Just A Bunch of Hocus Pocus
Summary: What i believe your couples costume would be with the F1 Drivers
Warning: spelling and grammatical errors
A/N: Drivers include Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Logan Sargeant, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, and the newest addition of Daniel Ricciardo. Most of the costumes were my idea but when i was stumped, i used Chat GPT
Charles Leclerc: Since Charles loves Harry Potter, i believe you two would dress up as Harry and Ginny or dress up in Hogwarts "uniforms" in general with the robe, tie, and scarf of your house. Maybe you guys would be Lightning McQueen and Sally because you sent him so many memes comparing him to Lightning McQueen. I also see you guys being Mr. and Mrs. Smith because who wouldn't want to see Charles in a suit?
Lando Norris: You two would dress up as Spider-Man and MJ/Gwen Stacy, depending on which movie or character you prefer. Han Solo and Princess Leia are also on the table, along with Mario and Princess Peach, that way you and the whole Quadrant crew can dress up as character from Super Mario Bros.
Logan Sargeant: You and the American Boy will dress up as Captain America and Peggy Carter, no question about it. Also, you two could dress up as an athlete and a cheerleader since he is, as Alex puts it, so painfully American. But to make it even better, you guys would go as Nathan and Haley from One Tree Hill OR Troy and Gabriella because whats more American than High School Musical?
Oscar Piastri: You two would be Tinkerbell and Terrence after making him watch all the movies with you. Iron Man and Pepper Potts if he wanted to go the superhero route like Logan. But he would also agree to doing a group costume with your friends and going as Numbah 3 and 4 from Codename: Kids Next Door which was one of your favorite cartoons from when you were younger, mainly because Numbah 4 is Australian as well.
Lewis Hamilton: I believe you guys would go as Michael Jackson and Britney Spears from that live performance with the green sparkling dress OR the event photo where Michael was wearing a red shirt and Britney had the leather newsboy cap since Lewis is very fashion forward. The Mad Hatter and Alice is another good one because of how elaborate the Mad Hatter suits are, it would be perfect for Lewis. Also because of your (my) obsession with Criminal Minds, you guys could go as Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia because who wouldn't want to be his baby girl?
Carlos Sainz: El Matador, el matador!! You guys would go as el Zorro and Elena and would look so cute! Another is Jack Sparrow and Angelica Teach (Puss in Boots and Kitty Softpaws if you guys want to be a little silly). However, Carlos would absolutely lose it if you guys went as Seth Gecko and Santanico Pandemonium from the movie From Dusk Til Dawn.
Max Verstappen: After you find out that Max hasn't seen the Halloween MASTERPIECE that is Hocus Pocus, you make him watch it with you and you guys dress up as Winifred Sanderson (or Sarah) and Billy Butcherson. You would also dress up as Richard Gere and Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman. I can also imagine you guys going as Hiccup and Astrid from How To Train Your Dragon so Max would be able to dress his cats as your respective dragons
Daniel Ricciardo: Hands down you guys will dress up as Woody and Bo Peep because the man LOVES to dress up as a cowboy. Barbie and Ken in their cowboy outfits is also a choice for your guys' costumes. I think he would love the idea of him being a cowboy and you as a saloon girl like in Westworld
The End
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A Gwynriel meet-cute fic inspired by my writer's block and the music video of I Hear A Symphony by Cody Fry.
Synopsis: Gwyn tries everything possible to put a stop to her writer's block, unbeknownst that her source of inspiration will appear right at her door.
Word Count: 2.4k
Read on Ao3 or below the cut
She sat, alone and upset.
She sat in her home, as lonely and desperate as she had ever been, and waited for a miracle to happen.
Gwyn crossed yet another sentence, the words becoming less readable with every line she frustratingly drew across them.
“Ugh. I’m a lost cause,” she complained.
What was she doing wrong? She was applying every advice she had received from her fellow authors, some of which had worked for her previous writer’s blocks. She was so desperate that she was even doing everything all at once to increase her chances at finally writing. Her head had been a blank slate for too many months now.
The first step had been to put on her comfiest hoodie and shorts, her hair up in a high ponytail, and to sit on her comfiest chair at her desk with some cool water. She was also using a pen and paper instead of her laptop. Typing everything out later would be an extra step, but one that she was willing to take. If, she hoped hard, she managed to write anything at all. In addition to all that, she was using a different colour than black, and had convinced herself that she was using a different font. If she always used Times New Roman, Arial or Calibri, her own handwriting had to count as a new font, right?
She even had ambient music playing in the background; the sound of a peaceful forest that she imagined her heroine – a nymph – living in. From the different sounds that floated around her, Gwyn imagined the nymph sitting in her little cottage, with a freshly polished dagger on a table next to a steaming cup of hibiscus tea. Magical birds could be heard chirping outside along with her ethereal voice humming. Occasionally, Gwyn could also hear tiny footsteps and giggles that made her think of the little folks that she had introduced earlier in chapter 3.
All the conditions were perfect. Every element was right here in her head; the setting, the mood, the time and weather. Yet it still felt like nothing was happening. As though she couldn’t get her heroine to do anything, no matter how hard Gwyn poked her with her mental stick. Perhaps she was also waiting for something more interesting than everything her creator came up with.
Gwyn sighed and rubbed her eyes. The bright pink was starting to hurt her tired eyes and making her annoyance with herself grow. Maybe she should have picked a different one among her many colourful pens. Could a glittery one work?
She took a few sips of water from her favourite mug, followed by a few slow and deeps breaths during which she wondered how the hell she had managed to publish two books in four years with a brain like hers.
Reading and writing were a passion that she had successfully turned into her job. It meant more to her than just paying her bills and affording everything she owned. It was her source of joy and fulfilment; what had slowly let her out of her safe shell and had given her a reason to live. At least it was all of this when the made-up creatures living in her head actually did things that she could write about. Her team of editors and publishers would never approve of a story where the characters only sat and waited for the unknown for half of the book.
“Someone could die,” Gwyn tapped her pen against her cheek and thought out loud. But for that to happen, she would have to come up with a motive and a plan.
She imagined her protagonist staring blankly at her as if to ask, “Really?”
She scowled at the pink ink on the white paper and asked, “What else do you suggest to spice up the plot?”
She refused to give up on her story midway through. Something would happen. She just needed faith in her creativity and her skills. And a prayer or two to the writers’ gods to send a genius idea her way. With little hope that they would listen, Gwyn plunged back into her story, where the nymph was still doing a whole lot of nothing.
She sat there, as lonely and desperate as she had ever felt, and slowly giving up on the hope that miracles could happen, when a rattling sound disturbed the quiet of her home. It persisted until…
“Wait a second.”
…until the author realised that the sound was coming from outside her own apartment door.
“What the hell?”
Both of Gwyn’s best friends, Emerie and Nesta, the only two who ever showed up at her place unannounced, were currently at work. Even if they had gotten out early, they would have knocked or called after finding her door locked. Which it most often was. The building that Gwyn lived in was quite luxurious with an excellent security system. But judging by the person who had been trying to forcefully open her door for the last minute, Gwyn’s anxiety about her safety began to surface again.
She stood from her desk and made her way towards what could be an intruder. Holding her pink pen up like a serial killer might hold a knife, Gwyn brought her hand to the knob. If she was fast enough, she could press the button on the interphone right next to the door as soon as she opened it and alert the security guard. But what if Frank was already dead and now the killer was coming for her? Gwyn damned herself for having gone with an apartment on the second floor instead of the twenty-second. What was the benefit of having one of the best balconies in the building if she was among the firsts to die?
“Pull yourself together Gwyneth!” she told herself.
Her heroine wouldn’t cower before the one trying to break through her cottage. She would feel the fear but confront it. Gwyn might have no dagger nor claws; she might have no magic to bring down her enemies. But, like her nymph, she refused to die. Not when she had a story to finish. Gwyn summoned as much courage as she had often infused her nymph with and yanked her door open.
What she saw crouching before her with a key in one gloved hand and a black and blue helmet in the other didn’t look like a murderer. Not that she had ever knowingly come face to face with one to know what they looked like.
Gwyn lowered her pen at her side as the man straightened and towered over her with strong arms and broad shoulders that were hugged by a black leather jacket. His brown skin glowed under the dim yellow light of the baroque-style hallway of the building. His hazel eyes were like a blaze that bore into Gwyn, even as the rest of his handsome face showed signs of surprise. There was a hint of confusion apparent in the frown of his obsidian eyebrows that matched the colour of his short, dishevelled hair.
He looked like a male straight out of a romantasy. The type whose looks alone could mark him as someone who is always broody. Until he meets the one who can effortlessly make him smile with an adorable laugh, a teasing remark or an irreverent challenging look; the latter being the kind a writer like herself would describe as a withering stare that would earn the object of the male’s fascination an amused chuckle.
Was he even real? Or had Gwyn dived so deep into her fictional world that she had landed somewhere inside it? If it was the case, then it meant that there was more to her story that she had yet to discover, since she had never met such a stunning man in that world of hers. She didn’t even know that such beauty and magnetism was possible.
He was just standing there in front of her. Yet his eyes seemed to hold a power that made it impossible for her to acknowledge anything else.
“Hello.”
The deep voice she heard didn’t sound like it was coming from her imagination.
“Hi,” she breathlessly greeted back.
“Uh... Hi... I was...”
Gwyn took in every single fumbled words that came out of his plump lips, ready to listen to him say anything. But he stopped and, for a moment, just stared at her with an intensity that she did not realise matched the way she was looking at him.
“Can I help you?” she asked when the silence stretched, hoping that she hadn’t looked at him like she had never seen a man before. Although she was still not entirely convinced that he wasn’t a manifestation of her fantasies.
The man shook his visible stupor away at her question and offered her a small yet very charming smile.
“I think this is my new apartment.”
Gwyn frowned in puzzlement.
“I’m sure it’s not?” she said like she wasn’t sure at all.
He cocked his head to the side in thought before looking around as though he had dropped something. Then, realising he was already holding it, he held his key up for her to see.
“Isn’t this number 9?”
Gwyn’s frown deepened until realisation struck her harder than a lighting bolt.
“Ah. I see.” Gwyn pursed her lips to hold in a laugh. “May I?”
She extended her hand to the mystery man and motioned to his key with a tilt of her head.
He raised a brow at her. A corner of his lips slowly tugged into a smirk that disappeared a few seconds later. Whether he was trying to consciously school his features or not, Gwyn didn’t know. But she enjoyed the mischief that she had glimpsed for a moment there.
“You may,” he said as he dropped the small object in her open palm.
Gwyn held the key chain up and placed it next to the engraving on the wall with her house’s number on it. She showed him how, in this way, the key chain formed a miniature version of the engraving, with the design being the exact same, except for the 6 of her house number which didn’t match the 9 of his key.
His eyes darted between the engraving and the key, and to the redhead who was playfully wiggling her eyebrows at him. Then he laughed, his rich voice so beautiful that Gwyn imagined it would be impossible to ever tire of hearing it. And when she laughed with him, she found that she very much liked the harmony that their two voices created.
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “That was very dumb of me.”
“I’ll give you that. It was,” she said with a shrug.
The man eyed Gwyn like he was disappointed that she had so quickly agreed. His expression only pulled another laugh out of Gwyn.
“Yours is the one over there.” She pointed at the hallway behind him. To the second door down to her left. “Next to the wall lamp.”
He look there before turning back to her. Gwyn dangled his key in front of him.
“You won’t get my home just yet but you’ll get to be my neighbour.”
She found herself curious as to what kind of neighbour mister handsome here would be. Would they come across each other at random hours of the day and night as they went about their lives?
The smile that brightened his face was more disarming than any that Gwyn had ever seen.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, neighbour.” He extended a hand to her.
“I’m Gwyneth. Or just Gwyn.”
She shook his offered hand with the same one that she still held his key. He took it with him as he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled his hand away.
“I’m Azriel. Or just... Azriel.”
He cleared his throat and adjusted the helmet he carried under his left arm. Gwyn smiled.
“Alright. Just Azriel.”
They stood there in silence for a while. Their gazes locked, their hands fidgeting with whatever they carried. Gwyn was here and somewhere else at the same time. His body, his face, his voice, his mere presence stirred something in her. It was thrilling and also...intimidating.
He was like a mystery that was yet to be unfold. A story that needed to be written. Gwyn sensed in her writer’s heart that his could be one with pain and pleasure, ire and love. His eyes were a window through which she wanted to dive into his soul and learn all of his secrets. She also wanted to know what kind of man he could be in his most caring or vulnerable state.
Knowing a person in such a deep, all encompassing way was almost impossible. But perhaps, Gwyn wondered as her eyes widened, her version of him could provide her with the answers she sought.
“I – ”
“I – ”
“I should – ”
“I need to – ”
They both laughed at their synchronicity.
“I should go check my actual apartment.”
“And I should get back to mine. I hope you don’t get lost on your way.”
One of his brows rose. “I will blame your directions if I do.”
Gwyn crossed her arms and scowled at him. But the effect was lost with the smile that threatened to spread on her lips.
She watched him turn around and walk to his apartment. No doubt sensing her eyes still on him after he opened his door, “just Azriel” looked at her again. Gwyn waved at him. He winked, then stepped inside. Without wasting another second, Gwyn closed her own door and rushed to her desk.
Words and images formed in her mind like music flowing out of her imagination; a scene playing out like a musician effortlessly soaring through the notes of their symphony.
Gwyn immersed herself in it and let her hand glide across pages after pages of her notebook. She wrote about the nymph and her intruder, a mysterious male that became more real with every element she discovered about his character.
It might have been luck or sheer coincidence. It might have also been an answer to her hopeless prayers. Gwyn had no time to care. What mattered was that she was now inspired.
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i'm ngl depicting thunder's prosthetic as a burden is pretty uncomfortable even if it is something some amputees experience because like. there's a huge stigma around prosthetics already you know? it's like having a parent forcibly strap a child into a wheelchair when they don't need it and having a horrible experience with it and that being your only character in a wheelchair. some full-time wheelchair users do resent their wheelchairs but when that's the only time you're bringing it up at all it feels like you're playing into our society's perception of wheelchairs and mobility aids in general as useless and best and divine punishment at worst. idk do let me know if i'm wording this wrong because i really do love better bones! it's just that this detail is... strange.
I mean, I'm open to feedback if that's not something I should do-- but I do actually have other characters in prosthetics and mobility aids! A lot of them! Thunderstar's actually the only one who ends up rejecting his own, because I also wanted to depict that it's bad to force a device onto someone who does not want one.
Especially in circumstances like Thunder Storm's, where that sort of device would be actively unhelpful for his lifestyle. It might help in open field environments like moorland, but then I got more feedback and realized that it would just make a lot of unwanted noise in a forest (since cats have carpal whiskers to help them figure out where to place their paws). Then I figured it was a good way to show how BB!Clear Sky doesn't actually listen to his son's needs and acts differently when he's not "grateful" enough for his gift.
But he's far and away from the only one with a mobility aid or prosthetic!
I haven't figured out Frog entirely yet, but he's going to be the first cat with a "wheelchair" type device, to set up a long line of cats through the generations improving on it
(Probably not much more than a reinforced canvas or durable leather, as this was the age of very early flax processing)
Wildfur's the next in the big advancements, even making the Great Journey in his own and getting a side story based around Littlecloud and Cinderpelt collaborating over this
The device is then improved upon by Jessy for Briarlight, giving her a level of independence and confidence that she needs to finally cut her mom out until she learns how to behave
Deadfoot has a brace for his front paw because the joint is loose (it was based on a friend's carpel tunnel bracelet) which is affectionately referred to as The Bonker; his name is also now an Honor Title (Old name: Hoprunner) for inventing a battle move by distracting with his good paw, and then SLAMMING his other limb down hard on his opponent. It's called "deadfooting."
I think mobility devices are super important, usually massively improve quality of life, and I just enjoy designing them, so the choice to portray Thunder Storm's as negative was a very deliberate one that I did in response to what I thought was a desire in representation. Even the fact it's a hind-leg prosthetic was thought out, since those have a much higher satisfaction rate in humans than hand prosthetics, but in a cat would probably be the opposite.
Still, I'm not missing a limb, so now with all of that context presented, do you still think the same thing? Should I just add even more limb prosthetics to make the ratio of satisfied prosthetic users vs Thunder Storm even steeper?
Sunlit Frost is actually going to have a bite on his good paw go septic (the other side has permanent damage from the fire). I could have that paw get amputated and have Thunderstar "return the favor" for how Sunlit Frost created the prosthetic he rejected by helping him build his own. A pawsthetic, if you will
OR would it be better to just remove the subplot of Thunder Storm grappling with/rejecting a prosthetic that is unfitting for him entirely, and have all prosthetics be 100% treated as positive in the narrative?
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