royal-ruin

[royal-ruin]

I look back on those days now and think to myself, ❛Why did we put ourselves through all that? Why did it have to get so venomous?❜ If we had to do it all again, I'd say to Ayrton, ❝Listen, we're the best. Between us, we can screw all the others!❞

Still, though, it was a fantastic story, wasn't it?

[royal-ruin]

State of the F1 RPF Fandom on AO3 (2024 update)

This is part of my F1 RPF Analysis based on a dataset of the almost 42k AO3 F1 Fics pulled on 9 Dec 2024. Fics were analysed based on date of last update.

Feel free to follow the tag #f1 rpf analysis for more, and let me know what else you’d like to see! 

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Satoru and Suguru, but through Megumi’s eyes?

I’ve thought about this a lot lately, let me explain:

“I.

Megumi is 7, and he wakes up from the same nightmare for the third night in a row. He plods along the hallway, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle, and reaches up to turn the knob on Satoru and Suguru’s door.

The darkness of the room seems to seep out into the hall as he takes a few timid steps into the room. He’s noticed immediately, of course, by the two men in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks immediately, his voice slurred with sleep. Megumi can see him looking at him as his eyes adjust to the low light. Of course, Satoru’s eyes don’t need to adjust, so he knew it was him. He also sees Suguru, who had initially startled awake as well, lie back down, almost immediately asleep.

“Can I sleep here?” Megumi asks, whispering.

Satoru pats the bed next to him, scooting over to let Megumi settle in the middle. Megumi crawls into the bed without another word.

Satoru curls on his side, facing him, and stretches an arm out above Megumi’s head. He ruffles a hand through Megumi’s hair, then buries his hand into Suguru’s hair.

Megumi’s eyelids finally grow heavy again in the warm, safe darkness surrounding him, and he falls asleep to the sound of their even breathing.

II.

Megumi is 10, and he hears the front door open and the door to the hallway bathroom slam. He’s sitting in front of the living room TV playing video games, and he turns around to see Satoru hanging up his keys. He smiles softly at Megumi. Suguru must have been the door-slammer, then.

Megumi hears retching from behind the bathroom door. He stands up to go check, to help. Satoru shakes his head no—not unkindly, but definitively. “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. Just a hard mission. I’m going to go help, okay? Just giving him a second. Everyone needs a second sometimes, yeah?” Satoru fills the electric tea kettle with water and flicks it on.

“If you really want to help, you can fill this mug up with water when the kettle beeps. Not all the way to the top, just most of the way,” Satoru says, taking a mug down from the cabinet and slicing up a chunk of ginger, throwing the slices into the mug.

Then, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Megumi stands by the kettle, taking his post seriously, waiting patiently for it to beep.

III.

Megumi is 15, and he isn’t supposed to be home yet.

He rounds the corner next to his bedroom door when he hears them.

“He loves him, Sugu. And I don’t—I don’t know—I mean, can I save him?” Satoru gasps, clearly crying.

“I know. Breathe. This isn’t your fault, you’re doing what you can. You always do,” Suguru murmurs in response, and Megumi hears the bed creak as he shifts his position.

“Megumi will never forgive me if I have to kill Yuji. Never, Suguru,” Satoru’s sobs are muffled now, likely against Suguru’s chest.

“Satoru, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Hell, if we get to it. You don’t know that it’ll ever be relevant,” Suguru’s voice is soothing, softer than Megumi is used to hearing it.

Satoru doesn’t respond, and the next thing Megumi hears is Suguru’s gentle plea : “You have to breathe, Toru, come on, count with me.”

He walks away from the door.

IV.

Megumi is 16, and he isn’t sure what woke him. His phone screen tells him it’s 1:27 a.m. Maybe Satoru finally made it home from his mission.

He ambles out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just to make sure.

He hears hushed voices before he rounds the corner to the living room. Unsure why anyone would be up that isn’t Satoru, who likely wouldn’t be talking to himself, Megumi is suddenly on alert. He slides his back against the wall, peering around the corner to see who’s there.

It’s Suguru.

He exhales.

After seeing Suguru’s face, however, he feels like his sigh of relief may have been premature.

“Do you want to take a shower, maybe?” Suguru murmurs, standing in front of Satoru where he sits on the couch, pulling off his boots. Satoru places the shoes next to the couch and lets his forehead fall against Suguru’s abdomen. Suguru is quick to wrap a hand around his head, threading his fingers through the hair that isn’t matted down under his blindfold.

“I just want to sleep,” Satoru sighs, and Megumi immediately notices how weary he sounds. His clothing is, as usual, clean and untouched, a byproduct of Infinity, but wherever he’d been had clearly taken a toll on him. Suguru massages Satoru’s head at the temples.

“Come on, I’ll turn off the lights and start the water,” Suguru whispers.

Satoru nods, inhaling shakily.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Suguru breathes, sitting down on his heels to rest his forehead against Satoru’s.

Megumi, suddenly feeling the weight of his intrusion, creeps back to his room as quietly as possible.

V.

Megumi is 17, and he hears Satoru and Suguru arguing in the kitchen. He pulls out a headphone to listen, pausing the music he’d been listening to while doing homework on the living room floor.

“I just don’t feel like it, Satoru. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“No, because you never ‘feel like it’ anymore! You’d think I was asking you for a miracle, not to literally just go out for the evening.”

“Well, you never ‘feel like’ doing anything I want to do either. When’s the last time you sat and read a book with me, huh?”

“That’s different, Suguru, I’ve never done that. You know what I’m saying, and you’re purposefully ignoring it.”

Suguru doesn’t reply.

“Things are bad again, aren’t they?”

Suguru still doesn’t reply.

“Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to sleep. You go out. Invite Shoko; she’ll appreciate it.”

“I want to help you, you asshole. Stop pushing me away.”

“I don’t want your help, Satoru.”

Satoru laughs harshly at this.

“Yeah, well, you sure as fuck need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Are you kidding me? You’re just content to rot, going to work and then coming home and sleeping your life away? Or some other fucking mindless activity? It’s not normal, Suguru. It’s not healthy. And I’m not just going to sit by and watch you do it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Suguru raises his voice, which catches Megumi off guard. He never yells.

“Nothing about this is normal, Satoru. My life, our lives, me. I’m not normal. Do you think I like this? Feeling fucking hopeless, not having the energy to do anything, fucking sitting on the floor in the shower because it’s too much to stand—“

“—Suguru, listen—“

“—Don’t interrupt me.”

They are silent for a few long moments.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says, raggedly.

“No, I’m sorry, I said I wanted to help and I’m definitely not helping,” Satoru sighs.

“I—Satoru, I—“ Suguru tries, then stops.

“Things are bad again,” Suguru settles on, his voice breaking.

Megumi doesn’t hear Satoru reply, just the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

Satoru only speaks when Suguru starts crying.

Whatever Satoru says to him is too soft for Megumi to hear.

[royal-ruin]

"Healthy" he said 💀

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i call this the "maybe in another universe, i'm a better sibling to you."

[royal-ruin]

The Assassin, The Ninja, and The Emperor 🐦‍⬛🥷🏻👑

| Art Instagram - @Nanalytix |

[royal-ruin]

FIRST SON ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ'S ADDRESS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE, OCTOBER 2, 2020

[royal-ruin]

Kageyama's backstory only being revealed near the very end of the series is really interesting from a meta perspective.

For reference, his chapter is 387 out of 402. That's 96% of the way in.

To contrast, other characters like Tsukishima and Yamaguchi's backstories are shown in Chapters 87-88.

Now, we do get the explanation for his "King of the Court" title in Chapter 6, at the start of the series, but we don't see how he got to that point, or why he started playing volleyball in the first place like Tsukishima's and Yamaguchi's stories show.

It creates this situation where, despite being the deuteragonist, the character our protagonist, Hinata, is practically glued to the entire series, we barely know anything about him.

We don't even know he has a sister until that point whereas other characters' siblings like Natsu, Saeko, Akiteru, Alisa have all made appearances way before then. Even Oikawa's sister, though we don't see her, we at least know she exists because of Takeru.

He's both closed off to us (the audience) as well as the other characters in the series, and this results in them finding him rude or disliking his character in general (see: the "Kageyama is abusive" discourse that somehow keeps popping up even now).

Chapter 387 takes place in 2018 and was published in 2020 so it takes him 6 years of in-universe time and 8 years of irl time to really open up.

And the catalyst for all of this is Hinata fulfilling his promise of beating him.

You see, another thing to note is that, whenever Hinata thinks of Kageyama, he's always looking at him from behind.

His internal image of him is someone who's always up ahead, someone he needs to catch up to, meaning Hinata can only see one side of him, he cannot see all of Kageyama until he catches up and passes him.

Which he finally does here.

In this shot Hinata is finally the one who's looking back at Kageyama. At this moment, Hinata (and by extension the audience) can see him for all he is, can see how he was just a lonely boy who's been waiting for someone to meet him where he is, to keep running alongside him and not quit the race.

Someone he doesn't have to go easy on. Someone who would actually tell him to hurry up instead of slow down for a change.

His someone better.

[royal-ruin]

alex albon + not giving up

Charlote Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself / The Test / Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You and Only You / The Test

[royal-ruin]

F1 teammates in five acts, based on Youth, by Daughter.

Act 4: Daniel Ricciardo and some of his teammates throughout his formula one career: Sebastian Vettel (2014); Max Verstappen (2016-2018); Nico Hulkenberg (2019); Esteban Ocon (2020); Lando Norris (2021-2022) and Yuki Tsunoda (2023-2024).

(acts one, two and three here)

[royal-ruin]

osctober day three

prompt: thunderstorm pairing: max/oscar word count: 500

Being invited to travel on AirMax doesn’t erase the fact that Oscar fucking hates flying. Sure, the seats are comfy, and someone’s offered him a glass of champagne before they have even well and truly made it to the runway, but fancy or not, an airplane still has to get into the air.

And Oscar had many feelings about that part. None of them positive.

Across from him, Lando and Carlos are caught up in some kind of discussion about the race. Somewhere behind him, George is trying to convince Charles and Alex to join another round of his Uno world championship, that Oscar is pretty sure George only keeps hosting because he keeps winning.

And next to him, bafflingly, is Max Verstappen himself, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

He had expected Max to sit down next to Charles, or Lando, or any of the people he actually seems close with, but he never even hesitated before he sat down next to Oscar. It’s. Oscar doesn’t really know what to do with that information.

The plane engines rumble to life below them. The downside of a private plane is that it’s smaller. You feel all of the vibrations much more. Oscar might consider flying economy class for the rest of his F1 career if only for that reason. His hands tighten on the arm rests.

“Did you know,” Max says, right next to him, looking at something on his phone. “The average thunderstorm last 30 minutes?”

“Uh,” Oscar says. He hadn’t known that. He also does not care about thunderstorms much right now. The plane jerks forward, faster faster faster.

“Yeah. And they’re an average of 24 kilometers in width. Also there’s 1800 thunderstorms happening at any moment. 16 million per year. And yet we find them rare.”

“I guess?” Oscar asks. He turned to look at Max now, confused as why he keeps going on about thunderstorms.

“Are they? Rare? In Melbourne?” Max looks up from his phone, genuinely curious.

Oscar thinks back on his childhood. Huddled in front of the window whenever the sky started rumbling, begging to be able to see the slightest flash of lightning, being excited when he did. “Not much. Really like them, though. The flashes are like. Cool.” It’s a bit silly to admit. But Max smiles, wide and encouraging.

“Me too,” he says, then looks away and out of the window. “Oh, look at that,” he says, eyes twinkling when he turns back to Oscar. “We’re in the air.”

Oscar leans over, does a double take. They are. And Oscar didn’t even notice. He turns to Max, to thank him, but Max has gone back to scrolling through his phone.

Oscar observes him, process what Max has just done for him. It’s. Well. He has fallen in love with people for less.

[royal-ruin]

osctober day one

prompt: home race pairing: lando/oscar word count: 1,5k

It starts, just like the Formula One season, in Australia.

“Love Albert Park,” Lando says, when they’re finally alone in their hotel room after a long grueling day of press. The jetlag didn’t help, and Oscar’s been fighting all day just to stay awake. Lando hasn’t been fairing much better, Oscar having to shake him out of multiple naps. One day he will get used to Lando being able to sleep practically anywhere. For now, he will continue to stay amazed.

“Hm,” Oscar says, upside down in his suitcase. They’re free for the evening, and he’s planning on changing into his sweatpants and a hoodie and crawling onto their giant king sized bed and watching movies until they fall asleep. Which will probably be ten minutes into the first movie.

“Like, the atmosphere is so good, right?” Lando says. He’s already on the bed, nicked one of Oscar’s hoodies. One of his favorites, too. Oscar settles for a mediocre McLaren branded one and crawls onto the bed too. Tomorrow they have a dinner planned with his parents, which he’s looking forward to. They haven’t been over to see them for a while, and he’s excited to catch up.

“Hm,” Oscar says again, grabbing the remote. Lando is immediately on him, snuggling into his side before he can even get properly settled. Oscar lets it happen, smiles fondly as Lando lets out a happy little noise and presses a kiss to Oscar’s shoulder.

“Good track too. Fun. Must be great to be able to call it your home race, right?” Lando continues, as Oscar pulls up the Netflix menu. They’ve been slowly been making their way through any and all sports documentaries on there, and they’ve now got to one about cheerleading.

“I guess,” Oscar says, as he queue’s up the next episode. Lando is warm against his side, his breath fanning out over Oscar’s neck, and Oscar wishes sometimes he could have this forever. He thinks that might be nice.

Lando is fidgeting, like he’s gearing up to say something. On the TV, a dance-y pop song plays as the cheerleaders practice a truly impressive choreography. Oscar lets the song wash over him, closes his eyes as he waits for Lando to say something.

“Would love to call it my home race, too,” Lando eventually says, staring up at Oscar with big, nervous eyes.

Oscar doesn’t reply. He’s dead asleep.

--

They’re in China, a week later. Lunch in the McLaren Motorhome, a little table tucked away from the rest. Australia was fun, the car looks good. Podiums for both of them. Oscar had looked out on the crowd, Lando next to him, his parents down there smiling proudly up at him and he’d felt. Complete.

“So like, 1/16th,” Lando says, between bites of his chicken wrap.

Oscar takes a bite of his own chicken warp, gave up on his toast with salmon ages ago. Though he doesn’t think Lando would have broken up with him over it, if he had to pick between Lando and salmon he would pick Lando any day. “1/16th of what,” he says, when he’s done chewing.

“Your home race,” Lando says, gesturing around. “Because you’re 1/16th Chinese.”

“Right,” Oscar says, waiting for the question.

“Let’s say,” Lando says, having put his wrap down and picking at a piece of lettuce. “You had like. If you got. You’re married.”

“I am?” Oscar asks, eyebrow raised.

“Hypothetically,” Lando corrects, turning ever so slightly red. The piece of lettuce is now in two. “Hypothetically you’re married. Would that make this your spouse’s home race too?”

“Depends,” Oscar says. “Is my spouse Chinese? Are they a race driver?”

“No,” Lando says. Four pieces of lettuce. “And yes.”

“Then no,” Oscar says, takes another thoughtful bite. “But our kids could call it their home race. If they went into racing.”

Lando makes a strangled noise, drops the pieces of lettuce, and then spends the rest of the lunch sort of staring into space, confusing mix of expressions on his face. Oscar doesn’t really question it. He’s found that’s the best way of going about dating Lando Norris.

Lando never asked, but if he had, Oscar would’ve told him that if he could have hypothetically married anyone, he probably would have married Lando. Hypothetically of course.

--

“Monaco,” Lando says, entering the paddock side by side with Oscar. “Home race for you, huh?”

The joke is old by now, old enough that it doesn’t get more than a yearly reference and a half laugh out of Oscar. It surprises him Lando would even bring it up. “I mean I have been living here long enough,” he says. First in his own apartment. Now in the apartment he shares with Lando. He knows which one he prefers.

“You know what I mean,” Lando says, pauses, seems to consider something. “Do you reckon it could be. You know. Mine too?” He asks.

Oscar hoists his backpack higher up onto his shoulder. It’s heavy, carrying both his and Lando’s stuff. “I don’t know,” he says. “Should ask Charles.”

Lando deflates, shoulders sagging. His backpack free shoulders. Oscar could ask him, to carry the backpack. Lando would say yes, wouldn’t mind at all.

He doesn’t.

--

There’s a ring. It’s been in his luggage since China, since Lando planted the seed of marriage in his head. He picked it out himself, thinks Lando would like it. It’s simple, plain, but thick. Noticeable. He knows Lando would appreciate that sort of thing.

He’s been brainstorming the perfect moment. Maybe after a win. Maybe after a home race win. But then, does he want to make their proposal about F1? He’s been thinking about the summer break, the trip to Greece they have planned. Thinks about winter break, the trip to Australia. He could do it in front of his family, have them all there. But then what about the Norris’s? They would be just as delighted to be there.

So yeah. Ruminating. He’s starting to hope the right moment will just smack him in the face.

Which it does, sort of, right after FP2 in Silverstone. They’re in the car, on their way back from the track, tucked away in the backseat, Oscar typing away on his phone while Lando. Fidgets.

“So,” Lando says. “Home race.”

“Home race,” Oscar agrees.

“I mean it isn’t. Your home race,” Lando says. “Not. Well. Not yet?”

Oscar pulls a face. “I mean, kind of is, isn’t it? Team home race and all? I’ll take it.”

He expects a half laugh, a shoulder nudge, a Lando slumping into his side. What he gets instead is a strangled cry and his phone ripped from his hands. When he comes face to face with Lando, he looks furious.

“Alright, what will it take for you to get the hint,” Lando says, and Oscar’s clearly upset him, he just wishes he knew about what.

“What hint,” he says, slowly, not wanting to agitate Lando any further.

It’s the wrong thing to say anyway. Lando slumps back into the car seat, throws the phone back to Oscar. “Nothing, it’s. It’s stupid, I guess.”

Oscar watches him. Thinks back on the conversation they just had. “Wait,” he says, and Lando perks up. Hopeful. “What do you mean not yet? You said it isn’t my home race yet. What do you mean?”

Lando looks at him. “What do you think I mean?” He says, only a little sulkily.

Oscar considers it. Thinks, all of a sudden, of China, of Monaco, when Lando had brought up the home race thing too. Thinks of Australia, of the question he never asked. Thinks of the ring, hidden away in his luggage in the hotel room.

“Yes,” he blurts out.

“What?” Lando says.

“Yes,” Oscar says again, more sure this time. “Yes, I want your home races to be my home races and my home races to be yours.” And then, to answer the question Lando has really been asking this entire time, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“Oh,” Lando says, and it’s his turn to look a little thrown. “Really?”

“I have, there’s a ring,” Oscar says. “If you want me to prove it. It’s been there since China, I’ve just been looking for the right moment, but I think. I think this is it. The right moment, I mean.”

Lando scrunches up his nose. “This is a horrible moment,” he says.

And he’s right. They’re both tired from a long day of practice, ready to pass out from exhaustion. They’re in a car, an impersonal company provided non-descript one, on their way to their equally impersonal company provided non-descript hotel room, in the middle of a race weekend. They have to go to bed early, because they have more responsibilities again tomorrow. Arguably, this might be the worst moment for a proposal.

But Lando is looking soft and sleepy and hopeful and Oscar wants to spend the rest of his life with him and the rest of his life can’t begin soon enough, so he means it with all his heart when he says, “Lando Norris, will you do the honor of letting my home race become your home race?’

And Lando, Lando smiles, soft and happy and everything Oscar loves says, “I would love nothing more.”

[royal-ruin]

HEARTSTOPPER 1.05 | 2.08 | 3.04

[royal-ruin]

many parallels between these two

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idk. i have very little words and way too many emotions. my heart is absolutely broken for Daniel, he deserved none of this treatment.

he was the one who encouraged me to draw, and to keep going. he will forever be an inspiration, to me, to so many.

i hope this isn’t the end, but if it is, it won’t be without a fight

[royal-ruin]

It's just so absolutely crazy how close Max and Daniel got despite the things that happened when they were teammates. Max is essentially the reason Daniel left and his career went spiralling. Max is the one who came in and became the golden child when Daniel was the WDC hope after Vettel. Max who watched Daniel with heart eyes from day 1. Daniel who taught Max they can be teammates and friends at the same time. And he left and they missed each other, went on vacations, and introduced each other to their friends circle, who watched one rise and rise, and the other struggle. And it all, ALL, comes down to "if it's not me, I'm glad it's him" and "thank you, Daniel" ALWAYS

[royal-ruin]

Just need to highlight what a COMPLETE shitshow this has turned into for Red Bull/VCarb. Someone posted Chris Medland's article on Laurent Mekies' comments re: Daniel and the media speculation this weekend and THE ENTIRE comment section is just ripping into RBR/VCarb's incompetence or cruelty that allowed this to happen. I cannot tell you the last time I saw a comment section on there that so unequivocal in it's support of Daniel. This is just a small selection: