, eating fancy wines and cheeses while gossiping. "Did you see what he wore? I would never."

Always scoops you up when it's raining and hides you in his jacket so he can use infinity to block the rain. "Can't have you getting sick." His cheeks are tinted pink when he says this, and all you can do is smile.

Lightweight when it comes to alcohol. A shot gets him tipsy and he makes the worst decisions when he's drunk. You had to stop him from stripping once, and from then on he's never took a sip without you being near.

Loves cuddling. In bed? Yes. At work? Yes. On missions? Hell yeah! Every chance he gets to have you in his arms he eagerly takes.

He's a gym rat. He'll invite you to work out with him and pout if you decline. Sometimes he'll do push-ups with you under him, kissing you every time he goes down. "What? Kisses are my reward for all of this hard work." He'll tease, and then drop down for another. He's seen and heard those audios you have saved, so sometimes he'll taunt you by saying your name each push-up to make that whimpering sound you seem to adore.

Can't cook for shit. He's burned water before. It's funny, the amazing Gojo can't do something as simple as frying an egg or making toast.

Clingy boyfriend! He'll spam call, text, sometimes even show up outside your door with flowers and your favorite sweet. It can be pouring rain outside and he'll still rush over, even as lightning cackles in the sky. That's just how much he loves you.

He's attached to your stuffed animals. You've caught him trying to sneak some out of your place to take to his. You end up caving and letting him take home one squishmellow, he coats your face in kisses after.

Gets jealous easily. He wants all your attention and when he sees you giving it to another guy he'll act nonchalant but really he's holding back the urge to purple-hollow the dude.

Loves dancing. He'll pull you up off the couch or in his arms and loudly blast your song. Your song- the one the two of you listen to all the time. "We'll play this at our wedding for our first dance," he always jokes...sometimes you wonder if he's joking.

He wants children. Whenever the two of you are on a walk and see a family, the children run up to him and beg to play. Something about him radiates paternal energy. The parents of the kids will aways apologize but the two of you laugh it off. "That's going to be us soon, y'know." He'll whisper into your ear before your walk resumes.

It gets...intense when the two of you argue. He's stubborn in his stance, even when it's debating who's turn it is to do the dishes. Part of the problem is he finds you so damn hot when you're mad, the other problem is how he can't take anything seriously. He always plays things off as a joke until he sees how upset you are, and then the guilt will eat away at him. He always apologizes first, accompanied by make-up-gifts. "I shouldn't have said what I did, forgive me?"

He gets overstimulated sometimes because of 6th sense, and you're the first person he calls when it gets bad. Your voice is enough to calm him down, but a kiss on the cheek doesn't hurt.

He said "I love you" first, even with a shaky voice he knew he had to say it then or he never would.

NSFW (Kinky stuff ahead)

Loves making out with you but especially in public. He doesn't care how it makes other people feel, he'll pull you into a sloppily kiss and suck at your lips until they're kiss swollen. Drool, lots of drool, because he's obsessed with the taste of your tongue.

The first time you pulled his hair he made such an embarrassing noise he hasn't let you do it since. On occasion, you manage to sneakily bury your fingers in it and give it a firm tongue. A strangled moan will spill from his lips and then you have about five seconds to run. Good luck.

Pussy eater. Ass eater. He loves your taste. He'll bend you over the kitchen table and eat you out until your legs shake and your juices puddle on the floor. He'll lap your juices up and hold them in his mouth, then let them trickle into your mouth as he kisses you. "Mmm…now you know how good you taste."

He's a switch, perfectly fine with letting you lead on days you want to. His favorite positions are reverse-cowgirl, doggy, and sixty-nine. He loves when you sit on his face, nothing turns him on more than having your pussy on his skin. He likes to tell you how good you taste, even when his tongue is buried inside of you.

Three rounds isn't enough- he needs days. If you can still walk when he's done then back to the bedroom you go.

Pink tip. His cock is roughly eight inches, decently thick. He knows how to use it, and that's what really matters. Cum flavor is sweet, what did you expect from a man who's diet is 90% sugar?

He's a foreplay fan, thus why he loves making out with you. He also finds it so fun to finger you, play with your clit until you squirt. "This is where you're weak right?" He knows all of your favorite spots and especially the ones that push you over the edge until you're a soaking wet mess.

He'll try anything once, several times if he enjoys it of course. That's why he lets you peg him on occasion. He's let you cuff him down to the bed a few times. He's even worn a maid outfit for you.

He likes cumming on your skin, leaving his semen sprayed on you like a glaze. He also likes watching you swallow, it makes him shiver because you do it so eagerly. He'll still cum on your face after.

He's a loud lover. The neighbors better hear, or else he's not putting enough back into it. He knows he's doing good when you're screaming and squealing and there's knocking on the front door. "Good girl, let them hear how good I make you feel."

Bomb make-up sex. Whatever the two of you were fighting about doesn't matter now, not when he's ramming into you and holding your legs behind your head. How are you supposed to be mad when he's fucking you senseless?!

Steals your panties and finds it funny when you find them at his place. You've lectured him about it hundreds of times but his only response is a smug smirk. "Come on, I'm serious! I don't know how they got here." and "You must've left them last time you came over."

Only pulls out because he knows you trust him enough to let him hit raw. "Can I pleeease cum inside?" He always asks when he's close, and always respects whatever decision you make.

Aftercare is mostly cuddles, kisses, and takeout from your favorite places. He'll casually go to the door naked, jumpscaring the delivery person but since he tips them double what the food costs they never say much besides thank you. He'll feed you, then bathe with you when you can walk again. He likes to wash your hair, put on your lotion, help you put on fresh pajamas, and then he'll tuck you back into bed. "Rest up," he always says before you drift off.

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[cheriladycl01]

So, you lied to me? - Lando Norris x Tourist! Reader

Plot: Going on a travel year you end up in Monaco, the plan wasn't too fall for the man who helped you to the British Embassy and gave you a place to stay when someone stole everything from you ...

Credit to yrsonpurpose for the GIF

You took a gap year before university and decided to travel you'd started off the New Year on a flight from London, to Qatar to New Zealand. You travelled around New Zealand and Australia for the majority of January, before moving on to Papa New Guinea, Fiji and Samoa.

You then travelled round the South Asian countries, like Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam and the Philippines and Taiwan all throughout February. You then moved onto China, doing both Disney Parks while you were there and sight seeing. You did South Korea and Japan.

Coming into April, you moved onto Sri Lanka and India, and The Middle East, doing Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Bahrian, Qatar, Oman and Saudi Arabia.

Afterwards, now having done 2 continents, you moved onto Africa, you spent the end of April and the majority of May travelling here, before leaving for Europe.

A nice 2 weeks island hopping around Greece, before a week travelling up the boot of Italy.

It was when you drove to Monaco in a rental car that things got difficult.

You were walking along the harbor where all the expensive yachts were docked wishing that one could be yours. You didn't have all your bags on you, the larger ones left behind in the hotel room you'd booked for the night. But you had your important stuff on you, like you passport, your drivers license and all your travel documents.

You were taking a picture on your nice Canon camera of the yachts and the street that had weird red corners rounding it that you put down to being measures to just help drivers slow down round the corners, but they were definitely an eyesore.

Every time nice cars drove by there was whistles and claps that made you look at what car it was, you could never tell what model it was but they looked nice and you guess you could say sporty.

As you were distracted taking your pictures a guy comes up to you with a small, parcel cutting knife in his hand. He slit the straps of what you thought was a really sturdy bag and the weight notifies you to the loss of the bag. You let your camera drop as you turn to see the guy now holding your bag and starting to run away with it.

"Hey! Stop" you shout before running after him.

"Aide, Aide" you shout as you continue to follow him, your minimal French not helping as people scold you for being a bustly tourist.

You aren't really looking where you going and you loose him at a busy intersection of people, you spin round looking at every possible direction he could have gone in.

"Shit!" you whisper to yourself quietly tears coming in your eyes. You spin round a little to quickly, bumping into someone who drops the bag that they were holding.

"Désolé, mon erreur" you try looking at the young gentleman you'd bumped into in a hoodie and jeans. He looks at you with a confused look, a smirk coming onto his face.

"Oh sorry, tu ne parles pas français? Maybe Italian, erm fuck scusa, parli italiano?" you ask with again the bare minimum of Italian you know.

"I speak perfectly good English" he smiles, laughing a little as your expression turns to shock.

"Oh! Oh I'm so stupid. Hello!" you smile looking at the very attractive man in front of you, you blushed a little looking up at him.

"You look panicked what's wrong?" he asks.

"I was tacking pictures of the harbor and some guy took my bag. It has everything in of mine and I don't know what to do" You say to him looking a little more panicked.

"Everything as in money ... because I can help with that" he says placing a hand on your arm.

"I don't care about the money, but he has all of my documents. My passport, my drivers license everything" you cry a little.

"Oh! Erm, I have a friend who was born here, and let me get him and he can help us file a police report. Then mmm the British Embassy is all the way in Paris and you cant get a flight so we'll have to drive there..." he starts to rant and your face turned shocked.

"We?" you ask, confused as to how this guy has just inserted himself into your life drama's.

"Oh yeah, I've gotta help you out now. You got that whole damsel in distress thing going on right now! Any way damsel, what's your name?" he jokes and you look over at him offended.

"I am not a damsel in distress! And Y/N" you retort.

"You so are, the tear stains, the wide, helpless eyes, the guppy fish face your pulling right now, the butchered French and Italian to a strange man who actually is British... Y/N" he laughs making you pout and push him a little.

"I don't even have a place to stay after 3pm today and I cant check in anywhere without ID" you say rubbing your head, looking around as if the man would randomly pop back up and hand you your bag back before saying how sorry he was.

"You can stay at my place, I have two spare bedrooms" he smiles and you look at him in shock.

"You live here, in Monaco ..." you ask.

"Yeah, I moved here a few years ago, for ...work" he offers, he phones his friend walking off for a few seconds alone before he pulls you along one of the side streets and too a quiet cafe he went to, to keep under wraps.

"Okay, Y/N this is my friend ... er Percy" he says pointing to Charles, so far you hadn't shown any signs of knowing who he is and he didn't want you to catch wind of that.

"Hello Percy, its nice to meet you" you smile and he looks at you with a vacant yet confused expression.

"Oh and whose this you are beautiful" you compliment looking at the girl behind him.

"Y/N this is my girlfriend Alex" Charles indicates to Alex behind him who smiles and pulls you in for a kind hug that you definitely needed. You could hear both of their strong accents as they introduced himself.

"Oh, I never got you name, what's your name?" you ask turning to look at Lando, who freezes for a second.

"Erm, my names Robert, but you can call me Bob" he smiles and you raise and eyebrow at him.

"Hmmm, you don't look like a Robert... or a Bob. Interesting choice" you voice your opinion making everyone awkwardly laugh.

Charles, Lando and Alex took you to the nearest police station in Monaco, Charles translated what they were saying and you answered to which he and Alex would help translate back.

Charles explained that they were escalating it because you are a tourist in need, but you picked up some words that made the sentence not sound like that at all.

You were asked if you had a place to say and Lando explained you'd be staying with him until everything was sorted out.

The Monegasque police got in contact with the Paris British Embassy for you, they explained that the police had sent over you information and if you wanted to hold off on a new passport for a few days to see if it would turn up you were more than welcome, but right now your passport was on lockdown.

And that was how you ended up spending the end of July and all of August with Lando, it was strange really. For a man who had and extremely nice collection of clothes and a very large apartment he didn't go to work often. There was one room you weren't allowed in which is where he often went, you assumed it was a man cave or gaming room where he played with his friends because you heard lots of shouting and aggressive banging.

He'd been so sweet, he took you on dates from going out to dinner, to picnics, to going swimming and lots more. It felt like more than a summer fling. Especially once he asked you to be his girlfriend, which you immediately said yes too.

But he got a lot more twitchy after he had.

Eventually, Lando or Bob as you knew him took you to Paris so you could get your passport. He explained that he travelled a lot for work and he would need to leave soon and you explained that before you bumped into him you'd been on a gap year travelling the world.

"Baby, why don't you come with me?" he asked randomly as you were both lying on the sofa, cuddling while watching a film.

"You wont even tell me what you do for work Baby! And besides I had a schedule that I'm already behind on. A week ago you said you didn't mind going our separate ways for a little bit until Christmas and then you'd come to England with me" you say playing with his curls.

"Okay, I'm going to be honest with you now... my name isn't Bob" he says shyly and you sit up at the speed of light turning to look at him.

"I knew it! So you lied to me?" you exclaim laughing.

"So, what's my boyfriends actual name?" you ask looking him dead in the eyes, he leans up on his elbows before sitting the full way up.

"Lando, I am Lando Norris" he smiles.

"Hmmmm, Lando... Lando. I could get used to that" you smile.

"You aren't mad?" he asks looking over you, brushing you hair back and tucking it behind your ear before kissing your cheek.

"I knew you weren't being completely honest when we first met... but I also knew you had your own reasons" you offer.

"I think its going to be easier if I just hand you my Instagram" he admits with a gulp as he hands you his phone. The first thing you notice is how many followers he had, there was around 10million and he had nearly 2,500 posts.

You look at the friends list, and one peeks your interest. Charles Leclerc, who looked exactly like Percy who Lando had introduced you too.

You then go back and look at his bio, that told you his actual job.

"So, I'm dating a super famous athlete?" you ask looking up at him away from the phone to see his head down in his hands. He turns to the side to sneak a look at your expression, his eyes a little glossy.

"To be specific, a Formula 1 driver" you ask again and he nods.

"You are such a muppet, my god" you laugh before pulling him into a hug.

"How aren't you upset with me?" he ask unsure.

"Well, I agreed to date you, because you are you. I doubt you change into Mr Hyde when you become a what was is Porsche race-car driver? I fell in love with you, not Bob, not Lando, you. So whether that is Bob, who kindly helped a crying lady on the street who just had her passport stolen from her, or Lando a cool and amazing race-car driver. Whoever you are is the person I love" you grin and he pulls you into a hug.

"So you want to join me for the last few races? Or you want to finish this world trip of yours?" he asks.

"Well, looking at your calendar, I can actually meet you at the rest of the races, While travelling. I'll continue to do Europe until you have the Netherlands, and ill go back to Italy, just for you. I'll miss Azerbaijan and Singapore because I did that, but I'll knock out some of South America, I'll meet you for Austin, then we can do Mexico and Brazil together, then we can do Vegas together! And by that point I can call it done with my trip!" you exclaim and he looks like he considers it for a second.

He's shocked, he cant remember the last time a girlfriend tried so hard to link up their schedules like this, and proved that they'd be able to work despite some potential scheduling issues.

"I love you. I fucking love you" he grins pulling you back down onto the sofa kissing all over your face making you giggle.

A/N: I've been doing a lot of Lando recently, I don't know if you can tell but I love writing about him, he's my fav to write about right now.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @viennakarma

[avelera]

I’m dying for your thoughts on what is going on in Dubai with the triangulation of Armand and Daniel in Dubai because nothing in 2.05 explain ms what they(beddeath vampires) could want him to tell them as referenced earlier in the season or warrant all the Rashid pageantry. Especially not with how Armand looks at Daniel like he just got home from the wars.

Your takes are exquisite and I’d love to hear them.

Ok, I THINK you're asking what the hell is going on with Daniel and Armand and Louis and the longing looks Armand keeps shooting Daniel and I might be missing some nuance to your question but that is the question I'm gonna answer because I can't stop thinking about it.

Ok. Ok, ok, SO!! The biggest question I think we're facing as of 2.05 is did the Devil's Minion chapter of Queen of the Damned ever happen?

For the uninitiated (LOTS of BOOK SPOILERS but like the books have been out for decades, sorry): Louis/Armand is like... not a thing. At least, it's not one of the big love affairs of the series compared to Louis/Lestat. I mean they've had a situationship but they're definitely not a long devoted love affair going right up to the beginning of the events of Vampire Lestat/Queen of the Damned, which is where the show seems to take place. They traveled together for a bit after the events of Interview with the Vampire but then parted ways because What Happened In Paris changed Louis irrevocably.

The big love of Armand's life in the books is Daniel.

And we learn this in the chapter of Queen of the Damned called the Devil's Minion.

Because Armand stumbles upon "The Interviewer" and falls in love and they have this fucked up whirlwind torrid romance where Daniel teaches Armand about the modern world and basically "how to be fascinating" and Daniel begs over and over to be made into a vampire.

Lots of stuff happens between them but short, TRAGIC version is that Armand does make Daniel into a vampire and it breaks Daniel's mind. He's not a cool powerful vampire once he's turned, he's basically a vegetable, he loses his mind and becomes a hollow husk of himself. (Ironically, insane-new-vampire!Daniel is left in the care of Marius of all people lol)

SO, from the book reader perspective, I shot upright on my couch when I saw old Daniel. Because Old Daniel means we're in... some flavor of happy AU? We're in an AU where Armand did the "responsible" thing and didn't give Daniel the Dark Gift, so Daniel got to grow old and actually be a person instead of being the Devil's Minion where Armand became his whole personality and then he lost his mind.

Thing is, since S1, I've been assuming, like others I think, that we're in an AU where the Devil's Minion didn't happen at all. That Daniel did the interview, he and Louis parted ways, and now he's back to finish it. It seemed neat, clear, if a little confusing for book fans because Daniel/Armand is one of THE great love affairs and it seems like it just got skipped entirely, which kind of makes sense since no other film version has really delved into it, right?

WRONG. OK, so with the longing looks that begin RIGHT when Armand finally reveals himself, the whole mic drop moment of "Armand, the love of my life" while Armand stares at Daniel, almost seeming to plead with his eyes "GET ME AWAY FROM HIM" and looking at Daniel with such longing, going into SEASON 2 where we learn that ok, the 1970s beat was WAY more complicated than it seems, Louis' memory is very faulty, Armand has actively tampered with both of them and we DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH....?

So my current theory is: the Devil's Minion DID happen.

Armand and Daniel had their love affair, but instead of turning Daniel, which by the way he had to be talked into doing because of Daniel's suicide attempt basically, Armand set him free. But CLEARLY he continued to stalk and pine after Daniel, if he was there at Daniel's fucking engagement reading his girlfriend's mind enough to tell Daniel what she was really thinking then. Armand was definitely still OBSESSIVELY IN LOVE. And, IMO, has been the whole time.

Now, what does this mean going forward? What do I think is going on?

Armand wants out of his relationship with Louis but he's chronically, pathologically, incapable of breaking up with anyone. He used Lestat to break up the Children of Darkness, he used Louis to break up the Theatre des Vampires, and now he's using Daniel to end this fucked up marriage he and Louis are in.

Armand is doing this first by consenting to renew the interview, Louis gets a walk down memory lane, remembers how much he loves Lestat. Not to solidify their bond with how good things are now, but to break it up with nostalgia.

Armand is also going to reveal things he's hidden from Louis, I think. Like the fact Armand killed Claudia. I think right now they're both operating under the excuse that Santiago and the coven did it in defiance of Armand but that is simply not true, Armand ordered her death to get Louis all to himself. But (book canon) her death broke Louis so basically Armand destroyed what he wanted in Louis in the gaining of him.

Armand also misses Daniel. He's doing the classic passive lover thing, using the next lover to get rid of the current one. That's why he picked Daniel specifically as the vehicle of his liberation. Boy wants to get white knighted in the most fucked up way possible. Evidence: every single painfully longing, puppy dog look he shoots Daniel's way and how those looks only get more intense the more Louis waxes poetic about how great the Loumand relationship is.

Armand appears as Rashid in order to establish for plausible deniability for Louis that he DIDN'T have a relationship with Daniel OR, if Louis knows about it, that he really did do as promised and wiped Daniel's mind. Look, Daniel doesn't even remember him! When he's standing right there! Pretending to be Rashid! He definitely didn't summon his former lover here to break up Louis and him, obviously this is JUST about Louis' desire to do the interview haha, definitely not trying to bring his old ex to break up his current relationship the guy doesn't even remember who he is.

In conclusion: Armand still wants to fuck that boy old man. And he wants to get rid of Louis by making Louis break up with him because that's how Armand rolls. And that's why this whole ridiculous pantomime is happening, because Armand will never, ever be the active party in the breakup because the boy is way, way too fucked up by his supremely fucked up life up to this point to ever be the initiator. Instead he will always, always manipulate those around him to do what he wants.

[magnetictapedatastorage]

The Taliban has banned solo travel for women and only allow them to go abroad with their husbands or a related male companion such as a brother, uncle or father, known as a mahram, a male escort. But even this was not enough. "Three girls who had a mahram were inside the plane," says Natkai. "But officials from the Vice and Virtue ministry took them off the plane." The rest of the students were too frightened to talk to the media. "When the Taliban officials saw our tickets and student visas, they said girls are not allowed to leave Afghanistan on student visas," she tells me, her voice breaking.

[bcacstuff]

So now Sam and Sarah are dating because she has a My Peak challenge backpack and the only way she could have gotten the backpack is from Sam?

People are so weird with how they make connections with ZERO tangible proof. She seems like a nice girl so if they are dating good for them. But, a backpack at a gym and someone with small calves working out diagonal to her is hardly proof they’re dating…

Sigh... deep sigh

Yes people are weird and make no sense, they have not any tangible proof for anything. I usually trash them all, it's so tiring all the claims without any logic or proof. And sure you can claim I do not have proof either, but at the least I use logic!

Yes, already after the zoo/animal day with the guys, I've seen a convo that implied that Sam was not with them. Despite my post about hearing his voice, and I swear it sounded pretty much as his voice, it seems he wasn't with the gang.

In a post with one of the hosts the following convo

and then with the HUBBUB

So they're not really clear, whether he was working or tired, he wasn't with the people at the animals, and according to the HUBBUB he left Melbourne by Tuesday.

I was told by people at the event that went to the M&G as well, he did say he would fly back on Wednesday. And I have seen him following a new account around 1pm and liking a post of Duncan at 5.30 pm both Australian time. (which would both be in the middle of the night UK time and too short for reaching a stop over or already arriving in the UK)

Flight options back to the UK are all in the evening, there are no direct flights, he probably flies via Dubai, Singapore or Kuala Lumpur. With a travel time of 24+ hours, in no realistic way can he be in the UK as of now. So seeing a calve in workout pic form Sarah's story that was posted at 10.41am Uk time, is totally unrealistic. (not even to mention that it doesn't look like his foot at all, the size he has is quite recognizable 😂)

Personally I think he went back to Sydney after he left Melbourne on Tuesday and flies from there back home. I think (based on flight options and other activity I saw) he left last night Australian time and should be traveling right now not arriving home before (early) Thursday morning.

[roadtophantom]

Any chance the tour visits countries outside of asia? Feels like they never honor the 'world' part of world tour and only do europe, and asia. Thats skipping like half of the planet.

I agree. Personally - and I'm keeping fingers and toes crossed here - I have a good feeling that they'll continue to venture outward. The reason being that they are traveling with a leaner set. This current revival already went "out of the way" when they stopped by Dubai and Tel Aviv in 2019 (a first for both locations). So here's to more firsts!

[averagejoesolomon]

WELCOME TO THE KIDS. God, we are not ready for this installment, I'm so serious. Matt and Rachel are going to kill us all. To say nothing of the upcoming spycraft and general ass-kickery. Thank you for reading this with me. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle in full on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Before Matt boards a plane to New York, he pastes an OTS-issued mustache to his upper lip and switches the passports in his backpack.

There are no direct flights from Washington DC to Moscow. The reasons for this span far and wide, but the most significant factor also happens to be the simplest—sheer distance. At nearly five-thousand miles as the crow flies, there ain’t a whole lot of civilian aircraft that can make the flight in one go, to say nothing of the fact that neither country is especially amicable to the idea of direct contact. As part of a global effort to reduce the friction between two nuclear superpowers, Morocco offers up its services as the geographical and political buffer between the two destinations, its liminal and atmospheric nightlife acting as the ideal backdrop for the world’s transfers, layovers, and delays.

The trip usually takes eighteen hours if flown straight through, but the gin joints can eat into a full day if given the chance. For his part, Matt’s latest trip takes thirty-seven hours.

But he can’t blame the bars this time around because he doesn’t stop in Morocco, and hasn’t since he picked up a Soviet tail in the CMN terminal last spring. For every US intelligence agent flying through Casablanca, there are five Russian officers waiting on the ground with direct orders to identify and apprehend incoming westerners. The behavior has become too predictable. The Soviets have become too prominent. As Joe puts it: an agent in Morocco is an agent in the grave.

So Matt begins with a trip to New York, then London, then Istanbul, where he switches passports again to fly to Dubai, so he can finally make his way up to Moscow. He survives off of complimentary peanuts and ginger ale, stopping only at the occasional newsstand for the latest local headlines and a fresh packet of M&Ms—one of the few candies sold consistently across international borders. Vigilant airport hours are balanced with the relative safety of the sky, and his only sleep happens alongside the low, rattling drone of jet engines in his ear.

By the time he lands in the Soviet Union, he’s already added a goatee and traded his honey blond hair for a bleached wig that more closely resembles his newly assumed Slavic heritage. After deboarding, he identifies the nearest bathroom to the gate and enters the last stall on the left. As instructed by his CO, he runs his fingers along the wall until he finds a ridge in the tile. He carefully peels back a damn near invisible panel, revealing the compartment Langley promised him. There’s a change of clothes. A pair of contacts. A note written on evapopaper: E ibvltn aely ldrm oor we uti I. The key to this particular skip code was already given to him in New York, which helps him decipher the message that a driver will meet him in Lot 2. Thank God he doesn’t need to hail a taxi.

He drops the note into the toilet bowl and watches it melt from the edges inward. After changing into the provided outfit, he silently shreds his old travel clothes to be discarded in various trash cans on his way to the parking lot. Finally, he pops both contacts in, replaces the panel, and flushes the toilet in case anyone is listening. When he approaches the sink to wash his hands, unfamiliar blue eyes blink back at him from where his own brown eyes ought to be.

Between the sporadic sleep and the changing time zones, he has no idea what the local time is, but the dark sky narrows his possibilities to either very late or very early. The weight of travel saturates every muscle, every joint, every step, but he can’t afford to turn off his senses and slip lazily into the night—not in Moscow. Never in Moscow. After five consecutive flights in less than two days, the hard part has only just begun.

The Soviet Union has always been dangerous to western agents, but the capital has only gotten more hostile in Matt’s time as an operative. Last summer alone, ten US informants were executed in the city, including two of Matt’s most reliable contacts. In the following winter, a handful of Russian specialists left Langley for a field mission and didn’t come home. The last time Matt was here, he met with a Circle informant named Omar who offered to talk in exchange for medication not available in Russia, but easily acquired at a US pharmacy with a forged prescription. Omar is dead now, too, and Matt suspects an assassin finished him off before the illness did. These days, Moscow is a loaded spring trap ready to snap at the slightest tick in the wrong direction, deadly enough that even a skilled Pavement Artist stands to don a disguise or two.

Despite the ocean between them, Joe’s voice rings through Matt’s head. It’s always strongest in Moscow, imploring him to pay attention. Notice things. This is the sort of place where it’s best to lean into strengths, so Matt jumps in with the rest of the red-eyed passengers as the mob progresses through customs, down to baggage claim, and toward ground transportation. From his pace to his posture, he strives to put on a seamless Soviet appearance.

When he reaches the lot, he identifies a license plate number he was instructed to memorize, then enters the backseat of the boxy beige Lada. The driver doesn’t look back when he says, “Nice weather we’re having, yes?” in the sort of thick, Russian dialect that only natives can pull off.

Matt replies in his own practiced Russian. “I hear rain is imminent,” he says. “But I seem to have forgotten my umbrella at home.”

Satisfied with the exchange, the driver shifts gears and squeezes out of his parking spot, working his way toward the main city. By now, Matt knows the streets of Moscow as well as he knows the streets of Hay Springs, so he pays close attention to the route, just in case the driver has been compromised in the past forty-eight hours. The two of them do not speak, wary of bugs. They do not exchange glances, wary of pinprick cameras sewn into buttons. Instead, they embrace their existence as total strangers, not eager to leave any impression of an alliance.

This suits Matt just fine. That is, until seventeen minutes later, when the driver takes a right-hand turn away from the city center, then another.

In this business, in this part of the world, two right turns are a surefire signal to any veteran agent that something significant is about to happen, though it’s impossible to predict whether he’s looking at a positive or negative outcome until the moment actually passes. That’s probably why Joe’s voice is in Matt’s head again, anticipating the worst and providing Matt with escape plans. 

The sidewalks look reasonably empty, easy enough to run.

The rear doors appear to be unlocked from the inside. 

If the doors are jammed shut from the outside, Matt’s shoe has an iron wedge embedded in the rubber heel, which will help him kick through the window.

The driver isn’t armed, but if he makes a move for the glove box, Matt’s best option is to choke him from behind.

The little Lada pulls up to an alleyway tucked between high-rise apartments and a seemingly abandoned liquor store. There are no streetlights. No witnesses. The driver shifts the car into park and says, “You exit now.”

Risk assessment is a key component of any covert decision and, in that moment, Matt senses some serious risk waiting for him at the other end of that alleyway. At the same time, he also senses an even greater risk if he overstays his welcome with this native Russian driver who, by the way, has about a hundred extra pounds on him. Matt doesn’t need to be told twice. Hands up, he slowly exits the vehicle and prepares himself for the next piece of this rapidly evolving Moscow puzzle.

The instant Matt kicks the door shut and slings his bag back onto his shoulder, the Lada’s engine grinds into full gear with a squeal of the tires. He has officially run out of CIA instructions, but the good news is that he doesn’t have any time to doubt himself before his next priority makes itself apparent. The bad news is that his next priority should probably be to get away from the knife that was just pressed against his side.

The pointed end of the blade pokes along the muscle just above his hip. It hasn’t cut through his shirt yet, but one wrong move could change that and much more. “This is a nice surprise,” Matt says, sticking with Russian in a rushed attempt to keep his cover intact. “Where are we going?”

The answering Russian is good—excellent, even—but it has the subtle lilt of someone who learned it as a secondary language. “Is that all it takes to best you? One knife to the ribs and you roll over completely?” It’s a woman’s voice, and one of the few commonalities between the CIA and the KGB is the rarity of female agents among their ranks. Plus, the hold on the knife is petite and graceful, belonging to someone who was taught to fence before she was taught to fight. Matt decides he’s not up against a Soviet agent, but this ain’t a friend either. Not yet.

Joe’s voice is telling him to fight, but Matt’s curious enough to say, “In my experience, the person with the knife usually gets to make all the rules.” He continues with Russian, hoping that the woman will respond in kind and give him a chance to identify the accent layered below. “And, by the way, if you’re aiming for my ribs, you’re about two inches too low.”

She doesn’t disappoint. British accent, maybe. Or Australian. It really is impressively subtle. “Bold thing to say to someone with a knife to your side,” she says. “Remarks like that could get you killed.”

Matt huffs. “Maybe one day, but not today.”

She twists the knife a little deeper, pricking a hole in his shirt. “And what makes you so certain?”

“Because if you were going to kill me, ma’am,” he says, “I’d already be dead.”

This is a bit of a risky gamble. Few things make one human want to kill another more than spite, and Matt’s gone ahead and welcomed it with open arms. His mama always did say he had a real way about him, when it came to tempting fate. Thankfully, this particular bet seems to pay off as the knife finally falls away from his torso. The woman grabs him by the back of his collar instead, pulling him deeper into the alleyway. “You’ve taken all the fun out of it,” she says with a sigh. “Come with me. And don’t ever call me ma’am—that much will get you killed.”

This is a joke. He thinks. And jokes are awfully promising in a place like Moscow. 

At the end of the alleyway, another car sits idling. No headlights. No plate lights. Matt can’t know for sure, but he reckons the brake lights are probably cut, too. In the presence of a car designed for a perfect covert getaway, Matt recognizes this moment for what it is—not an attack, but an escape. A high-tech game of keepaway.

In this particular instance, Matt is not an agent. Rather, he’s an asset in need of transportation, and he’s just met his new driver. When this stranger opens the rear door and shoves him inside, Matt knows that she’s putting on a show for potential onlookers. When she says, “Stay down,” he understands that his silhouette can’t be seen driving through the city. It is not enough to blend in—not when he could have a tail leftover from travel, not when the customs office could have bugged his backpack, not when a patrolman might recognize him from another visit into the city and assign a car to follow close behind. Agents have been known to disappear between an airport and a safe house, which means Matt is only safe if he becomes completely invisible. It’s the sort of thing that can only be accomplished with careful timing, meticulous planning, and an appreciation for redundancy, after redundancy, after redundancy.

In other words, this plan has Rachel Cameron written all over it.

He’s managed to avoid the thought for the past thirty-seven hours—and, frankly, for the entire two years before that—but the idea of being in the same city as Rachel after such a long time away has him wishing for a knife to his side instead. Knife wounds, at least, are an isolated pain with one clear source. They can be cleaned and stitched up. Bandaged and healed. This business with Rachel pings around all of his insides, taking turns with his stomach, his heart, his throat, his lungs. Rancid regret rots his brain and radiates down to every last muscle. Laying alone in the back of a stranger’s car, staring up at the velvet interior, Matt gets caught in a loop of all the things he wishes he’d said sooner.

He didn’t expect it to all stop.

He never should have made her cry.

He didn’t think it would last this long.

He lies, sometimes. He’s sorry he has to lie.

He’s doing good, good, good as often as he can.

Matt has always meant to say these things to her, but the longer they went without, the harder it got to call. Now it feels like too much time has passed to say any of it—like apologizing will only serve as a bitter reminder of just how deeply they tore into one another. Like acknowledging it will only reopen scars that have only just started to heal over.

The longer they drive, the more Rachel’s proximity presses down on his chest, squeezing him into the seat. He knows he ought to count the seconds. Track the turns. Try to get some sense of where they’re headed. But Rachel Cameron fills every last available space in his thoughts and, God almighty, she would lecture him straight to high heaven if she knew how distracted he was.

Once he’s fully worked himself up into a tightly wound ball of unspoken mistakes, the tires hit a gravel drive. The car takes an awfully long route over bumpy back roads and heavily forested hills, which is especially impressive given the lack of headlights, before it finally slows to a stop. His driver turns to the backseat, moonlight catching on the curve of her cheek, an icy white steak against smooth dark skin. “Congratulations on surviving your trip,” she says, and Matt thinks it might be an American southern drawl hiding beneath her Russian, with the way her vowels drawl. “You may leave. Your bag, however, must stay until morning.”

Matt sits upright, his silhouette visible to the night once more. “Sure thing,” he answers. “It’s like I said—the lady with the knife gets to make the rules.”

This earns him a subtle tick of the stranger’s lips. Matt latches onto the near smile and vows to turn into a broad, toothy grin sooner rather than later. But in the meantime, he’ll settle for the semi-charmed side-eye she casts his way, just before she opens the driver door. “Bloody Hell,” she says as she exits, finally switching to English. “She was right about you.”

British. Damn. Matt should have trusted his gut.

Wait. 

He bolts out of the backseat and jogs to catch up. “Right about me?” he echoes, falling back into his own American English. “Who was right about me—right about what?”

The Brit’s stride is incredibly long, and would probably be better suited to a runway than barely-used backwoods paths overgrown with weeds. Matt has to quicken his own pace just to keep up with her. “Never you mind,” she says. “This way.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” he tries, “that you get inside info on me when I don’t even know your name—”

“This way,” she says again. “Surely I don’t have to remind you, of all people, that Moscow’s trees have ears.”

Matt has spent a significant portion of his career listening to conversations picked up by precisely placed bugs exactly like the ones she speaks of now. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her the surrounding trees probably aren’t bugged—at least not in the way she expects. The Soviets wouldn’t go to the trouble of tagging each individual tree, only to have an opposing agent uncover them within an hour of arrival. The birds, foxes, and deer, however, are worth a second glance. 

Either way, she’s right. The forest is no place for introductions. Instead, he follows as she hikes toward a tiny cabin tucked between one hillside and another. It appears perfectly plain on the outside, built from cedar logs and a tin roof. Shrubs and pines surround the perimeter, and Matt knows from experience that these are probably prickly and unpleasant, making it difficult for any unwelcome guests to get too close. The curtains are drawn. The chimney is without smoke. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say no one was home. 

They cover their tracks as they go, wordless right up until they reach the door. Mind split in the dozens of different directions demanded by good countersurveillance, Matt forgets to be nervous until the last minute, when the Brit knocks in a unique, four-rap pattern, then opens the door. The cabin’s light flashes into the nighttime forest, so they waste no time stepping inside. 

A new voice greets them. Then again, this voice ain’t really new. Not to him. He’d know this particular voice anywhere, even if he spent years, decades, centuries away. “Grace?”

Rachel Cameron waits for them just inside, seated at a small dining table at the center of a small kitchen. Rachel Cameron has lists, and blueprints, and notes scattered all across the tabletop, the chairs, the linoleum, splayed across kitchen countertops, and taped to cabinets, and stuck to the refrigerator with little black magnets. Rachel Cameron scans one stack of papers with the pencil in her right hand, then another with a highlighter in her left. Rachel Cameron looks up. Rachel Cameron meets his gaze. Rachel Cameron sighs.

Genius. He’s always known the word applied to her, though it strikes him anew. Rachel’s brilliance is better experienced in small doses, when he can slowly acclimate himself to the raw appreciation of it. The last two years have robbed him of his resilience and it’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time all over again.

Except it only takes a single moment for all of their history to come rushing back, filling the room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, until there’s no more space for words, or gestures, or glances. Rachel looks away first, eyes falling back to a set of blueprints, and Matt follows her lead.

Thankfully, their companion cuts through the silence without a trace of discomfort. “Found your boy,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “He’s cheeky, this one.”

Matt starts to protest with “Oh, I ain’t—” at the same time Rachel says, “He’s not my—”

They both stop, and wait, and wait some more. Neither of them meet the other’s eyes. When enough excruciating seconds have passed, Rachel starts again, and Matt lets her. “Thank you for picking him up,” she says. “I know you were eager to stay in tonight, but—”

“But we aren’t taking any chances with this op,” the Brit finishes. “Understood. Really, Rachel. Though I will say, I was a bit surprised at how easily this one came along with a complete stranger.”

It is as if all of Rachel’s years of etiquette training hit her at once. She brings her fingers to her forehead, suddenly remembering. “Ah, yes, sorry. You haven’t been introduced yet.”

“Not unless you count my putting a knife into his side,” she says.

Matt clears his throat, finally finding his words. “In this business, that’s sometimes the only introduction we get.”

The Brit smiles again. It’s still not the full grin he’s looking for, but it’s closer. “Quite right.”

Rachel studies the pair of them, analyzing something Matt can’t see. She squints back and forth between them, her face twisting into something sour, as though she’s not sure she likes what she’s looking at. “Right,” she says, slowly. Then, clears her throat. “Right, well, anyway. Grace, this is Matthew Morgan. Matthew, this is Grace Harris—”

“Baxter,” Grace cuts in.

“Right,” says Rachel, squeezing her eyes shut, remembering again. Matt’s not sure he’s ever seen Rachel forget anything, and he takes note of the fact that she’s gone and forgotten twice in a sixty-second span. A data point he’ll save for later. “Grace Baxter.”

Grace Baxter holds out her hand to shake, meeting Matt with a far firmer grip than he’s expecting. He feels a couple of knuckles pop in his own hand, and resists the urge to call out. “It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says. 

That’s an awfully interesting choice of words. “Finally?” says Matt.

Grace does not elaborate. “My husband is around as well, but he’s being a good little agent and sleeping off his jet lag while it’s still dark.”

Matt, who hasn’t had more than two hours of consecutive sleep since DC, can’t quite hide the longing in his reply. “Smart man.”

“Outrageously so. It’s infuriating, really,” Grace agrees. “You’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow, but in the meantime we should all probably join him. The last thing we need is four exhausted agents trying to run an op in Moscow.”

Matt has about a million more questions for Grace Baxter, but none of them form quite right in his head. A fog fills his brain, clouding all of his better thoughts, and he reckons Grace is probably right. He’s useless to Rachel like this, and she’ll be the first to call him on it. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he says. “Do you think we ought to run it by the boss, first?”

Grace risks a glance toward Rachel, who has already returned to one of her blueprints. With Rachel’s attention occupied, Matt steals this chance to take her in. Her clothes are worn with travel and her shoulders slump with a need for sleep. Some of her curls have escaped the denim scrunchie holding back the bulk of her hair, falling into her face, and Matt remembers all at once that Rachel never did know how to stop, once she got started.

“Good luck,” Grace scoffs. “I’ve been trying to get her to sleep for hours. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She’s been planning since the moment she walked in.”

Matt ain’t got any sense that Rachel doesn’t already have ten times over, and he doesn’t dare pretend otherwise. Thankfully, Rachel recognizes this and provides an answer of her own. “I’ve been planning for the past three months,” she corrects, just as she circles something on the page. “I just wanted to get some last-minute changes down before bed.”

Grace turns back to Matt. “You see? Hopeless,” she says. “You two may do what you please, but I intend to get some sleep. Pulling off a fake kidnapping at the edge of Moscow is exhausting work, you know.”

With this, she sends a playful jab into Matt’s side. Only problem is, Grace’s idea of a playful jab is most people’s idea of a full-on elbow to the ribs, and Matt has to catch his breath afterward. It takes all of his might not to let out an unmanly yelp in front of these two women. “Right,” he gasps. “See you in the morning.”

“Thanks again, Grace,” Rachel calls, not looking up from her writing.

With a wave of her fingers, Grace disappears behind one of the two available doors and shuts it with a twist of the lock. Matt realizes too late that her absence leaves just him and Rachel. Alone. Together.

This silence just won’t do.

“Flights good?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers, scribbling away.

“Abby okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Yes.”

“You okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” This is worse than the silence, actually. Out of questions and energy stores depleted, Matt decides that his only remaining move is one that has been employed by desperate agents for centuries—a retreat. “Listen, I think I might join the others and try to get some sleep. Unless you need me?”

Scribble, scribble. “Not yet.”

“Great,” he says. “Just point me to my bed and I’ll be on my way.”

Rachel’s pencil freezes mid-sentence. This is Matt’s first clue that something is horribly wrong, followed by the fact that her eyes finally meet his and this time, she doesn’t look away. “No.”

“Um.” Retreat, retreat, retreat. “Okay? I guess I can find it—”

But Rachel is already up, dashing through the sliver of a living room that hosts a single chair, a coffee table, and a throw blanket. When she reaches the second available door in the cabin, blood drains from her already pale face, turning it to an alarming, ashen white. Her voice is hollow and distant when she squeaks out a soft, “No, no, no.”

When it comes to Rachel, Matt is woefully out of practice, but it doesn’t take an expert to see the panic, and Rachel’s panic ain’t built the same way everyone else’s is. The sight of Rachel out of sorts is enough to get Matt’s heart really, truly racing. “Rachel, what are you—?”

She flicks on the light, and when Matt steps up behind her, he’s met with an instant understanding of the situation. “There’s only one other bed,” she says, spinning to face him as she explains. “Abby and I usually share. I booked the safe house when it was going to be the two of us, but between the hospital, and the flights, and coordinating our assets…” Sometimes Matt wonders how loud the inside of her head must be. He suspects she doesn’t realize when her words dissolve between inner and outer monologue. It takes some deciphering to understand her complete thoughts from start to finish. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, I forgot to account for the beds when I switched agents, I’ll take the couch.”

By couch, he supposes she means the ancient loveseat tucked away at the end of the bed. The leather cushions are scratched and cracked, and the silver shine of a spring peeks out from beneath the quilt laid across its back. A grease stain rests along the arm where agents have laid their heads for years and years before. Throughout his travels, Matt has seen more than his fair share of uncomfortable furniture and this one has serious potential to rank among the worst, but this is Rachel’s third strike at forgetfulness when she’s usually a home run hitter. She needs to sleep, and sleep well, and it simply won’t do, for her to sleep on that old thing. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No it’s my mistake, I should—”

“Rachel,” he says, and his hands fall to her shoulders out of habit. Out of familiarity. “I’m sorry, but there just ain’t no way I’m letting you take the couch.” She’s looking up at him with big, brown eyes. They’re glassy, and tired, and he spares Rachel her dignity by ignoring the twinge of tears sneaking into either corner. “She may be all the way in Nebraska now, but there’s no quicker way to get Joy Morgan to Moscow than if I let you sleep on that couch.”

She shakes her head. “Matthew—”

“I’m telling you,” he tries again. “My mama can sense that sorta thing, and believe me when I say she’ll shake down the entire agency to find this cabin and knock me six ways from Sunday, right upside my head.”

“You’re worried that your mother will intimidate CIA agents into disclosing the location of one of their most heavily protected safe houses?”

“You’ve never seen my mama when there’s a matter of chivalry at stake.”

“Matthew, I—” she interrupts herself, this time, freezing when she meets his gaze. “Your eyes,” she says, studying the intimate features of his face. “Your eyes are blue.”

This is outright nonsense, and even more proof that she needs to sleep. That is, until he remembers the light blue contacts. He blinks, as though he might be able to get rid of the color, because everything artificial seems so ridiculous now that he’s in the presence of someone who knows him to his core. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sorry.”

With that, she studies him more deeply, and he notices the faint lines that have started to form where her eyebrows always furrow, the freckles she’s accumulated along her cheekbones with years of missions spent in the sun, the ease with which her lips fall into a tight, even line. Her eyes bounce between each of his, debating her next words before she finally says, “Why are you apologizing?”

Matt’s breath catches, and he knows this is it. The opening he’s been waiting for. But it’s late, and they’re tired, and they both smell like planes, and airports, and taxis. So despite the desperate words trying to crawl from his heart to his mouth, he settles on something softer. “I think we both know I’ve got plenty to apologize for,” he says, finally letting his hands fall. “But I think we both know this ain’t the time to do it.”

Genius. She’s always been smarter than him in more ways than he can count, and this moment is no exception. She’s smart enough to know that they both need clearer heads. That they both need a moment of quiet. That morning will come and they’ll both be better for it, and that tonight is no place for their usual fights. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the bed,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t—”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“I’m so tired.”

She has this way of taking small words and making them feel big. Of making them span years, when they shouldn’t last more than a second or two. Rachel isn’t tired, so much as she’s exhausted, and burned out, and lonely, and weighed down—and she manages to convey all of this by simply shaking her head, and folding her face into her hands, and standing in front of him with all of the humility in the world.

He has this way of feeling her when she most needs it, in a way that no one else seems to be able to. Of hearing those great big words tied up in all of her small ones, and trying his best to say the right thing in response. “Let’s get some sleep, then,” he says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll get some sleep, and when you wake up, you can tell me exactly what all of those crazy kitchen plans mean.”

Despite herself, she laughs. It's a pitiful, mangled thing, but it still counts. “They’re not as crazy as they look.”

And Matt can’t hold back a smile. “Well thank God for that, because they look…” he tries to find a word, but this is much like everything else Rachel does, in that it defies explanation. “I mean, seriously, Rachel, you’ve gone full Doc Brown in there.”

She shoves him, gently, and Matt makes a show of clasping at his chest in faux hurt. “They’ll make more sense in the morning,” she tells him.

“Everything will make more sense in the morning,” he assures her.

And she believes him. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

That’s enough for them, for tonight, for now. It’s all they need. And maybe tomorrow will be bitter and hard at the center of Moscow, working an op that Rachel has given her whole heart to, but right now is easy and safe. Right now, they’re old friends who need each other more than they knew. 

Rachel finds his eyes again, and sighs something that sounds like relief and regret mixed together. “At least let me ease some of my guilt by hunting down a truly outrageous number of blankets on your behalf.”

Matt looks back to the loveseat and knows in his gut that there will not be enough room for more than one blanket. There is barely enough room for Matt, as is. Even so, he smiles at her. “Rachel Cameron,” he says. “I’ll always take any blanket you hand me.”

[norrisleclercf1]

Come Home To Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x Long distance!Reader

Rating: PG

Warnings: None, just fluff, Lando cries

Words: 2.3K

Requested: Yes/No

Long distance was always challenging. But what if you're dating someone who rarely stays in one place long enough. What if they're traveling from country to country every year, and when you can visit, he can't? Love is supposed to give its challenges, but this was a challenge you are losing, and this wasn't something you wanted to happen.

You have been dreaming of living in America for school, but you never once thought you'd meet a boy and fall in love with him, much less travel the world after him. Meeting him was a dream. You went to Dubai on vacation with your friend, a terrific wealthy heiress. It was after finals, and you were in a club, unaware of what was going on, much less than a trendy sport was in town for the end of the season.

When people flooded the club you were in, you danced and danced before stumbling to the bar. You proceeded to spill your drink all over this guy at the bar. He laughed, telling you it was okay. You couldn't ignore how he was so light-hearted and easygoing. Even covered in some alcoholic drink, he made you laugh and danced with you.

When your friend was ready to go, you waved bye, but he stopped you and grabbed a marker.

"Call me." Winking, he sends you off. Waking the following day, you don't remember much except those brilliant eyes, goofy laughter, and his curly hair. Looking at your arm, you smile, seeing what he had written on your arm. Lando, call me. With his number followed after it.

It took you almost a year to figure out who he was, as he never told you his last name. You honored that, as he did tell you he was famous and wanted you to know him, not the guy he shows off to the world. You found out who he was when your friend Vivian, who took you to Dubai, brought you to something called Formula 1.

Her father was a big wig in the sport and decided to give you two paddock passes and explore the city. Thankfully it was a break, and you walked around the fancy town of Monaco. Vivian has an apartment in the city and told you, you could stay with her.

"Honestly, Y/n, stop worrying about why the guy hasn't answered you. All you have told me is his name." Vivian whined as you just smiled at your phone. "Viv, he's famous, and I don't want to ruin anything." You explain, but she rolls her eyes, worried.

"Okay, come on, let's go. I'm starving." You agree and head to the private hospitality for the drivers, bosses, and those who are big names.

"Do you even know any of the drivers?" You ask Vivian, who shrugs as she is more into business, set to inherit her father's business when she graduates. "Nah, many of them have girlfriends, but there is one charming Ferrari driver." Both laughing, you walk into the air-conditioned building and head to a table.

"Hey, can we order a burger or something?" Viv looks up from her menu and nods. "Yeah, they can make things off the menu, but I agree this is all so fancy." Slapping the menu down, she takes a sip from her water.

Your phone pings, and you must fight Vivian off from grabbing your phone. Seeing the notification, you blush, as is it from Lando.

Lando: sorry, super busy for the next couple of days; I miss you; we should see FT real quick.

You: I wish I could. I have no privacy because I'm at some super-rich sport event for the weekend.

Lando: Really? What super-rich sport and where?

You: Oh, something called Formula One. I'm in Monaco

Read

You stare at your phone, wondering why he has left you on read, but you just shrug and place your phone down. Placing your order and talk with Vivian about your upcoming classes and her latest boy toy.

"Fuck, that's my Charming Ferrari driver and his friends." Vivian chokes on her water which has you turning. You don't know who she's talking about, but you notice a particular person wearing a bright orange sweatshirt. "Viv, the guy in the orange sweatshirt. See him?" You ask, facing her, trying to control your emotions. "Oh, yeah, Daddy told me about him. Lando Norris. Oh, he shares the same name as you-" She stops talking as you stare at one another.

"Holy fuck, no." She whispers, leaning closer. "Did you know?" She asks which has you slapping her arm. "Of course not!" You hiss, running your hands over your hair. "He never told me his last name, and every time he visited me at Uni, we met and did lowkey stuff." You whisper before you both freak and throw your menus up as Lando and 3 other people sit beside you.

"What do I tell her?" Lando sighs, fixing his hat to wear it backward as you and Vivian throw on your own hats and sunglasses so Lando wouldn't recognize you. "The truth." You hear a slap, and someone curse in Spanish.

"Oi! You lied to her, not me. Why are you slapping me?" "Because Carlos, we've been talking for almost a year, and I want to ask her out, but...what if she's mad I lied." Lando mummers. "Just call her, and tell her you are in Monaco too. Not that hard." The man named Carlos explains.

It's silent until your phone blares out the ringtone that Lando had set for you when you last saw him. You and Vivian try to turn the phone off with hurried hands, but it doesn't work.

"Y/n?" You screw your eyes shut and lower the menu locking eyes with Lando. You don't even think as you grab your bag and rush out, leaving Vivan behind, who yells after you, and Lando, who stands staring after you, the phone still pressed to his ear.

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

It was 3 months of barely talking when Lando finally showed up at your apartment when Vivian opened the door with just a towel and messy hair. She about died when she called for you. "Hurt her again, or lie again. And I'll have my father destroy your career." She threatens as you come into view.

You looked how you felt, hurt and sad. You had no right to feel hurt, but you still did. Sad because your heart ached from barely talking to Lando, and he looked the same as you. Eyes red, hair messy, and just downright miserable.

"Can we talk?" You nod and point to the couch as Vivan hurries down the hall and closes her door, but she was totally listening. "I wanted to tell you, just never thought you'd show up at a race." He rushes out, ripping his hood off as you blink, trying not to cry.

"I have no right to be angry, Lando. You told me you wanted it to be a secret, just....maybe a part of me hated you couldn't tell me who you are." Lando nods as he swallows thickly and clears his throat. "I hated not talking to you. I've missed you like crazy. Watching you run and me not chase after you was....horrible." With a sigh, you wipe a tear and clear your own throat.

"I've missed you too. This not talking thing was painful, and I never should've ran. I was embarrassed, and your friends were all there. I panicked." Lando laughs slightly and rubs his hands down his face. "They've been giving me hell about that ever since. That's why I'm here. Go out with me?" You blink at him and then laugh.

"Yes, but right now, we tell each other everything. No more secrets." Lando nods and moves, sitting beside you as you spend the entire night talking.

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

"Are you coming to visit soon?" Lando asks, voice sleepy as the time zone between the both of you was brutal. Didn't help he was traveling. "Lando, I have finals and then graduation. I can't." You sigh, walking through a sea of people trying to reach your area.

"Fuck. I hate this!" He curses, making you flinch at his tone. You both had this argument occasionally, as Lando wanted to move to Monaco with him while you were applying for your Masters's program. "Lando, calm down. I know you want me in Monaco, but we agreed that night that I would chase my degree and decide where to settle down." You reason making your boyfriend sigh heavily in your ear.

"I know. I know. But, I want you to come home to me. I hate not seeing you, touching you, just being next to you." You want to roll your eyes but can't help the smile tugging on your lips.

"Even if I moved to Monaco, you're traveling half the year anyways." This has Lando groaning as this was how the argument ended each time. "Okay, how was your day." You look up, hand over the paper to the woman before you, and continue as you find your seat and settle. "Fine. Hey, Lando. I've got to go. The class is about to start, so talk to you later. Bye!" You hang up before he can tell you he loves you and sighs, looking outside.

"Ma'am, the train is about to leave." You look up at the pretty woman who smiles and nods, ensuring your bag is secured. It would be a 4-hour train ride before you showed up to surprise Lando and give him the good news. "Thank you." The lady smiles and walks off, checking on the other passengers.

The ride was somewhat peaceful, but Lando kept trying to Facetime with you, but you didn't want to give away where you were. So you kept hitting ignore and then just decided to turn your phone off. When you hear the squeak of the wheels stopping, you look out and see the familiar buildings of Monaco and the ongoing construction. Gathering your bags, you shuffle off the train and into the warm sun, smiling.

Keeping your phone off, you start the walk to Lando's apartment. Max wouldn't be around, and he was in London visiting family, so it'd just be you and Lando. The walk was peaceful, as it was a break for Formula 1, so not many fans were wandering around the city. You type in the code and hope it doesn't alert Lando to you entering his building. Turning on your phone, you wait patiently for it to power up.

You giggle, seeing all the notifications from Lando, and click on his face as that familiar ringing tone fills the silent elevator.

"Are you mad at me?" Not a hello or hey baby, but him asking if you're mad at him. Sometimes you forget that while Lando is successful inside, he's still like any insecure 20-year-old trying to understand life. "No, Lan. I'm not mad. I just turned my phone off to get some work done." Lando sighs and then laughs and looks away and smiles. "Sorry guys, it's Y/n." That's when you notice his headphones are on, and he is most likely streaming.

"Are you streaming right now?" You ask, laughing as you get dropped off at his floor, walk to his door, and stop outside. "Yeah. Say hi!" He turns his phone as you wave, knowing people can barely see you in his camera. "Where are you right now? That doesn't look like your dorm." Turning the phone back around to face him. "Oh, I'm home." You smile and hit the doorbell, which you hear through his phone, and he turns around, confused.

"No. No, you are not." He drops his phone, and you hang up, waiting at the door. You laugh, hearing the pounding on his feet and the door thrown open. "Stop." He whispers and moves, crushing you in a hug as you drop your bags, hugging him back. "I'm home." You whisper into his neck.

You pull away and can't help but laugh, seeing Lando with tears in his eyes.

"Baby? Why are you crying?" Wiping his tears, he sniffles and hugs you tight, burying his face in your neck. "I've missed you. Fuck, you have no idea." His words are muffled by your neck as your hands tug his curls slightly, and fingers cradle his neck. "Well, I have some news." Lando pulls away and nods but helps you into his place.

"Give me a second." He whispers and kisses your cheek before going into his gaming room to turn off the stream. You get settled and sit on the couch, holding an envelope. Walking into the room, he stops and eyes the envelope.

"Are you pregnant?" You snort a laugh, shake your head no, and watch him sigh in relief. "I mean. If you were, I'd marry you here and now, but I'd like to wait before we have kids." He explains, but you just let him ramble. "Lando. Stop." He stops talking and stares at you, unsure how he should act. "Just open it." Placing it in his hands, he flips it around and carefully peels it open.

"Y/n L/n, we are please to welcome you to the school of Paris International Affairs and-" He stops and takes a deep breath trying hard to not cry again. "And can't wait to welcome you in the fall." He stops and looks up at you.

"I'm moving to Paris. So, I'm a 4 hours train ride instead of flying. I graduated early, so....." You smile, and he laughs, leaning over and kissing you. "So, you have the rest of spring and summer to be here with me." You shake your head in agreement which has him tearing up again.

"You're home." He whispers and pulls you into him, holding you like you'd disappear. "I'm home."

[suncitytours]

Embrace the Sun: Exploring Abu Dhabi on a Sun City Tour from Dubai

As the golden rays of the sun illuminate the vibrant landscapes, Sun City Tours beckons travelers on an extraordinary adventure from Dubai to the enchanting city of Abu Dhabi. Embark on a journey that promises not just a change of scenery but a transformative exploration through the heart of the United Arab Emirates.

With Sun City Tours as your guide, traverse the captivating Route from Dubai to Abu Dhabi, immersing yourself in the contrasting yet harmonious tapestries of these Emirati gems. The day unfolds with each stop revealing the grandeur and allure that define Abu Dhabi's essence.

As the tour commences, bid farewell to Dubai's glittering skyline and embrace the allure of Abu Dhabi's rich heritage. The voyage through the Dubai-Abu Dhabi Motorway with City Tours offers not just a drive but a narrative, weaving through small towns, each whispering tales of the UAE's culture and heritage.

Iconic Landmarks and Cultural Treasures

The Abu Dhabi City Tour from Dubai, curated by us, leads travellers on a cultural odyssey. Witness the majestic Sheikh Zayed Mosque, an architectural marvel that stands as a beacon of the nation's cultural identity. The opulent Emirates Palace Hotel awaits, adorned with breathtaking domes and exquisite opulence.

Heritage, Tradition, and Modern Marvels

Explore the bustling central souks, brimming with local handicrafts and an opportunity to test your bargaining skills. Dive into the roots of Emirati tradition at the Abu Dhabi Heritage Village, followed by a pause at the Abu Dhabi Breakwater Point, offering a panoramic view of the city's stunning skyline.

The Journey's End and Beyond

The tour isn't just a chronicle of historical landmarks but also a glimpse into modernity. The Marina Mall, the iconic Coin Tower, the Presidential Palace, and the adrenaline rush at the Formula 1 Yas Marina Circuit await travellers, concluding with a quick stop at the Ferrari theme park and Yas Island.

With departures from various locations in Dubai, our Sun City Tours ensures a seamless and immersive Abu Dhabi city tour. This journey offers not just sightseeing but an unrivaled chance to absorb the culture, history, and modernity of the UAE, leaving travelers with memories to cherish and stories to tell.

[bu1410]

Good afternoon TUMBLR - June 4th - 2024

“Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971.”

IRAQ – RUMAILAH - Sept 2014 – Mar 2016.

Part 1

It's summer 2014, and after 3 years of the Rub el Khali desert (''the Empty Quarter'') I treat myself to a holiday in Val Gardena. Splendid places, the Dolomites – when I look at them I always ask myself the same question: is all this beauty really just the work of Nature? Or over the centuries nameless artists have been able to paint and create this spectacle for the eyes and the heart. Here the slopes are different, almost ''friends'' - different from all the slopes of all the other mountains in the world - in Valle d'Aosta, for example, the mountains are imposing and distant - they impose awe, almost fear, on times. In the Dolomites, in summer as in winter (but especially in summer) you never experience this detachment that the nature of the mountains always imposes on us. Everything, the peaks, the slopes, the fir and larch forests, seems so ''within reach'' (even if obviously this is not the case). The tops and sides of the peaks, so bizarrely shaped, seem to play with the gaze. In general, the woods end almost at the start of the rocks, or they leave the task of carrying us beneath them to the meadows and scree, those immense walls climbed by fearless climbers.

I was immersed in this beauty, walking in the center of Ortisei looking at the Sasslong from time to time, when I received a call from the SAIPEM personnel office:  Mrs. Quattrone: We would like to know if you are available to go to Iraq?  Is there an alternative?  Yes, it's called Nigeria  When should I leaving for Iraq?

So it was that I accepted the role of Project Manager of a pipeline project already underway, whose manager, for reasons I later discovered, had to be replaced. I left in September, and after a 10-day stop in Dubai, necessary for medical examinations and blood tests in order to obtain a VISA for Iraq, I boarded the flight to Basra.

From Dubai to Basra From Dubai to Basra the flight duration is approximately 2 hours. The two great rivers of Mesopotamia, the cradle of Civilization, join before Basra, and the slow descent of the plane towards Basra gives the opportunity to appreciate the complexity of the mouth of the two rivers. The Faw peninsula is a tangle of canals, some dredged by man to allow the approach of supertankers loading Iraqi oil arriving at the terminals from the nearby oil fields. Ships that would otherwise run aground on the sandy and shifting seabed before reaching the open sea. The Persian Gulf (or Arabian Sea) is a sea with very shallow waters, and therefore difficult to navigate. The coasts are littered with shipwrecks stranded in the sand, and then left to rust under the merciless sun that glares for more than 300 days a year in the ever-fading sky above the Arabian Peninsula. I arrive at Basra airport, and I immediately realize that it is not an airport like all the others. It is in a perpetual state of siege, defended by anti-aircraft fire, and inside - apart from the airport staff - there are only departing or arriving passengers. No relatives or friends to wait or greet travelers. The luggage undergoes a double inspection, after which we are driven outside towards old American Suburbans: they carry 8 passengers plus the local driver. Which, after leaving the car park, launches at 180 km per hour towards the airport's outer checkpoint, about 8 km away. It was explained to me that these few kilometers are the most dangerous, because they are subject to sporadic guerrilla attacks, almost always with mortars. Once we arrive at the external fence of the airport, there is a new manual baggage check, then we are finally outside, and immediately taken over by the military patrol who will accompany us to the Saipem compound in Rumailah, about 50 kilometers away from the airport.

Basra airport – Rumailah SAIPEM Base The patrol leader gives us a short briefing, we put on the bulletproof vest, which is mandatory every time we leave the compound. It weighs about 10kg, and it's hard to bear, but the thought that it can save your life makes it weigh less. The helmet is available, but it is not mandatory to wear it when we are inside the armored car. These are all Toyota Land Cruisers, with doors so heavy you have to push with two hands to close them. The convoy is made up of 3 Land Cruisers, we ''civilians'' are in the car in the middle with a military doctor who sits in front, next to the driver (usually a former Iraqi soldier). In front of the car with the escort chief and 3 soldiers, behind us the same: a car with 3 soldiers and a driver.

We are on the coastant connection via radio and GPS between us and the security room located inside the Saipem compound, where they always know exactly where we are. Everything went well, we arrived without problems at the SAIPEM base, a sort of ''armored citadel'', surrounded by 3 high reinforced concrete fences, barbed wire, turrets with armed guards 24/7. The path to enter the base is made up of zigzag Jersey barriers to prevent a car bomb from possibly launching itself against the checkpoint house at the entrance. Before entering the base, all vehicles are subjected to inspection, with dogs trained in anti-terrorism, to prevent dangerous vehicles from entering the compound. Between the first and second fence, all the patrol soldiers unload their weapons in a special enclosure. All active measures to prevent rebels and terrorists from attempting to attack the compound, where around a hundred expatriates of all origins live: Europeans, Asians, Africans. The compound is equipped with containers with single and double rooms, with bathrooms - canteen with Italian chef - office block - infirmary with 2 doctors - gym, sauna, and indoor swimming pool - workshop and equipment workshop. It is the first time that SAIPEM allows employees to have a swimming pool in one of their compound, as the swimming pool has always been considered ''a luxury item''.

Iraq in 2016 Several projects were underway with the participation of SAIPEM, with clients such as EXXON, SHELL, and the SOC - South Oil Company - Iraqi oil company. I would like to say straight away that the Iraq experience was my happiest experience from a human point of view. All the participants in the various projects, from Top Management right down to the Security staff, everyone showed an exceptional spirit of collaboration - never found in any of my long years abroad in the various countries where I found myself operating. And this meant that, despite a thousand difficulties, the projects were completed, although sometimes with understandable delays. I can't imagine if this hadn't been the case, in an objectively difficult situation like that of Iraq. Outside the base, further North in the country, the Islamic State was raging, making its presence felt even among the workers of our Sub-Contractors. Sometimes members of their staff did not return after being on holiday in their hometowns in the North. Most of the time they received threats of kidnapping ''because we know that you collaborate with the Westerners''. Other times they were forcibly enrolled in the various militias, and then nothing more was known about them. The local Sub-Contractors, even more than usual, had terrible performances, partly due to the actual difficulties in finding equipment and specialized labor, and adequate materials. Another important obstacle to the normal progress of the work was represented by the VISA problem: it was very difficult to obtain work visas for Iraq. And once obtained they had a short expiry date, so one was forced to continually renew them. The project I was working on, an oil pipeline, ran inside an oil field that had been the scene of furious fighting during the second Gulf War, between the Anglo-Americans and Iraqis. Before proceeding with the excavations, a thorough demining campaign was carried out, given the enormous quantity of unexploded ordnance left by both sides on the ground.

Along the 40 km that separated the Saipem Base from the oil field there were 4 military check points. These were the most dangerous points of the route: the gathering of vehicles caused by the controls potentially created areas favorable to possible attacks by ISIS terrorists. In the endless minutes stopped in the column, our Guardian Angels were particularly alert, to determine potential dangerous situations. Numerous problems were created by the Iraqi soldiers in charge of the controls: we passengers had been instructed to remain seated, our hands visible, our legs uncrossed, and the use of cell phones was prohibited. Obviously taking photographs was prohibited – and if we arrived at a checkpoint when the soldiers were at prayer or during their lunch, we had to wait for these activities to end, without showing any sign of impatience. Another element that caused delays in the project was the torrential rains that fell on Iraq in 2015-2016: the most intense rainfall in living memory on the Middle Eastern country. The pipeline route and its surroundings often turned into impassable swamps, causing considerable damage.

[blueiight]

Armandddd

abdulrashid armand ali nazarkhan<3 armand<3 andrei<3 amadeo… rashid…

First impression

I dont even remember LMAOSKSKDKDKS i was just like why is flop pitt tugging on that man face like that. but book wise i imagined iwtv armand as a red head zaddy on some sweeney shit imagine my shock when i realized he was like a boticceli angel. and show wise i saw the painting n was like oh that ipad guy is armand

Impression now

hes the funniest character in existence

Favorite moment

book wise its putting a blood air tag on daniel… segwaying from aspects of his life story in tva to randomly give his indepth opinions on vampires to david re: reality tv shows cutting to interview the actor later on as they show a past scene happening.. when hes begging lestat and gabrielle to give him something + they pretty much give him the third draft of lestat’s life (the theater they left hanging around somewhere) and gabi tells armand u have to live and move with the age and armand proceeded to become a super rich guy after the fact. blenders. Why cant we kill them all? :( show wise so far its when hes like DUBAI IS BUT A CHILD MR MOLLOY. :) ..WHAT IS A SUN TO A VAMP

Idea for a story

My brain is blank for that ig id wanna see armandlou travel the world re: what was briefly mentioned to in book iwtv w/ their show counterparts. i talked abt this w @likethemodel a bit

Unpopular opinion

this is my unpop opinion? ig .. id just wish ppl to keep in mind that show armand was in no way a child when turned LOL. or better yet, stop treating show armand like hes the Big Bad to blame details of a yet to be told story that make u uncomfortable! theyre all Evil no doubt & armand is a manipulative control freak but theres no Big Bad in the chronicles outside of akasha and the rhosmsddekdkdes guy just a bunch of antagonists that for the most part join the fold of misfits.

Favorite relationship

U cant make an armandlette w/o cracking some eggs<3

Favorite headcanon

ummmm mind drawing a blank here soz. hes a yandere fasho